Spikeid XII
So, this is it! The end. Dum-dum-dum... I've had a blast writing this; I hope anyone who's made this far with me has had fun too! brutti_ma_buoni has been excellent, naturally, keeping me going to the edge of doom, and all that. There'll be an index post in a minute, but just to reiterate this is Spuffy and PG-13, basically. It's about ~4200 words (~550 lines) and warnings of this book are the general death and denial of agency that's been going through everything.
The party returns home.
[XI]
XII
The future, when it really happens, feels
A certain way. A single second comes
That knots together all the past before,
So every nudge of inclination, cause
Set out for consequence, they settle, stop.
For those who can perceive this moment’s time,
It feels like everything at last makes sense
(If only for that fleeting moment) and
There’s time enough to not think anything
Or worry over thinking, what to think.
At least, that’s how it seems to come sometimes,
With Sadie, when she feels it come to her:
Exactly for that moment Sadie knows
That what she thought might happen really has.
It’s not as if she sees the future come
In images or sound or scent or feel,
But for that instant it is like she knew
And she remembers why she’s done the things
She’s done, as if it’s obvious at last.
This time, she feels it with Illyria.
It builds quite slowly, as the spell stress pulls
And teases thread-thin knots inside her head,
As, when he comes, Osiris tries to break
Their concentration, burning itch across
Their skin. Illyria’s conviction is
Like ice, like brain-freeze, welcome after all;
She’s chasing down all worryings with ire
And that’s the moment when the future comes.
The God-King is dissolving, piece by piece
Resolving into somewhere wholly new,
But it’s familiar, when it comes on her,
And Sadie knows that she’s been here before;
She can remember what this place was like.
Around her, everywhere are streaming paths,
And she’s not really sensing them with sight,
Yet still she knows they’re there. They make her think
(Approximately if not actually)
Of all the formulae that she can’t read
Right at the back of her old Further Maths
Textbook, which left the syllabus last year:
She knows they’re doing things with what they’ve got,
They’re taking numbers, changing them around,
But she can’t really follow where they lead.
And she has seen the world like this before.
Back when Osiris took her, she saw this;
When she killed Mr. Giles, she saw this.
It’s here she never wanted to return.
Yet all the same there is a reason why
She brought herself back here, it’s obvious -
At least it feels obvious now that
The future’s happened and she’s fully there -
Because Illyria is lost. She felt
The god solve into kingship here, but it’s
Too much, the world is faltering and tense
As facing it the god is overcome.
It’s worrying - and dangerous as well,
Because Osiris’ job is necessary,
No matter that he used it for the power.
But thankfully, although Illyria is lost,
Confused, it’s obvious to Sadie now
The reason why she came. Illyria,
She thinks, then hopes the god can hear
As she calls up the latent memory
Of how to use this world, to shape and guide
Each path between the old realms and the next.
She wouldn’t know what words to use in speech,
But thankfully she’s pretty sure that that
Is not a problem here; she calls up images
Then feels the very air around her breathe
With understanding, flying thoughts away.
The paths lead people through their lives and on,
Can be reshaped, constructed, woven tight -
So Sadie can’t explain, but even so
Illyria apparently can learn.
As realisation filters through the world,
Perception shifts in Sadie’s mind, to see
That realisation coming into sense.
The spiralling equations morph and clarify,
Their insubstantial forms now paved, marked roads
Which Sadie sees are growing now, at last,
The function of this world returned.
She feels contentment, gratitude, and then
She finds herself swept up towards what she
Was trying not to think about, and yet
Remembers from her time spent here before.
It’s what a part of her was desperate
To see again, now offered to her straight
In gratitude: she’s drawn towards the path
Which she herself constructed, which she used
To wrench and warp her own design
And act far more divine than was her right.
It’s there, it’s still there as a memory,
Quite definite amongst the other paths,
If rudimentary compared to them.
It’s like a country lane, she thinks, this path
She made for Mr. Giles to walk, not clear,
But worn through grass to show the rocks and mud.
More than enough to shuffle someone on.
The future’s gone now, and this isn’t what
She meant to do, but still she finds herself
Distracted by the path and seizing up
Each ounce of quivering shame inside her chest
To let her feet step on this track she’s hewn.
She cannot see him down the road, he’s gone -
Dear God, she hopes to somewhere that he likes,
Towards somewhere, at least, most definitely -
But still there are his footprints in the dirt,
The marks of his long trek away from her.
Her mind regards them, all along the way
Until the winding path shields them from view;
She sends the only words she has in her
To follow him. I’m sorry, Mr. Giles...
Exceptionally sorry - like, a lot.
What else is there to say? She doesn’t know
And she is fairly sure she has no words,
No eloquence sufficient in her throat.
Perhaps, she wonders, she should tell him how
He’s missed, but that feels far too obvious
And trite - and maybe she should let him go,
Allow him to continue walking on,
If he is walking, with his dignity,
Instead of asking him to ease her guilt.
Deciding then at last, she thinks, I hope
It isn’t difficult to find your way.
And then she leaves it, ducks away from him
Towards the general millieu of paths.
I think I need to go home now, she thinks
With the intention that Illyria
Will hear.
It’s only then she realises
Completely that Illyria will not
Return with her, which doesn’t settle well.
And will you be OK? she wonders, not
Because the god is any special friend,
But they have shared a spell now, shared their minds,
And Sadie cannot feel it’s right to leave
Someone behind like this. It’s like you’re - gone.
