Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 9 Seed of Glory
"I don't think I can do this," Spike said. He pressed the back of his head against the cool stone of the crypt wall.
Clem sat down on the step.
"Want to talk about it?" he said.
"Hard to explain, really" Spike said. "It's not like I thought she'd ever - that we could ever - " No, he never thought that. He'd let himself believe they could be friends, though; that he could be a part of her life she didn't despise. That he could help her out sometimes, maybe. But with that - that prat around again, poisoning her against him -
Clem watched him with round ruby eyes, his ears drooping. "So this is about the Slayer?"
Spike let out a long breath. He wondered why he still breathed. He used to flatter himself that he was a realist; wasn't he really a sentimentalist, underneath, pretending to be alive? Pretending to matter? Right now his heart should be thudding against his ribs, but when he crossed his arms over his chest there was nothing. If it was still and cold and dead, how could it hurt this way?
"'Can't be a human, can't be a vampire.' Why do I want what I can't have? What am I?" He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "What the bloody hell do I think I am?"
Clem bent his head.
"When my pop died," he said, "I got pretty mad at humans; I even sort of wanted to get back at them. You know what happened - it was rough."
Spike knew. The Initiative. It was rough, all right, although he was finding it hard to picture Clem filled with vengeful anger. Still, those were dark days.
"But Mom said, you shouldn't hate people because of what they ARE. We didn't love Pop because he was a demon, like us - we loved him because of what he did, every day. We would have loved him just as much if HE'D been human."
"That's - "
"What Mom always says is, it doesn't matter what you are - it's what you do that counts. And anyone who doesn't believe that is - well, they're just plain talking through their hat."
Spike was silent for a space. Then he said, "Your mum knows a lot."
"That's another thing she always says!" Clem smiled, showing a flash of fang.
Spike rubbed his face with both hands. He wished he had a cigarette, but he'd been so busy he'd forgotten to pick any up; and he knew Mrs. C wouldn't have them in the house. Damn.
"So did you find the map?" he said.
* * * *
"Look, Dawnie," Buffy said, "I want you to do me a really big favor and stay here with Anya."
"I want to go with you," Dawn said - not too pathetically, however. Buffy had taken her aside to speak to her where the others wouldn't hear, and she wanted to know what was up.
"I know, but if Spike isn't where I think he is, he could come back here, and I want you to make sure he knows what really happened, not what he might have thought - what it looked like - well, you know."
"Okay, I can do that! Don't worry." Dawn gave her a reassuring smile. "So you're not still mad at him?"
Buffy had to think that over. She was exasperated with him for jumping to conclusions, as he obviously had. After all, Riley was married now, apart from everything else, although come to think of it she wasn't sure Spike knew that. On the other hand, it gave her a fizzy feeling to know he even cared if she hugged Riley or not.
"No," she said, finally committing herself. "But I'm pretty darn mad at Riley."
* * * *
"What happened?" Mrs. Caprescu demanded as soon as she saw his face.
"It's okay, love," Spike said. He saw her exchange a significant glance with her son.
"Well, I'm gonna make sure we have enough chips and stuff," Clem said heartily, making for the kitchen.
Spike moved around the living room, picking up ornaments and examining magazine covers, avoiding her gaze. She stood for a moment with her arms folded and watched him.
"Spike, you had busy day. Sit down and I make you nice cup tea before others come," she said eventually.
"Okay," he said, dropping into an armchair. He was a bit knackered; he had to admit it. His eyes wandered over the room; there was a yellow brick fireplace with a handsome mantel, a coffee table, and a sofa with two matching chairs all done in nubbly avocado green. The walls were hung with family pictures - so what if they weren't pictures of humans? The meaning was the same. There were even pictures of Clem as a baby (or kid, or cub, or whatever the proper term was). He'd always felt at home here, right from his first visit. In fact, it was just like his mum's sitting room, only not quite so full of knickknacks. Or Joyce's. It was a nice room. Peaceful.
