You Know Not The Day Nor the Hour, Part 2
by Lynne C.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: It's all Joss' – I worship at the altar of his genius, and acknowledge that he owns all these folks and everything that they do and say.
Setting: Anytime post-"Potential" (7.12), intended to act as "stuff that happened but not while we were looking". In other words, it tries not to contradict anything that's happened already or (trickier) might be about to happen!
Summary: Spike contemplates the unknown culmination of The First's anticipated apocalypse, and takes steps to prepare for certain possibilities.
Note: ~ Marks set off thoughts ~ (It seems this system can't handle italics! Pity!)
Spike shut the basement door behind him, holding the carton under one arm, pausing with his hand on the knob to smile at having taken her by surprise. Leaving Buffy Summers without the last word was always something of a feat, and now he gave himself a mental pat on the back at achieving it. ~'Sides, she did look like Joyce there for a minute.… ~ It wasn't until after her mother's death that he'd begun to notice a turn of the head or a mannerism in Buffy that would have made his heart skip a beat, had it beaten at all, at the resemblance. It was at once eerie and comforting to see her reflected in her daughter. ~ Guess that's part of the idea of passing on your genes…you're never really gone, then…Pity I'll nev—...,~ he shook off the thought as pointless, and proceeded down into the basement.
He went to a small table in the corner that held an array of household tools, a hand mixer that evidently no longer functioned, and a lantern battery in a bad state of corrosion. Spike pushed this detritus of everyday household life to one side, set his cardboard box down, and began to pull out the contents. Several books he tossed in the direction of his cot, alongside a tatty-looking pair of combat boots; a few objects he put onto the table, before sliding the box halfway under the cot to deal with the rest later.
Sitting down, he drew a sheet of cream-colored writing paper in front of him, uncapped the fountain pen he'd nicked from the Magic Box two years before, and began to write.
He made several false starts, crumpling the efforts up and tossing them towards the carton, most of which landed inside. He'd sit for short periods, hunched over his work, or staring at the water heater whilst tapping the pen against his chin. Finally, he seemed to find his train of thought, and the steady scratching of the pen nib against the heavy paper filled the basement.
At last, he set the pen aside, and stretched, reaching back to rub his neck. ~ Long bloody time since I've written so much…funny how you never quite lose the knack… ~
Once again comfortable, he organized the sheets that he'd filled, and leaned back in his chair to read them over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Buffy,
How to get this started? You should see the number of pages I've already tossed. It all sounds too cliché. 'If you're reading this, I must be gone…' all that rot.
It's tough, you know? We've said so much to each other over the years ~ can hardly be anything left, right? And still…here I am, trying to say good bye to you. Maybe I shouldn't even bother – things better left unsaid. But, in for a penny…
First with the mea culpa part of the missive. There's plenty I've done to you or involving you for which I'm sorry…and it seems a bit pointless to make a list. You know what they are, and I think by now you know how I feel about them. But on one point, I need to be specific: I was wrong to try to draw you into the darkness. I think part of me even knew it then. But you've always fought so hard against the dark in your nature, and since this thing that's always been between us was a part of that darkness ~ I wanted to push back; make you realize that it was never so black and white as you'd been taught. Of course, I went too far. And that was wrong. Long before that last night upstairs, I'd gone too far. That said, part of your power does spring from darkness, and you'll never be at peace until you accept that. Coming to terms with it doesn't mean becoming it's agent. I tried to draw you to the dark and you resisted it because of who you are. The Slayer's power may have some mystical source in the forces of both good and evil, but Buffy Summers is a creature of the light. As hard as I tried, in the end, not only did you resist me, you pulled me towards that light. And though it's been a hell of a lot more painful than I could have imagined, I thank you for it.
