Work Text:
Angel of morning
By Lisa O.
LttlDremr@aol.com
I don't know what to do, and I wonder if I ever did. Nervously I pace and ponder and pace some more. I tryto keep my mind free and not on who I know is in the other room. Instead I keep moving, and I realize that I have come a full cycle . Symbolic? Ironic. My thoughts circle each other like the proverbial hungry dogs, hounding me with their long familiar guilt.
{Buffy} She's gone now, and I have to question whether or not that is a bad thing. The answer is not one I want to hear. I can't bear to think of it, of why she left and so the circuit is made again.
A loud scraping noise interrupts my thoughts then, and a kind of gratitude settles. It seems my *guest* is awake now.
"Bloody Hell!"
A very annoyed voice exclaims in alarm. More scraping sounds are heard followed by imaginative cursing. I shake my head. "Not too happy, eh?"
Who could blame him though? Knocked over the head, tied up and bound tightly to a wrought iron chair. It would make even the friendliest person take a U-turn in the congeniality department. A smile comes unbidden to me, one laden with too many emotions to sort through, one that *spoke* of the past and the shared times that have gone before...guilt.
I have to shake them away. Those thought will not help me. I need to focus. I can hear him again, moving in the thick ropes. I tied them as tightly as I could, his angry demands to be let go more than the proof I needed. A nervous hand runs itself through spiky hair.
Time to make my entrance.
I saunter into the room, making myself appear calm. For a second I can't see him, and then I realize what has happened. He's pushed himself and his *prison*across the room, almost to the fireplace. My gaze turns to rest on him and I almost laugh at what he has done. The ropes hold him like a crazy lover. Somehow he has managed to get some of the loops strapped over his neck and head. It's a good thing he doesn't need to breathe. His feet kick wildly and his whole body strains at his confines. He stops, abruptly stiffening and glaring. He sees me and I almost laugh again at the strange look on his face. A second passes, and then another. I feel like a deer caught in the headlights of an on coming car.
"Angel"
He sneers at me and pushes himself up as straight as is possible considering his position. A quiet calm descents on his face, only contempt showing through. Good old Spike. His reactions come like clockwork.
A cutting remark comes out before I can catch it. "What's the matter Spike? All tied up?"
Spike does not answer and I have to question my own sanity. Why had I even bothered tying him up? Why didn't I just kill him? I should have. He was nothing but trouble. It would be so easy. One quick jab , right to the heart. Why not? And that is the *rub* Maybe its too easy... A good a reason as any. Or am I just lying again. It seems to have become a habbit of late. Spike...Even now he is grinning as though he had already won. Does he know something I don't? No, he's just tying to rattle me, throwing back the tricks my own demon taught him less than 200 years ago. The only problem is, its working.
Ok...That's it. I walk over to him, a growl on my face. "I don't need any of your mouth, Spike."
Spike only snorts, laughter in his eyes. "I heard you liked to tie boys up, peaches. What's wrong? The slayer's not fulfilling you anymore? Oh, that's right...Your little girl's not around."
Spike's head rockets back, falling...he lands on the hard concrete with a dull crack and my hand draws back, shocked at what it has done. Not at the fact that I hit him. We've played this game too many times for that. What I really feel is anger. Anger at the fact that he has made me react. His talent, to get under my skin. One again I realize that my demon had taught him too well. I growl, not meaning too, an involuntary reaction. I Can't let him see how he has affected me.
He's giggling madly now, his head tilted to the side, pale cheek almost flush against the floor. I didn't realize the chair had such a short back, the detail leaping at me for some unimagined reason.
"That wasn't very nice..."
Whispering anything to provoke me. A wild urge to kick him repeatedly comes to me but I ignore it.Better just to stake the bastard. Kneeling beside his head now, scowling down at his maddening antics. He blows me a kiss, whispering the word.
"...Peaches."
I feel my eyes narrowing, demon shifting below the skin taking thought with it. {Buffy...why?}
We watch each other now and I'm struck with something strange, an old memory. My hand is on his chest and I don't know how it got there. Reeling. The past. I blink at him, caught in dejavu.
"Now, now peaches. None of that"
Is that laughter in his voice now? Is he nervous? He should be. I have him completly helpless and yet he's so damned calm. My Spike. What a pain in the ass... Should I slap him? punch him really hard? Make him bleed? I doubt that would change his attitude. It never did before. Still...Thoughts churning at this "picturesque" scene. What is he thinking? He's staring at me now, the corners of his mouth tugging sideways.
I can't believe this. I don't believe this. A dream. It must all be a dream. Any minute I'll wake up, back home in The City of Angels, Buffy sitting close by. That's how I'll always remember her, I think. No. Not true, but the other one slips away, Her pain, her...dying?
Spike is growling again, his face a sculpture of annoyance and anger. "Come on, mate. Get over it."
Does he know I was thinking of her? How could he? But I see my hand has moved on its own accord, somehow finding its self between the space between coat and unbuttoned shirt. Was it so easy in the old days? Are these old habits making themselves known by route? Touching? The bond we once shared with her and each other, now that they have no hope of finding the other comfort?
His mouth parts, tongue flickering out to wet pale lips. His eyes are a cool deep blue. That simple thought comes to me. Obvious. Naked. The year I'd made him...snapping into photo static clarity. His rebellious nature. It had turned me on, in a way that scares me to think of now.. Free and independent, but not innocent like Dru, far from pure. Spike had been perfect for me. But, I was lying again...That was not how it had happened at all. I never even knew about him then. It had been Dru who had brought him to me, half dead from her tender mercies. She had been craziest them...I remember. How well I'd done in my special task. My black goddess, Spike's first Angel and lasting savior.
Where are you Dru? Gone from us both? Still looking over your shoulder for the other arrow that never came?
My body feels tired, so tired then. Could I keep lying to myself? Why not? I was in Sunnydale, wasn't I. Buffy was *ok*...sure, and Spike and Dru never came back. Damn it Buffy, why did you have to die?
The tear lands on his nose, making him twitch as it slides down between two nostrils and onto the impression above those frowning lips. His eyes are intent on me now, worry? Sliding underneath, incomprehensible.
"Here...You're not going all soft on me now...are you?" His voice is low and lazy, almost taunting; All the things that were *him* coming out in the way he says it, like a dirty secret.
I blink, feeling another one fall. He's never seen me like this. Not really. Last time, I was weak, but angry and proud. Every time he's seen me, it had been the same, perhaps even when I had lost my soul? I'd tormented him so much, and yet...until the end he'd not dared raise a hand against me. Only when it became inevitable. Why? Had he been so afraid of me? Or had it been something else. Respect? Longing for older times? We had been friends at one time. Blood brothers for more than a few years, decades in fact. The gypsy. That had changed it all. I had a soul now and I didn't want to loose it. Not after what happened...
I heard his voise....He whispers in my ears, straining to move closer.
"You can't face the facts pal. It's called delusional. We all know what happened, love. Everyone except you."
My gut rums cold at his sneering words and then it freezes at the knowing look that sprimgs to his face. Someone behind us. A voice like a child, calling to me in her sing song way.
"Dru"
I start to stand, start to turn, just catching his comment off handedly, as I feel the weapon...Wood? held in her slender yet deadly hands, Slamming into my head.
"What took you so long pet? Daddy was getting worried?" Her laugher bouncing off the corners of my mind like shadows from a fickering candle.
Darkness. Dreams...Buffy..peace...
end prologue