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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
Chapter 33: Mr. Gordo
Author's Notes: Due to the content of this chapter, Author’s Notes will be at the end. I do just want to say thank you to all of you who have reviewed and stuck with me this long.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae
Banner by Phuriedae
Chapter 33
Mr. Gordo
"Alatáriel, Lady of Light, we beseech thee," Willow chants, dangling my yin yang necklace above a small white candle. Tara stands beside her, passing her ingredients.
"Think it'll work?" Xander asks quietly, watching. I'm sitting beside him and Anya, feeling slightly miserable.
"Probably," I say. If the feeling in my stomach is anything to go by, it will.
"You don't want to do this," Anya says, tilting her head. "Why? You're not curious?"
"Of course I'm curious," I say. "But…I don't know. I can't help but feel like this isn't how to do it, you know? Like…like there's something I'm supposed to do first, or-or figure out. This is like…cheating, somehow."
"What if it really is Spike?" she asks.
"I don't know. I guess…I try to talk to him," I say. "Find out what he's hiding."
"You don't seem that upset," Xander says. "If I found out that Spike was invading my dreams every night, I'd be pissed."
"He's been…a friend," I say. "When everything was happening with mom…I talked to him, you know? I…felt like I could tell him anything and he would just listen and…I didn't have to worry about him trying to fix things or judge me or any of that. He was just…there for me."
"We were there for you," Xander says.
"You were," I say. "And I'm so grateful for you guys. I don't know what I would have done without you. But…I don't know. He gave me something else…something I didn't even know I needed."
I know that they’re only doing this because they’re concerned. I get that. I know that they just want to protect me…but how can I explain to them what I can’t even really explain to myself? Mr. Gordo…Spike, if it is Spike…he’s mine. My vampire. My friend. And I feel like I’m betraying him.
There's a flash of light from Willow's direction and a sudden chime in the air. The candle has gone out.
"It worked!" she says, grinning. She touches the pendant with one finger. "Day." Immediately, the pendant begins to glow with a soft golden light like candlelight. Willow's grin widens. "Night," she says. The light goes out. "Perfect."
"No kablooey," I say. "I like that part. It's not going to fry me, is it?"
"No. And it shouldn't fry him, either. It's candlelight, not sunlight. You can’t actually do this spell with sunlight—not without putting out the sun. I just figured, you know, day and night were easy keywords to remember."
She pools the pendant and chain in my hand, where it gleams, silver and gold. So simple. So easy. It feels wrong.
"Do you want us to stay with you tonight?" Willow asks. "In case something …goes wrong?"
"I don't know. I guess. Couldn't hurt to have you on hand just in case," I say, staring at the necklace. "Magic's not really my thing. You don't think this is too easy?"
"No such thing," she says. "It'll be fine. You'll see."
***
Giles drives us back to my house. Willow and Tara have stayed over enough lately that they've both got bags with clothes and things there. He promises to be over, first thing in the morning, to see what happened.
I wonder if I can get away with not doing anything.
I take my time getting ready for bed. The others said I should just do what I usually do, so I don't alarm him. Wait until he's asleep, if I can. My stomach churns a little.
I could pretend it didn't work, couldn't I? Say I tried and…but then they'd just try something else. I sigh and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I wish mom were here. I could tell her, she'd know what to do. Or she'd have something…you know, wise and insightful to say.
But she's not. It's just me. Buffy. The Slayer. I'm supposed to have the answers, right? Supposed to know what to do in these situations. Only I really don't. Not this time.
I touch the pendant with one finger. "Day." In the mirror, the soft glow of the necklace lights the under planes of my face. I flip off the overhead light. It's bright enough that I can see across the bathroom easily, but it casts my face in eerie shadows. I pull it out and away from me, a little. That's better. It's not even hot to the touch. I touch it again. "Night."
The light goes out.
***
Willow and Tara bunk down on the floor in my bedroom so they're close in case something happens. I really hope it won't. It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
And then I'm there, sitting on the bed in the dream room, waiting for Mr. Gordo.
He arrives just like always. Not there one minute, and then my Slayer sense goes off and I know where he is, a silent, comforting presence approaching from the opposite side of the bed. He climbs in and sits next to me, then taps three times on the bed.
"What?" I ask, looking in his direction.
He taps again. A question.
"Sorry," I say. "It's…been kind of a weird day."
A cool hand reaches out and strokes down the middle of my back. It feels really good, and I want to relax into it, but…Spike.
"I went to see Spike today," I say, trying to sound casual. His hand doesn't stop stroking me. "I asked him if he was you."
That gets a pause. Then three taps, softly, against my spine.
"What did he say?" I guess. No response. "Or why did I ask him that?"
Yes.
"Because…" I say, then don't know how to finish it. Because I want you to be Spike? I think.
Do I? Really?
Somewhere inside of me something says, yes. I do.
Because…because I know Spike. Because he’s been sort of a friend lately. Because I think I might…
But I can't tell him that. What if he isn't? What if he is? I might want it to be Spike but…I know better than to tell him that.
