Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters, I'm just kidnapping them for a bit.
Notes: Thanks for all the reviews so far; they helped get my creative juices flowing so I could bang this chapter out.
Lying in the Garden Sleeping: Part 2
1 By Vixen
By the time Buffy and Spike reached her apartment the slight drizzle had transformed into near torrential flooding weather. Only once they had reached the subway had Buffy remembered that she left her wallet in the limo, so she and the vampire had walked the thirty or so blocks back to her home.
Pouting and mumbling the whole way, Buffy had never once spoken to Spike. She had preferred not to acknowledge the presence of the figment of her delusion at all. Still, she unconsciously made sure that he was behind her every few blocks. Although she knew that he was just a trap for her mind, a part of her wanted him close, because he reminded her of a home that was lost to her, and that dream that was all too real.
Now, standing in front of the door, Buffy looked up at him as she fumbled to fish her keys out of her pocket. As their eyes met for the first time since the long walk back, he smiled at her.
Damn him, she thought, damn him and that egotistical smirk. Like as if he could just show up and she would drop everything and go with him. Go off to Sunnydale. That place was just something conjured up from the back of her mind so very long ago, back when she was sick.
Pushing open the door, Buffy stepped into her living room and waited for Spike to follow.
"Are you going to invite me in, or you just going to let me stand outside soaking up the rain?"
"What?" Buffy could have smacked herself. The logic of vampire-ness had become so buried in her mind she had forgotten that a vampire couldn't enter a mortal's house. They needed to be asked inside. They needed permission. Which was the last thing Buffy felt like giving to him at the moment… but she wanted answers. After all this time, she needed to know why he had come back into her life. "Sure, why not, come on in. I'd tell you to wipe your feet, but imaginary friends probably don't track that much dirt, right?"
Spike stepped on inside the small living quarters, "You keep saying that."
"What?" Blond hair stood in wet clumps around her face, and looking down at her soaking burgundy dress she felt self-conscious. He could probably see right through it.
Casually, he took off his leather duster and laid it on the couch, "That I'm not real. You know" Narrowing his eyes at her, he sat down on the edge of the couch, "Maybe it's you. Maybe you're not. This place, Buffy, it's—"
"Don't." Shaking her head, as if she could block the thoughts that had already been given voice. "Don't say that, because that's the first step. Or maybe it's the second, I've lost track. See, first I see you, then you convince me that my whole life is a sham and none of it means anything, and then you ask me to disappear with you to a place where I can be in charge, I can be the slayer again—" She stopped in mid-sentence, shocked by the word she had given up speaking years ago, "Slayer…slay-er," Rolling the word around in her mouth, Buffy savored each syllable, "I'm the slayer, I remember."
"So, yeah, you remember. Now to get the hell out of this place, right?" Spike stood up, about to rush out the door. He looked at her expectantly.
"After the hospital—"Instead of going along with Spike, Buffy remained where she was, deep in thought, "I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to know anything about that, and my parents… well, they never spoke about my delusions anyway. And of course I could never ask them. I'm surprised I even knew you when I saw you…. What is a slayer anyway?"
Dumbfounded, the vampire looked at her, finally understanding just how lost she was, "You… you don't know what a slayer is? What exactly is it that you do remember about Sunnydale?"
"Just… voices. And feelings. I was a slayer, wasn't I?" Buffy sat on the opposite end of the couch, trying to remain as distant as she could. Since they had left the alleyway, she had tried to keep from brushing up against him as much as possible. Those cold brief contacts when he had held her chin in his hands, they had burnt her inside. Knowing that his touch could feel so real terrified her.
"Buffy, you weren't just 'a slayer', you were 'THE Slayer'… well besides some chit of a girl in maximum security. Don't know if she's still there though. Council thinks she died in the riots, but they never knew a bloody thing in the first place."
"Riots?"
"Vampires went bloody nuts when you left. Figured it was high time they had some fun without the slayer breathing down their necks."
