Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 37: Fears
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“My love, what’s wrong?” Cupid’s face wrinkles in concern as he enters his chamber to the sound of quiet sniffling.

Psyche turns, tears streaming down her cherubic face, her dark brown eyes glistening. “Oh, my dear, there is nothing wrong. Just look…” She sighs and turns back to the scene unfolding below her in the gazing pool. Cupid leans over her shoulder to see what she sees.

* * *

Spike is leaning over Buffy’s bed, gently setting her down and unfolding her limbs from his. Buffy’s head lolls, she is clearly sound asleep. Spike slides his hand under her head to keep it from falling backwards as he places it on the pillow. He slips her legs under the sheet and pulls it up to cover her. Buffy wiggles a bit in her sleep, making quiet murmurs and burrowing into the covers. Spike freezes, making sure she is staying asleep before he moves another muscle. When Buffy settles back into a deep sleep, he moves back to stand up straight. He hesitates, one hand reaching out tentatively to brush a loose lock of hair from her face. His fingers just graze her warm skin and his hand shakes a little. Without thinking, he leans forward, pressing his lips lightly to her forehead. He stands back up slowly, watching her closely. She stays asleep. Spike backs away from the bed and lowers himself into the chair near Buffy’s window. He sits on the edge of the seat, hands clasped, moonlight coming over one shoulder. His eyes are locked on the sleeping form in the bed, the expression in them soft, tender and wracked with worry.


* * *


Psyche looks up at Cupid, tears drying in salty trails down her cheeks. “Have you ever seen anything more sweet, my dear? Oh, he loves her so much.” Psyche sighs, fingers trailing in the water below, swirling the scene into undulating ripples.

Cupid rests his hand on her shoulder for a moment before speaking. His voice is serious. “I’ve returned from my visit, darling.”

“Oh! Yes, how did it go? Did you get any answers from those three?” Psyche jumps to her feet, facing Cupid. “They won’t truly let him die, will they? Not when they’ve just found each other?” Her eyes begin to well again.

“Have you ever spoken with the Fates, my sweet one? I wish it were so easy. It is purely impossible to get a straight answer from any one of them. Every other phrase out of their mouths is ‘And so it shall be’ and ‘destiny waits for no ’ I’ It is truly annoying.” Unused to feeling frustration, Cupid runs his hands through his golden hair, clearly unsettled. “I tried to find out if they altered our course and they just would not admit it. They are the only beings on this plane that can shape the actions of the gods, but still they avoid my questions. I know they did it. Somehow, they have been behind our plans all along without our knowledge.” Cupid paces the chamber, agitation plain on his chiseled features.

“But…putting the vampire and Slayer together was our idea. Not theirs… I don’t…” Psyche’s voice trails off in confusion.

“I know. I know. It seemed like it was our idea, but that is exactly what they do. They arrange the fates of people, make things happen in certain ways. I appealed to Lachesis for more information about the path chosen for these two, but she was stubborn as the other two. Clotho would only say, ‘I spun his thread over a hundred years ago and wove it strong. He was chosen to exist for this length of time. Hers is equally strong if not so long.’ And then Lachesis said, ‘His lot has been decided much as hers was when she was Chosen. He too has been Chosen.’ I asked them what he was Chosen for and they just stopped talking. Atropos just sat there with her shears, snipping away at threads of life as if she was doing her sewing. Finally, I was dismissed from their presence like a small child with these words from the measurer, from Lachesis: ‘What should happen will happen, Eros. He will make his Choice.’” Cupid sighs. “I can only say this, my love, those three goddesses do something no other being can.” He stops walking and turns to his mate. “They frighten me.”

“You? But, my dearest, you are a god. They cannot harm you. Atropos cannot cut your thread of life. Her power is only for the human world. Psyche feels a deep relief that Jupiter made her immortal when she came to Olympus as Cupid’s bride.

“My sweet angel, I still cannot risk angering them. They are the only among us that can control the other gods and goddesses. It is most unnerving.” Cupid pulls his lover into his arms, holding her tight. “I do not like to think that my actions are not my own. I only hope I can intervene or assist our two lovers in staying together. Somehow.”

Uncomfortable with their lack of power in this situation, Cupid and Psyche turn their eyes back to the pool to see what the night brings.

