Fic: Silence Speaks (2/?)
Since snickfic was kind enough to rec this, I suppose I should post a little more of it. Each "part" can, technically, be read as seperate drabbles, however, they are meant to be read in the order posted, even though it's extremely non-linear and jumps around in time quite a bit.
Title: Silence Speaks
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Drusilla (mainly Dru/Spike, with implied Buffy/Spike and some Buffy/Angel)
Season: Jumps around, but mainly Season 2, with flashbacks.
Warnings: Violence, Sexual Situations (including mentions of rape and non-con), Kinks, Insanity, Non-linear storytelling, POV fic
Rating: Mature
Parts I & II
London Bridge is falling down,
falling down, falling down...
London bridge is falling down...
my fair lady.
III.
(Escape)
Sunnydale, 1998
We fly through the light, as swiftly as a shadow and far more fragile. Fast, faster. Never fast enough. There will be no escape in the end. I saw it, once, but I never knew it would be so soon. There is barely enough time left to dance.
Round us burns the scent of iron and oil and gasoline, the scent of fire waiting to be born. I miss carriages and horses and the sweet scent of blood-soaked hay, all copper and gold, prickly pain. We’re leaving the place where the sun lives and my William is at the reins and SHE is sitting between us and glowinglowinglowing.
“You awake, luv?”
William. My William. Hers now. I see. I saw. The whispers heard secrets in the dark, in the silence between moans; he has betrayed us to the sun. Should have seen. Should have known. Angel and I danced, but the sun was creeping in all the while. My Spike was letting in the sun. Angel… my Angel. Where has he gone?
“Miss Edith?”
“Got her right back there for you, pet. Packed her up in her little bed. She’s fine, my sweet.”
“She’s crying.” I can hear her. Her moans are so loud. I must go to her. She knows, she does.
“Hush, luv. She’s not crying. You’ve gagged her, remember?”
I remember red silk. A lovely dress. My party is all spoilt; the flowers are wrong, the cake is gone. Someone lit the candles. They’re too bright. So bright in my sweet Spike, yet he cannot see it. He reaches for it, over and over and it burnsburnsburns so strong it hurts to look at him. He has embers in his eyes. His heart smolders still.
She doesn’t see it yet. But she will.
Her laughter is bright. My face burns where she breaths. My throat aches. I should like a lozenge or blood to soothe the pain.
“Sorry about that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to have to hurt you, but we had to leave. Slayer was after Angel; didn’t trust her not to take you out, too.”
Trust.
He swerves in a moment, strong fingers that once thrust so lovely deep inside my dark places now wrap iron round my wrists. “Dru! Stop it! Stop! It’s daylight! You can’t go out!”
But he can’t see it. The sun is in here and She’s laughing bright death between us.
IV.
(Ribbons)
Prague, 1997
There is blood everywhere, flowing from me in scarlet ribbons. I did not know I was full of ribbons. Mummy always said sweet girls are full of sweet things and ribbons are lovely. It hurts to see them pulled from me, more than it should. There is a man and he speaks with a mouth full of bees, and the words fly out and sting me, over and over, drawing out more and more ribbons to pool on the floor.
I miss honey cakes.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Spike opens the beehive and spills the red honey everywhere. I should like to lap it up with my tongue and lick my sticky fingers. Only I’m tired. So tired.
Shall I sleep, my William?
Shall I dream?
“Hush, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Spike’s got you. This will hurt, pet. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Shall I scream, then?
V.
(South)
Mexico, 1998
“When are we?”
It is dark. There were dreams dancing in my head like stars. I plucked them in my fists and wove them into a crown, but it cannot compete. Not with Her. Not with Her light. She is between us, in the cracks and crevices and holes that we cannot fill; in the thin between my cheek and my William’s coat.
One day she will burn it to ash.
“Over the border now. Did you sleep, my sweet?”
South and south. “Angel has gone south.”
“Has he, then? Did he kill her? What do you see, pet?”
“He’s screaming and screaming, and the light is in him again. The light is in all of us.”
“Hush, luv. There’s no light. Sun’s gone down a few hours ago. We can hunt at the next petrol station.”
