Dirty Back Road Sequel, Part 15
Aug. 21st, 2005 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookNew chapter! This is kind of a long one. Dawn and Buffy talk about Spike, Angel... a lot of things. Sort of the first of two parts. A little author's note, before starting - slightly spoilery for the chapter itself, so save this bit for after, if you'd prefer.
I appear to have a thing about vomiting. It keeps showing up in my work.
This chapter should be in no way considered my response to the recent debate about slash, and whether or not it was a response to the traumatic experience of Spuffy. Buffy's reactions are just a reflection of how I see the character, as a bit... sheltered. In that same spirit, it's probably worth saying that I'm not engaging in Buffy bashing anywhere in here. Like everything I write, this is me trying to explore the way she thinks.
I think there may be one more chapter after this.
Story recap, for the quick catch-up:
Previously on "Does It Have to Mean Something?":
Post-"Chosen," with so many new Slayers all over the world, Buffy decides to more or less retire from being a Slayer herself and settles down in Rome to live "like a person," which in her case means just enjoying not having to fight all the time, and some quality shopping. Meanwhile, as we saw in Angel Season 5, Spike is brought back to life from the amulet in L.A., pitches in to help Angel in his fight against evil, and various events lead to "Not Fade Away," in which Angel and his crew take on the Circle of Black Thorn, the arm of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart here on earth.
But Angel's plan was actually a bit more extensive than challenging the Senior Partners to a street fight - having been tipped off by the Black Thorn's request to have him sign away the Shanshu prophecy, Angel realizes the importance of the Shanshu to the Senior Partners, and while still CEO of Wolfram & Hart, uses the company's resources to have a spell cast on himself and Spike, essentially bonding the two mystically. Now, Angel can't be killed without also killing Spike, leaving no one to fulfill the Shanshu and Wolfram & Hart's plans for the Apocalypse. The entire demon world is forced to choose sides between the two souled vampires, as Angel and Spike play up their rivalry for all that it's worth, and try to maneuver the underworld into civil war.
Buffy and Spike meet by accident at the Pantheon (as seen in the final chapter of "Dirty Back Road"). Overjoyed that Spike is alive, Buffy spends the following week taking him out on dates, only to discover, at the end of the week, that he never planned to stay, thanks to the already in-progress world-saving plan with Angel. Plus the whole prophecy thing. And the fact that he seems to think Buffy only really thinks of him as a friend. Buffy and Spike shout at each other a lot, take a trip to another dimension in which Spike is trapped starving for several months, Angel rides to the rescue... and then everyone goes back to Buffy's apartment where Angel explains everything, Buffy and Spike shout at each other some more, sort of make up and also make out until Dawn comes home, Spike and Angel leave, and Buffy is left behind with her sister to consider what to do next.
And the night's not over yet...
Previous chapters here.
Chapter Fifteen
"He really said that? You told him 'I love you,' and he just said he was sorry?"
They were back in Dawn's bedroom. Dawn was sprawled across the bed, head hanging backwards over the side; she was digging into one of the ice cream cartons with an oversize spoon. Buffy was on the floor, her feet up against the ruffled bed cover, a half-empty champagne bottle hugged up against her chest.
"No. He said 'I love you too,' and then he said he was sorry." Buffy put the bottle to her lips and drank. The angle was awkward; she only managed a small swallow, trails of wine escaping past her lips and slithering down her face. She sniffed noisily, shook her head as droplets of wine tried to run into her ears.
She'd told the whole story of the evening to Dawn in the kitchen. Although thanks to her own exhaustion and the miserable, helpless sobbing that had overtaken her in choking coughs, it hadn't been a particularly clear version of it. She'd laid it out in almost backwards order, the events all mixed up. Angel, the dark dimension, the prophecy, the sunrise, the dog. The original conversation with Spike in the street, his reasons for leaving, she was only just getting to.
She tipped the bottle up for another small sip, a little more successfully this time.
"Wow. That's just... wow."
"You said it."
"I would've thought..."
"Yeah, well, you would've thought wrong. You and me both."
"Wow," Dawn said again, the words apparently aimed at the ceiling. Then she craned her head around to look at her sister. "So you really do, huh?
"Really do what?"
"Love him." There was just enough of a question in Dawn's voice to make Buffy's mouth fall open.
"You... thought I didn't?"
Dawn flinched. "Well, you never really said. I just... I wasn't sure."
"Oh." This seemed like the only answer possible. Awkward silence took over, broken up only by the sound of a spoon on cardboard, the liquid sloshing of the champagne. We did so have that talk, Buffy reassured herself. I know we did. I could've sworn that we did.
"So that's it? You guys love each other, and he's still going?"
The bottleneck emerged from between Buffy's lips with a pop. "Yep," she said morosely, stifling a small burp. "That's just the way it is."
"And you're... okay with that?"
"I have to be." Buffy picked at the bottle's label with her fingernails. She'd had prosecco with Spike that first night she'd found him in Rome. Champagne in all but the name. "I don't have any choice."
"Because of this prophecy thing."
"Well, yeah, because..." How could she ever explain it? That ultimately, she'd been the one to encourage Spike to be this way, a Champion, a vampire with a soul. First by goading him and then helping him--and sure, there were a lot of not-so-good moments in there on both their parts--but either way, she'd been the catalyst in his whole messy long painful process of becoming something better.
