Good evening, All!
Yes, two weeks of straight angst! Although this is a bit less angsty than last week, it still carries some sadness. Try and stick with me to the gooey center, or happy ending, whichever I get to first.
And for those of you fans of the "other" Nim (Evil!Nim is afoot), I am hoping to start that Master!Spike series shortly. Just hang in there....
Without further ado...
Oh, and please give me love. I need your lurrrrvvveeee....
Enjoy!
In Kindness, Nimue "Though beauty is rare enough
Still we trust
Somehow we'll find it there
With no guarantee
It seems to me
At least it should be fair" - Allison Krauss - That Kind of Love
www.livejournal (dot) com/users/nimuetucker/ AlwaysEveryday (at) yahoogroups.com HowtoMakeaVampireSundae (at) yahoogroups.com
Title: What We Are (Chapter Twenty-nine - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: Spike goes on his reconnaissance mission to find out what Drusilla knows. What he finds out, however, is nearly enough to kill him. And the price that he pays for information is more than he can handle.
WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can't tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.
What We Are
It was bad.
This Angel knew.
His relationship with his grandchilde had been tumultuous at best since Angelus had become Angel. It was downright hostile when they shared the love of a woman, as they had with Drusilla and, later, with Buffy. They'd beaten each other to a bloody pulp on more occasions than either of them chose to remember at this stage. And they'd raged in unison and in opposition.
But Spike had never needed his comfort before.
Or maybe he had and Angel had never noticed.
To be honest, the latter was probably the more likely. Spike had always been sensitive. Even at his most... evil?... he'd been the one to be hurt by it all. Hurt by the games. Hurt by the way the world worked, both for humans and for Vampires. He'd probably cried like this before.
Did he cry with Buffy?
When the hitching sobs and violent shaking began to wane, Angel just forgot about it all. Let it be. Right now, Spike needed help and their attitude towards each other really didn't matter. They'd lost. They'd both lost something so dear to them that it was almost like air. Like losing one's breath. Even if Buffy hadn't called, Angel would have come. Because this was the one thing that Spike and Angel could agree on.
Drusilla.
And she was gone.
With painstaking slowness, Angel lifted himself to his feet, battling his own round of hitching sobs that he was sure would be let loose in a rain of fists at some point or other. Or Cordelia would get to him first, niggle her way past his defenses and make him cry it out. He hated when she did that, yet loved her for it.
Spike was like a rag doll. Empty and limp, falling back against the wall when Angel's arm moved. Ashes streaked his cheeks. His hands. His clothes. They needed to get away from here. They needed to be... they just needed to leave.
A hand under Spike's shoulder and Angel lifted the smaller man to his feet, taking his hand like a father would a son. Leading him out of the courtyard in numbed silence.
This was bad.
Spike was never silent.
The walk through the stone corridors was even longer on the way out. Spike winced every time their boots struck stone. Like a kicked dog. Or a dead man walking.
And the blond clung to his hand.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
She's gone.
Stars singing.
Daddy's here. Don't want daddy. Want my girl. Want my girl. Want vanilla and soft and warm. So warm. Not dying. Not dying in my arms. Alive. And warm. And sweet and soft. And warm.
But daddy's here and he'll take me to her. He'll bring her to me. He'll kill the bastard that hurt my princess.
I am the bastard.
The sound hurts.
Where is my warm gold? Where is my girl? Little strong girl. With my babies. Want my babies. Want my girl.
Don't want to lose everything. Not now. Not now.
The sound hurts.
The stars sing. Did they take her? Did they take my plum back? Will they love her like I did once? Will they make the hurt go away?
Hurt.
Loss.
Lost.
The sound hurts.
They were outside the mission now. That was good. Parked in front was the old black convertible, Gunn in the passenger seat.
What? He wasn't about to find Spike alone after what he knew had happened. Spike was supposed to be angry. Spike was supposed to be beating the un- life out of him, blaming him for having to make the choice himself. Blaming him for driving Dru mad. Blaming him for hurting her. Using her. Leaving her dead and not letting her go.
