Unmoved
By iyaorisha
Timing: AU S7
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)
Summary: Spike has healed, but doesn't want to leave the Summers' house. Buffy struggles with flashbacks from the attempted rape. Meanwhile, Rack's twin sister seeks revenge for his death. Can Willow defend herself without resorting to magick?
("Unmoved" is the sequel to "Look What Love Gave Us" and the second in a series of four linked AU S7 fanfics I wrote in the summer of 2002.)
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence (including suggested domestic violence), language, F/M, M/M flashback, rape flashback, and torture.
Spoilers: None if you've seen up through S6. References to my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath" and "Look What Love Gave Us".
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS or AtS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who R&Rd this fic, including my DH.
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com
***
Epilogue:
The fluid in the white enameled basin was carmine and viscous. It had turned everyone off breakfast -everyone, but Spike of course. The vampire downed a second glass of fresh pigs' blood while watching Willow surreptitiously. The former witch slipped her feet into the herbal bath, wincing as the liquid stung her wounds.
The footbath was a thrice-daily routine to aid the healing process. The more Spike watched it, the less he was enthralled with Willow's feet. In the mundane surroundings of the Summers' kitchen, they were just ordinary feet. Not remotely erotic, even while immersed in a basin of blood-colored liquid. The vampire was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by the transformation.
Meanwhile, Willow always seemed happy for the company as she treated her injuries. The prescribed soaking times always seemed to coincide with meals and the herbal infusion's similarity in color to blood made Buffy and Dawn squeamish. So, for the fourth day in a row since Raven's death, it was just Willow and Spike at the kitchen table.
Until now, they hadn't spoken of the events of that terrible, seemingly endless night.
Willow had returned from the hospital shortly after 9 AM to find Spike ripping up the carpet in the living room. The vampire wore dried blood and an angry scowl on his face. Buffy sat on the sofa next to a sheet-wrapped object with the unmistakable shape of a human body. At the time, Willow was too loopy from painkillers to do more than ask "Raven?" and then limp upstairs after Buffy's weary nod.
That night, as she prepared to bury Raven, Buffy had tendered a terse explanation. Willow knew only that Rack's twin sister had first taunted the vampire to kill her, and then when he refused, committed suicide in some horrifically bloody manner.
As for Spike, he didn't care to share with anyone the moment when Buffy had come running to find him blood-drenched crouching over Raven's body. The look on her face -an "Omigod, Spike what have you done" look-- had lasted only a second, but it was still causing him pain. Never mind that it was Buffy herself who eventually found the piece of metal in Raven's now slack hand. (It was no bigger than a guitar pick, but razor sharp along one edge. The black-haired witch must have hidden it in her mouth.)
So the vampire and former witch usually sat in silence or talked of trivial matters -Dawn getting her learner's permit was a pretty safe topic and one of endless amusement. Thus, it was a surprise when Willow said quietly "I never thanked you for saving me."
Spike shook his head. "I didn't save you. Buffy saved both of us."
The redhead laid a hand on his arm. "But you tried. You stood in front of me when Raven flung the seeking fire."
He made a dismissive gesture and got up for another glass of blood.
Willow knew that Spike wanted to drop the topic, but it was as if a dam had broken. "Better be careful," she said lightly. "You keep saving people Buffy loves and she might start trusting you."
The vampire's face was hidden by the refrigerator door, but she saw his back stiffen. "I didn't do it to earn Buffy's trust." He said softly.
"Oh," Willow stammered, "I was just teasing, Spike. I know that you weren't trying to score brownie points with Buffy when you saved me. But, hey, would it be so awful a side effect?"
Spike shrugged as he sat back down. "Trust is overrated."
She stared at him aghast. "How can you say that?"
The vampire lifted one dark eyebrow. "Trust is what got you in that mess that other night, Red. Your good friend Ravessa, new in town and oh, so understanding of your feelings." He mocked gently. "She had your trust. Good use she made of it, too. Half killed the lot of us."
"But that's because she misused it." Willow protested.
Spike leaned forward. "Evil will always misuse trust. It's a great weapon." His voice grew cold. "A favorite of mine when I was fledgling. Most of my early victims 'trusted' me. A missionary trusted me enough to follow me into an opium den in search of my dear sister. I tore his throat out not two steps past the threshold. A lost little girl trusted me to get her safely home to her grandmother. She put her little arms around my neck and I picked her up. When she snuggled against me, I drained her." He paused. "That's what trust gets you, Red."
