| Chain by irfikos |
 |
Home | Long
Fic | Short Fic | Drabbles |
Other 1:Blood | 2:Blood & Rhetoric | 3:Blood & Love | 4:Blood, Love & Rhetoric | Epilogue |
|
||
Part 4: Blood, Love & Rhetoric Section 4.3: Reflection NOTES: This section coincides with the episode, Villains. …my
blood is laced with garlic Xander drops her off at Janis’ and speeds away toward the Magic Box. She stands in front of the house until he’s out of sight and then takes off at a run. She runs until her lungs burn and her legs go all rubbery and then she runs some more. She doesn’t care where she ends up. She runs with her eyes squeezed shut half the time, feeling her way. Trying to hold the tears in. She hopes she runs off a cliff. She hopes she gets hit by a bus. She hopes she runs so hard her heart explodes. And then it does. Or, what feels like it. Something breaks inside her and she drops to her knees in the grass, skidding to a stop. She screams and sobs and basically throws a major wiggy tantrum until her head aches and her face is all teary and snotty. And when she’s done with that, she just kinda lies there all soggy and grass stained. Head and heart throbbing in tandem. Leg muscles twitching. She just stares up at the reddening sky as it slips into sunset and lets the tears roll silently down her face and into her ears. She listens to the birds chirping in the trees above her. Stupid birds. What do they know? The world has come to an end. Again. DadMomBuffySpikeTara… every time she loses someone she loves, her world changes shape. And just when she starts to get used to the new, distortedness of it, someone else goes away and it gets all wonky again. Over and over and over again. And she can’t do anything to stop it. She should have just stayed a green glowy whatever-the-hell for all the good she can do. Now all she is is… “Useless…” she mutters up at the birds. “What good are you, anyway.” She closes her eyes and she sees Tara. Tara smiling. Tara making pancakes especially for her. Tara teaching her those funky braids that looked so good on her but somehow like total crap on Dawn. Tara, the undefeated thumb wrestling champion of Sunnydale three years running. Tara, the big sister she never quite had in Buffy. Tara dead on the floor. Part of her – the part that is her own and no one else’s – hopes that Willow has gone all dark, evil magic again. Hopes that Willow finds whatever scumbag jerk did this and kills him… really slowly, with lots of pain and screaming and stuff. But the other part of her – the part that is sister to the Slayer, daughter to Joyce Summers… and yeah, friend to Willow Rosenberg – that part knows that certain things shouldn’t happen no matter how much you want them. Because you can’t ever take those things back. Because you become someone else by doing those things. Because it’s wrong. And that really sucks. She opens her eyes and sees the demon. She sits up with a start. Realizes she’s been lying in the grass next to Spike’s… the crypt that used to be Spike’s. And the demon is the flappy skin guy. One of Spike’s old poker buddies. Last summer Spike had taken it upon himself to teach her the fine art of gambling and would bring her out with him to the bar sometimes. He’d even let her take her winnings (he’d taught her how to cheat “right proper”) to the animal shelter after the games. Though he would grump the whole time that it was a waste of perfectly good kittens. Clem. She remembers. Clem from poker. He was nice. Always gave her Twizzlers and laughed at her dorky puns like he actually thought they were funny. “Um… you okay?” The demon asks her with his head tilted in concern. She scrambles to her feet although her legs aren’t too happy with the idea. Embarrassed, she uses her sleeve to wipe away some of the tears and stuff. Yick. “No,” she sniffs. “Not really.” “Oh… um…” he looks uncomfortable. Like a crying teenage girl is some strange, possibly dangerous creature from a whole different species… which, well… technically, she is. He glances over his shoulder, like maybe he’s thinking of fleeing. She narrows her eyes at him, “What’s in the box?” He looks down guiltily at the box in his hands. “Oh, uh… this?” “Yeah, that.” she recognizes a cracked Kiss the Librarian mug among the contents. “Hey! You’re taking Spike’s stuff!” “Am not!” he gasps in outrage. She glares. “Okay, okay… I am. But hey, all the good stuff’s already been picked through. I’m just scavenging through the rubble, pretty much. And anyway… it doesn’t look like Spike’s coming back for it anytime soon.” He looks kinda sad about that. Dawn relents. It’s true, after all. Even if Spike is back and all evil or crazy or whatever, he