'You know not the day nor the hour.' That's from the Bible. Bloody funny, isn't it? Me a demon, but I remember all those things from when I was alive. William was a pratt, but he was a decent bloke. A bit like Xander, now that I think of it, but worse. Maybe that's why the whelp's always irritated me. William just tried so damned hard to please, to be accepted ~ too hard really...that was his trouble. So serious, so earnest. I wonder whether I'd ever have gotten a backbone if I'd lived? I sure spent all the years since then trying to be his opposite. But parts of him just stuck. A lot of the parts that drew me to you were his, and certainly if I ever managed to give you any comfort, or be of any use other than as muscle, that came from him. But you'd laugh yourself sick if you could see what he – I – was like back then. He's where the good stuff comes from, but he wasn't tough; not a survivor. He'd never have had anyone's back. To be of any real use to you, I had to be as I am. Go figure that one.
But, I was going somewhere. 'You know not the day nor the hour.' I don't know how this battle's going to end. I know that it may be my chance to do things right. To make up for failing on the tower that night. And, if that's how it ends, it's probably much better than I deserve.
'We're not all gonna make it. You know that.' That's what you said that night. I was so sure it would be me. And I was fine with that; ready for it, you know? There could have been no better way to end this sorry existence than to save both you girls – my girls – that's how I thought of you… still do, really. Then, that day in the alley, behind the Magic Box, after you came back ~ you told me what it had been like for you, when you were dead. I really was sorry you had to give that up. Not so sorry, of course, that I wasn't ecstatic to have you back, nevermind the circumstances. But it made me think about what a good place that must be, and how I'd never know what that was like. It wasn't supposed to matter to me, what came after this, but at that moment, it really did. I don't know where my soul was living before I got it back, and I don't know where it will go when this shell of mine is finally dust. But I can't think it will be anywhere like that. I'm not like you -- I've done too much.
But if we could choose our own afterlife, I know what I'd choose. A place where I could be with you without crisis or struggle or fear ~ just somewhere I could love you without anyone's recrimination. You know, for all the shagging we did, and as mind-blowing as it was, I'd have given anything to make love with you, even just once. I knew you wouldn't have it; that wasn't what you needed from me, or could tolerate from me. Damned ironic! Your Agent Finn and I saw eye-to-eye exactly once, right after I narced out his nasty little habit to you. You probably never knew that he came to my crypt to bluster about for me, and warn me off you. I told him then that sometimes I envied him so much…but then sometimes I thought I'd gotten the better deal; that he could be that close to you and not have you was worse than just plain not having you…we passed a bottle back and forth for a while that day. Of course, then, like a git, he left when he knew he couldn't have it his way. For me, leaving for good was just never an option. Even when I'd put myself in the same bloody boat as him, just hoping that in time…eh, you know what I hoped. Some of it you were right about…what we were doing couldn't have grown into something better when it was coming out of so much anger and isolation. I get now that we both deserved better, not just in general, but from each other. Yeh, to rest in the light of your smile, and hold you peacefully in my arms, and just love you… that's what I'd choose. So, in the end, I guess you were right about that, too…after the consuming passion has taken everything I had, and made me do things I thought impossible, I want to just love you quietly like old married folks. Again, bloody ironic...
You know, I always admired you; I studied you when I first came into town, fascinated with the way you fought ~ your confidence, your spirit, the way you committed to whatever you did, no matter what. And I could also see your fear and your isolation and how heavily your calling weighed on you. When we made that first truce, you were so determined to do what you had to do, but I could almost taste your despair. Course, that didn't matter much to me, so long as I could blow town. But, from then on the fix was in. Dru may have been one crazy bint, but she could see it long before I could, that we were connected. Dancing with you…well, it felt too good to want to end it. Little did I know where it would take us. Like how I've seen around most of those corners that you use to hide what you're thinking and feeling. You've fought me all the way on that, too…I always wondered how your friends could miss so much when they spent so much more time with you. But the times when you let the barriers down for me, and let me see you clearly…the enormity of that'd take my breath away, if I had any, even if it was only because my reaction didn't matter as much to you as theirs did. It meant that even if I didn't have your love, and probably never would, I had a part of your trust that no one else did. Not the part you held most important, of course. But, a fellow takes what he can! You've always hated it when I'd say I knew what was really going on in your head. Sometimes I was off, but more often, I had you figured out. I can almost hear your protests now, that I don't know you half so well as I think. But the way we can hold a conversation just looking at each other…you know I'm right.