It was his fault.
It should have been him.
Gunn was silent as Angel walked to the car. Two Vampires, both tracked with tears and ash, were walking a funeral march towards him. He wasn't stupid. When Angel nodded at the motorcycle parked along the side of the wall, Gunn knew that that was his cue to go.
And a good cue it was. The last thing he wanted was to be between two lost Vampires who had a tendency to let any emotion, unchecked, turn into rage. Nope. Motorcycles were good. Even if there wasn't a helmet.
As Gunn jumped from the car, he took another look at the pair. Angel loaded Spike into the passenger seat with something that looked like caring. Spike looked... like those war movies. Shell-shocked. Completely lost inside a Hell that everyone knew about, but wasn't the same from one person to the next. He felt sorry for them.
He understood killing someone you loved, after all.
Angel got behind the wheel as Gunn revved the motorcycle. This is bad, he thought. Spike hasn't even flinched. Hasn't questioned some man he's barely met taking his prized bike. Doesn't even seem to have recognized the sound, despite the fact that it usually made him as giddy as a kid.
This was bad.
Angel drove away, gravel flying from the tires underneath. Somewhere, as uncomfortable as it always was, he hoped Buffy was on her way. She was the only one... Spike needed help.
And he hoped Cordelia would be up....
The car was silent.
Giles looked over at her as he drove, utterly awake considering it was four AM. Nothing like a good bout of early morning screaming to get a man in motion.
Buffy was muttering wordlessly, rocking, her arm cradled to her chest and her face set in fear. Nothing she was saying, even the words that made sounds, made much sense. Gone. Gone. Gone. Stars singing.
Somewhere, inside his overactive Watcher's mind, he knew he should be taking note. Knew that the words and the actions and the terror and sadness etched on his charge's face didn't belong solely to her. That this connection, this lifeline that brought the One together, forced her to feel the other half's pain, even though she didn't completely understand why. She didn't question it.
It was Spike, Giles was certain, that was repeating those words. It was Spike bent over in pain and in anguish and in fear. And no one knew why. The Watcher could almost see him in the passenger seat, a ghost over the image of his Slayer. Slumped forward in the same manner. Mouth moving wordlessly. Eyes as empty as dust.
No, he wasn't dead. Were he in mortal danger, Buffy would either be dying along with him, or she'd be screaming at her Watcher to drive faster.
Something inside of him was dead. That's what Buffy had said. Something died and she needed him.
What?
The hotel was bright, lights on all over the building. He didn't want an audience. He didn't think Spike would notice. All Angel wanted to do was find Spike somewhere safe where he couldn't snap out of this and hurt himself before Buffy found them. And he wanted to talk to Cordy. And he wanted a drink. Several.
Spike was as easy to lead from the car as he was to put in – a shell of himself, completely traumatized, clinging to his grandsire's hand and muttering wordlessly into the night.
Angel led him inside, where, thankfully, Gunn had arrived first and told the others to just stay out of the way. Lorne and Fred and Gunn were standing next to the desk, concerned looks on their faces. Cordy stood in the center of the lobby, strong and fiery and brave. But she didn't speak. Merely took Angel's other hand and led them up the stairs into an empty suite.
Set up on the table was a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. It was dimly lit and quiet and a bed was made, presumably for Spike. How Cordy knew to do these things, he'd never understand. Unless, of course, there happened to be a vision – although Angel doubted that the Powers had any interest in saving Dru. Cordy probably didn't either, but she recognized that it hurt him, and she let any feelings she had for the Vampire community aside, excluding Angel and sometimes Spike, and did her best.
"Thought you might want a drink," Cordy said softly as Angel settled Spike into a chair. She poured three tall glasses full of amber liquid. "He okay?"
"No," Angel answered quietly, taking two of them and walking back to Spike. "Hey. Want a drink?" Angel asked softy, beginning to open Spike's hand and place the glass inside.