* * *

Spike is still seated in the chair at the foot of Buffy’s bed, the turmoil inside visible in his strained expression. Hg chg changed positions in the chair several times over the last hour or so, he leans forward again, elbows on knees, eyes staring blankly ahead before his face finally falls into his hands. He rubs at his face, hoping to wipe away some of the thoughts stabbing through his mind. When he looks up again, his eyes are moist with unshed tears. Buffy turns over in her sleep, grasping her pillow tightly. Spike’s gaze travels up her body, from the shape hidden in the sheet to the bare exp exposed above. Her golden hair is blue silver in the moonlight, making her look like some otherworldly creature. Spike’s heart aches at the sight of her, so peaceful and calm. And yet he knows her body is always on alert, could leap into fighting form if needed. That’s one of the reasons he loves her. This delicate shell surrounding a core of iron will. How could he not love a creature like that? Spike grimaces. How could he possibly make a decision that ended his time with her? But then again, how could he not? From the sound of what Rupert said, one choice saves her and the rest of the human race while damning him and the other choice does just the opposite. Either way, he is lost. Spike wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, frustrated with his helplessness. He doesn’t like playing these games. Just point him at a good fight and cut him loose. The muscles in his jaw twitch, the tension becoming unbearable. He should be in bed with her, that soft body pulled tight against him, but his fear of losing her has him pulled taut as a bowstring waiting to be plucked.

Finally, he reaches a decision. As loath as he is to leave her alone, this cannot wait.
On silent cat feet, Spike slips out into the hallway and works his way downstairs, refastening his shirt and jeans. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, before looking back up, straining to hear Buffy’s regular breaths. Finally, with a sigh, he moves to the front door and pulls it open, stalking out into the late night.


*BANG BANG BANG* Spike pounds on the front door of Giles’ apartment relentlessly. “’ey, Rupert! Rise and shine, mate!” *BANG BANG BA - * “Oh, there you are.” The door swings open in mid-bang to reveal a bleary-eyed Giles, his robe thrown haphazardly around him, hair sticking up in every direction.

His voice is tired and extremely irritated. “Spike, what in god’s name are you doing here?”

Spike leans past him, peering into the dark room. “What, you were asleep? Thought you lot were going to research the night away.”

“My apologies, Spike, but it’s the middle of the night. We decided to take a break and resume first thing.” Giles rubs at his eyes, fumbling in his pocket for his glasses. “What do you want?” Spike walks past Giles into the living room, flopping down in the nearest easy chair. “Oh, by all bloody means, do come in.” Giles sighs, closing the front door. He turns on a lamp and takes a seat on the couch opposite Spike, sliding his glasses onto his face.

“So, did you and the witches find anything useful? Any quick fix to my little problem?” Spike strains to look unconcerned as Giles looks at him, his tone light.

“No, Spike, we did not. I have a few ideas on the origin of the prophecy, but I have to get additional texts out of storage in the morning to check the details.” Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, Giles runs his hand through his hair. He looks curiously at the vampire across from him. Something in bod body language is off.

“’Cause, here’s the thing. Not quite ready to go, see. So, I’d appreciate some idea of how I can stick around a bit longer and not damn humanity in the bargain.” Spike’s complete turnaround from earlier, from his confidence and nonchalance, is unnerving to the Watcher. He squints at Spike, whose face is partly in shadow.

“Spike, you came over here in the middle of the night, presumably leaving Buffy, just to check on our progress in research?”

“Yeah, well. I’m a vampire, don’t sleep much at night, anyway. Buffy was out cold.” Spike shifts in his seat, hands running up and down his thighs. Talking to the Watcher has never been comfortable, he’s always so disapproving.

“And?” Giles knows there is more.

“And…well, don’t want to leave. Don’t want to leave her.” Spike fiddles with the leather of his duster, leaning forward into the light before casting his eyes up to meet Giles’.

Giles is struck by the open wound in that gaze. The burning pain surging through those deep blue eyes. “My god, Spike…” Giles struggles, struck wordless. The idea of Spike loving Buffy this much is so new. While he wholeheartedly approves, he is still not fully used to the idea. Only last week, they were still fighting all the time. But this pain, this love, it’s rolling off Spike in waves, like a physical force.

Spike clears his throat, swallowing his desire to be brave and tough in front of the other man. “I love her, Giles. Love her more than I thought possible. She’s my…she’s my everything.” His voice quivers on the last word. Spike’s head drops again, his declaration taking their toll on his composure. Needs the Watcher’s help, doesn’t mean he needs to see him cry. The two Englishmen have always had an adversarial relationship and yet, Giles finds himself softening towards the blond vampire. He knows Spike loves her and that she loves him, but the realization that Spike might be willing to do anything in service of that love…that’s a thought he had not examined. And yet here he is, desperate for an answer, nearly begging. Something Spike is not prone to do. If only he could help him.

Giles’ voice is gentle, fatherly. “I know, Spike. I know.” Giles feels almost queasy in the presence of a creature suffering so. “I love her, too, you know. I…don’t have any answer yet. I wish I did. I…don’t want you to have to leave her, either.” As soon as he says it, Giles knows he believes it in his heart of hearts. Buffy was glowing tonight. Happy. He would give anything to give her that feeling always. The two of them are bound by an abounding affection – she the daughter he never had and he the father she always craved.