hasn’t come back to his crypt. She’d rather Clem take the stuff than some gross Sssslrvlak demon, anyway. Wait a minute – demon! Clem’s a demon! He can take her to that Rack guy’s place. He can take her to find Willow before she can do anything awful. If she can get Willow to listen to her… maybe she can fix this before it gets worse… Clem steps back anxiously as Dawn’s expression goes from miserable to excited. “You’re not… you won’t tell your sister will you? I know she’s been all antsy about trespassers in this crypt, but I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.” He shoves the box toward her. “You can keep the stuff. I don’t really want it. Just – just don’t tell her, okay? I’ll do anything you want…” Dawn smiles. He feels it coming before it happens. He’s ready for it. The metal door bursts inward, ripping from its hinges and flying past them to clatter against the far wall. Spike pulls himself to his feet and turns to face it. Sees Buffy standing, stunned, halfway to the now-absent door. Found the witch before she got the chance to have a look. In saunters Willow. No… not just Willow. Willow to the tenth power, she is. Hair’s gone all dark and her eyes are black pools of… oh, he recognizes it, right enough. Dark veins spiderweb under her skin. Not blood. He knows blood. Blood is life. It’s not life she’s being fuelled by just now. “Buffy,” he says, as evenly as he can, “Get out. Go now.” Presses palm to forehead once again. Got to set himself right. This is important. Can’t let himself get all punchy and abstracted, here. He’s not sure if the witch would hurt Buffy or not. Would rather not find out. Mostly, he doesn’t want Buffy to see the show that’s to follow. Bad enough she’s even seen him like this. What he’s been reduced to. No use, her seeing the end of it. “Willow?” Buffy asks, completely flummoxed by the sight. “Willow, what’s going on?” “Hey Buffy,” Willow smiles brightly through a mask of dried blood, eyes fixed on Spike as she speaks. Then the smile gets significantly less bright. “Spike.” Spike gives her a wary nod. “Buffy…” Willow goes on, “Could you excuse us for a sec? I need to have a little chat with the fellas.” She peers over the table at the inert Warren. Her eyes narrow. Buffy looks from Willow to Spike and back again. “Willow,” she says, “I can explain this –” “You heard the girl, Buffy,” Spike growls through clenched teeth. “Go.” Buffy doesn’t move. Just keeps looking between the two of them, thinking how to set things right. Always the little hero. Never listens to him then, does she? “Willow, this whole thing, it’s bad, I know. But… it’s not the way it looks. We need to just calm down and figure this – oof!” Spike feels the power flow past him like a rush of cold air as Buffy is blown back against the wall, landing in a heap next to the twisted door. He takes a step in the direction of where she lands but stops. Heartbeat still strong. Breathing steady. She’s unconscious. Alive. And out of the action for now. Better off. The witch that is Too-Much-Willow is coming toward him. She’s wearing a smile that would make his blood run cold if it weren’t doing just that already. Running all down the front of him, as it were. She jerks her head in the direction the Slayer was tossed. ”Sheesh. Some people just don’t know how to keep their noses out of other people’s business, huh?” “Will –” “–Shut up, Spike,” she hisses. He complies automatically. Lowers his head. It’s reflex now. Obey orders. It’s what he does then, innit? Her voice cuts through the buzzing in his head like an axe through a skull. She’s not just speaking to him with her voice. She’s in his mind as well. More like she’s all around him, filling up the air in the room. Eyes on Warren, she comes round the table for them. Reluctantly, Spike steps forward, placing his body between her and the unconscious man. She stops in front of him. “Come on, Spike. You don’t really want to protect this…” her mouth twists in disgust, “…this maggot, do you?” “Sorry luv. Have to.” “You know I’m gonna kill you.” Spike nods and sniffs back more blood. “I get that feeling, yeah.” She smiles again stepping up to him until they’re nearly toe to toe. Inspects him up and down. “Is that what you’re counting on? A nice quick death? Get it out of the way before I take care of your friend here?” “He’s not my friend.” Dread now. She’s not going to fix it. No end to it, then. Not ever. “Yeah, I can see that. Y’know, it’s kinda weird. I can see all sorts of stuff.” She is gazing up at him, eyes burning with a light that is the opposite of light. They’re bright with darkness. Gleaming with it. Finds it hard to look away. He knows what’s