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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 63: True
 
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Author’s Note: … Yeah, I got nothing.

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 and Science








Chapter 63
True


"Oh, the weather outside is frightful,
but the fire is so delightful,
and since we've no place to go...
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"


"You know that song is about sex, right, Slayer?" Spike asks, leaning back against a rock and poking at the fire with a long twig.

"No it isn't," I say, sipping at my tin pan of hot chocolate.

"Yeah," he says, and the flames seem to dance in his equally gold eyes like laughter. "It is. Most songs are."

"Not all songs," I say.

"Most."

I rack my brain, trying to come up with something he can't argue with. "Uh... Jingle Bells?" He just smirks and reaches down to cup himself through his jeans. "Oh, ew..."

"Oh, what fun it is to ride..." he says, curling his tongue behind his fangs.

From the entrance to the outer cave, Pooh makes a disgusted whoof. Spike shoots a glance at the narrow gap between the two caves, reassuring himself, I guess, that Pooh can't fit through and eat him. Pooh is tucked up against the gap, the closest he can get to us. His big, furry white bulk provides extra insulation from the howling winds and the snow outside the cave. Our little niche isn't huge, back here, but it's plenty big enough for the two of us, even with a small campfire and my sleeping bag rolled out on the floor. The ceiling is pretty high, with what Spike called "natural vents" in it, so I probably won't suffocate from the smoke from the fire. And it’s nice and cozy warm at the moment. All in all, Pooh did really well and Louhi... she can blizzard as much as she wants.

"What about, uh... Rubber Duckie?" I say, figuring he probably wouldn't know that one, and besides, kids’ songs can't be dirty.

"Rubber duckie, joy of joys,
when I squeeze you, you make noise,
Rubber duckie I'm awfully fond of you.
Everyday when I make my way to the tubby,
I find a little fellow, cute and yellow and chubby..."


Spike sings it like it's porn, and by the time he's finished I'm blushing hard enough that my face feels hot for the first time in days. "Bit masturbatory, that one. Or not. Wasn't Bert the yellow, dick-shaped one?"

"How do you manage to make everything sound pervy?" I complain.

"Evil, pet," he says. "It's a gift. Want to hear me sing O' Holy Night? That fall on your knees bit always—"

"No," I say, my knees going a bit noodly just at the mention. Good thing I'm sitting down. "World of no."

He smirks again. I decide that ignoring him for the moment is safer than responding to the challenge in his eyes, so I look around for something to do. Sword. Should clean the sword, since it got icky elf blood all over it. I hunt through my bag and find a reasonably clean sock, then slide the sword out of its sheath and set to polishing. The edge is really sharp and I have to be pretty careful not to accidentally cut myself on it. It's a good chore to keep my mind off of dirty-minded vampires.

At least until he's standing over me, blocking the light.

"Do you mind?" I ask. "I can't see what I'm doing."

"Where did you get that?" he says, his voice sounding tight and even rougher than usual. When I look up into his partially shadowed face, I can't quite read the expression there. "The sword, Slayer," he says. "Where did you get the sword?"

"Uh... on my way here," I say. "It... was a gift."

His eyes dart suddenly to the iron spike that's still thrust under my thigh sheath. He crouches and yanks it out faster than I can move, then sits on his heels beside me, studying it in the firelight.

"Was this a gift, too?" he asks, tightly, tracing the places where the metal is worn smooth. When he wraps his fingers around it, I suddenly realize WHY it’s worn smooth there. "I know this..."

"Um... yeah," I say, sheathing the sword and setting it away from him.

"From who? Who would give you this? Where the bloody hell did they find it?" His head whips up to look at me. "You know what it is."

I nod.

"Who?" he asks. I swallow.

"The... railroad spike? Uh... that one was from... Drusilla, sort of."

He blinks.

"Dru? Drusilla gave you this? As a gift? "

"Sort of," I say.

He growls. "Tell me," he says. "You said you walked here. Didn't mention a detour involving Dru."

"Okay, look," I tell him. "I... this is sort of a really long story, okay. You... should probably sit. And not wig out."

"Is there a reason I'm gonna wig out?" he asks, already on edge.

