FIC: Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 3/4
Author: Trepkos
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: None to speak of: except for previous stories in this 'verse.
Warning: Things get rough, but no worse than in canon, Season 6.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 3/4
Relaxed and sated, Riley rolled over, lazily petted Spike’s face, and said - “I’ve been meaning to ask you - is something weird goin’ on?”
Spike cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Something weird’s always goin’ on: you know that. Just that everyone else’s heads are too far up their arses to notice. Anything particular you had in mind?”
“Well, like before: I thought I had a stake - was sure of it actually, almost like a déjà vu, but it was slightly off, because I thought I was the one in control, and it was the other way round. It’s like my memory’s playing tricks on me. Stuff like that.”
“Yeah,” Spike said, getting interested. “That kind of thing’s been happening to me, on and off. At first I just thought my mind was wandering, but it’s more than that; been meaning to ask the Old Man to mention it to Watcher-boy. Maybe you could have a word with him, seein’ as how you’re sharing a dorm.”
Riley nodded. “Good thinking. I don’t know about you but I found it pretty - unnerving. I had a worse one earlier on, while I was outside - just before I saw your … Drusilla. I zoned out completely: had this daydream, only it was more powerful than that, like watching a movie or even being in one.” Riley became animated. “I was like this hero - this super-cool military demon-fighting guy with all these gadgets -”
“Riley, this may come as a shock to you -” Spike interrupted him, faintly amused: “- but you are that guy.”
“Well gee, thanks!” Riley acknowledged the compliment with a smirk. “But it definitely wasn’t me - not the real me. I had a big truck and a big scar, and really bad hair, and I was married to this action-figure woman with a boy’s name ...”
He put his head on one side, obviously remembering something much more bizarre and unlikely.
“… and you were dating Buffy.”
Spike thumped the pillow in a parody of despair. “Oh, bleeding hell, why does everyone think I have some big thing for Buffy? I don’t even like the smug little chit.”
“Liar.” Riley waved his be-ringed finger in Spike’s face.
“I don’t! I hate her! Slayer! Vampire! Hello?”
“This says different!” Riley waggled his finger again, a little smugly.
“She pinched my bleedin’ ring!”
Riley’s face was a picture: possibly ‘The Scream’.
“Not that!” Spike shook his head at Riley’s chosen interpretation of his words. “A magic ring, you daft bugger: like yours only different. Vampire that wears it can go out in the sun without combusting. Had it on my hand an’ all - pretty as you please - and I wasted it.” With a wistful sigh, Spike pondered, “God, if I still had it, we could …”
No point dreaming about it. Angel had seen to that.
“… It’d be dead useful,” he murmured.
“But Buffy took it?”
“In double quick time,” Spike admitted. “I was only out there five minutes before she had it off me.” He shook his head in self-reproach. “‘Twas my own fault: I was stupid enough to stick around for a bit of … well, revenge, if I’m honest.” He glanced apologetically at Riley before gilding the lily, more for propriety than to deceive. “Showing-off, mostly - bit of gloating. Should have known better at my age; there’s reasons villains get caught: revenge and gloating are number one and two on the list.”
Riley squeezed Spike’s shoulder. “You’re not a villain.”
“I was then,” Spike said. He sat up and examined his fingernails. He’d painted them again earlier for something to do, but the polish was chipped already. “Wasn’t exactly Blofeld or Moriarty, but I had aspirations. Looking back … I dunno. Guess I was just a juvenile delinquent; trying to prove I was the coolest, hottest, baddest thing on legs.”
“Hey, you are that guy!” Riley - grinning - returned the compliment.
“Thanks, but - well, yeah, okay: if you say so.”
Spike relaxed once again. He still hadn’t quite got used to the way Riley accepted him - even the bad things he’d done: those he’d had the front to tell him about anyway.
“Lucky to survive as long as I did, some of the risks I took.” Spike shook his head and shrugged. “Just as well she took it anyway.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, after that, I went back for revenge - again. And if I hadn’t - case in point - your lot would never have caught me. Then we’d never …”
They were both silent for a moment, contemplating the twists and turns of fortune.
“So -” Riley looked Spike in the eye: “- you think it was worth it? Everything they - we - did to you? It was worth it, for …”
Spike knew he didn’t need to answer. He sniffed hard. “So I suppose she did me a favour really - not that she meant to. Should be grateful. But I don’t like her, like her. I respect her alright - who wouldn’t? But her and me? Having a thing?” He made a face, not really sure why he was even thinking about it. “I’d never sleep easy. She’d only have to have one bad dream and I’d wake up as a … big pile of dust.”
Spike frowned as the words - ‘big pile of dust’ - seemed to echo in his head.
There was another one of those silences.
This time it was Spike’s turn to break it. “So, do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“You know: ‘marchin’ up and down the square’.”
“What?”
“Military life,” Spike clarified. “I mean, were you happy in that other life: in your day-dream?”
He tried to sound casual. He tried not to let it bother him when Riley - whether deliberately or not - avoided giving a direct answer to the second, more important question, by answering the first.
“I kind-of miss the action -” Riley admitted. “The adrenalin rush, you know? And after that thing in Cleveland: well, it’s good to know I can still cut it.” He shut his mouth, a worried look crossing his face. “Not that I -”
“Don’t fret, love. I know the last thing you wanted was me getting caught, so you could flex your special skills,” Spike reassured him. “But I know the feeling too. Can’t wait to get this chip out and -”
Now it was Spike’s turn to look worried. “Not that I -”
“It’s okay Spike - it’s natural.” Riley laid a hand on his arm. “Everybody wants to be free.”
Spike shot a look of intense gratitude his way. Riley was one thing he never wanted to be free of.
“There’s only one thing I want right now.”
~~
He’s torn my dress: I can feel Angelus’ hands on my bare skin as he positions me. But it’s all happening far away, and before he enters me I’m having that dream again.
