TITLE: "Said she'd be back"
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex in some chapters
SPOILERS: pre-episode 7.3, contains a tiny spoiler about Anya in 7.3 (yes, I'm a wildfeed fan!).
FEEDBACK: Is awesome.
DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy made this universe, I'm just taking a non-profit tour.
CHARACTERS: Buffy & Dawn; Spike & Anya & Drusilla & someone else...
CAUTION: There is a spoiler in this story for 7.3 - not a big one, but the pure of viewing will want to wait until after they've seen the eppy to read.
CHAPTER SEVEN - This Poem.. Sucks?
Dawn was still planted in front of a late-night TV movie when Buffy finally pulled herself together enough to enter the house. Her face was probably all puffy and red, but it was nothing that couldn't be explained away with the old "vamp dust in my eye" excuse. She shut the door behind her with a deliberate thump, just to warn her delinquent sister that a lecture about school night sleeping hours was on its way.
"Oh my God! Buffy, what happened? Are you all right?" Dawn led her sister to the couch, one arm gently around her shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"
"What?"
"Spike." At the name, all the warmth and concern leeched out of the young girl's voice. "Did he hurt you?"
Buffy couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Not a healthy laugh, but something brittle and jagged. The kind of laugh that Spike had made when she first saw him.
Fidgeting nervously with her sweater, Dawn stared down at her sister. She'd seen her sister scared before, angry and hurt, but never unhinged like this. "What happened?"
Leaning back on the couch, Buffy pulled her knees up to her chest. She'd wanted so much for Dawn to be asleep already, the house dark and silent. Talking about it, saying it aloud, that would make it real in a way she wasn't prepared to deal with yet. "Nothing."
Dawn blinked, stifling an urge to scream. Didn't they have an argument about Buffy shutting people out of her problems just a couple of hours ago? "Vamp dust in your eye again, is that it?"
"Dawn." Buffy wanted quiet. She wanted silence and dark and Mr. Gordo under the covers with her. "It's complicated."
"And I wouldn't understand, right? Because I'm just a kid."
"No, you probably would understand." Buffy reached out, taking Dawn's hands in her own. "I'm the one who doesn't understand, and if I try to explain, it'll just come out this horrible, jumbled mess. Kind of like my spaghetti, only not so tomato flavored."
"Oh." Dawn squeezed her sister's fingers tight. "I should get to bed. And I know that I should have gone to bed, like, an hour ago, but the movie was about World War One, which we're doing in history class next week. So it's educational, kind of. And besides, I couldn't have gotten to sleep until I knew you were home safe, anyway."
Buffy wrapped her hands around her shins and rested her head against her knees, listening to her sister put away the remnants of her late-night snack in the kitchen. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just to give her mind a break. Since Giles left, even before that, she'd been the girl with the plan. Always ready to deal with the next curve ball that Sunnydale weirdness could throw her way. But this. The whole mess with Spike had her stumped, and she didn't like the sensation at all.
When she looked up again, a small mug of hot chocolate was sitting on the edge of the coffee table. She cradled the mug in her hands, savoring the warmth. A dozen tiny marshmallows floated on the surface.
* * *
Anya blinked, adjusting the hem of her dress with a practiced gesture. For some odd reason, teleporting always made her skirt ride up slightly. She'd thought about asking D'Hoffryn about it a couple of times over the centuries, but it seemed like such a little problem compared to the benefits of instantaneous travel.
"There you are."
The blonde vampire just stared at her, as if he'd forgotten that she was a justice demon again and could therefore teleport. It had been several days since they'd seen one another, it was true, but he usually wasn't that absentminded.
"Why haven't you been back to your crypt?"
Spike gestured around the room. "This is my home now." As he stepped forward, she could see the half-healed burns across his arms and chin, the mass of blisters and charred flesh running along the center of his chest.
"Your old place was much nicer. Is that enough small talk?"
"All the talk is small. Little words, too little. None of them big enough..." His voice trailed off, unraveling into a small, fractured giggle.
"Aren't you going to tell me how you did it?"
"With a pen. And some paper." He began patting down his chest and thighs, as if looking for something in the pockets of a long coat that wasn't there.
"You did a spell?"
"Thought it was a spell. For a spell. But they took the words away, called me William the Bloody and I knew. Words would never work, never be good enough."
Anya crossed her arms impatiently, watching as he sank into a crouch, wrapping his long arms across his wounded chest. "Focus, Spike. Just tell me how you did it."
"It had to rhyme, you see. Went looking and I found it, or thought I had."
"How?"
"Drusilla. She made me. What was I before that? What was I after?"