"Now drink tea," Mrs. C said, returning with a steaming mug. Just by the smell he could tell it was a good strong cuppa. Obediently, he took a swallow and felt instantly restored; it was strong and sweet, with plenty of milk. She sat beside him on the sofa.
"You have fight with that girl again?"
"No, nothing like that. That won't be happening anymore." He turned the mug around in his hands, watching the caramel-colored surface swirl. "Magda - when you lost Bela, were you angry? Did you want revenge?"
She looked a bit taken aback; well, he shouldn't have brought up something so painful right out of the blue like that. He was about to apologize, but she put her hand on his arm (talons thoughtfully restrained, as always) and answered him.
"Bela had friendly words for everybody - like Clem. With him it was always make good feelings, don't make bad feelings. So when they took him away, I did what he wanted, tried to make things better. I didn't feel like it, but I did it. Was better that way."
"How could you face going on alone?"
She thought for a moment. "It was hard. We were together long time," she said. "But I never was alone, Spike - I had my boy, family, neighbors, and friends like you. You're not alone, either."
The doorbell rang. He roused himself; there was really no time to reflect on the meaning of life right now. Probably just as well.
"That will be the gang arriving," he said.
* * * *
Xander had regained some of his self-confidence... unfortunately.
"So why are we here again?" he said.
"If Spike and Clem have information about this Doctor - the REAL Doctor - maybe they can help us find Sam," Buffy said irritably. He was getting that tone in his voice again; what was it? Nagging? Whining? Hectoring, that was the word. And she was sick and tired of it. "You didn't have to come with us."
"Hey, I gotta thank ol' Spikey for saving my life, don't I?"
She gritted her teeth, and made no reply. But if he thought he was going to harass Spike in front of his friends, he had another think coming. And that went for Riley, too, though at least he'd been silent since they left the Magic Box. Possibly it had sunk in that she was not entirely pleased with him. She mounted the steps of number 99 and rang the bell.
After a pause, the door opened and Spike stood in the entrance. He expressed no surprise at seeing them, or indeed any emotion. His eyes moved to Riley, looming behind her.
"Better get Initiative Boy out of this neighborhood, Slayer," he said. "He's about as welcome as the plague 'round here."
Naturally, Riley picked this juncture to come to life. "Listen, we didn't come here to socialize - you're going to tell us what you know whether you like it or not - " he began, oblivious to Buffy's expression of displeasure.
Spike faced him impassively. "Really?" he said. "You might want to look behind you, Sergeant Rock."
They looked. Emerging from the darkness were two identical, massive figures, with shaggy, horned heads and great dark eyes like - well, like cows. Or rather, bulls, Buffy decided. They moved forward with an indefinable suggestion of threat. She sighed. This didn't have to be a fight; in fact, she really wanted to avoid that. She looked up at Spike, seeking the right words.
"Spike," she said quietly. He turned to her, his face still expressionless, his shoulders taut. How could she tell him she wasn't the enemy? She gazed at him searchingly for a moment, and somehow all at once knew what to say.
"Spike, please," she said. "He needs your help."
He looked away from her, his lips pressed together. Then he stood back from the door and, with a gesture, invited them in.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Onward! thro' baffled hope, thro' bootless prayer,
With strength that sinks, with high task half begun,
Things great desired, things lamentable done,
Vows writ in water, blows that beat the air.
On! I have guessed the end; the end is fair.
Not with these weak limbs is thy last race run;
Not all thy vision sets with this low sun;
Not all thy spirit swoons in this despair.
Look how thine own soul, throned where all is well,
Smiles to regard thy days disconsolate;
Yea; since herself she wove the worldly spell,
Doomed thee for lofty gain to low estate;-
Sown with thy fall a seed of glory fell;
Thy heaven is in thee, and thy will thy fate."
