Hello, All,
This has been a trying week, both personally, and with writing. Much real life angst combined with the need to write some fairly heavy stuff.
I can only hope that my portrayals of the character's reactions are what you would hope them to be. Or at least, think they may be.
That, and promise you a happy ending. At least in fiction.
Thank you all for reading. I wish you the best in this New Year.
~~@ Nimue @~~
"And though she be but little, she is fierce." ~ William Shakespeare ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream
Title: The Sound and the Fury (Chapter Eighteen - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com. Also, please visit Always_Everyday's sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.
The rest of the story can be found at:
And present chapters are being posted on my live journal at:
Disclaimer: All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: Spike goes to Buffy and faces her for the first time after the revelation about their unborn child.
The Sound and the Fury
He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. He breathed. It was all he could think of to do.
That, and watch her.
She threw punch after punch against the bag, her hands bare and raw, sweat mingling with tears and running down her face in a torrent of silver. Her body moved with the grace and anger of a lioness, her muscles rippling under taut skin, her fury and her torment and her fear. God, her fear. exuding from every pore.
"Buffy." He tried to speak, his tone gentle and kind. Tried to make her hear him in the little torture box she'd erected around her. "Buffy, Love."
Punch. Kick. Grunt. Punch.
He took a step closer. She almost physically pushed him back with the walls she'd put up to protect herself. "We need to talk."
Spike saw the anger flash through green eyes, even in the darkened room. Another punch. Another kick. "Nothing to say."
Okay. This was better. Hard, but better.
"Maybe not. But we need to say it anyway, Pet." It was true. Until they figured something out, there really wasn't anything that needed to be said. But they needed each other. As close as they were, as much of their mind and body and heart that they shared, sometimes the sound of each other's voices was the only thing that could tether them together.
"Then do it," Buffy answered coldly, spinning and walloping the bag with a roundhouse, ducking underneath it as it swung over her head, and attacking it from the other side.
"Takes two to talk, Love."
"Not what Willow thinks," Buffy retorted. Grunt. Punch. Punch.
"Buffy."
"What? What, Spike? Want me to tell you how I feel? What I think?" Another flurry of punches, the sounds from her mouth somewhere between exertion and heartbreak. "Want me to tell you what they said after I left?"
Spike stopped, watching her again. How could she.
"I don't know," she interrupted, reading his mind. Not from some gift of the One, but rather just from knowing the way he thought. "But I felt you, Spike. Not a whole lot that would have made you that hurt."
"Buffy." He swallowed, holding back tears. "I."
"They want me to kill my baby," she stated bluntly. Coldly. With no feeling. But Spike could hear her screaming inside herself. Inside her little box.
"Our baby," Spike corrected, trying not to lose his mind. Wanting to pummel everything in sight.
Like she was.
"That it?" Buffy continued, her fists flying now, her tears raining down like a summer storm. "Wait, let me guess. We'll try something else first. Or a couple things. But that's the endgame, isn't it Spike?"
"Won't let it happen," Spike responded, trying to move a step closer and watching her spin out of his reach to the other side of the bag, her hands bleeding. Her body shaking. "Won't let them take her away from us. Not now. Not ever."
"But then she kills us. And Emma," Buffy said in that same, disconnected tone. Spike understood it, but it was eerie all the same. She was protecting herself from admitting any of this was happening.
Problem with that is when the dam breaks, the flood waters rise.
"Buffy, I won't let them hurt you. You know that. I won't let them hurt the baby either. And neither will you." He tried to be calm. Rational. But his mind was spinning with her hurt and his own.
"Right," she chuckled, nearly knocking herself down with the force of the accompanying punch. "You want me to kill it too, don't you? So you don't have to watch your precious Emma."
"Enough!" Spike screamed, his hand striking the bag with such force that it ripped from the ceiling, sending it flying into the far wall.
Buffy looked at him for a second, shocked. Her face completely blank, now only two feet from him, with nothing blocking her from those eyes. Those eyes she drowned in a thousand times over.