"Because…I don't know, I…it was just a feeling," I say. "But…he didn't really give me an answer. And I'd rather you didn't. I don't want you to lie to me."
He pauses again, then takes me by the shoulders and pulls me into his arms. He bends his head and brushes his mouth over the vein in my neck, then taps three times. "Do I trust you?" I ask.
Yes.
"I want to," I say. "I really want to." Gently he nips at the skin there, making my Slayer sense go wild, but worse, reminding me of Spike this morning, masculine and sexy as hell, standing in front of me, practically daring me to kiss him. Mr. Gordo presses a kiss against my neck. It feels like a promise.
"Okay," I say. "Can we just go to sleep?" God, I feel guilty and I haven’t even done anything yet.
Yes.
He rearranges himself, so that he's spooned behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist. I curl up and wait, regulating my breathing, trying to pay attention to him and stay awake myself.
Should I do this? Do I really want to know?
The question goes around and around in my head. Do I trust him? I want to. Mr. Gordo I can trust. Spike…I'm not sure about. Somehow, in the space of this last year, I've stopped hating Spike. Now I don't know what we are. Reluctant allies? Friends? Something else? I know what he is, but…he's changed somehow and I can't discount that either.
Still, Giles's warnings and lectures spin through my head, and all the work Willow did getting the pendant ready for me, and Xander's suspicions…
Behind me, I feel Mr. Gordo relax. Whatever reflexive breathing he has when awake stops when he's asleep. Carefully I edge out from under his arm. He rolls toward me a little, then settles when his fingers brush my hip.
Minutes tick by like hours as I sit there in the dark, staring blindly at my sleeping vampire.
I don't want to do this. I want to go to sleep, and get up in the morning, and swear that the necklace doesn't work here. I want to find a way to keep this…mine.
But I'm the Slayer.
Since when does what I want mean anything to the Powers That Be?
I touch the necklace. "Day," I whisper. Light pours out of the pendant, and for the first time I gaze down at my sleeping vampire.
He's pale against the black sheets that cover him from hips to feet. The black t-shirt he's wearing is rucked up around his stomach, exposing a few inches of white skin over solid muscle. One arm is tucked lazily behind his head, the other is outstretched toward me. His fingernails are painted black. They're chipped, as though he's been picking at them. Bleached white hair riots around his head like a punk version of cupid's curls. In sleep, his face is boyish, relaxed. Only the thin white scar that trisects his left eyebrow is a reminder that he's not as innocent as he seems. Taken one at a time, I think, his facial features aren't anything special. His nose is a little too big. His chin kind of soft, even though his jaw is strong. His mouth is small, a little pouty. His eyebrows too dark, too heavy. Those cheekbones…you could cut yourself on them, they're so sharp. But all together, on him…the effect is something akin to …not an angel. Not this one. A devil. A really beautiful devil. He was born to be a demon.
Spike.
Mr. Gordo is Spike.
I'd suspected, but it's nothing to actually seeing the truth of it. I'm not sure whether to be angry or elated. What's this all been about? Is Giles right? Has…has he been toying with me, all this time? Trying to find a way to get past my defenses? The thought of that hurts so much it makes me ache.
As if sensing my discomfort, his head turns toward me, a frown causing his heavy black brows to draw together, a tiny crease between them. When I make no further sound, he relaxes again. His lashes are black as crow’s wings against his white cheeks.
"Spike," I whisper, and the spell is broken.
His eyes fly open and stare directly into mine. For one instant he frowns, confused. Then I watch, shocked, as his eyes fill with terror. With a choked noise he backs away from me, covering his face with his hands, gasping.
He's afraid of me?
"Spike?" I ask. "What's…"
"Oh, Buffy," he breathes. "Oh, god, luv, why?"
"Spike, I…I don't understand, what is this?" I reach out and tug his arms away from his face. The look on his face…panic. Total and absolute panic.
"Why did you do it, luv? Why? Why couldn't you have trusted?" he says on a choked breath. "Oh, god. Only a few more weeks…Bloody hell!" He lunges forward, grips me by the shoulders tightly. "Listen to me, Buffy, I want to explain but I don't think we've got much time."
"Much time for—-Spike you're gonna explain this, now," I tell him.
"I want to, luv. God I want to, but she's coming. Can't you feel it? The cold?" And I realize he's right, the temperature in the room is dropping rapidly. "Listen to me, Buffy. In my crypt, downstairs, by the bed is my journal. Black cover, battered thing, beaten all to hell. You've seen it before. There's a spell on it. One of those willpower ones, like Red talked about at Christmas. Find it. Read it. From the beginning. It's all in there. Everything. Every word I've wanted to tell you from the beginning, but couldn't, even the not so nice ones. Promise me you'll read it, Buffy. All of it. No matter how awful I was in parts. Promise me?"
