In which misunderstandings and old feuds show very bad timing in clashing.
Spike tucked
her in, carefully brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
There ya
go, niblet. Won't do to sleep with your sheets all tangled. You just
get your rest now, Big Bad's here and no beasties are going to get
you. You're not even going to catch a cold if I have anything to say
about it. I promised.
He had to leave now. His legs wouldn't carry him, but he had to – the sky would be red in a few minutes, and while being burned to dust on her grave might be a romantic ending, it would also be a useless one. And there'd be no snowfall ex machina this time; he'd used up his share of miracles.
"I'll be back tomorrow night, OK? We'll talk some more. I love you."
Angel got up, rested his hand on the gravestone for a few seconds,
and then started walking in the direction Willow had pointed. He used
to know these woods like the back of his hand... when did they grow
so dark? He felt... all too human. As if the shock had knocked the
demon out, taking with it all his strength, his senses... everything
except his immortality.
(In 243
years, I've loved exactly one person.)
And there
would be more. God, there would be so many more years. He'd given her
up because he was told it was the only way to save her... how could
he have been so stupid? Maybe he had bought her another year, another
day... and then again, maybe not. Maybe he could have saved her.
Maybe he could at least have held her. Maybe someone had been pulling
his strings all along... it didn't do to think about it. She was
dead, end of story. While he was off rescuing damsels in distress,
he'd been unable to rescue the one that made him want to do it in the
first place. And he would be paying for it for a long time.
(How's
forever? Does forever work for you?)
Angel reached
the house just as the sky started to turn blue. Inside, everything
was quiet except for Giles
(God, when
did he get so old?)
snoring on the
couch, reeking of sweat, alcohol and sadness... Angel let him sleep
and headed upstairs. He found himself standing outside Buffy's room. The curtains
were open and he wouldn't be able to stay in it for long, the sun was
already above the horizon, the first rays landing on her pillow. It
seemed like the same room they'd spent so few moments in together, a
room belonging to someone who had to grow up way too fast – a
stuffed pig, a few posters, a leather jacket thrown on the bed, a
first-aid kit next to it, a drawer still holding a few stakes and
crosses half-open... she'd gone in here, quickly grabbed a few
things, and then rushed off to her last stand without looking back.
He couldn't bear entering. He closed the door and went across the
hall to Dawn's room.
It was almost pitch dark. Dawn in her bed. And standing over her – oh no. Not HIM.
"Get the hell away from her, Spike."
Spike whirled around, vamping out from surprise and anger as he finally saw the face he'd been cursing for days. "Oh, lookie here, about bloody time. I was wonderin' when you'd show up, Angelus. Expected you a week ago, mate."
"I swear, Spike, if you so much as touch her..."
A bitter snort of a laugh. "Well, it's too late now, innit? You couldn't save her, soul boy. You fucked up – again. Like you always do. She's dead, and it's your fault."
Angel looked at Spike as the words sank in.
Looked at the blood on his shirt.
Then he looked at Dawn.
Still.
Pale.
Much too still and pale.
Then he put two and two together, came up with five and lunged at Spike, morphing into vamp face as he hit the blonde vampire square in the chest, Dawn's desk turning to so much firewood under their weight. Spike was used to fighting dirty, but he was hurt from the previous fight and caught completely by surprise; Angel had the upper hand within seconds, unleashing all his frustration, fury and sorrow on his grandchilde's face, deaf and blind to everything except the teeth and bone crunching under his fists, not noticing someone moving behind him...
"One sister wasn't enough, right Spike? You couldn't get Buffy, so you decide to take her sister instead, is that it? You always were a monster, William, but this... this ends here."
"OW! Quit it, will ya? We're on the same... I'm trying to... HEY! Put that..."
Too late. Angel grabbed one of the splinters that remained of the desk and slammed it home. Few vampires have ever looked as frustrated and hurt as Spike did when he dusted.
"Angel?"
He spun around. Dawn was staring at him, tears filling her eyes.
"What did you do? Oh my God! What have you DONE?"
Come on baby, let's get out of this town
I got a full tank of gas with the top rolled down
I've got some money I saved, enough to get under way
And baby, you can sleep while I drive
Willow was surprised to hear herself singing – quietly, under her breath, to avoid waking Tara – and couldn't stifle a giggle when she realized just what she was singing. Melissa Etheridge? Boy, I'm still studying for that lesbo cred test, aren't I? She'd been driving since she left for LA yesterday morning and should probably be tired, probably be sad, probably still be hurting... but already, Sunnydale was starting to feel like a bad dream, one she was just waking up from. The sun would be rising over the desert in a few minutes, and pretty soon she was sure there'd be a motel by the roadside with a vacant room and a warm king-size bed where they could spend… weeks, if they wanted to. Sending a mental thankyou note to the inventor of the automatic gearbox, she grasped Tara's left hand with her right and as Tara – even in her sleep – squeezed back, Willow floored it.
I'll buy
you glasses in Texas, and a hat in New Orleans
And in the
morning you can tell me your dreams...