Title: Dear Slayer 2/4
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net
Feedback: Yes, thank you
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 AU (Since my
outcome of the African trials doesn't match ME's)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while
operating heavy machinery
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was an
art.
Dear Spike;
Look, we've got to chill. I'm nervous. You're nervous. But
we're grownups, right?
The whole boy-girl thing isn't exactly new for us.
I remember my first date. Do you remember yours? (Did
you even have a "first date?")
Anyway, what I'm getting at: If you're thinking of trailing
them to keep an eye on Dawn -- don't even go there!
My dad did that to me, and I was so mad at him I didn't talk
to him for a month. (That was back when he still gave a
flying fig.)
I have all sorts of worries. She's starting a little late (She's
16! When did that happen?), and this boy has his own car.
He has a part-time job after school. (Doomedmeat Palace --
poor dear. But I didn't meet him there. He started after I
quit.)
But I'm resolved to give Dawn her space. She's got to make
this step, and make it without anyone looking over her
shoulder. She'll never learn to handle herself if we hang
over her every moment.
So, not that I don't trust you, but I think I'd like to be able to
keep an eye on you Saturday night.
Kevin is picking Dawn up at seven. Why don't you come
over a little before that? You can get a look at him, and then
we can watch TV while we bite our nails to the quick.
Casablanca is showing on AMC Saturday night.
Let me know,
B.
----------------
Dear Slayer;
All right. You win. You're probably right.
First date? That's a hard one. When I was that age, we did
things differently. And after I turned, "dating" isn't exactly
the term you'd apply. First date? I think it had something to
do with staking out a warehouse where some vamps were
nesting. Didn't end well, as I remember. (Forgive my irony.)
But rather than coming over to watch TV, I have a better
idea. Meet me in the sewers (never let it be said I don't
know how to show a woman a good time). I'll wait for you at
the connection between the main storm drain and the
Empire Street interceptor. And just so you don't have any
doubts that I have a romantic evening planned -- bring your
axe.
Awaiting your reply,
S.
PS: Thanks for the tea.
--------------
Dear Spike;
Afraid to be alone with me and the TV? If there's something
in the sewers that needs killing, can it wait until Saturday?
Sincerely,
B.
PS: What tea?
------------
Dear Slayer;
Afraid? Never.
As for the sewers: It's a nest of juvenile Shelat demons.
They're sensitive to lunar cycles. Right now, they're too
young to go out of their lair and cause any trouble, though
they would get pretty active if we disturbed them. By
Saturday, they'll be semi-dormant as they prepare to shed
their skins and emerge in their adult form. Best time to deal
with them.
As for the tea, I got a package a few days ago. Straight
from Fortnum & Mason. No sender. I assumed it was you.
Dawn perhaps?
Regards,
S.
------------
Dear Spike;
No time for the post office. I'm going to slip this under your
door this morning. No mail deliveries on Sunday anyway.
We've got to get our story straight. I've told Dawn nothing
was going on when she got home. But I don't think she
believes me. I'm afraid, at this point, she doesn't expect me
to tell the truth about things like this.
She saw us in bathrobes having drinks in the kitchen. I told
her I was washing your shirt and jeans to get the Shelat
blood out. (Do you suppose Martha Stewart has any tips for
getting demon blood out of denim?)
What's killing me is she's so happy about what she's
imagining went on. It really hurts to have to disappoint her.
So I wanted to make sure you didn't try to joke it off next
time you talk to her. I wouldn't want to get her hopes any
higher than they are.
By the way, I asked her about the tea. She knows nothing.
And I think she's telling the truth. I don't think she knows
what Fortnum & Mason is. I don't think I know. What's
Fortnum & Mason?
Regards,
B.
PS: Why don't you get a phone?
-------------
Dear Buffy;
Right. No jokes. I'll try to let her down easy.
Fortnum & Mason is a London pantry shop. They do
hampers and gift boxes. Mostly poncey stuff. If not you or
the Little Bit, I wonder who. Not like I have a lot of admirers
in this town.