A path appears, as something like response,
Which Sadie’s drawn to, cannot but inspect.
It’s simple paving stones, set straight until
The grey is broken in abruptly by
A thousand violent streaks of indigo,
Which crack the pavement, break it into dust
That feeds a beam of bright, electric blue.
The new path stretches on, for miles until
At length it fades, quite necessarily,
Allowing dust to creep in at its edge
And ultimately form the stones again.
The symbolism isn’t subtle, not
By any means, and Sadie will accept
That this is how Illyria sees it.
She’s left the path that wasn’t hers, allowed
Continuation from the path before;
And that’s the way that she wants it to be.
I s’pose it’s not like we won’t meet again,
Escapes a thought, too morbid to be said.
With heavy, fractured feelings, Sadie then
Allows herself to be sent back, her mind
To be released from her, Illyria,
So comprehension fades and she is back,
She’s dashing back to sitting on the roof,
Where she is crying lonely, mortal tears.
Great peals of thunder roll as they come back
To find themselves beyond the portal’s reach.
When Buffy feels herself come to, she lifts
Her head and watches it, the rain that’s falling from
The black and clouded sky, the lightning crack,
Again, another, chased by rumbling,
As magic crumbles and compresses in
To leave the atmosphere complete again.
It was so easy with Osiris gone,
So easy for the queen up there to make
The portal and the stitches all unfurl
Like wilting burger paper, creased and flat
Before she pushed them home and let them fall.
It wasn’t hard to find themselves again
Exactly where they’d been, though not the same:
There’s strain in Buffy’s arms, bone-deep and weak,
Black bruises on her chest from where she held
Osiris firm against her. Still she can
Remember perfectly and vividly
The way it felt to have him kick at her,
His violent dying just above her head,
The way Illyria held him, so much
Like every hold she’s ever rushed to stop
When vampires have hunted down their prey. But she
Was helping, she remembers that too well.
With all the things she’s killed she’s never clung
And felt the blood be drained from someone’s neck,
Her role inversed completely, clinging till
Two bodies both collapsed above her head,
Embrace broke loose, apparent life all gone.
It’s happened now and now she can recall
The way they toppled, slumped against her side.
Red blood was seeping, welled from one god’s neck,
The other with it stained across blue lips,
And she began to shake, could feel what she
Had pushed her muscles to, to fell these gods.
She turned to face the others silently,
Walked to them, still in their disguised forms,
And listened as the queen continued on
To tell them what to do while they processed.
And then they did the what while they processed,
Came back here where she’s still processing things,
Content to look up to this savage sky,
Where rain is falling, harsh attack from black.
There’s screeching as the thunder rolls again.
The demons, fleeting shadows, fill the sky
It seems like, hurrying back home at last.
She watches, wondering if all of them
Have personalities the same as him
They met up there, that guy who hated Spike;
She wonders if they’ll settle in back home,
And if the other demons here all know
That they don’t really have to fight, or if
They’ll all be trapped here, trapped inside their heads
Up to the point they cannot think beyond
Their fear. She wonders where Illyria -
For in the end her mind treks back again -
Where she has sent herself, and if she’ll be
OK, for any value of OK;
She wonders if they’ll meet again when she
Is finally allowed to die and stop.
She’s doesn’t think it will be soon, and yet
That’s maybe worth a thought or two, she thinks?
Now Spike is talking by her side, and so
She wonders what he’s said. “...is that all right?
She was an Old One, murderer and that,
But, fuck me, we’ve had too much death; I can’t
Not feel it now that she’s gone too.” And Will’s
Replying, “No, it’s human to be sad.”
And Gunn is saying, “I’m not sure what we
Should think. If we’re meant to be grateful that
She’s saved us here, or if we’re meant to be
Afraid of how much power she must have
Now she’s some real god-god somewhere else.”
The girls, they’re talking too, and Buffy wants,
She realises just then, to just get home
And sleep. And so she climbs up to her feet.
They follow her.
However, when they get
Back to the shelter, Buffy finds that she
Can’t sleep. In fact, she stops outside and finds
She can’t go in. Her heavy head lifts up
Towards the sky once more and she can only stare
As now the rain is clearing, but the clouds
Are all still black, still night, still far too wrong.
“You want to wait?” Spike asks her, so she nods
And they are sitting, waiting on the step
To see how morning’s gonna come this time.
The sound of water still surrounds them, rain
In drains like rivers, gulleying through town,
But that’s enough, the silence is enough,
When everybody else has gone inside
And shut themselves away, like they have done
So many nights before. ‘Cause she is sure,
When morning breaks today, then Spike will say
That he can feel it, sunshine warming up
The air, and they will wait for it until
The sun appears too certainly to stay.
‘Cause after that she finally can swear,
It’s done. It’s over now - and Giles? That god
Who killed you so I’d fight? He’s dead and gone.
She’ll say it. Now she is content to wait.
It turns out in the morning, when it comes,
Anne’s shelter faces West. And this is good,
Because despite his best intentions Spike
Awakens from a dream about dead fish
To see that technically the morning’s come.
It isn’t light quite yet; the clouds are all
Still thick, but now dove grey, and there is sun,
Somewhere behind them all there’s sun, which he’s
Aware of, even though he’s in the shade.