"Maybe. I don't know. You were kind of with the wigging before when I told you about the Slayer's Knight thing and it wasn't even that bad."

"Tell me," he growls.

"No wigging," I tell him.

"No promises," he says, but he sits.

"Okay, see... the thing is, Whistler said—"

Spike growls again. "You said Whistler is a demon? Think I might just rip his head off when we get back."

"You might not want to piss off the PTB, Spike. They helped get me here. Whistler helped get me here, to rescue you, in case you need reminding," I say. He snorts but he shuts his mouth. "Okay, so... I'm starting badly. Basically the PTB said that, since I screwed up and made the mistake that landed you here, I had to... prove that I wanted you back. Not just say it... prove it. They... sort of tested me, I guess. To be sure that you were what I really wanted. That I was... aware of what it would mean, if I rescued you."

He glares.

"Right," I say. "That... sounds dumb to me, too. But... uh... so they... kinda took me back in time. A lot. There was a lot of jumping around. And all these guides. The first one... was Nikki. The Slayer you..."

"Killed," he says, his voice flat. "Seventies. Night of the New York Blackout. Subway car. Took her coat for a trophy."

"Yeah," I say, "Her. She... made me watch. Or... something did. And then she showed me... basically she showed me pretty much the worst things you'd ever done back to about World War II, I think. There were Nazi uniforms so... I'm guessing World War II. Why was your hair black?"

"So I'd look Jewish," he says, making me blink. Why would anyone have wanted to look Jewish during World War II? "What else did she show you?"

"Um... lots of stuff. Woodstock, I think, and... lots of stuff. Club kids and I think there might have been an orphanage. Parts of it went pretty fast. There was one... a family. You killed the father and the brothers, then raped the mother and... there was a little girl, in a box."

Spike stands and paces. "They lied to you," he says. "Don't know what all they showed you, but that one, they lied. I never raped that woman."

I think back. "I didn't actually see... I kinda looked away. You were yanking her dress up and... I thought..."

He spins on his heel and stares at me. "I didn't rape that woman," he says. Then he scowls. "Might've... messed with her a bit. Made her think..." He growls and stares at the ceiling. "Bloody hell. I wanted her to scream, yeah? That's... and I killed her. But I didn't fucking rape her."

"Are you saying you never, in the last century and more, ever raped someone?" I ask softly.

He gets quiet. Really, really quiet and still.

Something in his eyes goes out. Dies. Snuffed like a candle.

"I'm not like that any more, Buffy," he says quietly. "What I did... then... I can't take it back. I can't say it never happened, because it did. And at the time... but I'm not that monster anymore."

"I know," I say. "That's why I had to see it. So I would know what you were. What you'd done. The worst of it. So I'd know that what you are now is so much more than what you were."

He stares at me, disbelief and hope mingling on his ridged features. "I don't have a soul, Buffy," he says. "I don't even really know what one does. Don't know where you keep it. Don't remember what it was like, having one and I can't say I feel like I'm missing anything. I get regret though. Guilt. Maybe not... maybe not like I should. I should, I suppose, hate what I did back then. Should sit about and brood like... and wish I'd never been turned. But I can't. Won't. What I am... it's better than what I was. What I am now, everything I did, all of it, brought me to you, didn't it? Won't regret that."

"I know," I tell him. "I'm not asking you to. I don't understand much, about souls. I used to think I did. I used to think... God. I used to think it made all the difference. But I know now that's not true. For some people, it does. Not for you, though. You're sort of amazing, Spike."

"Sort of?" he says.

"You're not Christian Slater," I say, dryly.

"No, I'm better looking than that nasal voiced twat," he says, smirking. Then his eyes fall on the sword, and the spike. "What else did they make you watch?" he asks, as if he can't help himself.

"Well, after I told Nikki that you weren't a monster anymore, she gave me her coat," I say. Spike looks at the coat on his shoulders.

"My coat," he says, reaching back and fingering a small tear in the leather on the right shoulder. "See, got the hole from that tracking device Finn's squad shot in my back last year. Mystical crap. After Nikki, then what?"

"The Chinese Slayer," I say. "Um... during the Boxer Rebellion. They made me watch that one, too." Spike's fingers trace the scar on his eyebrow.

