| November 21st Quarter to Midnight She was just fine until about twenty three minutes past eleven. She knew the exact time because she’d checked the clock just after she was overcome with an odd feeling of dread. She’d learned to pay attention to small details: feelings, times, colors, scents and other somewhat insignificant details which might make the difference between life and death. Those little fragments of knowledge kept her on this side of the dead zone. She wasn’t sure if the feeling had anything to do with Spike. Hard to say because he was all she’d been thinking about all day long. As a matter of fact, she was just mulling over something he’d said to her when the feeling struck her. Something he’d said about alarm clocks. She went over to her bedroom window and opened it. Leaning out into the cold night air, she remembered the moment. It was just after they’d been woken up by Maisa’s furious scratching at the door. “Now I can save me a spot of cash,” he’d laughed. “No need for an alarm clock now you’re here. You and that little dog. Both of you keeping me safe.” “Keeping him safe…” A pensive look crossed her face. She closed the window, turned back to her room and walked over to the closet. She moved her clothes aside and gazed at the two coats hanging side by side in the back of the closet--the black leather duster and the elegant gray wool overcoat. She stood there for a few moments and then took the gray coat off its hanger. She closed the closet door and put on the coat. She left a note for Dawn on the kitchen table. Dawn had gone out to the movies with one of her girl friends and was going to spend the night at her house. Buffy wasn’t sure just when she’d be back and she didn’t want Dawn to worry. She hadn’t told Dawn about Spike. She’d wanted to savor her feelings and the time she’d spent with him for a while longer, before the storm of accusations from her friends and family descended upon her--accusations and questions which she knew she would eventually have to face. “It’s my life. My life.” She slipped out the front door and headed toward the Bronze. * * * * * Rigel and Maisa finally got Spike home. He’d lost a great quantity of blood, and though he was unable to see, he kept insisting that he had to get to the Bronze to meet Buffy. Rigel was eventually able to subdue him by telling him that he looked a complete fright, covered in blood and so filthy and that no decent young lady would even want to be seen with him. He promised Spike that he’d try to find someway to let Buffy know what had happened. It was his last comment that made Spike suddenly calm down. “She can’t know. What’s she gonna do with a blind vampire? Oh, god.” He stood quietly as Rigel helped him out of his clothes and helped him clean up. Spike could barely stand at that point. “You better lie down for a bit. I’ll bring you something that might help.” As Rigel was coming in from the backyard, he noticed Maisa standing guard over a strange object on the floor. She was growling. “What’s that you have there, little one?” He bent over and picked up the scorpion stake. * * * * * Spike crawled into bed and buried his face in the pillow. Her scent still lingered on the pillowcase and on the blankets. He felt a momentary comfort, as if her arms were around him, and he was engulfed by her warmth and tenderness. Then the reality of his situation returned and he rolled over on his back and stared unseeing at the ceiling. “She’ll never forgive me this. Never.” He imagined her sitting in the Bronze waiting for him. The hours passing and him never showing up. She’d never forgive him, that is, unless she knew what happened to him. And he couldn’t tell her because he knew her. Knew she’d get all maternal and want to help him and he couldn’t bear it. “Not the way I wanted things to be, love.” * * * * * Rigel handed Spike the tall glass of water. He set a small silver box and the scorpion stake down on the bedside table. “Drink this, Spike,” he ordered, “Not sure if it will help your eyes, but at least it will ease the pain.” Spike took a small sip and then spit it out. “Bloody hell, this is water!” “Drink it you stubborn fool! You don’t know what you’re risking!” Rigel glanced down at the stake. “Yeah…yeah. Things couldn’t get worse…nothing to lose now. Bloody chip. I could’ve killed the wanker…instead of…this…” Spike sighed. He drank the whole glass down in a gulp. He felt a tingling sensation move down his throat and into his chest and then radiate up through his neck and head. The pain in his eyes disappeared, but he felt tiny flashes of cold fire explode inside his head. “From the spring?” he said in a listless voice. “Yes. But don’t worry. I promise. It’s for your own good.” “Why wasn’t I dusted?" “This stake isn’t made of wood.” Rigel picked up the stake off the table and examined it again. “It has a small opening in the point.” “My head is filled with stars…” Spike lay back down on the bed. “Sound like bloody Dru…am I going crazy…?” “No…no. You’re not crazy…but I’m worried. Have you ever seen a stake shaped like a