Living
Disclaimer: Now, if I owned them, would I be writing fanfiction about them?
Rating: PG
Spoilers: S7, up through "Help."
Pairing: mild B/S
Summary: She couldn't save Cassie, but Buffy finally realizes there is someone she can help.
Feedback: Is always craved. Leave a review, or write to me at beckyg19@yahoo.com
****
Monday morning. Buffy sat at her desk, staring silently into the distance.
So what then? What do you do when you know that you can't help?
She could not stop thinking about Cassie. She was the Slayer. She was not supposed to be helpless. She was supposed to help people. She was supposed to *save* people.
But sometimes there was nothing you could do. Sometimes no amount of help was enough. No matter how hard you tried, you could not win. You could do everything you could think of, and it still wasn't enough.
Dawn had tried to comfort her, reminding her that she had done everything she possibly could. Some things were just meant to be, Dawn had said, bravely sniffling away her own tears.
Buffy was proud of her sister.
It was good that she could be proud of someone. Her own behavior certainly not would be winning any medals.
She took a deep breath. She had done everything she could to help Cassie, and still she had failed. But at least she had tried.
And although the selfish part of her wanted to, she could not forget that there was someone else who needed her help. She didn't think she could win this time, either, but she had to try. Until now she had taken refuge in other things: the new school, teaching Dawn the art of slaying, Willow's return, her job. But it was time to stop hiding, stop making excuses.
Someone needed her.
****
That evening, when everyone else had gone home, she made her way cautiously through the basement. A small mystified frown crossed her face. Xander swore his crew had done nothing strange while building the new high school, but she was positive that things were different every time she came down here. Nothing was ever in the same place twice.
Except for Spike.
He was still huddled in the corner, oblivious to her approach. Today, like on Friday, he was staring at nothing, his eyes glassy and unfocused. She remembered what he had told her then, how he tried to be quiet. He had pleaded with her to stay, but she had walked away, the way she always did.
She winced at the memory. Well, what was done was done. She couldn't undo it. All she could do was try to change things, right here and right now.
She looked around, wishing she could sense whatever else was in the basement. There was evil here, she was sure of it. An evil completely apart from the vampire crouched at her feet.
"Spike?" She knelt down and waved her hand in front of his face. "Spike?"
He flinched back. "Don't."
Well, he recognized her. That was a start. Better than last time.
She took a deep breath. It was true, she did seem to make it worse for him, for her mere presence reminded him of the things he had done, the *thing* he had almost done in her bathroom. But that was just another excuse, one more justification for running away and leaving him down here. For not helping.
"Spike? Are you listening to me?"
"Always listening," came the immediate reply. He was staring at the wall now, his head turned slightly to one side. He would not even look at her anymore, unless he had to. "Always there, talking, shouting." He winced, ducking his cheek onto his shoulder, his face screwed up in pain. "Can't stop listening."
"Okay, but you can stop talking, can't you?" Buffy said, then immediately wished she hadn't, as Spike flinched again.
"I'll be quiet," he murmured. "So quiet. So still."
"Spike." She fell silent. She didn't know what to say. She was tired of herself, tired of running away, but she didn't know how to help him. She didn't even know if she *could*.
There was a darkening bruise on his temple, and she frowned to see it. He had been hitting himself again. She knew if she was to unbutton his shirt she would find more slashes on his chest. He was hurting himself in an effort to atone for the past. The pain of his soul was more than he could bear, and the bright mind she had always respected had cracked under the onslaught. In his desperate attempts to alleviate that pain, the only thing he could think to do was punish himself.
But it didn't have to be like this. It *shouldn't* be like this. And suddenly she knew what to say.
"Spike, look at me."
He turned his head reluctantly, cringing as he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Can't hurt the girl," he whispered.
She could be no less than honest. "You did hurt me," she said.
Spike ducked his head, waiting for the blows that were sure to follow. "Hurt the girl," he moaned. "I hurt the girl. I am bad. So very bad." He was growing more agitated now. He started to shake his head, and tried to back away from her.