That didn't make any sense, though Anya. Spike was clearly rather confused. Still, she'd heard the tales of Drusilla's visions, not to mention her uncanny knack for digging up the most obscure magickal artifacts. The tales also mentioned her capacity for clever and unpleasant retribution against those who had offended her. Given Spike's incoherency, perhaps his sire was involved somehow.
"That's nice, Spike. How exactly did she make you?"
He was rocking back and forth now, whimpering a little. "No more words. No more words."
"Just tell me already, would you?"
"Quiet!" He screamed at the wall, drawing the word out in a long roar of frustration. "There's nothing left to tell. Burnt all away, nothing left."
Frowning, Anya watching the vampire trace letters on the floor with his fingertip. Clearly, he wasn't going to provide her with the answers she needed. But at least he'd given her a lead on someone who might.
Anya reappeared just outside a tiny sidewalk cafe, with latin music playing softly over the speakers in the corner. Glancing around, she admired the brilliant patio lanterns, the multicolored swirl of dresses on the sun-kissed girls wandering past. She breathed in deeply, appreciating the fragrant blend of spices. It had been years since she'd visited Brazil, and she'd almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the way it smelled.
Still, this wasn't a pleasure jaunt. She straightened her skirt and walked over to sit across from the pale, dark-haired girl with wide doe eyes. "Drusilla?"
"Have you come to grant me my wish, then?"
Something in her voice made Anya suspect that anything this woman wished for would surpass even her idea of a good vengeance time. "No. I'm here about Spike."
"We haven't seen our Spike in a very long time. He was being a naughty boy, and so we sent him away. But he should have come crawling back to us by now." The vampire fluttered her hands as she spoke, as if stroking a kitten only she could see.
"He said that you had done it to him."
"Not I." Drusilla leaned in, like she was imparting a confidence. "She did it to him, that nasty girl. We were happy before she came along."
"She?"
"The Slayer. He promised we'd dance on her grave. When I heard she was dead, I went to see him." Drusilla's lip curved into a slight pout. "But he wouldn't dance with me."
Anya rolled her eyes. This was making less sense than when Xander went off on one of his Monty Python rants. "How could Buffy have restored his soul?"
Drusilla leapt back at the last word, as if she'd been burned. "His soul?"
"So you don't know either?" Anya threw up her hands in frustration and stormed away. She'd had enough of this nonsense for one night. Halfway around the world and she still wasn't getting her answers, just a lot of prattle from stupid vampires. Besides, she had to be at the Magic Box early in the morning. Pausing at a small vending stall, she purchased a few tins of brazil nuts, since the ones she'd been able to find in Sunnydale tended to be a little on the stale side. No sense letting the trip be a total waste, she thought, stepping into an alleyway and teleporting herself back to Sunnydale.
Except she wasn't back in Sunnydale. Pitch black, faint smell of brimstone and earl gray tea. Far too familiar, and exactly where she didn't want to be right now.
"Anyanka."
She spins, waving a cheery hello to the tall, bluish-gray demon who towered above her. "Hi, D'Hoffryn. Everything okay?"
'I was going to ask you the same question." His voice was loaded with sympathy and concern. Anya knew from centuries of experience that this was not necessarily a good thing.
"Oh, you know. Boils and spine removal, the usual."
"Really? Because you're well below quota, and yet you just ignored a perfectly good wish request."
"Vampire, though. Can't really grant those, can we?" She shrugged, flashing her most charming smile.
"A woman scorned deserves vengeance, whatever her state." The sympathy in D'Hoffryn's voice had vanished. "And then there's the little matter of the spell you recently reversed."
Anya swallowed nervously. She'd been hoping with all the other excitement going on that it might have slipped past unnoticed. "There were circumstances."
"There always are. I know it's been difficult for you, after your years as a human, to get back into the swing of things. And I've tried to be patient." D'Hoffryn was pacing slightly, another not-good sign.
"I really appreciate it."
"But my patience has worn out."
"Oh."
"You have not been fulfilling the powers of the Wish. Until you get back on track, you will be restricted from teleporting except on official vengeance matters."
D'Hoffryn waved his hand, and Anya winced slightly as she felt the restriction lock into place. Now how was she going to get to the laundromat? She looked around nervously, but there was really nothing to see but D'Hoffryn, and the expression on his face wasn't putting her any more at ease.
"I will try to do better in future."
"I know you will." D'Hoffryn strode into darkness, becoming nothing more than a resonant voice that filled up the empty space. "Her wish would have been most interesting. She longs to have her family back again, just as they were in China, on the night she was the happiest."
Silence. Anya wondered if she was allowed to leave yet, and if the restriction would let her get back to Sunnydale at least.
"Should she make this wish to you, Anyaka, I expect it to be granted."
Then she felt the familiar tug and the world around her shifted, back to her apartment in Sunnydale. Exhausted, she slumped down on her couch without even bothering to straighten the hem of skirt.