He’s sitting, slumped on Buffy’s shoulder, which
Is weird; someone’s taken off his coat
And tucked a blanket round his chest, one more
On top of that around the pair of them
(Although it looks like Buffy finally
Succumbed as well, at some point in the night).
They should have gone inside, he reckons, had
A celebration or a maudlin drink,
If only ‘cause his legs are gonna rot
If they stay damp like this too long - like all
Those blighters in the War Dru wouldn’t eat.
But then he can’t conceive not bedding down
With Buffy, when she’s there to be with, when
The new apocalypse is on; what’s one
More night outside? To see the rising sun
When it comes back?
“So, er, yeah - hi? Hello?”
Quite suddenly it’s there again, the noise
That woke him up, which turns out to be her,
Gurpreet, who’s standing with a Thermos flask
And four chipped mugs. “We made some coffee, yeah?”
She gestures with the flask. “They don’t have tea
Or anything, and this stuff’s made with one
Of those machines like off the TV, but
I think it tastes OK. We’re out of milk, though, ‘right?”
Spike frowns at her, sleep fading from his eyes.
“Well, since you’re selling it so well, I s’pose
There isn’t any other option; yeah,
Go on then.” As Gurpreet pours out the drinks
She asks, “Is Buffy...?” making clear it’s her
The girl was hoping to talk with, not him.
But Spike replies abruptly, “She’s asleep,”
And doesn’t plan to wake her up for less
Than something urgent, more urgent than this
Brown coffee sludge, which hits a certain spot
(And to be fair, it does hit very hard)
But otherwise is nigh undrinkable.
He sips to be polite, for what it’s worth.
Gurpreet’s compulsion is the same, he’s sure,
As she stays with him, leaning by the door,
And makes a face like she is thinking what
To say. He’s not sure what to say to her,
Of course, because although they shared the spell
And tend to fight things for a living - and
Both grew up proper Londoners - he’s not
Quite sure how much they have in common, not
When she’s so young. Or maybe older than...
(How old was Buffy when they met?) But she’s
So new to this. (She’s not as young as Dawn,
Back when she started tailing him around...)
He wonders whether maybe he should try -
But thankfully distraction comes too quick,
As looking down the silent street Gurpreet
Starts frowning, muttering to him, “Hang on,
Who’s that?” Spike shifts and turns to look as well.
There’s someone walking through the morning, tall
It seems to him, although the figure’s far
Away, just strolling down the empty road.
And it’s his well-cut suit Spike makes out first:
The man is tall and wide and dressed in grey,
Broad-shouldered, strongly built, and it looks like
He has some cash against his name, because
That suit is tailored (which is obvious
To anyone who’s used to tailoring,
Or grew up long before there was much else).
He really doesn’t look like anyone
Who’s spent the last few weeks in town with them,
Although he does look mildly familiar...
“Oi, Buffy, wake up, love,” he says, now sure
That this is urgent, shoving her a touch
Where she’s still sleeping, snoozing, both eyes shut,
Her hair in rats’ tails now her coat’s gone too.
“What’s happening?” Gurpreet asks, standing straight,
Which Spike is grateful for - it’s always nice
To have another Slayer set to fight.
As Buffy murmurs something, coming up,
He tells them both, “I think we finally
Have got a visitor from our old friends
Wolfram and Hart.” And then just as Gurpreet
Asks, “Who?” and Buffy groans unhappily
Awake, Spike manages to recognise
The face of that git Hamilton, who’s come.
Spike climbs up to his feet, his squelching boots,
And finds his balance on his aching legs,
Then takes a step towards the road, calls out,
“You’ve got some bloody nerve in coming here!”
It’s far too early in the day to think
If subtlety would work, so he just shouts,
“And didn’t Angel kill you, anyway?”
He’s not that far away now, just a block,
But they can see as Hamilton accepts
The shouting with a nod, and then replies,
His voice quite strong enough to carry down
The street as he approaches them,
“Well, that’s the thing with immortality;
We end up rather difficult to kill.
Now, really,” he continues, his approach
Complete to leave them with a stand-off, him
Set fully in the road, while they’re stood back
In front of Anne’s blue-turquoise shelter door,
“I’m hoping we can get through this without
The usual theatrics, insults, snark,
Etcetera. It’s charming amateur
Enthusiasm, really wholesome stuff,
But if we can conduct this meeting with
A more professional demeanour, that
Would let us get through everything without
Embarrassing ourselves. We’d all like that,
I think.” Then Buffy weighs in, quite awake,
Her wit a little sharper off the mark
Than his, “I’m don’t much care from saving face,
So how about we do things differently
And you get out your boring, evil speech
As quickly as you can - without those words
You lawyers like to throw in just to make
Things difficult.” She stares him down, arms crossed
As she explains, “We’ll listen and then you
Can go.” Now Hamilton stares back at her.
“Well, I can see why all the vampires fall
For you. But let’s be serious, because
If we’re all honest I think we can see
That getting LA back to how it was
Will be a benefit to everyone,
So really well done; you’re the heroes here.
The thing is, Angel and Illyria
Were problems for us, with their prophecies,
But then Osiris also wasn’t who
The Senior Partners most enjoyed
Negotiating with; they didn’t like the pomp,
Though don’t tell them I told you that, OK?