"Spike, I—"
"Promise," he growls, a hard demand, desperation behind his eyes. "God, if this…if this has meant anything to you, anything at all, please grant a dead man's request. Promise me you'll read it."
"I promise," I tell him. My breath fogs in the air.
He yanks me toward him hard and covers my mouth with his, kissing me as if he's dying again. His hands tangle in my hair, and I'm surprised to taste tears as he parts my lips and his tongue touches mine. God, the way he kisses…I've never been kissed like this before. Not by Angel, or Riley…not even by Spike during those few hours we were magically engaged. This is the real thing, no magic, and it's…incredible. Hungry, passionate, and intense. I don't want it to end.
But he's pulling away, leaving soft, lingering kisses on my swollen mouth, and when he pulls back I can see the tears in his eyes.
Spike is crying?
The absolute wrongness of that thought is enough to jolt me back to reality, such as it is.
"Spike?"
He gives me a small smile. "Know you won't believe me, but I want you to know," he says, "I love you, Buffy. I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. I love you, so much. No matter what, I—"
"Will be mine," says a new voice, and the absolute cold of it sends shivers all over my skin.
We both turn to look at the intruder in our little world. She's tall, with long white hair that drifts behind her like fog. Her skin is hard and white, her teeth sharp as daggers, and her eyes are frosted ice over black. Her dress looks like it's been made of frost. She glides closer, and as she does the temperature drops even further, until my breath is steaming in the air and I'm shivering hard. My demon sense is going crazy.
"Sod off, bitch," Spike growls at her, climbing out of the bed and putting himself between me and the ice demon. I clamber out beside him, still reeling a little from what he just said. He loves me? Spike? Loves me? Nothing in my world makes sense right now.
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she just smiles, and I really wish she hadn’t. There’s something really wrong about that smile. Then it hits me—she’s totally insane.
"You're the Cold One," I say.
"And you are the Slayer," she says. "So broken. Such pain. Did I not tell you, pretty vampire, that she would break?"
"Didn't I tell you to sod off?" he says. "I won't go with you. Not willin—" Abruptly he chokes, his eyes going wide. He struggles for a minute, then freezes, only his face seems able to move. The demon tilts her head to the side, studying him.
"Shhh," she tells him. "We had a challenge. I won. You will do exactly as I please, and right now it pleases me that you hold your tongue." When she smiles again it's sharp and nasty. "Is he not so much better when he's silent?" she asks me.
I try to step forward, but my feet won’t budge, whatever she’s doing to Spike, she’s done to me, too. Fear trickles down my spine. If she can freeze us in place, how can I fight her? Still, it only seems to be my feet that don’t want to move, if I could get her closer…
"What's going on?" I ask. "What do you want with Spike and why am I here?"
"Tsk," she says. "Poor little Slayer. Did you know he was meant for you?" she drifts closer and Spike struggles as she draws him toward her. It's as if every muscle in his body is frozen, but still he fights. She reaches out and tears his shirt down the middle with one long fingernail, exposing his chest. Her fingers leave black marks on his skin when she brushes her hand over him and even though he can't make a sound I can tell he's in pain. "Your champion, your partner, your equal-opposite…made wrong, just for you, long before you were even born. And now he is mine. My pretty immortal with a human's heart, a human's pain."
The demoness leans in and kisses him, and when she draws away, I can see she's torn at his lips with her sharp teeth, leaving them bloody.
"And all because you were too impatient. Because you would not trust your own heart. Silly, pathetic Slayer," she hisses. "I will keep forever what you could not even begin to appreciate, and with him at my side, I will be free to roam your world once more."
"You sound pretty confident of that," I tell her, getting angrier with every word out of her mouth. How dare she meddle with my dreams? How dare she waltz in here and take Spike. I don't even know if I like him or not, but I do know this: Mr. Gordo is mine—therefore Spike is mine. And no Frosty the Snow Queen is going to come in and take him from me. "I think you're forgetting who you're dealing with." I fist my hands, ready to fly at her.
"Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with," she says, turning those freaky white eyes of hers on me. "Do you know what I am, little Slayer?"
"What?"
"I am the end," she says. "Why don't you wake up now, and watch it happen. Or try to stop me. Either way, it will be…entertaining."
I lunge at her…
***
…only to find myself sitting straight up in bed, hands balled into fists and swinging at Willow who has scooted back to the foot of the bed in alarm.
For a moment I only stare at her, panting.
"Well?" she says, curiosity winning out. "Did it work?"
Did what work? I look down at the necklace and swallow hard.
Oh. It worked.
"Oh, god," I say. "What've I done?"
"Buffy?" I scramble out of bed and start throwing on my clothes. Part of me still is hoping it was just a bad dream, but a bigger part of me knows the truth. For almost a year I've been dreaming about sleeping next to Spike. About sparring with Spike. About being comforted by Spike and telling him…everything. And all this time it was some game, between him and this demon woman.
I want to hate him. I want to cling to the distrust I've had for him from the beginning, but…the way he kissed me. The way he acted with her. The way he told me that he loved me…I have to know the truth. I have to find his journal and read it and figure out the truth.
