| Walk you home, milady? |
[17 Mar 2005|01:24am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 pensive |
] |
I'm standing at the end of the Summers' front walk, flicking my lighter on and off and debating with myself. Stereotypical macho vamp that I am, I take my life in my hands every time I light up. Not so different from the living, that, only quicker. One thing about life after death: when we go, we go quick. I don't remember my own death; there was Cecily, and then Dru, sharp blissful pain, then nothing; then dark and fear and strength and more Dru. I guess it was quick. Wouldn't really want to do it again though. Hope it was quick for her - every night I wonder if she's still falling, eternally, wondering who'll catch her this time. In my dreams it's me.
I think until I saw Samantha I had some shining hope that it wasn't real, she'd come back somehow.
Through the dining room window shadows start to get up and move around; dinner must be over. I should invite myself in for coffee; Tara makes a mean cup of cocoa .. Not a spot on Joyce's, of course. Wouldn't want the new girl to think I'm the outcast, oh never. I smirk and toss the lighter up, catching it. Right, because I'm always so good at being a part of something. Since Darla split I defined only myself, and done damn well at it too; till bloody Sunnydale and the bloody Slayer and the sodding Initiative with their bloody chips.
I sigh. Nah, let the Scoobs have their fun. They'll be sharing stories I don't know and bonding like - well, humans.
I could leave, but where would I go? This house, it draws me somehow. And all right, the Slayer draws me.
And then the front door opens, light pouring out to fit the shadows perfectly - they say light drives out the darkness, but to me it only enhances it, gilding the edges in liquid glory - bad choice of words, that - giving form to the intricacies of the darkness, the way I always used to think she did for me - would do for me, if we had the chance to learn, my dark to her light to fill our empty spaces with the other, and now never.
But there she is, this other one, so different, smaller, tougher somehow. Dark where she should be light, and the light from the hallway shoots red highlights through her hair as she turns and says her goodbyes. This one wouldn't zone out in a crisis, the fleeting thought touches me; she's seen too much, been too much, too young, more than I suspected when I saw her first. And I wonder suddenly if I can see a bit of dark in her, if maybe there's a hint of light in me, and if two chiaroscuro beings might not blend more lovely than a swirling double monochrome.
It takes almost a minute for the guilt to set in, in my mind Dru and Buffy whisper "traitor!" for different reasons - ought to call a party, the day those girls agree on something - and then she's there.
I clear my throat. I guess what all this boils down to is - "Hi."
the walk
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| Dawn |
[13 Dec 2004|07:06pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 gloomy |
] |
I'm standing by the tree outside the Summers house, having a smoke and watching the lights start to wink out. I can't believe they're all going to bed, it's early yet. Didn't want to talk about it, didn't even ask me if I knew her name. Samantha rolls around my head a few times before I shut a lid on it. It's like they don't care, even that namby Watcher - they've got no right not to care. Damn bloody mortals, you think it's that easy?
I hurl my fag-end to the ground and grind it into dust with my boot, looking determinedly at the house. There's one chippy in there who does care, and I know it. I start to climb.
I poke my head in Dawn's window; she's curled up on the bed, hugging her pillow. "Hey, Niblet," I whisper. "Can I come in?"
Her voice is muffled. "You don't have to ask."
"Maybe not, but it's polite." I swing into the room and hunker down beside the bed, eye-level.
"Dawn, about what I said earlier - I'm sorry."
"It's ok." She sniffles and looks at me. "Spike, I don't want there to be a new Slayer. Buffy's supposed to be the Slayer, she's-"
"Shh, love. I know." I tentatively reach forward and pat her arm. She doesn't flinch. "That's what we all want, pet. But we have to be patient, and quit sniping at each other, and maybe give this new girl a chance, eh?"
Dawn squeezes her eyes shut and doesn't say anything for a second. I don't move a muscle. Finally, she looks up at me again, and "what about the FBI agents? I don't want to have to go anywhere. I want to stay with Willow."
Oh, no, kid's got too much on her mind for anyone. I squeeze her shoulder a bit. "You're not going *anywhere*, Dawn. If it comes to it, *I* won't let-"
There's a sudden knock at the door. "Hey, Dawnie, you okay in there? Can I talk to you?"
It's Xander. Damn the boy. "Buck up, Niblet, it'll come out right in the end," I say, and then I'm out the window. I watch for a few minutes to make sure she's all right.
and then talking to Sam
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| grave reflections |
[11 Dec 2004|04:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 restless |
] |
Not long after the voices stop - gone home safe, I guess, safe as Slayers' houses - I head out to the night, wondering which I'm about to do, find out more on the Slayer, or run tell the gang. My instincts are kicking in; I can smell her in the air, clear and sweet and dangerous, lost and alone and too bloody sure of herself. More like Faith than Buffy with a hint of something all her own. I walk to where she sat with her one-armed mate, run my hand over the stone, breathing deep. I could track her easy, follow her home, watch her, bide my time, and then - Yeah, this one'd give Manhattan's finest a run for her money -
I never used to know their names. It never used to matter. See Slayer, kill Slayer, that's life. That's unlife. All on a sudden I wonder who they were and if I could have loved them, if I *should* have loved them -
Samantha. The name rolls around my tongue, dulcimer sweet like a blood and chocolate whisper. It's a good name, strong name, old name. Not like - I won't think it. I stand up quick and move on; I have to pass by Buffy to get to Dawn's house. I don't *have* to, but I want to, and I will.
She's next to her mum. Joyce was so much like my own, and the first in centuries to treat me like a man. I keep her in flowers; I think I remember the dead better than the living do, I know what it's like and it ain't pretty, and in lots of ways I love them all, I love the dead. Some days I envy them so much it hurts.
I sink to my knees on top of Buffy, in front of her stone. Not her grave, never her grave, it's just where she lives, where she is, it's just her. "Buffy Anne," I reach forward whispering, touching the name in stone. "I love you." Yeah, I love the dead. "I won't let her replace you, Buffy. I won't let her ever try."
There's no answer, as if I ever thought there would be, but a green leaf tumbles down and rests between us. It means nothing, but I pick it up and tuck it away, wiping my eyes. "I'll take care of her, Buffy. I swear it."
I stand and walk away, half blinded. If they know already, they'll know more than I do, and if they don't .. Dawny's gonna need me.
When I hit the street, I start to run.
in the comm
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| Not the hero |
[05 Dec 2004|07:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
curious |
] |
Since Buffy died, it's like I can't breathe.
Right, I can't breathe. But if I could, that's what it'd be like.
I keep expecting her to turn the corner and pound my face in. Like I can't *do* anything until that happens. I'm just waiting for it.
I pace the edges of my crypt. I got nowhere to go tonight; the little bit's at home with her buds. It's always "Spike, watch Dawny while we go have a top-secret palaver" and "Spike, come help us kill some vampires." 'Course, I could do that last on my own. But I'm not the hero type. Not tonight at least. I just want -
I don't sodding know what I want.
What I know is, I'm about to go mad in here. I'm ready to bust outside and find something I can beat on for awhile, when I hear voices out in the cemetery. I ease the door open an inch or so and listen.
"In every generation, there's a chosen one. I know how cheesy kung-fu movie that is, so you don't have to tell me. See, this girl is called, and asked to defend the world from demons, vampires, and all sorts of evil you never knew existed. and that's...me."
"A chosen one? Samantha...this is insane. You realize that, right? ..."
I freeze. Well, well, well. There's a new Slayer in town. Named Samantha. My mouth curves up in a slow grin. This'll be fun.
Can I hate her for not being Buffy?
in the comm
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