"Pretty much sussed out that was involved," he says. "She gave you the sword."

"Yeah... she showed me how you became a warrior. There were these guys in an alley somewhere in England, and then a barroom brawl. Then, after you got the scar, she took me to watch you training with some old Chinese demon."

"Sounds like a regular Alvidson flick," Spike mutters.

"Oh, and a Chinese girl, in San Francisco, I think. Sometime during Prohibition? When was that, the 20's? 30's?" I ask.

Spike stares, then gets up and starts with the pacing again.

"She was a Slayer, wasn't she?" I ask quietly. "She just didn't know it yet."

"I didn't kill her," he says, suddenly.

"I know," I tell him. "You let her go. Kinda confused me when they showed me that."

He stops for a moment, staring at the flames. "Never told anyone about that," he says. "Had a rep to maintain. Showin' mercy was..."

"Against your nature," I say. "But that's not why they showed me that, I don't think. I think that they wanted me to see that, not only could I trust you to take care of yourself in a fight, but I could trust you to do the right thing. That... you've got a warrior's honor, I guess. That's what the Chinese Slayer called it. They really didn't have to show me that, though. I've known for a long time that there's no one I'd rather have fighting at my side than you. If I ever needed someone protected, you'd be the first person I'd go to, you know that, right?"

"No," he says, sinking back down beside me as if his knees are feeling noodly now. "I didn't." For a little while we just stare at each other, while the flames dance on the white cave walls. Something tugs at my memory, but I push it away. Spike clears his throat. "Said... you said you saw Dru."

"Yeah," I say. "Um...they showed me the night you were turned." He does that vampire still thing. Which, gotta say, looks major weird when Spike does it. Spike's natural state is to be in motion; when he goes still...

"They showed you Cecily," he guesses.

"She was an idiot," I tell him. "It's probably a good thing for her I was Scrooging it, because if I could have? Totally would have pulled all her hair out. I did take a swing at those jerks that were making fun of you, though. My fist sort of went through them, but I felt a little better."

Spike's mouth twitches a little in one corner.

"Then Drusilla showed up and kinda gave me the whirlwind tour of Life With Angelus," I say. "I get it, now. Why you hate him." He swallows heavily.

"Which parts?" he asks.

"Um, you two hunting some guy named... Weasely? I think? You got bored and spiked him through the head. Angelus really didn't approve. Then there was a wedding," I shake my head and shiver, remembering. "I think I really understood, then, what a monster is. I mean, I got the up close and personal view of Angelus back when we... , but it was personal, then. I thought... I guess I kinda thought the way he went after me was personal, too. But that's what he does, isn't it? He hates anything good, like love. He tries to twist it, make it..."

"As awful as he is," Spike finishes. "That's his MO. With me, I think he just wanted to prove that there was something in this world as disgusting as he was. Wanted to make me in his own soddin' image."

"You're nothing like him," I say.

He snorts. "Yeah," he says. "I get that. Been trying to measure up to his great ego for the last century plus, luv. With Dru... I never could compare to Daddy. And you'll always be setting me up against bloody Angel."

"I shouldn't have," I say. "And I won't anymore. I'm glad you're not like him. He... he could never have done even half of what you have, without his soul. I don't think even a chip would have stopped him from being a monster. And with a soul... still no comparison. You don't have to try to be better than Angel, Spike. You already are."

He stares at me, his demon stares at me, and the look on his face makes my heart speed up, pounding erratically in my chest.

"Buffy," he says, and as much as I want to hear what he has to say, I have to tell him the last part. Have to finish it, so he knows everything.

"There was one more," I say, interrupting him. "One more guide, after Drusilla."

His expression blanks again and he shakes his head. "Think they'd have run out, after that," he mutters.

"It was your mother," I say softly. "Anne."

"Fuck," he says. Then he gets to his feet and starts pacing again, faster this time. When he slams a fist into the cave wall hard enough to bring down a few icicles, I get to my feet and grab his arm before he can do it again. He snarls, then twists around, spinning me so that my back is to the wall and he's pinning me there by my shoulders. I could move him, but I let him, knowing that his anger isn't really directed at me.

