AN: I know this chapter is kind of short (well for a major rambler like me
at least!) I wanted to make this chapter longer with more stuff involved,
but I'm afraid school is harkening near (ugh!) and schoolwork calls. So
again, it's one of those chapters I really consider 'Chapter 15A" since
this is mostly talking and not a lot of stuff going on, and I plan a lot
more action. Also, notice how you guys FINALLY broke me! I planned to keep
all hush-hush about the ships going on in this story, I thought it would be
more suspenseful that way, but instead, I think me keeping it a secret just
makes people concentrate on what they want the fic to turn out ship-wise
and in turn, they just kind of ignore the plot and the story. So I'm
announcing to you all this WILL be a B/S fic. However, I'm still dispersing
a lot of B/A stuff here and there, since it adds conflict and tension (or
at least I hope it does . . . and at least among the people reading the
fic, lol). And once again, it's very long-winded. So you guys will just
have to wait for the B/S ending (which will probably be in the sequels of
this, which I've already got planned). Lol, I can't believed I cracked.
Chapter 16: Lovers Lost
Sunlight flooded the Summers' residence in a stream of brilliant bright white, flecks of dust dancing in the warm morning air. It was the kind of morning that promised a cleansing new day filled with golden opportunity. But with her back to the light invading the hall foyer, Buffy wearily entered the front door, ignoring the prospect of a new day entirely. Her heart wanted nothing to do with starting anew on a fresh dewy morning. It wanted nothing more than to constantly reply the events of last night and erase the moments of the early morning.
Sighing, she leaned against the door and examined the house carefully. Funny how one night could change your whole perspective on life around you. Even this, the trusted haven of her house, looked---felt different somehow. Before, she would walk through the door, smelling the comforting aroma of baking brownies or the flowery scent of her mother's potpourri mix that she dispersed through the house and immediately feel calmed and just . . . well, at home. But no longer. The house seemed cold and foreign now. She had left her home of her lover's arms last night.
Or rather, he left her. After waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing, Buffy willed herself to go back to sleep, despite the incessant worry and nagging circling her head. She tried to tell herself that Angel had only left for some absolute necessary reason . . . hunger, restlessness perhaps. Still, she would have never left the bed, even if someone tried to force her from it, so a part of her was deeply hurt when she discovered his absence. It was even worse in the morning when she awoke to find the sheets still in the same rumpled state. Angel had never come home. Her heart silently broke with that, but she knew there was no point in waiting for him, though she hesistated to leave for that very reason. What was he going to do, stroll in the door, basking in the morning sun, smiling and carrying a bag of croissants and coffee? Both worry and hurt filled her heart: worry that something had happened to him and that he was injured or worse, hurt at the prospect that he had just left her after they made love. She wasn't sure which scenario brought her less pain.
Threading a tired hand through her hair, she tried making her way up the stairs as gingerly as she could, as to not bring attention to herself. She wasn't sure if her mom had noticed her absence for the whole night, but she wasn't willing to find out. Halfway up the stairs, her mother walked absently out from the dining room with Dawn.
"Ahh, Buffy you're home," she said brightly, grasping a steaming cup of coffee. Dawn's face peered up at her sister mischeviously, sticky from pancake syrup.
Buffy jumped slightly as she turned, wincing as she was found out. "H-hey Mom," she said with slight guilt edged into her voice. Her mind was racing furiously, trying to concoct a believable excuse for her rather tardy entry. She shrugged helplessly and opened her mouth to deliver some tripe about forgetting the time, her watch broke, the whole sense of universal time had escaped her in general. But luckily, her mother spoke first.
"Did you have fun at Willow's?"
Buffy tried to recover from the mixture of relief and momentary shock. "Huh?"
"Willow," Joyce repeated. "I thought you were spending the night at Willow's after the party."
Frantically, Buffy searched her short term memory. Had she said something about sleeping over at Willow's? As confusion colored her face briefly, she looked down absently at her sister who winked. Buffy widened her eyes, but Dawn just mouthed "You owe me" in return. Buffy heaved a sigh of relief and suddenly felt a flood of untapped love for her baby sister. "Right. Willow," she breathed with feigned casualness. "It was great, gossiping and major vegging out was had."
