Falling - part eight
Ah, it's been a bit of a break, hasn't it? But I'm back in the saddle and as angsty and Spike-torturing as ever!
Previous parts in memories
Tara and Willow’s room was dark, none of their scented candles lit. Tara’s hair was lit only by the streetlight coming in from the front window, where she crouched, a hand on the sill.
The door creaked as Spike nudged it open. “Glinda? Tara, pet, what happened?”
Tara laid her cheek on the wooden sill. “E-everything’s fuzzy. I just know I love Willow and I h-had to come back.”
Spike tred carefully, as though the floor was spread with broken glass. “You’ve been magicked, Glinda. No two ways about it.”
“Stop saying that!” She winced and covered her face with her hands. “I-it feels wrong.”
Spike crouched beside the good witch, unsure what to do. He reached out at touched her arm with just his fingertips. When she didn’t move, he scooted closer, petting her shoulder and arm, little soothing touches like you’d give a frightened animal, with just the tips of his fingers, where he wasn’t burnt. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, resting his head near hers on the sill. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, yeah? Wash those tears off your cheeks, and then…”
“Get away from her!”
Spike turned to see Willow in the doorway, leaning forward, her mouth open. “Now!” she repeated. “What are you doing? You’re scaring her!”
“I’M scaring her!” Spike stood, brows pressed tightly together.
Willow barreled past him, falling to throw her arms around Tara. “It’s okay, baby.”
Spike scowled at the little redhead’s back. “Fine.” He threw his hands in the air. “I tried. God, I’m supposed to be the evil one here. Crazy bi...”
Buffy stood in the doorway, exactly where Willow had been a moment before.
***
“Buffy’s been acting weird. Super weird. Came-back-without-a-soul weird. Is that it? I mean… could they have resurrected her evil somehow? Is this one of those ‘things man was not meant to know’ deals? Giles! OMG, what if it is? Am I going to have to kill my sister?”
Being woken so soon after going to bed for the night, Giles did not have the mental capacity to keep up with the teenager’s babbling, much less the physical energy to follow her mad pacing up and down his front room. “I find that possibility highly unlikely… could you stand still for a minute?”
She whirled in place, throwing her hands out. “What am I supposed to do? Buffy’s going to notice I snuck away. At least I HOPE she does… okay, not really.”
Giles rubbed his forehead. “I’m a little dizzy from following the logic of that sentence. Dawn… before I tell you you’re over-reacting and kick you out…”
“I’m not over-reacting! You didn’t see it! She BURNED him.”
Giles sighed. “As I said, before I leap to any conclusions, why don’t you tell me what ‘weird’ things your sister has been doing? Has she threatened you?”
“Sort of.” Dawn threw herself down on the couch next to Giles, causing the whole cushion to shift. He had to flail a bit to resume his forehead rubbing. “She’s doing things to Spike.”
“’Things?’ How I love the younger generation and their clarity of speech.” He stood and walked to the kitchen.
Dawn followed him, leaning against the door-frame while Giles got a glass of water. “I mean hurting him. She chained him up in the basement. I mean, seriously chained and beat up, like, I don’t know, like you’d expect the big bad to do. Something Glory would have done.”
Giles sat against the sink-edge and drank his water, frowning. “Disturbing bondage pictures aside, Buffy has an understandable tendency toward violence, particularly where vampires are concerned.”
“You think I’ve never seen Buffy pop Spike in the nose? It’s like, the punctuation on every conversation they have. But this is different, Giles, and I think it’s affecting Xander too. They’ve both been acting creepy.”
Giles blinked rapidly. “Yes, well…”
Dawn folded her arms. “I don’t feel safe,” she said.
Giles felt like he’d been sucker-punched. He set down his glass. “You’ll stay the night here,” he said. “We… we’ll figure it out in the morning.”
He soon had an armful of grateful Dawn, squeezing the life out of him. “Thanks, Giles. You won’t regret this.”
“I assure you I already do.” He patted her back. “Let’s get the couch turned down. Come on.”
***
Spike knew he looked foolish, mouth hanging open, frozen in place. His first, instinctive reaction was that some monster had erected an evil person-you-don’t-want-to-see spawning device in the bedroom doorway.
Buffy didn’t say anything. She turned deliberately to put her back to the bedroom door, looking pointedly down the hall. Spike took the hint and walked hurriedly past her. She followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. He kept glancing back at her, waiting to hear it, to hear something. She just watched him, arms still folded in exactly the posture she had held when he first saw her at the bedroom door. He finished cleaning up the kitchen. There hadn’t been much left, really, and his skin was healing. He grit his teeth against the pain and let his blisters break and bleed while he finished the dishes. When he was done, she told him she was angry.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“You know,” she said.
Spike nodded. He walked down to the cellar and sat on the small cot. After a few minutes he picked up the chains and set them on the bed, near him. To be handy. Not, he reflected, that they were really all that necessary. He was more a prisoner of his own accord than anything else. They weren’t manacles, not designed for this sort of thing - just some leftover chain from somewhere, looped and tied on itself.
And he, evil as he was, felt like the only hope for good in Sunnydale. How fucking pathetic was that?
He took a deep breath, eyes on the rusty chains. Upstairs, he heard Buffy moving about. There was no movement from the two witches. Probably already asleep in each other’s arms. Lord knew what Red was playing at.
Maybe, he thought, he’d talk to Buffy about that. She was sure to know what to do. Go all after-school special on her magic-abusing chum.
