full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
We Will Remember Them by Lilachigh
 
Chp 35 Sweet Sorrow
 
<<     >>
 








We will remember them…
By Lilachigh


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Laurence Binyon






Chapter Thirty-Five

Sweet Sorrow



Buffy sped across the chateau grounds, running away from the long gravel driveway, from the lorry carrying Spike and from the car with the Walsh family on board. The overwhelming desire was to run after them, but she knew she wasn’t strong enough; they had too great a head start. There was one chance – just one. At the end of the drive, a great ornamental iron gate shut off the rest of the world. Hopefully the two vehicles would have to stop there, wait for the guard to come out of his hut and unlock the gate to let them out. Unless the gate was already open…

No! – her breath tore at her throat – she wouldn’t consider that - she just needcd that luck, that extra few minutes to cut through the woods and reach the road in front of them.

From far behind her, she was aware of shouts, commands in German and the faint roar of a motorbike engine. She’d been seen! They were coming after her – but no bike would get through the thick woods – they would have to go out of the gate as well!

She bent low and forced herself to run even faster, knowing she was using up the last of her Slayer strength, but desperate to reach the shelter of the trees before the bullets started flying. But none came and she realised that Visser, the German commandant, was determined to take her alive and she didn’t think being a young American girl would keep her from a Nazi prison this time.

Trees at last – branches whipping against her face, brambles clutching at her legs as she struggled through thick undergrowth. Could she still hear the lorry? Had it stopped? Gasping, sobbing for breath, she forced her way through the final barrier of holly bushes just as the big black car came slowly along the road, gathering speed as it did, the lorry rumbling along in low gear behind it.

Buffy ignored the car: the Walshes could go to hell – it was Spike she needed - Spike she had to rescue. With a final leap – more of desperation than belief - she flung herself at the back of the lorry as it passed, one foot on the tailboard, hands scrabbling for a hold on the heavy canvas covering, aware of the roar of a motorbike thundering up the road behind her.

Then the canvas parted and she fell inside, the two guards leaping up, reaching for their weapons, but off balance, swaying precariously as they swung round a bend and down a hill, unprepared for the volley of blows and kicks that rained down upon them from a Slayer at the end of her mental and physical tether. Black uniforms – SS guards – not ordinary German soldiers. Spike had managed to get captured by the worst people possible.

One went down unconscious, the other came at Buffy, arms swinging, mouth open – she could smell the rank of his breath see the fury and terror in his eyes – she dodged, kicked his legs from under him and tipped him out of the lorry, hearing the screech of brakes as the bike swerved to avoid him as he hit the road.

The blare of a horn, a violent flashing of the bike’s headlight and the driver of the lorry finally realised something was wrong. It slowed to a stop as Buffy feverishly threw boxes of papers aside to get at the chained figure who, from the violent cursing she could hear coming from under the blood-stained hood covering his head, was at least alive.

“Hold still, you idiot! I’m trying to get you free.” Her breath caught in her chest; it was all taking too long! The chains were new; bright double padlocks fastened them round his wrists and ankles. At last, with a sob of despair, she broke the chain holding Spike’s arms behind his back and, with the last of her strength, snapped the bonds round his ankles.

“Get this friggin’ thing off my head!”

With a violent tug, the cord parted and Buffy pulled off the hood. Spike roared as the material that had been stuck to cuts on his face, opened them up again. “Careful! Stupid bint! That hurts.” Spike was in full vamp face, clawing the air, searching for prey.

Buffy hauled him to his feet. “One more word, Spike, just one and I’ll leave you here. Jeez, I’m already wishing I hadn’t bothered finding you.”

Blue eyes gleamed briefly as he vamped back and grinned. “And nice to see you, too, Slayer! Thought we’d meet again. Feeling better, I see.”

He was lying; he didn’t think she looked better; in fact, he thought she looked bloody dreadful. Hair dull and lifeless, her skin pale, almost translucent, her eyes had sunk into her head and she seemed – he hunted for a word – frail.

And the odd thing was, even when he’d been captured, surprised by the squad of SS soldiers who’d arrived to escort the Walshes to Paris, beaten up and thrown into this lorry, he’d been certain that the Slayer would try to rescue him.

The SS had taken turns holding him upright whilst fists and feet thudded into his face and body, for no other reason than that they wanted to inflict pain. And they had. But through it all, he’d known – and the knowing had caused him more pain than the blows – that the Slayer would come for him. One day, when he wasn’t busy being hunted by the German army, Spike reckoned he’d have to sit and think about that. Why had he never doubted her? But now he was wondering what the effort had cost her.

Buffy stared at the boxes of papers and equipment stacked inside the lorry, but there was no time to investigate. “Quick! We need to get out of here.” But just then she heard shouting - in German and English. Obviously the Walshes car had stopped as well and the three scientists had walked back to see what the problem was with the lorry carrying their research projects.