If I got a phone I'd be answering calls from telemarketers all
day. Rather sleep.
Sincerely,
S.
-----------
Dear Spike;
I dropped by the morgue this afternoon to leave your lighter.
You left it behind Saturday. I didn't find it until this morning.
They'd never heard of "Spike." Duh -- I guess that would
look pretty strange on an employment application. By
description, I found out my "Spike" is their "Will Whedon." Is
that your real surname?
Curious,
B.
----------
Dear Buffy;
No, it is not. It's just the name Giles came up with for my
passport and work visa.
I'll tell you what I told him. He nagged me incessantly to tell
him my real name. He wants to look me up, find my birth
certificate, see whether there are any other records about
my life.
But I'm not going to tell you or anybody else.
William died in 1880. He did not die without sin. But my sins
are not his. He never killed anyone. He never tortured
anyone with a railroad spike. His sins were sins of omission
and thoughtlessness -- quite ordinary really. If I let you or
Giles or anyone else connect me with him, I would be
staining the reputation of someone who never earned it.
William has relations still living. They don't deserve to have
me appended to their genealogy.
Please let poor William rest in peace.
Yours truly,
S.
-----------
Dear Spike;
Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.
Just a short note today. Pretty busy getting Willow's room
ready.
She's coming home from the hospital tomorrow. She's not
all better by a long shot, but the doctor said she's well
enough to try to work back into a non-institutionalized
setting.
Do you think you could drop by tomorrow night? Xander is
going to sit with her in day while I'm at work. He's taking a
day off to help her settle in. He'll be gone by six, though. He
has something tomorrow night with his mom. Something
going on there (with Xander's mom, that is), but he's not
ready to talk about it yet.
Anyway, the doctor said it might help her to see familiar
faces. You two always got along pretty well, didn't you?
If you'd rather not, it's OK.
Dropping this off at the morgue. You really should get a
phone!
Yours truly,
B.
-------------
Dear Buffy;
I'll come by. Glad to hear Red is doing better. Has she got
any of her memory back? It's going to be hard on her when
she remembers.
In a way, I'm glad I missed all that happened last spring, but
in another way, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when the
worst went down. I know there was nothing I could have
done to stop Warren, since I still had my chip and he did it
in broad daylight. But I still can't help but think I could have
been some help to you in subduing Willow, or protecting
Dawn. But then, you probably wouldn't have turned to me
anyway, after what happened.
Tara may not have been a close friend -- but she always
treated me with respect. And she was a good person. I miss
her. She was always so calm in the face of the hurricane.
I'm sorry I wasn't around for her funeral. I would have liked
to say goodbye.
And Red may have gone off her rails, but who am I to
condemn her?
I'm proud of you, Buffy. Forgiving her must have been
difficult. But then, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You
seem to have forgiven me, and that's an act of forgiveness
beyond anything I ever expected.
Got another mystery gift in today's post. Wish I knew who
was doing this.
Your obedient servant,
S.
----------
Dear Spike;
Forgive? I've guilty of too many things to try to judge
anyone else.
I've asked myself a thousand times whether I've forgiven
you. I don't know if I even need to. So much of what
happened between us seems unreal to me now. I wonder
how I could have done the things I did. And I'm not talking
about our little sex games. I'm talking about the way I
treated you -- as if you had no right to expect that I would
respect you.
You may have been my enemy, once. But you were always
a worthy foe. And once you were my friend, you never
wavered -- even I was acting like a spoiled child and psycho
bitch.
As for what finally happened -- I know you don't want to talk
about it. But I think I need to. Maybe this is the right time, as
I sit here waiting for Xander to get here with Willow.
