The Open Halls of the Soul, chapter 8
TITLE: The Open Halls of the Soul
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: Many thanks once again to kellyhk for the beta and her always helpful suggestions. All mistakes are entirely my own.
It's been great fun writing my ficathon entry, but I'm glad to get back to my WIP now. Thanks to everyone for being patient.
Previous parts can be found here.
about five years earlier...
"Bugger. Fuck! Bugger, bugger, bugger, fuck, bugger, bugger! Fuck! "
"Spike..."
"Bugger! Stupid fucking bow ties!"
"Calm down, would you? Buffy is here to save the day."
Spike sighed, relieved already. "Have at it, Mighty Mouse."
She came up behind him, sure hands smoothing down the fabric of his jacket, working the tense muscles of his shoulders until once again, he was putty in her hands.
"Better?"
"Mmmm."
"Good. Now turn around here so I can fix that tie and...oh."
"What?" He looked down. "Have I buggered something else up? Blood stain on my shirt? What?"
Her eyes misted over and she bit her lower lip. "No, it's just...God, you're so handsome. It's been a while since I've seen you in a suit."
Spike grinned. "Fancy the tux, do you?"
She nodded vigorously. "Buffy fancies. Buffy fancies a lot." He reached out to grab her, but she pushed his hands away. "No, no, no. We cannot go there. That way leads to ruined hair-dos, hickeys that no strapless gown can hide, and being late to our own wedding."
He leaned in closer. "Not our wedding this time, love."
She didn't budge. "Exactly. It's Dawn's. Do you want to face the wrath of Dawn? Today? Seriously?"
Spike folded his hands obediently behind his back. "Point taken." He sighed. "Spike's a good dog. Go on and tie me up, then."
She grinned wickedly. "Later. Definitely later. Oh wait, you meant the necktie." She made quick work of it and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. "There, now you're even prettier. So where's Xander?"
Spike looked the room over. They were in a small meeting room in the back of the church. "Huh. Must be around here somewhere..."
"You're supposed to be keeping an eye on him!"
"I'm his best man, not his sodding babysitter! Prob'ly just stepped out for some air."
The back door banged shut and they both spun around to stare at Harris in relief.
"Oh, thank God," Buffy said.
"What?"
"Nothing!" They both said together.
"You thought I took off! Oh my God."
Buffy had, of course. It had been her unspoken fear ever since he and Dawn had announced their engagement, and you couldn't really blame her. But you couldn't exactly blame Harris for being ticked off, either.
"Xander..." she began.
"Sheesh! A guy ducks out on one little wedding and he's branded for life."
Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance. He was trying to make a joke of it, but it had fallen completely flat. And he was looking a tad peaked. Spike had been convinced Buffy's fears were unfounded. Now he wasn't so sure. What he was completely sure of was that Buffy should not be a part of this.
"I'll handle it," Spike said.
Buffy hesitated, finally nodding and kissing them both on the cheek, in turn. "Five minutes guys," she said, before hurrying from the room.
"You all right?" Spike asked him.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I'm fine."
"Yeah? Sure you're not havin' second thoughts? Tell me now, might let you live."
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Of course not."
"How stupid of me. Anyone can see you're filled with happiness and joy..."
"I was just thinking about Anya, all right?"
Spike turned a chair around and sat down. He should have known. "All right."
Harris looked steadily at Spike. "You and I have come a long way, my friend. But this is one subject I really don't want to talk to you of all people about. You know?"
Spike winced. "Right. Could go get Red, if you want..."
"I don't need to talk, okay?"
"Understood."
Harris ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Look, it's just...I love Dawn more than anything, or anyone, ever."
Spike knew this to be true. Dawn, brash as she was, had asked Harris out half a dozen times after she turned twenty-one. He finally gave in. A man can only be so virtuous, after all, and Spike kind of admired him for resisting as long as he had. While no one was good enough for his Bit, Harris did love her. As for the age difference, it had never seemed that big of a deal to Spike. Then again, he was a tad older than Buffy himself.
"I've no doubt about that, mate."
"But I loved Anya too..."
"And it didn't work out."
"It's more than that. It's the way I hurt her. If I ever hurt Dawn..."
Spike smiled brightly. "Not to worry. If you ever hurt Dawn, I'll just rip your throat out. Make it quick and painless. Mostly."
"Well, that goes without saying."
"Harris, come on. You're gonna screw up. Then you say sorry, and you try again. Take it from me. Had plenty of practice with that particular phrase in the last five years."
Harris managed a smile. "So that's your profound advice?"