So she couldn't throw that back in his face, not now. Not after all his pain, and hers, and it made her cringe to think that she'd even tried--asked him not to continue down that road that she'd set him on, just because...
Her arguments from earlier in the evening, that he'd earned his happy ending, that she had, now seemed hopelessly naive. Not to mention self-involved.
"Yeah, because of the prophecy thing," she finally settled on, mumbling through numb lips. She was finally, mercifully, starting to feel a little drunk. "It's this whole destiny deal."
"Huh." Dawn rolled over onto her stomach, set the ice cream carton on the floor. "Kinda surprised you didn't want to be in on that. Apocalypse and all."
"What makes you think I didn't?" Buffy set her bottle down too.
"So you did want to go with them?"
"I told them I could help. I offered to. But they didn't want it. No girls allowed." Hands empty now, she made expansive gestures, as if they illustrated something.
Dawn frowned. "No girls? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It was this whole deal," Buffy slurred, added more hand waves. "Blah blah you're such a distraction. You should have heard him--them--Angel. Spike too. They both agreed about it." Her voice dropped to a low mumble. "That was the weirdest thing."
"What was?"
"The way they were talking. Spike and Angel. Like they were... Tweedledee and Tweedledum or something. Or, or Crockett and Tubbs or some other kind of two-guy buddy team. It's like the real reason they don't want me around is so I don't mess up their boys' club vibe." She lifted her head, saw Dawn staring at her, forehead knotted with confusion. "What?"
"Oh," Dawn said, her mouth forming the shape. "Oh."
"Oh, what?"
"Um." Dawn cleared her throat. "Well, um. You don't mean that, well, Spike and Angel are... together, do you?"
"Together? Hello, I just told you they're together. Which is totally nauseating, by the way--can you even imagine those two getting along? Which, come to think of it, I guess is the idea behind their whole con game thing, but still. To hear them talk, you'd think that having me between them would get them all at each other's throats or something, but they don't act like that at all. They're all chummy and with the snarky banter."
"Uhh..." Dawn said again. She seemed to be having trouble speaking.
"I mean, you'd think they'd hate each other. Don't even get me started on Angel's spell--it's like he thinks he's got Spike on a leash or something." She blew out a frustrated puff of air.
"Uh, Buffy?"
"What?" She locked eyes with her sister. "What?"
And then the penny dropped. Something in Dawn's face. "Oh," she managed. "Ohhhh. Oh, that's just---oh."
"So you, uh, think maybe that's why Spike didn't--?"
"No," Buffy said hurriedly. "No, I don't think so." Really don't, her mind added, although her imagination was already running far ahead of her, trying on this new information for size. He wanted to stay with me, she told herself. He did. He asked me about it, he said 'bugger Angel,' whatever that means, and he would have stayed if I'd asked him to. If I'd known what I really wanted. If I'd... "I think--I think that they're just really caught up in the mission. You know how that gets." Her eyes pleaded with Dawn to understand. "It's really involving. The world saving. Like there's no room for anything else."
"You mean they're like monks?" Dawn said dryly, eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh."
"Dawn, please. Don't go there."
"You really never thought about it?"
"Really, never, no." Trying not to think about it right now, thanks.
Because it really wasn't funny. Two people who hated each other, or at least thought that they did, turning to each other for comfort? She perfectly well how that worked. God, did she ever. And in the movie reel suddenly unfurling inside her head, Angel and Spike consoled each other, and it was like that video of Spike and Anya at the Magic Box. Angry and sad and bereft.
If any part of this theory was even the least bit true, then she ached for them both.
"You know, Buffy," Dawn's face had taken on a mischievous look. "If the two of them really are okay with each other, then--"
"Dawn, please!" Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. Too late. Dawn's suggestion was already filling her mind with a new traitorous image, naked limbs in a tangle, the oil wrestling scenario updated. It was such a sudden adjustment in perspective that she couldn't tell yet if she was disgusted or turned on.
Turned on, her mind and body simultaneously informed her with a rush of heat to her belly. She shifted her legs restlessly, rubbed her thighs together like a cricket. Hoped desperately that the motion wasn't too obvious.
"Alright, my bad," Dawn said, although a teasing quality had crept into her voice. "You're right, it's ridiculous. Just because two people work together doesn't mean anything, right? That's just so cliche."
"Right," Buffy said faintly. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. Because two people in the workplace--hey, that never happens.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Dawn continued to babble. "I mean really, can you imagine the two of them kissing?"
"Really can't." Really, really can't. And oh hello, mental image of exactly that. With the shirtless. And the--okay! Stopping now. Stopping now.
"...not that there's anything wrong with two guys together--I mean, hello, Andrew? But Spike and Angel? Willow and Tara they are so not." Buffy opened her eyes, just in time to see Dawn roll over onto her back and clasp her hands over her heart. "Oh, Angel, you big broody man, you," she sing-songed in a bad English accent, faux Spike in a high-pitched timbre that suggested a serious groin injury. "Please take me into your manly arms right bloody now--"
"Dawn!" Buffy couldn't help the shout. I'm so not thinking about this, she told herself firmly. "It's not about that," she grated between closed teeth. "Okay? They're Champions. Saving the world. That's what it's all about."