Frederick William Henry Myers
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 9 Seed of Glory
"I don't think I can do this," Spike said. He pressed the back of his head against the cool stone of the crypt wall.
Clem sat down on the step.
"Want to talk about it?" he said.
"Hard to explain, really" Spike said. "It's not like I thought she'd ever - that we could ever - " No, he never thought that. He'd let himself believe they could be friends, though; that he could be a part of her life she didn't despise. That he could help her out sometimes, maybe. But with that - that prat around again, poisoning her against him -
Clem watched him with round ruby eyes, his ears drooping. "So this is about the Slayer?"
Spike let out a long breath. He wondered why he still breathed. He used to flatter himself that he was a realist; wasn't he really a sentimentalist, underneath, pretending to be alive? Pretending to matter? Right now his heart should be thudding against his ribs, but when he crossed his arms over his chest there was nothing. If it was still and cold and dead, how could it hurt this way?
"'Can't be a human, can't be a vampire.' Why do I want what I can't have? What am I?" He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes. "What the bloody hell do I think I am?"
Clem bent his head.
"When my pop died," he said, "I got pretty mad at humans; I even sort of wanted to get back at them. You know what happened - it was rough."
Spike knew. The Initiative. It was rough, all right, although he was finding it hard to picture Clem filled with vengeful anger. Still, those were dark days.
"But Mom said, you shouldn't hate people because of what they ARE. We didn't love Pop because he was a demon, like us - we loved him because of what he did, every day. We would have loved him just as much if HE'D been human."
"That's - "
"What Mom always says is, it doesn't matter what you are - it's what you do that counts. And anyone who doesn't believe that is - well, they're just plain talking through their hat."
Spike was silent for a space. Then he said, "Your mum knows a lot."
"That's another thing she always says!" Clem smiled, showing a flash of fang.
Spike rubbed his face with both hands. He wished he had a cigarette, but he'd been so busy he'd forgotten to pick any up; and he knew Mrs. C wouldn't have them in the house. Damn.
"So did you find the map?" he said.
* * * *
"Look, Dawnie," Buffy said, "I want you to do me a really big favor and stay here with Anya."
"I want to go with you," Dawn said - not too pathetically, however. Buffy had taken her aside to speak to her where the others wouldn't hear, and she wanted to know what was up.
"I know, but if Spike isn't where I think he is, he could come back here, and I want you to make sure he knows what really happened, not what he might have thought - what it looked like - well, you know."
"Okay, I can do that! Don't worry." Dawn gave her a reassuring smile. "So you're not still mad at him?"
Buffy had to think that over. She was exasperated with him for jumping to conclusions, as he obviously had. After all, Riley was married now, apart from everything else, although come to think of it she wasn't sure Spike knew that. On the other hand, it gave her a fizzy feeling to know he even cared if she hugged Riley or not.
"No," she said, finally committing herself. "But I'm pretty darn mad at Riley."
* * * *
"What happened?" Mrs. Caprescu demanded as soon as she saw his face.
"It's okay, love," Spike said. He saw her exchange a significant glance with her son.
"Well, I'm gonna make sure we have enough chips and stuff," Clem said heartily, making for the kitchen.
Spike moved around the living room, picking up ornaments and examining magazine covers, avoiding her gaze. She stood for a moment with her arms folded and watched him.
"Spike, you had busy day. Sit down and I make you nice cup tea before others come," she said eventually.
"Okay," he said, dropping into an armchair. He was a bit knackered; he had to admit it. His eyes wandered over the room; there was a yellow brick fireplace with a handsome mantel, a coffee table, and a sofa with two matching chairs all done in nubbly avocado green. The walls were hung with family pictures - so what if they weren't pictures of humans? The meaning was the same. There were even pictures of Clem as a baby (or kid, or cub, or whatever the proper term was). He'd always felt at home here, right from his first visit. In fact, it was just like his mum's sitting room, only not quite so full of knickknacks. Or Joyce's. It was a nice room. Peaceful.