"Look, I'm a vampire, not sodding Dr. Phil. But in my experience, 'I'm sorry' is the foundation of a successful marriage, mate. Plus, make-up sex. Which you will not discuss with me. Ever."
He cleared his throat. "Got it. And I think our time is up. But thanks, this little talk has been so helpful"
They both stood and Spike clapped him on the shoulder. "Really?"
"No." He tugged at the collar of her shirt. "Is it hot in here? God, I really wish Dawn had taken me up on that elopement idea."
"Oh, but I have seen your bride-to-be today. Like a fairy princess. And steady as a rock, I might add."
Harris grinned. "Yeah?"
"A vision. Trust me, you don't wanna miss this."
***
Spike emerges slowly from sleep, blinking and stretching, more well-rested than he's felt in ages. He's warm and dry and comfortable, and for a moment he thinks he's at Dawn's house, as familiar scents fill his nose. It must have been a really bad fight if he's bunking with them, and he does have this hazy sense of guilt. But when he opens his eyes, he's on the back porch of that farm house in the middle of nowhere, and the previous day comes rushing back to him. Must have fallen asleep, as the last thing he remembers is Harris running off to fetch him some food. Harris. He forces himself to sit up, swings his legs over the side of the sofa, and hears a wonderfully familiar voice.
"Hey."
He sits in a chair less than a foot away, staring, and Spike sees a wealth of emotions in that single deep brown eye. A whiskey bottle rests between his legs, and every once in awhile he takes a swig. Wordlessly, he offers the bottle to Spike. Spike drinks, and hands it back. Harris had pretty much stopped drinking over the last couple of years, except for the occasional beer. Don't want to end up like my father, he'd say. Spike tries to remember the last time it was he saw him before last night. He can't recall.
"Harris..."
"You must be hungry. I'll get you something to eat."
For someone so glad to see him, he sure has been anxious to leave. The porch is off the kitchen, and when he opens the door, Spike can smell food cooking, and see people trying to surreptitiously catch a glimpse of the vampire in their midst. This time Harris returns in just a few minutes with a steaming mug full of blood. Spike hadn't felt hungry until he smelled it, but now he slurps it down, greedy and inelegant as Harris sits on the arm of a chair and watches. Spike sets the empty mug down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You gonna tell me what happened now?"
"You said...is Angel dead?"
Spiked sighs. So this is how it's going to go. Harris has been through a lot, so he'll let him direct the conversation if that makes it easier on him. For now. If only because Spike's not sure he wants to hear whatever news there is to tell.
Spike reaches for the bottle, and takes another drink. "Yeah, he his."
"What about...what about his son? What about Connor?"
Spike nods. "His kid, his girl, and a hell of a lot of slayers. All gone."
"At least he wasn't left behind. Angel. Because that would be...worse."
All this interest in Angel strikes Spike as odd. They'd all made their peace over the years, but Angel and Harris had never been anything more than civil. "Suppose so."
"How'd you get so lucky?"
Spike bristles, unsure how to take this. "Don't know. How did you?"
Harris leans forward, hands resting on his knees, and stares intently at Spike. "I've been trying to figure that out, man. Except lucky doesn't mean the same thing it used to, does it?"
"No, mate," Spike agrees. "Not much does."
***
Maybe she should just count herself lucky to be alive, but lucky is the last thing on the list of 'Things Rachel Feels.' After seeing Buffy, she spends the next few days holing up in the dank little basement studio she now calls home sweet home. At least until the demons move in and she has to move on. She curls up on the twin bed and pulls the covers over her head and thinks about how utterly screwed she is. She wants Willow, and her need for her is like a sucking chest wound that stays with her, day after day. If Willow were here, everything would be different. Not good, maybe, but better. Because whenever Rachel was in her arms, the whole world went away. She squeezes her eyes shut tight, but no matter how hard she tries to wish it away, when she finally has to open them again the world is just as terrible as it was before.
And while she knows she completely deserves it, she still can't believe Buffy hates her so much that she ran away from her. Buffy, who has to be the most forgiving person she's ever met, can't forgive Rachel. And who can blame her? It's not like she'll ever forgive herself.
But frankly, three days of wallowing is about all she can take, and then she says fuck it and goes out just after sunset to kill a few demons. They haven't been fussy about where they've taken up residence, they just follow the food. Tonight she decides to go down towards the waterfront. A dangerous choice, and a deliberate one. She takes out a few demons that are wandering around on their own or in small groups, before she comes upon a larger group who have cornered two women in the doorway of a restaurant. They were probably looking for food and got caught out too late. Not that daylight is much safer. Their backs are up against the locked door, and there’s no where for them to go.