"Okay," Dawn said with a puzzled frown. "I get it. Um... sorry."
"It's... it's okay." She forced herself to calm down.
"No, really, Buffy, I'm sorry. I mean, I thought... I was just making fun--"
"I know. Forget it."
"Okay." Dawn readjusted her position, threw her feet over the side so she was sitting upright. She studied her sister carefully. "Not really so funny, huh?"
"No," she agreed. Suddenly feeling the need to blot out the sight of Dawn's concerned face, she put her hands over her eyes.
She had to believe that. What she'd just said to Dawn. That it was all about some higher ideal, Spike's decision to leave, Angel's creepy plan, the whole horrible I-die-you-die spell. It was why she'd agreed to it, why she'd made herself because okay with letting Spike go. But if it wasn't...
Because thinking about it now, she couldn't help but remember just how much of what Spike had said to her tonight had been personal, all about provoking a response out of her. Making her angry, making her jealous, needy and pleady and desperate for reassurance...
He was committed to fighting the good fight. Of that much, she was certain. But how much of that was about him not getting whatever he'd needed from her? She'd never figured out exactly what it was he'd wanted to hear.
So you really think it was just the words I was waiting for?
"Buffy?" Dawn's voice intruded into the darkness behind her eyes. "Are you okay?
"Sure." She let her hands fall away from her eyes. "I'm gonna... go to the bathroom." She levered herself to her feet, drifted out the door.
The hall seemed unusually long. And in the bathroom itself, closing the door took a few groping tries.
Alone at last, Buffy stared at the toilet.
"Just you and me, babe," she mumbled, and sank down to the floor.
__________
Thankfully, Buffy managed to escape the bathroom without being sick.
She'd sat with her head on the seat for nearly an hour, woozy and disoriented, but not enough to throw up. Eventually, she'd pulled her drunken self back up on her feet and washed her face, drifted into the bedroom to pull on some flannel pajamas and wool socks. Comfort wear. Then she'd followed her nose to the kitchen to find Dawn.
Her sister stood at the stove. The extractor fan was whirring, and something was sizzling on the burner.
"Your breakfast." Dawn waved a spatula toward the table without turning. "Sit."
"Breakfast?" Buffy glanced at the windows. It was still dark out.
"Close enough," Dawn answered, as if reading her mind, then twirled on one heel, a loaded plate held high in one hand like a game show assistant displaying luxury goods. "Sit down," she said again. With a sigh, Buffy dropped into a seat.
Breakfast appeared in front of her. Abracadabra. "What's this?"
"Scrambled eggs."
"Yeah, duh, I can see that they're eggs. I meant this." She poked at a slab of mystery meat.
"Pancetta." Dawn took off her apron, threw it on the counter. A souvenir item printed with the Italian flag. Buffy had talked her out of her first choice, Michaelangelo's David in full naked torso vision. Dawn had thought it was funny. "It's like bacon."
"Do you have any idea how much cholesterol is on this plate?"
"Cholesterol-schmester--whatever. If you don't want a hangover, you'll eat it. You need something to soak up all that alcohol--your salad and fruit diet is just not going to cut it." Dawn snorted. "I can't believe you haven't already thrown up. Or did you?"
"Nope. I've got super Slayer metabolism." Buffy continued to eye the plate dubiously. "And since when do you know so much about drinking?"
"Uh, duh, since we live in Italy? I'm legal here. I've had wine lots of times."
"You've had--when was this?"
"After school. I go out with friends all the time, you know that."
"I didn't know they were teaching you hangover cures."
Dawn rolled her eyes, shoved the plate closer. "Eat it."
Buffy picked up a fork. She considering quizzing Dawn further on her drinking adventures, decided against it. If she didn't already know what her sister was up to... "Thanks," she said softly, stirring eggs with the fork. "You're... you're really good at this.
"Cooking?" Dawn slid into a seat beside her. "Right. You hated my linguini."
"I didn't hate your linguini. I hated your clam sauce." Buffy smiled, faintly. "No, I meant.. you're good at taking care of us. Like mom."
"Oh." Dawn actually blushed. Buffy could see it overtaking her whole face, pleasure at the comparison, happiness so obvious she was surprised Dawn didn't combust. "Well, I, um, I figure... the whole reason I even exist is because other people took care of me." She smiled, and her eyes did indeed look like their mother's. "It's nice when I can pay that back."
"I... didn't know you felt that way."
"It's no big. I like to be good at stuff. Not that, you know, you're not," she added hurriedly.
"Yeah, but..." Buffy sputtered for an instant, trying to figure out exactly what she could say. "Dawn, you don't owe us anything--"
"Sure I do." Dawn smiled, eyes lowered, and picked at the edge of her shirt with her fingernails. "Everyone owes everyone eventually, I figure. So I just... like to do my part."
Buffy chewed thoughtfully. "And your part is cooking."
"Everybody's gotta eat. Learn to set a good table, and the world is your friend. I read that somewhere."
"You really are good at this."
