Ladybard chapter 6, by Slayergirl.
Set in a theoretical season 7 (my own canvas to work on!) – forgive the jump of an entire season, but the fic would have taken forever if I'd included it.
*** *** *** ***
It was several weeks since Tara had died. Willow was no better, despite the sedatives Giles had somehow managed to get hold of for her, and which Xander – who spent most of his time looking after her – lovingly administered daily. Buffy felt bereft, especially now Giles had gone to England to tie up some loose ends. They were taking a long time to tie up.
She picked apathetically at her food. She didn't feel like eating. Or sleeping. Or patrolling. She missed Willow and Xander and Anya, the way they had been, grown up school-kids. She missed Tara. She missed Giles. She missed Spike. Oh, God, she missed Spike! Every damned bleached-blond she saw made her heart lurch – would it be him? Had he come back? And her dreams were full of him. Not full of the violent sex of their rather strange pseudo-relationship, but filled with tenderness and love. They were dreams she woke from in tears.
She threw down her fork and went up to her room, suddenly wishing Dawn had stayed in after all. There, on her dressing table, was a little framed picture that Dawn had drawn of him, and given to her after he'd left. She spent more and more time looking at it each day. 'Have to do something!' she thought grimly. 'I can't just sit here doing nothing, holiday or no holiday. I HAVE to do something!'
She set to work tidying her room. It didn't really need it, but it was something to do. But it didn't take long enough. 'Right. Cleaning it is, then.' Out came the duster and polish. Then the Hoover.
'Wow! Forgot I had this!' she thought, as she moved the chair and saw her jacket on the floor. She picked it up, about to hang it up. Then she noticed there was something in one of the pockets.
She opened up the wad of papers. 'Poetry – dedicated to me! In… oh my God!' She clutched the papers to her, sobbing. "Oh, God, Spike! Spike, where are you?" she cried aloud in desperation as the memories flooded through her. It was several hours later that Dawn found her there, clutching the poems and picture as she wept.
Spike walked through the streets of London, somewhat sorely after the bust-up in the hospital. Sure, his chip was out. But he didn't really feel like killing any more. He just wanted to be with Buffy.
He sprawled on a bench and reached into his pocket for the bag of blood that had caused him so much hassle at the hospital. But with it came his poetry book.
'Of all bloody times!' he thought. He hadn't opened it for – well, several months. He split open the bag and drank the blood. Then he flicked open the book.
A small, iridescent flower fell onto his lap. He picked it up, tears threatening to choke him as he sobbed. "Buffy!" he whispered, wondering if she'd remember.
A few hours later, he found himself pouring his heart out to Giles, who was gazing at the flower in wonder.
"What do I do, Giles?" he pleaded. "Will she have remembered? Should I go back? Should I…?"
"I think – you should go back. Can't tell if she'll have remembered. But if she has, she'll be going crazy." He polished his glasses nervously. "Much as I hate to admit it, I think she needs you there."
Spike nodded. "Right then. Better be off."
"Call me if you need help. I'll fly out as soon as I can."
Spike set off, back to Sunnydale. Back home. Back to Buffy.
Buffy opened the front door, weary from patrolling, and heartsick from her life. She froze when she saw the blond vampire on the sofa.
"Oh, God, no, I'm hallucinating!" she whispered hoarsely as she caught hold of the doorframe to stop herself from falling. "No, it can't be him, why would he come back after everything I've done to him?" She felt herself falling, but couldn't stop herself.
He caught her. "This been going on long, Nibblet?"
She shook her head. "No. Only since she found the poems you wrote."
'The poems! She'd found the poems!' "Did she say anything?"
"Not really. She withdrew into herself more, cried more, and started seeing you round every street corner."
He looked at the limp form. "Best get her upstairs." He carried her to her room, lying her on the bed. He plumped up the pillows, only to find his poems underneath them. He smiled wryly. Then he noticed the drawing of him on her bedside table. He sat on the bed beside her and waited for her to come round.
Dawn popped her head round the door. "Everything okay?"
"Not come round yet. But otherwise okay." He motioned the picture. "You gave it to her?"
She smiled. "So she wouldn't forget. She had it on the dressing table until she found the poems."