She counts the demons. Unlucky thirteen. That’s too many. She still has her axe, which she passes from one hand to the other and back again. And a good knife strapped to her leg. She does have the element of surprise on her side, as the demons have their backs to her. They haven’t noticed her yet.
Thirteen is too many. Her heart races and her limbs twitch with a surge of adrenaline. There are other demons nearby, there always are. And they’ll be sure to come running to see what all the fuss is about. God knows how many she’ll have to fight off then. Just to save two people she doesn’t know, and logic tells her that all three of them are likely to end up dead.
She should just run. Take off while she still can. She’ll be no good to anyone if she’s dead. She takes a step backwards, and one of the women screams, halting Rachel mid-step. She knows the truth, even if she'd like to deny it - if she leaves them here to die, she might as well be dead herself. She says a quick prayer to a God she no longer believes in, and goes in swinging.
With her axe, Rachel beheads three demons with a single swing, and after that she’s running on pure instinct. A few others do show up to see what all the ruckus is about, but apparently decide they’d rather not mess with the crazy girl with the pointy weapons. At some point, Rachel realizes she’s been screaming too, part battle cry, part release. And when she’s done, she stands in the midst of all the blood and gore, covered with it, and feels something good for the first time in a long while. Then she remembers the women.
They are still in the doorway, though one has fallen. Rachel has only saved one, and that hurts. The woman's friend crouches over her, crying, cradling her head in her lap. The dead woman’s eyes are open, wide and staring, and her shirt is stained dark with blood. This is the way Rachel found Willow. It seems like so long ago.
“They killed her.” The young woman looks up at Rachel through her tears. “She’s all I had left.”
“At least you stayed with her,” Rachel says. “She didn’t die alone. That's important.”
Willow died alone. Because Rachel ran away. She ran away in fear and hid. While the other slayers had stood their ground and died for the cause, she'd abandoned them all, Willow too. And this is the price she has to pay for her cowardice. She's the one who is alone now. But that's too fucking bad for her. It's time to suck it up and do her job. To try and help these people, no matter what. They need to get out of here, but she takes a moment to take one more look around. She did quite a bit of damage for one slayer.
Imagine what two could do.
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: Many thanks once again to kellyhk for the beta and her always helpful suggestions. All mistakes are entirely my own.
It's been great fun writing my ficathon entry, but I'm glad to get back to my WIP now. Thanks to everyone for being patient.
Previous parts can be found here.
about five years earlier...
"Bugger. Fuck! Bugger, bugger, bugger, fuck, bugger, bugger! Fuck! "
"Spike..."
"Bugger! Stupid fucking bow ties!"
"Calm down, would you? Buffy is here to save the day."
Spike sighed, relieved already. "Have at it, Mighty Mouse."
She came up behind him, sure hands smoothing down the fabric of his jacket, working the tense muscles of his shoulders until once again, he was putty in her hands.
"Better?"
"Mmmm."
"Good. Now turn around here so I can fix that tie and...oh."
"What?" He looked down. "Have I buggered something else up? Blood stain on my shirt? What?"
Her eyes misted over and she bit her lower lip. "No, it's just...God, you're so handsome. It's been a while since I've seen you in a suit."
Spike grinned. "Fancy the tux, do you?"
She nodded vigorously. "Buffy fancies. Buffy fancies a lot." He reached out to grab her, but she pushed his hands away. "No, no, no. We cannot go there. That way leads to ruined hair-dos, hickeys that no strapless gown can hide, and being late to our own wedding."
He leaned in closer. "Not our wedding this time, love."
She didn't budge. "Exactly. It's Dawn's. Do you want to face the wrath of Dawn? Today? Seriously?"
Spike folded his hands obediently behind his back. "Point taken." He sighed. "Spike's a good dog. Go on and tie me up, then."
She grinned wickedly. "Later. Definitely later. Oh wait, you meant the necktie." She made quick work of it and placed a lingering kiss on his lips. "There, now you're even prettier. So where's Xander?"
Spike looked the room over. They were in a small meeting room in the back of the church. "Huh. Must be around here somewhere..."
"You're supposed to be keeping an eye on him!"
"I'm his best man, not his sodding babysitter! Prob'ly just stepped out for some air."
The back door banged shut and they both spun around to stare at Harris in relief.
"Oh, thank God," Buffy said.
"What?"
"Nothing!" They both said together.
"You thought I took off! Oh my God."