I guess this is where I have to give you some advice. You need to learn to accept love, Buffy. Was it Angel who made you push it away? Or was it that useless excuse for an absent father of yours? Or are the expectations of others' love just too much to add to the burdens you already have to bear? Objectively, I know why you had to reject what I represented to you when we were 'together'. But it goes further than just me ~ I just had the privilege of being the glaring example. You've insulated yourself against it, from all quarters, and then don't know why all your feelings are deadened. That's why. Two way street – give and receive. Both have to happen for the system to work.
Now, speaking of Angel, and of how I figured into your emotional life, here's an unpopular idea that I'm compelled to point out – exercising my right as the departed, don't you know. Part of why you couldn't accept that I loved you without a soul is because if I was capable of it, then Angel was, too. And you couldn't deal with why he didn't. Now, I'm sure you're working up a head of steam reading this, but be honest. Angel's the formative experience that defined the meaning of souled and un-souled for you. You figured it out the way you had to in order to keep going, but that doesn't mean that the way you wrote it is the way it is. Getting my soul back didn't make me love you any more than I already did. Couldn't have, actually. It was about trying to be less of a monster. Because you couldn't love me that way, and also because I thought I'd already become more of a man, and it turned out I hadn't. And that I wanted to. But I'm not going to let you off the hook for why your feelings for me, and mine for you, were such a struggle for you.
Enough about that ancient history.
Finally, you have to know that the thing that kept me going in that cave with the First and it's minions doing their worst, was knowing that you believe in me. What I've done for you is so negligible next to what I've done to you, and yet you can offer me a gift as precious as your faith. It's…beyond what I can describe. Thank you.
This letter was difficult to begin, and now it's difficult to end. I guess in a way if I keep writing, you'll have to keep reading, and that will put off the time when I'm really gone. I miss you. That sounds crazy, a particular specialty of mine of late, but being where you're not, how could I not miss you? Just thinking about being away from here and you makes me feel empty. So, I won't think about it, and I'll try to pull together what last few things I want to say.
Know what an inspiration you've been to everyone around you.
Know that none of them ever expected you to be perfect.
Know that if people walk out of your life, it's because their bleedin' idiots, not because there's anything wrong with you.
Let people take care of you sometimes.
Be honest about what you feel ~ honest with yourself and your friends. Sometimes they go in circles trying to figure you out!
Let those goldilocks of yours grow…you're always beautiful, but never more so than with your hair shining down over your shoulders. It was like having a handful of sunlight…
Remember that Dawn still needs to be reminded that you notice her and that she's special. Kids are that way, needing reinforcement and all.
I can't help hoping you might remember the few good things between us more than the rest of it.
As ever ~
Spike
p.s. Keep any of my things, either in your house or at my crypt that you might want, or pitch them all if that appeals to you. And give the Little Bit a pick if she'd like anything for herself. There's a fussy fountain pen in a box under my cot that belongs to Giles…he'll be surprised to see it again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
He laid the pages down, feeling tired, but satisfied. He stretched backwards, tilting the chair back on two of it's legs, resting his wrists on top of his head, and staring for long moments at the wall in front of him, looking through it to see Buffy ~ fighting in the graveyard, talking to her Mom in the kitchen, getting drunk while he played poker for kittens, asking him to tell her that he loved her. That last one was still particularly wrenching. That day, he'd really thought that she might be coming around – might be ready to feel something more for him. He'd really dared to hope. But, in the end, that day was the end of that part of their relationship. ~ Yeh, you just never can tell what's coming next. But odds are, for me, it's going to be all about her. ~ He made a noise between a snort and a laugh, and brought the chair back onto all of its legs with a sharp snap that echoed in the still basement.
Refocusing his thoughts on the matter at hand, he aligned the sheets of paper and then folded them, ends up into the center, then the sides overlapping in the middle to form a square. Soft footfalls on the basement steps broke his concentration. He looked up from his work to see Willow hesitating at the base of the steps.
"Hey-a, Red."