I was hurt when you attacked me. More hurt than I like to
admit to myself. Not because there was any danger that
you would actually succeed -- I am the Slayer, after all. I
was hurt because I never for a moment before that believed
you would ever do anything to hurt me. I know I said I didn't
trust you. But I wasn't being honest with you or myself. I
trusted completely that you would never deliberately hurt
me. It was a shock to find myself fighting you off. It was a
shock to realize that I'd pushed you so far that you could no
longer respect me. I know you still loved me. But the
respect was gone. And that just made me want to give up
and crawl into a hole somewhere.
Things happened pretty fast after that. I didn't really have
time to sit down and think. Probably a good thing. If I'd
stopped and considered everything that had happened
between us right then, I don't know what conclusion I would
have come to.
By the time I could stop and breathe again, what you did
was pretty small in comparison with what came after. It was
just my week for losing friends, I guess.
So, I don't know about forgiveness. I think I may have more
to be forgiven for than I have to forgive. I think that some of
the things I did you were worse than anything you did to
me. And when I look at that, I wonder if you aren't
absolutely right that we shouldn't ever be together again. I
didn't deserve the kind of love you were offering me --
unconditional, eternal. It's just as well that you've come to
your senses.
But as soon as I think that, I realize how much better things
have been since you've been back. Dawn has been so
happy -- I didn't think I'd ever see her this happy again. And
it's not just Dawn. I'm happy you're back. There's just
something that seems right about it. Even if we can't be
together. I'm glad just to have you watching my back. And
this may sound silly, but I love getting your letters with their
beautiful penmanship and lovely stationary. I'm saving them
all.
As for forgiving Willow, I don't know about that either. What
she did, she did knowing it was wrong. But she doesn't
remember that now. And you know the saying: "Home is
where when you need to go there, they have to take you in."
This is her home. Her parents are strangers to her -- they
always were. And I can't send her to live with strangers.
I can hear Xander pulling into the driveway. Better wrap this
up. I haven't written this much since high school.
See you tonight,
B.
PS: If all that's left between us is friendship, then I guess I'll
be glad that I still have that.
-------------
To be continued...
Author: Elsa Frohman, elsa@frohman.net
Feedback: Yes, thank you
Spoilers: End of S6 and beginning of S7 AU (Since my
outcome of the African trials doesn't match ME's)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This fan fic should not be read while
operating heavy machinery
Summary: There was a time when correspondence was an
art.
Dear Spike;
Look, we've got to chill. I'm nervous. You're nervous. But
we're grownups, right?
The whole boy-girl thing isn't exactly new for us.
I remember my first date. Do you remember yours? (Did
you even have a "first date?")
Anyway, what I'm getting at: If you're thinking of trailing
them to keep an eye on Dawn -- don't even go there!
My dad did that to me, and I was so mad at him I didn't talk
to him for a month. (That was back when he still gave a
flying fig.)
I have all sorts of worries. She's starting a little late (She's
16! When did that happen?), and this boy has his own car.
He has a part-time job after school. (Doomedmeat Palace --
poor dear. But I didn't meet him there. He started after I
quit.)
But I'm resolved to give Dawn her space. She's got to make
this step, and make it without anyone looking over her
shoulder. She'll never learn to handle herself if we hang
over her every moment.
So, not that I don't trust you, but I think I'd like to be able to
keep an eye on you Saturday night.
Kevin is picking Dawn up at seven. Why don't you come
over a little before that? You can get a look at him, and then
we can watch TV while we bite our nails to the quick.
Casablanca is showing on AMC Saturday night.
Let me know,
B.
----------------
Dear Slayer;
All right. You win. You're probably right.
First date? That's a hard one. When I was that age, we did
things differently. And after I turned, "dating" isn't exactly
the term you'd apply. First date? I think it had something to
do with staking out a warehouse where some vamps were
nesting. Didn't end well, as I remember. (Forgive my irony.)
But rather than coming over to watch TV, I have a better
idea. Meet me in the sewers (never let it be said I don't
know how to show a woman a good time). I'll wait for you at
the connection between the main storm drain and the
Empire Street interceptor. And just so you don't have any
doubts that I have a romantic evening planned -- bring your
axe.