It starts well enough - a cellar stocked with some rather fine, full-bodied lawyers; at least, they were until we arrived. But then there he is, with that expression on his face the like of which I’ve never seen, and there’s fire snaking towards me faster than I can move, transfixed as I am by that look.
Drusilla is whimpering some nonsense, and there’s screaming. Our newly-acquired finery is ruined. Fire and water will do that.
Then I am pregnant, again: heavily, impossibly with child.
I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. I feel the infection of a soul inside me, poisoning me: such unbearable irony. But it’s his child: it has to be.
Two whites can make a black, and that’s my chance. The sentimental fool, his bleeding heart won’t allow him to abandon the mother of whatever monstrous thing it is I carry within me. And I will have my Darling Boy back again, if only for a few short months. If I can’t rid him of his pesky soul by then, I’m not worth the blood my name is written in.
But now he’s holding me close - hugging me, slobbering over me - violating me with his appalling, bloodhound sentimentality. This isn’t what I want.
I goad him - “You’ve gone without for so long you’ve forgotten where to put it.”
“We’re not doing this,” he says, crushing my face to his chest. “The price is too high.”
What can he mean? What price? I say instead, “But think of it! A child! Your child! Wouldn’t you just adore it? Come on Angelus - history beckons.”
He releases me. “You saw it?”
“Our beautiful child? Yes!” I lie. “I saw it! It should be impossible, but -”
“You want it too? You want to be a mother?”
He doesn’t believe me; because I don’t believe myself.
~~
I search her face. If Darla wants it - even now: why? Can it be good?
I hold her against the wall, and she mewls and rubs herself against me, striking sparks. It’s distracting, and very hot.
Wesley’s voice speaks quietly in my head: ‘Think carefully before acting on impulse.’
I see him nod grimly, a comrade in arms but no longer a friend, as he goes out to die for my cause. I ache for him - for both of us. Wes! I know what I am destined to do - I’ve seen it already. I’m going to smother him on his sickbed; and worse, I’m going to violate his mind.
Can anything that would make me do that, be a good thing?
And yet he goes willingly to die for me.
This choice is part of my punishment - my torment.
If I have this child, I’m fated to kill it - kill him - and to betray a friend. Doyle was lost because I didn’t read the signs right. Can I - will I - allow selfishness to rob me of another ally … another friend?
But now I know - now I’ve seen - surely I can change things?
Do better?
I know I can do better.
Be a better father and a better friend.
Have it all.
I want it all.
Don’t I deserve something?
I press my lips to Darla’s throat and let the red tide take me.
~~
“So: the operation’s tomorrow.”
Riley was standing in the bathroom doorway, watching Spike showering.
“You nervous?”
“Should I be?” Spike said, not sounding the least bit worried as he soaped himself all over. “Here, get a load of this!” He held out the tube of shower-gel for Riley to sniff. “Like it?”
It looked and smelled expensive.
“You buy this?” Riley asked: a little surprised.
“Nicked it out of Angel’s suite when he wasn’t looking,” Spike said with a candid smirk.
Riley’s stomach was dropping through the floor, but Spike seemed oblivious.
“So should I be nervous or not?” Spike said, returning to the subject of the operation.
Riley felt himself filling up with panic, but he tried to tamp it down. So: Spike had been in Angel’s suite. Didn’t have to mean anything …
“Angleman’s your bloke after all,” Spike prompted.
Riley shook his head, distracted. “Well he put it in; I guess he’s the best person to take it out.”
“Guess so.” Spike agreed, without much apparent thought.
Riley looked at the floor. “Want me to be there for the procedure?” he asked cagily. “I mean, as I’m here anyway?”
“No: best not.”
Riley heaved a sigh. He’d known, in his heart, that the answer would be ‘no’, but he’d just hoped - after tonight - that Spike might relent.
“Can’t be too careful,” Spike went on, repeating the same old excuse. “Wait till the Old Man gives me the thumbs-up.”
“But you think you’re gonna be okay, right?” Riley said.
Maybe it was time to push a bit harder.
“I’ll be fine,” Spike’s reply was almost blasé. “At least -”
“So, can I let my folks know we’ll be on our way home in a couple of days?” Riley said eagerly.
As the echoes of the question died, he already knew the answer. He bit his lower lip. “We’re not, are we?”
“Well, you’re okay at Wesley’s aren’t you?” Spike said, casually rinsing shampoo out of his hair.
Riley stared at him for a moment, unsure he’d heard correctly.
Spike - his eyes closed to protect them from the bubbles - ploughed on regardless, “He’s treatin’ you alright?”
Riley felt his face redden as the implication sank in. There wasn’t enough air in the room, and suddenly he was yelling: “That’s completely beside the fucking point, Spike! Listen to yourself! What am I to you? A fucking -”
Almost choking on his anger, he screwed his eyes tight shut, then opened them again to an uncomprehending stare from Spike.
“- a fucking pet you can just leave indefinitely with some stooge? Dump with a minder whenever you damn well feel like it?”
Spike wiped a cloth over his face, and blinked worriedly. He put a tentative hand out and Riley knocked it away. Trying again, Spike said, “You know I don’t mean -”
“Yes, Spike: you do.”
Going off the boil more from weariness than any sense of reassurance, Riley spoke quietly now. “You do mean it. You say you love me, but … I feel like your spare wheel.” He waited, but the silence stretched painfully. “Like I’m just … convenient.”
Spike flinched. A shadow passed across his face. He seemed suddenly intent on removing every last trace of soap from his body.
“You’re a big bad demon hunter, I get that,” he said in a low, determined voice. “You think you’re ready to deal with anything life chucks at you, but you’re not. Look what happened tonight: nearly got yourself killed. I think I’ll be fine, but I’ve never had a behaviour modification chip removed from my head before, so how can I be sure? Drusilla isn’t the only one that’s dangerous. If I hurt you …”
He shook his head, then combed his fingers nervously through his wet curls.