Buffy sighed in exasperation. She had forgotten that there was only so much time to speak to him while he was lucid. He disappeared into the madness so swiftly, it was difficult to keep up sometimes. "Spike, stop it!" She reached out and grabbed his upper arms, pinning him in place.
"Don't!" This time the word was an appeal, meaning don't touch me don't hurt me don't forgive me
She let go of him, and tried again. "Spike, look at me."
He did so, and she saw the tears glistening in his eyes. But he seemed to be listening, so she said it quickly, before she lost her nerve and ran away from him yet again.
"Do you remember when that demon came to Sunnydale, and made everybody sing?"
The question was so unexpected that it broke through his insanity. For a single, brief moment it was the old Spike looking at her. "Well, yeah. Can't hardly forget the demon in a shiny blue suit." He tilted his head slightly in a faint imitation of his old gesture. "I didn't let him hurt the girl."
"No, you didn't," Buffy affirmed, pleased he had remembered. "You saved me that night."
She breathed deep, then reached out and took one of his hands. Almost immediately he began trembling, but she ignored this. "Do you remember what you said to me that night? What you sang?"
Before he had the chance to answer, she told him. "You said that life wasn't a song. That life was just living. That the only way to stop the pain was to go on living." She gazed at him earnestly. "Do you remember telling me that, Spike?"
He was caught by her words, by her hand. He stared at her through wide, very blue eyes. "Have to go on living," he breathed.
Buffy nodded. She squeezed his hand, mindful of her Slayer strength, not wanting to hurt him. She had done enough of that in the past year. The time for hurting was over.
It was time to go on living.
"Spike, listen to me. You can't stay down here. It's killing you, whatever's down here. You have to get out of this place. I know you're in pain, that you can't stop thinking about all the things you did before you got your soul." She hesitated. "But I think that whatever's here is making you like this. If you could get away from it and clear your head..." She stopped, not wanting to say the words, you might get better.
"Can't leave," Spike whispered. "Can't go."
"You want to make the pain stop? Then you have to," Buffy said harshly, pulling her hand back. "That's the only way it ends. You got your soul, now do something with it. Go out and help people. Like you did with Cassie. Help *me*."
Spike stared at her with naked longing. "Help you."
It was the first time he had referred to her as "you", not just "the girl." She felt hopeful at this. "You can't hide forever, Spike," she said. "You taught me that. When you sang to me that night, you saved me in more ways than one." She chewed on her lip, guilt and remorse gnawing at her. He had saved her, and she had repaid him by using him and throwing him away when she was done with him.
"Are you going to sing to me?" asked Spike.
Buffy blinked. "Uh..."
The smallest of smiles tugged at Spike's mouth, and Buffy made an indignant sound, realizing she had just been had. A dozen retorts sprang to her lips, but she bit them back with an effort. He was trying valiantly to push aside the madness and be normal, all for her sake. She could not beat him back down now.
"Careful what you wish for," she said. She stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm told I do a mean Barry Manilow impression. Her name was Lola, and all that."
She leaned down and offered her hand.
Spike stared up at her. Every hope he had ever felt shone in his eyes, and her heart constricted at the sight. "It's all right," she said encouragingly.
"I can't go," he whispered.
"We'll go together," she said. "And any evil nasties out there who want you will just have to deal with the Slayer first."
His hand shook as it reached for hers.
She pulled him to his feet, and before he could start to instinctively pull back, she began walking, taking him with her toward the door, and the stairs that led out of the basement.
"Buffy."
"It's going to be all right," she said, marching resolutely forward, taking the reluctant vampire with her. "Life's not a song, Spike. We both know that."
She pushed open the door, and they emerged into the corridor. Spike recoiled at the bright light, but did not let go of her hand.
"It's time to go on living," Buffy said. She looked at him and gave him a smile. "Both of us."
****
END
Author's Note: How much longer is she going to let him stay down there? I just had to write this, and answer my own question.
The lyrics Buffy refers to are of course from OMWF, and they are as follows:
"Life's not a song Life isn't bliss. Life is just this: it's living. You'll get along. The pain that you feel, You only can heal, by living. You have to go on living."
