Buffista Fic: It Could Be Plot Bunnies
Where the Buffistas let their fanfic creative juices flow. May contain erotica.
I like, connie. Commented in the LJ, too-- but... wow.
And... more William and Rupert. This section was once three songfics. It's... strange, that it's changed so much.
Chapter Five
What the fuck?
Warm body… living, human body… Rupert.
Here, with me, after last night's dinner and… everything that followed. I don't know what's going on. I don't know what I'm doing here.
It’s like the chit sang. And why do I, former evil vampire, know songs from Jesus Christ Superstar? I have no idea. Anyway, it's like she sang.
“I don't know how to love him.
What to do, how to move him.
I've been changed, yes really changed.
In these past few days, when I've seen myself,
I seem like someone else.”
Barring the fact that I can’t see myself, that’s spot on. The soul has messed me up, and I think maybe I really am a different person. I’m truly William again—he called me that before, but now it’s for real.
He’s just another man—but he’s more than that. No other man is like him. When I look back of the loves of my life and unlife—Elizabeth, when we were only seven; Cecily, when I was old enough for rejection to really hurt; Drusilla, the woman who gave me eternal life, who loved me as only she could; Angelus, who taught me what I needed to know, my Sire—emotionally, if not in fact; Dalton, my sidekick and help-mate, when Dru was ill and I needed strength only he could give; my infatuation with Buffy—there is a pattern, of sorts. They all were superior to me, even the one I dominated. They were a class above me, at school or socially, physically or mentally, in age or wisdom. The people I fall in love with see things I don’t, sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically, but only Rupert Giles has ever offered to share that knowledge with me.
He didn’t want to be Ripper, and, in those days, I tried to bring that out in him. Now, things have changed. Even after Buffy died, I taunted, teased, nearly shagging him, then slipping out into the night to find something to punch. I had to take my anger out on someone, but it wasn’t fair to choose him—I love him. I see that now. The love I have for him is deeper than I ever felt for Buffy—love, not infatuation.
He’d make a fine vampire. I can’t turn him, and I’d want him to have his soul back afterwards, but I want to turn him because then we could be together always. My love for Drusilla is eternal, but my love for him is stronger. She’s more like a sister to me than the mother a Sire is meant to be, though we will always have that connection.
Strange, how I find I want men when they have souls, and women without. Not true of Buffy, of course, but then I lust after her, my desire to kill the Slayer turned into something else, twisted and poisoned by a piece of plastic and my own romantic notions. My new soul has all but cured that- it was the obsession of my demon, not the love of my true self.
I told him, last night. That, and that he returns the feeling in some measure, isn't in doubt; what I doubt is that he's forgiven me.
Being with him again is wonderful. What I had with Buffy wasn’t fulfilling, it didn’t give me what I need. He can. There’s real love there, caring, and he feels things as deeply as I do. You can’t always see it, but Rupert has a poet’s soul, like mine. We’re soul mates, us two, and I’m so drunk on the feeling of being with the man I love I can hardly think stright. Well, since it looks like I’m being gay for now, I guess that doesn’t matter.
I sold them out to Adam, because I couldn’t cope with being caged by the chip. I slept with Harmony, with Buffy and with Anya—what's a creature of the night if he can’t seduce young girls? Okay, young women. I did and do love Buffy, but I can see that what I did hurt her more than my poncey Sire ever did, so I curb my impulses and care for her safety, not her satisfaction. I like Anya, but she seems to want to be with Xander, and I don’t like her that much.
I'm confused.
It’s about needing him, it’s about wanting someone to care again, it’s about wanting to make amends for what I did. It’s about whether he’ll take me back, despite my inexcusable actions.
It’s almost funny. I’m scared of him, even while he's lying next to me, sleeping, soft human sleep with little snorting snores.
The fact that he has taken me back, even if it's (and in some ways, I know it must be) just for a little while, makes it all easier to face. The Slayer still doesn’t know that I have a soul, though she might have heard that I’m back in Sunnydale. I think Rupert will want to keep our relationship secret a bit longer- let them take me back one step at a time, first “Spike, with his new soul,” then “William, who went and got a soul of his own free will (excuse the pun)” and finally, “William, who went to get a soul. Who loves me.” It’ll be a while before they know that we’re a couple, but I’m cool with that.
I guess I just have to try and make this work—and the first part of that would be to get some sleep.
But, Rupert, before I got to sleep, even though I know you can't hear me: don’t say you’re not sure. When I ask if we’ll tell them eventually, say, “when it’s time,” not “maybe.” Maybe always means no, I’ve learnt that much over the years.