“Yeah, I’ve heard all the rational arguments,” Riley said resentfully. “But that’s not the whole story, is it, Spike?” He held up his hand, displaying the ring on his finger.
Avoiding his gaze, Spike reached for a towel, and wrapped it around his hips. “Angel’s asked me to stay a bit longer.”
“Fuck, Spike! Why?” Riley thumped the wall in frustration. “What is it with you and Angel?”
“There is no, ‘me and Angel’: there isn’t …”
Riley just swung away from Spike and hit the wall again, then leaned on it, resting his head on his arms. He felt Spike pawing at him - trying to turn him around - but he didn’t budge.
“Drusilla’s not the only thing lurkin’ out there,” Spike said, cajoling. “Angel thinks there’s some big bust-up looming, and he needs someone he can train with. Just a few more days -”
“A few more days when he can get his claws into you,” Riley snapped out.
“He doesn’t want -”
“Don’t lie to me Spike, I’ve seen it,” Riley accused him bitterly. “You didn’t bother mentioning it, but I know he tried it on with you: I saw it; felt it …”
Spike passed a hand across his face, but couldn’t hide the guilty look.
“That was just … a thing.” He picked up a washcloth from the floor and twisted it between his hands, as though it was important to wring every drop of water from it. “He got confused.”
Riley snorted. “What if he ‘gets confused’ after your surgery or God help him, before. What if he gets Angleman to -”
“What?” Sulky under pressure, Spike flung the cloth back down onto the wet tiles.
“I dunno - re-program you: make you turn against me or forget about me …”
“‘M not a bloody robot, Riley.”
“Neither am I -” Riley said quietly: “- but he did it to me, or have you forgotten?”
He rubbed a hand over the mark he’d scored in his own flesh, that night in Crawford Street.
Spike was silent, but moved as if to leave the bathroom.
“What if I say, ‘no’?” Riley demanded, blocking the doorway with his body.
“What?” Spike’s face went slack.
“What if I say, we both go back straight away - soon as you’ve recovered from surgery -” Riley felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss: “- or never?”
“Then what?” Spike said, his eyes widening. “This is goodbye?”
Riley tilted his head, listening: what was that? It sounded like a chopper. The whirr and thump of the blades filled his head, and smote his heart with a devastating sense of his own redundancy.
Horrified, Riley heard himself say, “I don’t know.”
Words came crowding into his head, demanding to be spoken.
“If we can't work this out ...”
Spike had confused look on his face. “You're giving me an ultimatum?”
“No, I'm not,” Riley said gritting his teeth as he fought for control. “But if I said, ‘I'm leaving tonight, with or without you’? I’m not going to -”
Riley jerked his head as though he were tearing meat off a bone.
“- but … if I did?”
This last came out as a whispered plea. He gripped Spike’s arm urgently.
Spike tried to shake him off, mumbling, “Let go of me.”
“Or what? You'll hit me?”
Riley knew straight away that this didn’t make any sense - Spike couldn’t hit him, not to hurt him - but his vocal chords had a will of their own. He didn’t know where this was coming from. It felt like he was being yanked around on strings.
“You takin’ the piss?”
Spike’s recalcitrant tone of voice and uncomprehending stare got to him; as well as confused, Riley was angry again: way more angry than the situation warranted, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“Go ahead!” he challenged. “Come on: do it.”
Spike just shook his head and tried to push past him. “Get out of my way.”
Wild-eyed, Riley shouted, “I'm serious, Buffy, hit me. Hit me.”
Spike’s head whipped around. “Did you just call me ‘Buffy’?” He snapped his fingers in front of Riley’s face. “That’s supposed to be my obsession, remember?”
Riley shook his head and took a big gulp of air.
“Yeah, I ... I dunno what happened there.” He pressed his fists against his eyes. “See? That was what I was saying: about weird shit happening; it’s getting worse. Feels like I’m getting caught up in it - being used as some kind of conduit. Maybe it’s the start of this mega-apocalypse Wesley’s been researching. I hope not.” He took a deep breath. “What our hill-of-beans could possibly have to do with it I don’t know - but Spike -” he looked searchingly at his partner: “- I still need an answer.”
“To what?” Spike said warily.
Riley heaved a sigh, almost afraid to ask again, now he was back in control, but he had to.
“Would you go with me, or stay here with him - if it was an ultimatum?” Riley said, adding hastily: “- which it isn’t.”
“I … I’d go with you … of course.” Spike looked chastened. “But Riley, Angel’s the best one to -”
That lit the fuse, and Riley flashed out like a rocket. “Yeah, Angel’s the best at everything isn’t he? Maybe I should try and be more like Angel. What kind of car does he drive, Spike?”
This time, the ideas finding voice - spilling out without permission - were ones that had been living in his head for days, eating away at his confidence.
“Maybe I should get the kind of car Angel drives, and buy you a hotel to live in! Or - wait! I get it! You’ve already tried to get me wearing his clothes; maybe I should get a coat like his -”
“Those are my lines …” Spike said vaguely. “Hey, is it happening again?”
Spike was looking up into his face, like he was trying to see inside his head. “What’s wrong with you Riley?”
“You tell me. Guess my real problem is that I’m not Angel.”
“No, you’re not Angel - never will be,” Spike said bluntly.
Riley blanched. Spike was meeting this thing head on at last. At least it was honest.
“Angel and me, we’ve been around a long time. Got a century and more of rivalry; of wanting each other dead; of wanting each other’s women; more than one occasion of just wanting each other, I’ll admit that.”
Spike’s towel had slipped down around his hips and he pulled it a little tighter again.
“But that’s past. I can’t change it - can’t make him disappear. Wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for him. Can’t just forget it all happened.”
“Why the hell not? I can barely even remember the name of the last girl I dated. You - you’re all I think about. Dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you.”
Riley batted the air beside his ear, where the words seemed to buzz like angry mosquitoes. Spike was looking at him strangely - maybe it was happening again, but he didn’t care any more. He wanted to get this out.