in there, has been a part of it for a very long time. Or it’s been a part of him. Same thing, right? He’s being pulled in. Drusilla had done this but… not… quite… like this… With Dru it had been… like being wrapped all round in darkness and letting it carry you in its currents. Everything just dropping away… like pulling off heavy, wet clothing after being caught too long in a storm. Discarding everything that weighs you down till you’re stripped basic. Pure. Powerful. Free. Not giving a toss about what was left behind. Things missing. Important. Forgotten. This time… this is different. He’s sinking into the depths. Drowning. It’s pulling him under. In his mind he thrashes and struggles to stay above it. Dark eyes hold him in place. He doesn’t want to see. Can’t look away. Dark eyes… reflecting… reflecting… he gasps as he sees, for the first time in well over a century, his own image mirrored back at him. “I see you, William,” the witch is saying, her voice cold and flat. And at the same time he feels it, an undertone, insinuating itself into his mind on a frequency too low to actually be a sound: I know you. I know what you are. What you’re capable of. I know… Willow continues, her voice overlapping. “You’re pathetic – a lap dog, throwing yourself at the feet of whoever will take you. Begging for their scraps. Baring your throat to anyone who lets you follow them home.” Willow raises a hand to rest on the side of his face. Her mouth turns down in a patronizing pout. “Aww. Poor little Spikey. You’ve gotten so used to being kicked, you don’t know what to do without it. You just can’t be happy unless someone’s holding the chain, can you?” Spike tries to protest but the monster he sees in her eyes terrifies him to silence. Knows him. Knows what he is. Willow looks at him, her face a mask of false sympathy. “The kindest thing to do, really, is to put you out of your misery.” He watches, unable to move as her other hand comes up in a fist, blue sparks of energy emanating all around it. It connects with his face and he feels his nose snap yet again as he’s thrown back, over Warren’s body, to land sprawling several feet away. He stares up at the rafters, waiting for his eyes to focus again. “Too bad for you, I’m not feeling particularly kind right now,” Willow says, shaking out her fist and grinning. ”That was for breaking my nose, by the way.” She turns away from him and reaches down to grab a handful of Warren’s hair, dragging his limp body upright. “Awake,” she mutters. Warren’s eyes open with a flutter, then widen in alarm as he realizes that something very bad is happening. He thrashes wildly, trying to free himself from the witch’s grasp. She waves her hand and he goes rigid, levitating in front of her for a moment before flying across the room and crashing against the wall with a thud. He hangs there, pinned to the wall like a bug. “No!” Spike launches himself back to his feet. The buzzing is worse now. Has to stop it. Make the smart choice. Warren sees him rise and shoots him a panicked look. “Spike! Help me! Kill this crazy bitch! NOW!” Spike looks from Warren to Willow. Willow is sauntering leisurely toward her victim. She turns her head and looks back at Spike, amused. “Yeah, come on Spike,” she mocks, “Your master’s calling. Better come.” Helpless, Spike rushes at her. She half turns and easily deflects him with an upraised hand. He crumples to the floor as a current of dark power crashes over him like a wave. Willow laughs. “Is that the best you can do? Come on Spike! Here, boy!” She whistles at him as though calling a dog. “Come and get it!” Shaking his head to clear it, Spike pulls himself back to his feet. Summoning all of his strength and speed, he charges. This time, he moves too quickly for her to react and he is on her, tackling her to the floor. For an instant, he has the advantage as she is taken by surprise. He grasps her head in his hands, ready to snap the neck. But in that moment, her face changes. The self-assured Dark Witch falters and becomes… just… Willow. Frightened and inconsolably sad, Willow. And he can’t do it. No more. Right. The stupid choice it is, then. He lets go, even as he sees the fear in her eyes dissipate and the darkness take over once again. “Don’t do this, Will,” he whispers, knowing with the certainty of experience that it’s of no use. “Don’t be like me.” He leans back and closes his eyes, bracing himself. The chip fires and everything in him screams. |
| << PREVIOUS |
| CONTINUE to next chapter or jump to: | |
| Or select a different fic from this list: | |
| Feedback, concrit and commentary are both welcome and desired. | Click here to contact irfikos. |