Once she calmed down, he amended, hearing the first creek of her boots on the basement stairs.
Continued!
Previous parts in memories
Tara and Willow’s room was dark, none of their scented candles lit. Tara’s hair was lit only by the streetlight coming in from the front window, where she crouched, a hand on the sill.
The door creaked as Spike nudged it open. “Glinda? Tara, pet, what happened?”
Tara laid her cheek on the wooden sill. “E-everything’s fuzzy. I just know I love Willow and I h-had to come back.”
Spike tred carefully, as though the floor was spread with broken glass. “You’ve been magicked, Glinda. No two ways about it.”
“Stop saying that!” She winced and covered her face with her hands. “I-it feels wrong.”
Spike crouched beside the good witch, unsure what to do. He reached out at touched her arm with just his fingertips. When she didn’t move, he scooted closer, petting her shoulder and arm, little soothing touches like you’d give a frightened animal, with just the tips of his fingers, where he wasn’t burnt. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, resting his head near hers on the sill. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up, yeah? Wash those tears off your cheeks, and then…”
“Get away from her!”
Spike turned to see Willow in the doorway, leaning forward, her mouth open. “Now!” she repeated. “What are you doing? You’re scaring her!”
“I’M scaring her!” Spike stood, brows pressed tightly together.
Willow barreled past him, falling to throw her arms around Tara. “It’s okay, baby.”
Spike scowled at the little redhead’s back. “Fine.” He threw his hands in the air. “I tried. God, I’m supposed to be the evil one here. Crazy bi...”
Buffy stood in the doorway, exactly where Willow had been a moment before.
***
“Buffy’s been acting weird. Super weird. Came-back-without-a-soul weird. Is that it? I mean… could they have resurrected her evil somehow? Is this one of those ‘things man was not meant to know’ deals? Giles! OMG, what if it is? Am I going to have to kill my sister?”
Being woken so soon after going to bed for the night, Giles did not have the mental capacity to keep up with the teenager’s babbling, much less the physical energy to follow her mad pacing up and down his front room. “I find that possibility highly unlikely… could you stand still for a minute?”
She whirled in place, throwing her hands out. “What am I supposed to do? Buffy’s going to notice I snuck away. At least I HOPE she does… okay, not really.”
Giles rubbed his forehead. “I’m a little dizzy from following the logic of that sentence. Dawn… before I tell you you’re over-reacting and kick you out…”
“I’m not over-reacting! You didn’t see it! She BURNED him.”
Giles sighed. “As I said, before I leap to any conclusions, why don’t you tell me what ‘weird’ things your sister has been doing? Has she threatened you?”
“Sort of.” Dawn threw herself down on the couch next to Giles, causing the whole cushion to shift. He had to flail a bit to resume his forehead rubbing. “She’s doing things to Spike.”
“’Things?’ How I love the younger generation and their clarity of speech.” He stood and walked to the kitchen.
Dawn followed him, leaning against the door-frame while Giles got a glass of water. “I mean hurting him. She chained him up in the basement. I mean, seriously chained and beat up, like, I don’t know, like you’d expect the big bad to do. Something Glory would have done.”
Giles sat against the sink-edge and drank his water, frowning. “Disturbing bondage pictures aside, Buffy has an understandable tendency toward violence, particularly where vampires are concerned.”
“You think I’ve never seen Buffy pop Spike in the nose? It’s like, the punctuation on every conversation they have. But this is different, Giles, and I think it’s affecting Xander too. They’ve both been acting creepy.”
Giles blinked rapidly. “Yes, well…”
Dawn folded her arms. “I don’t feel safe,” she said.
Giles felt like he’d been sucker-punched. He set down his glass. “You’ll stay the night here,” he said. “We… we’ll figure it out in the morning.”
He soon had an armful of grateful Dawn, squeezing the life out of him. “Thanks, Giles. You won’t regret this.”
“I assure you I already do.” He patted her back. “Let’s get the couch turned down. Come on.”
***
Spike knew he looked foolish, mouth hanging open, frozen in place. His first, instinctive reaction was that some monster had erected an evil person-you-don’t-want-to-see spawning device in the bedroom doorway.
Buffy didn’t say anything. She turned deliberately to put her back to the bedroom door, looking pointedly down the hall. Spike took the hint and walked hurriedly past her. She followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. He kept glancing back at her, waiting to hear it, to hear something. She just watched him, arms still folded in exactly the posture she had held when he first saw her at the bedroom door. He finished cleaning up the kitchen. There hadn’t been much left, really, and his skin was healing. He grit his teeth against the pain and let his blisters break and bleed while he finished the dishes. When he was done, she told him she was angry.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“You know,” she said.
Spike nodded. He walked down to the cellar and sat on the small cot. After a few minutes he picked up the chains and set them on the bed, near him. To be handy. Not, he reflected, that they were really all that necessary. He was more a prisoner of his own accord than anything else. They weren’t manacles, not designed for this sort of thing - just some leftover chain from somewhere, looped and tied on itself.
And he, evil as he was, felt like the only hope for good in Sunnydale. How fucking pathetic was that?
He took a deep breath, eyes on the rusty chains. Upstairs, he heard Buffy moving about. There was no movement from the two witches. Probably already asleep in each other’s arms. Lord knew what Red was playing at.
Maybe, he thought, he’d talk to Buffy about that. She was sure to know what to do. Go all after-school special on her magic-abusing chum.
Once she calmed down, he amended, hearing the first creek of her boots on the basement stairs.
Continued!