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.

*

I may be good for nothing else in the world except taking care of other people.  Or one other person, or all the people in the whole world, as in 'save the world.'

The thought of him leaving had left her devoid of purpose-had scared her deeply silly for those five seconds.
It wasn't that she was afraid of being alone, or of living alone, sitting here in the bath she came to begin to understand for the very first time why it was she, herself, Buffy Anne who had been called to Slayer.  Willingness to fight, coordination, resolute spirit that was always part of it but the real thing was here if she wanted to look at it.

She loved people.  She loved people who loved. It was her nature to love loyal, loving, soggy sods (to use a Spikism) who braved a world trying so desperately hard to redirect the force of everyone's energy toward being small and mean.  She was here for that small glimmer of love that survives in the blackest heart. And didn't those slivers deserve a chance to thrive?

It may be pointless and hopeless and she may as well do battle with Neptune backed by the ocean but she would do it.  She would be the dark horse of white light.     

Soon.
 
She would be compelled to return.

People had a right to live well-they had a right, and if it was within her to try again she would. 

She would have been interested to discover that Spike in the next room going through the ritual of preparing their evening tea to be thinking much along the same lines.

Not the Roman god reference--Buffy had this thing these days for mythology-more like along the lines of having someone to take care of.   He had realized quite suddenly that it helped him to take care of someone else.  It didn't make him weak as it had so often been observed of him.  He picked up the kettle on the hot plate and poured hot water over herbs into cups.

So bloody English.  Had to have his tea-and she had to have hers too-do her a world of good. 

No, no, he may bloody well be here his whole life from stem to stern consternation for somebody else.  He was so often accused of being selfish and what of it?  But…and here the true confessions of a demon under the tutelage of a bookworm--he truly, truly was really all about being second.  For good or ill advised action--he was strongest when someone else was more important to him than himself.  

       *

Birds of a feather flock together.

       *

They lay together that evening.  She of the freshly scrubbed inside and out.  Man, that tea in the tub and done the trick-it had detoxed poison from mind and body and left her body shining and her spirit lighter than she had felt for half a year.  No matter that she knew the feeling wouldn't last.  She relaxed into it and lay spooned, her back up against Spikes chest.

Very few words had been spoken they had just laid down within a minute of each other and pushed themselves up close starved bodies craving contact as the snow fell outside.  They watched it fall through a crack in the curtains, its subtle hypnotic persuasion.  The world isn't sharp and hard-see?  See?  It's soft and round and white and totally brand new. 
All made all new all over again.

Spike thought he heard Buffy say before she drifted off something about teeny tiny snowflakes and how you really gotta respect how by themselves they were nothing just little melty bit o way's but holy american revolution how nothing would have happened--they would have had no impact on the world at all whatsoever save for…group effort.  How they stuck together and man how those snow flakes could stick together. 

Or something like that.       

He smiled.  Spike smiled.  He liked his slayer.  He liked her.  He was glad he had saved her…or had the music he heard that night saved her?…or had his grief saved her…or Dru wanting to go so far north…or his mothers name…or…

He drifted off to sleep.

       *

His grief.  Her grief.   Funny.

Neutered by grief.  The great peacemaker. Well maybe not for everyone.   But.

How funny that grief was their meeting place.  How funny that grief had subdued his need to kill. That grief had subdued her need to live.  And in this brave new Switzerland and on this strange gray morning they were sitting there at the table by the window-both of them just as pale as you please having a cup of tea together.

No wonder the English so loved their tea-living in a country of the perpetually cloudy they needed every bit of sensual stimulation they could get.  Hot sunshine in a cup.  A cuppa.

It was strange, another day had come and the sun was up but it was still so deeply hidden behind heavy clouds that the day stayed dusky.  As gray as the middle tones of grief.  Its noncommitment hanging between day and evening made it the perfect peacekeeper.

She had dyed her hair brown that morning-he wouldn't let her touch his head but in the end relented to the color washout in 24 shampoos that was really more like 7 really, Buffy had explained and he had finally given in to a very light brown color.  But only after she had waxed on about how he put them both in danger by choosing to remain a flashing neon bull's eye in a police shooting range-he had given in.  Took one for the team 'an all.

Brave boy.  She was smiling at him.

"Cut it out…"  He said, but hid his smile with a small sip of tea with shot of blood chaser.

"Can't.  You just look soooo dreamy…"  Buffy rolled her eyes a bit.

Dreamy.  Dream.  Huh.  Buffy had had brown hair in his dream and here she was as he had seen her, or dreamt her-he shrugged it off.  Dru loved that kind of stuff-he always had to let it go-if he thought about coincidence, or premonition or whattall it would burn a small hole through his brain.