Something inside of her screamed to her soul about duty, and responsibility, but for what. It wasn't her fault, she couldn't stop it, and besides, that world was just some deeply shadowed dream inside her subconscious. "As much fun as this conversation has been, I'm going to go take a shower, and put on some clean clothes." Heading towards the bedroom, she continued, "Make yourself at home while I'm—"
Following her with his eyes, Spike's mouth set into a hard line, "You don't even care, do you?"
"About what?"
"This is your duty, Buffy. You're the only one who can stop this," Pausing, Spike sighed. "Bugger, when did I get so soft! Know what?" Nonchalantly he crossed his hands behind his head, and pitched his feet up onto the coffee table, "You don't care, fine then. Let the world be destroyed. Bloody better than living in it right?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about," Angrily Buffy spit back the words at him, "Sunnydale is just a word to me. It means nothing." Leaving him alone, she started for the shower.
Feeling the gap that time, and this new world had made, Spike sat in silence for a moment. The slayer really didn't want to help; the one person who could make a difference didn't even care enough to sit down and have a bloody conversation about it. Picking up the remote control, Spike clicked on the television, "We'll see, Slayer. We'll see."
Later, Buffy reentered the living room, dressed in black silk pajamas with her hair tied up in a ponytail. When she saw Spike still sitting there, watching tv and having a smoke, she grimaced. "I was hoping you'd be gone by now."
Placing the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, he straightened up as he saw her approach. Still so beautiful, a little bit older, but even now, after not seeing her for what felt like an eternity, her agile body made it feel as if his heart still beat. "Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm going to be reasonable about this, you know. I'm trying—" With a small shrug of her shoulders, she crossed the room. On the cold wooden floor, her footsteps fell timidly, as she inched towards him. It was just a trick of her mind, she repeated over and over again. It didn't seem to make a different though; there he was, still smirking at her. "I'm trying to understand. But…"
"You're not trying." This was going to be a serious conversation; Spike could feel the approaching storm. Switching the television off, he tossed the controller on the table, "You're avoiding, as per usual."
"I just—I don't want to be sick anymore."
"You're not sick, Buffy. A little bloody self-centered, but not sick. If you continue to go on this way though you will drive yourself bonkers, I assure you."
"Fine then," Languidly, she curled her feet under her, getting comfortable. Placing her elbow on the back of the chair, she leaned against her hand, "Make me remember. Tell me what it was like back in… Sunnydale. What's a slayer?"
"'Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires. To stop the spread of their evil, yadda yadda." Spike grinned at himself as he recited the boring Watcher's Council version, "Truth is a slayer is… pure energy, driven by the need to kill, athletic, cunning, and of course they have to be incredibly hot. Its, you know, one of the prerequisites."
Buffy blushed a bit as he teased her, "But you're a vampire. You don't feel evil. I mean, you don't seem dangerous."
"Because I have a bloody chip in my head, makes it so I can't kill humans."
Pieces of random information gradually leaked back into her mind, the basics about being a slayer, having a watcher, vampire lore, but still nothing significant, no people. Only Spike. For some reason she felt an incredible connection with him, "But you used to. I used to fight you, didn't I?"
"Oh, we had our share. We also tended to shag a lot. I liked that part."
"We did not!" Unsure of whether he was joking or not, she laughed.
"We did." Spike nodded back at her, "You're an animal under the sheets, slayer."
What exactly do you say to that, she wondered. When some half recalled nightmare tells you that you used to sleep together. Maybe this was just brought on by the fact that I had no date tonight, she thought to herself. Mom was right; I really do need to get out more. Start finding guys that aren't vampires, and didn't want to drag you back into your own little world. Nevertheless, everything he had said had felt right. So much more genuine than anything had these days.
Shutting her eyes, Buffy gently took everything in. "What was Sunnydale like?"
"Peaceful little burb', quiet and sunny during the day. Didn't seem like the kind of place a hellmouth would lay beneath. It attracted all the nasties. Demons, vampires, gods, you name it, it was there."
"Those things don't really—"
"If you say they don't exist one more time, I'm going to tape your gob shut," Dismissively he interjected. "You never did like to listen, did you? No, you were always the take action sort of girl. Came with being a slayer I guess."