Spike watched her face change from that cold, angry blank. It was heartbreaking to see the tears rush up behind big green eyes. To watch her resolve waver and the walls come crashing to her feet. Even in his anger at what she had said, he knew, he *knew* she was dying inside.
"Not going to let it happen. Believe me. Don't care if I have to give up everything I have to save you. To save her and Emma and Will. But I won't let them take her away from you, Pet. Don't even talk like that," Spike said, his voice crackling with anger, but on the edge of breakdown at the same time.
"What." she took a deep breath, trying not to sob. "What if we have to?"
"You won't," he replied coolly, afraid to look at her beautiful face and think of that cold table and her so alone. "Call me old fashioned, Pet, but in my day, people didn't consider this an option. It's not. Won't ever be, to me. You're my *wife*, Buffy. And she's my daughter. Not let any sodding prophesy, or hellspawn, or doctor, or *anyone* take her away from us."
Buffy bit her lip and pushed on. "Spike, what if we have to?"
"Enough!" Spike screamed again, spinning away from her, his fury taking control. Without thinking, he began to beat the wall as furiously as she had beaten the punching bag, his hands cracking the cement, his growls tearing through the air as if they were cracking it. "Enough! Dammit, Buffy. No."
He could hear her sobbing behind him now, her walls falling to dust, but he couldn't look. Couldn't see. Couldn't face her. Not now. Not if she was even considering the option of letting them win.
"Do you even want this, Buffy?" His turn to lash out. He kicked the sofa, cracking it in half. "Do you even want to fight? Or you just gonna give up and roll over and let them take my baby out of you like she never meant a thing? Serve her up to jolly old Satan on a platter."
He heard her scream before he felt her blows.
A wail pierced the air full of agony and anger, her fists coming down hard on his back, knocking him to the floor. He was dazed for a second, but hopped up on instinct, facing her. Her hands came in a dizzying flurry, pummeling him with bloody knuckles, her legs shaking. He fought her, careful not to land any blows of consequence, but his own anger not letting this stop.
They danced. It had been a long time since they'd lost themselves in the music that was them. Her hands meeting his, her legs swinging, his body ducking and weaving. Catching her momentum and throwing it back at her, feeling his eyes blacken and his cheeks bruise with every step.
Buffy amazed him with her power. Her speed. Her strength. Still she amazed him. Even though there would be no winner if they ever truly fought, letting her loose against him once again was one of the most beautiful sights he'd seen.
Except for the tears.
Tears streamed down her face as she fought. He hadn't noticed at first, but his own were burning his cheeks as they slid across marred flesh. She swung. He caught. She kicked, he spun. She landed, he knocked her back. Until all that was left was her.
Banging on his chest with balled fists, screaming into the dark room, sobbing. Falling. Falling. Falling.
He fell to his knees with her, catching her against his chest and pulling her closer, wrapping strong, shaking arms around her shoulders as her balled fists tapped against him almost forcelessly. She was sobbing now. Her whole body quaking with every choked breath, her wet face buried in his chest.
And he could feel his own tears dampen her hair as he buried his cheek and held her.
"Not going to let it happen, Love," he whispered. "No one ever is going to take this away from us. Yeah?"
She sobbed, her hands now clutching his shirt, tearing it further. Spike tried to calm her, stroking her sweat-matted hair. "Spike, please. I don't want to give her back. Please don't let them take her from me. Please. I can feel her inside. She's ours, Spike. They can't."
His eyes closed as he held her, his face contorting in silent anguish. "No one, Love. No one. I won't let them. I'll protect you."
"Please," Buffy gasped, lifting her head to look at him with red, terrified eyes. "Please, Spike. I love her. I love you. I love..."
Spike pressed his lips to hers, silencing her words, catching her sobs in this throat and returning them with a desperate kiss. She broke, staring up at his face for a moment, knowing, feeling.
He wasn't going to let this happen.
Neither was she.