Joyce chuckled knowingly. "If that was the case, I'm guessing that much sleeping was not. You look pretty tired. Why don't you go up to bed for awhile?"
Buffy smiled wanely. "That sounds like a great idea," she replied, trudging up the stairs.
Entering her room, she felt a weight heavy as Atlas's forcing her into the downy comfort of her bed. Her weary bones, mind and heart compelled her to sink into the mattress and curl into a ball. She wanted to cry, but she felt far too tired. Besides, she was all cried out. For how much longer did she have to cry to express how messed up her world had suddenly become? She just wanted to drift into the soft sanctuary of sleep and wake up somewhere close to a hundred years from now. But of course the phone had to ring just then and her mother just had to call "Buffy!"
Irritated, she sat up. "Tell whoever it is I'll call them back!" she yelled back before plopping her head back into the pillows.
"It's Spike, dear! And I would, but he said it was important!"
Surprised, but not pleased, she frowned. Spike? What would compel Spike to ever call her? She was pretty sure Spike would have rather face death by small firearms than ever voluntarily talk to her. It must have been important. Sighing, she grabbed her phone.
"Hello?"
Spike's voice came across smaller and thinner than she had ever heard it before. "Buffy?"
"That would be me," she said carelessly, but she couldn't help straightening at Spike's unusually apprehensive tone.
"Um . . . y-you wouldn't have happened to see Drusilla around have you?"
Buffy paused. "No, not since last night. And I left the party early. Why, what's going on?"
His voice was tremulous now. "Well . . . the thing is, um . . . she didn't come home last night."
She wasn't the only one, thought Buffy to herself. "Maybe she's just . . . I don't know, with some friends maybe."
A humorless snort from across the line. "Friends? Drusilla knows exactly two people here, and it's the same two people who've been taking care of her for four years: me and Munitz."
"Well . . . when was the last time you saw her?" Buffy was slightly guilty for the lack of concern in her voice, but she was afraid that she couldn't get very worked about a missing Drusilla.
He sighed a shaky sigh. "Umm, last night, a little bit after you left the party. Munitz and I went off to get wasted and the bloody pillock I am, I just let her go home by herself." Buffy had to strain to hear it, but she could nearly hear him sweeping the guilty tears away. "This is all my sodding fault, I know it." His voice was so soft and broken that Buffy couldn't help but relate. Both their lovers were missing and they didn't know for certain that it wasn't their faults. Why was it that she and Spike, two people who could be so different, get into such relatable situations?
"M-maybe she got lost . . . maybe she'll find her way back home."
His voice was hard again now, incredulously disdainful at the prospect. "Please. Drusilla has never ventured past the street corner of her flat without getting hopelessly confused. She's never taken care of herself before. And umm, this is Sunnydale here. Center of bloody ugly mystical convergence, you told me."
Buffy bit her lip. He was right. Anyone who went missing for more than three hours in Sunnydale were presumed mangled or dead or mangled and dead. "Well, have you looked for her?"
"Everywhere. Me and Munitz have been scouring the city for her all morning. And nothing . . . I don't know what to do," he said despairingly, quiet again. "I feel like a part of my heart is lost and . . . hurting. I-I need to find her . . ."
Buffy paused, touched at his tender words. She didn't necessarily get Spike and Dru's relationship, it seemed kind of . . . well, bizarre from the outside looking in. But she couldn't deny that Spike was a true romantic with Drusilla, and that was an admirable quality. Not only that, but his words kept forcing her mind to turn to her own hurt. And as she was reflecting on what he said, her mind suddenly flashed with the mental picture of Spike actually in physical pain, a stake sticking out of his bloodied chest, protruding out of his heart. Her dream. Had it been prophetic? And did it somehow have anything to do with Drusilla? Her eyes widened with fear and recognition. She was so intent on remembering this that the pause worried Spike.
