Let
in the Light
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: These characters don’t belong to me. If they did, they’d all have survived and lived happily ever after.
Summary: A sequel to my story Dimming
of the Day, but you don’t necessarily need to read that one
to get this one. Spike is in
“Darling I'm
lost/Adrift in the dark/I'm clutching your words/To my vampire heart
once
more/So let in the light/Turn me to dust/If it don't end in bloodshed,
dear/It's probably not love./Here we are/In the darkest place/My
reflection/Shows only your face…And the people in our lives/We all
leave
behind…Here we are/In the darkest place/To keep from forgetting/I
picture your
face/And I wonder/While we count the cost/Which is sweeter/Love or its
loss/So
I curse you/My vampire heart/For letting me love you/From the start.”
~Tom
McRae, “My Vampire Heart”
Part I: Remembering
“Spike, don’t do
this.”
“If I don’t, more are
gonna die, luv. Now go on, get out of here.”
“I won’t leave you!”
“Don’t do this,
Buffy.” He could see the anguish in her eyes. She didn’t want him to
go, even
after everything that had happened, even after it had all gone to hell.
She
blamed herself for it, too, but it was as much his fault as hers.
Her hand found his,
and she interlaced her fingers as flames sprung up between their joined
hands.
Spike could feel her in a way he’d never experienced before.
“I love you.”
She said the words out
of desperation, he knew—a last ditch effort to save him. He knew she
meant
them, even though this was the first time they had passed her lips, but
he
didn’t dare acknowledge it. If he did, she’d never let him finish what
he’d
started.
And Spike had never
been a quitter.
“No, you don’t, but
thanks anyway. Now go, Buffy!”
She left him then, his
soul blazing, burning him up from the inside out. It was both bloody
painful
and glorious, all at the same time. He could feel it—for the first
time, he
could feel his soul, and he knew he’d changed.
Everything had
changed; Spike just couldn’t have said when.
~~~~~
Spike awoke with a start, passing a hand over his
face as he
realized that he was still in his rented room in the flophouse he’d
found. It
wasn’t exactly savory, but then he didn’t have to worry about being
accosted by
man or demon these days. All he needed was a little time, a little
space to
clear his head.
It wasn’t like he’d ever believed Angel before, so
he didn’t
see why he needed to start listening to him now.
Still, the words Angel had spat at him during
their battle
echoed in his ears: “No, you’re less.
That’s why Buffy never really loved you. Because
you’re not
me.”
Less than—that was why he’d left Sunnydale to get
his soul
in the first place. Riley had come back into town, and he hadn’t looked
good in
comparison. Granted, he had been
babysitting the demon eggs, but they weren’t nearly as dangerous as
Captain
Cardboard had made them out to be. Spike had never expected her to
break things
off, even though she’d been angry, not after how things had been going
up to
that point.
Closing his eyes, Spike remembered the expression
on her
face when she’d broken things off with him.
“You
what?”
“I can’t do this, Spike.
I can’t believe I thought it was going to work with another vampire.”
He could feel the
anger rising. First, Buffy had helped the soldier destroy his home
without even
making sure that the demon offspring were dangerous, and now she was
comparing
him to Angel? “You actually bought that git’s
story?”
“Riley wouldn’t lie to
me,” Buffy said stolidly. “He said those eggs were dangerous. I saw the
grownup
demon; I believe him.”
“Looks can be
deceiving,” Spike snapped. “Besides, you’d be pissed off if you had a
bunch of
soldiers huntin’ you down, too. The eggs—”
“Don’t.” Buffy looked
infinitely tired. “I’m sure you thought you were doing the right thing,
Spike,
but you put Dawn’s life in danger by keeping those here.”
Spike could taste his
rage. “You think I’d let her get hurt?” he demanded. “I think you’re forgettin’ what I spent last summer doin’.”
“I think that you made
a bad call this time, and the next one might get someone killed,” Buffy
continued, as though she hadn’t heard him.
She probably hadn’t,
not really. She might have been listening, but she wasn’t hearing him.
“Like
you haven’t made bad calls, an’ I seem to recall you walking in on one
of Cap’n Cardboard’s spectacular cock-ups..”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because I
don’t have a soul?”
“That’s one reason.”