“Come out! Whoever you are! Come out. You can’t get away. Come out or you’ll be shot!”

“Aus! Aus! Hande hoch!”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like we’re trapped, pet.”

“Don’t call me pet,” Buffy answered automatically. She clenched her fists and turned to the canvas opening. “There can’t be that many of them. The Walshes don’t count. Probably just the two drivers and the soldier on the motorbike.”

Spike shrugged. “Good odds, Slayer. Except they’ve got guns. I’ll be fine, but you – ” he shrugged, “ - you didn’t do too well against the last bullet that hit you. I wouldn’t have got caught if you hadn’t developed some poxy fever!”

Buffy reached for the canvas opening, then hesitated. This fighting against guns was so alien. Slayers fought vampires, demons, and the powers of darkness, not men with guns. Was this how she died - again? Did she care? She almost felt the click inside her head - jeez, she’d never thought she was the brightest at working out the whys and wherefores of Slayerdom, she left that to Giles and Willow – but surely she should have guessed earlier? It was blindingly obvious; she wasn’t here to stop the Walshes from building the Initiative – she was here to save Spike’s life!

She had no idea why that should be important; but obviously it was. As a Slayer she was redundant, Faith was still alive. She had never believed that Quentin Travers would have gone to all this trouble just to get rid of her. No, there had to be a reason behind everything; it wasn’t saving Joy, it wasn’t stopping the Initiative, it could only be saving this particular vampire for whatever lay ahead of him in the future.

“Stay here!” she snapped at Spike. “Wait till they’ve captured me, then you can get away – find Dru – eat the charm – forget – ”
She pulled the canvas covering back and stared out. It was almost dark now, trees were outlined sharply black against a star littered sky. The beam from the motor-bike’s headlight illuminated the group waiting for her – three soldiers in the black uniforms of the SS, pointing guns at the lorry and the Walsh family, standing together in huddle to one side, looking nervous and unhappy.

“OK! OK! Don’t shoot!” Buffy raised her hands above her head and was about to jump down when there was a roaring growl behind her and she was pushed violently in the back, ending up flat on her face on the road. As she rolled swiftly to one side, she heard the crack of a gun firing, saw Spike throw one of the guards into the ditch, then whirl to tackle another. But the butt of a gun clubbed down on the side of his head and he staggered, dazed for those vital seconds that could have meant victory.

Buffy leapt to her feet, but knew it was over. They’d lost; whatever Fate had in store for Spike would now never happen because he would soon be dead. To her amazement, she realised she was smiling; so she’d die again – a third time. Perhaps this time would be the last. At least she’d be in very good company.

Then, just as the third SS soldier raised his gun to shoot, there was a great Whoosh of noise and smoke and the whole canvas covering of the lorry burst into flame. In that second, the soldier’s attention was distracted and Buffy’s flying kick sent the gun spinning away into the dark woods.

The Walshes ran, yelling, towards the lorry. “Save the papers!” the Professor was shouting. “The research! Save the research!”

Buffy pushed past them; if they wanted to risk their lives in that inferno, they were welcome. She dodged the SS guard who was now rushing towards her, fists flailing: her hand caught him full on the mouth and she felt a tooth break. But now she realised just how dreadfully weak she was: she was slow, her reaction time down to zero. Turn – punch – swing – too slow, too soft. The man was bigger, stronger and realised she could be beaten. And to make things worse, Spike had vanished from the fight and the second guard was advancing towards her, cutting off her retreat.

“Slayer!” A deep growl from an engine and Spike, his face painted red and gold from the light of the flames, came roaring up astride the motorbike. Swerving it around in a tight skid, he reached out a hand and effortlessly swung her up behind him. “Hold tight!” he shouted and revving the engine again, drove towards the soldiers who leapt to safety.

Then they were away, the shouts and flames left far behind. There was just the rush of cold night air on her body and the even colder touch of Spike’s back as she pressed her face against him and tightened her arms around his waist.

……

Deep in the woods where the trees grew close together, their branches shutting out the starlight, Buffy sat, her back against the trunk of a great oak. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, for her to let go, fade away, vanish. In the silence of the woods, she could hear an odd ticking noise as the hot metal of the bike began to cool. Tick, tick, tick, counting down the seconds until she was no more.

Spike was sprawled on the ground at her side. “Always wanted a good bike,” he said suddenly. “Reckon I can ride that one right across Europe.”

“Did you have to drive it quite so fast?”

“Always with the criticism, Slayer!” He sounded irritated. Bloody hell, the woman had no gratitude. None at all. Well, that was all the thanks you got for rescuing your mortal enemy from – well – from your mortal enemies. Spike frowned. Sometimes life got very complicated and made his brain ache.