Willow shook her head. "Not all trust is misplaced."
He gave her a "get-real" look.
"I can't walk through life that paranoid. I won't." The former witch insisted.
"Then, some Big Bad will have itself a right good time with you one day." He said grimly. Then, he stood up and stared at the window. Since the panes were covered with blackout curtains, there was nothing to see. But his gaze never waved. A clear "leave me alone" signal.
Willow knew that she should change the topic, but she was seized with a strange compulsion to push Spike into admitting that he wanted Buffy to trust him. "A few months ago, it might have scared me to hear you say that."
He turned and looked at her, puzzled. "Why doesn't it scare you now?"
"Because I've been the Big Bad. When I went all EvilWillow, I had access to power beyond any human reckoning." She paused, shivering even now with the memory of dark magicks coursing through her whole being like a drug. "My friends fought me, but they didn't turn against me. Do you see the difference?"
Spike shook his head.
"Buffy, Giles, all the Scoobies wanted to stop me. But not just to save Jonathan and Andrew. Or even to save the whole world. They wanted to save me, too. See, they believed that there was something deep inside EvilWillow worth saving. A Willow that they could trust again. If they hadn't believed that, the surest way to save everyone else would have been to kill me."
The vampire looked more confused than before.
"Spike, how many times have you fought Buffy?"
He shrugged, not sure if he should count every sparring match or only the times that they really intended to do each other damage. Finally, he settled. "Too many bloody times to count."
"How many of those times could she have killed you, but walked away instead?"
A reel of memories ran through his head. Yes, countless times she'd spared him. For years, he saw it as a serious personal weakness for a Slayer.
Willow's voice intruded on his thoughts. "I think that unconsciously Buffy thought that there was something worth saving in William the Bloody. A man that she could trust."
"Yeah," he scoffed. "Milquetoast William the poet."
"No," said a voice from the doorway.
Spike and Willow turned their heads to see Buffy standing there, a pile of mail held loosely in one hand.
"I haven't spared you because I was looking for William," she said. "He died in some London alleyway well over a century ago."
The vampire closed his eyes. He heard the scrape of a chair moving backwards and the slap of wet feet on the floor as Willow left the room. But the musky sweetness of vanilla told Spike that Buffy had stayed. The scent grew stronger as she moved slowly closer. He didn't dare breathe as she laid a small hand against his chest.
"If there's someone in there worth my trust, it'll have to be Spike," Buffy said softly.
He swallowed and opened his eyes, but she was gone.
***
The little girl was lost, but she didn't know it yet. The streets all tended to look the same in this area, and the approaching dusk made it harder to make out far away landmarks. So, she kept walking even though each step took her further and further away from both her own home and her grandmother's house. Only when she came to the little square did Deira realize that she had gone astray. By then, it was too late.
Charlotte Madeira Layton, age 6 and 1/2, had run away from home. At first, it seemed like a good idea, an adventure even. But now, she was lost.
She sat on a bench and began to cry.
"There, there my darling, dry your tears."
Deira looked up in surprise. A man stood at her side, offering a neatly folded handkerchief in one hand.
Her mother had warned her not to talk with strangers. But the man seemed kind. His blue eyes were full of concern and his voice was soft, unlike her stepfather's.
She reached out to take the handkerchief from him, but he hunkered down instead and gently wiped her face. "Now, why is such a pretty girl crying?"
She opened her mouth, but she didn't know where to begin. The man waited patiently, his gentian eyes full of concern. Finally, Deira shook her head shyly.
"Let me guess, you're lost?"
She nodded.
"Well, that won't do at all." The man said kindly. "There's a police station nearby. Let me take you there and the nice officers will get you home safely."
Deira shook her head. To her the words "home" and "safely" didn't belong in the same sentence.
"Sweet girl, I promise you there'll be nothing to fear at home tonight or ever again."
Her big green eyes were full of doubt.
He sighed. "I need you to trust me. Do you think that you can do that?"
In answer, she threw her little arms around his neck. As the child snuggled close, William the Bloody could feel the beat of her heart through the layers of cotton lawn. With each pulse, his hunger grew and he let it.
After all, he had to pay a visit to Samuel Packard.
The End.