I have to get to his crypt.
"Buffy? What's wrong?" Willow's asking, and her voice brings Giles and Tara in from the other room. Outside, dawn is breaking.
"I have to go," I tell them, pulling on my boots.
"Go? Where?"
"I have to go," I repeat. "I…I'll be back. I promise, but I have to check something. Just…wait for me, okay? I…it might take a bit, but I'll be back. Don't come looking for me. Give me a day…or…just…I have to go."
I yank on my coat and am out the door before they can stop me. All I can think is that I have to get to Spike's crypt.
I have to know.
***
There's only one lone crow this morning, sitting on Restfield's gates. He follows behind me, cawing sadly as I flounder through the new drifts toward Spike's crypt. The cemetery feels silent this morning, empty.
The crypt door bangs open hollowly as I enter. Like yesterday the upstairs is deserted, the slab in place over the ladder. I don't bother being quiet.
A light flickers in the bedroom, the same torch, the same bedside lamp. I wonder why Spike doesn't sleep in the dark?
But there's no sense of him here. Not even the slightest tingle. The bed is empty, the sheets pulled up and laying funny, as if someone had been sleeping beneath them, then abruptly vanished. He's gone.
He's really, actually gone.
Oh. God. What did I do?
…In my crypt, downstairs, by the bed is my journal. Black cover, battered thing, beaten all to hell. You've seen it before. There's a spell on it. One of those willpower ones, like Red talked about at Christmas. Find it. Read it. From the beginning. It's all in there. Everything. Every word I've wanted to tell you from the beginning, but couldn't, even the not so nice ones. Promise me you'll read it, Buffy. All of it. No matter how awful I was in parts. Promise me…
A promise. I made a promise.
I glance at the bedside table. There's stuff on it. Alcohol bottles, an ashtray full of half smoked cigarette butts, weapons, a few books. One of them, the one on top, is open, the pages full of writing. I pick it up, holding the page with my thumb. The front of it is battered, black leather. A journal. I've seen it before.
Spike holding it as he comes up out of my basement, just before the Mara attacks…Spike sitting on top of a crypt, scribbling in it…Spike sitting in his chair, writing in it as I storm in, demanding to know about dead slayers…Spike listening to the Grinch and writing with it propped on his thigh…Spike watching me pick it up, then put it down, disappointment on his face…Drusilla tossing it across the room with a shriek…
Now that I know to pay attention to it, I feel the spell on it. It makes me want to put it down, want to throw it away from me, forget I saw it, and whatever I do, I shouldn't read it.
But I promised.
I keep my promises.
I flip it open to the place I've marked with my thumb and deliberately begin to read. His handwriting is…stunningly pretty. Huh. Spike has pretty handwriting. Who'd have thought?
Feeling weirdly like I'm invading his privacy I skim what he'd written most recently.
"…God, I love her so much. Watching her laugh, watching her smile. Seeing how flustered she gets looking at me. I could sit and breathe in her scent every day, always. Having her like that, almost in my arms while she's awake and staring at me…like a bloody dream come true. I'm a selfish bastard, I know it. Let me get through these last few weeks. Let me beat this soddin' challenge…I'll do whatever is in my power to convince Buffy to give me half a chance. I'd walk to hell and back for her. I'd never let her down. Never leave her. She'd have to dust me first…"
Stunned, I read it again.
Oh.
Determined to know the whole thing now, I flip back to the first page. It's a poem? Okay. Spike writes poetry. And loves me.
Spike loves me.
And suddenly I really DO want to know the whole story. How did this happen? Why did that demon bitch want Spike? And what has this shared dream thing been about for the last year?
Curious, and nervous, I start to read.
END PART I
Author’s Notes:
To borrow a phrase from my other fandom, "the way forward is sometimes the way back." So, before Buffy can go forward from here, she's going to have to go back to the beginning. It's time to hear what Spike/Mr. Gordo has had to say. We're going to have to read over her shoulder for it, and it's not going to be all sunshine and daffodils. When I say we're going back, I mean we're going back to last summer, when Spike hated the Slayer. But, as the poem says "A promise made is a debt unpaid." Buffy made a promise, and I owe it to Spike to tell his side of the story. Even the parts where he was awful.
You may have noticed by now that I try to write characters in character, as much as possible, and a vampire's mind is a bloody and very dark place. The beginning of Part II is going to earn the mature/adult/NC-17 rating—not just for the content of Spike’s bloodiest fantasies, but also because he swears. A lot.
For those of you who’ve expressed some dislike for rehashing scenes and dialogue you’ve already read: don't worry, the journal doesn't recount EVERY scene from Spike's POV. For one thing, he wasn't around for a lot of what Buffy was doing. And he had his own stuff going on, as well. There will be some scenes duplicated and mirrored from Part I, but those are for the most part in the minority.