The blond's hand was streaked with ashes.
"We need a towel. Or something. Anything," Angel said desperately. "Please, Cordelia."
But she was already darting to the bathroom, wetting a rag. It didn't matter why right now. Only that a man who was usually full of annoying words was silent, and her love was about to lose it all over again.
She ran back into the room and knelt down in front of Spike. "What is it?" She asked, taking Spike's hand gently. He snatched it back a few times, clenching his fingers into fists until Angel finally put a hand on his grandchilde's shoulder and squeezed.
"You have to let her go, Spike."
Spike shook his head, but allowed Cordelia to gently wipe his hands clean. Nowhere else. He shook his head violently when Cordy tried to wipe his face or brush off his clothes. He snatched the ash-covered dishtowel from her hands and held it on his lap when his hands were clean, but he never said a word.
And Cordelia didn't flinch.
Angel walked back again and placed the drink in Spike's open hand. The blond stared a moment, then lifted the glass to his lips, took a sip and closed his eyes.
"What was that?" Cordelia asked, returning from the restroom, washed up and taking a sip of her own drink.
Angel ran a hand through his hair, staying near Spike, but moving closer to Cordy. "It was Dru."
"She attacked you guys with ash bombs?" Cordy asked, quirking an eyebrow. Angel's eyes dropped and he could feel his tears well again. She didn't know everything. Cordy couldn't, no matter how much she figured out on her own.
But she put two and two together like a champ. "Oh... Oh, God." Angel looked up and caught her gaze, nodding. "Did... Oh, God. Did you make him kill her?"
Angel shook his head. "She was dead when I got there."
Again, Cordy nodded. "He... why?"
"She wanted to be done. She wanted to go home," Angel answered, feeling the tears begin to spill. "And it should have been me to send her there, Cordelia. Not him. I made her. I tortured her and I killed her fam..."
She placed a finger over his lips and then leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "Shhh. It doesn't matter right now, okay? Not tonight."
Angel nodded and felt himself falling forward into her arms and crying like a child.
The three remaining AI members were still sitting in the lobby by the desk when the doors swung open in a mighty heave. Three heads shot up to see a middle aged man in jeans and a Henley and a tiny blonde with her arm in a sling, looking as haggard as the two Vampires who had entered an hour or so before.
"Sorry to intrude," Giles began politely, "but..."
Gunn nodded. "Kinda figured you were coming," he interrupted, trying to smile. "Good thing she did, you know. The boss isn't always the best at consoling..."
"I'll... I'll go get them, "Fred chimed in, darting past the visitors towards the stairs. Lorne proffered drinks, for which Giles was most grateful. By the looks of things, the cocktails had been free flowing for at least an hour or so.
Buffy stood at the bottom of the staircase staring up. Waiting.
This was bad. Normally, she'd burst in and just... find him. Maybe she wasn't sure what there was to find. Maybe she needed to know if he was all right first. Maybe....
Angel appeared looking worn and dusty at the top of the stairs. He motioned for Buffy to come up, nodding at Giles in recognition. Fred scampered down the stairs to the Watcher, corralling him into the group left behind. Cordelia lingered with Angel at the top for a moment, then made her way down as well, hugging Buffy as they passed in the middle.
Grief changes everything.
Buffy reached the top of the stairs and Angel took her hand, much as he'd taken Spike's, and led her down the hallway to the room where Spike was resting. Well, sitting. He hadn't moved from the spot Angel had placed him. Other than to occasionally lift the glass to his lips, Spike hadn't moved at all.
"Buffy," Angel said quietly, stopping in front of the closed door. "I know you and Spike... I know there's a connection. Did you see... do you know?"
Buffy shook her head. "I can't see inside, Angel. I just... I can feel him. And he's... empty. Like something died..."
Angel closed his eyes for a long moment. "Something did. Try. Please try to understand. He loves you. As much as I hate to face it sometimes, you love each other more than either of you have ever loved anything else." He was quiet, studying the truth of that in Buffy's face. "But he loved her once too. Not like you. Totally different, but they were connected. She made him."