“Why can’t you just forget about Angel?”
“You want me to forget about Angel,” Spike said flatly, as though Riley had asked him to forget the world was round. To forget his own name
“Yeah, why’s that so hard?”
Riley fixed him with a stare he wished could burn the memory of Angel from Spike’s mind. “Forget him.”
“Make me.” Spike said, suddenly obstinate.
“You want me to make you forget Angel?” Riley demanded, poking him in the chest.
“If you can, yeah!” Spike pushed past him into the bedroom, then turned to face him. “Show me what you got, White-bread.” He leered provocatively.
Glaring, Riley advanced on Spike, shoving him backwards, and Spike pushed back, just hard enough to really rile him. He took Spike by the shoulders and tried to kiss him, but Spike turned his head away, so Riley gripped his face and crushed their lips together, ignoring Spike’s attempt to hold him off, invading his mouth. When he was done, he pushed Spike rudely away, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Shocked now, but stubbornly silent, Spike tolerated Riley walking him backwards until his legs hit the bed, and he sat down.
Riley looked down at Spike where he sat, passive, his hands in his lap, refusing to make eye contact, or even speak. He took Spike’s chin in his hand, forcing his head up, and saw only a sullen mask, the eyes looking straight through him.
If only Spike would ask him - tell him, beg or order him - to stop …
But he didn’t.
The hungry void yawned between them.
“Is this how it was with Angel, Spike?” Riley said miserably. “Bet you really like getting pushed around like this - probably think I’m just a big sap because I don’t do it like he does, huh?”
Spike’s determined stare faltered for an instant. “What’s it to you?” Though his voice wavered, irresolute, he still kept cranking it up. “What if I do?”
For an answer, Riley pushed Spike onto his back, ripped the towel off him, and blatantly ignored Spike’s grunt of surprise as he climbed on top of him. And now Riley hardly knew who he was any more: felt himself dissolving into utter insignificance; and when he looked around - for a brief instant - it seemed they were in a crypt, on a bed of hard grey stone.
Taking his weight on his arms, he looked down on Spike, demanding heatedly, “Tell me you love me.”
Spike’s features softened instantly. “I love you. You know I do.”
“Tell me you want me.”
If Spike denied it, Riley thought he might cease to exist.
“I always want you. In point of fact -”
But now there was a roaring in Riley’s ears - a white noise, nearly driving him insane - and all he could hear was Spike’s voice saying Angel’s name, or one of the many ridiculous nicknames he had for him: ‘Peaches’; ‘Old Man’; ‘Brooding Avenger’; nicknames that meant affection. Spike had never made up any nicknames for him. He was just Riley, always Riley: until tonight, when Spike had called him ‘White-bread’.
That wasn’t affectionate at all.
And somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Spike’s voice, naming him - ‘Captain Cardboard’. Well fuck him. He’d show Spike how white he was - what he was made of. He gripped Spike’s half-erect cock in his fist, demanding, “Who’s this for Spike? Me or Angel?”
Spike answered straight away - “You, Riley,” - but it didn’t mean a damn thing, because as he’d spoken Angel’s name, Riley felt Spike stiffen. He whipped his hand away, looking from his hand to Spike’s cock as though both had betrayed him.
“Liar!” Riley was vibrating like a tuning fork. “You’re a liar, Spike!” he said through gritted teeth. “Your dick doesn’t lie, so why should you? Tell me the truth: tell me it’s Angel you want.”
“I can't,” Spike said simply. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” Riley insisted, his eyes blazing.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Spike’s earlier obstinacy had fled, its place now taken by concern, but it was too little, too late.
“Maybe you want me to fuck you the way Angel did. How did he do it, Spike, did he loosen you up, even a little? I bet he didn’t. Bet he didn’t even bother with lube: just went straight in, dry, is that right, Spike? Is that how you want it?”
Spike swallowed and said quietly, “You know the answer.”
Riley knew he should feel bad about this, and somewhere - light years away - he did feel bad, but here and now, he barely knew what he was saying; what he was doing - just that everything was royally fucked-up.
“I’ll bet he’s bigger than me too - under those expensive pants of his - that’s it ain’t it? That’s your problem.” He heard his voice deepen and crack as he dashed blinding tears of rage from his face. “Bet you can’t even feel me inside you; but you’re going to, by God.”
And Spike offered no resistance as Riley pushed and heaved Spike’s legs up over his shoulders; as he positioned himself - his cock; looked down at himself and at the ring of muscle he was about to invade; as he tried to surge forward and force an entry, though it wasn’t being denied him.
Spike was paler than ever, and taking gasping breaths, trying to make this go easier; Riley knew he was hurting Spike, and - hard as he was - it was almost impossibly painful for him as well, and for an instant there was nothing around him but shining white surfaces.
“Let yourself feel it ...”
Spike bit his lip but failed to stifle the “No ...” that was trying to be spoken, and as though he hadn’t heard, Riley set about it with more ferocity, gripping Spike’s thighs with bruising pressure, and using his weight to spread Spike wider; hold him down harder …
“You love me ...” Riley grunted as he breached Spike, ramming home at last, reckless of whether he hit the spot or no. “Let it … go ... Let yourself … love me ...”
“Fuck, Riley, I do: I do love you.”
Spike’s words sounded as though they were being spoken through treacle.
“You'll feel it again, Spike ... I'm gonna make you feel it ...”
“Come on, that's it, put it on me,” Spike choked out. “Put it all on me.”
From a long way away Riley said, “Am I dark enough for you now?”
~~
TBC
Quotes: Various, from BtVS 4 - 6
Pairing: Spike/Riley
Rating: NC17 overall
Standard disclaimer: no profit made, no copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: None to speak of: except for previous stories in this 'verse.
Warning: Things get rough, but no worse than in canon, Season 6.