If you don't care to hear what Spike has to say…well, then I guess I'll see you in Part III.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae
Banner by Phuriedae
Chapter 33
Mr. Gordo
"Alatáriel, Lady of Light, we beseech thee," Willow chants, dangling my yin yang necklace above a small white candle. Tara stands beside her, passing her ingredients.
"Think it'll work?" Xander asks quietly, watching. I'm sitting beside him and Anya, feeling slightly miserable.
"Probably," I say. If the feeling in my stomach is anything to go by, it will.
"You don't want to do this," Anya says, tilting her head. "Why? You're not curious?"
"Of course I'm curious," I say. "But…I don't know. I can't help but feel like this isn't how to do it, you know? Like…like there's something I'm supposed to do first, or-or figure out. This is like…cheating, somehow."
"What if it really is Spike?" she asks.
"I don't know. I guess…I try to talk to him," I say. "Find out what he's hiding."
"You don't seem that upset," Xander says. "If I found out that Spike was invading my dreams every night, I'd be pissed."
"He's been…a friend," I say. "When everything was happening with mom…I talked to him, you know? I…felt like I could tell him anything and he would just listen and…I didn't have to worry about him trying to fix things or judge me or any of that. He was just…there for me."
"We were there for you," Xander says.
"You were," I say. "And I'm so grateful for you guys. I don't know what I would have done without you. But…I don't know. He gave me something else…something I didn't even know I needed."
I know that they’re only doing this because they’re concerned. I get that. I know that they just want to protect me…but how can I explain to them what I can’t even really explain to myself? Mr. Gordo…Spike, if it is Spike…he’s mine. My vampire. My friend. And I feel like I’m betraying him.
There's a flash of light from Willow's direction and a sudden chime in the air. The candle has gone out.
"It worked!" she says, grinning. She touches the pendant with one finger. "Day." Immediately, the pendant begins to glow with a soft golden light like candlelight. Willow's grin widens. "Night," she says. The light goes out. "Perfect."
"No kablooey," I say. "I like that part. It's not going to fry me, is it?"
"No. And it shouldn't fry him, either. It's candlelight, not sunlight. You can’t actually do this spell with sunlight—not without putting out the sun. I just figured, you know, day and night were easy keywords to remember."
She pools the pendant and chain in my hand, where it gleams, silver and gold. So simple. So easy. It feels wrong.
"Do you want us to stay with you tonight?" Willow asks. "In case something …goes wrong?"
"I don't know. I guess. Couldn't hurt to have you on hand just in case," I say, staring at the necklace. "Magic's not really my thing. You don't think this is too easy?"
"No such thing," she says. "It'll be fine. You'll see."
Giles drives us back to my house. Willow and Tara have stayed over enough lately that they've both got bags with clothes and things there. He promises to be over, first thing in the morning, to see what happened.
I wonder if I can get away with not doing anything.
I take my time getting ready for bed. The others said I should just do what I usually do, so I don't alarm him. Wait until he's asleep, if I can. My stomach churns a little.
I could pretend it didn't work, couldn't I? Say I tried and…but then they'd just try something else. I sigh and stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I wish mom were here. I could tell her, she'd know what to do. Or she'd have something…you know, wise and insightful to say.
But she's not. It's just me. Buffy. The Slayer. I'm supposed to have the answers, right? Supposed to know what to do in these situations. Only I really don't. Not this time.
I touch the pendant with one finger. "Day." In the mirror, the soft glow of the necklace lights the under planes of my face. I flip off the overhead light. It's bright enough that I can see across the bathroom easily, but it casts my face in eerie shadows. I pull it out and away from me, a little. That's better. It's not even hot to the touch. I touch it again. "Night."
The light goes out.
Willow and Tara bunk down on the floor in my bedroom so they're close in case something happens. I really hope it won't. It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
And then I'm there, sitting on the bed in the dream room, waiting for Mr. Gordo.
He arrives just like always. Not there one minute, and then my Slayer sense goes off and I know where he is, a silent, comforting presence approaching from the opposite side of the bed. He climbs in and sits next to me, then taps three times on the bed.
"What?" I ask, looking in his direction.
He taps again. A question.
"Sorry," I say. "It's…been kind of a weird day."
A cool hand reaches out and strokes down the middle of my back. It feels really good, and I want to relax into it, but…Spike.
"I went to see Spike today," I say, trying to sound casual. His hand doesn't stop stroking me. "I asked him if he was you."
That gets a pause. Then three taps, softly, against my spine.
"What did he say?" I guess. No response. "Or why did I ask him that?"
Yes.
"Because…" I say, then don't know how to finish it. Because I want you to be Spike? I think.
Do I? Really?
Somewhere inside of me something says, yes. I do.
Because…because I know Spike. Because he’s been sort of a friend lately. Because I think I might…
But I can't tell him that. What if he isn't? What if he is? I might want it to be Spike but…I know better than to tell him that.
"Because…I don't know, I…it was just a feeling," I say. "But…he didn't really give me an answer. And I'd rather you didn't. I don't want you to lie to me."
