Spike/Buffy
AtS post season finale 'Not Fade Away'
PG-13
Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on a deserted road which, from the feel of it, was unpaved and littered with very pointy stones. And damn, if it wasn’t hot as hell. In a panic, he felt for his limbs. His sudden movement caused a particularly sharp bit of granite to dig into his back. No, he wasn’t a disembodied ghost again. He felt a strange sense of relief. Maybe he wasn’t dead after all. So where was he?
There was no moon or sun in this part of the world or in whatever hell dimension he’d been cast. Black as pitch. Not a spot of light, electric or otherwise. Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled forward, bumping into a small car parked along the roadside. Opening what he thought was the driver’s side door, he was surprised to discover that the steering wheel was on the other side.
A weak light illuminated the interior of the car; the keys were in the ignition. He grinned. Transportation. And a very nice bit of British transport at that. He’d be back into the thick of things in no time. He slid into the driver’s seat. But where was he? And where was the thick of things? An alleyway? A dark-haired woman? Or a dragon? Yes, a dragon and blood, so much blood. Maybe he was dead. Must think. Concentrate. He gripped the steering wheel. In a bleary state of confusion, he struggled to remember. This is a car. I can drive. Turn the key. Must go. But where? Where? Fading. Everything just fading away.
“Who’s there?” A shrill voice rang out through the dark.
“Hello?”
Muffled in the thick, muggy night, his voice echoed back to him. Hello. Hello. Hell…
“Oh, no. Not that…” He clambered out of the car and shrugged off his duster. Hot. So hot. He choked violently, gasping for breath. He could barely breathe. Breathe?
He took a long, deep breath. And then several more. And then his head started feeling light, and he began to giggle. And then the gravity of what he was experiencing hit him. Being played for a fool?
“Is this some kind of bloody joke?” he cried. “’Cause, I’m not your boy…and…”
“Go away!” An angry, feminine voice floated toward him from behind the tall stone wall which fronted the road.
“Who’s that?” he shouted back.
“I’ve got a gun!” The voice replied.
Something awfully familiar about that voice. He couldn’t place it.
A shot rang out; he felt the bullet whistle by him. Diving back into the car, he fumbled with the key, but unfortunately, the car was out of gas. More good luck. He swore beneath his breath. He’d just have to make peace with the natives—either that or kill them.
“I’m lost!” he shouted over another barrage of bullets.
“I’m sure.”
He jerked around toward the passenger-side window and saw the barrel of a shotgun pointed right at his chest. Suddenly, he forgot how to breathe. His lungs felt as if they were on fire. Gasping, he tried to speak.
“Get out of the car and walk over there, slowly.” The woman motioned toward the side of the road with the barrel of her gun.
He stumbled out of the car, clinging to the door as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He couldn’t breathe. How do you breathe? In or out? Up or down? Where was he? He took one hesitant step forward and crumpled to the ground.
The woman poked him with her foot. “Are you Randy?”
“Not at the moment, pet.”
* * * * *
His cell, for that is what he thought of it as, was cramped and dark. He’d tried several times to break down the door, but to his dismay, he’d discovered that he’d lost his strength. Not a ghost. Not a vampire. What was he?
“What have you done to me?! What have you done?!” He kept up this steady chant for several minutes until the door to his cell swung open. It was pitch black inside the room, but a faint light from somewhere deeper in the house cast the woman in silhouette.
“Will you give it a rest, already? Some of us need our beauty sleep.”
He gave one last shout and rushed toward her. “What have you done?”
“Do you want me to shoot you?”
“Oh, God, yes. And make it bloody quick. I’m not spending another minute in this basement.”
She laughed softly and lowered the gun. “Sorry, I had to check you out first. Lots of weird strangers around here lately. But I guess you’re okay.” Taking him by the arm, she led him into the corridor.
“Hungry?”
“Desperately. You don’t happen to have any pigs around here, do you?”
“Pigs? Sure, tons. Here piggy, piggy!”