"I know." Dawn smiled and shrugged, pushed away from the table. "And I was thinking more about what you said about that prophecy thing," she called over her shoulder as she put the greasy frying pans into the sink to soak. "There's one part I still don't get."
"What's that?" Buffy hurried to finish her eggs. Dawn had been known to sweep plates away without asking, and having started eating, she now couldn't believe how hungry she was. All that alcohol seemed to have burned a hole straight through her, like acid.
"Why you're all so sure this prophecy is about Spike."
She swallowed so she could answer. "Angel said it was."
"Yeah, but that's because these lawyers had him sign something, right? Like, 'this prophecy doesn't apply to me' or something? Why would that work? I mean, a prophecy's either about you or it isn't, don't you think?"
"Beats me," Buffy sighed. A part of her--a large part--really didn't even want to think about it. She'd filed the information away where it seemed to belong--under the heading of reasons why Buffy's love life sucks right now, as opposed to all the other reasons why it typically sucked. She put her fork down, laid head on the table, feeling inexplicably tired. Well, maybe not so inexplicably. She'd been up for... how long? "They're lawyers," she mumbled. Bed was starting to sound like a very good destination. "If there are rules to prophecies, they probably know how to break 'em."
"Huh. Okay, well, there's that." Dawn fell silent for a second while Buffy closed her eyes, listened to the soothing ticking of the wall clock, the gentle popping of suds.
"But why would they want Spike?" Dawn spoke up again, jarring her out of her almost-doze. "I mean, don't get me wrong, but if I were evil and wanted to destroy the world, I'd probably want to stick with Angel."
Buffy opened one eye. "Control the world," she corrected. "Not destroy it." The eye closed again.
"Same difference. So why Spike?"
"Vampire with a soul."
"Yeah, I get that part, but it's the big evil thing that doesn't add up. If these lawyer guys are so damn evil then--well, why wouldn't they want soulless Angel? That doesn't seem like it would be too hard to arrange."
"Perfect happiness," Buffy mumbled. Really, she didn't want to get into this.
"Yeah, but there's gotta be a spell for that. I mean, isn't how they got rid of his soul two years ago?"
"Five years ago."
"No, not then. I meant that other time, when we were fighting The First."
This time Buffy opened both eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"When Willow went to L.A. to resoul Angel." Dawn looked confused. "Didn't she... tell you?"
Buffy sat up. Her stomach was suddenly churning, the eggs she'd just eaten doing an energetic conga dance. "Angel lost his soul?"
"Um, guess not." Dawn stretched a hand across the table, laid it on top of her sister's. "Hey. It's okay, Buffy. Really. They put it back."
"It's okay?" Buffy found herself laughing. Hoarsely, because oh god, talk about another subject that was so not funny--soulless Angelus, running around in L.A. while they'd been busy fighting The First. And no one had even thought to tell her.
"But, um, you see what I'm saying, right?" Dawn withdrew her hand, nervously tried to switch the subject. "I mean, seems like that's what you'd want if you were into the big evil. I mean, Spike evil is... well, evil, but not--"
"Spike can be plenty evil," Buffy said firmly, really not wanting to get into a compare and contrast. Angel lost his soul and nobody told me? Should I be glad about that, or...?
"Yeah, but--"
"Seriously, Dawn, I don't know," Buffy blew out a hard sigh. She was tense again now and cranky, thanks to the unpleasant topic, and her head was really starting to throb. She wanted to stop thinking, just stop, go to bed, get some sleep, think about the whole messed-up situation tomorrow. After all, they were still in town. Spike had promised to call her before they left. He'd promised. "Angel said that these lawyers had been after him for years," she told her sister shortly. "Maybe they just got tired of him. Maybe they figured, hey, one vampire with a soul's just as good as another. Or maybe they thought--"
Buffy stopped. The thought completed itself in her head just before the words made it out.
Luckily. She clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach rebelled. And for the second time that night, Buffy bolted across the apartment to the bathroom and was sick.
Maybe they thought Spike would be easier to use, her brain recycled, over and over in her head like a skipping sound file as she retched up all the eggs that she'd eaten. Because hey, who wore that dangerous amulet just because someone he loved asked him to? And who gave us that amulet anyway if it wasn't those same evil lawyers, and who sat right here in my living room tonight and called himself destiny's bitch? Who wouldn't want somebody like that to be part of their evil master plan, somebody who's been used by... everyone. The Inititiave, The First, Angel, me...
She flushed the toilet with a trembling hand, face pressed up against the cool porcelain, then opened her eyes, stared directly into the harsh fluorescent lights over the sink. Her eyes were dazzled, brilliant spots dancing through the thin film of tears on her lashes like fairy lights.
She'd killed him. Oh, god, she'd really killed him.
__________
"How're you feeling?" Dawn asked immediately when Buffy emerged from the bathroom.
"Crappy."
"Sorry. Guess I'm not such a good cook after all."
"It's nothing to do with you." Buffy rubbed her forehead. "There's something I've got to tell you."
"Tell me?"
"Yeah." Buffy looked up at her sister with bloodshot eyes. "Tonight. About me and Spike. About... how we were."
I appear to have a thing about vomiting. It keeps showing up in my work.