Feedback: It’s what I live for
Previous parts:
Reflections 1: Down the Rabbit-hole 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 2: Through the Looking Glass 1/5 2/5 3/5 4/5 5/5
Reflections 3: Sentence First! Verdict afterwards! 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 4: Where do we go from here? 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 5: On the Road to Los Angeles 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 6: The Players Assemble 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 7: Reunion 1/4 2/4 3/4 4/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 1/4 2/4
Reflections 8: Things Fall Apart 3/4
Relaxed and sated, Riley rolled over, lazily petted Spike’s face, and said - “I’ve been meaning to ask you - is something weird goin’ on?”
Spike cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “Something weird’s always goin’ on: you know that. Just that everyone else’s heads are too far up their arses to notice. Anything particular you had in mind?”
“Well, like before: I thought I had a stake - was sure of it actually, almost like a déjà vu, but it was slightly off, because I thought I was the one in control, and it was the other way round. It’s like my memory’s playing tricks on me. Stuff like that.”
“Yeah,” Spike said, getting interested. “That kind of thing’s been happening to me, on and off. At first I just thought my mind was wandering, but it’s more than that; been meaning to ask the Old Man to mention it to Watcher-boy. Maybe you could have a word with him, seein’ as how you’re sharing a dorm.”
Riley nodded. “Good thinking. I don’t know about you but I found it pretty - unnerving. I had a worse one earlier on, while I was outside - just before I saw your … Drusilla. I zoned out completely: had this daydream, only it was more powerful than that, like watching a movie or even being in one.” Riley became animated. “I was like this hero - this super-cool military demon-fighting guy with all these gadgets -”
“Riley, this may come as a shock to you -” Spike interrupted him, faintly amused: “- but you are that guy.”
“Well gee, thanks!” Riley acknowledged the compliment with a smirk. “But it definitely wasn’t me - not the real me. I had a big truck and a big scar, and really bad hair, and I was married to this action-figure woman with a boy’s name ...”
He put his head on one side, obviously remembering something much more bizarre and unlikely.
“… and you were dating Buffy.”
Spike thumped the pillow in a parody of despair. “Oh, bleeding hell, why does everyone think I have some big thing for Buffy? I don’t even like the smug little chit.”
“Liar.” Riley waved his be-ringed finger in Spike’s face.
“I don’t! I hate her! Slayer! Vampire! Hello?”
“This says different!” Riley waggled his finger again, a little smugly.
“She pinched my bleedin’ ring!”
Riley’s face was a picture: possibly ‘The Scream’.
“Not that!” Spike shook his head at Riley’s chosen interpretation of his words. “A magic ring, you daft bugger: like yours only different. Vampire that wears it can go out in the sun without combusting. Had it on my hand an’ all - pretty as you please - and I wasted it.” With a wistful sigh, Spike pondered, “God, if I still had it, we could …”
No point dreaming about it. Angel had seen to that.
“… It’d be dead useful,” he murmured.
“But Buffy took it?”
“In double quick time,” Spike admitted. “I was only out there five minutes before she had it off me.” He shook his head in self-reproach. “‘Twas my own fault: I was stupid enough to stick around for a bit of … well, revenge, if I’m honest.” He glanced apologetically at Riley before gilding the lily, more for propriety than to deceive. “Showing-off, mostly - bit of gloating. Should have known better at my age; there’s reasons villains get caught: revenge and gloating are number one and two on the list.”
Riley squeezed Spike’s shoulder. “You’re not a villain.”
“I was then,” Spike said. He sat up and examined his fingernails. He’d painted them again earlier for something to do, but the polish was chipped already. “Wasn’t exactly Blofeld or Moriarty, but I had aspirations. Looking back … I dunno. Guess I was just a juvenile delinquent; trying to prove I was the coolest, hottest, baddest thing on legs.”
“Hey, you are that guy!” Riley - grinning - returned the compliment.
“Thanks, but - well, yeah, okay: if you say so.”
Spike relaxed once again. He still hadn’t quite got used to the way Riley accepted him - even the bad things he’d done: those he’d had the front to tell him about anyway.
“Lucky to survive as long as I did, some of the risks I took.” Spike shook his head and shrugged. “Just as well she took it anyway.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, after that, I went back for revenge - again. And if I hadn’t - case in point - your lot would never have caught me. Then we’d never …”
They were both silent for a moment, contemplating the twists and turns of fortune.
“So -” Riley looked Spike in the eye: “- you think it was worth it? Everything they - we - did to you? It was worth it, for …”
Spike knew he didn’t need to answer. He sniffed hard. “So I suppose she did me a favour really - not that she meant to. Should be grateful. But I don’t like her, like her. I respect her alright - who wouldn’t? But her and me? Having a thing?” He made a face, not really sure why he was even thinking about it. “I’d never sleep easy. She’d only have to have one bad dream and I’d wake up as a … big pile of dust.”
Spike frowned as the words - ‘big pile of dust’ - seemed to echo in his head.
There was another one of those silences.
This time it was Spike’s turn to break it. “So, do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“You know: ‘marchin’ up and down the square’.”
“What?”
“Military life,” Spike clarified. “I mean, were you happy in that other life: in your day-dream?”
He tried to sound casual. He tried not to let it bother him when Riley - whether deliberately or not - avoided giving a direct answer to the second, more important question, by answering the first.
“I kind-of miss the action -” Riley admitted. “The adrenalin rush, you know? And after that thing in Cleveland: well, it’s good to know I can still cut it.” He shut his mouth, a worried look crossing his face. “Not that I -”
“Don’t fret, love. I know the last thing you wanted was me getting caught, so you could flex your special skills,” Spike reassured him. “But I know the feeling too. Can’t wait to get this chip out and -”
Now it was Spike’s turn to look worried. “Not that I -”
“It’s okay Spike - it’s natural.” Riley laid a hand on his arm. “Everybody wants to be free.”
Spike shot a look of intense gratitude his way. Riley was one thing he never wanted to be free of.
