SNOW VIRGINS

Summary:    Post 'Becoming'--AU--Way up North.  Buffy and Spike find mutual grief the strange peacemaker as they stem self destruction and the downward spiral spun from the disaster of Acathla.  Story concludes twenty years later.

*

He was out on the snow, slipping, these boots had no fucking purchase on the bottoms.  Walk a couple of steps and then fall flat, sliding sideways or back flat-only way to stand upright was to walk tight, like a baby. 

Spike in careful small baby steps walked on the ice toward the small female form squatting on the ground in the snow. 

It was the Slayer, her hair was brown and flying about, she was on her hands and knees and dwarfed in Dru's blue velvet gown.  She was happily, quite happily rolling and patting the white snow into place, a nice round mound rolled on the ground.  She was patting handfuls of snow mixed with ash into place on her snowman.
 
"Snow-woman" She corrected him and then smiled a blazing smile that knocked him on his ass.  Literally. 

He could see her rolling another snowball over the ash, picking it up and added it to the flesh of her frozen ice sculpture.

No.

He could see seasons pass, snow melts, ash blows away.

No. He scrambled, grabbing at the snowy ash and thrusting balls of the mix into a plastic shopping bag.  He had to get it get it all, he went for the Slayers sculpted woman of ice and ash--if put in a freezer maybe, maybe…had to, had to…

The slayer grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground, he flayed at her frantic now-he could hear her trying to reason with him-

"No, no, Spike, don't touch her, don't break it apart she's beautiful-"

"She'll go, she'll be gone forever, just let me…."

He wrestled against the Slayer who had him pinned down in the snow-no use she was too strong-frustration, some terrible break of forever gone, gone forever split him once, twice, he sobbed, hard, hard sounds.  He broke hard.  "Dru,  Dru…ah poor Dru…"

       *

He awoke unsurprised to find he was still pinned down by the Slyer held hard by her as he sobbed.  She wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him get up to go to her, to pick her out of the snow.  How could he have left her on the snow?  She would be so scared, so confused, so lost out there by herself, he had to go…

Buffy held him and buried her face in his neck.  Oh god…oh god…-she had never seen anyone or had herself ever experienced grief such as this.

It almost made her second guess her instinct to pull him away from the window…almost.  But Slayer or woman's intuition or rescuing him for rescuing her or whatever--the urge had been too strong and just for once, she wanted no more death and no more killing, not even the killing of killers.

She held his sob wrecked body still until she felt his energy shift and his muscles relax somewhat.  His pain was so acute he lay on his side and doubled his body--she held on to him from behind    Held him and kept his jackknifing body from being thrown about the room.

It was almost like an epileptic fit of sorts. 

Harsh, hard crying, tears of blood, body spasming in pain.

She was surprised to find herself crying with him, for him, for her…

She found herself smoothing his hair and kissing the back of his head.   Anything, anything to help stop the pain.  It was hers now too, almost like osmosis it moved from him to her and then mixed with hers back to him again, by being halved it became bearable for both and by being shared and compared it brought -proportion.

Dru, death, destiny death, the Calling, death, The Master, fallen Angels, innocence broken and once broken why not break it all…why not run round the room kicking and screaming and breaking every, every, everything…  

Running from Sunnydale, from Angelus, from Angel in Acathla now.  Angel was in Acathla.  He had found a new lover in hell and she, Buffy had sent him into his new lovers arms and so she ran running trying to break herself into such small pieces she wouldn't ever have to see herself at all anymore-if the girl who loved Angel was broken and gone then her pain would be gone too. 

But Buffy was a loving girl. And face to face with the extremity of Spike's predicament, to bear witness to such heartbreak regardless of who or what or whatever brought her back a little way back to herself.

Because anyone, anything that could break that way-could love.

And if it is true that love makes you fall down broken and wanting to break isn't it also true that being a witness to someone else's heart break…brought back her love?  Her compassion.

Like a math equation

Love to break     but watching you break    brings me back to love…

No more.  No more thinking.

She kissed his back right between his shoulder blades and felt it fall and be received. 

He gripped her arms that were braced around him, held on, held on and let her love him.

  
       *

He had finally fallen asleep, maybe it was sometime into 9:00 a.m. when she had realized he was no longer moving and for a moment, yes, for a moment she thought he had sobbed himself to death so still was he.  And she had to smile.  It wasn't funny ha ha funny…maybe just irony of a kind and her hot skillet holding the broken eggs of his omelet-coincidently funny.