Surprisingly, Buffy nodded. "I know."
He shook his head. "You don't, Buffy. You understand a whole lot more about Vampires than most Humans, but you can't understand this. We, all of us in the line, are connected. The Master. Darla. Me. Dru. Spike. We've all shared the same blood. Most of the time, we don't even like each other, but it doesn't change what we are. All of us, Buffy. We're all part of it, no matter what happens. "
Again, Buffy nodded. "I think I understand."
Angel nodded. "Drusilla's dead, Buffy. Spike killed her."
That, she didn't expect. That she wasn't prepared for. Now, she got it. Now she got the dying parts. The emptiness. The hollow pit inside them both.
There were some people that it just hurt to lose. It didn't really matter what your relationship was to them before they left. Like her dad. She didn't really care much what happened to the man who had abandoned her family. She didn't really know where he was or what he was doing. But when he died, she knew she'd feel it. And she knew she'd feel loss.
With Dru and Spike, it was compounded by a century of being the only ones. The lost ones. Even though Buffy was jealous of that love, she knew that it was part of Spike. She knew that it led him on, in however crooked a path, to her. And she knew that Spike loved her, not Dru, more than life itself.
But that didn't change the pain. It didn't change the loss. The loss she'd feel if Angel wasn't standing in front of her. The loss she'd feel if any of her friends died.
The loss she felt when she found her mom on the couch.
"He needs you, Buffy," Angel said softly, his hand on the doorknob. "He loves you."
"I know," Buffy answered quietly, hugging Angel once. "And I'm sorry."
"We'll talk later," Angel whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Don't let him fall, Buffy. He did the right thing."
Buffy smiled softly. "I'll catch him."
And then she turned and walked into the darkened room.
To be contd.
Yes, two weeks of straight angst! Although this is a bit less angsty than last week, it still carries some sadness. Try and stick with me to the gooey center, or happy ending, whichever I get to first.
And for those of you fans of the "other" Nim (Evil!Nim is afoot), I am hoping to start that Master!Spike series shortly. Just hang in there....
Without further ado...
Oh, and please give me love. I need your lurrrrvvveeee....
Enjoy!
In Kindness, Nimue "Though beauty is rare enough
Still we trust
Somehow we'll find it there
With no guarantee
It seems to me
At least it should be fair" - Allison Krauss - That Kind of Love
www.livejournal (dot) com/users/nimuetucker/ AlwaysEveryday (at) yahoogroups.com HowtoMakeaVampireSundae (at) yahoogroups.com
Title: What We Are (Chapter Twenty-nine - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, UPN, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: Spike goes on his reconnaissance mission to find out what Drusilla knows. What he finds out, however, is nearly enough to kill him. And the price that he pays for information is more than he can handle.
WARNING: MAJOR ANGST. I can't tell you what, but read at your own risk. I felt it necessary and organic to the story, so please try and understand and try not to hate me.
What We Are
It was bad.
This Angel knew.
His relationship with his grandchilde had been tumultuous at best since Angelus had become Angel. It was downright hostile when they shared the love of a woman, as they had with Drusilla and, later, with Buffy. They'd beaten each other to a bloody pulp on more occasions than either of them chose to remember at this stage. And they'd raged in unison and in opposition.
But Spike had never needed his comfort before.
Or maybe he had and Angel had never noticed.
To be honest, the latter was probably the more likely. Spike had always been sensitive. Even at his most... evil?... he'd been the one to be hurt by it all. Hurt by the games. Hurt by the way the world worked, both for humans and for Vampires. He'd probably cried like this before.
Did he cry with Buffy?
When the hitching sobs and violent shaking began to wane, Angel just forgot about it all. Let it be. Right now, Spike needed help and their attitude towards each other really didn't matter. They'd lost. They'd both lost something so dear to them that it was almost like air. Like losing one's breath. Even if Buffy hadn't called, Angel would have come. Because this was the one thing that Spike and Angel could agree on.