He pauses again, then takes me by the shoulders and pulls me into his arms. He bends his head and brushes his mouth over the vein in my neck, then taps three times. "Do I trust you?" I ask.
Yes.
"I want to," I say. "I really want to." Gently he nips at the skin there, making my Slayer sense go wild, but worse, reminding me of Spike this morning, masculine and sexy as hell, standing in front of me, practically daring me to kiss him. Mr. Gordo presses a kiss against my neck. It feels like a promise.
"Okay," I say. "Can we just go to sleep?" God, I feel guilty and I haven’t even done anything yet.
Yes.
He rearranges himself, so that he's spooned behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist. I curl up and wait, regulating my breathing, trying to pay attention to him and stay awake myself.
Should I do this? Do I really want to know?
The question goes around and around in my head. Do I trust him? I want to. Mr. Gordo I can trust. Spike…I'm not sure about. Somehow, in the space of this last year, I've stopped hating Spike. Now I don't know what we are. Reluctant allies? Friends? Something else? I know what he is, but…he's changed somehow and I can't discount that either.
Still, Giles's warnings and lectures spin through my head, and all the work Willow did getting the pendant ready for me, and Xander's suspicions…
Behind me, I feel Mr. Gordo relax. Whatever reflexive breathing he has when awake stops when he's asleep. Carefully I edge out from under his arm. He rolls toward me a little, then settles when his fingers brush my hip.
Minutes tick by like hours as I sit there in the dark, staring blindly at my sleeping vampire.
I don't want to do this. I want to go to sleep, and get up in the morning, and swear that the necklace doesn't work here. I want to find a way to keep this…mine.
But I'm the Slayer.
Since when does what I want mean anything to the Powers That Be?
I touch the necklace. "Day," I whisper. Light pours out of the pendant, and for the first time I gaze down at my sleeping vampire.
He's pale against the black sheets that cover him from hips to feet. The black t-shirt he's wearing is rucked up around his stomach, exposing a few inches of white skin over solid muscle. One arm is tucked lazily behind his head, the other is outstretched toward me. His fingernails are painted black. They're chipped, as though he's been picking at them. Bleached white hair riots around his head like a punk version of cupid's curls. In sleep, his face is boyish, relaxed. Only the thin white scar that trisects his left eyebrow is a reminder that he's not as innocent as he seems. Taken one at a time, I think, his facial features aren't anything special. His nose is a little too big. His chin kind of soft, even though his jaw is strong. His mouth is small, a little pouty. His eyebrows too dark, too heavy. Those cheekbones…you could cut yourself on them, they're so sharp. But all together, on him…the effect is something akin to …not an angel. Not this one. A devil. A really beautiful devil. He was born to be a demon.
Spike.
Mr. Gordo is Spike.
I'd suspected, but it's nothing to actually seeing the truth of it. I'm not sure whether to be angry or elated. What's this all been about? Is Giles right? Has…has he been toying with me, all this time? Trying to find a way to get past my defenses? The thought of that hurts so much it makes me ache.
As if sensing my discomfort, his head turns toward me, a frown causing his heavy black brows to draw together, a tiny crease between them. When I make no further sound, he relaxes again. His lashes are black as crow’s wings against his white cheeks.
"Spike," I whisper, and the spell is broken.
His eyes fly open and stare directly into mine. For one instant he frowns, confused. Then I watch, shocked, as his eyes fill with terror. With a choked noise he backs away from me, covering his face with his hands, gasping.
He's afraid of me?
"Spike?" I ask. "What's…"
"Oh, Buffy," he breathes. "Oh, god, luv, why?"
"Spike, I…I don't understand, what is this?" I reach out and tug his arms away from his face. The look on his face…panic. Total and absolute panic.
"Why did you do it, luv? Why? Why couldn't you have trusted?" he says on a choked breath. "Oh, god. Only a few more weeks…Bloody hell!" He lunges forward, grips me by the shoulders tightly. "Listen to me, Buffy, I want to explain but I don't think we've got much time."
"Much time for—-Spike you're gonna explain this, now," I tell him.
"I want to, luv. God I want to, but she's coming. Can't you feel it? The cold?" And I realize he's right, the temperature in the room is dropping rapidly. "Listen to me, Buffy. In my crypt, downstairs, by the bed is my journal. Black cover, battered thing, beaten all to hell. You've seen it before. There's a spell on it. One of those willpower ones, like Red talked about at Christmas. Find it. Read it. From the beginning. It's all in there. Everything. Every word I've wanted to tell you from the beginning, but couldn't, even the not so nice ones. Promise me you'll read it, Buffy. All of it. No matter how awful I was in parts. Promise me?"
"Spike, I—"
"Promise," he growls, a hard demand, desperation behind his eyes. "God, if this…if this has meant anything to you, anything at all, please grant a dead man's request. Promise me you'll read it."
"I promise," I tell him. My breath fogs in the air.