"Oh!"
"Got homework to do, I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Buffy blinked her eyes as Dawn went back down the stairs. "Dawn?" she croaked. Then she looked at Spike. "You're not real," she said plaintively. "You're just in my imagination. You won't be there when I wake up, you're never there when I wake up and I miss you so much!" Her voice was climbing higher and higher with anguish. "God, Spike, where are you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just please come back to me! Oh, where are you?" she sobbed.
He wrapped his arms round her, sitting her against him. "Sh, love, it's okay, I'm here…"
"But you'll be gone when I wake up," she cried as she clung to him. "Don't leave me! Oh, don't make me wake up, I don't want this to be a dream!" she sobbed into his shoulder.
His own tears were coursing down his cheeks to see her in such a state, and he cuddled her close. "It's not a dream, love," he said softly. "It's not a dream. You're already awake, and I'm really here. And I'm not going to leave again."
"No, it's a dream, I'll wake up and you'll be gone!" she insisted wildly.
'Just as well I'm used to dealing with crazed women,' he thought wearily. 'Giles was right. She was going crazy without me.' "Okay, love. I'm gonna prove this isn't a dream. Now, I'm gonna tell you something. Okay? Promise you won't hit me?"
She gulped. "I promise."
"I've had the chip taken out." He saw the look on her face, and knew that it had snapped her out of it. Luckily for him, there was no stake at hand.
"You've done what?" she squeaked.
"Uh – chip out. Gone. Finito."
"Okay, nightmare…"
"Hey," he said softly, taking hold of her hands. "Let me show you something." He pulled a bag of blood from his pocket. "See? Pig's blood. Still not killing humans. But by choice, now. That's why I did it. To prove to you that I could be a vampire and still do good – without a soul, without a chip. Doing pretty well so far. Though," he grinned, "I did knock out a security guard at a hospital in London."
"Why?"
"Caught me nicking a bag of blood. Human blood." He smiled. "Then I found this." He held out the little flower to her.
She took it, smiling. "And you remembered? And came back?"
He pulled her close, hugging her. "I will always come back to you, love," he murmured. "Always".
TBC…
Set in a theoretical season 7 (my own canvas to work on!) – forgive the jump of an entire season, but the fic would have taken forever if I'd included it.
*** *** *** ***
It was several weeks since Tara had died. Willow was no better, despite the sedatives Giles had somehow managed to get hold of for her, and which Xander – who spent most of his time looking after her – lovingly administered daily. Buffy felt bereft, especially now Giles had gone to England to tie up some loose ends. They were taking a long time to tie up.
She picked apathetically at her food. She didn't feel like eating. Or sleeping. Or patrolling. She missed Willow and Xander and Anya, the way they had been, grown up school-kids. She missed Tara. She missed Giles. She missed Spike. Oh, God, she missed Spike! Every damned bleached-blond she saw made her heart lurch – would it be him? Had he come back? And her dreams were full of him. Not full of the violent sex of their rather strange pseudo-relationship, but filled with tenderness and love. They were dreams she woke from in tears.
She threw down her fork and went up to her room, suddenly wishing Dawn had stayed in after all. There, on her dressing table, was a little framed picture that Dawn had drawn of him, and given to her after he'd left. She spent more and more time looking at it each day. 'Have to do something!' she thought grimly. 'I can't just sit here doing nothing, holiday or no holiday. I HAVE to do something!'
She set to work tidying her room. It didn't really need it, but it was something to do. But it didn't take long enough. 'Right. Cleaning it is, then.' Out came the duster and polish. Then the Hoover.
'Wow! Forgot I had this!' she thought, as she moved the chair and saw her jacket on the floor. She picked it up, about to hang it up. Then she noticed there was something in one of the pockets.
She opened up the wad of papers. 'Poetry – dedicated to me! In… oh my God!' She clutched the papers to her, sobbing. "Oh, God, Spike! Spike, where are you?" she cried aloud in desperation as the memories flooded through her. It was several hours later that Dawn found her there, clutching the poems and picture as she wept.
Spike walked through the streets of London, somewhat sorely after the bust-up in the hospital. Sure, his chip was out. But he didn't really feel like killing any more. He just wanted to be with Buffy.