Disclaimer: Now, if I owned them, would I be writing fanfiction about them?
Rating: PG
Spoilers: S7, up through "Help."
Pairing: mild B/S
Summary: She couldn't save Cassie, but Buffy finally realizes there is someone she can help.
Feedback: Is always craved. Leave a review, or write to me at beckyg19@yahoo.com
****
Monday morning. Buffy sat at her desk, staring silently into the distance.
So what then? What do you do when you know that you can't help?
She could not stop thinking about Cassie. She was the Slayer. She was not supposed to be helpless. She was supposed to help people. She was supposed to *save* people.
But sometimes there was nothing you could do. Sometimes no amount of help was enough. No matter how hard you tried, you could not win. You could do everything you could think of, and it still wasn't enough.
Dawn had tried to comfort her, reminding her that she had done everything she possibly could. Some things were just meant to be, Dawn had said, bravely sniffling away her own tears.
Buffy was proud of her sister.
It was good that she could be proud of someone. Her own behavior certainly not would be winning any medals.
She took a deep breath. She had done everything she could to help Cassie, and still she had failed. But at least she had tried.
And although the selfish part of her wanted to, she could not forget that there was someone else who needed her help. She didn't think she could win this time, either, but she had to try. Until now she had taken refuge in other things: the new school, teaching Dawn the art of slaying, Willow's return, her job. But it was time to stop hiding, stop making excuses.
Someone needed her.
****
That evening, when everyone else had gone home, she made her way cautiously through the basement. A small mystified frown crossed her face. Xander swore his crew had done nothing strange while building the new high school, but she was positive that things were different every time she came down here. Nothing was ever in the same place twice.
Except for Spike.
He was still huddled in the corner, oblivious to her approach. Today, like on Friday, he was staring at nothing, his eyes glassy and unfocused. She remembered what he had told her then, how he tried to be quiet. He had pleaded with her to stay, but she had walked away, the way she always did.
She winced at the memory. Well, what was done was done. She couldn't undo it. All she could do was try to change things, right here and right now.
She looked around, wishing she could sense whatever else was in the basement. There was evil here, she was sure of it. An evil completely apart from the vampire crouched at her feet.
"Spike?" She knelt down and waved her hand in front of his face. "Spike?"
He flinched back. "Don't."
Well, he recognized her. That was a start. Better than last time.
She took a deep breath. It was true, she did seem to make it worse for him, for her mere presence reminded him of the things he had done, the *thing* he had almost done in her bathroom. But that was just another excuse, one more justification for running away and leaving him down here. For not helping.
"Spike? Are you listening to me?"
"Always listening," came the immediate reply. He was staring at the wall now, his head turned slightly to one side. He would not even look at her anymore, unless he had to. "Always there, talking, shouting." He winced, ducking his cheek onto his shoulder, his face screwed up in pain. "Can't stop listening."
"Okay, but you can stop talking, can't you?" Buffy said, then immediately wished she hadn't, as Spike flinched again.
"I'll be quiet," he murmured. "So quiet. So still."
"Spike." She fell silent. She didn't know what to say. She was tired of herself, tired of running away, but she didn't know how to help him. She didn't even know if she *could*.
There was a darkening bruise on his temple, and she frowned to see it. He had been hitting himself again. She knew if she was to unbutton his shirt she would find more slashes on his chest. He was hurting himself in an effort to atone for the past. The pain of his soul was more than he could bear, and the bright mind she had always respected had cracked under the onslaught. In his desperate attempts to alleviate that pain, the only thing he could think to do was punish himself.
But it didn't have to be like this. It *shouldn't* be like this. And suddenly she knew what to say.
"Spike, look at me."
He turned his head reluctantly, cringing as he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Can't hurt the girl," he whispered.
She could be no less than honest. "You did hurt me," she said.
Spike ducked his head, waiting for the blows that were sure to follow. "Hurt the girl," he moaned. "I hurt the girl. I am bad. So very bad." He was growing more agitated now. He started to shake his head, and tried to back away from her.