Damn, that was a strange dream. I can still feel… William, lying next to me.
He's there. Either I'm still dreaming, or I've at last been driven mad, or this is for real.
I think back, to the time I first knew how he felt. He probably doesn't remember much of what happened that night—he's never talked about it—but I'd never have been able to be so calm about the revelation if I wasn't warned some time in advance.
I remember thinking, maybe I should have whiskey. My back’s still bruised from when it met the ceiling. I reached for the bottle, but a knock on the door halted me. Who would it be, at this time of night? Buffy, probably, I thought, sighing, and went to let her in.
A blond vampire stood on my doorstep, his eyes a little wild. “Spike?”
“Err, yes,” he said, and his voice had changed—no, not the voice, but the accent. It’d moved up the class scale a notch, and gained some hesitations. “May I come in?”
I nodded, and stood back. He stepped forward, only to find there was a barrier. He flinched away from it. “Sorry, Spike. Come in.” Blue eyes studied me suspiciously, then he moved forward. I noticed that he limped a little. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Which is why you’re limping?”
He stopped, only a few steps inside the door, and looked at me—not quite a challenge, but nearly. “It’s not your concern.”
“Actually, Spike, I think it is. If there’s something out there than can hurt you like that, it’s very definitely my concern.”
“It’s not coming after Bu… the Slayer, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“How do you know?”
The tone of my voice must have been harder than I thought, because he looked down, moving back. Suddenly, a rush of clear seeing come over me: I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his usual leather coat, just a cheap waterproof, and that he hadn’t put his left arm into the sleeve. He’d been badly hurt by something. Even if he wouldn’t tell me what, I decided I’d try to help him.
“Sit down, Spike,” I said, my voice softer. “Do you want anything to drink?”
He sat carefully, as if his leg pained him, and nodded.
“Blood or alcohol?”
“Blood.” His voice was quiet, and I heard a tone of—is it regret? I couldn’t tell. I poured the drinks, blood for him and whiskey for me, handed him one, and sat in the chair opposite where I can watch him.
“Want to take that coat off, Spike?”
He didn’t look up, drinking in great gulps as if this is the first he’d tasted in a long while. Looking at the prominent cheekbones, and thin wrists, I concluded that it probably was. To lose weight like that, he’d have to have gone without for weeks, maybe even months.
“What happened to you, Spike?” I didn’t really expect an answer. He swallowed the last of the blood, and spoke without looking up. I realised that, without thinking, I’ve given him ‘his’ mug, the one with ‘Kiss the Librarian’ on the side.
“Not your concern.”
“Are you sure, Spike? William?”
“What do you mean, calling me William?”
“It’s what I used to call you. Before all… the betrayal.” I fought to keep the pain out of my voice.
“She told you what I did, then, did she?” He lifted his head, meeting my eyes. “Come and stake me, then. I won’t stop you. Can’t stop you.”
I shook my head. “I won’t do that, William. And I want to hear your side of the story.” I’d heard some of Buffy’s side—that they had sex, and an argument, then Spike left town—and Xander’s accusation of rape, but Buffy wouldn’t talk about that.
“I tried to rape her,” he said, fighting to keep his calm face. “I tried to…” The mug fell to the carpeted floor, and he was weeping. Unable to sit and watch when the man I love is in that state, I pushed the mug away and knelt in front of him, wrapping my arm over his shoulders.
“Oh, God, Rupert, what did I do? I know I’m evil—I know I’ve done terrible things-- but that was worst of all. And she was hurt, too. I could see that, and I couldn’t stop myself!”
All I can do is keep holding him, keep running my hand through his hair, keep listening to what he says.
“I couldn’t cope with that, Rupert. I… I shouldn’t be allowed to live!” He jerked out of my hold, wincing but determined. “Stake me, Rupert,” he pleaded.
I looked into his eyes, the colour of clear sky. For a moment, the desperation I see there tempted me, but then I see that this is only what Willow wanted—to end the pain. And to live means to work through that. I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that, William. I want to help you.”
“Help me? You can’t do that, either. I’m evil, Rupert, evil! Even now!”
“Even now what?” I asked. Clearly there was more to this tale.
“Stupid demon! It tricked me. I wanted to be free of the chip—I wanted to kill her, or have her stake me first. Instead, it starts talking about ‘restoring me’. Isn’t the world cursed enough with one flaming ponce?”