"It's getting better isn't it?" Her question was shy and small but so sincere he stopped to consider

"I can think of her now and wince and not faint, so maybe…maybe…but then it can hit me sudden like and…" He shrugged He suppose it was the same for Buffy.  She talked chirpy, but her eyes were so sad like now.  Up a couple of notches to 'function, oh yeah look at me while I function' or down to near suicide sad.  Somewhere near the low end now I suspect.

"Do you blame me?"  She asked

He didn't ask her what she meant; he knew what she meant he decided to tell her the terrible truth.

"Killing that wanker…well let me tell you-if you hadn't, I would have found a way to with or without the soul, it was all the same to me so we might as well understand each other and be up front about that.  But Dru.  No.  You dint kill her.  I'll tell you something-she had it planned; knew me so well she figured out just how to strike within the strike, if you know what I mean…"

Thinking of Angelus, Buffy nodded that she did, she did understand.

 "I know now that she knew…that she had known her Daddy was gone had kept it from me see?  Kept it from me and was mad as a spitting snake about me siding with you and betraying them and all and then she hid that from me too-hid her anger with crazy dreams of seeing wild horses and…snow…and you know I'd a done anything to try to make it up to her so as we are driving north see, trying to keep a low profile an' al' and here she is, planning her…escape…escape into the snow angel she had made before sunrise.  You see it don't you?  What she was trying to tell me?  Her ashes spread perfectly into a snow angel she'd flapped out.  She told me plenty with that.  It was her screaming out with every last bit o sanity left in her that she would rather be with her Angel in hell than…than with me on earth.  Oh yeah.  She knew what she was doing…she knew…"      

What could Buffy say to that?

"Angel got his soul back just before I killed him."

It had just come out she had had absolutely no, no intention of telling him, or anyone that.
She continued.

"I saw it come back-I could see him back in his eyes-he didn't know where he was or what had happened and I killed him before he could remember."

Silence.

"Well you know how I feel about…but still I don't know if I ever could have killed… (Dru)…"

He didn't say it, but with that concession he let her know that he understood, truly understood how difficult it had been and how much she suffered.

"He finally got at me didn't he?"  (Angelus)

Spike looked out the window.  "Don't be so hard on yourself, you're what? Seventeen years old?  And you have the Slayer mind and access to ancient whatnot, but still, he…he's had centuries of experience in torturing mind and body with sex as his favorite medium.  Wouldn't surprise me AT ALL if he ALLOWED his soul to come back just so you'd have to kill him with it-knowing how it would affect you an all.  He was never above cutting off his nose to spite his face.  He was always about the grin and whatever it took to keep it plastered to that smarmy face.  So yeah, he got you alright.  But it's up to you if you stay gotten. It's up to you if you wanna let go being proud of the pain and bounce back.  That's the secret--you give up pride of the pain than you can bounce back any which way you want.  But at least it will be your choice."

"I'm not giving up my pride…just cuz you run crying and sniveling-" 

He cut her off unperturbed  "-don't be deliberately obtuse, you know what I mean, proud of the pain-you know oh look at me, see how special I am because I've suffered…you let go of pain being the thing that makes you special in the world, to other people-then you'll be o.k."

Her face was crumpling; she was trying so hard, it was all happening so fast, so much, so fast…

"You think it was my fault, what happened?"

"Now I didn't say nothing like that did I?"  Now he was indeed getting a bit angry.

"You said it yourself Angelus got at you, softened you up-from what I heard him say about you, I imagine he played on all your worst fears.  Bloody Hell, I KNOW what he's all about and he got to my in that wheelchair fucking Dru, raping her too, making her scream so's I could hear her but not help.  I know him and he got to me.  So cut yourself right away from that.
But you do gotta ask yourself-like with any battle gone wrong-what was in me head before I went in?  What kinda of thoughts was I thinking?  Your guard was way, way, down and you dint need me to tell you that."

Silence for a moment.

"I glad Dru is dead."  Buffy said coldly

Spike clutched the mug in his hand a little tighter.

"She killed Kendra in cold blood.  Hypnotized her or something they told me; wouldn't even let her go down fighting.  Just killed her; slit her throat like an animal.  Didn't even have the guts to fight her."

"And who'd she learn that from then?"  Spike's voice was deadly.

 He looked at her, his face hard then soft again like he didn't have the energy to sustain a fight, not even a verbal one.