This chapter should be in no way considered my response to the recent debate about slash, and whether or not it was a response to the traumatic experience of Spuffy. Buffy's reactions are just a reflection of how I see the character, as a bit... sheltered. In that same spirit, it's probably worth saying that I'm not engaging in Buffy bashing anywhere in here. Like everything I write, this is me trying to explore the way she thinks.
I think there may be one more chapter after this.
Story recap, for the quick catch-up:
Previously on "Does It Have to Mean Something?":
Post-"Chosen," with so many new Slayers all over the world, Buffy decides to more or less retire from being a Slayer herself and settles down in Rome to live "like a person," which in her case means just enjoying not having to fight all the time, and some quality shopping. Meanwhile, as we saw in Angel Season 5, Spike is brought back to life from the amulet in L.A., pitches in to help Angel in his fight against evil, and various events lead to "Not Fade Away," in which Angel and his crew take on the Circle of Black Thorn, the arm of the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart here on earth.
But Angel's plan was actually a bit more extensive than challenging the Senior Partners to a street fight - having been tipped off by the Black Thorn's request to have him sign away the Shanshu prophecy, Angel realizes the importance of the Shanshu to the Senior Partners, and while still CEO of Wolfram & Hart, uses the company's resources to have a spell cast on himself and Spike, essentially bonding the two mystically. Now, Angel can't be killed without also killing Spike, leaving no one to fulfill the Shanshu and Wolfram & Hart's plans for the Apocalypse. The entire demon world is forced to choose sides between the two souled vampires, as Angel and Spike play up their rivalry for all that it's worth, and try to maneuver the underworld into civil war.
Buffy and Spike meet by accident at the Pantheon (as seen in the final chapter of "Dirty Back Road"). Overjoyed that Spike is alive, Buffy spends the following week taking him out on dates, only to discover, at the end of the week, that he never planned to stay, thanks to the already in-progress world-saving plan with Angel. Plus the whole prophecy thing. And the fact that he seems to think Buffy only really thinks of him as a friend. Buffy and Spike shout at each other a lot, take a trip to another dimension in which Spike is trapped starving for several months, Angel rides to the rescue... and then everyone goes back to Buffy's apartment where Angel explains everything, Buffy and Spike shout at each other some more, sort of make up and also make out until Dawn comes home, Spike and Angel leave, and Buffy is left behind with her sister to consider what to do next.
And the night's not over yet...
Previous chapters here.
Chapter Fifteen
"He really said that? You told him 'I love you,' and he just said he was sorry?"
They were back in Dawn's bedroom. Dawn was sprawled across the bed, head hanging backwards over the side; she was digging into one of the ice cream cartons with an oversize spoon. Buffy was on the floor, her feet up against the ruffled bed cover, a half-empty champagne bottle hugged up against her chest.
"No. He said 'I love you too,' and then he said he was sorry." Buffy put the bottle to her lips and drank. The angle was awkward; she only managed a small swallow, trails of wine escaping past her lips and slithering down her face. She sniffed noisily, shook her head as droplets of wine tried to run into her ears.
She'd told the whole story of the evening to Dawn in the kitchen. Although thanks to her own exhaustion and the miserable, helpless sobbing that had overtaken her in choking coughs, it hadn't been a particularly clear version of it. She'd laid it out in almost backwards order, the events all mixed up. Angel, the dark dimension, the prophecy, the sunrise, the dog. The original conversation with Spike in the street, his reasons for leaving, she was only just getting to.
She tipped the bottle up for another small sip, a little more successfully this time.
"Wow. That's just... wow."
"You said it."
"I would've thought..."
"Yeah, well, you would've thought wrong. You and me both."
"Wow," Dawn said again, the words apparently aimed at the ceiling. Then she craned her head around to look at her sister. "So you really do, huh?
"Really do what?"
"Love him." There was just enough of a question in Dawn's voice to make Buffy's mouth fall open.
"You... thought I didn't?"
Dawn flinched. "Well, you never really said. I just... I wasn't sure."
"Oh." This seemed like the only answer possible. Awkward silence took over, broken up only by the sound of a spoon on cardboard, the liquid sloshing of the champagne. We did so have that talk, Buffy reassured herself. I know we did. I could've sworn that we did.
"So that's it? You guys love each other, and he's still going?"
The bottleneck emerged from between Buffy's lips with a pop. "Yep," she said morosely, stifling a small burp. "That's just the way it is."
"And you're... okay with that?"
"I have to be." Buffy picked at the bottle's label with her fingernails. She'd had prosecco with Spike that first night she'd found him in Rome. Champagne in all but the name. "I don't have any choice."
"Because of this prophecy thing."
"Well, yeah, because..." How could she ever explain it? That ultimately, she'd been the one to encourage Spike to be this way, a Champion, a vampire with a soul. First by goading him and then helping him--and sure, there were a lot of not-so-good moments in there on both their parts--but either way, she'd been the catalyst in his whole messy long painful process of becoming something better.
So she couldn't throw that back in his face, not now. Not after all his pain, and hers, and it made her cringe to think that she'd even tried--asked him not to continue down that road that she'd set him on, just because...
Her arguments from earlier in the evening, that he'd earned his happy ending, that she had, now seemed hopelessly naive. Not to mention self-involved.