“There’s only one thing I want right now.”
~~
He’s torn my dress: I can feel Angelus’ hands on my bare skin as he positions me. But it’s all happening far away, and before he enters me I’m having that dream again.
It starts well enough - a cellar stocked with some rather fine, full-bodied lawyers; at least, they were until we arrived. But then there he is, with that expression on his face the like of which I’ve never seen, and there’s fire snaking towards me faster than I can move, transfixed as I am by that look.
Drusilla is whimpering some nonsense, and there’s screaming. Our newly-acquired finery is ruined. Fire and water will do that.
Then I am pregnant, again: heavily, impossibly with child.
I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. I feel the infection of a soul inside me, poisoning me: such unbearable irony. But it’s his child: it has to be.
Two whites can make a black, and that’s my chance. The sentimental fool, his bleeding heart won’t allow him to abandon the mother of whatever monstrous thing it is I carry within me. And I will have my Darling Boy back again, if only for a few short months. If I can’t rid him of his pesky soul by then, I’m not worth the blood my name is written in.
But now he’s holding me close - hugging me, slobbering over me - violating me with his appalling, bloodhound sentimentality. This isn’t what I want.
I goad him - “You’ve gone without for so long you’ve forgotten where to put it.”
“We’re not doing this,” he says, crushing my face to his chest. “The price is too high.”
What can he mean? What price? I say instead, “But think of it! A child! Your child! Wouldn’t you just adore it? Come on Angelus - history beckons.”
He releases me. “You saw it?”
“Our beautiful child? Yes!” I lie. “I saw it! It should be impossible, but -”
“You want it too? You want to be a mother?”
He doesn’t believe me; because I don’t believe myself.
~~
I search her face. If Darla wants it - even now: why? Can it be good?
I hold her against the wall, and she mewls and rubs herself against me, striking sparks. It’s distracting, and very hot.
Wesley’s voice speaks quietly in my head: ‘Think carefully before acting on impulse.’
I see him nod grimly, a comrade in arms but no longer a friend, as he goes out to die for my cause. I ache for him - for both of us. Wes! I know what I am destined to do - I’ve seen it already. I’m going to smother him on his sickbed; and worse, I’m going to violate his mind.
Can anything that would make me do that, be a good thing?
And yet he goes willingly to die for me.
This choice is part of my punishment - my torment.
If I have this child, I’m fated to kill it - kill him - and to betray a friend. Doyle was lost because I didn’t read the signs right. Can I - will I - allow selfishness to rob me of another ally … another friend?
But now I know - now I’ve seen - surely I can change things?
Do better?
I know I can do better.
Be a better father and a better friend.
Have it all.
I want it all.
Don’t I deserve something?
I press my lips to Darla’s throat and let the red tide take me.
~~
“So: the operation’s tomorrow.”
Riley was standing in the bathroom doorway, watching Spike showering.
“You nervous?”
“Should I be?” Spike said, not sounding the least bit worried as he soaped himself all over. “Here, get a load of this!” He held out the tube of shower-gel for Riley to sniff. “Like it?”
It looked and smelled expensive.
“You buy this?” Riley asked: a little surprised.
“Nicked it out of Angel’s suite when he wasn’t looking,” Spike said with a candid smirk.
Riley’s stomach was dropping through the floor, but Spike seemed oblivious.
“So should I be nervous or not?” Spike said, returning to the subject of the operation.
Riley felt himself filling up with panic, but he tried to tamp it down. So: Spike had been in Angel’s suite. Didn’t have to mean anything …
“Angleman’s your bloke after all,” Spike prompted.
Riley shook his head, distracted. “Well he put it in; I guess he’s the best person to take it out.”
“Guess so.” Spike agreed, without much apparent thought.
Riley looked at the floor. “Want me to be there for the procedure?” he asked cagily. “I mean, as I’m here anyway?”
“No: best not.”
Riley heaved a sigh. He’d known, in his heart, that the answer would be ‘no’, but he’d just hoped - after tonight - that Spike might relent.
“Can’t be too careful,” Spike went on, repeating the same old excuse. “Wait till the Old Man gives me the thumbs-up.”
“But you think you’re gonna be okay, right?” Riley said.
Maybe it was time to push a bit harder.
“I’ll be fine,” Spike’s reply was almost blasé. “At least -”
“So, can I let my folks know we’ll be on our way home in a couple of days?” Riley said eagerly.
As the echoes of the question died, he already knew the answer. He bit his lower lip. “We’re not, are we?”
“Well, you’re okay at Wesley’s aren’t you?” Spike said, casually rinsing shampoo out of his hair.
Riley stared at him for a moment, unsure he’d heard correctly.
Spike - his eyes closed to protect them from the bubbles - ploughed on regardless, “He’s treatin’ you alright?”
Riley felt his face redden as the implication sank in. There wasn’t enough air in the room, and suddenly he was yelling: “That’s completely beside the fucking point, Spike! Listen to yourself! What am I to you? A fucking -”
Almost choking on his anger, he screwed his eyes tight shut, then opened them again to an uncomprehending stare from Spike.
“- a fucking pet you can just leave indefinitely with some stooge? Dump with a minder whenever you damn well feel like it?”
Spike wiped a cloth over his face, and blinked worriedly. He put a tentative hand out and Riley knocked it away. Trying again, Spike said, “You know I don’t mean -”
“Yes, Spike: you do.”
Going off the boil more from weariness than any sense of reassurance, Riley spoke quietly now. “You do mean it. You say you love me, but … I feel like your spare wheel.” He waited, but the silence stretched painfully. “Like I’m just … convenient.”
Spike flinched. A shadow passed across his face. He seemed suddenly intent on removing every last trace of soap from his body.
“You’re a big bad demon hunter, I get that,” he said in a low, determined voice. “You think you’re ready to deal with anything life chucks at you, but you’re not. Look what happened tonight: nearly got yourself killed. I think I’ll be fine, but I’ve never had a behaviour modification chip removed from my head before, so how can I be sure? Drusilla isn’t the only one that’s dangerous. If I hurt you …”
He shook his head, then combed his fingers nervously through his wet curls.