“And
the other?”
“I can’t be with
someone I can’t trust.”
“Funny, but you
trusted me with your sister.”
“And clearly I was
wrong.”
After that—well, things had pretty much gone to
hell. He’d
left town to get his soul, thinking that such a gesture would finally
make
Buffy understand the lengths he’d go for her. He thought that with the
soul,
he’d finally know what lines shouldn’t be crossed.
Instead, when he’d returned, both Buffy and Dawn
had been
pissed at him for leaving without a word. By the time Buffy had finally
warmed
up to him, he’d been fully under the influence of the First Evil, and
it just
got worse from there.
And then he’d died to save the world, and she’d
finally said
the words he’d longed to hear, but somehow, they’d rung hollow.
Spike knew that he should head to
Groaning, he rose from the ratty bedspread,
deciding that
one way or another this would be the last
night he spent
in this hole. Spike would make a decision and stick with it.
~~~~~
Buffy hadn’t been able to sleep. The fall days
were growing
cooler, particularly once the sun went down, although the climate
wasn’t that
much different than southern
She missed Spike—a lot, particularly in moments
such as this
one. If she closed her eyes and thought about it, Buffy could almost
feel his
arms around her, could hear him whispering in her ear.
In the months that had passed since his death,
Buffy hadn’t
been able to stop her self-recrimination. If only
she hadn’t
broken up with him when she had, if only she hadn’t wasted so much time.
At night, when she closed her eyes, all she could think about were
missed
opportunities.
When she’d touched him while he wore the amulet,
while
cleansing light was pouring out of him, she had touched his soul, and
she had
known: he had always loved her, she had
always been
able to trust him. She’d just been too afraid to risk it.
“Not sleeping, huh?”
Buffy turned to see her sister slipping out the
door to the
balcony. “No. You, too?”
“Yeah. You
missing Spike?”
“I should have trusted him.” Buffy knew that Dawn
would
understand what she was talking about; they had discussed the events of
the
last year a number of times since Sunnydale had disappeared, including
what had
precipitated Spike’s hunt for his soul. “I knew how good things could
be, and I
let it go.”
Dawn was quick to absolve her sister. “You
couldn’t know,
Buffy. He had the eggs like Riley said, so you couldn’t know that he
wasn’t the
Doctor.”
“No, I knew. Deep down, I knew.” Buffy closed her
eyes
tightly, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’d seen
the
future, and I knew.”
“What do you mean?”
This was the only thing that Buffy hadn’t told her
sister;
she’d never told Dawn about Casamir and the possible futures he’d shown
her. In
a way, Buffy had been afraid to do so, because she thought that Dawn
might
blame her for Spike leaving.
“Do you remember just before I started dating
Spike, when I
was gone for a day?” Buffy asked.
The younger girl frowned. “Yeah.
You never really said why.”
Slowly, haltingly, Buffy explained what she’d
seen, although
she fudged the details on the first two. It had been scary enough for
her, and
she still had a need to protect Dawn.
“So, you really did know.”
“Not about the eggs,” Buffy said defensively. “If
I had—”
“I know.”
They were quiet for a long period of time. “I say
we blame
Riley,” Dawn finally said. “I mean, he had to know that Spike wasn’t
really the
Doctor, right? There’s no way that he was an international arms dealer.”
“Yeah.” Buffy glanced
over at her.
“I loved him.”
“I know.”
“He said I didn’t.”
“You know that he can be really stupid.”
“He really can.”
“You still love him.”
Buffy sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”
She just wished that Spike had known that before
he died.
~~~~~
Spike had thought about stealing one of Angel’s
cars, but
had decided against it just in case he decided to go to
He walked out of the flop house, down the street,
past
dilapidated buildings and rundown stores, none of which held his
interest.
Loneliness sat heavily on his shoulders; Spike remembered the way that
Angel’s
friends had welcomed the older vampire back, whereas they looked at him
with
suspicion.
Spike still had no idea why everybody seemed to
think that
Angel’s soul was somehow better than his. Not only was his anchored,
but he’d
asked for it, suffered for it. Angel had just whinged
about it for a hundred years. If Angel was right, and Buffy thought the
same,
if she’d rethought her words on the Hellmouth…
“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, still undecided.