"Yeah, because of the prophecy thing," she finally settled on, mumbling through numb lips. She was finally, mercifully, starting to feel a little drunk. "It's this whole destiny deal."
"Huh." Dawn rolled over onto her stomach, set the ice cream carton on the floor. "Kinda surprised you didn't want to be in on that. Apocalypse and all."
"What makes you think I didn't?" Buffy set her bottle down too.
"So you did want to go with them?"
"I told them I could help. I offered to. But they didn't want it. No girls allowed." Hands empty now, she made expansive gestures, as if they illustrated something.
Dawn frowned. "No girls? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It was this whole deal," Buffy slurred, added more hand waves. "Blah blah you're such a distraction. You should have heard him--them--Angel. Spike too. They both agreed about it." Her voice dropped to a low mumble. "That was the weirdest thing."
"What was?"
"The way they were talking. Spike and Angel. Like they were... Tweedledee and Tweedledum or something. Or, or Crockett and Tubbs or some other kind of two-guy buddy team. It's like the real reason they don't want me around is so I don't mess up their boys' club vibe." She lifted her head, saw Dawn staring at her, forehead knotted with confusion. "What?"
"Oh," Dawn said, her mouth forming the shape. "Oh."
"Oh, what?"
"Um." Dawn cleared her throat. "Well, um. You don't mean that, well, Spike and Angel are... together, do you?"
"Together? Hello, I just told you they're together. Which is totally nauseating, by the way--can you even imagine those two getting along? Which, come to think of it, I guess is the idea behind their whole con game thing, but still. To hear them talk, you'd think that having me between them would get them all at each other's throats or something, but they don't act like that at all. They're all chummy and with the snarky banter."
"Uhh..." Dawn said again. She seemed to be having trouble speaking.
"I mean, you'd think they'd hate each other. Don't even get me started on Angel's spell--it's like he thinks he's got Spike on a leash or something." She blew out a frustrated puff of air.
"Uh, Buffy?"
"What?" She locked eyes with her sister. "What?"
And then the penny dropped. Something in Dawn's face. "Oh," she managed. "Ohhhh. Oh, that's just---oh."
"So you, uh, think maybe that's why Spike didn't--?"
"No," Buffy said hurriedly. "No, I don't think so." Really don't, her mind added, although her imagination was already running far ahead of her, trying on this new information for size. He wanted to stay with me, she told herself. He did. He asked me about it, he said 'bugger Angel,' whatever that means, and he would have stayed if I'd asked him to. If I'd known what I really wanted. If I'd... "I think--I think that they're just really caught up in the mission. You know how that gets." Her eyes pleaded with Dawn to understand. "It's really involving. The world saving. Like there's no room for anything else."
"You mean they're like monks?" Dawn said dryly, eyebrow raised. "Uh-huh."
"Dawn, please. Don't go there."
"You really never thought about it?"
"Really, never, no." Trying not to think about it right now, thanks.
Because it really wasn't funny. Two people who hated each other, or at least thought that they did, turning to each other for comfort? She perfectly well how that worked. God, did she ever. And in the movie reel suddenly unfurling inside her head, Angel and Spike consoled each other, and it was like that video of Spike and Anya at the Magic Box. Angry and sad and bereft.
If any part of this theory was even the least bit true, then she ached for them both.
"You know, Buffy," Dawn's face had taken on a mischievous look. "If the two of them really are okay with each other, then--"
"Dawn, please!" Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. Too late. Dawn's suggestion was already filling her mind with a new traitorous image, naked limbs in a tangle, the oil wrestling scenario updated. It was such a sudden adjustment in perspective that she couldn't tell yet if she was disgusted or turned on.
Turned on, her mind and body simultaneously informed her with a rush of heat to her belly. She shifted her legs restlessly, rubbed her thighs together like a cricket. Hoped desperately that the motion wasn't too obvious.
"Alright, my bad," Dawn said, although a teasing quality had crept into her voice. "You're right, it's ridiculous. Just because two people work together doesn't mean anything, right? That's just so cliche."
"Right," Buffy said faintly. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut. Because two people in the workplace--hey, that never happens.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Dawn continued to babble. "I mean really, can you imagine the two of them kissing?"
"Really can't." Really, really can't. And oh hello, mental image of exactly that. With the shirtless. And the--okay! Stopping now. Stopping now.
"...not that there's anything wrong with two guys together--I mean, hello, Andrew? But Spike and Angel? Willow and Tara they are so not." Buffy opened her eyes, just in time to see Dawn roll over onto her back and clasp her hands over her heart. "Oh, Angel, you big broody man, you," she sing-songed in a bad English accent, faux Spike in a high-pitched timbre that suggested a serious groin injury. "Please take me into your manly arms right bloody now--"
"Dawn!" Buffy couldn't help the shout. I'm so not thinking about this, she told herself firmly. "It's not about that," she grated between closed teeth. "Okay? They're Champions. Saving the world. That's what it's all about."
"Okay," Dawn said with a puzzled frown. "I get it. Um... sorry."
"It's... it's okay." She forced herself to calm down.
"No, really, Buffy, I'm sorry. I mean, I thought... I was just making fun--"
"I know. Forget it."