“Sorry.”

The word was hardly spoken, more of a sound than a word, but Spike sat up and Buffy could see the flash of his teeth and the gleam of his eyes. “An apology, Slayer? That’s a first.”

“Well, make the most of it. You won’t get another one. Ever!”

Silence fell again but it was friendly, warm, shared. “I wonder what caused the fire in the lorry?” Buffy asked.

There was a movement at her side and Spike’s lighter clicked on – the silver one he’d stolen and she knew so well. “Didn’t think you’d want all that scientific stuff getting back to the good old U S of A, Slayer.”

Buffy stared at the face illuminated by the flickering flame – he was smiling, eyes dancing with mischief. As she watched, he ran his tongue over his lips and she had to stop herself reaching out to pull him towards her, to let her own tongue follow that same path.

“Thank you,” she whispered because he was so pleased and there was no way she could tell him that it was all in vain, because years ahead, the Walshes’ daughter would cut open his skull and plant a metal chip inside it. And perhaps he was right to be pleased: destroying the research must surely have slowed the Initiative’s development. Perhaps it was only right that they’d only reached that stage of experimentation by the time they captured Spike. At least she knew they’d been successful with him. If they’d tried it earlier, it might have failed and he could have died.

She sighed: if only she wasn’t so tired! But she felt satisfied; her mission had been successful. She’d been sent back in time to save Spike, and that was exactly what she’d done. Quentin Travers wouldn’t find any excuse to criticise her.

Suddenly she gasped. “Oh jeez! No!”

“What?” Spike’s hand was on her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but – I’ve lost Henry!” Spike tried not to laugh at the despair in her voice as she patted all her pockets. “He’s gone!”

“He usually turns up, like a bad penny. But if he’s – well – dead - there’s not a lot you can do about it, Slayer. There’s a war on – wars mean casualties.”

“What will Valerie say?”

“Slayer – she’s a bloody witch! She should know.”

For a second she rested her cheek against the hand on her shoulder, then raised her own hand and twisted her fingers through his. Somehow the seconds became minutes but neither of them spoke or moved. Spike could feel the warmth of her skin against his, burning like the fire he knew would consume him if he gave in to his desire.

The swoop of an owl, hunting through the woods with a hooting cry, broke them apart. Buffy sat up and tightened her hair. The night was almost over: she could make out the sky now through the leaves. Sunrise wouldn’t be far away and Spike would have to be under cover somewhere by then. She pulled her half of the charm out of her pocket and stared at it. Spike raised an eyebrow and produced the other half. “So, it’s really goodbye time, is it?”

Buffy nodded wearily. “I think it has to be. At least yours isn’t covered in fluff!”

Spike grinned and swopped over the black and purple pieces. “OK, Slayer. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll eat the fluffy bit!”

Buffy opened her mouth to tell him that Henry had probably licked it as well, then decided that she wouldn’t bother! His half of the charm looked much the nicer. “What will you do when I’ve gone?” she asked suddenly.

Spike shrugged. “Ride my new toy eastwards. Get news of my Dru. Raise hell. Have fun. Get me a drink of nice hot, fresh blood!” He tried to sound enthusiastic and failed.

“Will you miss me?”

“Oh yes! Like the pain the arse you’ve become! How can I miss a Slayer?”

Buffy picked up the charm and rolled it between her fingers. It was weird that something so small could be so powerful. “I feel I’m leaving a movie halfway through,” she complained. “I want to know what happens to Joy, Aurora, Valerie and everyone back in England.”

Spike nodded. “Well, at least you know that we meet again, Buffy Summers, although sixty odd years is a bloody long time to wait. And you still never told me who wins the war! For all I know, we could be speaking German when we next meet. Of course, everything we’ve done here, now, might change the sodding future, I suppose. Perhaps I won’t be there when you get back.”

Buffy stared at him, appalled. She’d never even thought of that possibility. A life without Spike – no! She’d rather stay here in this time – but even as she thought it, she knew she couldn’t. She was fading fast and soon there would be nothing left of her to travel forward in time.

As the sky lightened above them, Spike looked at her stricken expression and reached out to clasp her hand once more. “You’ve got to go, pet! I know that. We’ll do it together. It’s been fun, Slayer!”

Without taking her gaze from his, Buffy slipped the charm in her mouth, watching as he did the same. For a long second, it lay on her tongue, fizzing slightly.

Spike’s expression changed as he bit down on the striped sweet and felt the power begin to work inside him. His grasp tightened: “I’ll find you, Buffy! Whatever it takes, Buffy Summers, I’ll find you again.” He blinked, shuddered and slid forward to rest against – nothing!


To be finished. Final – and I mean it this time – chapter coming next.
































 
<<     >>