Drusilla.
And she was gone.
With painstaking slowness, Angel lifted himself to his feet, battling his own round of hitching sobs that he was sure would be let loose in a rain of fists at some point or other. Or Cordelia would get to him first, niggle her way past his defenses and make him cry it out. He hated when she did that, yet loved her for it.
Spike was like a rag doll. Empty and limp, falling back against the wall when Angel's arm moved. Ashes streaked his cheeks. His hands. His clothes. They needed to get away from here. They needed to be... they just needed to leave.
A hand under Spike's shoulder and Angel lifted the smaller man to his feet, taking his hand like a father would a son. Leading him out of the courtyard in numbed silence.
This was bad.
Spike was never silent.
The walk through the stone corridors was even longer on the way out. Spike winced every time their boots struck stone. Like a kicked dog. Or a dead man walking.
And the blond clung to his hand.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
She's gone.
Stars singing.
Daddy's here. Don't want daddy. Want my girl. Want my girl. Want vanilla and soft and warm. So warm. Not dying. Not dying in my arms. Alive. And warm. And sweet and soft. And warm.
But daddy's here and he'll take me to her. He'll bring her to me. He'll kill the bastard that hurt my princess.
I am the bastard.
The sound hurts.
Where is my warm gold? Where is my girl? Little strong girl. With my babies. Want my babies. Want my girl.
Don't want to lose everything. Not now. Not now.
The sound hurts.
The stars sing. Did they take her? Did they take my plum back? Will they love her like I did once? Will they make the hurt go away?
Hurt.
Loss.
Lost.
The sound hurts.
They were outside the mission now. That was good. Parked in front was the old black convertible, Gunn in the passenger seat.
What? He wasn't about to find Spike alone after what he knew had happened. Spike was supposed to be angry. Spike was supposed to be beating the un- life out of him, blaming him for having to make the choice himself. Blaming him for driving Dru mad. Blaming him for hurting her. Using her. Leaving her dead and not letting her go.
It was his fault.
It should have been him.
Gunn was silent as Angel walked to the car. Two Vampires, both tracked with tears and ash, were walking a funeral march towards him. He wasn't stupid. When Angel nodded at the motorcycle parked along the side of the wall, Gunn knew that that was his cue to go.
And a good cue it was. The last thing he wanted was to be between two lost Vampires who had a tendency to let any emotion, unchecked, turn into rage. Nope. Motorcycles were good. Even if there wasn't a helmet.
As Gunn jumped from the car, he took another look at the pair. Angel loaded Spike into the passenger seat with something that looked like caring. Spike looked... like those war movies. Shell-shocked. Completely lost inside a Hell that everyone knew about, but wasn't the same from one person to the next. He felt sorry for them.
He understood killing someone you loved, after all.
Angel got behind the wheel as Gunn revved the motorcycle. This is bad, he thought. Spike hasn't even flinched. Hasn't questioned some man he's barely met taking his prized bike. Doesn't even seem to have recognized the sound, despite the fact that it usually made him as giddy as a kid.
This was bad.
Angel drove away, gravel flying from the tires underneath. Somewhere, as uncomfortable as it always was, he hoped Buffy was on her way. She was the only one... Spike needed help.
And he hoped Cordelia would be up....
The car was silent.
Giles looked over at her as he drove, utterly awake considering it was four AM. Nothing like a good bout of early morning screaming to get a man in motion.
Buffy was muttering wordlessly, rocking, her arm cradled to her chest and her face set in fear. Nothing she was saying, even the words that made sounds, made much sense. Gone. Gone. Gone. Stars singing.
Somewhere, inside his overactive Watcher's mind, he knew he should be taking note. Knew that the words and the actions and the terror and sadness etched on his charge's face didn't belong solely to her. That this connection, this lifeline that brought the One together, forced her to feel the other half's pain, even though she didn't completely understand why. She didn't question it.
