TITLE: "Said she'd be back"
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Spike. Kinda.
SPOILERS: Starts at close of Episode 7.1, includes season 6 spoilers.
FEEDBACK: Rock around the clock
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all the Buffy characters, and we love him for it. Some lines have been lifted from Oscar Wilde's play "Salome" and Hans Christian Andersen's "The Ugly Duckling".
CHAPTER 3 - The Wailing Wall
Buffy stared down into the last dregs of her non-fat cappuccino. Forty minutes later, and all she and Anya had talked about so far was two movies that neither of them had actually seen, one shoe sale, four iterations on the Giles-in-England topic and the new Kylie Minogue single. Every few minutes, she thought Anya was about to ask after Xander, but she never did. It was enough to distract her from asking her own questions, though.
This was ridiculous. Come on, Buffy. You've faced down a dozen apocalypses and your own death, twice. How hard could it be to ask one simple question?
Damned hard. "Anya, were you ever in love as a demon?"
Anya's spine straightened, almost imperceptibly. "Yes. Of course."
"And how was." Buffy swallowed. What she wouldn't give for a hellhound or twenty to come crashing through the window about now. "It was different from when you were human, wasn't it?"
"Not really. A little more obsessive, more focused maybe. I mean, with Olaf, I could go hours without thinking about him. But with," Anya paused, leaving the name unspoken. "I thought about him constantly. It was, well, almost annoying. In a good way. And the sex was much better."
Buffy drained her cappuccino, simultaneously trying to make sense of the demon's comments and checking for a coffee mustache.
"Are you saying that." Brain bad. Brain hurt. Finish sentence. "You weren't human?"
"I lost my powers, which isn't the same thing. Mortal lifespan, no wishing, but getting a human soul back is a whole different gig. It's not like a free gift with purchase." Anya shivers a little, thinking about it.
"But we all thought..."
Anya fiddled with her spoon. "You all assumed. I didn't see any reason to contradict that."
Come to think of it, none of us ever did bother to get the details of just what had happened to Anya after her necklace was smashed, Buffy realized. Giles must have done some research, but, well, she'd never paid huge amounts of attention to research that didn't directly involve impending doom. She wondered if the demon would notice if she gripped the edges of the table, just a little. Long enough to make her head stop spinning. There had to be something she was missing here. "Hang on, wait. Tara's spell, the one that made demons invisible."
"Technically, it only made demonic powers invisible. Which I didn't have at the time."
"Oh. But you and Xander?"
"Yes, Xander and I," Anya said, staring deliberately at the plastic foliage behind Buffy's left shoulder. "Even without a human soul. But he'd never have believed me if he knew about that little issue. You saw how he was about, you know."
Another name unspoken. Spike. Buffy wondered if this headache was anything like what he felt when the chip kicked in. If so, no wonder he was so irked at the Initiative boys.
"Let me get this clear, because I've always been slow on the verbal. You fell in love with, him, even though you were a demon?"
Anya nodded, still taking in the shoddy workmanship of the plastic leaves.
"But I thought that demons couldn't."
"Couldn't what, change? We can't. We don't. So it's not like falling in love, not like it is for humans. It's more like discovering something that's been there all along, only you couldn't know, because you hadn't met the person yet."
"And once it's there..." Buffy's voice trailed off, thinking about the implications of this notion for Spike.
"It never goes away. No matter how hard you wish it would." Anya stood, pushing some coins onto the table. "This has been unpleasant. I have to go."
Buffy was too stunned to even wave goodbye to the demon as she strode out of the cafe. It meant that Spike had always loved her, from the first moment they met. But he had been in love with Druscilla then, hadn't he? He'd loved that crazy vamp enough to stop the world from ending. Unless...
Unless it had been for her that he'd made that offer of help against Angelus. She remembered their first fight, so many years ago. Ran it over in her mind and saw, for the first time, the tiny flaws in his technique she'd never thought about before, those moments when he could have pressed his advantage to victory. The way he'd hesitated when he had her down, gloating instead of going straight in for the kill. Even then?
She'd been hoping that talking to Anya would make it easier to go back into the basement for Spike. Not bloody likely. And since when have I been thinking of things as 'not bloodly likely' anyway, she wondered.