Buffy had, of course. It had been her unspoken fear ever since he and Dawn had announced their engagement, and you couldn't really blame her. But you couldn't exactly blame Harris for being ticked off, either.
"Xander..." she began.
"Sheesh! A guy ducks out on one little wedding and he's branded for life."
Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance. He was trying to make a joke of it, but it had fallen completely flat. And he was looking a tad peaked. Spike had been convinced Buffy's fears were unfounded. Now he wasn't so sure. What he was completely sure of was that Buffy should not be a part of this.
"I'll handle it," Spike said.
Buffy hesitated, finally nodding and kissing them both on the cheek, in turn. "Five minutes guys," she said, before hurrying from the room.
"You all right?" Spike asked him.
He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I'm fine."
"Yeah? Sure you're not havin' second thoughts? Tell me now, might let you live."
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Of course not."
"How stupid of me. Anyone can see you're filled with happiness and joy..."
"I was just thinking about Anya, all right?"
Spike turned a chair around and sat down. He should have known. "All right."
Harris looked steadily at Spike. "You and I have come a long way, my friend. But this is one subject I really don't want to talk to you of all people about. You know?"
Spike winced. "Right. Could go get Red, if you want..."
"I don't need to talk, okay?"
"Understood."
Harris ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Look, it's just...I love Dawn more than anything, or anyone, ever."
Spike knew this to be true. Dawn, brash as she was, had asked Harris out half a dozen times after she turned twenty-one. He finally gave in. A man can only be so virtuous, after all, and Spike kind of admired him for resisting as long as he had. While no one was good enough for his Bit, Harris did love her. As for the age difference, it had never seemed that big of a deal to Spike. Then again, he was a tad older than Buffy himself.
"I've no doubt about that, mate."
"But I loved Anya too..."
"And it didn't work out."
"It's more than that. It's the way I hurt her. If I ever hurt Dawn..."
Spike smiled brightly. "Not to worry. If you ever hurt Dawn, I'll just rip your throat out. Make it quick and painless. Mostly."
"Well, that goes without saying."
"Harris, come on. You're gonna screw up. Then you say sorry, and you try again. Take it from me. Had plenty of practice with that particular phrase in the last five years."
Harris managed a smile. "So that's your profound advice?"
"Look, I'm a vampire, not sodding Dr. Phil. But in my experience, 'I'm sorry' is the foundation of a successful marriage, mate. Plus, make-up sex. Which you will not discuss with me. Ever."
He cleared his throat. "Got it. And I think our time is up. But thanks, this little talk has been so helpful"
They both stood and Spike clapped him on the shoulder. "Really?"
"No." He tugged at the collar of her shirt. "Is it hot in here? God, I really wish Dawn had taken me up on that elopement idea."
"Oh, but I have seen your bride-to-be today. Like a fairy princess. And steady as a rock, I might add."
Harris grinned. "Yeah?"
"A vision. Trust me, you don't wanna miss this."
***
Spike emerges slowly from sleep, blinking and stretching, more well-rested than he's felt in ages. He's warm and dry and comfortable, and for a moment he thinks he's at Dawn's house, as familiar scents fill his nose. It must have been a really bad fight if he's bunking with them, and he does have this hazy sense of guilt. But when he opens his eyes, he's on the back porch of that farm house in the middle of nowhere, and the previous day comes rushing back to him. Must have fallen asleep, as the last thing he remembers is Harris running off to fetch him some food. Harris. He forces himself to sit up, swings his legs over the side of the sofa, and hears a wonderfully familiar voice.
"Hey."
He sits in a chair less than a foot away, staring, and Spike sees a wealth of emotions in that single deep brown eye. A whiskey bottle rests between his legs, and every once in awhile he takes a swig. Wordlessly, he offers the bottle to Spike. Spike drinks, and hands it back. Harris had pretty much stopped drinking over the last couple of years, except for the occasional beer. Don't want to end up like my father, he'd say. Spike tries to remember the last time it was he saw him before last night. He can't recall.
"Harris..."
"You must be hungry. I'll get you something to eat."
For someone so glad to see him, he sure has been anxious to leave. The porch is off the kitchen, and when he opens the door, Spike can smell food cooking, and see people trying to surreptitiously catch a glimpse of the vampire in their midst. This time Harris returns in just a few minutes with a steaming mug full of blood. Spike hadn't felt hungry until he smelled it, but now he slurps it down, greedy and inelegant as Harris sits on the arm of a chair and watches. Spike sets the empty mug down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"You gonna tell me what happened now?"