"So alright then, I hurt you with the truth, so then you hurt me with the truth.  That's the way of it, I suppose.  But I said what I did to you out of…respect.  From what little you know of me, you think I would I enjoy seeing you put down easy? Where's the glory in that?"

They sat quietly together for about five minutes both of them wondering if Buffy would head for the door when Spike spoke again.  Softly

"I've been where you're at Slayer.  Give it some time, just a little…and when you're ready to be yourself again…well…let it happen…if you want…just let it…you don't have to stay 'gotten'…" 

He somehow couldn't find a way to make it clearer than that without hurting her feelings again so he stayed silent.  He never had to worry about this aspect of healing with Dru…because, well she just wove the new experience into the pattern of her broken mosaic…no, this was advice from him, from a formula that had worked for him years ago and he hoped,  that he himself still wanted to live badly enough to engage it again.

Alright no more words.    

She said nothing but the air between them had grown smoother.     

She said softly almost asking:  "You…you're a demon…how can you know …how can you…"

"Feel?"  He supplied.  She nodded her head and looked at him with an open expression.  She really wanted to know.

"Ask yourself something Slayer.  Where's the logic with all the creatures on one side of creation being able to feel and all the ones on the other side not?  Tisn't logical.  No balance.  Not to mention literature ripe with tales of creatures switching sides.  How can that happen if they can't be interchangeable somehow?"  

She said nothing but her brow wrinkled slightly, pulling together.

"Oi. Eh!  I saw that!  You were thinking!"

"Perish the thought…" Said Buffy and they both smiled. 

She looked into her tea.  She wouldn't say thank you, couldn't say it cuz it might mean more talking and she was done for the day, for the week and then of course absolutely NO talking about that night, which she would never do ever, but she would think it, she would screw all of her enormous will up and think it very hard--she would think thank you and mean it.

They sat drinking their tea in a middle gray day with sweet snow cushioning the fall. They sat in quiet for almost half an hour before Buffy suddenly said.

"Let's go."

He looked at her. 

 "Let's go now, right now…"

He had spent a hundred years in reverent awe of all instinct female, and nodded his head.

They packed everything up and within fifteen minutes walked out into the day, sun grieving for the earth far behind the clouds.
A good day for a vampire and slayer to travel together in the front seat of the car fighting over who gets to drive.

A perfect gray day built by grief.  

       *

Three and a half hours later a Montana state police car pulled into the motel parking lot doing a cruise and spot check for out of state plate's siren all sotto voche.

       *

She had fallen asleep on the passenger side of the car.  Spike was driving of course. It was very hard indeed to toss him from the saddle and look at her there.  Her body curled a little in toward him with one of her arms loose now in the crook of his right arm. As if even in this small sleep of a car nap she needed his escort.

He would time looking at her, to when they would pass beneath a street light strung along the entranceway to whatever city they were going through now.  He would time it, to when the first light of the arc would illuminate her face, sweet now, her right hand tucked in under her chin…light away…and then it was eyes back on the road arc of light leading to the Slayer and then eyes back to the road and on it went like that for hours.

       *

They were in Denver and it was a week away from Christmas and Buffy was out on the ice skating as she had been for the past two days when she suddenly decided.

I want my Mom.

I want my Mom.  We could talk about triggers, old buttons pushed by emotion memory, of ice skating with mom watching or the Christmas song that had just come on-it was Danny Kaye wasn't it.  Danny the lesser, not Bing, but better in her book of life.  Being outside under the night sky, stars, stars and those little stars, little bleeps of light talking to each other at the beginning of 'It's a Wonderful Life."  It was all that and none of it, it was just the plain old fashioned visceral call of family from one who loves you above all else on earth.

 Mommy.

It would be o.k., she would be o.k. now.

She felt her attention pulled to the man sitting on the bench at the side of rink.  He was back in black leather-figured in a big city like Denver one could bring back the unmentionables.  He had skates on and could actually skate quite well-but most times he just liked to watch her.  Loved to watch her move, skating forward and then suddenly shifting and then backwards she flowed.  He had noticed how could he not notice, it was his body after all-that he sometimes woke up next to her a little hard and even now, watching her body he felt his body begin to hum a tune he didn't know all the words to.

What was he feeling?

Heart hum and grow a little hard and…and…he had to ask, had to consider if his sex was coming back to him…and with that coming back…then how far behind would the blood lust be?

This pall of grief that had so effectively neutered him and let them co exist so well in each others company was lifting, muting and her company was such a sweet balm the gray was going.  But what would it mean if coming back to himself in full strength, grief gone only to loose her?  Was the world trying to drive him mad?
Certainly no torture could have been better conceived or executed by Angel/Angelus whatever.