scorpion?” “Never…never. Must think…what to do. Oh…Buffy…what’ll happen to you? What have I done?” Spike groaned. He tried to sit up and then fell back onto the bed. “Get the box. Give her the box. Let her be the one to forget. My gift…Get some paper man, before I pass out. Need you to write a letter.” * * * * * Rigel sealed up the letter, wrapped it around the silver box and tied it with a black string. He paused at the bedroom doorway. “Are you sure? Something may change. Don’t rush things. Don’t rush. Something good may happen…something…” “Nothing good ever happens to me, mate. Promise me. You’ll find her tonight. Give it to her! Promise!” Spike morphed feebly into his demon face, but he couldn’t sustain it for more than a moment. “I promise. Oh, dear, dear…” Rigel mumbled as he left the room. * * * * * November 22nd Buffy glanced at her watch. It was already 1:30 a.m. Where was he? She’d been worried, but now her worry turned to anger. She began to doubt everything that had happened between them last night. Had it been just another game to him? Get her to forgive him? Make her confess her feelings and then humiliate her by standing her up? Could he really be that cruel? She suddenly felt embarrassed to be sitting alone in the Bronze. She felt people staring at her as if she were some kind of pathetic loser or just another, lonely woman waiting to be picked up. She pulled the coat around her shoulders and stood up. She took the back exit out of the Bronze, following the same route she’d taken last night. Last night. It seemed light years ago when she’d run out into the night and finally found her way back to his arms. “Never gonna happen again,” she thought sadly. “One beautiful day of ignorant bliss. One day of joy. Don’t think I can live with the memory of it.” The cold November air swirled up under her coat and dress. She felt a rush of shame as the cold air caressed and chilled her naked body beneath the skimpy dress. What had she been thinking? She walked slowly home, falling deeper into a black depression with each step. When she climbed the stairs to her front porch, the first thing she saw was a small silver package. Her heart gave a quick lurch. She stooped to pick it up. She looked cautiously around the front yard and down the street. No sign of him anywhere. She went inside and threw the package down on the couch. She sat down beside it. She was afraid to open it. Finally, overcome with a mixture of curiosity and dread she opened it up. Inside the package was an envelope tied to a small silver box. For a brief moment, she surrendered to joy. A gift. Something precious from him. “An explanation for his appalling behavior,” she thought ruefully, “Why didn’t he give it to me himself? Never forgive him. Never.” She looked at the envelope. It wasn’t his handwriting. She opened the envelope and began to read the letter. * * * * * The main body of the letter read: Slayer, Well, now we’re even. For all those years you tormented me. But I got you to say those three little words, didn’t I? But I’m kinder than you. I send you this little present. Use it if you want. They say that forgiveness is the greatest gift. But I think forgetting is just as good, probably much better in this case. Hope you weren’t too cold tonight. Affectionately, Your evil, undead Vampire, Spike She recognized Spike’s scrawling, printed signature. The rest of the letter was written in a beautiful cursive script. It appeared to have been written by someone else. Rigel, perhaps, she thought. Underneath the signature someone had hurriedly written the words, ‘Don’t do it!’ She put the letter down and opened up the silver box. There was a small black bag of sweet smelling herbs and a little printed label which read, ‘Nepenthe’s Special Spell for Forgetting. Extra Strong.’ On the back of the label were instructions for how to use the herbs and invoke the spell. She threw everything back down on the couch, stood up and ripped off Spike’s coat and threw that down, also. She was far, far beyond anger at this point. She was sliding deep into murderous revenge. She ran upstairs, quickly changed her clothes, and rummaged in her drawer for a stake. She started to leave the room, but had a quick thought and went over to her closet and pulled out his black leather duster and put it on. She went back downstairs, took the silver box and his letter off of the couch, put them in the pocket of the duster and then slammed out of the house. She strode angrily through the night. “Gonna do what I should’ve done years ago. Dust his sorry ass.” * * * * * November 22nd 3:00 a.m. Rigel rushed downstairs at the sound of the heavy pounding on the front door. He opened the door slowly, only to be pushed aside by the extremely agitated Buffy. “Where the hell is he?” she yelled. “He…he’s sleeping…he can’t see you…er…now…” “Not my problem. Get out of my way!” Buffy shoved Rigel against the wall. “Are you in this too?” “In what? Oh, please. He can’t see you. He can’t see…” Rigel stammered. Barking and growling, Masia dashed down the stairs and flung herself at