He yanks me toward him hard and covers my mouth with his, kissing me as if he's dying again. His hands tangle in my hair, and I'm surprised to taste tears as he parts my lips and his tongue touches mine. God, the way he kisses…I've never been kissed like this before. Not by Angel, or Riley…not even by Spike during those few hours we were magically engaged. This is the real thing, no magic, and it's…incredible. Hungry, passionate, and intense. I don't want it to end.
But he's pulling away, leaving soft, lingering kisses on my swollen mouth, and when he pulls back I can see the tears in his eyes.
Spike is crying?
The absolute wrongness of that thought is enough to jolt me back to reality, such as it is.
"Spike?"
He gives me a small smile. "Know you won't believe me, but I want you to know," he says, "I love you, Buffy. I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you. I love you, so much. No matter what, I—"
"Will be mine," says a new voice, and the absolute cold of it sends shivers all over my skin.
We both turn to look at the intruder in our little world. She's tall, with long white hair that drifts behind her like fog. Her skin is hard and white, her teeth sharp as daggers, and her eyes are frosted ice over black. Her dress looks like it's been made of frost. She glides closer, and as she does the temperature drops even further, until my breath is steaming in the air and I'm shivering hard. My demon sense is going crazy.
"Sod off, bitch," Spike growls at her, climbing out of the bed and putting himself between me and the ice demon. I clamber out beside him, still reeling a little from what he just said. He loves me? Spike? Loves me? Nothing in my world makes sense right now.
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she just smiles, and I really wish she hadn’t. There’s something really wrong about that smile. Then it hits me—she’s totally insane.
"You're the Cold One," I say.
"And you are the Slayer," she says. "So broken. Such pain. Did I not tell you, pretty vampire, that she would break?"
"Didn't I tell you to sod off?" he says. "I won't go with you. Not willin—" Abruptly he chokes, his eyes going wide. He struggles for a minute, then freezes, only his face seems able to move. The demon tilts her head to the side, studying him.
"Shhh," she tells him. "We had a challenge. I won. You will do exactly as I please, and right now it pleases me that you hold your tongue." When she smiles again it's sharp and nasty. "Is he not so much better when he's silent?" she asks me.
I try to step forward, but my feet won’t budge, whatever she’s doing to Spike, she’s done to me, too. Fear trickles down my spine. If she can freeze us in place, how can I fight her? Still, it only seems to be my feet that don’t want to move, if I could get her closer…
"What's going on?" I ask. "What do you want with Spike and why am I here?"
"Tsk," she says. "Poor little Slayer. Did you know he was meant for you?" she drifts closer and Spike struggles as she draws him toward her. It's as if every muscle in his body is frozen, but still he fights. She reaches out and tears his shirt down the middle with one long fingernail, exposing his chest. Her fingers leave black marks on his skin when she brushes her hand over him and even though he can't make a sound I can tell he's in pain. "Your champion, your partner, your equal-opposite…made wrong, just for you, long before you were even born. And now he is mine. My pretty immortal with a human's heart, a human's pain."
The demoness leans in and kisses him, and when she draws away, I can see she's torn at his lips with her sharp teeth, leaving them bloody.
"And all because you were too impatient. Because you would not trust your own heart. Silly, pathetic Slayer," she hisses. "I will keep forever what you could not even begin to appreciate, and with him at my side, I will be free to roam your world once more."
"You sound pretty confident of that," I tell her, getting angrier with every word out of her mouth. How dare she meddle with my dreams? How dare she waltz in here and take Spike. I don't even know if I like him or not, but I do know this: Mr. Gordo is mine—therefore Spike is mine. And no Frosty the Snow Queen is going to come in and take him from me. "I think you're forgetting who you're dealing with." I fist my hands, ready to fly at her.
"Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with," she says, turning those freaky white eyes of hers on me. "Do you know what I am, little Slayer?"
"What?"
"I am the end," she says. "Why don't you wake up now, and watch it happen. Or try to stop me. Either way, it will be…entertaining."
I lunge at her…
…only to find myself sitting straight up in bed, hands balled into fists and swinging at Willow who has scooted back to the foot of the bed in alarm.
For a moment I only stare at her, panting.
"Well?" she says, curiosity winning out. "Did it work?"
Did what work? I look down at the necklace and swallow hard.
Oh. It worked.
"Oh, god," I say. "What've I done?"
"Buffy?" I scramble out of bed and start throwing on my clothes. Part of me still is hoping it was just a bad dream, but a bigger part of me knows the truth. For almost a year I've been dreaming about sleeping next to Spike. About sparring with Spike. About being comforted by Spike and telling him…everything. And all this time it was some game, between him and this demon woman.
I want to hate him. I want to cling to the distrust I've had for him from the beginning, but…the way he kissed me. The way he acted with her. The way he told me that he loved me…I have to know the truth. I have to find his journal and read it and figure out the truth.
I have to get to his crypt.
"Buffy? What's wrong?" Willow's asking, and her voice brings Giles and Tara in from the other room. Outside, dawn is breaking.