She pushed up on her knees, crushing her lips to his in a desperate plea for contact. Her hands grabbed the tattered remains of his shirt, ripping it off and sliding what was left over his shoulders as his tongue searched her mouth, seeking respite in her. Seeking solace.
It took only a moment for their clothes to be scattered over the floor and a terrified, desperate lovemaking to begin. As if they could make sure no one could take her away from them by holding her inside forever. If they could make it stop just by loving alone.
Because love truly does conquer all.
And true love conquers even Hell itself.
~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~
Buffy came to, curled tightly in a ball, Spike spooned behind her, his arm wrapped protectively around her. It was full dark now, and the moon shone through the faded glass of the training room.
"You alright, Pet?" A comforting purr sounded in her ear as gentle fingers danced over bruises on her pretty skin. "You know. I never meant to hurt you. Not with words or with."
She smiled softly, putting her hand over his. "I'm okay," Buffy whispered. "Is this how we deal with fear and fury now?" A soft giggle replaced some of the fear in her voice.
"What? Beat each other to a pulp and then shag senseless? Sounds like old times, Pet. Not broken don't fix it and all that rubbish," he answered, running a hand lazily down her spine and making her shiver as she giggled.
Buffy lay silent for a long time, trying to still herself and feel. Feel him loving her. Feel her baby inside of her. Feel safe and warm and loved, even if it was just for a moment.
"I'm so sorry, Love," his voice whispered, planting a gentle kiss on her shoulder.
She rolled to face him, her eyes shut and a small smile on her lips, savouring the moment of peace. "No, I'm."
Her words were cut short as her eyes opened to the damage her anger had done. Spike's face was bloodied, his nose cracked, lips bleeding. Both eyes were black. One was swollen shut.
"Oh my God," she whispered in horror. "Oh my God."
"Buffy," he whispered, not knowing how bad the damage was, knowing it hurt a hell of a lot but feeling her hurt inside was so much worse.
Tears sprang to her eyes once again as she freed her hands and ran them over his face. "Spike." Tears choked her voice. "Oh God. I."
"Buffy, we both did things. Said things."
"No," she said softly, her fingers grazing broken skin, hoping, praying she could put this back together again. "I have a couple of bruises."
"Shh," Spike whispered, stroking her hair and trying to calm her again. There was enough in store for them. She didn't need to be any more upset than she had been. Wasn't good for her and wasn't good for the child she was protecting. "It'll heal." He smiled a little, trying to kiss away the tears that had begun to fall slowly from her red eyes.
"I can't. why? Why do you forgive me? How do you forgive me?" Buffy whispered, her voice so thready and small. "Why do I keep doing this to you? Why?"
"Buffy," Spike said softly. "You are the Slayer. I am a Vampire. This... this is what we do. What we've always done. The dance is part of us. We've held it back, but it's still part of us."
She swallowed, her eyes still glazed over with tears. "But I. I just. your face."
"It'll heal," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "But can't have any more of that. Tot can't be comfy with all that banging round in there."
Buffy chuckled through the tears, feeling them both with her for the first, true time. Feeling how much love there was between them. More than any mortal could ever understand. "Spike, I'm sorry. I can't take it back, but I can say I'm sorry I hurt you."
He smiled, making a show of wiping blood from his lip. "You'll make it up to me somehow."
Snark. Every Vampire's most deadly weapon.
Except..
"As a matter of fact," Buffy whispered her voice now a kittenish purr. Her mouth moved over the cuts on his face, sealing them, kissing them clean, her tongue laving over raw skin. Her body pressing hard and firm against his. "I think I might start now."
"Buffy, you don't have to. I was just.." Spike babbled as her hands explored the rest of his body, rendering him nearly senseless and completely at her mercy.
"What?" Buffy responded, knowingly. "Make love to my beautiful Vampire husband and help him heal? I know I don't have to. Selfish that way."
Spike hummed in response. "Right then, selfish it is."
To be contd.
