Business as Usual

Chapter 25: Aftermath



The oldest cemetery in Sunnydale was a place of many shadows: the guy who was supposed to care for it only came when someone complained that their ancestor’s grave was overgrown. The grass grew dank and high, dark trees threw black shade, old tombstones and stone angels, pitted and scarred by the years fell where they could. The people they marked had long disappeared from memory, their bodies now dusty bones – or, of course, as Agnes Pringle thought cheerfully, they had been turned and were living happy and productive lives in the underside of Sunnydale.

Of all the graveyards, this one was her favourite: the new ones with their smooth stretches of grass and neat plaques and headstones – all made to a similar size and style – she found soul destroying. Well, she would have found them soul destroying if she’d had a soul to destroy, but she was sure the feeling was the same. They were too polished, too laundered. People were all so different in life; why did they have to be regimented in death?

She changed the bag she was carrying from one hand to the other. It was very heavy, but it hadn’t been easy deciding what to bring, so she had finally packed everything.

Agnes reached the wooden door of Spike’s crypt and hesitated. She put down her shopping bag and took a deep breath. She hadn’t seen him for several days, not since she’d helped him back to his crypt after the Slayer’s death. He had said nothing as they’d stumbled together through the streets of Sunnydale.

He had stopped the dreadful crying, but Agnes had heard the broken bones inside his body grating as they walked. But when they’d reached his crypt, he had opened the door, gone inside and closed it in his face, shutting her out.

She didn’t blame him. She knew how he felt. When her dear mother had passed on, all Agnes had wanted to do was crawl into bed, turn her face to the wall and grieve. But, of course, that hadn’t been possible because the funeral had to be arranged, friends contacted, her clothes sorted and even when it was all over, there still wasn’t time to cry because the bills had to be paid, so Agnes had to go straight back to work.

For some reason, Agnes had expected Spike to appear at her tea-stall the following night. Because, of course, she’d had to start working again in the garbage dump. The limousine that had arrived to take her to the airport to begin yet another new life had been sent away, back to Los Angeles with a message to Mr Nicholas Elder of Wolfram & Hart, saying that it wasn’t convenient to leave America at this precise time, but Agnes would certainly be only too happy to move to England in the future when her affairs were a little less unsettled.

She had seen no need to mention Spike’s name. Mr Elder didn’t seem like the sort of demon who would understand completely about friendship and loyalty. Agnes recalled the rows of shiny, pointed teeth – and shuddered. Dear Richard had always been - a little, what was the word she wanted? – unreliable - when it came to choosing his employees.

Spike had not come to the dump. Clem told her that he had tried to speak to him but he’d just shouted to him to bugger off and refused to open the crypt door.

Agnes had sighed at the use of such foul language but knew now wasn’t the time to get upset. She had pondered on whether it would be polite to enter his crypt through the tunnel system that ran under the whole of Sunnydale. But – she felt a shudder of embarrassment – the last time she had visited Spike in that fashion, she had found him kissing the Slayer. Well, he certainly wouldn’t be doing that again!

She gasped as the full implication of that conclusion reached her. “Agnes Pringle, that is a mean-spirited thought,” she said out loud, bitterly ashamed of herself. She’d been brought up never to speak ill of the dead, and although it was hard, with Buffy Summers being who and what she was, surely there was no need for cattiness.

“I know that a dead Slayer is a thing to rejoice about, but Spike obviously doesn’t see it that way. And I’m quite sure her little sister doesn’t.”

Agnes bit her lip, wondering if Spike would swear at her. Still, this was an emergency and she would just have to bear it if he did. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me,” she murmured and knocked on the door.

“Whoever it bloody well is, go the bloody hell away!”

“Spike, it’s me, Agnes. Please open the door.”

There was a long pause and then, wearily, “Go home, Agnes. There’s nothing you can do here. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Agnes hesitated, then her vampire hearing picked up the sound of a bottle clinking on glass and even through the door she realised she could smell the aroma of whisky. “Spike! Are you drinking? That really is not going to help.” She was beginning to get angry. There was so much to do and he was wasting time in getting intoxicated. Men! She sometimes wondered why they were considered the stronger sex. “Spike – I am going to stand here until you let me in. And there are some very odd-looking demons wandering around Sunnydale at the moment. Although I am quite prepared to fight for my virtue, I think you might be – ”

She stopped as the door swung open and Spike stood there. She gasped; his red shirt was open, his jeans dirty and soaked with Scotch. He looked dreadfully thin, although the cuts and grazes on his face seemed to be healing. He swayed slightly, glaring at her. “Come in if you’re coming, then. Last thing I want to see is you giving up your virginity to some sodding demon, Aggie! That would be the final straw.”