"Okay." Dawn readjusted her position, threw her feet over the side so she was sitting upright. She studied her sister carefully. "Not really so funny, huh?"
"No," she agreed. Suddenly feeling the need to blot out the sight of Dawn's concerned face, she put her hands over her eyes.
She had to believe that. What she'd just said to Dawn. That it was all about some higher ideal, Spike's decision to leave, Angel's creepy plan, the whole horrible I-die-you-die spell. It was why she'd agreed to it, why she'd made herself because okay with letting Spike go. But if it wasn't...
Because thinking about it now, she couldn't help but remember just how much of what Spike had said to her tonight had been personal, all about provoking a response out of her. Making her angry, making her jealous, needy and pleady and desperate for reassurance...
He was committed to fighting the good fight. Of that much, she was certain. But how much of that was about him not getting whatever he'd needed from her? She'd never figured out exactly what it was he'd wanted to hear.
So you really think it was just the words I was waiting for?
"Buffy?" Dawn's voice intruded into the darkness behind her eyes. "Are you okay?
"Sure." She let her hands fall away from her eyes. "I'm gonna... go to the bathroom." She levered herself to her feet, drifted out the door.
The hall seemed unusually long. And in the bathroom itself, closing the door took a few groping tries.
Alone at last, Buffy stared at the toilet.
"Just you and me, babe," she mumbled, and sank down to the floor.
__________
Thankfully, Buffy managed to escape the bathroom without being sick.
She'd sat with her head on the seat for nearly an hour, woozy and disoriented, but not enough to throw up. Eventually, she'd pulled her drunken self back up on her feet and washed her face, drifted into the bedroom to pull on some flannel pajamas and wool socks. Comfort wear. Then she'd followed her nose to the kitchen to find Dawn.
Her sister stood at the stove. The extractor fan was whirring, and something was sizzling on the burner.
"Your breakfast." Dawn waved a spatula toward the table without turning. "Sit."
"Breakfast?" Buffy glanced at the windows. It was still dark out.
"Close enough," Dawn answered, as if reading her mind, then twirled on one heel, a loaded plate held high in one hand like a game show assistant displaying luxury goods. "Sit down," she said again. With a sigh, Buffy dropped into a seat.
Breakfast appeared in front of her. Abracadabra. "What's this?"
"Scrambled eggs."
"Yeah, duh, I can see that they're eggs. I meant this." She poked at a slab of mystery meat.
"Pancetta." Dawn took off her apron, threw it on the counter. A souvenir item printed with the Italian flag. Buffy had talked her out of her first choice, Michaelangelo's David in full naked torso vision. Dawn had thought it was funny. "It's like bacon."
"Do you have any idea how much cholesterol is on this plate?"
"Cholesterol-schmester--whatever. If you don't want a hangover, you'll eat it. You need something to soak up all that alcohol--your salad and fruit diet is just not going to cut it." Dawn snorted. "I can't believe you haven't already thrown up. Or did you?"
"Nope. I've got super Slayer metabolism." Buffy continued to eye the plate dubiously. "And since when do you know so much about drinking?"
"Uh, duh, since we live in Italy? I'm legal here. I've had wine lots of times."
"You've had--when was this?"
"After school. I go out with friends all the time, you know that."
"I didn't know they were teaching you hangover cures."
Dawn rolled her eyes, shoved the plate closer. "Eat it."
Buffy picked up a fork. She considering quizzing Dawn further on her drinking adventures, decided against it. If she didn't already know what her sister was up to... "Thanks," she said softly, stirring eggs with the fork. "You're... you're really good at this.
"Cooking?" Dawn slid into a seat beside her. "Right. You hated my linguini."
"I didn't hate your linguini. I hated your clam sauce." Buffy smiled, faintly. "No, I meant.. you're good at taking care of us. Like mom."
"Oh." Dawn actually blushed. Buffy could see it overtaking her whole face, pleasure at the comparison, happiness so obvious she was surprised Dawn didn't combust. "Well, I, um, I figure... the whole reason I even exist is because other people took care of me." She smiled, and her eyes did indeed look like their mother's. "It's nice when I can pay that back."
"I... didn't know you felt that way."
"It's no big. I like to be good at stuff. Not that, you know, you're not," she added hurriedly.
"Yeah, but..." Buffy sputtered for an instant, trying to figure out exactly what she could say. "Dawn, you don't owe us anything--"
"Sure I do." Dawn smiled, eyes lowered, and picked at the edge of her shirt with her fingernails. "Everyone owes everyone eventually, I figure. So I just... like to do my part."
Buffy chewed thoughtfully. "And your part is cooking."
"Everybody's gotta eat. Learn to set a good table, and the world is your friend. I read that somewhere."
"You really are good at this."
"I know." Dawn smiled and shrugged, pushed away from the table. "And I was thinking more about what you said about that prophecy thing," she called over her shoulder as she put the greasy frying pans into the sink to soak. "There's one part I still don't get."
"What's that?" Buffy hurried to finish her eggs. Dawn had been known to sweep plates away without asking, and having started eating, she now couldn't believe how hungry she was. All that alcohol seemed to have burned a hole straight through her, like acid.
"Why you're all so sure this prophecy is about Spike."
She swallowed so she could answer. "Angel said it was."