"Now drink tea," Mrs. C said, returning with a steaming mug. Just by the smell he could tell it was a good strong cuppa. Obediently, he took a swallow and felt instantly restored; it was strong and sweet, with plenty of milk. She sat beside him on the sofa.
"You have fight with that girl again?"
"No, nothing like that. That won't be happening anymore." He turned the mug around in his hands, watching the caramel-colored surface swirl. "Magda - when you lost Bela, were you angry? Did you want revenge?"
She looked a bit taken aback; well, he shouldn't have brought up something so painful right out of the blue like that. He was about to apologize, but she put her hand on his arm (talons thoughtfully restrained, as always) and answered him.
"Bela had friendly words for everybody - like Clem. With him it was always make good feelings, don't make bad feelings. So when they took him away, I did what he wanted, tried to make things better. I didn't feel like it, but I did it. Was better that way."
"How could you face going on alone?"
She thought for a moment. "It was hard. We were together long time," she said. "But I never was alone, Spike - I had my boy, family, neighbors, and friends like you. You're not alone, either."
The doorbell rang. He roused himself; there was really no time to reflect on the meaning of life right now. Probably just as well.
"That will be the gang arriving," he said.
* * * *
Xander had regained some of his self-confidence... unfortunately.
"So why are we here again?" he said.
"If Spike and Clem have information about this Doctor - the REAL Doctor - maybe they can help us find Sam," Buffy said irritably. He was getting that tone in his voice again; what was it? Nagging? Whining? Hectoring, that was the word. And she was sick and tired of it. "You didn't have to come with us."
"Hey, I gotta thank ol' Spikey for saving my life, don't I?"
She gritted her teeth, and made no reply. But if he thought he was going to harass Spike in front of his friends, he had another think coming. And that went for Riley, too, though at least he'd been silent since they left the Magic Box. Possibly it had sunk in that she was not entirely pleased with him. She mounted the steps of number 99 and rang the bell.
After a pause, the door opened and Spike stood in the entrance. He expressed no surprise at seeing them, or indeed any emotion. His eyes moved to Riley, looming behind her.
"Better get Initiative Boy out of this neighborhood, Slayer," he said. "He's about as welcome as the plague 'round here."
Naturally, Riley picked this juncture to come to life. "Listen, we didn't come here to socialize - you're going to tell us what you know whether you like it or not - " he began, oblivious to Buffy's expression of displeasure.
Spike faced him impassively. "Really?" he said. "You might want to look behind you, Sergeant Rock."
They looked. Emerging from the darkness were two identical, massive figures, with shaggy, horned heads and great dark eyes like - well, like cows. Or rather, bulls, Buffy decided. They moved forward with an indefinable suggestion of threat. She sighed. This didn't have to be a fight; in fact, she really wanted to avoid that. She looked up at Spike, seeking the right words.
"Spike," she said quietly. He turned to her, his face still expressionless, his shoulders taut. How could she tell him she wasn't the enemy? She gazed at him searchingly for a moment, and somehow all at once knew what to say.
"Spike, please," she said. "He needs your help."
He looked away from her, his lips pressed together. Then he stood back from the door and, with a gesture, invited them in.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Onward! thro' baffled hope, thro' bootless prayer,
With strength that sinks, with high task half begun,
Things great desired, things lamentable done,
Vows writ in water, blows that beat the air.
On! I have guessed the end; the end is fair.
Not with these weak limbs is thy last race run;
Not all thy vision sets with this low sun;
Not all thy spirit swoons in this despair.
Look how thine own soul, throned where all is well,
Smiles to regard thy days disconsolate;
Yea; since herself she wove the worldly spell,
Doomed thee for lofty gain to low estate;-
Sown with thy fall a seed of glory fell;
Thy heaven is in thee, and thy will thy fate."
Frederick William Henry Myers