"So, fine, say they exist. How could I, one measly person, fight off all of those paranormal weird thingies?"
"You had your friends. That whelp Xander, the witch…"
"Oh my god," Breathing became difficult as all the memories of the time she had shared with her Scooby Gang came back to her. Meeting them when she transferred to Sunnydale, hanging out in the library, fighting together, doing all the high school senior years things. The prom, the near massacre at graduation, finally getting out of school and heading off to college. Dorming with Willow. Xander and Anya. Willow and Tara. Dawn. Little Dawnie. And then Giles left, and the day their lives turned into a musical from hell, and then… and then... "Oh god," She couldn't breath, each second she was drowning in a new flood of tears, "No."
Spike put his arms around her, as she cried into his shoulder. He had known it would come to this, when the truth came out, when she remembered what had happened.
Between ragged gasps she managed to choke out, "Oh god, Spike, I killed them."
The images rammed into her mind, everything was so clear now. The night the world came apart replayed in her mind. She had tied up Willow and put her in the basement. Then it was Xander's turn, she had half-strangled him, and then pushed him down the stairs to lie in wait with Willow. Dawn came next, and then Tara. Huddled underneath the stairwell she had pulled on Tara's ankle just as the girl was coming to save the rest of them. Her neck had bent at such an unnatural angle; Tara had been the first to die that night. Soon after, the Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik demon had gotten loose and slaughtered the rest.
And she watched, and did nothing.
Nothing.
She could have saved them, but she wanted to go home. She wanted to be safe in her mother's arms again, even if it wasn't real. After so many years fighting off the forces of darkness, Buffy didn't want to deal with it anymore, and from this denial of her destiny, from this desire to be normal again, she had destroyed everyone she had ever held dear.
Xander. Willow. Dawn. Tara. Everyone.
"Oh, god, Spike," Buffy held onto him, as if he could save her from what had already happened, "I killed them."
TO BE CONTINUED…
Notes: Thanks for all the reviews so far; they helped get my creative juices flowing so I could bang this chapter out.
Lying in the Garden Sleeping: Part 2
1 By Vixen
By the time Buffy and Spike reached her apartment the slight drizzle had transformed into near torrential flooding weather. Only once they had reached the subway had Buffy remembered that she left her wallet in the limo, so she and the vampire had walked the thirty or so blocks back to her home.
Pouting and mumbling the whole way, Buffy had never once spoken to Spike. She had preferred not to acknowledge the presence of the figment of her delusion at all. Still, she unconsciously made sure that he was behind her every few blocks. Although she knew that he was just a trap for her mind, a part of her wanted him close, because he reminded her of a home that was lost to her, and that dream that was all too real.
Now, standing in front of the door, Buffy looked up at him as she fumbled to fish her keys out of her pocket. As their eyes met for the first time since the long walk back, he smiled at her.
Damn him, she thought, damn him and that egotistical smirk. Like as if he could just show up and she would drop everything and go with him. Go off to Sunnydale. That place was just something conjured up from the back of her mind so very long ago, back when she was sick.
Pushing open the door, Buffy stepped into her living room and waited for Spike to follow.
"Are you going to invite me in, or you just going to let me stand outside soaking up the rain?"
"What?" Buffy could have smacked herself. The logic of vampire-ness had become so buried in her mind she had forgotten that a vampire couldn't enter a mortal's house. They needed to be asked inside. They needed permission. Which was the last thing Buffy felt like giving to him at the moment… but she wanted answers. After all this time, she needed to know why he had come back into her life. "Sure, why not, come on in. I'd tell you to wipe your feet, but imaginary friends probably don't track that much dirt, right?"
Spike stepped on inside the small living quarters, "You keep saying that."
"What?" Blond hair stood in wet clumps around her face, and looking down at her soaking burgundy dress she felt self-conscious. He could probably see right through it.