The other half of the conversation didn't sink in until she was standing to leave, several minutes later. Anya. The sudden wave of sympathy for the demon made her stomach roll. Her hand flew to her mouth, sending the empty mug shattering to the floor.
* * *
They were leaving now, all of them, their youth and their life and their blood scattering out across the city. A few stragglers, but the smell of them stomping around above was less potent now, less tempting. Lead us not into temptation, for I will let you down every bloody time.
She was waiting, waiting until they'd all gone home before she came back for him. That's what he'd been telling himself for a while now. He rubbed at the scabs crusting across the back of his hands, rubbed the wounds open again. He'd let her down time and again, but she'd never fail.
"The flowers are like fire." Mumbling again. His fingers run through his hair, tugging at the tangled curls. Make himself look smart for her, make himself up all proper. Dirt on his pants, on his hands, embedded deep underneath his ragged nails.
Filthy, that's what he was, filthy and evil. Not a monster, not quite any more. "But not a swan."
Bloody Lady Macbeth, scrubbing at these hands that could never be clean again. Pathetic. His head jerked up, staring around in the dark. On the edge of his vision, a black shadow twisted across the floor. Instinctively, he flinched back, pulling into shadows in some vain hope that he might not be seen, might escape for just a moment longer. Then he remembered what he was doing, down here in the dark.
In one fluid motion, he'd sprung across the floor, throwing himself at the shadow. The tips of his fingers brushed its leg, fumbling for purchase. Pulling it in close, he hugged it to his chest, welcoming the way its tiny barbs dug into his skin. For a moment, he just lay on his back, holding it to his chest like a struggling child. His tiny bundle of pain. Then he snapped its spine with a sharp twist of his arms and threw the limp form into the far corner, along with the rest of them.
Broken in his embrace, just like everything else he'd tried to hold close. Blasted hell. That one had almost slipped past him, and all because he was too busy wallowing in his own pathetic state to pay proper attention. Pay attention, William. It's the cane for naughty boys who don't pay attention.
Hell, but he was tired. Couldn't sleep. They'd give him the slip if he fell asleep again, and then he'd have to leave to track them down. And he couldn't leave. This was where he belonged, down in the dark. And besides, she said she'd be back. She said.
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Spike. Kinda.
SPOILERS: Starts at close of Episode 7.1, includes season 6 spoilers.
FEEDBACK: Rock around the clock
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all the Buffy characters, and we love him for it. Some lines have been lifted from Oscar Wilde's play "Salome" and Hans Christian Andersen's "The Ugly Duckling".
CHAPTER 3 - The Wailing Wall
Buffy stared down into the last dregs of her non-fat cappuccino. Forty minutes later, and all she and Anya had talked about so far was two movies that neither of them had actually seen, one shoe sale, four iterations on the Giles-in-England topic and the new Kylie Minogue single. Every few minutes, she thought Anya was about to ask after Xander, but she never did. It was enough to distract her from asking her own questions, though.
This was ridiculous. Come on, Buffy. You've faced down a dozen apocalypses and your own death, twice. How hard could it be to ask one simple question?
Damned hard. "Anya, were you ever in love as a demon?"
Anya's spine straightened, almost imperceptibly. "Yes. Of course."
"And how was." Buffy swallowed. What she wouldn't give for a hellhound or twenty to come crashing through the window about now. "It was different from when you were human, wasn't it?"
"Not really. A little more obsessive, more focused maybe. I mean, with Olaf, I could go hours without thinking about him. But with," Anya paused, leaving the name unspoken. "I thought about him constantly. It was, well, almost annoying. In a good way. And the sex was much better."
Buffy drained her cappuccino, simultaneously trying to make sense of the demon's comments and checking for a coffee mustache.
"Are you saying that." Brain bad. Brain hurt. Finish sentence. "You weren't human?"
"I lost my powers, which isn't the same thing. Mortal lifespan, no wishing, but getting a human soul back is a whole different gig. It's not like a free gift with purchase." Anya shivers a little, thinking about it.
"But we all thought..."
Anya fiddled with her spoon. "You all assumed. I didn't see any reason to contradict that."
Come to think of it, none of us ever did bother to get the details of just what had happened to Anya after her necklace was smashed, Buffy realized. Giles must have done some research, but, well, she'd never paid huge amounts of attention to research that didn't directly involve impending doom. She wondered if the demon would notice if she gripped the edges of the table, just a little. Long enough to make her head stop spinning. There had to be something she was missing here. "Hang on, wait. Tara's spell, the one that made demons invisible."