Awaiting your reply,
S.
PS: Thanks for the tea.
--------------
Dear Spike;
Afraid to be alone with me and the TV? If there's something
in the sewers that needs killing, can it wait until Saturday?
Sincerely,
B.
PS: What tea?
------------
Dear Slayer;
Afraid? Never.
As for the sewers: It's a nest of juvenile Shelat demons.
They're sensitive to lunar cycles. Right now, they're too
young to go out of their lair and cause any trouble, though
they would get pretty active if we disturbed them. By
Saturday, they'll be semi-dormant as they prepare to shed
their skins and emerge in their adult form. Best time to deal
with them.
As for the tea, I got a package a few days ago. Straight
from Fortnum & Mason. No sender. I assumed it was you.
Dawn perhaps?
Regards,
S.
------------
Dear Spike;
No time for the post office. I'm going to slip this under your
door this morning. No mail deliveries on Sunday anyway.
We've got to get our story straight. I've told Dawn nothing
was going on when she got home. But I don't think she
believes me. I'm afraid, at this point, she doesn't expect me
to tell the truth about things like this.
She saw us in bathrobes having drinks in the kitchen. I told
her I was washing your shirt and jeans to get the Shelat
blood out. (Do you suppose Martha Stewart has any tips for
getting demon blood out of denim?)
What's killing me is she's so happy about what she's
imagining went on. It really hurts to have to disappoint her.
So I wanted to make sure you didn't try to joke it off next
time you talk to her. I wouldn't want to get her hopes any
higher than they are.
By the way, I asked her about the tea. She knows nothing.
And I think she's telling the truth. I don't think she knows
what Fortnum & Mason is. I don't think I know. What's
Fortnum & Mason?
Regards,
B.
PS: Why don't you get a phone?
-------------
Dear Buffy;
Right. No jokes. I'll try to let her down easy.
Fortnum & Mason is a London pantry shop. They do
hampers and gift boxes. Mostly poncey stuff. If not you or
the Little Bit, I wonder who. Not like I have a lot of admirers
in this town.
If I got a phone I'd be answering calls from telemarketers all
day. Rather sleep.
Sincerely,
S.
-----------
Dear Spike;
I dropped by the morgue this afternoon to leave your lighter.
You left it behind Saturday. I didn't find it until this morning.
They'd never heard of "Spike." Duh -- I guess that would
look pretty strange on an employment application. By
description, I found out my "Spike" is their "Will Whedon." Is
that your real surname?
Curious,
B.
----------
Dear Buffy;
No, it is not. It's just the name Giles came up with for my
passport and work visa.
I'll tell you what I told him. He nagged me incessantly to tell
him my real name. He wants to look me up, find my birth
certificate, see whether there are any other records about
my life.
But I'm not going to tell you or anybody else.
William died in 1880. He did not die without sin. But my sins
are not his. He never killed anyone. He never tortured
anyone with a railroad spike. His sins were sins of omission
and thoughtlessness -- quite ordinary really. If I let you or
Giles or anyone else connect me with him, I would be
staining the reputation of someone who never earned it.
William has relations still living. They don't deserve to have
me appended to their genealogy.
Please let poor William rest in peace.
Yours truly,
S.
-----------
Dear Spike;
Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.
Just a short note today. Pretty busy getting Willow's room
ready.
She's coming home from the hospital tomorrow. She's not
all better by a long shot, but the doctor said she's well
enough to try to work back into a non-institutionalized
setting.
Do you think you could drop by tomorrow night? Xander is
going to sit with her in day while I'm at work. He's taking a
day off to help her settle in. He'll be gone by six, though. He
has something tomorrow night with his mom. Something
going on there (with Xander's mom, that is), but he's not
ready to talk about it yet.
Anyway, the doctor said it might help her to see familiar
faces. You two always got along pretty well, didn't you?
If you'd rather not, it's OK.