The fact that now all three of them have gone
Works out the best for us and we have you
To thank -”
“Come on, now,” Spike cuts in, not sure
That he can take much more of this. “You think
I never heard how it was you lot made
Old Angel and the others sign your deal
And sell themselves off down the river? Please.”
Unblinking, Hamilton looks back at him,
Apparently not fazed enough to pause.
“It’s more a question if you’ve realised
That you’re the vampire with a soul now, Spike,
And there are still some prophecies in play.”
He says it easily, his shoulders shrugged.
“We’re certainly not asking you to run
The LA branch; that job has got to go
To someone even vaguely qualified -
But what we’re offering is just to talk,
Consult with you and with your team on what
Is out there and what we can do to help.
We got off on the wrong foot back when we
First dealt with Angel; Holland Manners had
A vision he was going to pursue
No matter what it looked like for the firm.
Right now we’re starting up a new regime
That’s more relaxed, so thought we might liaise
With you - and all your team, of course -”
(He adds that last line with a smile
At both Gurpreet and Buffy, who are not
Exactly looking much impressed by it.)
“- To get the best results for both of us."
“The thing is, mate,” Spike finally replies,
Relaxing as he shoves his mug-free hand
Down in his pocket, shrugs. “I haven’t got
A team. I’ve got fuck all; I haven’t got
A son or anything for you to use
That can’t defend itself or get things done.
You want to call us amateurs, then fine;
We certainly aren’t getting paid for this.
But I ain’t got much plan for going pro.
I’m really not that interested in it
And when that cowboy Lindsey tried it on,
Tried smartening me up, I had the most
Mind-numbingly depressing run of jobs -
So, if you want to have a fight and that,
Then sure, let’s go for it, but let’s not talk
As if I’m gonna be some whipping boy
For prophecy or anything like that.”
He hasn’t quite quelled Hamilton, Spike sees:
The git is readying a another load of toss.
And so Spike cuts him off before he starts.
“I wouldn’t mind the sunny future bit,
That’s fair enough, but as it is, the way
I figure, I can get that on my own.
I can’t be doing with the rest of it,
The aggro and the mooning guilt trips when
The whole world rests on what I’ve had to do.”
It’s almost like relief to get this out,
Spike thinks, emphatic so he’ll be believed,
“What it comes down to is, I’ve had enough
Of you and anything you want to spin,
So what you need to tell them at the firm
Is that you’ve come this conclusion, right?
I’m not the story, I’m just standing here.”
A creak sounds out behind them at this point;
Spike turns, they all turn, see the window boards
Are being taken down by Jade inside
The shelter, so she can see out, them in.
A group is peering through the glass, confused
Although they look prepared to hustle out
And fight if any back up is required.
The day is lightening as well; Spike thinks
This neatly makes his point that it’s not him
Whom Hamilton should keep an eye out for,
Not when they’ve got whole rooms of people who
Might take a shot at settling the score,
‘Cause he’ll be useless when the sun’s come out.
“Well, this is very disappointing news,”
Is actually how Hamilton replies,
His hands clasped casually in front of him.
“Could I at least ask after Mr. Gunn?
He showed us so much promise in the past...”
“I think Spike made it obvious that you
Should leave now and get on your bicycle.
Whatever the expression is. Right, Spike?”
Now Buffy says, her eyes flicked left to his;
She knows it’s ‘on your bike’, he’s fairly sure,
She understands more British than she says,
But it amuses her to act thick while she lays
A perfect smackdown on the enemy.
“Could not have said it better,” Spike replies.
He winks, then glares at Hamilton. “Piss off.
I’m not about to hassle Gunn so you
Can ramble on about this stuff with him.”
The old liaison finally gives up,
Holds up his hands as he inclines his chin.
“If that’s the way you want it, then I’ll go,
But please don’t hesitate to get in touch
If there is anything Wolfram and Hart
Can do for you. I’m sure our paths will cross
Again, but I can leave you to your day.”
They let him go, but as he walks away
Gurpreet remarks, “So, let me get this straight.
There’s all the bad guys who think they mean well,
But then you’ve got these common or garden twats?
I’m sorry, but, like, no one mentioned this
When I signed up…” And Buffy giggles, palm
Too late across her mouth. “Yeah, it’s too bad,”
She says, not serious. “We never get
The credit just for putting up with jerks -
And every time you get someone who won’t
Shut up. I think it’s Slayer destiny…”
Spike has a feeling she’s including him
With that, but it’s OK; as he looks up
He sees the clouds are really thinning now,
Long stretches sheafing from the denser mass
Like snowdrifts tumbling apart in thaw.
As Buffy and Gurpreet tell him that they
Are going back inside, their talk evolved
To something else, about how Sadie is,
Spike nods and smiles and lets them go back in.
It feels like he should stay outside for this,
So someone’s here as things go how they do,
As daylight starts to streak along the road,
As every slick-black gravelstone begins
To glisten silver grey, and as the drains,
Still overflowing, offer puddles which
Are more than dark and deep and greyish-brown,
Their surfaces reflecting images
Of white and blue, the dawning city sky.
He watches as a piece of debris, dry
Or not quite wet enough to turn to sludge
Is blown to scuttle down the street by wind,
Which keeps on gusting as the weather yields,
To trail after Hamilton, who’s gone
At length.
Spike drinks his coffee, sip by sip,
But then gets bored of just how bad it tastes
And feeling how the bright, hot tingling
Of sunshine ghosts along his senses, nerves.
