N: I’m probably on everyone’s hate list right now . . aren’t I? Trust me, I know what I’m doing, at least most of the time. Title is from Edgar Cayce (don’t know who he is? I could tell you to google him, but he was a noted psychic and medium and the full quote is “dreams are today’s answers to tomorrow’s questions” . . . and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]
Previously: Spike got hurt badly by the Knights of Byzantium who were trying to take Dawn. Angel’s soul is gone and the AI group has scattered to the four winds, although Wesley has sought refuge in Sunnydale, believing that only Buffy and Spike can protect the infant from his father. This picks up immediately from where we left everyone.
Book two, chapter 8. Tomorrow’s questions
Dreams are toys.
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squared by this.
A Winter’s Tale, act iii, scene iii
roving dreams –
over charred fields,
the wind’s sound
Onitsura, untitled haiku
Wesley and Oz had carried Spike upstairs to their bedroom while Buffy followed behind. Everyone was reeling, stunned from both events of the night, not a single one of them had gone unscathed, not even the newest one.
Putting Spike on the bed had taken a bit of skill, but the two men managed without her assistance. Buffy stood at the end of the bed watching him. Maureen Osborne had added morphine to Spike’s IV blood drip and right now he was blissfully numb. There was no guarantee how long that would last. They had no way of knowing how Spike’s body would absorb the painkillers.
In addition to the blood, there were three more IV bags of morphine, plus some medicines Spike could take orally once he was a bit better. All of it was now in the refrigerator, courtesy of Tara.
But Buffy almost didn’t care about that.
Buffy didn’t care why Wesley was here or why he’d brought a baby. She didn’t care how Kirsten had managed to hold off six knights alone, saving Spike or why she wasn’t worried about getting home . . .
She wasn’t concerned about any of it.
Her world had just narrowed. Had just collapsed on itself. Her rock, her strength, her unwavering support was on precarious legs. On broken legs. Her best friend and worst nightmare, her world since coming back was lying on her bed, broken, battered and more than dead.
Buffy didn’t move when Oz and Wesley walked past her, didn’t acknowledge either of them in anyway. Her eyes were fixed on Spike’s still form.
It took her long minutes to realize they were alone. Even longer for her to gather her courage, her wits and approach the bed. On soft feet she moved, slowly going forward. His head rested on his favorite pillow, the hospital sheet wound around him. Both legs were splinted and his right arm was loosely bandaged with a soft cast on it. Kneeling down on her side of the bed, almost bent double, her head resting close to his left shoulder, Buffy let the tears fall freely, her words washing over him.
“Need you so much. Was so scared when Dawnie came home. . . “ her hand brushed over his torso, resting lightly on his belly. “Can’t die on me Spike. I need you.”
Soft sobs whistled through her lips, “can’t do this alone. . . god Spike I need you so much.” Laying her head partially on his shoulder, Buffy whispered, “I want you to . . . need you to know. . . can’t do without you. . . My heart would break. . . be not fixable. . . don’t break me again.”
His left hand moved, inching toward the arm covering him. Holding on, Spike squeezed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin. She leaned closer, brushing her lips against his shoulder. He swallowed noisily, kind of clearing his throat, then ground out in a bare whisper from behind clenched teeth, “love you. . . not going.”
Smiling through her tears, Buffy half heartedly hushed him. Resting her head against him, she kissed his shoulder again, then stretched out beside him, cuddling close.
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Tara sent the two teenagers to bed after Oz and Wesley came back downstairs, despite their protests otherwise.
The baby was sleeping again, in the middle of her bed surrounded by pillows. The doors between him and the first floor were all open, although Tara had set a simple ward around him to sound his cry louder throughout the house.
Oz was staying the night again, on the couch, while she and Wesley were going to share her bedroom with the baby. They just weren’t going to bed just yet.
Not that Tara didn’t need to sleep. It was closer to four than three and babies were notoriously light sleepers, needing to be fed at short intervals.
That wasn’t why they weren’t going to bed right away. No, not at all. She had to do a disinvite spell just in case – and – she also had to strengthen the wards around the house. And since Wesley was here, he could add his voice and talents to hers. Hell, she was prepared to use Oz – and she still might.
These wards she was about to set had to be the strongest she’d ever done – shields, wards, cloaking, no matter – anything she could think of to keep them all safe, until everyone was healed.
Grabbing her sage and athame, Tara went to get Wesley.
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Spinning around, Cordelia smashed her assailant in the face, realizing too late that it wasn’t Angel.
“Damnit. Look what you made me do.” Shaking her sore hand a few times, Cordelia resorted to kicking Gunn’s shins. “Why’d you do that?”
“I think he was tryin’ to keep a low profile.” Fred spoke up softly from the front of her car.
“Well it was stupid. Should’ve just called my name.”
Gunn had his hand to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. “Packing a punch there. Don’t think I have to worry about you.”
“Why are you guys back here?”
“Charles thought we should get some supplies before we hide from Angelus. Is it really that bad?”
Huffing a bit, Cordelia fished around her pockets for the keys, “yeah. Its that bad.”