This has been a trying week, both personally, and with writing. Much real life angst combined with the need to write some fairly heavy stuff.
I can only hope that my portrayals of the character's reactions are what you would hope them to be. Or at least, think they may be.
That, and promise you a happy ending. At least in fiction.
Thank you all for reading. I wish you the best in this New Year.
~~@ Nimue @~~
"And though she be but little, she is fierce." ~ William Shakespeare ~ A Midsummer Night's Dream
Title: The Sound and the Fury (Chapter Eighteen - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com. Also, please visit Always_Everyday's sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.
The rest of the story can be found at:
And present chapters are being posted on my live journal at:
Disclaimer: All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: Spike goes to Buffy and faces her for the first time after the revelation about their unborn child.
The Sound and the Fury
He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. He breathed. It was all he could think of to do.
That, and watch her.
She threw punch after punch against the bag, her hands bare and raw, sweat mingling with tears and running down her face in a torrent of silver. Her body moved with the grace and anger of a lioness, her muscles rippling under taut skin, her fury and her torment and her fear. God, her fear. exuding from every pore.
"Buffy." He tried to speak, his tone gentle and kind. Tried to make her hear him in the little torture box she'd erected around her. "Buffy, Love."
Punch. Kick. Grunt. Punch.
He took a step closer. She almost physically pushed him back with the walls she'd put up to protect herself. "We need to talk."
Spike saw the anger flash through green eyes, even in the darkened room. Another punch. Another kick. "Nothing to say."
Okay. This was better. Hard, but better.
"Maybe not. But we need to say it anyway, Pet." It was true. Until they figured something out, there really wasn't anything that needed to be said. But they needed each other. As close as they were, as much of their mind and body and heart that they shared, sometimes the sound of each other's voices was the only thing that could tether them together.
"Then do it," Buffy answered coldly, spinning and walloping the bag with a roundhouse, ducking underneath it as it swung over her head, and attacking it from the other side.
"Takes two to talk, Love."
"Not what Willow thinks," Buffy retorted. Grunt. Punch. Punch.
"Buffy."
"What? What, Spike? Want me to tell you how I feel? What I think?" Another flurry of punches, the sounds from her mouth somewhere between exertion and heartbreak. "Want me to tell you what they said after I left?"
Spike stopped, watching her again. How could she.
"I don't know," she interrupted, reading his mind. Not from some gift of the One, but rather just from knowing the way he thought. "But I felt you, Spike. Not a whole lot that would have made you that hurt."
"Buffy." He swallowed, holding back tears. "I."
"They want me to kill my baby," she stated bluntly. Coldly. With no feeling. But Spike could hear her screaming inside herself. Inside her little box.
"Our baby," Spike corrected, trying not to lose his mind. Wanting to pummel everything in sight.
Like she was.
"That it?" Buffy continued, her fists flying now, her tears raining down like a summer storm. "Wait, let me guess. We'll try something else first. Or a couple things. But that's the endgame, isn't it Spike?"
"Won't let it happen," Spike responded, trying to move a step closer and watching her spin out of his reach to the other side of the bag, her hands bleeding. Her body shaking. "Won't let them take her away from us. Not now. Not ever."
"But then she kills us. And Emma," Buffy said in that same, disconnected tone. Spike understood it, but it was eerie all the same. She was protecting herself from admitting any of this was happening.
Problem with that is when the dam breaks, the flood waters rise.
"Buffy, I won't let them hurt you. You know that. I won't let them hurt the baby either. And neither will you." He tried to be calm. Rational. But his mind was spinning with her hurt and his own.
"Right," she chuckled, nearly knocking herself down with the force of the accompanying punch. "You want me to kill it too, don't you? So you don't have to watch your precious Emma."
"Enough!" Spike screamed, his hand striking the bag with such force that it ripped from the ceiling, sending it flying into the far wall.
Buffy looked at him for a second, shocked. Her face completely blank, now only two feet from him, with nothing blocking her from those eyes. Those eyes she drowned in a thousand times over.