“Yeah, I’ve heard all the rational arguments,” Riley said resentfully. “But that’s not the whole story, is it, Spike?” He held up his hand, displaying the ring on his finger.
Avoiding his gaze, Spike reached for a towel, and wrapped it around his hips. “Angel’s asked me to stay a bit longer.”
“Fuck, Spike! Why?” Riley thumped the wall in frustration. “What is it with you and Angel?”
“There is no, ‘me and Angel’: there isn’t …”
Riley just swung away from Spike and hit the wall again, then leaned on it, resting his head on his arms. He felt Spike pawing at him - trying to turn him around - but he didn’t budge.
“Drusilla’s not the only thing lurkin’ out there,” Spike said, cajoling. “Angel thinks there’s some big bust-up looming, and he needs someone he can train with. Just a few more days -”
“A few more days when he can get his claws into you,” Riley snapped out.
“He doesn’t want -”
“Don’t lie to me Spike, I’ve seen it,” Riley accused him bitterly. “You didn’t bother mentioning it, but I know he tried it on with you: I saw it; felt it …”
Spike passed a hand across his face, but couldn’t hide the guilty look.
“That was just … a thing.” He picked up a washcloth from the floor and twisted it between his hands, as though it was important to wring every drop of water from it. “He got confused.”
Riley snorted. “What if he ‘gets confused’ after your surgery or God help him, before. What if he gets Angleman to -”
“What?” Sulky under pressure, Spike flung the cloth back down onto the wet tiles.
“I dunno - re-program you: make you turn against me or forget about me …”
“‘M not a bloody robot, Riley.”
“Neither am I -” Riley said quietly: “- but he did it to me, or have you forgotten?”
He rubbed a hand over the mark he’d scored in his own flesh, that night in Crawford Street.
Spike was silent, but moved as if to leave the bathroom.
“What if I say, ‘no’?” Riley demanded, blocking the doorway with his body.
“What?” Spike’s face went slack.
“What if I say, we both go back straight away - soon as you’ve recovered from surgery -” Riley felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss: “- or never?”
“Then what?” Spike said, his eyes widening. “This is goodbye?”
Riley tilted his head, listening: what was that? It sounded like a chopper. The whirr and thump of the blades filled his head, and smote his heart with a devastating sense of his own redundancy.
Horrified, Riley heard himself say, “I don’t know.”
Words came crowding into his head, demanding to be spoken.
“If we can't work this out ...”
Spike had confused look on his face. “You're giving me an ultimatum?”
“No, I'm not,” Riley said gritting his teeth as he fought for control. “But if I said, ‘I'm leaving tonight, with or without you’? I’m not going to -”
Riley jerked his head as though he were tearing meat off a bone.
“- but … if I did?”
This last came out as a whispered plea. He gripped Spike’s arm urgently.
Spike tried to shake him off, mumbling, “Let go of me.”
“Or what? You'll hit me?”
Riley knew straight away that this didn’t make any sense - Spike couldn’t hit him, not to hurt him - but his vocal chords had a will of their own. He didn’t know where this was coming from. It felt like he was being yanked around on strings.
“You takin’ the piss?”
Spike’s recalcitrant tone of voice and uncomprehending stare got to him; as well as confused, Riley was angry again: way more angry than the situation warranted, but there was nothing he could do about it.
“Go ahead!” he challenged. “Come on: do it.”
Spike just shook his head and tried to push past him. “Get out of my way.”
Wild-eyed, Riley shouted, “I'm serious, Buffy, hit me. Hit me.”
Spike’s head whipped around. “Did you just call me ‘Buffy’?” He snapped his fingers in front of Riley’s face. “That’s supposed to be my obsession, remember?”
Riley shook his head and took a big gulp of air.
“Yeah, I ... I dunno what happened there.” He pressed his fists against his eyes. “See? That was what I was saying: about weird shit happening; it’s getting worse. Feels like I’m getting caught up in it - being used as some kind of conduit. Maybe it’s the start of this mega-apocalypse Wesley’s been researching. I hope not.” He took a deep breath. “What our hill-of-beans could possibly have to do with it I don’t know - but Spike -” he looked searchingly at his partner: “- I still need an answer.”
“To what?” Spike said warily.
Riley heaved a sigh, almost afraid to ask again, now he was back in control, but he had to.
“Would you go with me, or stay here with him - if it was an ultimatum?” Riley said, adding hastily: “- which it isn’t.”
“I … I’d go with you … of course.” Spike looked chastened. “But Riley, Angel’s the best one to -”
That lit the fuse, and Riley flashed out like a rocket. “Yeah, Angel’s the best at everything isn’t he? Maybe I should try and be more like Angel. What kind of car does he drive, Spike?”
This time, the ideas finding voice - spilling out without permission - were ones that had been living in his head for days, eating away at his confidence.
“Maybe I should get the kind of car Angel drives, and buy you a hotel to live in! Or - wait! I get it! You’ve already tried to get me wearing his clothes; maybe I should get a coat like his -”
“Those are my lines …” Spike said vaguely. “Hey, is it happening again?”
Spike was looking up into his face, like he was trying to see inside his head. “What’s wrong with you Riley?”
“You tell me. Guess my real problem is that I’m not Angel.”
“No, you’re not Angel - never will be,” Spike said bluntly.
Riley blanched. Spike was meeting this thing head on at last. At least it was honest.
“Angel and me, we’ve been around a long time. Got a century and more of rivalry; of wanting each other dead; of wanting each other’s women; more than one occasion of just wanting each other, I’ll admit that.”
Spike’s towel had slipped down around his hips and he pulled it a little tighter again.
“But that’s past. I can’t change it - can’t make him disappear. Wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for him. Can’t just forget it all happened.”