Casually, he took off his leather duster and laid it on the couch, "That I'm not real. You know" Narrowing his eyes at her, he sat down on the edge of the couch, "Maybe it's you. Maybe you're not. This place, Buffy, it's—"
"Don't." Shaking her head, as if she could block the thoughts that had already been given voice. "Don't say that, because that's the first step. Or maybe it's the second, I've lost track. See, first I see you, then you convince me that my whole life is a sham and none of it means anything, and then you ask me to disappear with you to a place where I can be in charge, I can be the slayer again—" She stopped in mid-sentence, shocked by the word she had given up speaking years ago, "Slayer…slay-er," Rolling the word around in her mouth, Buffy savored each syllable, "I'm the slayer, I remember."
"So, yeah, you remember. Now to get the hell out of this place, right?" Spike stood up, about to rush out the door. He looked at her expectantly.
"After the hospital—"Instead of going along with Spike, Buffy remained where she was, deep in thought, "I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to know anything about that, and my parents… well, they never spoke about my delusions anyway. And of course I could never ask them. I'm surprised I even knew you when I saw you…. What is a slayer anyway?"
Dumbfounded, the vampire looked at her, finally understanding just how lost she was, "You… you don't know what a slayer is? What exactly is it that you do remember about Sunnydale?"
"Just… voices. And feelings. I was a slayer, wasn't I?" Buffy sat on the opposite end of the couch, trying to remain as distant as she could. Since they had left the alleyway, she had tried to keep from brushing up against him as much as possible. Those cold brief contacts when he had held her chin in his hands, they had burnt her inside. Knowing that his touch could feel so real terrified her.
"Buffy, you weren't just 'a slayer', you were 'THE Slayer'… well besides some chit of a girl in maximum security. Don't know if she's still there though. Council thinks she died in the riots, but they never knew a bloody thing in the first place."
"Riots?"
"Vampires went bloody nuts when you left. Figured it was high time they had some fun without the slayer breathing down their necks."
Something inside of her screamed to her soul about duty, and responsibility, but for what. It wasn't her fault, she couldn't stop it, and besides, that world was just some deeply shadowed dream inside her subconscious. "As much fun as this conversation has been, I'm going to go take a shower, and put on some clean clothes." Heading towards the bedroom, she continued, "Make yourself at home while I'm—"
Following her with his eyes, Spike's mouth set into a hard line, "You don't even care, do you?"
"About what?"
"This is your duty, Buffy. You're the only one who can stop this," Pausing, Spike sighed. "Bugger, when did I get so soft! Know what?" Nonchalantly he crossed his hands behind his head, and pitched his feet up onto the coffee table, "You don't care, fine then. Let the world be destroyed. Bloody better than living in it right?"
"I don't even know what you're talking about," Angrily Buffy spit back the words at him, "Sunnydale is just a word to me. It means nothing." Leaving him alone, she started for the shower.
Feeling the gap that time, and this new world had made, Spike sat in silence for a moment. The slayer really didn't want to help; the one person who could make a difference didn't even care enough to sit down and have a bloody conversation about it. Picking up the remote control, Spike clicked on the television, "We'll see, Slayer. We'll see."
Later, Buffy reentered the living room, dressed in black silk pajamas with her hair tied up in a ponytail. When she saw Spike still sitting there, watching tv and having a smoke, she grimaced. "I was hoping you'd be gone by now."
Placing the cigarette in a nearby ashtray, he straightened up as he saw her approach. Still so beautiful, a little bit older, but even now, after not seeing her for what felt like an eternity, her agile body made it feel as if his heart still beat. "Sorry to disappoint."
"I'm going to be reasonable about this, you know. I'm trying—" With a small shrug of her shoulders, she crossed the room. On the cold wooden floor, her footsteps fell timidly, as she inched towards him. It was just a trick of her mind, she repeated over and over again. It didn't seem to make a different though; there he was, still smirking at her. "I'm trying to understand. But…"
"You're not trying." This was going to be a serious conversation; Spike could feel the approaching storm. Switching the television off, he tossed the controller on the table, "You're avoiding, as per usual."
"I just—I don't want to be sick anymore."
"You're not sick, Buffy. A little bloody self-centered, but not sick. If you continue to go on this way though you will drive yourself bonkers, I assure you."