Spike watched her face change from that cold, angry blank. It was heartbreaking to see the tears rush up behind big green eyes. To watch her resolve waver and the walls come crashing to her feet. Even in his anger at what she had said, he knew, he *knew* she was dying inside.
"Not going to let it happen. Believe me. Don't care if I have to give up everything I have to save you. To save her and Emma and Will. But I won't let them take her away from you, Pet. Don't even talk like that," Spike said, his voice crackling with anger, but on the edge of breakdown at the same time.
"What." she took a deep breath, trying not to sob. "What if we have to?"
"You won't," he replied coolly, afraid to look at her beautiful face and think of that cold table and her so alone. "Call me old fashioned, Pet, but in my day, people didn't consider this an option. It's not. Won't ever be, to me. You're my *wife*, Buffy. And she's my daughter. Not let any sodding prophesy, or hellspawn, or doctor, or *anyone* take her away from us."
Buffy bit her lip and pushed on. "Spike, what if we have to?"
"Enough!" Spike screamed again, spinning away from her, his fury taking control. Without thinking, he began to beat the wall as furiously as she had beaten the punching bag, his hands cracking the cement, his growls tearing through the air as if they were cracking it. "Enough! Dammit, Buffy. No."
He could hear her sobbing behind him now, her walls falling to dust, but he couldn't look. Couldn't see. Couldn't face her. Not now. Not if she was even considering the option of letting them win.
"Do you even want this, Buffy?" His turn to lash out. He kicked the sofa, cracking it in half. "Do you even want to fight? Or you just gonna give up and roll over and let them take my baby out of you like she never meant a thing? Serve her up to jolly old Satan on a platter."
He heard her scream before he felt her blows.
A wail pierced the air full of agony and anger, her fists coming down hard on his back, knocking him to the floor. He was dazed for a second, but hopped up on instinct, facing her. Her hands came in a dizzying flurry, pummeling him with bloody knuckles, her legs shaking. He fought her, careful not to land any blows of consequence, but his own anger not letting this stop.
They danced. It had been a long time since they'd lost themselves in the music that was them. Her hands meeting his, her legs swinging, his body ducking and weaving. Catching her momentum and throwing it back at her, feeling his eyes blacken and his cheeks bruise with every step.
Buffy amazed him with her power. Her speed. Her strength. Still she amazed him. Even though there would be no winner if they ever truly fought, letting her loose against him once again was one of the most beautiful sights he'd seen.
Except for the tears.
Tears streamed down her face as she fought. He hadn't noticed at first, but his own were burning his cheeks as they slid across marred flesh. She swung. He caught. She kicked, he spun. She landed, he knocked her back. Until all that was left was her.
Banging on his chest with balled fists, screaming into the dark room, sobbing. Falling. Falling. Falling.
He fell to his knees with her, catching her against his chest and pulling her closer, wrapping strong, shaking arms around her shoulders as her balled fists tapped against him almost forcelessly. She was sobbing now. Her whole body quaking with every choked breath, her wet face buried in his chest.
And he could feel his own tears dampen her hair as he buried his cheek and held her.
"Not going to let it happen, Love," he whispered. "No one ever is going to take this away from us. Yeah?"
She sobbed, her hands now clutching his shirt, tearing it further. Spike tried to calm her, stroking her sweat-matted hair. "Spike, please. I don't want to give her back. Please don't let them take her from me. Please. I can feel her inside. She's ours, Spike. They can't."
His eyes closed as he held her, his face contorting in silent anguish. "No one, Love. No one. I won't let them. I'll protect you."
"Please," Buffy gasped, lifting her head to look at him with red, terrified eyes. "Please, Spike. I love her. I love you. I love..."
Spike pressed his lips to hers, silencing her words, catching her sobs in this throat and returning them with a desperate kiss. She broke, staring up at his face for a moment, knowing, feeling.
He wasn't going to let this happen.