"Yeah, but that's because these lawyers had him sign something, right? Like, 'this prophecy doesn't apply to me' or something? Why would that work? I mean, a prophecy's either about you or it isn't, don't you think?"
"Beats me," Buffy sighed. A part of her--a large part--really didn't even want to think about it. She'd filed the information away where it seemed to belong--under the heading of reasons why Buffy's love life sucks right now, as opposed to all the other reasons why it typically sucked. She put her fork down, laid head on the table, feeling inexplicably tired. Well, maybe not so inexplicably. She'd been up for... how long? "They're lawyers," she mumbled. Bed was starting to sound like a very good destination. "If there are rules to prophecies, they probably know how to break 'em."
"Huh. Okay, well, there's that." Dawn fell silent for a second while Buffy closed her eyes, listened to the soothing ticking of the wall clock, the gentle popping of suds.
"But why would they want Spike?" Dawn spoke up again, jarring her out of her almost-doze. "I mean, don't get me wrong, but if I were evil and wanted to destroy the world, I'd probably want to stick with Angel."
Buffy opened one eye. "Control the world," she corrected. "Not destroy it." The eye closed again.
"Same difference. So why Spike?"
"Vampire with a soul."
"Yeah, I get that part, but it's the big evil thing that doesn't add up. If these lawyer guys are so damn evil then--well, why wouldn't they want soulless Angel? That doesn't seem like it would be too hard to arrange."
"Perfect happiness," Buffy mumbled. Really, she didn't want to get into this.
"Yeah, but there's gotta be a spell for that. I mean, isn't how they got rid of his soul two years ago?"
"Five years ago."
"No, not then. I meant that other time, when we were fighting The First."
This time Buffy opened both eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"When Willow went to L.A. to resoul Angel." Dawn looked confused. "Didn't she... tell you?"
Buffy sat up. Her stomach was suddenly churning, the eggs she'd just eaten doing an energetic conga dance. "Angel lost his soul?"
"Um, guess not." Dawn stretched a hand across the table, laid it on top of her sister's. "Hey. It's okay, Buffy. Really. They put it back."
"It's okay?" Buffy found herself laughing. Hoarsely, because oh god, talk about another subject that was so not funny--soulless Angelus, running around in L.A. while they'd been busy fighting The First. And no one had even thought to tell her.
"But, um, you see what I'm saying, right?" Dawn withdrew her hand, nervously tried to switch the subject. "I mean, seems like that's what you'd want if you were into the big evil. I mean, Spike evil is... well, evil, but not--"
"Spike can be plenty evil," Buffy said firmly, really not wanting to get into a compare and contrast. Angel lost his soul and nobody told me? Should I be glad about that, or...?
"Yeah, but--"
"Seriously, Dawn, I don't know," Buffy blew out a hard sigh. She was tense again now and cranky, thanks to the unpleasant topic, and her head was really starting to throb. She wanted to stop thinking, just stop, go to bed, get some sleep, think about the whole messed-up situation tomorrow. After all, they were still in town. Spike had promised to call her before they left. He'd promised. "Angel said that these lawyers had been after him for years," she told her sister shortly. "Maybe they just got tired of him. Maybe they figured, hey, one vampire with a soul's just as good as another. Or maybe they thought--"
Buffy stopped. The thought completed itself in her head just before the words made it out.
Luckily. She clapped a hand over her mouth as her stomach rebelled. And for the second time that night, Buffy bolted across the apartment to the bathroom and was sick.
Maybe they thought Spike would be easier to use, her brain recycled, over and over in her head like a skipping sound file as she retched up all the eggs that she'd eaten. Because hey, who wore that dangerous amulet just because someone he loved asked him to? And who gave us that amulet anyway if it wasn't those same evil lawyers, and who sat right here in my living room tonight and called himself destiny's bitch? Who wouldn't want somebody like that to be part of their evil master plan, somebody who's been used by... everyone. The Inititiave, The First, Angel, me...
She flushed the toilet with a trembling hand, face pressed up against the cool porcelain, then opened her eyes, stared directly into the harsh fluorescent lights over the sink. Her eyes were dazzled, brilliant spots dancing through the thin film of tears on her lashes like fairy lights.
She'd killed him. Oh, god, she'd really killed him.
__________
"How're you feeling?" Dawn asked immediately when Buffy emerged from the bathroom.
"Crappy."
"Sorry. Guess I'm not such a good cook after all."
"It's nothing to do with you." Buffy rubbed her forehead. "There's something I've got to tell you."
"Tell me?"
"Yeah." Buffy looked up at her sister with bloodshot eyes. "Tonight. About me and Spike. About... how we were."
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 07:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-22 11:56 am (UTC)Since Angel seems to be leaning towards grey (or beige!) a lot easier than Spike I thought it'd make more sense to keep him as 'the main guy', but thanks to you I've revised that thought.
There's any number of ways to interpret the Shanshu, I figure - we only have Wesley's interpretation to suggest that it's a reward, for example, and who it applies to could easily be a case of semantics, since many languages don't have clear rules for plurals or pronouns. Not to mention the fact that W&H did have the original scroll in their archives, which already suggests something shady right there. Who knows? (is mysterious)