So in the end he pitches what is left
Inside his mug across the street and goes
Indoors, to do his carer bit for Gunn.
He sniffs, then shrugs. “That’s that.”
That’s everything.
.
[fin]
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The party returns home.
[XI]
XII
The future, when it really happens, feels
A certain way. A single second comes
That knots together all the past before,
So every nudge of inclination, cause
Set out for consequence, they settle, stop.
For those who can perceive this moment’s time,
It feels like everything at last makes sense
(If only for that fleeting moment) and
There’s time enough to not think anything
Or worry over thinking, what to think.
At least, that’s how it seems to come sometimes,
With Sadie, when she feels it come to her:
Exactly for that moment Sadie knows
That what she thought might happen really has.
It’s not as if she sees the future come
In images or sound or scent or feel,
But for that instant it is like she knew
And she remembers why she’s done the things
She’s done, as if it’s obvious at last.
This time, she feels it with Illyria.
It builds quite slowly, as the spell stress pulls
And teases thread-thin knots inside her head,
As, when he comes, Osiris tries to break
Their concentration, burning itch across
Their skin. Illyria’s conviction is
Like ice, like brain-freeze, welcome after all;
She’s chasing down all worryings with ire
And that’s the moment when the future comes.
The God-King is dissolving, piece by piece
Resolving into somewhere wholly new,
But it’s familiar, when it comes on her,
And Sadie knows that she’s been here before;
She can remember what this place was like.
Around her, everywhere are streaming paths,
And she’s not really sensing them with sight,
Yet still she knows they’re there. They make her think
(Approximately if not actually)
Of all the formulae that she can’t read
Right at the back of her old Further Maths
Textbook, which left the syllabus last year:
She knows they’re doing things with what they’ve got,
They’re taking numbers, changing them around,
But she can’t really follow where they lead.
And she has seen the world like this before.
Back when Osiris took her, she saw this;
When she killed Mr. Giles, she saw this.
It’s here she never wanted to return.
Yet all the same there is a reason why
She brought herself back here, it’s obvious -
At least it feels obvious now that
The future’s happened and she’s fully there -
Because Illyria is lost. She felt
The god solve into kingship here, but it’s
Too much, the world is faltering and tense
As facing it the god is overcome.
It’s worrying - and dangerous as well,
Because Osiris’ job is necessary,
No matter that he used it for the power.
But thankfully, although Illyria is lost,
Confused, it’s obvious to Sadie now
The reason why she came. Illyria,
She thinks, then hopes the god can hear
As she calls up the latent memory
Of how to use this world, to shape and guide
Each path between the old realms and the next.
She wouldn’t know what words to use in speech,
But thankfully she’s pretty sure that that
Is not a problem here; she calls up images
Then feels the very air around her breathe
With understanding, flying thoughts away.
The paths lead people through their lives and on,
Can be reshaped, constructed, woven tight -
So Sadie can’t explain, but even so
Illyria apparently can learn.
As realisation filters through the world,
Perception shifts in Sadie’s mind, to see
That realisation coming into sense.
The spiralling equations morph and clarify,
Their insubstantial forms now paved, marked roads
Which Sadie sees are growing now, at last,
The function of this world returned.
She feels contentment, gratitude, and then
She finds herself swept up towards what she
Was trying not to think about, and yet
Remembers from her time spent here before.
It’s what a part of her was desperate
To see again, now offered to her straight
In gratitude: she’s drawn towards the path
Which she herself constructed, which she used
To wrench and warp her own design
And act far more divine than was her right.
It’s there, it’s still there as a memory,
Quite definite amongst the other paths,
If rudimentary compared to them.
It’s like a country lane, she thinks, this path
She made for Mr. Giles to walk, not clear,
But worn through grass to show the rocks and mud.
More than enough to shuffle someone on.
The future’s gone now, and this isn’t what
She meant to do, but still she finds herself
Distracted by the path and seizing up
Each ounce of quivering shame inside her chest
To let her feet step on this track she’s hewn.
She cannot see him down the road, he’s gone -
Dear God, she hopes to somewhere that he likes,
Towards somewhere, at least, most definitely -
But still there are his footprints in the dirt,
The marks of his long trek away from her.
Her mind regards them, all along the way
Until the winding path shields them from view;
She sends the only words she has in her
To follow him. I’m sorry, Mr. Giles...
Exceptionally sorry - like, a lot.
What else is there to say? She doesn’t know
And she is fairly sure she has no words,
No eloquence sufficient in her throat.
Perhaps, she wonders, she should tell him how
He’s missed, but that feels far too obvious
And trite - and maybe she should let him go,
Allow him to continue walking on,
If he is walking, with his dignity,
Instead of asking him to ease her guilt.
Deciding then at last, she thinks, I hope
It isn’t difficult to find your way.
And then she leaves it, ducks away from him
Towards the general millieu of paths.
I think I need to go home now, she thinks
With the intention that Illyria
Will hear.
It’s only then she realises
Completely that Illyria will not
Return with her, which doesn’t settle well.
And will you be OK? she wonders, not
Because the god is any special friend,
But they have shared a spell now, shared their minds,
And Sadie cannot feel it’s right to leave
Someone behind like this. It’s like you’re - gone.
A path appears, as something like response,
Which Sadie’s drawn to, cannot but inspect.
