Love and Death Embrace | By : addielogan Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 4146 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It is
the brainchild of Joss Whedon and belongs to him and
his people. Title comes from the song by H.I.M. with a similar name.
Rating: NC-17 (This story contains sexual situations. Please do not read if
you are under the legal age.)
Summary: Once, William Pratt was a quiet poet, madly in love with his wife,
Drusilla. Now, Spike is a loner, hunting in the night for the monster who took
her away. He is focused on vengeance, making no room for anything else in his
life – until his plan to get his revenge takes a turn he never could have
predicted.
Author’s Note: Parts of this fic get
very dark. There’s angst, there’s violence, there’s stuff that’s not altogether
happy. It’s not all angst, but there is a good bit, especially in certain
parts. If at any point it gets to be two much for you, you can do one of two
things: stop reading, hold your breath and hope it gets better, or email me and
ask me to answer any question you have about what’s coming up to see if it’s
something you still want to read. (I’ll always answer those questions in
private emails sent to addie_logan@yahoo.com.
I will not answer them in a public forum like my livejournal
or a review page. I don’t want to spoil the story for people who don’t want to
know.)
However, what I ask you not to do is complain to me about things being too dark
or tell me it’s too much for you. I have some readers who have problems with
angst and some who don’t. I’m not going to shortchange the ones who do, or
myself for that matter, because some people can’t take it. That’s not fair to anyone.
So if you don’t like what I’m writing, then that’s your
personal preference, and you’re free to read something else. I
understand that, and I’m fine with it. I’m not fine with flame wars, nor am I
fine with people harassing me, writing me threatening emails, or trash talking
me around the internet. (And just so you know, I’m not paranoid – this has
happened.)
So, to sum up – there is angst. If you like
it, that’s cool, keep reading. If you don’t, that’s cool,
too, you can quit reading. Or read with one eye covered. Or
something. Just don’t flame me.
Feedback and Archiving: Feedback is made of awesome. Leave me some and make
my day. As for archiving, I generally allow it, but please e-mail me for
permission before you repost this anywhere. Thanks.
***
*** ***
Your world is coming to
its end
But you don't have to be afraid - I'm here for you
Save your happiness for tomorrow
And today we'll drown in your tears
A drop of your blood tastes like wine today
Save your happiness for
tomorrow
And today we'll drown in your tears
Your blood tastes like life today
— H.I.M., “Beginning of
the End”
***
*** ***
The room was
covered in blood. Her blood. It was everywhere,
surrounding him, painting his vision in only red. She lay on the couch, her
throat torn, the eyes he’d loved so much empty and
lifeless. Still, he ran to her, taking her in his arms with a desperate hope
that it wasn’t too late. That he hadn’t failed her.
But as soon as he
held her, she began to crumble, her body breaking down until there was nothing
but dust to slip through his fingers. A cold laugh rumbled through the room,
and he looked up, meeting dark, dark eyes.
Spike sat up in
bed, his bare chest covered in a sheen sweat, his body glistening in the
moonlight from the open window. He ran a shaky hand through his platinum blond
hair, wishing he could banish the images that still plagued his dreams away
from his mind forever. Yet he knew nothing would push them away, not when they
haunted his waking hours as well. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her
face as it had been the last time he’d seen it.
Cold, lifeless.
Dead, open eyes staring, accusing…
Still trembling, Spike
tossed off the covers and grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling them up as
he went to the window, looking over the London skyline. It had been ten years, and still he had yet
to fulfill the promise he’d made to the woman he loved. Ten lonely years of
losing himself to a mission he feared he’d never succeed in.
And in his
search, he’d learned, discovering a world he’d once denied the existence of.
And while he’d become a formidable force, he hadn’t been able to find the man –
no, not a man – the monster he’d set out to destroy. The longer his
search continued, the more frustrated he became, and he fought to stave off the
helplessness that came with the fear of never being able to avenge the woman he
loved. The only woman he’d ever love…
There were times
he wanted to give up, to let it all end. The more time that
passed, the less hopeful he got that he’d ever find justice for her.
However, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Even if he never succeeded, he owed
it to her to keep trying – it was the least he could do after he…
Spike shook his
head, trying to push back the memories that would never go away.
He turned back to
the bed, his tired body bringing him to eye it with longing, though he knew trying
to sleep again tonight would be futile. After one of those dreams, it would be
days before he could find sleep anywhere but at the bottom of a bottle.
He scratched at
the stubble on his face as he looked at the clock, seeing it was only two in
the morning. It was early enough still that he could find some action if he
wanted, and he decided he might as well go back out and see what he could stir
up. It was better than staying home alone with his nightmares…
However, no
sooner had he made his decision than did the tinny sound of his mobile phone
fill the small bedroom. His eyes flicked over to where it lay on his bedside
table, and he knew that if someone was calling at this hour, it wasn’t for a
mere social chat.
Not that he knew
anyone who would call him simply to chat anyway.
Spike walked over
to the table and picked up the phone, not recognizing the number on the caller
ID. He flipped it open and answered it with a gruff, “Yeah?”
“Is this Spike?
It’s Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. We met several weeks ago.”
Spike frowned as
he tried to remember the man on the other line. “The nest in Southwark,” he said as an image of the man popped into his
mind and he remembered meeting him when they’d both tracked down the same
hunting party. Afterwards, they’d gone for a pint, and Spike had drank a little
too much and divulged more of his life story than he’d meant to in the process.
Still, that
didn’t explain why the man would be calling him. Unless maybe he read a bit
too much into the night than Spike had intended…
“Yes, well, I
just received a call from a contact of mine in Los Angeles, California. It seems there’s a new master vampire trying to lay
claim to his area, and well, when Gunn said his name, it reminded me of our
conversation.”
“Yeah,
how so?”
“He called the
vampire Angelus.”
Spike stumbled
back, his hand shaking again as the name echoed in his mind.
Angelus…
*** *** ***
Do I have readers
for this one? Please review.
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