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex in some chapters
SPOILERS: pre-episode 7.3, contains a tiny spoiler about Anya in 7.3 (yes, I'm a wildfeed fan!).
FEEDBACK: Is awesome.
DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy made this universe, I'm just taking a non-profit tour.
CHARACTERS: Buffy & Dawn; Spike & Anya & Drusilla & someone else...
CAUTION: There is a spoiler in this story for 7.3 - not a big one, but the pure of viewing will want to wait until after they've seen the eppy to read.
CHAPTER SEVEN - This Poem.. Sucks?
Dawn was still planted in front of a late-night TV movie when Buffy finally pulled herself together enough to enter the house. Her face was probably all puffy and red, but it was nothing that couldn't be explained away with the old "vamp dust in my eye" excuse. She shut the door behind her with a deliberate thump, just to warn her delinquent sister that a lecture about school night sleeping hours was on its way.
"Oh my God! Buffy, what happened? Are you all right?" Dawn led her sister to the couch, one arm gently around her shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"
"What?"
"Spike." At the name, all the warmth and concern leeched out of the young girl's voice. "Did he hurt you?"
Buffy couldn't help it. She started to laugh. Not a healthy laugh, but something brittle and jagged. The kind of laugh that Spike had made when she first saw him.
Fidgeting nervously with her sweater, Dawn stared down at her sister. She'd seen her sister scared before, angry and hurt, but never unhinged like this. "What happened?"
Leaning back on the couch, Buffy pulled her knees up to her chest. She'd wanted so much for Dawn to be asleep already, the house dark and silent. Talking about it, saying it aloud, that would make it real in a way she wasn't prepared to deal with yet. "Nothing."
Dawn blinked, stifling an urge to scream. Didn't they have an argument about Buffy shutting people out of her problems just a couple of hours ago? "Vamp dust in your eye again, is that it?"
"Dawn." Buffy wanted quiet. She wanted silence and dark and Mr. Gordo under the covers with her. "It's complicated."
"And I wouldn't understand, right? Because I'm just a kid."
"No, you probably would understand." Buffy reached out, taking Dawn's hands in her own. "I'm the one who doesn't understand, and if I try to explain, it'll just come out this horrible, jumbled mess. Kind of like my spaghetti, only not so tomato flavored."
"Oh." Dawn squeezed her sister's fingers tight. "I should get to bed. And I know that I should have gone to bed, like, an hour ago, but the movie was about World War One, which we're doing in history class next week. So it's educational, kind of. And besides, I couldn't have gotten to sleep until I knew you were home safe, anyway."
Buffy wrapped her hands around her shins and rested her head against her knees, listening to her sister put away the remnants of her late-night snack in the kitchen. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just to give her mind a break. Since Giles left, even before that, she'd been the girl with the plan. Always ready to deal with the next curve ball that Sunnydale weirdness could throw her way. But this. The whole mess with Spike had her stumped, and she didn't like the sensation at all.
When she looked up again, a small mug of hot chocolate was sitting on the edge of the coffee table. She cradled the mug in her hands, savoring the warmth. A dozen tiny marshmallows floated on the surface.
* * *
Anya blinked, adjusting the hem of her dress with a practiced gesture. For some odd reason, teleporting always made her skirt ride up slightly. She'd thought about asking D'Hoffryn about it a couple of times over the centuries, but it seemed like such a little problem compared to the benefits of instantaneous travel.
"There you are."
The blonde vampire just stared at her, as if he'd forgotten that she was a justice demon again and could therefore teleport. It had been several days since they'd seen one another, it was true, but he usually wasn't that absentminded.
"Why haven't you been back to your crypt?"
Spike gestured around the room. "This is my home now." As he stepped forward, she could see the half-healed burns across his arms and chin, the mass of blisters and charred flesh running along the center of his chest.
"Your old place was much nicer. Is that enough small talk?"
"All the talk is small. Little words, too little. None of them big enough..." His voice trailed off, unraveling into a small, fractured giggle.
"Aren't you going to tell me how you did it?"
"With a pen. And some paper." He began patting down his chest and thighs, as if looking for something in the pockets of a long coat that wasn't there.
"You did a spell?"
"Thought it was a spell. For a spell. But they took the words away, called me William the Bloody and I knew. Words would never work, never be good enough."
Anya crossed her arms impatiently, watching as he sank into a crouch, wrapping his long arms across his wounded chest. "Focus, Spike. Just tell me how you did it."
"It had to rhyme, you see. Went looking and I found it, or thought I had."
"How?"
"Drusilla. She made me. What was I before that? What was I after?"