It’s simple paving stones, set straight until
The grey is broken in abruptly by
A thousand violent streaks of indigo,
Which crack the pavement, break it into dust
That feeds a beam of bright, electric blue.
The new path stretches on, for miles until
At length it fades, quite necessarily,
Allowing dust to creep in at its edge
And ultimately form the stones again.
The symbolism isn’t subtle, not
By any means, and Sadie will accept
That this is how Illyria sees it.
She’s left the path that wasn’t hers, allowed
Continuation from the path before;
And that’s the way that she wants it to be.
I s’pose it’s not like we won’t meet again,
Escapes a thought, too morbid to be said.
With heavy, fractured feelings, Sadie then
Allows herself to be sent back, her mind
To be released from her, Illyria,
So comprehension fades and she is back,
She’s dashing back to sitting on the roof,
Where she is crying lonely, mortal tears.
Great peals of thunder roll as they come back
To find themselves beyond the portal’s reach.
When Buffy feels herself come to, she lifts
Her head and watches it, the rain that’s falling from
The black and clouded sky, the lightning crack,
Again, another, chased by rumbling,
As magic crumbles and compresses in
To leave the atmosphere complete again.
It was so easy with Osiris gone,
So easy for the queen up there to make
The portal and the stitches all unfurl
Like wilting burger paper, creased and flat
Before she pushed them home and let them fall.
It wasn’t hard to find themselves again
Exactly where they’d been, though not the same:
There’s strain in Buffy’s arms, bone-deep and weak,
Black bruises on her chest from where she held
Osiris firm against her. Still she can
Remember perfectly and vividly
The way it felt to have him kick at her,
His violent dying just above her head,
The way Illyria held him, so much
Like every hold she’s ever rushed to stop
When vampires have hunted down their prey. But she
Was helping, she remembers that too well.
With all the things she’s killed she’s never clung
And felt the blood be drained from someone’s neck,
Her role inversed completely, clinging till
Two bodies both collapsed above her head,
Embrace broke loose, apparent life all gone.
It’s happened now and now she can recall
The way they toppled, slumped against her side.
Red blood was seeping, welled from one god’s neck,
The other with it stained across blue lips,
And she began to shake, could feel what she
Had pushed her muscles to, to fell these gods.
She turned to face the others silently,
Walked to them, still in their disguised forms,
And listened as the queen continued on
To tell them what to do while they processed.
And then they did the what while they processed,
Came back here where she’s still processing things,
Content to look up to this savage sky,
Where rain is falling, harsh attack from black.
There’s screeching as the thunder rolls again.
The demons, fleeting shadows, fill the sky
It seems like, hurrying back home at last.
She watches, wondering if all of them
Have personalities the same as him
They met up there, that guy who hated Spike;
She wonders if they’ll settle in back home,
And if the other demons here all know
That they don’t really have to fight, or if
They’ll all be trapped here, trapped inside their heads
Up to the point they cannot think beyond
Their fear. She wonders where Illyria -
For in the end her mind treks back again -
Where she has sent herself, and if she’ll be
OK, for any value of OK;
She wonders if they’ll meet again when she
Is finally allowed to die and stop.
She’s doesn’t think it will be soon, and yet
That’s maybe worth a thought or two, she thinks?
Now Spike is talking by her side, and so
She wonders what he’s said. “...is that all right?
She was an Old One, murderer and that,
But, fuck me, we’ve had too much death; I can’t
Not feel it now that she’s gone too.” And Will’s
Replying, “No, it’s human to be sad.”
And Gunn is saying, “I’m not sure what we
Should think. If we’re meant to be grateful that
She’s saved us here, or if we’re meant to be
Afraid of how much power she must have
Now she’s some real god-god somewhere else.”
The girls, they’re talking too, and Buffy wants,
She realises just then, to just get home
And sleep. And so she climbs up to her feet.
They follow her.
However, when they get
Back to the shelter, Buffy finds that she
Can’t sleep. In fact, she stops outside and finds
She can’t go in. Her heavy head lifts up
Towards the sky once more and she can only stare
As now the rain is clearing, but the clouds
Are all still black, still night, still far too wrong.
“You want to wait?” Spike asks her, so she nods
And they are sitting, waiting on the step
To see how morning’s gonna come this time.
The sound of water still surrounds them, rain
In drains like rivers, gulleying through town,
But that’s enough, the silence is enough,
When everybody else has gone inside
And shut themselves away, like they have done
So many nights before. ‘Cause she is sure,
When morning breaks today, then Spike will say
That he can feel it, sunshine warming up
The air, and they will wait for it until
The sun appears too certainly to stay.
‘Cause after that she finally can swear,
It’s done. It’s over now - and Giles? That god
Who killed you so I’d fight? He’s dead and gone.
She’ll say it. Now she is content to wait.
It turns out in the morning, when it comes,
Anne’s shelter faces West. And this is good,
Because despite his best intentions Spike
Awakens from a dream about dead fish
To see that technically the morning’s come.
It isn’t light quite yet; the clouds are all
Still thick, but now dove grey, and there is sun,
Somewhere behind them all there’s sun, which he’s
Aware of, even though he’s in the shade.
He’s sitting, slumped on Buffy’s shoulder, which
Is weird; someone’s taken off his coat
And tucked a blanket round his chest, one more
On top of that around the pair of them
(Although it looks like Buffy finally
Succumbed as well, at some point in the night).