"Hey-a, Spike…."
by Lynne C.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: It's all Joss' – I worship at the altar of his genius, and acknowledge that he owns all these folks and everything that they do and say.
Setting: Anytime post-"Potential" (7.12), intended to act as "stuff that happened but not while we were looking". In other words, it tries not to contradict anything that's happened already or (trickier) might be about to happen!
Summary: Spike contemplates the unknown culmination of The First's anticipated apocalypse, and takes steps to prepare for certain possibilities.
Note: ~ Marks set off thoughts ~ (It seems this system can't handle italics! Pity!)
Spike shut the basement door behind him, holding the carton under one arm, pausing with his hand on the knob to smile at having taken her by surprise. Leaving Buffy Summers without the last word was always something of a feat, and now he gave himself a mental pat on the back at achieving it. ~'Sides, she did look like Joyce there for a minute.… ~ It wasn't until after her mother's death that he'd begun to notice a turn of the head or a mannerism in Buffy that would have made his heart skip a beat, had it beaten at all, at the resemblance. It was at once eerie and comforting to see her reflected in her daughter. ~ Guess that's part of the idea of passing on your genes…you're never really gone, then…Pity I'll nev—...,~ he shook off the thought as pointless, and proceeded down into the basement.
He went to a small table in the corner that held an array of household tools, a hand mixer that evidently no longer functioned, and a lantern battery in a bad state of corrosion. Spike pushed this detritus of everyday household life to one side, set his cardboard box down, and began to pull out the contents. Several books he tossed in the direction of his cot, alongside a tatty-looking pair of combat boots; a few objects he put onto the table, before sliding the box halfway under the cot to deal with the rest later.
Sitting down, he drew a sheet of cream-colored writing paper in front of him, uncapped the fountain pen he'd nicked from the Magic Box two years before, and began to write.
He made several false starts, crumpling the efforts up and tossing them towards the carton, most of which landed inside. He'd sit for short periods, hunched over his work, or staring at the water heater whilst tapping the pen against his chin. Finally, he seemed to find his train of thought, and the steady scratching of the pen nib against the heavy paper filled the basement.
At last, he set the pen aside, and stretched, reaching back to rub his neck. ~ Long bloody time since I've written so much…funny how you never quite lose the knack… ~
Once again comfortable, he organized the sheets that he'd filled, and leaned back in his chair to read them over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Buffy,
How to get this started? You should see the number of pages I've already tossed. It all sounds too cliché. 'If you're reading this, I must be gone…' all that rot.
It's tough, you know? We've said so much to each other over the years ~ can hardly be anything left, right? And still…here I am, trying to say good bye to you. Maybe I shouldn't even bother – things better left unsaid. But, in for a penny…
First with the mea culpa part of the missive. There's plenty I've done to you or involving you for which I'm sorry…and it seems a bit pointless to make a list. You know what they are, and I think by now you know how I feel about them. But on one point, I need to be specific: I was wrong to try to draw you into the darkness. I think part of me even knew it then. But you've always fought so hard against the dark in your nature, and since this thing that's always been between us was a part of that darkness ~ I wanted to push back; make you realize that it was never so black and white as you'd been taught. Of course, I went too far. And that was wrong. Long before that last night upstairs, I'd gone too far. That said, part of your power does spring from darkness, and you'll never be at peace until you accept that. Coming to terms with it doesn't mean becoming it's agent. I tried to draw you to the dark and you resisted it because of who you are. The Slayer's power may have some mystical source in the forces of both good and evil, but Buffy Summers is a creature of the light. As hard as I tried, in the end, not only did you resist me, you pulled me towards that light. And though it's been a hell of a lot more painful than I could have imagined, I thank you for it.
