TITLE:
"No Dolls Here" 1/1AUTHOR: Ducks
E-MAIL: ducksfanfic@gmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, but I actually might like them again.
RATING: R for language
PAIRING: None, but shades of B/A, B/S, S/A
TIMELINE: Around AtS: "Deep Down" and BtVS: "Same Time, Same Place"
SYNOPSIS: Crazy Spike ponders sanctuary with his Grandsire, pig�s blood, dolls, Buffy, and the end of the world. DISTRIBUTION: Ducks' Fanfic www.ducksfanfic.net ); the Babble Board; anyone else, please ask.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Haven't written a WORD since last spring, and this came out of my writing exercise this afternoon. Utterly unbetaed and possibly crappy.
DEDICATION: To The Babblers, who listened to me whine, bitch, bash and badmouth all summer without blinking an eye. And to Anti-Redemptionistas everywhere.
"No Dolls Here"
by Ducks
Isn't his job to save souls? Didn't the Powers or God or The Slayer give him... oh, forget her for a minute, but it's his Big D Destiny. So it's all right for him to sit there. He's just not good at it, the saving. Downright bad, actually, and that stare gives me a headache. If he'd give me a bloody chair, we'd be in much better shape all around.
He won't let Buffy come in the room. Probably for the best, considering the state of the place. Not even a chair. Not even metal. So thats all right, I guess too, because if she came now, where would she sit and stare? It wouldn't be right for them both to stand and pry all my skin away like that.
This was easier when we were different, wasn't it? Yeah. When I didn't have to hate him like chick peas because he was... nothing, then. Just in the way. Gnatlike and a bastard. Fool. Ironic, isn't it? Who's a fool now, sunshine? I could look at him like a bug again and wish I had bigger boots. But never her. And never now.
Too much water under the bridge causes erosion on the banks. Scientific American said as much, even though they don't really know ALL of it. Global warming is funny like that. It's not really cars and hairspray after all, is it? It's from beneath, not above. Devouring, thinking about it. Lava and such? Hot's no good, not for any of us. It's not like Dru, because she was THERE. How can I be mad when I know I'm mad? I'm NOT there because I see it and hear it talking to me...
I stopped smoking. Didn't quit. Just didn't see the point. If I was mortal a hundred years of it might go a long way toward PUTTING ME OUT OF MY BLOODY STINKING ENDLESS...
"What the fuck are you looking at, git?"
His eyes, my nerves. No smokes. Makes my head crack and my eyes burn. If he'd go away, I could think about it some more. Been a lot of places since then, haven't I?
Still don't get why he won't let her in. No sense in that.
"How are you feeling?"
Oh. Level demon best, I assure you, pet. I forgot brown so ebony deep and onyx shining like seawater. Or... dark. Anyway. Dark. He's part of this too. She won't tell me for sure, I know, because He doesn't want me to tell, or they don't. But I know, and I'll tell, don't worry. He whispers to me sometimes and promises to smile for me. That would be worth it.
Oh, fuck. Did I say I was different from Dru? Because if I look right at Buffy behind my brain and I can see The. End. She saw that, didn't she? Christ.
"Like fireflies," I tell him. Or maybe it's dragonflies that burn out in a day. "Empty."
He doesn't flinch. Know why? Because he's a fucking loony toon himself. His costume's just sturdier. Custom tailored, hammered hard by time, not off the rack oh no, because Angelus always has to have the best. The cream. The unique and beautiful and Chosen.
"You're hungry. You should try to feed again."
He brought me bags and jars of dead animals that smelled like lard and bacon squealing, I think. Moron thinks I want to eat like an Eye-tie without spices? I don't bloody well think so. Hell no, in fact.
There's so much more to consume. He told me, and I'm sure of it. Even without having my palm read. It will rise, and the stars themselves will tremble in fear. I don't want to watch. Don't make me...
"Not that. I won't go down there. So sorry. You'll have to see yourself out."
His cliff brow cracks; arches. He's surprised NOW? Hasn't even got a butler, what's he expect?
"Will you eat if I let you see Buffy?"
He says it so Quiet. Ha! He's got a sense of it, he just never uses it. She's the one I can't hide from when the others are gone, and she just won't stop remind me You're Beneath Me.
And he wonders? Ask me again why I could never love you. Vile, foul, filthy damned stinking Fool.
But, you know, I would be hungry with her. She won't ever feed me. She never would, not like the others. I had her but she'd never let me take. That's not really what matters now, though. I would at least be hungry.
"Likely not."
He looks away. I've seen pity before, but never blanching these cheeks. I suppose I can force the mask for a second I think to put us in our place on the shelf. The way things should be. Maybe this time she will feed me. You never know.
"Not really hungry, mate," See? There you go, boy. You walked the line before. You can do it again. "Just a bit chilly, what with the rain and all. After the equinox, the sun dies. It's understandable to put a fool off his tea, I think. Don't you?"