That didn't make any sense, though Anya. Spike was clearly rather confused. Still, she'd heard the tales of Drusilla's visions, not to mention her uncanny knack for digging up the most obscure magickal artifacts. The tales also mentioned her capacity for clever and unpleasant retribution against those who had offended her. Given Spike's incoherency, perhaps his sire was involved somehow.
"That's nice, Spike. How exactly did she make you?"
He was rocking back and forth now, whimpering a little. "No more words. No more words."
"Just tell me already, would you?"
"Quiet!" He screamed at the wall, drawing the word out in a long roar of frustration. "There's nothing left to tell. Burnt all away, nothing left."
Frowning, Anya watching the vampire trace letters on the floor with his fingertip. Clearly, he wasn't going to provide her with the answers she needed. But at least he'd given her a lead on someone who might.
Anya reappeared just outside a tiny sidewalk cafe, with latin music playing softly over the speakers in the corner. Glancing around, she admired the brilliant patio lanterns, the multicolored swirl of dresses on the sun-kissed girls wandering past. She breathed in deeply, appreciating the fragrant blend of spices. It had been years since she'd visited Brazil, and she'd almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the way it smelled.
Still, this wasn't a pleasure jaunt. She straightened her skirt and walked over to sit across from the pale, dark-haired girl with wide doe eyes. "Drusilla?"
"Have you come to grant me my wish, then?"
Something in her voice made Anya suspect that anything this woman wished for would surpass even her idea of a good vengeance time. "No. I'm here about Spike."
"We haven't seen our Spike in a very long time. He was being a naughty boy, and so we sent him away. But he should have come crawling back to us by now." The vampire fluttered her hands as she spoke, as if stroking a kitten only she could see.
"He said that you had done it to him."
"Not I." Drusilla leaned in, like she was imparting a confidence. "She did it to him, that nasty girl. We were happy before she came along."
"She?"
"The Slayer. He promised we'd dance on her grave. When I heard she was dead, I went to see him." Drusilla's lip curved into a slight pout. "But he wouldn't dance with me."
Anya rolled her eyes. This was making less sense than when Xander went off on one of his Monty Python rants. "How could Buffy have restored his soul?"
Drusilla leapt back at the last word, as if she'd been burned. "His soul?"
"So you don't know either?" Anya threw up her hands in frustration and stormed away. She'd had enough of this nonsense for one night. Halfway around the world and she still wasn't getting her answers, just a lot of prattle from stupid vampires. Besides, she had to be at the Magic Box early in the morning. Pausing at a small vending stall, she purchased a few tins of brazil nuts, since the ones she'd been able to find in Sunnydale tended to be a little on the stale side. No sense letting the trip be a total waste, she thought, stepping into an alleyway and teleporting herself back to Sunnydale.
Except she wasn't back in Sunnydale. Pitch black, faint smell of brimstone and earl gray tea. Far too familiar, and exactly where she didn't want to be right now.
"Anyanka."
She spins, waving a cheery hello to the tall, bluish-gray demon who towered above her. "Hi, D'Hoffryn. Everything okay?"
'I was going to ask you the same question." His voice was loaded with sympathy and concern. Anya knew from centuries of experience that this was not necessarily a good thing.
"Oh, you know. Boils and spine removal, the usual."
"Really? Because you're well below quota, and yet you just ignored a perfectly good wish request."
"Vampire, though. Can't really grant those, can we?" She shrugged, flashing her most charming smile.
"A woman scorned deserves vengeance, whatever her state." The sympathy in D'Hoffryn's voice had vanished. "And then there's the little matter of the spell you recently reversed."
Anya swallowed nervously. She'd been hoping with all the other excitement going on that it might have slipped past unnoticed. "There were circumstances."
"There always are. I know it's been difficult for you, after your years as a human, to get back into the swing of things. And I've tried to be patient." D'Hoffryn was pacing slightly, another not-good sign.
"I really appreciate it."
"But my patience has worn out."
"Oh."
"You have not been fulfilling the powers of the Wish. Until you get back on track, you will be restricted from teleporting except on official vengeance matters."
D'Hoffryn waved his hand, and Anya winced slightly as she felt the restriction lock into place. Now how was she going to get to the laundromat? She looked around nervously, but there was really nothing to see but D'Hoffryn, and the expression on his face wasn't putting her any more at ease.
"I will try to do better in future."
"I know you will." D'Hoffryn strode into darkness, becoming nothing more than a resonant voice that filled up the empty space. "Her wish would have been most interesting. She longs to have her family back again, just as they were in China, on the night she was the happiest."
Silence. Anya wondered if she was allowed to leave yet, and if the restriction would let her get back to Sunnydale at least.
"Should she make this wish to you, Anyaka, I expect it to be granted."
Then she felt the familiar tug and the world around her shifted, back to her apartment in Sunnydale. Exhausted, she slumped down on her couch without even bothering to straighten the hem of skirt.