He sprawled on a bench and reached into his pocket for the bag of blood that had caused him so much hassle at the hospital. But with it came his poetry book.
'Of all bloody times!' he thought. He hadn't opened it for – well, several months. He split open the bag and drank the blood. Then he flicked open the book.
A small, iridescent flower fell onto his lap. He picked it up, tears threatening to choke him as he sobbed. "Buffy!" he whispered, wondering if she'd remember.
A few hours later, he found himself pouring his heart out to Giles, who was gazing at the flower in wonder.
"What do I do, Giles?" he pleaded. "Will she have remembered? Should I go back? Should I…?"
"I think – you should go back. Can't tell if she'll have remembered. But if she has, she'll be going crazy." He polished his glasses nervously. "Much as I hate to admit it, I think she needs you there."
Spike nodded. "Right then. Better be off."
"Call me if you need help. I'll fly out as soon as I can."
Spike set off, back to Sunnydale. Back home. Back to Buffy.
Buffy opened the front door, weary from patrolling, and heartsick from her life. She froze when she saw the blond vampire on the sofa.
"Oh, God, no, I'm hallucinating!" she whispered hoarsely as she caught hold of the doorframe to stop herself from falling. "No, it can't be him, why would he come back after everything I've done to him?" She felt herself falling, but couldn't stop herself.
He caught her. "This been going on long, Nibblet?"
She shook her head. "No. Only since she found the poems you wrote."
'The poems! She'd found the poems!' "Did she say anything?"
"Not really. She withdrew into herself more, cried more, and started seeing you round every street corner."
He looked at the limp form. "Best get her upstairs." He carried her to her room, lying her on the bed. He plumped up the pillows, only to find his poems underneath them. He smiled wryly. Then he noticed the drawing of him on her bedside table. He sat on the bed beside her and waited for her to come round.
Dawn popped her head round the door. "Everything okay?"
"Not come round yet. But otherwise okay." He motioned the picture. "You gave it to her?"
She smiled. "So she wouldn't forget. She had it on the dressing table until she found the poems."
"Oh!"
"Got homework to do, I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Buffy blinked her eyes as Dawn went back down the stairs. "Dawn?" she croaked. Then she looked at Spike. "You're not real," she said plaintively. "You're just in my imagination. You won't be there when I wake up, you're never there when I wake up and I miss you so much!" Her voice was climbing higher and higher with anguish. "God, Spike, where are you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just please come back to me! Oh, where are you?" she sobbed.
He wrapped his arms round her, sitting her against him. "Sh, love, it's okay, I'm here…"
"But you'll be gone when I wake up," she cried as she clung to him. "Don't leave me! Oh, don't make me wake up, I don't want this to be a dream!" she sobbed into his shoulder.
His own tears were coursing down his cheeks to see her in such a state, and he cuddled her close. "It's not a dream, love," he said softly. "It's not a dream. You're already awake, and I'm really here. And I'm not going to leave again."
"No, it's a dream, I'll wake up and you'll be gone!" she insisted wildly.
'Just as well I'm used to dealing with crazed women,' he thought wearily. 'Giles was right. She was going crazy without me.' "Okay, love. I'm gonna prove this isn't a dream. Now, I'm gonna tell you something. Okay? Promise you won't hit me?"
She gulped. "I promise."
"I've had the chip taken out." He saw the look on her face, and knew that it had snapped her out of it. Luckily for him, there was no stake at hand.
"You've done what?" she squeaked.
"Uh – chip out. Gone. Finito."
"Okay, nightmare…"
"Hey," he said softly, taking hold of her hands. "Let me show you something." He pulled a bag of blood from his pocket. "See? Pig's blood. Still not killing humans. But by choice, now. That's why I did it. To prove to you that I could be a vampire and still do good – without a soul, without a chip. Doing pretty well so far. Though," he grinned, "I did knock out a security guard at a hospital in London."
"Why?"
"Caught me nicking a bag of blood. Human blood." He smiled. "Then I found this." He held out the little flower to her.
She took it, smiling. "And you remembered? And came back?"
He pulled her close, hugging her. "I will always come back to you, love," he murmured. "Always".
TBC…