Holding up a hand, she stopped either of them from talking. “If I don’t know he can’t make me tell him. Just go. Keep your cell phones charged. We’ll keep in touch that way.”
Cordelia slid into her car, not watching to see their reactions. “Stay together as long as you can.” Nodding at Gunn, she waved a hand in Fred’s direction, “watch out for her.”
Motioning to the hotel, Cordelia said, “if you go in now, he’s probably not back yet, but be careful in any case.”
“Broke his leg, he ain’t moving anywhere fast. But I hear ya.” Gunn lowered his hand, wiping away the blood.
Exchanging a look with Fred, Cordelia repeated her earlier statement. “Be careful.”
Starting the ignition, Cordelia drove off, watching them in the rearview mirror.
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She hadn’t meant to fall asleep without cleaning up first. The blood on her clothes was mostly dried when she jerked awake, startled by an unfamiliar noise. She didn’t think she’d been asleep all that long, because it was still mostly dark out, and the morning birds hadn’t started singing yet.
Spike groaned, pulling her attention to him. “Uughh. Buffy. . . “
“I’m right here. Right here. . . . “ she brushed a hand over his face and he turned slightly toward her, a pained look on his features. “What do you need?”
A strangled sort of noise came from his throat and Buffy panicked until she realized his head needed elevating. Lifting him up as gently as possible, she arranged the pillows under his head better, getting him more comfortable, all the while muttering under her breath. “Gonna make sure you get better. . . get you back on your feet. Deal with all the other stuff later, when you feel better. Can’t . . not doing this again.”
Searching his face for signs of consciousness, Buffy stared down at his swollen face. “Can you swallow? Don’t have to bite me, but can you? Do you wanna try?”
His eyes opened up slightly, pain-filled and slightly unfocused, but the good sign was he was reacting to her voice and what she was saying. “If you take a little bit whenever you can. . . it should help right?”
She wasn’t pretending that he didn’t need her blood to heal. He needed it desperately. He needed it more than he needed painkillers or needed regular human blood. She couldn’t have him . . . didn’t want him lying flat on his back taking forever to heal because she was too squeamish to bleed for him. And maybe she was being selfish in wanting him back by her side, but she wasn’t ready to do this on her own. Might not ever be again.
Memories of heaven struck her at the oddest moments, no matter where she was or what she was doing, they just surfaced and she couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to fight the memories. The closest she came to that feeling of safety, completeness and unconditional love were those moments spent in his arms sheltered from the rest of the world. Buffy didn’t want to lose that, didn’t want to trade that for anything. And she wasn’t going to.
Buffy got up from the bed, trying not to jostle him too much and reached down into her weapons bag, looking for one of her smaller knives. Rummaging about, Buffy listened for signs of distress from him giving any indication that he was uncomfortable in any way, but he was silent. His eyes were open though, mere slits in his swollen face, but Buffy could see that he was trying to follow her movements. Keeping up a running monologue about what she was doing, Buffy saw his muscles relax as he heard her voice.
Finding the knife she wanted, Buffy was back on the bed in mere moments, telling him, “gonna do this on my wrist, is that best?” Not waiting for a response that wasn’t going to come, Buffy kept talking, “yeah, this is best, just gonna have to make sure I cut deep enough to do this.”
Taking the knife in her hand, Buffy made a cut on the inside of her wrist, then waited. And waited. Sighing deeply and mentally berating herself, Buffy tried again. This time, she actually put some force behind the cut and managed to really break the skin. Laying her arm against his lips, Buffy snuggled next to Spike, her right arm around his head, her breasts against his ear. “C’mon Spike, swallow. . . c’mon take this.”
Weakly at first, he swallowed, letting too much of it trickle down his cheeks, but eventually after just a few moments, Spike managed to open up his mouth and he latched onto her arm. His left arm came up, his hand gripping her arm to hold her in place, his fingers curling around her wrist. He didn’t drink long, didn’t take much, but it didn’t matter. If he managed to take more every time, she would be able to gauge how well he was healing.
His tongue licked her wound, closing it off as his eyes drifted close. Those deep chest rumbles that she loved so much echoed through him, warming her up from the inside. For long minutes they stayed like that, his hand holding her arm against his mouth and her body almost curled around his head. Spike drifted back into sleep and she knew the moment he surrendered, because his fingers went lax and his head drifted to the side, facing her. Slowly she moved back away from him, reluctant to move to quickly in case her movements caused him discomfort. She needed to get clean. Blood and vomit was all over her and she felt decidedly dirty.
The water was blindingly hot, stinging needles against her battered muscles, soothing and numbing all at once. Buffy rested her head against the cool tile, wishing that it was Spike’s chest. The desperate fears she’d tried so hard to keep at bay were crowding her, swirling about in her head and heart. He’d almost been gone. He’d almost been dust.
She wasn’t ready for him to not be here. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for him not to be here. Dropping down to her knees, Buffy rocked herself, the tears falling from her eyes, mixing easily with the shower. Sobs broke through, wracking her, doubling her over in their intensity. God. . . oh god . . I wish he was here. . . he’d know what to do. .. He’d hold me and I wouldn’t feel so .. . lost . . . so alone. Spike. . . need you so much. . . don’t leave me.