“Why the hell not? I can barely even remember the name of the last girl I dated. You - you’re all I think about. Dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you.”
Riley batted the air beside his ear, where the words seemed to buzz like angry mosquitoes. Spike was looking at him strangely - maybe it was happening again, but he didn’t care any more. He wanted to get this out.
“Why can’t you just forget about Angel?”
“You want me to forget about Angel,” Spike said flatly, as though Riley had asked him to forget the world was round. To forget his own name
“Yeah, why’s that so hard?”
Riley fixed him with a stare he wished could burn the memory of Angel from Spike’s mind. “Forget him.”
“Make me.” Spike said, suddenly obstinate.
“You want me to make you forget Angel?” Riley demanded, poking him in the chest.
“If you can, yeah!” Spike pushed past him into the bedroom, then turned to face him. “Show me what you got, White-bread.” He leered provocatively.
Glaring, Riley advanced on Spike, shoving him backwards, and Spike pushed back, just hard enough to really rile him. He took Spike by the shoulders and tried to kiss him, but Spike turned his head away, so Riley gripped his face and crushed their lips together, ignoring Spike’s attempt to hold him off, invading his mouth. When he was done, he pushed Spike rudely away, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Shocked now, but stubbornly silent, Spike tolerated Riley walking him backwards until his legs hit the bed, and he sat down.
Riley looked down at Spike where he sat, passive, his hands in his lap, refusing to make eye contact, or even speak. He took Spike’s chin in his hand, forcing his head up, and saw only a sullen mask, the eyes looking straight through him.
If only Spike would ask him - tell him, beg or order him - to stop …
But he didn’t.
The hungry void yawned between them.
“Is this how it was with Angel, Spike?” Riley said miserably. “Bet you really like getting pushed around like this - probably think I’m just a big sap because I don’t do it like he does, huh?”
Spike’s determined stare faltered for an instant. “What’s it to you?” Though his voice wavered, irresolute, he still kept cranking it up. “What if I do?”
For an answer, Riley pushed Spike onto his back, ripped the towel off him, and blatantly ignored Spike’s grunt of surprise as he climbed on top of him. And now Riley hardly knew who he was any more: felt himself dissolving into utter insignificance; and when he looked around - for a brief instant - it seemed they were in a crypt, on a bed of hard grey stone.
Taking his weight on his arms, he looked down on Spike, demanding heatedly, “Tell me you love me.”
Spike’s features softened instantly. “I love you. You know I do.”
“Tell me you want me.”
If Spike denied it, Riley thought he might cease to exist.
“I always want you. In point of fact -”
But now there was a roaring in Riley’s ears - a white noise, nearly driving him insane - and all he could hear was Spike’s voice saying Angel’s name, or one of the many ridiculous nicknames he had for him: ‘Peaches’; ‘Old Man’; ‘Brooding Avenger’; nicknames that meant affection. Spike had never made up any nicknames for him. He was just Riley, always Riley: until tonight, when Spike had called him ‘White-bread’.
That wasn’t affectionate at all.
And somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear Spike’s voice, naming him - ‘Captain Cardboard’. Well fuck him. He’d show Spike how white he was - what he was made of. He gripped Spike’s half-erect cock in his fist, demanding, “Who’s this for Spike? Me or Angel?”
Spike answered straight away - “You, Riley,” - but it didn’t mean a damn thing, because as he’d spoken Angel’s name, Riley felt Spike stiffen. He whipped his hand away, looking from his hand to Spike’s cock as though both had betrayed him.
“Liar!” Riley was vibrating like a tuning fork. “You’re a liar, Spike!” he said through gritted teeth. “Your dick doesn’t lie, so why should you? Tell me the truth: tell me it’s Angel you want.”
“I can't,” Spike said simply. “I love you.”
“No, you don’t,” Riley insisted, his eyes blazing.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
Spike’s earlier obstinacy had fled, its place now taken by concern, but it was too little, too late.
“Maybe you want me to fuck you the way Angel did. How did he do it, Spike, did he loosen you up, even a little? I bet he didn’t. Bet he didn’t even bother with lube: just went straight in, dry, is that right, Spike? Is that how you want it?”
Spike swallowed and said quietly, “You know the answer.”
Riley knew he should feel bad about this, and somewhere - light years away - he did feel bad, but here and now, he barely knew what he was saying; what he was doing - just that everything was royally fucked-up.
“I’ll bet he’s bigger than me too - under those expensive pants of his - that’s it ain’t it? That’s your problem.” He heard his voice deepen and crack as he dashed blinding tears of rage from his face. “Bet you can’t even feel me inside you; but you’re going to, by God.”
And Spike offered no resistance as Riley pushed and heaved Spike’s legs up over his shoulders; as he positioned himself - his cock; looked down at himself and at the ring of muscle he was about to invade; as he tried to surge forward and force an entry, though it wasn’t being denied him.
Spike was paler than ever, and taking gasping breaths, trying to make this go easier; Riley knew he was hurting Spike, and - hard as he was - it was almost impossibly painful for him as well, and for an instant there was nothing around him but shining white surfaces.
“Let yourself feel it ...”
Spike bit his lip but failed to stifle the “No ...” that was trying to be spoken, and as though he hadn’t heard, Riley set about it with more ferocity, gripping Spike’s thighs with bruising pressure, and using his weight to spread Spike wider; hold him down harder …
“You love me ...” Riley grunted as he breached Spike, ramming home at last, reckless of whether he hit the spot or no. “Let it … go ... Let yourself … love me ...”
“Fuck, Riley, I do: I do love you.”
Spike’s words sounded as though they were being spoken through treacle.
“You'll feel it again, Spike ... I'm gonna make you feel it ...”
“Come on, that's it, put it on me,” Spike choked out. “Put it all on me.”
From a long way away Riley said, “Am I dark enough for you now?”
~~
TBC
Quotes: Various, from BtVS 4 - 6