By iyaorisha
Timing: AU S7
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)
Summary: Spike has healed, but doesn't want to leave the Summers' house. Buffy struggles with flashbacks from the attempted rape. Meanwhile, Rack's twin sister seeks revenge for his death. Can Willow defend herself without resorting to magick?
("Unmoved" is the sequel to "Look What Love Gave Us" and the second in a series of four linked AU S7 fanfics I wrote in the summer of 2002.)
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence (including suggested domestic violence), language, F/M, M/M flashback, rape flashback, and torture.
Spoilers: None if you've seen up through S6. References to my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath" and "Look What Love Gave Us".
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS or AtS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.
Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who R&Rd this fic, including my DH.
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com
***
Epilogue:
The fluid in the white enameled basin was carmine and viscous. It had turned everyone off breakfast -everyone, but Spike of course. The vampire downed a second glass of fresh pigs' blood while watching Willow surreptitiously. The former witch slipped her feet into the herbal bath, wincing as the liquid stung her wounds.
The footbath was a thrice-daily routine to aid the healing process. The more Spike watched it, the less he was enthralled with Willow's feet. In the mundane surroundings of the Summers' kitchen, they were just ordinary feet. Not remotely erotic, even while immersed in a basin of blood-colored liquid. The vampire was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by the transformation.
Meanwhile, Willow always seemed happy for the company as she treated her injuries. The prescribed soaking times always seemed to coincide with meals and the herbal infusion's similarity in color to blood made Buffy and Dawn squeamish. So, for the fourth day in a row since Raven's death, it was just Willow and Spike at the kitchen table.
Until now, they hadn't spoken of the events of that terrible, seemingly endless night.
Willow had returned from the hospital shortly after 9 AM to find Spike ripping up the carpet in the living room. The vampire wore dried blood and an angry scowl on his face. Buffy sat on the sofa next to a sheet-wrapped object with the unmistakable shape of a human body. At the time, Willow was too loopy from painkillers to do more than ask "Raven?" and then limp upstairs after Buffy's weary nod.
That night, as she prepared to bury Raven, Buffy had tendered a terse explanation. Willow knew only that Rack's twin sister had first taunted the vampire to kill her, and then when he refused, committed suicide in some horrifically bloody manner.
As for Spike, he didn't care to share with anyone the moment when Buffy had come running to find him blood-drenched crouching over Raven's body. The look on her face -an "Omigod, Spike what have you done" look-- had lasted only a second, but it was still causing him pain. Never mind that it was Buffy herself who eventually found the piece of metal in Raven's now slack hand. (It was no bigger than a guitar pick, but razor sharp along one edge. The black-haired witch must have hidden it in her mouth.)
So the vampire and former witch usually sat in silence or talked of trivial matters -Dawn getting her learner's permit was a pretty safe topic and one of endless amusement. Thus, it was a surprise when Willow said quietly "I never thanked you for saving me."
Spike shook his head. "I didn't save you. Buffy saved both of us."
The redhead laid a hand on his arm. "But you tried. You stood in front of me when Raven flung the seeking fire."
He made a dismissive gesture and got up for another glass of blood.
Willow knew that Spike wanted to drop the topic, but it was as if a dam had broken. "Better be careful," she said lightly. "You keep saving people Buffy loves and she might start trusting you."
The vampire's face was hidden by the refrigerator door, but she saw his back stiffen. "I didn't do it to earn Buffy's trust." He said softly.
"Oh," Willow stammered, "I was just teasing, Spike. I know that you weren't trying to score brownie points with Buffy when you saved me. But, hey, would it be so awful a side effect?"
Spike shrugged as he sat back down. "Trust is overrated."
She stared at him aghast. "How can you say that?"
The vampire lifted one dark eyebrow. "Trust is what got you in that mess that other night, Red. Your good friend Ravessa, new in town and oh, so understanding of your feelings." He mocked gently. "She had your trust. Good use she made of it, too. Half killed the lot of us."
"But that's because she misused it." Willow protested.
Spike leaned forward. "Evil will always misuse trust. It's a great weapon." His voice grew cold. "A favorite of mine when I was fledgling. Most of my early victims 'trusted' me. A missionary trusted me enough to follow me into an opium den in search of my dear sister. I tore his throat out not two steps past the threshold. A lost little girl trusted me to get her safely home to her grandmother. She put her little arms around my neck and I picked her up. When she snuggled against me, I drained her." He paused. "That's what trust gets you, Red."