"Technically, it only made demonic powers invisible. Which I didn't have at the time."
"Oh. But you and Xander?"
"Yes, Xander and I," Anya said, staring deliberately at the plastic foliage behind Buffy's left shoulder. "Even without a human soul. But he'd never have believed me if he knew about that little issue. You saw how he was about, you know."
Another name unspoken. Spike. Buffy wondered if this headache was anything like what he felt when the chip kicked in. If so, no wonder he was so irked at the Initiative boys.
"Let me get this clear, because I've always been slow on the verbal. You fell in love with, him, even though you were a demon?"
Anya nodded, still taking in the shoddy workmanship of the plastic leaves.
"But I thought that demons couldn't."
"Couldn't what, change? We can't. We don't. So it's not like falling in love, not like it is for humans. It's more like discovering something that's been there all along, only you couldn't know, because you hadn't met the person yet."
"And once it's there..." Buffy's voice trailed off, thinking about the implications of this notion for Spike.
"It never goes away. No matter how hard you wish it would." Anya stood, pushing some coins onto the table. "This has been unpleasant. I have to go."
Buffy was too stunned to even wave goodbye to the demon as she strode out of the cafe. It meant that Spike had always loved her, from the first moment they met. But he had been in love with Druscilla then, hadn't he? He'd loved that crazy vamp enough to stop the world from ending. Unless...
Unless it had been for her that he'd made that offer of help against Angelus. She remembered their first fight, so many years ago. Ran it over in her mind and saw, for the first time, the tiny flaws in his technique she'd never thought about before, those moments when he could have pressed his advantage to victory. The way he'd hesitated when he had her down, gloating instead of going straight in for the kill. Even then?
She'd been hoping that talking to Anya would make it easier to go back into the basement for Spike. Not bloody likely. And since when have I been thinking of things as 'not bloodly likely' anyway, she wondered.
The other half of the conversation didn't sink in until she was standing to leave, several minutes later. Anya. The sudden wave of sympathy for the demon made her stomach roll. Her hand flew to her mouth, sending the empty mug shattering to the floor.
* * *
They were leaving now, all of them, their youth and their life and their blood scattering out across the city. A few stragglers, but the smell of them stomping around above was less potent now, less tempting. Lead us not into temptation, for I will let you down every bloody time.
She was waiting, waiting until they'd all gone home before she came back for him. That's what he'd been telling himself for a while now. He rubbed at the scabs crusting across the back of his hands, rubbed the wounds open again. He'd let her down time and again, but she'd never fail.
"The flowers are like fire." Mumbling again. His fingers run through his hair, tugging at the tangled curls. Make himself look smart for her, make himself up all proper. Dirt on his pants, on his hands, embedded deep underneath his ragged nails.
Filthy, that's what he was, filthy and evil. Not a monster, not quite any more. "But not a swan."
Bloody Lady Macbeth, scrubbing at these hands that could never be clean again. Pathetic. His head jerked up, staring around in the dark. On the edge of his vision, a black shadow twisted across the floor. Instinctively, he flinched back, pulling into shadows in some vain hope that he might not be seen, might escape for just a moment longer. Then he remembered what he was doing, down here in the dark.
In one fluid motion, he'd sprung across the floor, throwing himself at the shadow. The tips of his fingers brushed its leg, fumbling for purchase. Pulling it in close, he hugged it to his chest, welcoming the way its tiny barbs dug into his skin. For a moment, he just lay on his back, holding it to his chest like a struggling child. His tiny bundle of pain. Then he snapped its spine with a sharp twist of his arms and threw the limp form into the far corner, along with the rest of them.
Broken in his embrace, just like everything else he'd tried to hold close. Blasted hell. That one had almost slipped past him, and all because he was too busy wallowing in his own pathetic state to pay proper attention. Pay attention, William. It's the cane for naughty boys who don't pay attention.
Hell, but he was tired. Couldn't sleep. They'd give him the slip if he fell asleep again, and then he'd have to leave to track them down. And he couldn't leave. This was where he belonged, down in the dark. And besides, she said she'd be back. She said.