She lay next to him on her back and stared at the ceiling and it is safe to say that she the Buffed one formerly of L.A was air head bound again and very much enjoying the sequel.

Ceiling.   Teeny tiny crack and god knows when was the last time somebody painted this room?

So she was wide awake when housekeeping tried to enter the room-god she hated when they did that-check out wasn't until noon-traditionally.  She bolted up off the bed and was on her feet already making a 'hushing' gesture to the startled middle aged woman, with cleaning cart in tow.

Buffy spoke low to the woman:  "No, no thank you-insomnia problem--he's finally fallen asleep…"

"Well check out is at noon-"She smoothed back a loose red lock almost indignant.

"Uh huh and it's what?  10:20?"  Buffy stared pointed at her and then suddenly thought-oh my god this woman does this on purpose.  Goes into room's way ahead of schedule to get a peakidty peak perhaps.  Shiiiit.  That was sad-but somehow she
 knew it was true.  Huh.

Knowing now Buffy stared her knowledge into the small woman and watched her crumple under her gaze.  Buffy decided to cut her some slack.

"Look I'll go to the office and pay for another day-k?"  And with that she closed the door firmly but quietly on housekeeping.  Well…that was kinda…fun.  Small power play.  She looked at Spike.  Mercifully he was still deeply asleep-she sensed he would be for some time.  Now would be a good opportunity to get out, pay for the room, and maybe get some new clothes for herself.  Do a quiet recon-what was the last day she remembered?  She really didn't know what day it was and suddenly she felt a little bereft and understood immediately why prisoners or castaways always made a big deal of marking the time-it helped shape the world.  Keep chaos a little, just a little under control.  Manageable.

Money.  Well Spike had to have money-he paid for the room and had bought this food.  She checked the bag.  Cold, soggy French fries and a smooshed cheeseburger.  Well it was the thought.  Somehow the sight of the food made her want to gag and she turned instead to her leftover tea.  Sucked down a little liquid and started rooting around for his wallet.  Not in the pockets of the duster--she looked at his still form lying on the bed and saw the telltale outline of a square shape in his back pocket.

Great.  She was reminded of the magician's trick of yanking the tablecloth from beneath the dining table setting complete with candelabra and thought:  piece of cake baby.  To remove wallet from vampire's back pocket leaving sleep intact.

She crawled onto the bed behind his form and without preamble slid two fingers into his back pocket, grabbed the wallet like a vise and pulled it out.  It was easy, cuz his jeans were so loose.  Huh. Loosing weight bad.  Wonder when was the last time he fed and then the sheer insanity of it struck her.  She saved him so he could kill again?

Her mid slipped a little sideways and she waited to see if some pearl, some buried something would be revealed in all it's natural earth logic and make her suddenly wise.

Nope.

O.k. O.K. just one thing at a time something began it snap crackle if she went near that thought again, so she just wouldn't O.K.?  She checked the wallet.   Ssscheech.   Had about three hundred bucks in there-nay three hundred and sixty three.

She sighed.  Just couldn't think about it.  Go pay for the room.

She picked up the loose key from the dresser and the ring of keys-(for the car?)  Put on his duster and opened the front door of the motel room-

--She couldn't move.  Not funny.  Not a spell.  Just stopped cold by the solid open air of the outside world. 

The dangerous world.

A girl slamming into the wall of other peoples unorganized evil intentions.

A world where anything can happen.

She heard a small moan come from the still form on the bed.  She looked at his body, he looked almost Calista Flockheart skinny intense-she would need to find him some blood.  She left the room and went outside closing and locking the door behind her no problem and without a second thought now that she had someone's survival to solve-now where were they and how in the world would she explain needing so much blood?  Experiment for school?  Yeah that sounded good.

She walked toward the motel office walking carefully on the snow, hand extended gently lightly touching down now and again on the wall of the building when needed and went on down the unshoveled walk way.  

       *

It was bad.  This could be very bad.

Her soup was getting cold as she read and reread the article and related articles about the psycho man who had ripped up a bar somewhere up north-somewhere near Kalispell. 