Cursed… ponce… the madness and guilt, not to mention suicidal tendencies that have overtaken him… I know this malaise. He’s been given his soul back.
“The demon gave you your soul, didn’t it?”
He nodded. “And made me fight for it, too.”
So that’s how he was injured. The demon was an agent of the powers, I supposed. “That’s how you were hurt?”
“Yes.” Being reminded of that clearly reminds him of the pain, as well, and his handsome face registered the way his body felt.
I took his left hand in mine, pulling it free of the jacket. He hadn’t put it into the sleeve, and soon I saw why—there was a long burn down the forearm, which must have reached almost to the bone at first. He watched my face as I inspect it.
“Can you move your fingers?” I asked, wondering if there’s been any nerve damage.
“Only a bit,” he said. “But I can move these ones.” He brought his right hand up to my forehead, stroking my hair. His actions aren’t as precise as I would have expected, but it was impossible to say if that’s because he’s left handed or very weary. “You’re very handsome, Rupert,” he went on, almost dreamily, on the verge of passing out. “I love you, you know.”
I didn’t know, and it crashes into my previous thoughts. I loved him, as well—he'd helped me in a dark time, even before he had a soul. No matter what he did to Buffy, that was the action of a soulless demon, not something that the souled man can be held entirely accountable for.
I know there's hypocrisy in that, but I can't explain it all for you.
"Stay here tonight—get some rest,” I replied. It was all I had. Saying anything deeper required more preparation.
He drew back, seeming shocked. “But, I’m evil.”
“Not with a soul, you’re not.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“It does. Angel is no longer evil—neither are you.”
He considered this, slowly, then smiled, not the sneer of the ‘mask of Spike’; but a genuine smile, childlike and happy. I couldn’t resist any longer. I kissed him.
Now, several adventures, four months, and a romantic dinner later, I smile in the darkness, feeling his body near mine in the bed, and wonder. Is my love for William real? I’ve felt it all along, and it hurt me deeply when he betrayed me, first to Adam, then by ignoring me for Harmony; then by sleeping with me and refusing to admit he felt anything for me—then, in my absence, sleeping with (well, I doubt they did much sleeping, but I’m English, and she’s like a daughter to me. I don’t have to deal with it) Buffy, and Anya.
They are all quite capable of handling things now. I’m not needed here any more. If I'm needed anywhere, it’s in England, and I should take Willow with me.
I let go of William, because I couldn’t deal with my feelings, and he took it, and left. The others had accepted the idea that I loved him, but in the end I kept pushing him away. It was too soon after Jenny, after Olivia, too much like Ethan all over again, and I couldn’t cope with being hurt.
Well, sometimes I can. William is one of the most wonderful things I’ve ever been privileged to have—his love is deep, and before I rejected him it was true.
He must have thought I didn’t love him. It wasn’t that—I did, I do—but that I wasn’t ready for it. With Buffy’s training to attend to, the Magic Box to care for, and his growing affection for my Slayer, not to mention the other troubles in our lives (and unlives) it was all just too much for me.
I thought it was that way with him, after Adam, after he went for Buffy again, after I went back to England. It couldn’t be—how could he still love me? We would sleep together occasionally, when we needed company, but it didn’t really work because neither of us felt we could be honest. I was afraid he might lead me back to my dark side, make me into Ripper just as Ethan did. I was in enough danger of that when Buffy was dead anyway—only just before, I killed a human. Perhaps only Willow really appreciates how much danger I was in, since she’s the one who fell.
I love him, and I need him to know: but I have to go back to England. Willow needs me there.
He has a soul now. That is a true surprise, and that fact that he went through trials to get it, made up his mind and went, is both impressive and almost frightening. If he can get a soul just by setting his mind to it, what can’t he get if he tries?
I love him, and he loves me. We have a long way to go, but the possibility exists that we will succeed. I have to give it a try. If I don’t try, I will never be able to forgive myself.
We broke up all those years ago because he was falling more and more for Buffy. That’s what I said at the time. Now, I think maybe I had more issues than he did. I thought-feared- that he’d bring Ripper out again.
When he told me that he wanted to be with me, that was the sweetest moment ever. It must have been. He apologised for all the things he’d done, for not being able to see his feelings for Buffy for what they were—lust—and asked me if he could stay in the apartment for a day or two. I said yes, and we slept together for the first time since I left for England, over a year ago. No sex, just the sleeping, curled up against each other, his smaller body cradled in mine. Proper love-birds, we were, in our little nest.