It was Spike, Giles was certain, that was repeating those words. It was Spike bent over in pain and in anguish and in fear. And no one knew why. The Watcher could almost see him in the passenger seat, a ghost over the image of his Slayer. Slumped forward in the same manner. Mouth moving wordlessly. Eyes as empty as dust.
No, he wasn't dead. Were he in mortal danger, Buffy would either be dying along with him, or she'd be screaming at her Watcher to drive faster.
Something inside of him was dead. That's what Buffy had said. Something died and she needed him.
What?
The hotel was bright, lights on all over the building. He didn't want an audience. He didn't think Spike would notice. All Angel wanted to do was find Spike somewhere safe where he couldn't snap out of this and hurt himself before Buffy found them. And he wanted to talk to Cordy. And he wanted a drink. Several.
Spike was as easy to lead from the car as he was to put in – a shell of himself, completely traumatized, clinging to his grandsire's hand and muttering wordlessly into the night.
Angel led him inside, where, thankfully, Gunn had arrived first and told the others to just stay out of the way. Lorne and Fred and Gunn were standing next to the desk, concerned looks on their faces. Cordy stood in the center of the lobby, strong and fiery and brave. But she didn't speak. Merely took Angel's other hand and led them up the stairs into an empty suite.
Set up on the table was a bottle of whiskey and three glasses. It was dimly lit and quiet and a bed was made, presumably for Spike. How Cordy knew to do these things, he'd never understand. Unless, of course, there happened to be a vision – although Angel doubted that the Powers had any interest in saving Dru. Cordy probably didn't either, but she recognized that it hurt him, and she let any feelings she had for the Vampire community aside, excluding Angel and sometimes Spike, and did her best.
"Thought you might want a drink," Cordy said softly as Angel settled Spike into a chair. She poured three tall glasses full of amber liquid. "He okay?"
"No," Angel answered quietly, taking two of them and walking back to Spike. "Hey. Want a drink?" Angel asked softy, beginning to open Spike's hand and place the glass inside.
The blond's hand was streaked with ashes.
"We need a towel. Or something. Anything," Angel said desperately. "Please, Cordelia."
But she was already darting to the bathroom, wetting a rag. It didn't matter why right now. Only that a man who was usually full of annoying words was silent, and her love was about to lose it all over again.
She ran back into the room and knelt down in front of Spike. "What is it?" She asked, taking Spike's hand gently. He snatched it back a few times, clenching his fingers into fists until Angel finally put a hand on his grandchilde's shoulder and squeezed.
"You have to let her go, Spike."
Spike shook his head, but allowed Cordelia to gently wipe his hands clean. Nowhere else. He shook his head violently when Cordy tried to wipe his face or brush off his clothes. He snatched the ash-covered dishtowel from her hands and held it on his lap when his hands were clean, but he never said a word.
And Cordelia didn't flinch.
Angel walked back again and placed the drink in Spike's open hand. The blond stared a moment, then lifted the glass to his lips, took a sip and closed his eyes.
"What was that?" Cordelia asked, returning from the restroom, washed up and taking a sip of her own drink.
Angel ran a hand through his hair, staying near Spike, but moving closer to Cordy. "It was Dru."
"She attacked you guys with ash bombs?" Cordy asked, quirking an eyebrow. Angel's eyes dropped and he could feel his tears well again. She didn't know everything. Cordy couldn't, no matter how much she figured out on her own.
But she put two and two together like a champ. "Oh... Oh, God." Angel looked up and caught her gaze, nodding. "Did... Oh, God. Did you make him kill her?"
Angel shook his head. "She was dead when I got there."
Again, Cordy nodded. "He... why?"
"She wanted to be done. She wanted to go home," Angel answered, feeling the tears begin to spill. "And it should have been me to send her there, Cordelia. Not him. I made her. I tortured her and I killed her fam..."