“Wish I
knew…”
He trailed off, but apparently someone had heard
him. “What
is it that you wish?”
Spike whirled to see an elderly man looking at
him. He
smelled like a human, but Spike wasn’t willing to take anyone or
anything at
face value these days. “Who are you?”
“A friend. My name is
Casamir.”
His eyes narrowed. “You.”
“I see you’ve heard of me.”
Spike nodded. “Yeah, from
Buffy.
Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Do you really not have any questions?”
Casamir’s gentle voice stopped him. As much as
Spike wanted
to make up his own mind, he had a few questions that he’d like to have
answered, too. “Yeah, I’ve got questions. Don’t know that your answers
helped
the Slayer all that much, though.”
The man’s gentle smile was also a rebuke. “I can
only offer
a vision of what might be, or what might have been. What a person does
with
that information is up to them.”
“Right.” Spike still
hesitated. It
wasn’t precisely fear that held him back; he just wasn’t sure he wanted
help
making this choice. He’d sworn that he was going to be his own man.
As though reading his mind, Casamir shook his
head. “Do you
not think that more information would help you make the best decision?”
Spike snorted and looked away, torn. Did he dare
to ask the
questions? He’d never been a coward, and now he hesitated. “Yeah,
alright.” Casamir led the way into a small shop that Spike
hadn’t
noticed as he passed. The lettering on the front was too faded to be
read
easily. “Looks like you’ve fallen on hard times,” he observed.
Casamir didn’t turn around as he busied himself
with an
electric kettle. “I go where I’m needed, whatever the scenery.”
Spike wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that; it
made him
feel as though he was being watched, as though Casamir had seen the
last year
of his life. “An’ you were needed here?”
“You needed direction, yes? And I can give you an
answer to
three questions.”
“Don’t know that I need the answer to more than
one,” Spike
replied, a challenge in his voice.
Casamir glanced at him over his shoulder. “If that
is true,
and there is only one answer that you need, perhaps there are others
you might
want.”
Spike took a seat in the padded chair at the
table, having
already decided to give it a try. He wouldn’t have followed the old man
inside
the shop otherwise. Casamir was right about that much; he could use a
little
more information—info he couldn’t get any other way.
“Yeah, s’pose I could
think of a
couple more questions.” Spike leaned back in his seat. “So, how are we doin’ this?”
Casamir took the seat across from him, placing a
steaming
mug on the table. “Didn’t Buffy tell you about her experience?”
He shrugged. “A bit.
Doesn’t tell
me what we’re goin’ to be doin’.”
“Eat first,” Casamir suggested. “This may take
some time.”
Spike realized that the mug held blood, not the
tea he’d
been expecting. “Uh, thanks.”
“It is my pleasure. You have a journey ahead of
you.”
He felt a tremor of fear, something he hadn’t
experienced
for a very long time; the sensation was unwelcome. “I haven’t decided
where I’m
goin’ yet.”
“I wasn’t talking about overseas travel,” Casamir
corrected
gently. He pushed three strips of paper much the same size as fortunes
from the
cookies so prevalent in
Spike hesitated before taking the pen Casamir held
out. He
had no idea what the results would be, but he remembered how drained
Buffy had
been, and how she’d changed—at least for a time.
“Yeah, alright,” he said hoarsely, beginning to
write. When
he was finished, he picked up his mug and drained it. “Now
what?”
“I’ll get the necessary supplies,” the man replied.
Spike gave brief thought to leaving, but rejected
it and
settled back in his chair. He was committed now; might as well go
through with
it. Casamir came back to the table, setting a small brazier in the
center.
Spike watched as he carefully lit the small fire, the aromatic smoke
almost
instantly filling the air.
“Place your first question in the fire and breathe
deeply,”
Casamir directed.
Spike raised an eyebrow. “You sure this is goin’ to work on me? I am a vampire.”
“I know my business, William Pratt,” Casamir
replied, his
voice showing the first hint of impatience. “If you are not afraid of
the
answers, place your first question in the fire.”
Spike lifted his chin defiantly at the suggestion
that he
might be afraid and put the first slip of paper in the flames, then
took a deep
breath.
“What if I’d never
gone to Sunnydale?”