Knowing why he's upset.

He's panting, his eyes shut tight. "What did they show you? What did you see?"

"William," I say softly. "They showed me William. That he's still in you."

"What else?" he asks, still not opening his eyes.

"They showed me how much you loved your mother. How you tried...," I swallow, take a deep breath. "How you tried to save her."

He shudders, hard, as if he's in physical pain. "I never meant...," he says, choking for a second on the words, they sound so thick. "Never meant to hurt her. Never... what happened, it was..."

"It wasn't her, Spike," I tell him. "It was a demon."

"I don't know that," he says. "You don't know that. What if... you said you saw how much of William was in me, still. What if... what if..."

"It wasn't her," I tell him again. "She told me...She said she wasn't strong enough, to stay with her... body, to fight off the demon. She said that you were the best part of her, and that she really liked your poetry. She loved you, Spike. She still loves you. She wanted you to know."

He looks at me then, desperate. "I want to believe you," he says. "God, I want to believe that but..."

"She gave me something, too," I tell him. "I don't know if I remember it right, but..."

I do, though.

I hadn't even thought of it, until this minute, but when I do it comes right to me. The words. The tune. Even the verses I didn't hear her sing.

"Over the mountains,
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves.
Under floods that are deepest
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way..."


He doesn't make me sing the whole thing. His head drops forward, his ridged forehead resting against mine, and he gasps in great lungfuls of air, then laughs softly.

"God, I need a smoke," he says.

"Sorry," I say, softly. "Cigarettes weren't in the PTB care package. Also, they're stinky."

"Thought you said this whole thing was to prove you wanted me back," he says. "They forget to remind you that Spike comes with a nicotine addiction? Seem to have thrown everythin' else at you." He moves back enough that he can look me in the eyes.

"I want you back," I tell him. "Some of the things they showed me... I'm the Slayer, Spike. I'm never going to be happy about some of what I saw. But it doesn't matter."

"Why?" he asks, his voice raspy. "Bloody hell. I've done things... things you can't imagine. Things I would never want you to imagine. Things I've never told anyone. Do you have even the slightest soddin' clue what it's like to find out that the one person in the entire universe who you'd never want to see those things, is the one person who has? That all your secrets, weaknesses, everything... are theirs now, too?"

"I think I can sympathize, Mr. Gordo," I say.

He freezes, his eyes meeting mine, and I see the realization dawn in them. We're even now. There's no one else in the universe who could hurt me as badly as he could, I realize. No one who could ever love me as completely, either. And the same is true in reverse. I have the same power over him. We're equals, opposites. Yin. Yang. Balance.

And for the first time I get it. Maybe the prophecy said we were meant for each other but... in so many ways, it's the ways we've made ourselves that makes us right together. The thought is terrifying, thrilling.

Apparently too terrifying and thrilling. With a low growl he rips himself away from me and storms across the cave.

"Spike?" I say, feeling weirdly like he's just torn me in two. Maybe he has.

He shakes his head. "Too much," he says. "It's too bloody much. I need to... " He freezes for a moment, when he sees Pooh blocking the gap between the caves, stymied by the giant bear. Then he pokes Pooh's back. "Shove over, Jaws," he says.

"You're leaving?" I say, incredulous, hating how my voice sounds a little panicky.

Pooh moves with a disgruntled whuff. Spike looks back at me, his gold eyes gleaming in the firelight.

"I need to think, Slayer," he says, softly. "Not leaving. Could never leave you. It's just too bloody much, right now. I gotta... I'll collect some more wood."

"Spike, there's a blizzard out there," I say, wishing I could hold him there. He gives me a look that says, clearly, 'vampire, remember?'

"Won't go far," he says. "Just need to walk for a bit, yeah? Sort my head. I'll come back."

I must not look convinced, because he strides across the room then and cups my face in his hands. "Always come back to you, Slayer. Never could stay away. We're not done yet, you and me. Besides," he says. "I'm in love with you."

And then he's gone.

And it hits me then, like a troll swinging a hammer and knocking me clear across the room.

I'm in love with him, too.

I'm in love with Spike.






 
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