'You know not the day nor the hour.' That's from the Bible. Bloody funny, isn't it? Me a demon, but I remember all those things from when I was alive. William was a pratt, but he was a decent bloke. A bit like Xander, now that I think of it, but worse. Maybe that's why the whelp's always irritated me. William just tried so damned hard to please, to be accepted ~ too hard really...that was his trouble. So serious, so earnest. I wonder whether I'd ever have gotten a backbone if I'd lived? I sure spent all the years since then trying to be his opposite. But parts of him just stuck. A lot of the parts that drew me to you were his, and certainly if I ever managed to give you any comfort, or be of any use other than as muscle, that came from him. But you'd laugh yourself sick if you could see what he – I – was like back then. He's where the good stuff comes from, but he wasn't tough; not a survivor. He'd never have had anyone's back. To be of any real use to you, I had to be as I am. Go figure that one.
But, I was going somewhere. 'You know not the day nor the hour.' I don't know how this battle's going to end. I know that it may be my chance to do things right. To make up for failing on the tower that night. And, if that's how it ends, it's probably much better than I deserve.
'We're not all gonna make it. You know that.' That's what you said that night. I was so sure it would be me. And I was fine with that; ready for it, you know? There could have been no better way to end this sorry existence than to save both you girls – my girls – that's how I thought of you… still do, really. Then, that day in the alley, behind the Magic Box, after you came back ~ you told me what it had been like for you, when you were dead. I really was sorry you had to give that up. Not so sorry, of course, that I wasn't ecstatic to have you back, nevermind the circumstances. But it made me think about what a good place that must be, and how I'd never know what that was like. It wasn't supposed to matter to me, what came after this, but at that moment, it really did. I don't know where my soul was living before I got it back, and I don't know where it will go when this shell of mine is finally dust. But I can't think it will be anywhere like that. I'm not like you -- I've done too much.
But if we could choose our own afterlife, I know what I'd choose. A place where I could be with you without crisis or struggle or fear ~ just somewhere I could love you without anyone's recrimination. You know, for all the shagging we did, and as mind-blowing as it was, I'd have given anything to make love with you, even just once. I knew you wouldn't have it; that wasn't what you needed from me, or could tolerate from me. Damned ironic! Your Agent Finn and I saw eye-to-eye exactly once, right after I narced out his nasty little habit to you. You probably never knew that he came to my crypt to bluster about for me, and warn me off you. I told him then that sometimes I envied him so much…but then sometimes I thought I'd gotten the better deal; that he could be that close to you and not have you was worse than just plain not having you…we passed a bottle back and forth for a while that day. Of course, then, like a git, he left when he knew he couldn't have it his way. For me, leaving for good was just never an option. Even when I'd put myself in the same bloody boat as him, just hoping that in time…eh, you know what I hoped. Some of it you were right about…what we were doing couldn't have grown into something better when it was coming out of so much anger and isolation. I get now that we both deserved better, not just in general, but from each other. Yeh, to rest in the light of your smile, and hold you peacefully in my arms, and just love you… that's what I'd choose. So, in the end, I guess you were right about that, too…after the consuming passion has taken everything I had, and made me do things I thought impossible, I want to just love you quietly like old married folks. Again, bloody ironic...
You know, I always admired you; I studied you when I first came into town, fascinated with the way you fought ~ your confidence, your spirit, the way you committed to whatever you did, no matter what. And I could also see your fear and your isolation and how heavily your calling weighed on you. When we made that first truce, you were so determined to do what you had to do, but I could almost taste your despair. Course, that didn't matter much to me, so long as I could blow town. But, from then on the fix was in. Dru may have been one crazy bint, but she could see it long before I could, that we were connected. Dancing with you…well, it felt too good to want to end it. Little did I know where it would take us. Like how I've seen around most of those corners that you use to hide what you're thinking and feeling. You've fought me all the way on that, too…I always wondered how your friends could miss so much when they spent so much more time with you. But the times when you let the barriers down for me, and let me see you clearly…the enormity of that'd take my breath away, if I had any, even if it was only because my reaction didn't matter as much to you as theirs did. It meant that even if I didn't have your love, and probably never would, I had a part of your trust that no one else did. Not the part you held most important, of course. But, a fellow takes what he can! You've always hated it when I'd say I knew what was really going on in your head. Sometimes I was off, but more often, I had you figured out. I can almost hear your protests now, that I don't know you half so well as I think. But the way we can hold a conversation just looking at each other…you know I'm right.