He was even beginning to think like her as a concession to her.

He saw her body slow down to a stop and she stood, just stood looking up at the night sky.  Watching her face fill with peace and pleasure and then…home…thoughts of home…

Oh god, he felt a sharp piercing in his heart.  Oh god, how can there be any pain left that he hadn't yet felt.  He was like a blind man making his way 'round the world didn't see a thing just went around feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling it all…him and his feelings.  He made a lousy vampire.          

She looked him in the eye and saw him get up and without breaking eye contact; Spike skated over to where she stood in the center of the rink…

He took her elbow and letting his feeling, this…feeling flow into her, felt her accept it, accept him-she tucked his arm safely under hers and they began to skate in tandem.

Heady music playing, lights sparkling, glinting off the crystalline ice people parted for them and then stopped, turned and watched the two young people, the sweet boy and girl hair shining and dipped in brown sugar, skate, nay, flow around the ice. Spike had been watching Buffy so closely for the past two days he knew her style and rhythm and she in turn, was such a natural she found his way with ease. 

One by one everyone on the rink stopped to watch them.  It wasn't as if what they were doing was so incredibly fancy or award wining or whatnot…it was the way they were…together.  Beautiful, so sweet and fresh and young and untouched by the terrible turns in the world.  Virgins.     

What would it mean if the wonderful gift they had found in each others ashes, to rise all shiny and new and better than before if it meant he would go back to killing and she would go back to killing him?   

But tonight on the threshold of being healed they held. 

Virgins loving and loving and under the doting eye of their patroness, the Moon.

       *

It was in Death Valley and say no more about the cruddy symbolism he was aware too well aware of this cosmic joke.  The music had been jacked up-Violent Femmes it was and Buffy was actually digging it. It was four hours past sunset and three days from Christmas  and the air had turned warm again and so the window was rolled down-her hair flying, head thrown back laughing, she was going home, she was gonna see her Mom she was happy, heart pounding it out like on an ancient drum--blood pumping….slayer… 

Spike felt his demon tweak and growl as it woke.  It was waking up to find the most delectable of girl's right next door.  Oh the sweet lure of the girl next door.

Spike's hand gripped the wheel, white knuckled and petulant he called inwards-no, no, you left me…you can't come back any bloody time you like…

But didn't matter what he called, or who he pretended to talk to…there was no separate entity.  He was the demon, it was him and shadows of William but not like a partner you could divorce in California with a 50/50 property split.  The grief was still there but he was stronger now and not likely to break under the demons demands and so…and so…

He pulled the car over to the shoulder well off the road.  Buffy puzzled, listened.

"What?  Is there something wrong with the car?  I didn't hear anything?"  And then her senses, the nape of her neck fizzed its special soda popping her bubble.

She looked at him clutching the wheel, staring straight ahead.  She felt instinctively for the stake in her waistband then realized, doesn't have a stake haven't needed one…yet.  Before she could think another thought, he jerked open the driver car door and ran off into the night.

Spike.  Oh Spike.

       *

She sat on the hood of the car smoking a cigarette waiting for him to come back.  The night was, so, so quiet.  Unlike vamps she could walk around in daylight, but for her it was the night, always the night.  It was a choice.

She listened.  Night sounds.

She wouldn't go back in the car, one, she didn't want to leave him out there and two…well, two it wouldn't do to be trapped in an enclosed place if…if she had to fight him.

She had a pretty good feeling about what happened and…what didn't.  He had taken himself away-he had removed himself from her so he wouldn't hurt her.  That had to mean something didn't it?

"Buffy?"

It was him.  His voice sounded sad, resigned and a little triumphant all at the same time.  What could you say?  Spike was complex.

"Yeah, I'm here, I know you can see me…" Buffy called out her voice strong.  Letting him know in case he was wondering-I am the Slayer. 
  
"Yeah, yeah I see you-just wanted you to hear me coming is all."

Beat.

"Feeling better?"

"I had to kill something Buffy."   

Oh Spike my friend, my friend…I'm gonna lose my friend.

"Did you find something?"

"Yeah.  Jackrabbit."

"You killed a bunny?"

"Yeah.  I killed a poor defenseless bunny…"

Pause.

"You need some more blood?  There's still plenty in the cooler."

"Wouldn't say no."

And with that she ground out her ciggy on the side of his car-

"Oi  Eh!  I saw that!"

"That's what you get for killing bunnies-"

"-A bunny-"

"A bunny."   

She walked to the back trunk, keys in hand keeping the length of the car between them.
He noticed this of course.