“I’m serious. I’m a vampire…it’s pig's blood or…” He stared at her neck. Why did the thought of biting her repel him? “I’ll be gentle,” he said hesitantly, taking a deep breath. What am I?
“No way. No blood. Not anymore.”
She shoved him up the tiny stone stairway. When they reached the top of the stairs, he turned and stopped, blocking her way. “By the by, do I know you? You look oddly familiar to me. Didn’t eat one of your relatives, did I?”
She shook her head. “Nah…never seen you before…except…”
“Except what?”
“Just when you told me to…uh…shoot you. It felt kinda familiar.”
“Right. Good to know. Let’s not go down memory lane, then, shall we? And um…just exactly what did you mean by this checking me out business….and I’m okay? What’s that about? Okay with whom?”
“With the archangel, of course, who else?” She swept a strand of dark blonde hair away from her face, gazing up at him with innocent green eyes.
He met her stare with a shudder.
“Bloody Hell. I’m in Heaven.”
* * * * *
They were sitting in a tiny kitchen, with only a small, red candle to light the room. On the table before them were a plate of sausages, a loaf of bread, dishes of jam and butter, and a large bowl of red apples. No pig’s blood in sight.
On his frown, she picked up an apple. “Try it, you’ll like it.”
“Not feeling comfy with the symbolism here…uh…Miss Joan.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “It’s like this –you’re not dead, or…undead, anymore. And I’m not dead. And this definitely isn’t Heaven. It’s kind of an in between sort of place, I guess.”
She frowned at the pile of greasy sausages.
“But I guess we died and came back. A few times...uh…we got a second chance or third, something like that. Why, I don’t know. Wesley won’t tell me. And he’s not gonna tell you either. Actually, he doesn’t even want to talk to you yet. We have to figure it out by ourselves, he says, which I think is really, really lame. I tried to pump him for info, but no way. All he told me was that you were once a vampire, and I used to kill vampires."
Giving him a thoughful look, she paused for a breath.
"Maybe I killed you? Or maybe you killed me? You really, really don’t look like anyone I remember killing. Actually, I don’t remember a lot from before. I find it hard to believe I’d kill anyone.” She stared down at her hands, which were reddened and covered with scars; he stared with her.
“You said your name was Joan, right?”
“That’s what Wesley says. I don’t remember.”
“Delusional. Joan. Like Joan of Arc, eh?” he said, still staring at her hands.
Nervous, she slid her hands beneath the table and glanced over at him. “I don’t think so.” He was still staring down at the table with a puzzled look.
He muttered beneath his breath. “Small but deadly.”
“Hey, I was one of the good guys…and…”
“And I was once a vampire. I remember that. Pretty much the big hero type, I’ll bet. Doing important stuff. Probably saving the world and such…maybe you interfered. I think there was a dragon, and…”
“Vampires aren’t heroes. They’re evil.”
“As you say.” He leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, holding her hand before her face. “Looks like someone’s been up to no good. You know, I find it hard to believe my name is Randy. I think this Wesley git’s lying. Do I look like a Randy?”
She wrenched her wrist away from his grasp and tried to change the subject. “Anyway, Wesley says we gotta spend some time together and figure things out and then we can leave. He’s got this big thing about time; it’s all he ever talks about. I don’t know why men can go on and on about the stupidest things and clam up when the discussion gets interesting. Like when he told me you were coming. When I asked him what you looked like, he said you were a little guy with bad hair and, let’s see, how did he put it? ‘Questionable taste in attire’.
“I’m not little,” Spike interrupted, rubbing his hand through his hair. “And as for the…”
“Please.” She laughed. “I mean, give me a break. Bad hair, bad clothes? That’s like half of the male population of the world. No make that two thirds. Ninety-nine percent? Anyway, I wouldn’t have stuck the shotgun in your face if I’d known what you looked like. Well, when I pressed him, Wesley mumbled something about ‘head-boy’ and ‘not in a million years’, and when I tried to get him to tell me what he meant, he said he didn’t want to go into it, and he was free of all that stuff now. And I said then why bring it up? And then he said something rude and just disappeared. You know, I don’t know why they didn’t send a female archangel! You wouldn’t have to pump a female archangel for information. And why aren’t there female archangels? Wonder why there’s not? It’s not fair. I think a girl archangel would be more….”