"You said...is Angel dead?"
Spiked sighs. So this is how it's going to go. Harris has been through a lot, so he'll let him direct the conversation if that makes it easier on him. For now. If only because Spike's not sure he wants to hear whatever news there is to tell.
Spike reaches for the bottle, and takes another drink. "Yeah, he his."
"What about...what about his son? What about Connor?"
Spike nods. "His kid, his girl, and a hell of a lot of slayers. All gone."
"At least he wasn't left behind. Angel. Because that would be...worse."
All this interest in Angel strikes Spike as odd. They'd all made their peace over the years, but Angel and Harris had never been anything more than civil. "Suppose so."
"How'd you get so lucky?"
Spike bristles, unsure how to take this. "Don't know. How did you?"
Harris leans forward, hands resting on his knees, and stares intently at Spike. "I've been trying to figure that out, man. Except lucky doesn't mean the same thing it used to, does it?"
"No, mate," Spike agrees. "Not much does."
***
Maybe she should just count herself lucky to be alive, but lucky is the last thing on the list of 'Things Rachel Feels.' After seeing Buffy, she spends the next few days holing up in the dank little basement studio she now calls home sweet home. At least until the demons move in and she has to move on. She curls up on the twin bed and pulls the covers over her head and thinks about how utterly screwed she is. She wants Willow, and her need for her is like a sucking chest wound that stays with her, day after day. If Willow were here, everything would be different. Not good, maybe, but better. Because whenever Rachel was in her arms, the whole world went away. She squeezes her eyes shut tight, but no matter how hard she tries to wish it away, when she finally has to open them again the world is just as terrible as it was before.
And while she knows she completely deserves it, she still can't believe Buffy hates her so much that she ran away from her. Buffy, who has to be the most forgiving person she's ever met, can't forgive Rachel. And who can blame her? It's not like she'll ever forgive herself.
But frankly, three days of wallowing is about all she can take, and then she says fuck it and goes out just after sunset to kill a few demons. They haven't been fussy about where they've taken up residence, they just follow the food. Tonight she decides to go down towards the waterfront. A dangerous choice, and a deliberate one. She takes out a few demons that are wandering around on their own or in small groups, before she comes upon a larger group who have cornered two women in the doorway of a restaurant. They were probably looking for food and got caught out too late. Not that daylight is much safer. Their backs are up against the locked door, and there’s no where for them to go.
She counts the demons. Unlucky thirteen. That’s too many. She still has her axe, which she passes from one hand to the other and back again. And a good knife strapped to her leg. She does have the element of surprise on her side, as the demons have their backs to her. They haven’t noticed her yet.
Thirteen is too many. Her heart races and her limbs twitch with a surge of adrenaline. There are other demons nearby, there always are. And they’ll be sure to come running to see what all the fuss is about. God knows how many she’ll have to fight off then. Just to save two people she doesn’t know, and logic tells her that all three of them are likely to end up dead.
She should just run. Take off while she still can. She’ll be no good to anyone if she’s dead. She takes a step backwards, and one of the women screams, halting Rachel mid-step. She knows the truth, even if she'd like to deny it - if she leaves them here to die, she might as well be dead herself. She says a quick prayer to a God she no longer believes in, and goes in swinging.
With her axe, Rachel beheads three demons with a single swing, and after that she’s running on pure instinct. A few others do show up to see what all the ruckus is about, but apparently decide they’d rather not mess with the crazy girl with the pointy weapons. At some point, Rachel realizes she’s been screaming too, part battle cry, part release. And when she’s done, she stands in the midst of all the blood and gore, covered with it, and feels something good for the first time in a long while. Then she remembers the women.
They are still in the doorway, though one has fallen. Rachel has only saved one, and that hurts. The woman's friend crouches over her, crying, cradling her head in her lap. The dead woman’s eyes are open, wide and staring, and her shirt is stained dark with blood. This is the way Rachel found Willow. It seems like so long ago.
“They killed her.” The young woman looks up at Rachel through her tears. “She’s all I had left.”
“At least you stayed with her,” Rachel says. “She didn’t die alone. That's important.”
Willow died alone. Because Rachel ran away. She ran away in fear and hid. While the other slayers had stood their ground and died for the cause, she'd abandoned them all, Willow too. And this is the price she has to pay for her cowardice. She's the one who is alone now. But that's too fucking bad for her. It's time to suck it up and do her job. To try and help these people, no matter what. They need to get out of here, but she takes a moment to take one more look around. She did quite a bit of damage for one slayer.
Imagine what two could do.