She sipped her coffee, dunked her chocolate chip cookie and ate it in bits all with a little tomato soup chaser-she had to have some kind of vitamins, she knew that, she sat still all the very picture, the very portrait, all Vermeer-but inside she was starting to run, she sat there running while reading about a man, average height, bleached blond hair, black leather who had terrorized patrons of a local bar.

Four men had been hospitalized-two in critical condition.  Three others were treated and released.  Injuries were unspecified.
And an interstate man hunt was underway.  Someone that dangerous must be psychotic or a trained killer or, or, the article hinted at, drew one's conclusions to: a terrorist of some kind.   

No mention made of drugging a woman with car trouble and holding her prisoner to be gang raped.

Buffy closed the paper.  She put both hands together and rubbed and clenched them as if trying to stimulate warmth into her extremities. Into her numb battle weary extremities.

She sat in the booth at the restaurant just down the street from where a psycho bleached blond leather clad serial killer knight in shining armor lay sleeping.
  
She finished the soup, she still wasn't hungry but she knew she should be and that her body needed the nourishment.

O.K. O.K. one thing at a time, her mind began to sort and problem solve for the first time since before Acathla. She felt the acceleration of clear thinking and saw clearly all the steps for Bonnie and Clyde to take to avoid that very un-Hollywood like ending.  No.  No this was going to go down via the very best high budget sappy depression era musical.  No 'come and get me you dirty screws!' for Buffy and Spike.

She had the Desoto with her which was good-because she had a lot of errands to run.

       *

She was surprised, nay shocked at what she found in the trunk of the Desoto.

It was blood lots and lots of blood.

But instead of strewn about and helter skelter and her worst nightmare realized smeared and drenched in trophies in the back of the trunk and what she would be horrified by but fully prepared to see-it was blood sure enough but all neatly stacked in plastic pints.

Blood bags.

Spike had been bagging it.  

"Well knock me over with a cotton ball"

What else had he hidden back here?  She found a sawed off shotgun-well that would have to go in the river.  The axe was o.k. and could be explained to cops even the S & M stuff and man she didn't even know what some of that stuff was for and how it could even be used-just put it in a box and pushed it far back into the trunk.  Yeah, she only kept the stuff that could be explained if they were stopped but anything walking on the outside of that line-well into the river with you.

She got acetone from the hardware store and cleaned all the black protective paint from the inside of the windows.  They would just have to travel at night.  Trunk looked lightproof and seemed big enough-big enough to house a vampire in an emergency-probably why he kept the car.  She took the army blankets from the trunk and threw them in the backseat-he could always hide here, emergency, always plan ahead.  What else?

Clothes.  They would both need new clothes or different clothes.  Had to try to fit in to the local landscape.  She had seen a second hand store down the block, like a Goodwill would be good.  She was already imagining dark blue flannel shirts, maybe plaid-no, she knew Spike would indeed rather be found dead than to be dusted in something so prosaically local.

That didn't come out quite right.   

And the hair of course, that blond would have to go.  Maybe hers as well.  Do everything they could to blend in, bland away.

The thought was almost comforting.  The thought of no one, no guy sending her a second look.  Yeah, yeah, she would do that.  This is what they would do.

Question:  How many people had seen Spike at the Motel when he checked in or roamed about?  They should leave soon, very soon.  Her instinct still said they were o.k. for now-but soon.

And just when had she started thinking of the two of them that is the separate creatures of Buffy and Spike as:  'us'?

       *

She just got back to the motel when it started to snow in earnest.  She wasn't a northern person definitely not snow savvy but she recognized determination when she saw it.  And these little bitty flakes meant business. 

Now would that be good or bad for them?  Good it might slow down a police search-bad if it stalled the road trip
outa High Noon.

She unlocked the door, swung it open and tossed the bags of clothes onto the floor by the dresser.  She walked in carrying a couple of bags, blood from the car-it would need to defrost, food and various sundries.

She wasn't sure what to expect when she got back. The sky was overcast no daytime walk but Spike, being creative as he was, she didn't doubt he was capable of inventing a brand new form of stakeicide if he wanted. 

Huh.  Was the wood of the motel room furniture real?  Would stacked veneer do the job?

He was sitting up in bed.  Back propped up against the headrest, face still and quite composed.

Buffy's heart fluttered a little when his eyes met hers.  Well that's a funny reaction.  To cover she walked to the dresser and put the bags down.  She spoke over her shoulder. 