Yeah. Even I know I sound like a nutbag. I know that much, so I don't need dolls. Not with what's coming anyway.
He forces a smile, but it's not strong and his eyes are too soft with remembering to giggle even a little bit. It's nice. It's always been nice on those nights and slow mornings when he cared.
There was a spark then, I'm sure of it. I tasted it, I know I did. So I can't be sorry it's come to this end.
"It'll get better, Spike. That much I can promise you. But you have to feed."
Centuries go by, he goes to Hell and back, and he never gets any damn smarter. Crazy and a fool, the pair of us. I still remember how to hate him when I couldn't before.
"You don't know. You can�t know. You didn't go looking, did you? Didn't even stay and fight for any of it. Us. Why shouldn't we fall?"
He shifts away. Just enough to know it. "You're not alone Spike. We're here for you."
Did she tell him, I wonder? Wouldn't I be dead then? About the bright lights and the tearing, bruising bad BAD! BAD! The worst thing, I think, of all of them. Even I knew that. Maybe I was sorry then, after all. I don't know, but I knew I had to go looking when IT found HIM and he didn't even want it. Didn't she say that was why? All it would take? Ask me again. Because I thought of it, and I went looking and now I'm sorry, oh yes, I promise.
If I can focus, I can.
"I touched her, did she tell you? Wetwarm and ice age frigid every time. She touched me but... she didn't feel it. I'm sorry, now. I am." I reach out, touch his arm. He flinches cold flesh crawling under lycra. Maybe not blue though, but black, pansy bastard never had much imagination. "She didn't feel it either. She didn't. I always did it. You have to tell her. She listens to you even when you're not there. She always has, always does. Always will, I suppose. Why do you think she gave it to you? Do you know? Can you tell her? Did she tell you all about it?"
He frowns. "She told me."
He's thinking about breaking and snapping, rending maybe and burning as he looks down at the bones of a vice grip crushing on his arm or maybe desperate because I'm shaking him. He has to know he needs to tell her! Because he never. Told. Me.
He takes a long, stupid breath. And reminds himself we're not different anymore and he might even be WORSE. So patience is the key. Humor the crazy vampire. That's fine.
"I'm not sure how to respond to any of it right now, so I'd really rather not."
Well, that's uselessly flimsy neutral and diplomatic, isn't it, Angelus? Admit it. You'd like to skewer me with pointed holy water dripping stakes and toss me to ashes after tea just for thinking about touching your mate, let alone...
"If she'll feed me this time, I'll let her come." That's the best I can do.
It hits him hard in the soft spot. He bites back a snarl and that burning urge to avenge...
"You will never touch her again." Calm. "Part of your mind, somewhere, is clear enough to hear me, so make it listen carefully. If you touch her, hurt her, ever, I will hunt you down and destroy you without hesitation, soul or no. If you show her anything but respect from this day forward, you are done. Do you understand?"
I can glare at him now. "You think I didn't hear about that right out of the nursery? I had a maid, you stupid, clod-brained dog walker. Think about that for a while. I'm a fool, but never an idiot. No matter what they say." I poke a thumb at them, hovering around right over my left shoulder. If only I had some salt...
The smile this time as he gets up and goes is cautious, small but real and as warm as the beginning of the end ever gets, I suppose. He'll figure it out and get back to me.
"It does get better Will," he swears again over one big farmboy shoulder. Why did I never see the broad similarity between him and Soldier Boy? She gives it out pretty damn close to form when she's thinking straight. "So I'll take that as a yes."
"Make sure to tell her, won't you? I haven't got toys up there. I hear her. We could easily still have tea after."
He's reminded of Dru and closes his eyes.
Damn. Maybe I'm up for the dolls and singing after all. I just have to remember that I know things that they can't hear. See it, too. That's what's important. I'll tell him, just like she would. If he holds my hand it won't hurt so much to say it out loud. He'll listen because he knows. And he'll tell her. No worries about that.
"I'll call her," he promises. I'll believe him this time, too, there's no reason not to yet. It can wait a bit while it's still mostly chained down beneath. Maybe he will call her. He'll ask her, and she'll come. She did give it to him even if it was a life or two ago, after all. So there it is. She'll come. "And I'll bring you up something warm."
"Thought I heard a goat down there," I confess. "It's better than Chef Boyardee, isn't it? Gag it though, anyway, the bleating makes me dizzy before it breaks and I can tell you everything. All right?"
He stares for a minute like he's looking for something strange and important. It's all right there, mate. Go ahead, look harder.
"Right," is all he says, and shuts the door behind him.
I'd sing the songs if I could remember any of the words, I assume. But, you know, that is his job. So Humpty's set. Back together again, but probably too late for any of the rest. Born in Bethlehem and pride and falls and all that. Things are never really the way they should be, are they? When things fall apart, the Tootsie Roll Center's only three licks away.
Either way, I'll find it and I'll be ready.