Willow shook her head. "Not all trust is misplaced."
He gave her a "get-real" look.
"I can't walk through life that paranoid. I won't." The former witch insisted.
"Then, some Big Bad will have itself a right good time with you one day." He said grimly. Then, he stood up and stared at the window. Since the panes were covered with blackout curtains, there was nothing to see. But his gaze never waved. A clear "leave me alone" signal.
Willow knew that she should change the topic, but she was seized with a strange compulsion to push Spike into admitting that he wanted Buffy to trust him. "A few months ago, it might have scared me to hear you say that."
He turned and looked at her, puzzled. "Why doesn't it scare you now?"
"Because I've been the Big Bad. When I went all EvilWillow, I had access to power beyond any human reckoning." She paused, shivering even now with the memory of dark magicks coursing through her whole being like a drug. "My friends fought me, but they didn't turn against me. Do you see the difference?"
Spike shook his head.
"Buffy, Giles, all the Scoobies wanted to stop me. But not just to save Jonathan and Andrew. Or even to save the whole world. They wanted to save me, too. See, they believed that there was something deep inside EvilWillow worth saving. A Willow that they could trust again. If they hadn't believed that, the surest way to save everyone else would have been to kill me."
The vampire looked more confused than before.
"Spike, how many times have you fought Buffy?"
He shrugged, not sure if he should count every sparring match or only the times that they really intended to do each other damage. Finally, he settled. "Too many bloody times to count."
"How many of those times could she have killed you, but walked away instead?"
A reel of memories ran through his head. Yes, countless times she'd spared him. For years, he saw it as a serious personal weakness for a Slayer.
Willow's voice intruded on his thoughts. "I think that unconsciously Buffy thought that there was something worth saving in William the Bloody. A man that she could trust."
"Yeah," he scoffed. "Milquetoast William the poet."
"No," said a voice from the doorway.
Spike and Willow turned their heads to see Buffy standing there, a pile of mail held loosely in one hand.
"I haven't spared you because I was looking for William," she said. "He died in some London alleyway well over a century ago."
The vampire closed his eyes. He heard the scrape of a chair moving backwards and the slap of wet feet on the floor as Willow left the room. But the musky sweetness of vanilla told Spike that Buffy had stayed. The scent grew stronger as she moved slowly closer. He didn't dare breathe as she laid a small hand against his chest.
"If there's someone in there worth my trust, it'll have to be Spike," Buffy said softly.
He swallowed and opened his eyes, but she was gone.
***
The little girl was lost, but she didn't know it yet. The streets all tended to look the same in this area, and the approaching dusk made it harder to make out far away landmarks. So, she kept walking even though each step took her further and further away from both her own home and her grandmother's house. Only when she came to the little square did Deira realize that she had gone astray. By then, it was too late.
Charlotte Madeira Layton, age 6 and 1/2, had run away from home. At first, it seemed like a good idea, an adventure even. But now, she was lost.
She sat on a bench and began to cry.
"There, there my darling, dry your tears."
Deira looked up in surprise. A man stood at her side, offering a neatly folded handkerchief in one hand.
Her mother had warned her not to talk with strangers. But the man seemed kind. His blue eyes were full of concern and his voice was soft, unlike her stepfather's.
She reached out to take the handkerchief from him, but he hunkered down instead and gently wiped her face. "Now, why is such a pretty girl crying?"
She opened her mouth, but she didn't know where to begin. The man waited patiently, his gentian eyes full of concern. Finally, Deira shook her head shyly.
"Let me guess, you're lost?"
She nodded.
"Well, that won't do at all." The man said kindly. "There's a police station nearby. Let me take you there and the nice officers will get you home safely."
Deira shook her head. To her the words "home" and "safely" didn't belong in the same sentence.
"Sweet girl, I promise you there'll be nothing to fear at home tonight or ever again."
Her big green eyes were full of doubt.
He sighed. "I need you to trust me. Do you think that you can do that?"
In answer, she threw her little arms around his neck. As the child snuggled close, William the Bloody could feel the beat of her heart through the layers of cotton lawn. With each pulse, his hunger grew and he let it.
After all, he had to pay a visit to Samuel Packard.
The End.