"Buffy?"
"Huh-oh. Um, I was just thinking about something. Anyway, how about this, why don't I meet you at the library with Giles and the rest of the gang. We can research this there."
"Research? What the bloody hell do we need research for?"
"I don't know! It's just . . . what we do. Anyway, just come okay? I'll meet you there in thirty minutes. She quickly dropped the phone down and rushed to the library. She actually wanted to get to there before Spike did. She had told him to be there in thirty minutes when she knew she could be there in ten. She needed to question Giles about this dream.
Chapter 16: Lovers Lost
Sunlight flooded the Summers' residence in a stream of brilliant bright white, flecks of dust dancing in the warm morning air. It was the kind of morning that promised a cleansing new day filled with golden opportunity. But with her back to the light invading the hall foyer, Buffy wearily entered the front door, ignoring the prospect of a new day entirely. Her heart wanted nothing to do with starting anew on a fresh dewy morning. It wanted nothing more than to constantly reply the events of last night and erase the moments of the early morning.
Sighing, she leaned against the door and examined the house carefully. Funny how one night could change your whole perspective on life around you. Even this, the trusted haven of her house, looked---felt different somehow. Before, she would walk through the door, smelling the comforting aroma of baking brownies or the flowery scent of her mother's potpourri mix that she dispersed through the house and immediately feel calmed and just . . . well, at home. But no longer. The house seemed cold and foreign now. She had left her home of her lover's arms last night.
Or rather, he left her. After waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing, Buffy willed herself to go back to sleep, despite the incessant worry and nagging circling her head. She tried to tell herself that Angel had only left for some absolute necessary reason . . . hunger, restlessness perhaps. Still, she would have never left the bed, even if someone tried to force her from it, so a part of her was deeply hurt when she discovered his absence. It was even worse in the morning when she awoke to find the sheets still in the same rumpled state. Angel had never come home. Her heart silently broke with that, but she knew there was no point in waiting for him, though she hesistated to leave for that very reason. What was he going to do, stroll in the door, basking in the morning sun, smiling and carrying a bag of croissants and coffee? Both worry and hurt filled her heart: worry that something had happened to him and that he was injured or worse, hurt at the prospect that he had just left her after they made love. She wasn't sure which scenario brought her less pain.
Threading a tired hand through her hair, she tried making her way up the stairs as gingerly as she could, as to not bring attention to herself. She wasn't sure if her mom had noticed her absence for the whole night, but she wasn't willing to find out. Halfway up the stairs, her mother walked absently out from the dining room with Dawn.
"Ahh, Buffy you're home," she said brightly, grasping a steaming cup of coffee. Dawn's face peered up at her sister mischeviously, sticky from pancake syrup.
Buffy jumped slightly as she turned, wincing as she was found out. "H-hey Mom," she said with slight guilt edged into her voice. Her mind was racing furiously, trying to concoct a believable excuse for her rather tardy entry. She shrugged helplessly and opened her mouth to deliver some tripe about forgetting the time, her watch broke, the whole sense of universal time had escaped her in general. But luckily, her mother spoke first.
"Did you have fun at Willow's?"
Buffy tried to recover from the mixture of relief and momentary shock. "Huh?"
"Willow," Joyce repeated. "I thought you were spending the night at Willow's after the party."
Frantically, Buffy searched her short term memory. Had she said something about sleeping over at Willow's? As confusion colored her face briefly, she looked down absently at her sister who winked. Buffy widened her eyes, but Dawn just mouthed "You owe me" in return. Buffy heaved a sigh of relief and suddenly felt a flood of untapped love for her baby sister. "Right. Willow," she breathed with feigned casualness. "It was great, gossiping and major vegging out was had."
Joyce chuckled knowingly. "If that was the case, I'm guessing that much sleeping was not. You look pretty tired. Why don't you go up to bed for awhile?"
Buffy smiled wanely. "That sounds like a great idea," she replied, trudging up the stairs.