"Fine then," Languidly, she curled her feet under her, getting comfortable. Placing her elbow on the back of the chair, she leaned against her hand, "Make me remember. Tell me what it was like back in… Sunnydale. What's a slayer?"
"'Into each generation a Slayer is born, one girl in all the world, a Chosen One, one born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires. To stop the spread of their evil, yadda yadda." Spike grinned at himself as he recited the boring Watcher's Council version, "Truth is a slayer is… pure energy, driven by the need to kill, athletic, cunning, and of course they have to be incredibly hot. Its, you know, one of the prerequisites."
Buffy blushed a bit as he teased her, "But you're a vampire. You don't feel evil. I mean, you don't seem dangerous."
"Because I have a bloody chip in my head, makes it so I can't kill humans."
Pieces of random information gradually leaked back into her mind, the basics about being a slayer, having a watcher, vampire lore, but still nothing significant, no people. Only Spike. For some reason she felt an incredible connection with him, "But you used to. I used to fight you, didn't I?"
"Oh, we had our share. We also tended to shag a lot. I liked that part."
"We did not!" Unsure of whether he was joking or not, she laughed.
"We did." Spike nodded back at her, "You're an animal under the sheets, slayer."
What exactly do you say to that, she wondered. When some half recalled nightmare tells you that you used to sleep together. Maybe this was just brought on by the fact that I had no date tonight, she thought to herself. Mom was right; I really do need to get out more. Start finding guys that aren't vampires, and didn't want to drag you back into your own little world. Nevertheless, everything he had said had felt right. So much more genuine than anything had these days.
Shutting her eyes, Buffy gently took everything in. "What was Sunnydale like?"
"Peaceful little burb', quiet and sunny during the day. Didn't seem like the kind of place a hellmouth would lay beneath. It attracted all the nasties. Demons, vampires, gods, you name it, it was there."
"Those things don't really—"
"If you say they don't exist one more time, I'm going to tape your gob shut," Dismissively he interjected. "You never did like to listen, did you? No, you were always the take action sort of girl. Came with being a slayer I guess."
"So, fine, say they exist. How could I, one measly person, fight off all of those paranormal weird thingies?"
"You had your friends. That whelp Xander, the witch…"
"Oh my god," Breathing became difficult as all the memories of the time she had shared with her Scooby Gang came back to her. Meeting them when she transferred to Sunnydale, hanging out in the library, fighting together, doing all the high school senior years things. The prom, the near massacre at graduation, finally getting out of school and heading off to college. Dorming with Willow. Xander and Anya. Willow and Tara. Dawn. Little Dawnie. And then Giles left, and the day their lives turned into a musical from hell, and then… and then... "Oh god," She couldn't breath, each second she was drowning in a new flood of tears, "No."
Spike put his arms around her, as she cried into his shoulder. He had known it would come to this, when the truth came out, when she remembered what had happened.
Between ragged gasps she managed to choke out, "Oh god, Spike, I killed them."
The images rammed into her mind, everything was so clear now. The night the world came apart replayed in her mind. She had tied up Willow and put her in the basement. Then it was Xander's turn, she had half-strangled him, and then pushed him down the stairs to lie in wait with Willow. Dawn came next, and then Tara. Huddled underneath the stairwell she had pulled on Tara's ankle just as the girl was coming to save the rest of them. Her neck had bent at such an unnatural angle; Tara had been the first to die that night. Soon after, the Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik demon had gotten loose and slaughtered the rest.
And she watched, and did nothing.
Nothing.
She could have saved them, but she wanted to go home. She wanted to be safe in her mother's arms again, even if it wasn't real. After so many years fighting off the forces of darkness, Buffy didn't want to deal with it anymore, and from this denial of her destiny, from this desire to be normal again, she had destroyed everyone she had ever held dear.
Xander. Willow. Dawn. Tara. Everyone.
"Oh, god, Spike," Buffy held onto him, as if he could save her from what had already happened, "I killed them."
TO BE CONTINUED…