I guess this is where I have to give you some advice. You need to learn to accept love, Buffy. Was it Angel who made you push it away? Or was it that useless excuse for an absent father of yours? Or are the expectations of others' love just too much to add to the burdens you already have to bear? Objectively, I know why you had to reject what I represented to you when we were 'together'. But it goes further than just me ~ I just had the privilege of being the glaring example. You've insulated yourself against it, from all quarters, and then don't know why all your feelings are deadened. That's why. Two way street – give and receive. Both have to happen for the system to work.
Now, speaking of Angel, and of how I figured into your emotional life, here's an unpopular idea that I'm compelled to point out – exercising my right as the departed, don't you know. Part of why you couldn't accept that I loved you without a soul is because if I was capable of it, then Angel was, too. And you couldn't deal with why he didn't. Now, I'm sure you're working up a head of steam reading this, but be honest. Angel's the formative experience that defined the meaning of souled and un-souled for you. You figured it out the way you had to in order to keep going, but that doesn't mean that the way you wrote it is the way it is. Getting my soul back didn't make me love you any more than I already did. Couldn't have, actually. It was about trying to be less of a monster. Because you couldn't love me that way, and also because I thought I'd already become more of a man, and it turned out I hadn't. And that I wanted to. But I'm not going to let you off the hook for why your feelings for me, and mine for you, were such a struggle for you.
Enough about that ancient history.
Finally, you have to know that the thing that kept me going in that cave with the First and it's minions doing their worst, was knowing that you believe in me. What I've done for you is so negligible next to what I've done to you, and yet you can offer me a gift as precious as your faith. It's…beyond what I can describe. Thank you.
This letter was difficult to begin, and now it's difficult to end. I guess in a way if I keep writing, you'll have to keep reading, and that will put off the time when I'm really gone. I miss you. That sounds crazy, a particular specialty of mine of late, but being where you're not, how could I not miss you? Just thinking about being away from here and you makes me feel empty. So, I won't think about it, and I'll try to pull together what last few things I want to say.
Know what an inspiration you've been to everyone around you.
Know that none of them ever expected you to be perfect.
Know that if people walk out of your life, it's because their bleedin' idiots, not because there's anything wrong with you.
Let people take care of you sometimes.
Be honest about what you feel ~ honest with yourself and your friends. Sometimes they go in circles trying to figure you out!
Let those goldilocks of yours grow…you're always beautiful, but never more so than with your hair shining down over your shoulders. It was like having a handful of sunlight…
Remember that Dawn still needs to be reminded that you notice her and that she's special. Kids are that way, needing reinforcement and all.
I can't help hoping you might remember the few good things between us more than the rest of it.
As ever ~
Spike
p.s. Keep any of my things, either in your house or at my crypt that you might want, or pitch them all if that appeals to you. And give the Little Bit a pick if she'd like anything for herself. There's a fussy fountain pen in a box under my cot that belongs to Giles…he'll be surprised to see it again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
He laid the pages down, feeling tired, but satisfied. He stretched backwards, tilting the chair back on two of it's legs, resting his wrists on top of his head, and staring for long moments at the wall in front of him, looking through it to see Buffy ~ fighting in the graveyard, talking to her Mom in the kitchen, getting drunk while he played poker for kittens, asking him to tell her that he loved her. That last one was still particularly wrenching. That day, he'd really thought that she might be coming around – might be ready to feel something more for him. He'd really dared to hope. But, in the end, that day was the end of that part of their relationship. ~ Yeh, you just never can tell what's coming next. But odds are, for me, it's going to be all about her. ~ He made a noise between a snort and a laugh, and brought the chair back onto all of its legs with a sharp snap that echoed in the still basement.
Refocusing his thoughts on the matter at hand, he aligned the sheets of paper and then folded them, ends up into the center, then the sides overlapping in the middle to form a square. Soft footfalls on the basement steps broke his concentration. He looked up from his work to see Willow hesitating at the base of the steps.
"Hey-a, Red."
"Hey-a, Spike…."