I hope I can be with him for the rest of my life. The part of me that never submitted to the Watcher’s Council says ‘and beyond’. I want to be with him forever, always able to feel him in my arms, hold him when he dreams and talks in his sleep, let his arms slide about me, lift me, when I’m tired. This love is eternal.
Knowing that he has come back, that he has made up with me, that he is with me even now, brings a whole new light to my life. I still have things to face, problems in England to deal with, Buffy to help, Willow to assist, but it is easier to face anything when you don’t feel so alone anymore.
Let me tell them, one thing at a time. First your soul, then why, then us. Don’t say ‘maybe’ in that sulky tone of voice, and tell them anyway. It’s got to be slow. They don't need to be shocked.
And for heaven's sake, let me get the trip to England out of the way first.
The Resurrection Gambit
Part One: Quiet Drinks in a Foreign Land
China, 2023: “Shanghai,” muttered Xander as he dodged the vampire's punch. “Why the Hell did it have to be Shanghai?”
Dawn just rolled her eyes at him. The vampire—old one, she thought, her usual glamours weren’t throwing it—took a swing at her. She ducked, and its fist shattered brick behind her. She didn’t stop to see the spectacle. She fell to her back and kicked out, tripping the vampire’s feet out from under it. It fell forward, and Dawn let gravity do her stake’s work for her.
“Hello!” she said, springing to her feet. “Doing all the work here! Complain later!”
Xander got his bearings, turned, and staked the vampire before it could get another shot at him.
“You sound just like your sister sometimes.”
Dawn shot Xander a withering glance. They stepped back to back to assess the potential danger from the remaining vampires. The vampires obviously didn’t like the odds. One swore in Mandarin, and they retreated into the night.
“We never go anywhere nice,” said Xander. Dawn shook her head, but was smiling. “Twenty years," she thought. "And in some ways, he hasn’t changed.”
She was glad of that.
They pushed on to the waterfront bar they’d been headed toward when they were attacked. Dawn noted that the vampire gangs were getting larger, more organized.
Xander nodded, more serious. “They’re coming together for protection,” he said. “The war’s starting.”
Dawn said nothing. They approached the bar in silence.
Inside, a seedy, underworld—in both senses of the phrase—crowd hid in plain sight, obscured by each other’s efforts to remain unseen. Through the dim light, they sought out their colleagues. Xander knew they’d have beaten them here.
He was right. Wesley and Spike sat in a corner, obviously as unhappy with their location as Xander was. Shanghai had not been good to them.
Xander and Dawn pulled up chairs.
“I was afraid you weren’t coming,” said Wesley, smiling thinly.
“Vampire attack,” said Xander. “They’re coming fewer now, but more viciously.”
“Like bloody wolves pushed out of the woods by construction,” said Spike. “They’ve got nothing to lose now.”
“The balance is gone,” said Wesley. “We need to set it right, before the Slayers are gone.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“So,” said Dawn, all business. “Is everyone in place?”
“Buffy’s group is in London,” said Spike. “Willow’s got the wards cast, and is dead sure the spell will work. Faith and Vi have Slayers spread out across the globe. We don’t know exactly what the reaction will be. Could be bloody chaos.”
“It’s not like we have a choice, Spike,” said Xander, grimly. “We’ve got to finish what we started in Sunnydale. The fate of the world depends on it. Angel died for it.”
They were silent then. Wesley went pale. His stiff upper lip was quivering a bit, Dawn thought. Xander and Wesley had become close—nearly brothers, in some ways. At first it was because they were at the core of the new Watcher’s Council, but then Angel’s death, in this very city… it had affected the two of them hardest of all.
Wesley raised his glass.
“To Angel, and to everyone else that’s died to set this sorry world right.”
The four of them toasted in silence. Four heroes, each of whom have been through the fires more than they could count. They drank silently for a moment, and then Spike smiled maliciously.
“They’ll never forgive us for what we’re about to do to them,” he said, his dark mood evident despite his voice’s lilt. “Trust me mates, “I know.”
Great stuff Am-Chau.
Victor, I'm glad you decided to keep on writing fic. I like this a lot.
Victor, man, you make me squirm in all the right places.
Thanks, all. Part Two will be around later today or tomorrow. Must work now.
YAY! More Victor!!!!!!!!!
[link]
Victor's CWDP story is up now. There was a minor delay involving some minor hacks to my alt.css for the site, as it turns out NN4.7x is even more random in its support of CSS than even I knew.
Victor, great story. Loving Dawn and Xander more and more. You do good Spike.