Buffy sighed in exasperation. She had forgotten that there was only so much time to speak to him while he was lucid. He disappeared into the madness so swiftly, it was difficult to keep up sometimes. "Spike, stop it!" She reached out and grabbed his upper arms, pinning him in place.
"Don't!" This time the word was an appeal, meaning don't touch me don't hurt me don't forgive me
She let go of him, and tried again. "Spike, look at me."
He did so, and she saw the tears glistening in his eyes. But he seemed to be listening, so she said it quickly, before she lost her nerve and ran away from him yet again.
"Do you remember when that demon came to Sunnydale, and made everybody sing?"
The question was so unexpected that it broke through his insanity. For a single, brief moment it was the old Spike looking at her. "Well, yeah. Can't hardly forget the demon in a shiny blue suit." He tilted his head slightly in a faint imitation of his old gesture. "I didn't let him hurt the girl."
"No, you didn't," Buffy affirmed, pleased he had remembered. "You saved me that night."
She breathed deep, then reached out and took one of his hands. Almost immediately he began trembling, but she ignored this. "Do you remember what you said to me that night? What you sang?"
Before he had the chance to answer, she told him. "You said that life wasn't a song. That life was just living. That the only way to stop the pain was to go on living." She gazed at him earnestly. "Do you remember telling me that, Spike?"
He was caught by her words, by her hand. He stared at her through wide, very blue eyes. "Have to go on living," he breathed.
Buffy nodded. She squeezed his hand, mindful of her Slayer strength, not wanting to hurt him. She had done enough of that in the past year. The time for hurting was over.
It was time to go on living.
"Spike, listen to me. You can't stay down here. It's killing you, whatever's down here. You have to get out of this place. I know you're in pain, that you can't stop thinking about all the things you did before you got your soul." She hesitated. "But I think that whatever's here is making you like this. If you could get away from it and clear your head..." She stopped, not wanting to say the words, you might get better.
"Can't leave," Spike whispered. "Can't go."
"You want to make the pain stop? Then you have to," Buffy said harshly, pulling her hand back. "That's the only way it ends. You got your soul, now do something with it. Go out and help people. Like you did with Cassie. Help *me*."
Spike stared at her with naked longing. "Help you."
It was the first time he had referred to her as "you", not just "the girl." She felt hopeful at this. "You can't hide forever, Spike," she said. "You taught me that. When you sang to me that night, you saved me in more ways than one." She chewed on her lip, guilt and remorse gnawing at her. He had saved her, and she had repaid him by using him and throwing him away when she was done with him.
"Are you going to sing to me?" asked Spike.
Buffy blinked. "Uh..."
The smallest of smiles tugged at Spike's mouth, and Buffy made an indignant sound, realizing she had just been had. A dozen retorts sprang to her lips, but she bit them back with an effort. He was trying valiantly to push aside the madness and be normal, all for her sake. She could not beat him back down now.
"Careful what you wish for," she said. She stood up, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm told I do a mean Barry Manilow impression. Her name was Lola, and all that."
She leaned down and offered her hand.
Spike stared up at her. Every hope he had ever felt shone in his eyes, and her heart constricted at the sight. "It's all right," she said encouragingly.
"I can't go," he whispered.
"We'll go together," she said. "And any evil nasties out there who want you will just have to deal with the Slayer first."
His hand shook as it reached for hers.
She pulled him to his feet, and before he could start to instinctively pull back, she began walking, taking him with her toward the door, and the stairs that led out of the basement.
"Buffy."
"It's going to be all right," she said, marching resolutely forward, taking the reluctant vampire with her. "Life's not a song, Spike. We both know that."
She pushed open the door, and they emerged into the corridor. Spike recoiled at the bright light, but did not let go of her hand.
"It's time to go on living," Buffy said. She looked at him and gave him a smile. "Both of us."
****
END
Author's Note: How much longer is she going to let him stay down there? I just had to write this, and answer my own question.
The lyrics Buffy refers to are of course from OMWF, and they are as follows:
"Life's not a song Life isn't bliss. Life is just this: it's living. You'll get along. The pain that you feel, You only can heal, by living. You have to go on living."