Agnes shut her ears to the words and marched into the crypt, clutching her bag to her bosom. She placed it on a handy tombstone and began to unpack. “I expect you haven’t eaten since – well, since. I’ve brought you a flask of chicken soup and a ginger cake. Here – drink this. I’ve added a whole packet of blood to it. Straight from the butcher. Really thick and wholesome, I insisted on bull’s blood, not pig. And then there’s a ginger cake for afters.”

Spike stared at the mug she was holding out to him. He flashed in and out of game face, overcome with a desire to smash the soup to the ground. Why the hell didn’t people leave him alone? Buffy had gone – the girl he loved so much was dead and he had to carry on without her.

“Spike – it’s the funeral tomorrow. The Slayer’s little sister will need you to be there for her.”

The vampire turned away, not wanting even Agnes to see the pain those words caused him. “The last person she’ll want to see at the funeral is me,” he said. “Dawnie’s got all the Scoobies to support her and Giles. What the hell can I do that they can’t? I tried to see her yesterday and Willow told me to get lost, that I was making things harder for Dawn, reminding her. She said Dawn blamed me; I should have tried harder to save Buffy. And she’s right! I could’ve run faster, jumped higher, fought the Doctor better. Then she wouldn’t have jumped.”

Agnes sighed. She didn’t know Willow but she knew he meant the redheaded witch who was one of the Slayer’s closest friends. “So you came back here and started drinking,” she said dryly and pushed the mug forward again. She tilted it and, almost without thinking, Spike caught it before it could fall to the floor.

Agnes tried not to smile. Step one accomplished. She didn’t know many male vampires who could resist a mug of home made chicken soup and blood once they were holding it.

She pretended not to notice when Spike absentmindedly began to drink. She turned away and picked up a collection of bottles that were rolling around on the floor.

“That’s it then, is it?” she asked in an off-hand manner. “You’ve given up on Dawn Summers. Right, then perhaps we can go on a little trip together. I’ve never seen the Niagara Falls and – ”

“Bloody hell, Aggie. I can’t go on any trip - I haven’t given up on Dawn! She’s all I’ve got left of Buffy. The Slayer would expect me to look after her – but how do I know the Scoobies aren’t right? That seeing me will just make things worse for her?”

Agnes unwrapped the ginger cake and cut him a slice. Sadly it was a little soggy in the centre; she had been so distracted while she was making it. The customers in Willy’s Bar had been holding a “The Slayer is Dead” party. But hopefully Spike wouldn’t notice.

“Well, you’ll never know until you try, will you? Perhaps the funeral isn’t a good time to talk to her, but how about afterwards? She’s going to feel even worse. It’s so final when the earth hits the coffin. That sound will stay with her forever. First her mother, then her sister. That’s a lot of grief for a young girl to cope with, Spike. I think you owe it to Joyce and Buffy to at least try and watch out for her.”

Spike gloomily ate another slice of ginger cake. “OK, after the funeral, I’ll try.” He laughed bitterly. “That’s another thing, they’re burying the Slayer in the middle of the day! Couldn’t have chosen a worse time for me, could they? No way I can bloody go, not covered up in a blanket.”

Agnes sighed. She had the nasty feeling that Buffy’s friends and family hadn’t arranged the funeral to spite Spike. They just hadn’t thought about him at all – which was even worse, of course.

“Agnes? I want to see her one more time before they bury her.”

She spun round, still clutching an empty whisky bottle; her faded blue eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

He raised his head and she thought she had never seen such pain on a vampire’s face before. “They’re going to put her in the ground tomorrow. Tonight’s my last chance – just to see her one more time. Will you come with me?”

Agnes hesitated: she would never tell Spike, but a big part of her had rejoiced at the Slayer’s death. It wasn’t easy living in a town where you could be staked at any moment of the day or night. And as no new Slayer had appeared, it looked at though whoever had been called was going to operate somewhere else. Which was such a great relief.

But Buffy Summers had been dear Joyce’s daughter. And Agnes had liked Joyce. What was more important, Spike loved Buffy, as strange and inappropriate as that was, it was the truth. Agnes knew she had already sacrificed a new life to stand by his side.
Visiting the Slayer’s dead body would be just one more thing she could do for him.

tbc