"Sorry Slayer…"

"You can control it!"  She snapped at him while she opened the trunk.  "I've seen you control it-"

"-been down for the count for a while-surprised me is all-didn't see it coming."

That's not true, but best not to tell her about his growing sexual attraction for her. Might not be the best time for that particular confrontation.

"But you can control it now?"  She held out a blood bag to him.  He stepped out of the darkness and she saw him lit now by the moon.  There were no streetlights in the desert.  There was no light in Death Valley.  He was about three feet away, he seemed taller somehow-it was Spike.  Spike.  All of him.  Her good friend of the past two weeks was gone.  Or enhanced or…

"Spike."  There was a bit of a break in her voice.

He took the blood bag from her, letting his fingers touch hers as he did.  She felt the current run between them-but was it the frisson of love or antipathy? 

"Sorry Buffy," He said again, but sounded less sorry this time.

"No you're not."

"I am."  He paused looking at her with huge eyes, drinking her in, her eyes, her skin, her scent. 

"But put yourself in my shoes, luv…"

"I'm not you're love…"

"You are you know…"  And with no preamble whatsoever he lifted his left hand to stroke her hair...brown haired Buffy.

(Brown Hare)

No, no, she was no bleeding rabbit, she was Buffy and brown-haired Buffy belonged to him…didn't his dream introduce her to him?  The real girl belonged to him.

He stroked her hair, her face, skin so smooth…Buffy…

She stood stunned warmed by his gentle touch.

He leaned in and kissed her mouth-pressed his lips almost chastely up against hers.  An electric current spread out through their bodies from the place of contact. 

He drew away from her without another word and walked a way into the desert to drink his blood.

She closed the trunk of the car and moved around to the passenger side and threw the keys onto the drivers seat.  She waited.  God, life was a funny thing-where was the prat fall that would turn falling, falling into fun?  Into something funny?

He came back and stood by the driver's side and addressed her but kept looking down, wouldn't look up, wouldn't look at her.

"I love you Buffy.  Where and how it happened, who can say, but its here now in me and no mistake-but…but you best keep a sharpened stake on you at all times and a quick eye-for a little while at least…"

And with that he got behind the wheel and waited to see what she would do.

She was the slayer.  He was her friend.  She was the slayer.  He was her friend.  She was the slayer…

She opened the rear door and got into the back seat-so she could keep an eye on him-or escape through the back door if need be and it was wise and circumspect and Giles would have given her call a standing ovation-and what had the events of this past month taught her if not caution and-first do no harm…but still, still she felt like she had betrayed him in a way she could never take back.

He said nothing and started the car and began to pull away back onto the pavement and then suddenly:

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!  YOU ASSHOLE!  STOP THE CAR! STOP IT!"  Buffy opened the back door and got out as the car was still rolling and then just as Spike thought she meant to stay behind in the desert she jumped in to the front seat next to him, yelling almost screaming:

"YOU, YOU, YOU!  How dare you do that to me?  YOU JUST BLOODY WELL WILL CONTROL YOURSELF!"

"Buffy…Buffy…" he reasoned, trying to interject, "You have to stop shouting…it hurts my ears…"

--"YOU WILL JUST HAVE TO CONTROL YOURSELF AND THAT'S ALL THERE IS TO IT!"

Spike slipped into game face and growled back:  "IT DOESNT HELP TO HAVE TO THE SLAYER SHOUTING BLOODY HELL AT ME NOW DOES IT?"

Oh. That stopped her.  Looking at his demon visage, a little more subdued Buffy continued:

  "Shh…shh….o.k. o.k….talking quiet now, being quiet…sorry Spike…"

Near tears he shook off his demon and regarded her with blue eyes-

"This is serious Buffy…"

"I know…But I trust you Spike, I really do…you just gotta control yourself, you gotta, cuz you're the only one in the world I trust like that right now and, and I'm not sure what kind of world there would be for me if I couldn't anymore.  And...and you need me too.   Please control yourself.  Every creature should have free will right?  Cuz otherwise--it just wouldn't be fair, right?  So please Spike…I'm gonna sit up here with you and sleep next to you and be your friend because you got it under control-and if that means we stop every five miles so you can kill bunnies, then that's what we'll do. K?"

He was looking out the driver's side window so she wouldn't see him cry.  Poof that he was, proof that something irrevocable had changed in him these past weeks.

She was tempted to touch him, rub his shoulder-but wasn't sure what would set him off, so she waited while he set the markers.

Finally he turned to look at her.

"All right then."

The car rolled crunch, crunching gravel, roar of car engine as they rolled away and the night life went on without them.

*

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