Dropping this off at the morgue. You really should get a
phone!
Yours truly,
B.
-------------
Dear Buffy;
I'll come by. Glad to hear Red is doing better. Has she got
any of her memory back? It's going to be hard on her when
she remembers.
In a way, I'm glad I missed all that happened last spring, but
in another way, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you when the
worst went down. I know there was nothing I could have
done to stop Warren, since I still had my chip and he did it
in broad daylight. But I still can't help but think I could have
been some help to you in subduing Willow, or protecting
Dawn. But then, you probably wouldn't have turned to me
anyway, after what happened.
Tara may not have been a close friend -- but she always
treated me with respect. And she was a good person. I miss
her. She was always so calm in the face of the hurricane.
I'm sorry I wasn't around for her funeral. I would have liked
to say goodbye.
And Red may have gone off her rails, but who am I to
condemn her?
I'm proud of you, Buffy. Forgiving her must have been
difficult. But then, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You
seem to have forgiven me, and that's an act of forgiveness
beyond anything I ever expected.
Got another mystery gift in today's post. Wish I knew who
was doing this.
Your obedient servant,
S.
----------
Dear Spike;
Forgive? I've guilty of too many things to try to judge
anyone else.
I've asked myself a thousand times whether I've forgiven
you. I don't know if I even need to. So much of what
happened between us seems unreal to me now. I wonder
how I could have done the things I did. And I'm not talking
about our little sex games. I'm talking about the way I
treated you -- as if you had no right to expect that I would
respect you.
You may have been my enemy, once. But you were always
a worthy foe. And once you were my friend, you never
wavered -- even I was acting like a spoiled child and psycho
bitch.
As for what finally happened -- I know you don't want to talk
about it. But I think I need to. Maybe this is the right time, as
I sit here waiting for Xander to get here with Willow.
I was hurt when you attacked me. More hurt than I like to
admit to myself. Not because there was any danger that
you would actually succeed -- I am the Slayer, after all. I
was hurt because I never for a moment before that believed
you would ever do anything to hurt me. I know I said I didn't
trust you. But I wasn't being honest with you or myself. I
trusted completely that you would never deliberately hurt
me. It was a shock to find myself fighting you off. It was a
shock to realize that I'd pushed you so far that you could no
longer respect me. I know you still loved me. But the
respect was gone. And that just made me want to give up
and crawl into a hole somewhere.
Things happened pretty fast after that. I didn't really have
time to sit down and think. Probably a good thing. If I'd
stopped and considered everything that had happened
between us right then, I don't know what conclusion I would
have come to.
By the time I could stop and breathe again, what you did
was pretty small in comparison with what came after. It was
just my week for losing friends, I guess.
So, I don't know about forgiveness. I think I may have more
to be forgiven for than I have to forgive. I think that some of
the things I did you were worse than anything you did to
me. And when I look at that, I wonder if you aren't
absolutely right that we shouldn't ever be together again. I
didn't deserve the kind of love you were offering me --
unconditional, eternal. It's just as well that you've come to
your senses.
But as soon as I think that, I realize how much better things
have been since you've been back. Dawn has been so
happy -- I didn't think I'd ever see her this happy again. And
it's not just Dawn. I'm happy you're back. There's just
something that seems right about it. Even if we can't be
together. I'm glad just to have you watching my back. And
this may sound silly, but I love getting your letters with their
beautiful penmanship and lovely stationary. I'm saving them
all.
As for forgiving Willow, I don't know about that either. What
she did, she did knowing it was wrong. But she doesn't
remember that now. And you know the saying: "Home is
where when you need to go there, they have to take you in."
This is her home. Her parents are strangers to her -- they
always were. And I can't send her to live with strangers.
I can hear Xander pulling into the driveway. Better wrap this
up. I haven't written this much since high school.
See you tonight,
B.
PS: If all that's left between us is friendship, then I guess I'll
be glad that I still have that.
-------------
To be continued...