She cried for so long that she had no more tears, no more fluid in her body to give toward the grief, and finally just in a moment of pure surrender, raised her head to the water and let it wash over her. His voice, that heady blend of aged whiskey, dark pleasure and pure sex sounded in her head, his words soothing her, his presence in the next room calling to her. “C’mon kitten, be right as rain soon enough, no worries, yeah? Get to your feet and come back to bed, need you.” It was so real in her head that she imagined he was standing behind her, urging her to get up, find her feet and come lay beside him. Obeying his voice in her head, Buffy took a deep breath and did just that.
Buffy barely dried off, wrapped another towel around her head and without getting dressed again, she climbed back into bed beside him. Laying her arm over him, Buffy kissed his shoulder once more then closed her eyes.
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Tara was curled up on one side of her bed, the tiny baby cuddled next to her, with Wesley on the other side of him. She was sleeping lightly, more than aware of the unfamiliar bodies in the bed next to her, unable to get completely comfortable because of it. The baby was on his belly, tucked into her side, her arm resting lightly over him, protecting him from the world. Wesley stirred beside her, his body jerking from tense muscles and over-wrought senses.
She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, the vague sense in the back of her mind that she was going to need this sleep, because come daylight, she was going to have to hold it together for everyone. Especially Buffy.
The look in the slayer’s eyes had been hard to miss, gauging how close she was to breaking down. Wesley’s news wasn’t going to help. Tara shifted once more, brushing a hand over the baby’s head when he also shifted. “Shhhhhh hush now” she murmured whisper soft. “Sleep little one.”
Closing her eyes again, Tara followed her own advice.
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It was raining, the soft sounds of pittering and pattering splatted and splooshed against the sides of the house; against the pavement. She was tired of rain, tired of being cooped up because of . . . rain. Looking out the window she peered down the long rainy street. Strong hands reached out to close the curtains, a low voice sounding against her ear and there was a very solid presence behind her.
“Not time yet, love. Too soon for them.”
“Don’t want to wait. Want them now.”
Those strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to the body behind her. Linking fingers together their hands rested just beneath her heart. “Be here soon enough, pet. Then we won’t have time to think.”
“Thinking’s not good.”
He chuckled then, his voice low and seductive in her ear, as he nipped it between each of his words. “Can’t exactly do anythin’ ‘bout that just now. Couple o’ days love, I’ll see to you proper, yeah?”
She smiled then, hugging him tightly to her.
“Promise?”
“Promise kitten.”
“Kay then.” Settling against him, Buffy rested her head on his shoulder, content to stay put.
His voice sounded again, this time clipped and controlled. “Need you to listen now pet. Gotta trust us – what we feel. Stronger together.”
Turning around to face him finally, Buffy was surprised to find him in game face.
“Mine you are as I am yours.” His features faded back to human, his voice continuing, “he’ll come for us – for the sprog. Oxford will help Dawnie, but we’ve gotta help him first.”
A frown appeared on his features then cleared again. “She’s ours too.”
Thunder sounded, crashing loudly all around them. “Shadows fallin’ now pet. Can’t get free. . . we need to stay inside.”
Her hand reached out to touch his face, his hand covering hers. “Gotta watch them. They’ll all be one of a kind.”
Thunder crashed around them, lights went out, flickered on, his face bathed in shadow, here, gone, game faced then not.
“Rest now kitten . . . battles yet ahead . . . Rest. . . rest. First ones ‘ill be here soon.”
He pulled her into his embrace, his arms linking around her, his kiss against her temple. “Yours princess, always.”
Buffy came to slowly, trying to remember all the details of her dream. Reaching for her dream journal, she flicked on the bedside lamp, then gasped when she saw Angel standing beside the bed in game face, his hands dripping blood.
She lunged up, and realized when she woke to half light, that all of it had been a dream – even that last part. Her heart was pounding, racing in her chest and she was gasping harshly for air. Spike groaned beside her, reacting to both her jerked movements and her elevated heart rate.
“Buffy. . . kitten?” His voice was a bare whisper but she reacted to it, turning to face him. His eyes were open, the swelling down visibly and though tired looking and pain-filled, his blue eyes were clear. Reaching out with his left hand, Spike wiped away the tears she wasn’t even aware of shedding. “Tell me.”
“Was a dream” clearing her throat, she continued, “a slayer dream.” Reaching for his face, she ran a gentle finger across his lips. “Give me a minute. I’ll tell you.”
Leaning over him, she kissed his face, saying nothing. She had no words for what she was feeling. Could only show him.
Too soon for his emotional liking she pulled away, but only far enough to get out her journal and pen. Sitting next to him, Buffy narrated the dream as best she could remember as she wrote it down.
When she was finished, the sun was just coming up and he was back asleep. Closing the journal, Buffy curled against him again, wondering if he’d heard the last bit, about Angel standing in their bedroom with blood on his hands.
It was a long time before she fully went back to sleep.
Okay. At the time this was posted, the last chapter had 233 hits.. . . . so tell me, how come one person in 10 is posting a review? I need to know who is reading, what you like or don't . . . and just feedback, people. Something. A crumb.
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