She placed a finger over his lips and then leaned forward, kissing his forehead. "Shhh. It doesn't matter right now, okay? Not tonight."
Angel nodded and felt himself falling forward into her arms and crying like a child.
The three remaining AI members were still sitting in the lobby by the desk when the doors swung open in a mighty heave. Three heads shot up to see a middle aged man in jeans and a Henley and a tiny blonde with her arm in a sling, looking as haggard as the two Vampires who had entered an hour or so before.
"Sorry to intrude," Giles began politely, "but..."
Gunn nodded. "Kinda figured you were coming," he interrupted, trying to smile. "Good thing she did, you know. The boss isn't always the best at consoling..."
"I'll... I'll go get them, "Fred chimed in, darting past the visitors towards the stairs. Lorne proffered drinks, for which Giles was most grateful. By the looks of things, the cocktails had been free flowing for at least an hour or so.
Buffy stood at the bottom of the staircase staring up. Waiting.
This was bad. Normally, she'd burst in and just... find him. Maybe she wasn't sure what there was to find. Maybe she needed to know if he was all right first. Maybe....
Angel appeared looking worn and dusty at the top of the stairs. He motioned for Buffy to come up, nodding at Giles in recognition. Fred scampered down the stairs to the Watcher, corralling him into the group left behind. Cordelia lingered with Angel at the top for a moment, then made her way down as well, hugging Buffy as they passed in the middle.
Grief changes everything.
Buffy reached the top of the stairs and Angel took her hand, much as he'd taken Spike's, and led her down the hallway to the room where Spike was resting. Well, sitting. He hadn't moved from the spot Angel had placed him. Other than to occasionally lift the glass to his lips, Spike hadn't moved at all.
"Buffy," Angel said quietly, stopping in front of the closed door. "I know you and Spike... I know there's a connection. Did you see... do you know?"
Buffy shook her head. "I can't see inside, Angel. I just... I can feel him. And he's... empty. Like something died..."
Angel closed his eyes for a long moment. "Something did. Try. Please try to understand. He loves you. As much as I hate to face it sometimes, you love each other more than either of you have ever loved anything else." He was quiet, studying the truth of that in Buffy's face. "But he loved her once too. Not like you. Totally different, but they were connected. She made him."
Surprisingly, Buffy nodded. "I know."
He shook his head. "You don't, Buffy. You understand a whole lot more about Vampires than most Humans, but you can't understand this. We, all of us in the line, are connected. The Master. Darla. Me. Dru. Spike. We've all shared the same blood. Most of the time, we don't even like each other, but it doesn't change what we are. All of us, Buffy. We're all part of it, no matter what happens. "
Again, Buffy nodded. "I think I understand."
Angel nodded. "Drusilla's dead, Buffy. Spike killed her."
That, she didn't expect. That she wasn't prepared for. Now, she got it. Now she got the dying parts. The emptiness. The hollow pit inside them both.
There were some people that it just hurt to lose. It didn't really matter what your relationship was to them before they left. Like her dad. She didn't really care much what happened to the man who had abandoned her family. She didn't really know where he was or what he was doing. But when he died, she knew she'd feel it. And she knew she'd feel loss.
With Dru and Spike, it was compounded by a century of being the only ones. The lost ones. Even though Buffy was jealous of that love, she knew that it was part of Spike. She knew that it led him on, in however crooked a path, to her. And she knew that Spike loved her, not Dru, more than life itself.
But that didn't change the pain. It didn't change the loss. The loss she'd feel if Angel wasn't standing in front of her. The loss she'd feel if any of her friends died.
The loss she felt when she found her mom on the couch.
"He needs you, Buffy," Angel said softly, his hand on the doorknob. "He loves you."
"I know," Buffy answered quietly, hugging Angel once. "And I'm sorry."
"We'll talk later," Angel whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Don't let him fall, Buffy. He did the right thing."
Buffy smiled softly. "I'll catch him."
And then she turned and walked into the darkened room.
To be contd.