“It burns, Spike. It is in you, too. I can see it in your eyes. Like little candles...”
______________
Part VI, VII, & VIII
Title: Silence Speaks
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairings: Drusilla (mainly Dru/Spike, with implied Buffy/Spike and some Buffy/Angel)
Season: Jumps around, but mainly Season 2, with flashbacks.
Warnings: Violence, Sexual Situations (including mentions of rape and non-con), Kinks, Insanity, Non-linear storytelling, POV fic
Rating: Mature
Parts I & II
London Bridge is falling down,
falling down, falling down...
London bridge is falling down...
my fair lady.
III.
(Escape)
Sunnydale, 1998
We fly through the light, as swiftly as a shadow and far more fragile. Fast, faster. Never fast enough. There will be no escape in the end. I saw it, once, but I never knew it would be so soon. There is barely enough time left to dance.
Round us burns the scent of iron and oil and gasoline, the scent of fire waiting to be born. I miss carriages and horses and the sweet scent of blood-soaked hay, all copper and gold, prickly pain. We’re leaving the place where the sun lives and my William is at the reins and SHE is sitting between us and glowinglowinglowing.
“You awake, luv?”
William. My William. Hers now. I see. I saw. The whispers heard secrets in the dark, in the silence between moans; he has betrayed us to the sun. Should have seen. Should have known. Angel and I danced, but the sun was creeping in all the while. My Spike was letting in the sun. Angel… my Angel. Where has he gone?
“Miss Edith?”
“Got her right back there for you, pet. Packed her up in her little bed. She’s fine, my sweet.”
“She’s crying.” I can hear her. Her moans are so loud. I must go to her. She knows, she does.
“Hush, luv. She’s not crying. You’ve gagged her, remember?”
I remember red silk. A lovely dress. My party is all spoilt; the flowers are wrong, the cake is gone. Someone lit the candles. They’re too bright. So bright in my sweet Spike, yet he cannot see it. He reaches for it, over and over and it burnsburnsburns so strong it hurts to look at him. He has embers in his eyes. His heart smolders still.
She doesn’t see it yet. But she will.
Her laughter is bright. My face burns where she breaths. My throat aches. I should like a lozenge or blood to soothe the pain.
“Sorry about that, sweetheart. I didn’t want to have to hurt you, but we had to leave. Slayer was after Angel; didn’t trust her not to take you out, too.”
Trust.
He swerves in a moment, strong fingers that once thrust so lovely deep inside my dark places now wrap iron round my wrists. “Dru! Stop it! Stop! It’s daylight! You can’t go out!”
But he can’t see it. The sun is in here and She’s laughing bright death between us.
IV.
(Ribbons)
Prague, 1997
There is blood everywhere, flowing from me in scarlet ribbons. I did not know I was full of ribbons. Mummy always said sweet girls are full of sweet things and ribbons are lovely. It hurts to see them pulled from me, more than it should. There is a man and he speaks with a mouth full of bees, and the words fly out and sting me, over and over, drawing out more and more ribbons to pool on the floor.
I miss honey cakes.
“Get the fuck away from her.”
Spike opens the beehive and spills the red honey everywhere. I should like to lap it up with my tongue and lick my sticky fingers. Only I’m tired. So tired.
Shall I sleep, my William?
Shall I dream?
“Hush, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Spike’s got you. This will hurt, pet. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Shall I scream, then?
V.
(South)
Mexico, 1998
“When are we?”
It is dark. There were dreams dancing in my head like stars. I plucked them in my fists and wove them into a crown, but it cannot compete. Not with Her. Not with Her light. She is between us, in the cracks and crevices and holes that we cannot fill; in the thin between my cheek and my William’s coat.
One day she will burn it to ash.
“Over the border now. Did you sleep, my sweet?”
South and south. “Angel has gone south.”
“Has he, then? Did he kill her? What do you see, pet?”
“He’s screaming and screaming, and the light is in him again. The light is in all of us.”
“Hush, luv. There’s no light. Sun’s gone down a few hours ago. We can hunt at the next petrol station.”
“It burns, Spike. It is in you, too. I can see it in your eyes. Like little candles...”
______________
Part VI, VII, & VIII