“Do you ever stop talking? And who’s this Wesley? Bit of a poncey name for an archangel.” For some reason, he didn’t like the idea of her pumping anyone. He snatched a sausage from the plate on the table and gulped it down.
She blushed, watching him devour the sausage. “He’s the big cheese. And kind of sexy…” She stopped, shocked by the fierce look in his eyes. Those eyes of his, so startling blue, seeing right through her. She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way, it made her feel so…so what? She licked a droplet of sweat from her upper lip. “Anyway, he says we shouldn’t mess around…uh…I mean he wants us to hurry up, with the figuring out thing ‘cause he’s expecting someone else soon. You know, I think he has a girlfriend. Do angels have girlfriends? Sounds kind of squicky to me.”
He snorted. “With a name like Wesley? She’ll be some blue-blood with a snooty attitude, I expect. And I’ll bloody well take my time, thank you.” He plucked up another sausage and popped it into his mouth.
“You really don’t want to make Wesley mad, you know,” she continued softly, transfixed as he licked his lips and reached for the bread. “For someone who doesn’t eat, you sure eat a lot.”
He smiled for the first time since she’d dragged him in off the road. “Bugger Wesley. Nobody tells me what to do.” He paused in mid-bite, staring at her again with those piercing eyes. She wiggled in her chair. He flushed. “Least, I don’t think so…”
* * * * *
“You sleep on that bed. That one, over there beneath the window.” With an air of command, she gestured toward the larger of the two beds crammed next to each other in the small bedroom.
“Here? In the same room with you? Isn’t that against Angelic law or something?”
“Well, either here or the basement. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“No way I’m going back down there.”
“So what’s the big? We can’t have sex here anyway, ‘cause eww…archangel watching, you know, and I’m not sure I’d want to have sex with you because you kind of smell funny.”
“Who’s talking about sex? I just don’t want to go to Hell for looking at your naked bum.”
“You’re disgusting.” She sniffed.
“It’s the damn heat. It’s called sweat, sweetheart. God forbid, I don’t think I’ve broken a sweat in a hundred years or so. You don’t smell so tip-top yourself.”
“Then just open the stupid window!” She flounced down on the smaller bed, her back toward him.
He opened the window, taking a deep breath of the night air. A soft breeze, tinged with the faint scent of jasmine and orange blossoms, fluttered the thin curtains against his face. Something sad about the gentle touch of silk against his skin, he thought. A memory, perhaps? He stared down at the girl. Tomorrow he’d figure it all out. Tomorrow. He crawled onto his bed and lay there listening to her breathe. Something comforting about that sound. Something wonderful.
She listened as his breathing slowed into the gentle rhythm of deep slumber. She turned over and watched him sleep, mesmerized by the sharp angles of his face, the shocking blond hair, and his lips slightly parted in an innocent smile. Why was he smiling? And why did it make her feel warm inside that he was smiling? Safe. Was that her voice or his? Safe with her? Safe with him? Somewhere there was an answer to the question of why they’d been brought together. Somewhere there was an answer to the why of him. She’d figure it all out tomorrow. And then leave...
He frowned in his sleep, as if he could hear her thoughts. He shivered and rolled onto his side, facing her. She climbed out of bed and closed the window, reaching over him as he slept. He shivered again. Alone. Lost. Cold. Dreaming of death. Fading away.
She did what she had to do. There really wasn’t a choice.
* * * * *
He woke with the sun in his face, his arm tucked protectively about her waist. She curled against him and yawned.
“So,” she said, snuggling deeper into his arms, “what’s for breakfast?”
* * * * *
FIN
dark dreams