Entering her room, she felt a weight heavy as Atlas's forcing her into the downy comfort of her bed. Her weary bones, mind and heart compelled her to sink into the mattress and curl into a ball. She wanted to cry, but she felt far too tired. Besides, she was all cried out. For how much longer did she have to cry to express how messed up her world had suddenly become? She just wanted to drift into the soft sanctuary of sleep and wake up somewhere close to a hundred years from now. But of course the phone had to ring just then and her mother just had to call "Buffy!"
Irritated, she sat up. "Tell whoever it is I'll call them back!" she yelled back before plopping her head back into the pillows.
"It's Spike, dear! And I would, but he said it was important!"
Surprised, but not pleased, she frowned. Spike? What would compel Spike to ever call her? She was pretty sure Spike would have rather face death by small firearms than ever voluntarily talk to her. It must have been important. Sighing, she grabbed her phone.
"Hello?"
Spike's voice came across smaller and thinner than she had ever heard it before. "Buffy?"
"That would be me," she said carelessly, but she couldn't help straightening at Spike's unusually apprehensive tone.
"Um . . . y-you wouldn't have happened to see Drusilla around have you?"
Buffy paused. "No, not since last night. And I left the party early. Why, what's going on?"
His voice was tremulous now. "Well . . . the thing is, um . . . she didn't come home last night."
She wasn't the only one, thought Buffy to herself. "Maybe she's just . . . I don't know, with some friends maybe."
A humorless snort from across the line. "Friends? Drusilla knows exactly two people here, and it's the same two people who've been taking care of her for four years: me and Munitz."
"Well . . . when was the last time you saw her?" Buffy was slightly guilty for the lack of concern in her voice, but she was afraid that she couldn't get very worked about a missing Drusilla.
He sighed a shaky sigh. "Umm, last night, a little bit after you left the party. Munitz and I went off to get wasted and the bloody pillock I am, I just let her go home by herself." Buffy had to strain to hear it, but she could nearly hear him sweeping the guilty tears away. "This is all my sodding fault, I know it." His voice was so soft and broken that Buffy couldn't help but relate. Both their lovers were missing and they didn't know for certain that it wasn't their faults. Why was it that she and Spike, two people who could be so different, get into such relatable situations?
"M-maybe she got lost . . . maybe she'll find her way back home."
His voice was hard again now, incredulously disdainful at the prospect. "Please. Drusilla has never ventured past the street corner of her flat without getting hopelessly confused. She's never taken care of herself before. And umm, this is Sunnydale here. Center of bloody ugly mystical convergence, you told me."
Buffy bit her lip. He was right. Anyone who went missing for more than three hours in Sunnydale were presumed mangled or dead or mangled and dead. "Well, have you looked for her?"
"Everywhere. Me and Munitz have been scouring the city for her all morning. And nothing . . . I don't know what to do," he said despairingly, quiet again. "I feel like a part of my heart is lost and . . . hurting. I-I need to find her . . ."
Buffy paused, touched at his tender words. She didn't necessarily get Spike and Dru's relationship, it seemed kind of . . . well, bizarre from the outside looking in. But she couldn't deny that Spike was a true romantic with Drusilla, and that was an admirable quality. Not only that, but his words kept forcing her mind to turn to her own hurt. And as she was reflecting on what he said, her mind suddenly flashed with the mental picture of Spike actually in physical pain, a stake sticking out of his bloodied chest, protruding out of his heart. Her dream. Had it been prophetic? And did it somehow have anything to do with Drusilla? Her eyes widened with fear and recognition. She was so intent on remembering this that the pause worried Spike.
"Buffy?"
"Huh-oh. Um, I was just thinking about something. Anyway, how about this, why don't I meet you at the library with Giles and the rest of the gang. We can research this there."
"Research? What the bloody hell do we need research for?"
"I don't know! It's just . . . what we do. Anyway, just come okay? I'll meet you there in thirty minutes. She quickly dropped the phone down and rushed to the library. She actually wanted to get to there before Spike did. She had told him to be there in thirty minutes when she knew she could be there in ten. She needed to question Giles about this dream.