They should have gone inside, he reckons, had
A celebration or a maudlin drink,
If only ‘cause his legs are gonna rot
If they stay damp like this too long - like all
Those blighters in the War Dru wouldn’t eat.
But then he can’t conceive not bedding down
With Buffy, when she’s there to be with, when
The new apocalypse is on; what’s one
More night outside? To see the rising sun
When it comes back?
“So, er, yeah - hi? Hello?”
Quite suddenly it’s there again, the noise
That woke him up, which turns out to be her,
Gurpreet, who’s standing with a Thermos flask
And four chipped mugs. “We made some coffee, yeah?”
She gestures with the flask. “They don’t have tea
Or anything, and this stuff’s made with one
Of those machines like off the TV, but
I think it tastes OK. We’re out of milk, though, ‘right?”
Spike frowns at her, sleep fading from his eyes.
“Well, since you’re selling it so well, I s’pose
There isn’t any other option; yeah,
Go on then.” As Gurpreet pours out the drinks
She asks, “Is Buffy...?” making clear it’s her
The girl was hoping to talk with, not him.
But Spike replies abruptly, “She’s asleep,”
And doesn’t plan to wake her up for less
Than something urgent, more urgent than this
Brown coffee sludge, which hits a certain spot
(And to be fair, it does hit very hard)
But otherwise is nigh undrinkable.
He sips to be polite, for what it’s worth.
Gurpreet’s compulsion is the same, he’s sure,
As she stays with him, leaning by the door,
And makes a face like she is thinking what
To say. He’s not sure what to say to her,
Of course, because although they shared the spell
And tend to fight things for a living - and
Both grew up proper Londoners - he’s not
Quite sure how much they have in common, not
When she’s so young. Or maybe older than...
(How old was Buffy when they met?) But she’s
So new to this. (She’s not as young as Dawn,
Back when she started tailing him around...)
He wonders whether maybe he should try -
But thankfully distraction comes too quick,
As looking down the silent street Gurpreet
Starts frowning, muttering to him, “Hang on,
Who’s that?” Spike shifts and turns to look as well.
There’s someone walking through the morning, tall
It seems to him, although the figure’s far
Away, just strolling down the empty road.
And it’s his well-cut suit Spike makes out first:
The man is tall and wide and dressed in grey,
Broad-shouldered, strongly built, and it looks like
He has some cash against his name, because
That suit is tailored (which is obvious
To anyone who’s used to tailoring,
Or grew up long before there was much else).
He really doesn’t look like anyone
Who’s spent the last few weeks in town with them,
Although he does look mildly familiar...
“Oi, Buffy, wake up, love,” he says, now sure
That this is urgent, shoving her a touch
Where she’s still sleeping, snoozing, both eyes shut,
Her hair in rats’ tails now her coat’s gone too.
“What’s happening?” Gurpreet asks, standing straight,
Which Spike is grateful for - it’s always nice
To have another Slayer set to fight.
As Buffy murmurs something, coming up,
He tells them both, “I think we finally
Have got a visitor from our old friends
Wolfram and Hart.” And then just as Gurpreet
Asks, “Who?” and Buffy groans unhappily
Awake, Spike manages to recognise
The face of that git Hamilton, who’s come.
Spike climbs up to his feet, his squelching boots,
And finds his balance on his aching legs,
Then takes a step towards the road, calls out,
“You’ve got some bloody nerve in coming here!”
It’s far too early in the day to think
If subtlety would work, so he just shouts,
“And didn’t Angel kill you, anyway?”
He’s not that far away now, just a block,
But they can see as Hamilton accepts
The shouting with a nod, and then replies,
His voice quite strong enough to carry down
The street as he approaches them,
“Well, that’s the thing with immortality;
We end up rather difficult to kill.
Now, really,” he continues, his approach
Complete to leave them with a stand-off, him
Set fully in the road, while they’re stood back
In front of Anne’s blue-turquoise shelter door,
“I’m hoping we can get through this without
The usual theatrics, insults, snark,
Etcetera. It’s charming amateur
Enthusiasm, really wholesome stuff,
But if we can conduct this meeting with
A more professional demeanour, that
Would let us get through everything without
Embarrassing ourselves. We’d all like that,
I think.” Then Buffy weighs in, quite awake,
Her wit a little sharper off the mark
Than his, “I’m don’t much care from saving face,
So how about we do things differently
And you get out your boring, evil speech
As quickly as you can - without those words
You lawyers like to throw in just to make
Things difficult.” She stares him down, arms crossed
As she explains, “We’ll listen and then you
Can go.” Now Hamilton stares back at her.
“Well, I can see why all the vampires fall
For you. But let’s be serious, because
If we’re all honest I think we can see
That getting LA back to how it was
Will be a benefit to everyone,
So really well done; you’re the heroes here.
The thing is, Angel and Illyria
Were problems for us, with their prophecies,
But then Osiris also wasn’t who
The Senior Partners most enjoyed
Negotiating with; they didn’t like the pomp,
Though don’t tell them I told you that, OK?
The fact that now all three of them have gone
Works out the best for us and we have you
To thank -”
“Come on, now,” Spike cuts in, not sure
That he can take much more of this. “You think
I never heard how it was you lot made
Old Angel and the others sign your deal
And sell themselves off down the river? Please.”
Unblinking, Hamilton looks back at him,
Apparently not fazed enough to pause.