Silence takes hold of the room, thickening as minutes pass and Spike keeps his head down. Finally, he lifts it, eyes dark and piercing but also deeply sad. “I’ll do the right thing, Rupert. Don’t worry.” Spike gets to his feet.

Giles sighs, furrowing his brow, scrambling for another alternative. “Well, there is still a chance the transliteration is flawed…maybe it’s…”

Spike shakes his head, cutting off Giles’ ramblings. “I’ll be ready. I’ll still be bloody well hoping you find an answer, but if you don’t…I’ll do it.” He turns away, his next words quieter and far away. “I’ll leave her…so she can live.” Spike cuts his eyes over his shoulder at Giles. “I just thought you would want to know and all.”

Before Giles can speak, Spike makes for the door. His hand is on the knob before Giles blurts out, “Spike. You…if it counts for anything…I wish it could be different.”

Spike turns the knob to leave, never turning back to the saddened Watcher. “Thanks, mate.” The door closes behind him with a click both final and ominous to Giles’ ears. He stares at the closed door for several minutes before going to his writing desk and clicking on the lamp. Refastening his robe firmly, he takes a seat and opens the text there in the pool of light. Giles adjusts his glasses and starts to read again, hoping he missed something…

* * *

Spike lopes down the sidewalk, heading back towards Buffy’s house. His gait is tighter than normal, the predatory grace slightly restricted. The smells of the night, the sights and sounds that usually make him feel alive and raring to go, are dull to him. His mind is clouded with anger and frustration, tainted with a dose of fear. Spike fights the urge to just yell: ‘It’s not fair!’ Of course it’s not fair. He scowls, letting his footsteps fall a bit harder as he continues towards Revello Drive.

* * *

A bonfire blazes, throwing orange sparks high into the night sky. The half moon shines down, its light covering the group in blue shadow. Buffy looks around, sees her friends standing to either side of her, fear on their faces, eyes locked straight ahead. She slowly turns, heart pounding, towards the focus of their attention. Spike. His back is to her, facing the flame. He is talking, but she can’t see past the blazing flame to see who he is addressing. He shakes his head. She squints, trying to see past him, but the light of the fire is blinding her. He shakes his head again, more vehemently and roars, “NO!” Anger is pouring off him, generating its own heat. Buffy tries to move forward, but Xander holds her arm, whispering in her ear. “You can’t interfere, Buffy.” Just then, Spike drops to his knees and screams in pain. Buffy screams along with him.

* * *

Spike’s head lifts as the night air is broken by a scream. Buffy’s scream. All his thoughts are pushed roughly aside at the sound of his love in pain. He breaks into a run, only a block from her house, duster flying behind him. Flinging the door open and taking the steps three at a time, Spike crashes into her bedroom to find Buffy still screaming, eyes closed. He grabs her shoulders and shakes her. “Buffy!! Wake up, luv!”

The scream finally fades as Buffy’s eyes pop open, instantly wet with tears. “Oh god, Spike. I…I…it was awful…”

Spike pulls her into his arms, sitting on the bed with her. “Just a dream, pet. Don’t worry.” He strokes her hair with his hand and realizes they are both shaking, hard. Spike tips her chin up. “Are you okay?” He takes his hand and brushes her hair off her wet cheeks, then leans down to plant a light kiss on her lips.

Buffy tightens her grip around him, not meeting his eyes when she answers. “I’m fine, Spike. Just a dream, like you said.” She stares off into the shadows of her room, thankful that Spike doesn’t know her dreams, her dreams like the one she just had, are often prophetic thanks to her Slayer abilities. “Where did you go?” She tries to shove the fear down. It won’t help Spike to hear it.

Spike untangles himself from her grip and stands up. He drops his duster on the ground in a heap, followed by his shirt and jeans. Buffy can’t help but smile at the display of his gorgeous naked body. “Just went for a walk, Buffy. Some fresh air. I’m sorry, luv.” Spike decides it is best not to mention his late night visit to Giles. It will only serve to worry her more that Giles didn’t know anything…and that Spike was scared enough to go ask.

“S’okay. You’re here now. And naked.” The terror lessening slightly, Buffy reaches out to take his hand, pulling him into bed. Slipping under the covers, she curls into his body and he holds her tight. Eyes finally meeting, tenderness flowing between them, their fears remain unspoken but not unshared in that moment of knowing. Neither chooses to ask about the depth of fear in the other’s eyes because they know. They know that tomorrow night at this time, they may not be together. And it makes them hold onto each other a just little bit tighter.

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Author's Note: Thanks for the comments so far! -Tiana