Neither was she.
She pushed up on her knees, crushing her lips to his in a desperate plea for contact. Her hands grabbed the tattered remains of his shirt, ripping it off and sliding what was left over his shoulders as his tongue searched her mouth, seeking respite in her. Seeking solace.
It took only a moment for their clothes to be scattered over the floor and a terrified, desperate lovemaking to begin. As if they could make sure no one could take her away from them by holding her inside forever. If they could make it stop just by loving alone.
Because love truly does conquer all.
And true love conquers even Hell itself.
~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~
Buffy came to, curled tightly in a ball, Spike spooned behind her, his arm wrapped protectively around her. It was full dark now, and the moon shone through the faded glass of the training room.
"You alright, Pet?" A comforting purr sounded in her ear as gentle fingers danced over bruises on her pretty skin. "You know. I never meant to hurt you. Not with words or with."
She smiled softly, putting her hand over his. "I'm okay," Buffy whispered. "Is this how we deal with fear and fury now?" A soft giggle replaced some of the fear in her voice.
"What? Beat each other to a pulp and then shag senseless? Sounds like old times, Pet. Not broken don't fix it and all that rubbish," he answered, running a hand lazily down her spine and making her shiver as she giggled.
Buffy lay silent for a long time, trying to still herself and feel. Feel him loving her. Feel her baby inside of her. Feel safe and warm and loved, even if it was just for a moment.
"I'm so sorry, Love," his voice whispered, planting a gentle kiss on her shoulder.
She rolled to face him, her eyes shut and a small smile on her lips, savouring the moment of peace. "No, I'm."
Her words were cut short as her eyes opened to the damage her anger had done. Spike's face was bloodied, his nose cracked, lips bleeding. Both eyes were black. One was swollen shut.
"Oh my God," she whispered in horror. "Oh my God."
"Buffy," he whispered, not knowing how bad the damage was, knowing it hurt a hell of a lot but feeling her hurt inside was so much worse.
Tears sprang to her eyes once again as she freed her hands and ran them over his face. "Spike." Tears choked her voice. "Oh God. I."
"Buffy, we both did things. Said things."
"No," she said softly, her fingers grazing broken skin, hoping, praying she could put this back together again. "I have a couple of bruises."
"Shh," Spike whispered, stroking her hair and trying to calm her again. There was enough in store for them. She didn't need to be any more upset than she had been. Wasn't good for her and wasn't good for the child she was protecting. "It'll heal." He smiled a little, trying to kiss away the tears that had begun to fall slowly from her red eyes.
"I can't. why? Why do you forgive me? How do you forgive me?" Buffy whispered, her voice so thready and small. "Why do I keep doing this to you? Why?"
"Buffy," Spike said softly. "You are the Slayer. I am a Vampire. This... this is what we do. What we've always done. The dance is part of us. We've held it back, but it's still part of us."
She swallowed, her eyes still glazed over with tears. "But I. I just. your face."
"It'll heal," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "But can't have any more of that. Tot can't be comfy with all that banging round in there."
Buffy chuckled through the tears, feeling them both with her for the first, true time. Feeling how much love there was between them. More than any mortal could ever understand. "Spike, I'm sorry. I can't take it back, but I can say I'm sorry I hurt you."
He smiled, making a show of wiping blood from his lip. "You'll make it up to me somehow."
Snark. Every Vampire's most deadly weapon.
Except..
"As a matter of fact," Buffy whispered her voice now a kittenish purr. Her mouth moved over the cuts on his face, sealing them, kissing them clean, her tongue laving over raw skin. Her body pressing hard and firm against his. "I think I might start now."
"Buffy, you don't have to. I was just.." Spike babbled as her hands explored the rest of his body, rendering him nearly senseless and completely at her mercy.
"What?" Buffy responded, knowingly. "Make love to my beautiful Vampire husband and help him heal? I know I don't have to. Selfish that way."
Spike hummed in response. "Right then, selfish it is."
To be contd.