"Found the blood in your car needs defrosting but should be o.k."

He said nothing.

"I took your wallet, had to pay for the room again…and…get some food and clothes, some winter clothes-not new though just second hand and…and…(she was rambling why was she rambling?) And…"

She sat down in one of the two chairs by a small table at the window.  She took in a deep breath and let it out.  She just didn't feel like talking anymore so she stopped.  After running around everywhere all afternoon she stopped.  Just stopped.
Her hands were shaking again; she pressed them together in her lap.  Inside.  Inside now not outside.  Where had this attack of nerves suddenly come from?  She took in a deep breath and let it out.

He said nothing so she got up to take a bath. 

       * 

She couldn't seem to get the water hot enough.  Maybe we should find a new motel.  Huh it was a 'we' now wasn't it?

She stretched out in the tub filled up with hot water, she let the drain open and the spigot run water rushing hot full on almost all the way to burnt--left it running so the water in the tub wouldn't have a chance to cool down.
Just couldn't seem to keep the water hot enough. 

It was the fingerprints, that horrible feeling of the oily residue of those creatures touching her…it was so hard to think of them as men-they hadn't been able to hurt her, really hurt her body, but they touched her, touched her body and her…faith.

Well one thing that was good to find out-she didn't want to die, she had fought back without thinking and just how much damage had Spike actually done? 

Hot Water.  More.
 
'Boil that dust speck…' some old Dr. Seuss thing wasn't it?
 "Boil, boil, toil, and trouble…" well we all know that's Shakespeare but who the hell knows what comes after that?

(Cauldron roil, toil and bubble…)  No I just made that up.

"Slayer…" the door opened a crack--

--What surprised her was that she was absolutely not alarmed whatsoever.  Now that should be alarming.

"Slayer?"  He called "…sorry, you couldn't hear me with the water running…"

"Open the door, its o.k."

She moved the plastic shower curtain to hide her body leaving her head visible.

He opened the door to the steam filled room and vapor was sucked through the crack to the cold room beyond.

The sight of the slayer, hair plastered to her head and the thought of her naked in the tub steam steaming-affected him, almost not at all other than a strange desire to dunk her in cold water for what she did to his car.

"Slayer…"

"Close the door, you're letting in the cold air."

He came into the room, closed the door behind him and sat on the toilet.

"Slayer what the hell do you do to me car?"

"Ohh….that…"  She acknowledged his vague sassiness as something maybe good…maybe…

She had stripped the car of him, his presence.  Stripped the windows too, like she was going somewhere soon-without him.
What?  If she was going to leave why hadn't she left this afternoon?  She had taken his money, his car, left him high and dry why had she come back?  He had thought maybe he was wrong, but when he had gone out to his car-well now he wasn't so sure.  He had been tempted to run, just run but after last night…well it didn't seem right to make a decision that didn't involve her skinny white ass.  He waited.

"Cops will stop you, driving that around like that with the windows blackened-"

"-Cops could never catch me Slayer-"

"Not one car maybe…how about blackbird, blackbird three states full?"

He tilted his head.

"Read the paper I brought in Sunny Jim-we're on the lamb now-and I don't mean feasting on the poor little wooly ones or gyros either not even with a great cucumber sauce and fries-oh maybe I'm getting hungry…"

He got up to leave and was at the door when Buffy realized Spike had gone out to his car-why had he gone out to his car?  Was…was…he thinking of leaving---without her?

"Spike…why did you go out to the car?" 

He heard the tremble in her voice and something inside him relaxed almost into a sob-she was worried about him leaving her.

"Something I had in the trunk--I heard you running the bath and thought you might be doing the sauna treatment again-this may help with the sweat lodge."

He tossed her a tied off plastic bag containing green looking herbs, well they weren't green looking, they were green absolutely and they looked like herbs, hell it looked a little like reefer…

She looked up at him cautious-"How did this miss my search and destroy?"

"Its tea…put it in the bath, it'll help…clean you out…do a nice sweat…"    
      
"Well you're just font o'facts…"

"Hang around 121 years, something's bound to stick."

He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

She poured a third of the tea in the tub thinking:  He wasn't going to leave me.

He stood on the outside of the bathroom door scenting the herbs hit the water thinking:  She wasn't going to leave me.

*

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