"I have to go," I tell them, pulling on my boots.
"Go? Where?"
"I have to go," I repeat. "I…I'll be back. I promise, but I have to check something. Just…wait for me, okay? I…it might take a bit, but I'll be back. Don't come looking for me. Give me a day…or…just…I have to go."
I yank on my coat and am out the door before they can stop me. All I can think is that I have to get to Spike's crypt.
I have to know.
There's only one lone crow this morning, sitting on Restfield's gates. He follows behind me, cawing sadly as I flounder through the new drifts toward Spike's crypt. The cemetery feels silent this morning, empty.
The crypt door bangs open hollowly as I enter. Like yesterday the upstairs is deserted, the slab in place over the ladder. I don't bother being quiet.
A light flickers in the bedroom, the same torch, the same bedside lamp. I wonder why Spike doesn't sleep in the dark?
But there's no sense of him here. Not even the slightest tingle. The bed is empty, the sheets pulled up and laying funny, as if someone had been sleeping beneath them, then abruptly vanished. He's gone.
He's really, actually gone.
Oh. God. What did I do?
…In my crypt, downstairs, by the bed is my journal. Black cover, battered thing, beaten all to hell. You've seen it before. There's a spell on it. One of those willpower ones, like Red talked about at Christmas. Find it. Read it. From the beginning. It's all in there. Everything. Every word I've wanted to tell you from the beginning, but couldn't, even the not so nice ones. Promise me you'll read it, Buffy. All of it. No matter how awful I was in parts. Promise me…
A promise. I made a promise.
I glance at the bedside table. There's stuff on it. Alcohol bottles, an ashtray full of half smoked cigarette butts, weapons, a few books. One of them, the one on top, is open, the pages full of writing. I pick it up, holding the page with my thumb. The front of it is battered, black leather. A journal. I've seen it before.
Spike holding it as he comes up out of my basement, just before the Mara attacks…Spike sitting on top of a crypt, scribbling in it…Spike sitting in his chair, writing in it as I storm in, demanding to know about dead slayers…Spike listening to the Grinch and writing with it propped on his thigh…Spike watching me pick it up, then put it down, disappointment on his face…Drusilla tossing it across the room with a shriek…
Now that I know to pay attention to it, I feel the spell on it. It makes me want to put it down, want to throw it away from me, forget I saw it, and whatever I do, I shouldn't read it.
But I promised.
I keep my promises.
I flip it open to the place I've marked with my thumb and deliberately begin to read. His handwriting is…stunningly pretty. Huh. Spike has pretty handwriting. Who'd have thought?
Feeling weirdly like I'm invading his privacy I skim what he'd written most recently.
"…God, I love her so much. Watching her laugh, watching her smile. Seeing how flustered she gets looking at me. I could sit and breathe in her scent every day, always. Having her like that, almost in my arms while she's awake and staring at me…like a bloody dream come true. I'm a selfish bastard, I know it. Let me get through these last few weeks. Let me beat this soddin' challenge…I'll do whatever is in my power to convince Buffy to give me half a chance. I'd walk to hell and back for her. I'd never let her down. Never leave her. She'd have to dust me first…"
Stunned, I read it again.
Oh.
Determined to know the whole thing now, I flip back to the first page. It's a poem? Okay. Spike writes poetry. And loves me.
Spike loves me.
And suddenly I really DO want to know the whole story. How did this happen? Why did that demon bitch want Spike? And what has this shared dream thing been about for the last year?
Curious, and nervous, I start to read.
Author’s Notes:
To borrow a phrase from my other fandom, "the way forward is sometimes the way back." So, before Buffy can go forward from here, she's going to have to go back to the beginning. It's time to hear what Spike/Mr. Gordo has had to say. We're going to have to read over her shoulder for it, and it's not going to be all sunshine and daffodils. When I say we're going back, I mean we're going back to last summer, when Spike hated the Slayer. But, as the poem says "A promise made is a debt unpaid." Buffy made a promise, and I owe it to Spike to tell his side of the story. Even the parts where he was awful.
You may have noticed by now that I try to write characters in character, as much as possible, and a vampire's mind is a bloody and very dark place. The beginning of Part II is going to earn the mature/adult/NC-17 rating—not just for the content of Spike’s bloodiest fantasies, but also because he swears. A lot.
For those of you who’ve expressed some dislike for rehashing scenes and dialogue you’ve already read: don't worry, the journal doesn't recount EVERY scene from Spike's POV. For one thing, he wasn't around for a lot of what Buffy was doing. And he had his own stuff going on, as well. There will be some scenes duplicated and mirrored from Part I, but those are for the most part in the minority.
If you don't care to hear what Spike has to say…well, then I guess I'll see you in Part III.
If you are under the age of 17, please use your head and do not read fics that are labeled "NC-17". Parents, I cannot control what your children are reading, so please be advised that the majority of the fics archived here are NOT suitable for those under the age of 17.
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I am in no way making any profit from this site. This is for pure entertainment purposes only.
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