“It’s more a question if you’ve realised
That you’re the vampire with a soul now, Spike,
And there are still some prophecies in play.”
He says it easily, his shoulders shrugged.
“We’re certainly not asking you to run
The LA branch; that job has got to go
To someone even vaguely qualified -
But what we’re offering is just to talk,
Consult with you and with your team on what
Is out there and what we can do to help.
We got off on the wrong foot back when we
First dealt with Angel; Holland Manners had
A vision he was going to pursue
No matter what it looked like for the firm.
Right now we’re starting up a new regime
That’s more relaxed, so thought we might liaise
With you - and all your team, of course -”
(He adds that last line with a smile
At both Gurpreet and Buffy, who are not
Exactly looking much impressed by it.)
“- To get the best results for both of us."
“The thing is, mate,” Spike finally replies,
Relaxing as he shoves his mug-free hand
Down in his pocket, shrugs. “I haven’t got
A team. I’ve got fuck all; I haven’t got
A son or anything for you to use
That can’t defend itself or get things done.
You want to call us amateurs, then fine;
We certainly aren’t getting paid for this.
But I ain’t got much plan for going pro.
I’m really not that interested in it
And when that cowboy Lindsey tried it on,
Tried smartening me up, I had the most
Mind-numbingly depressing run of jobs -
So, if you want to have a fight and that,
Then sure, let’s go for it, but let’s not talk
As if I’m gonna be some whipping boy
For prophecy or anything like that.”
He hasn’t quite quelled Hamilton, Spike sees:
The git is readying a another load of toss.
And so Spike cuts him off before he starts.
“I wouldn’t mind the sunny future bit,
That’s fair enough, but as it is, the way
I figure, I can get that on my own.
I can’t be doing with the rest of it,
The aggro and the mooning guilt trips when
The whole world rests on what I’ve had to do.”
It’s almost like relief to get this out,
Spike thinks, emphatic so he’ll be believed,
“What it comes down to is, I’ve had enough
Of you and anything you want to spin,
So what you need to tell them at the firm
Is that you’ve come this conclusion, right?
I’m not the story, I’m just standing here.”
A creak sounds out behind them at this point;
Spike turns, they all turn, see the window boards
Are being taken down by Jade inside
The shelter, so she can see out, them in.
A group is peering through the glass, confused
Although they look prepared to hustle out
And fight if any back up is required.
The day is lightening as well; Spike thinks
This neatly makes his point that it’s not him
Whom Hamilton should keep an eye out for,
Not when they’ve got whole rooms of people who
Might take a shot at settling the score,
‘Cause he’ll be useless when the sun’s come out.
“Well, this is very disappointing news,”
Is actually how Hamilton replies,
His hands clasped casually in front of him.
“Could I at least ask after Mr. Gunn?
He showed us so much promise in the past...”
“I think Spike made it obvious that you
Should leave now and get on your bicycle.
Whatever the expression is. Right, Spike?”
Now Buffy says, her eyes flicked left to his;
She knows it’s ‘on your bike’, he’s fairly sure,
She understands more British than she says,
But it amuses her to act thick while she lays
A perfect smackdown on the enemy.
“Could not have said it better,” Spike replies.
He winks, then glares at Hamilton. “Piss off.
I’m not about to hassle Gunn so you
Can ramble on about this stuff with him.”
The old liaison finally gives up,
Holds up his hands as he inclines his chin.
“If that’s the way you want it, then I’ll go,
But please don’t hesitate to get in touch
If there is anything Wolfram and Hart
Can do for you. I’m sure our paths will cross
Again, but I can leave you to your day.”
They let him go, but as he walks away
Gurpreet remarks, “So, let me get this straight.
There’s all the bad guys who think they mean well,
But then you’ve got these common or garden twats?
I’m sorry, but, like, no one mentioned this
When I signed up…” And Buffy giggles, palm
Too late across her mouth. “Yeah, it’s too bad,”
She says, not serious. “We never get
The credit just for putting up with jerks -
And every time you get someone who won’t
Shut up. I think it’s Slayer destiny…”
Spike has a feeling she’s including him
With that, but it’s OK; as he looks up
He sees the clouds are really thinning now,
Long stretches sheafing from the denser mass
Like snowdrifts tumbling apart in thaw.
As Buffy and Gurpreet tell him that they
Are going back inside, their talk evolved
To something else, about how Sadie is,
Spike nods and smiles and lets them go back in.
It feels like he should stay outside for this,
So someone’s here as things go how they do,
As daylight starts to streak along the road,
As every slick-black gravelstone begins
To glisten silver grey, and as the drains,
Still overflowing, offer puddles which
Are more than dark and deep and greyish-brown,
Their surfaces reflecting images
Of white and blue, the dawning city sky.
He watches as a piece of debris, dry
Or not quite wet enough to turn to sludge
Is blown to scuttle down the street by wind,
Which keeps on gusting as the weather yields,
To trail after Hamilton, who’s gone
At length.
Spike drinks his coffee, sip by sip,
But then gets bored of just how bad it tastes
And feeling how the bright, hot tingling
Of sunshine ghosts along his senses, nerves.
So in the end he pitches what is left
Inside his mug across the street and goes
Indoors, to do his carer bit for Gunn.
He sniffs, then shrugs. “That’s that.”
That’s everything.
.
[fin]
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