Buffy. “What? You too? And I saved you, you miserable…” she cried. She tried to shake off the little dog, who had a corner of Spike’s duster in her teeth and refused to let go. She moved up the stairs, with the dog still latched onto the coat and Rigel scurrying behind her. She slammed open the door to Spike’s bedroom and paused for a moment, halted by the stillness of his sleeping form. He was on his back; his eyes were closed. He hadn’t even flinched in all the commotion. She threw the silver box at him, striking him in his chest. “Wake up you filthy, lying, evil thing. I want to see the look in your eyes. Spike! Look at me! Want to see the look in your eyes just before I end your miserable existence!" He didn’t move. She stood over him and raised the stake over his chest. “Look at me!” Spike turned his head away from her and slowly opened his eyes “Look at me!” Buffy cried. Rigel grabbed Buffy’s arm and tried to pull her away from the bed. “He can’t. He can’t. He can’t see you!” “Shut up! You bloody fool!” Spike cried and turned his face toward them. “Shut up and get her the hell out of here! No….on second thought. Let her do it. Yeah, bitch…do the thing…you know you want to. Just bloody well do it!" Buffy dropped the stake from her hand in shock. “Your eyes…your…” “Rigel, get this bint out of my room. Get out!” Rigel pulled gently on Buffy’s arm, “Come on, come on…let’s leave him alone… please? It’ll only get worse.” Buffy stumbled out of the room guided by Rigel. Maisa positioned herself at the entrance to Spike’s bedroom and gave a low growl at Buffy’s retreating back. They heard Spike laughing hysterically and then he was suddenly quiet. Rigel led Buffy into the kitchen and made her sit down at the table. “Here, drink this.” He handed her a glass of water. “Hope it’s gin,” she muttered and drank it down. She fixed Rigel with a despairing gaze and asked, “What happened?” * * * * * Buffy and Rigel sat in the backyard next to the spring. Rigel told her everything that had occurred that night. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want me know. I thought he loved me.” “He does love you. Don’t you understand?” “I don’t think I’ll ever understand him.” She picked up the scorpion stake that Rigel had given her and tapped it absently on the ground before her. “You know I think I’ve seen this somewhere before.” She thought for a moment, and then exclaimed, “The Magic Box!” She turned to Rigel. “Why didn’t he fight back? Defend himself? With his chip gone and all. He didn’t have to let this happen to him.” “Chip gone? But he still has the chip…I’m thinking perhaps it was his soul that made him hesitate.” “His soul?” Buffy said in a shocked voice. She shivered. “Let’s go inside,” Rigel stood up and, taking Buffy’s hand, led her back into the house. “Why in the world would he lie to me about that?” * * * * * Buffy laid the book down and yawned. She and Rigel had been sitting for several hours at the kitchen table. They’d been discussing what to do next. Buffy had been casually browsing through the books that Anya had left for Spike. “Do you think that humans are really demons?” she asked. Rigel smiled, “Not really. But sometimes I think they can be worse than demons. You know, the things I’ve seen during my time on this earth…the pain I’ve seen them inflict, the havoc and insanity, you just wouldn’t believe.” “Oh…I believe it.” She stood up, “What about me, Rigel? Do you think I’m bad?” “I think you’re very young. Very young to have to do what you must do. And,” he paused, looking at her with apprehension, “You're very quick to judge. Perhaps a little more kindness...” He stopped, silenced by the look of sadness in her eyes. “I’m going up to him. Don’t bother us, no matter what you hear. OK?” She climbed the stairs and was immediately confronted by Maisa, who blocked her entrance to the room. She bent down and gave her a little pat. “I won’t hurt him. I promise,” she said to the little dog. “He needs me. Whether he wants to admit it or not.” * * * * * She slipped quietly into his room. He was fast asleep. She took off the leather duster, dropped it to the floor; and then she climbed onto the bed and snuggled up beside him. She put her arm under his head and tried to pull him closer. He shifted restlessly in his sleep and rolled over on his side so that he was facing her. He rubbed his mouth against the soft fabric of her sweater and threw his arm around her possessively, settling his body into her soft curves. She looked down at his face, nestled against her breast. His cheeks were streaked with tears, but his lips were curved in a faint smile. She ran her fingers gently through his hair and placed them lightly on the cool skin on the back of his neck. She hugged his head against her. In that moment, she let herself feel what she had almost lost in her blind desire for revenge. “Spike,” she whispered. “I love you.” “Yeah…I know…” he said in a low voice and then drifted back to sleep. Continued Back to Starlight Home Back to Dark Dreams |
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