Title:Dear Friend (3A/3B)
Author: JustWriter2
Summary/Teaser: In a tale as old as inked parcels, Buffy writes to a normal penpal she falls for. Except, he’s not normal and she hates him; right?
Era/Season/Setting: late 1990s, early 2000s / ~ Seasons 2 -> 5 / Sunnydale, California
Warnings: some foul language and angst
Rating: PG
AN: Hi all! Here’s the 3rd installment, yet another year later, this time for Walk Through the Fire. This banner was made by the wonderful teragramm. Writing Spike’s angst at the beginning was what was holding me back from posting this Spring during Truth or Dare. I welcome all constructive criticism from you.
Fic: Dear Friend (1/3B)
Fic: Dear Friend (2/3B)
Fic: Dear Friend (3B/3B)
Disclaimer: I do not have, nor have I ever been in, contact with any of the creators or producers of the television show Buffy: the Vampire Slayer, nor the films, plays, and radio broadcasts which this work is based upon: Parfumerie, The Shop Around the Corner, In the Good Old Summertime, She Loves Me, and You’ve Got Mail. Some of the lines from these and recognizable scenes and bits of shared dialogue will be played out and paraphrased, but only in tribute and not for anyone’s profit.
Spike finds himself falling into a dark, deep, empty well of angst, depression, and anger following the incident on Sunnydale’s college campus. He can’t drink, he can’t brawl, and he can’t yell, leastwise not if he wants to keep up the new reputation he’d put time and money into building up. Instead, he hides in his makeshift office and, curse the word, broods. He sits there so long, mired in his spiraling thoughts, that he doesn’t even feel hungry. He roars within his own mind, what’s the point of un-living without a purpose?
Then he takes a good, hard look at himself and grimaces. What is he doing, sitting here while his employees are celebrating? He’s acting like the Great Peacock, all, “Woe is me. I can’t have what I want so I’ll make those around me suffer.” They’ll be plenty more joyful if he’s out there with them.
They had accomplished what scholars had said was impossible. They’d found the tomb of a legend and its legendary treasure! Now, what was he doing, sitting here in the dark? He hadn’t yet even followed up on the paperwork to send the bits and bobs to Joyce for authentication.
With renewed vigor, he signs a few papers before stacking them in a little pile on the edge of the table for later. They will get them all notarized in no time.
As he rearranges the haphazard disarray of papers on the desk, he uncovers the scent of the letter that precipitated his downward emotional spiral, the one which asks him if he wants to meet. He drags it out of the mess and gives it a long look, eyes flickering across a few phrase here and there, before shoving it back beneath the other sheafs of paper.
He starts to comb through the rest of it when he stumbles across another letter. In a fit, he crumples it and tosses it toward the little bin. Lacking in food for the past few days, his strength is off, so the paper ball strikes the outside of the bin instead of landing inside of it.
But this action proves a mistake. The scent of the perfume clings to his palm. In this tiny space, with his abilities, the sweet smelling perfume clings to him, and he can’t get away from it. Everything he touches, it clings to as well. So, even after he washes his dominant hand, it’s already on and in everything he has to be near. So, he tries not breathing.
It doesn’t last long, but he keeps himself busy with things that have to be done. He’s relieved that some of those things are joining the safety cleanup, for the dig, and safely transporting the goods.
“You be careful with these shipments to the gallery, ya hear? The owner is a real classy lady who deserves your respect,” he instructs his guys. “You will address her as, ‘Ms. Joyce.’ No ‘Joycie,’ no ‘Hey lady,’ and definitely no ‘Missus Summers;’ her ex-husband is an absolute wanker.” “Sure thing boss,” one says, whilst the others nod and grunt agreements in their own tongues. He reminds them again that if anyone swipes anything, that everyone would lose out on the expedition. It amazes him that he doesn’t need to threaten anyone to get a serious point across. They’re all in this together, and reminding them of this fact is all it takes to keep everyone on task and working honestly.
They all depart and he slumps, remembering once again his penpal’s influence upon him. He feels confident, in charge, and competent whilst leading. It feels invigorating. But, as soon as he has no one to guide or to assist, he feels useless and without a purpose. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.
After avoiding it for a few hours, he surrenders to the desire to read the new letter brought to him by the employee he rescued on that stressful morning. Clem had slipped the guy his P.O. Box key after a couple of days, and this letter had been waiting. When he was handed it, Spike gave him a false smile of gratitude and put it into his jacket. An hour later, he pulled it out, crumpled it, smoothed it out, and returned it to his pocket, instead of dropping it in the trash.
Now, with trembling hands, he unfolds it and reads its contents. Swallowing as he reaches the end, he utters a curse. She draws him in again with such faith and hope in his penpal self, but he knows that she has no such positive feelings for himself as Spike. He paces and sits and paces again, pulling out a pen and considering it before hurling it into the wall in a burst of anger, where it breaks apart, plastic bits flying and ink dripping onto the floor.
Then, he surrenders to the impulse, pulling out another pen, and begins writing the most cockamamie excuses for not meeting up with her that he’s ever seen or heard. He crumples up each and every sorry attempt, and his aim is much better now that he’s been feeding on the stale blood bags his guys have been bringing him. Finally, he writes a simple apology, not trying to explain why he “didn’t come.”
______________________________
Buffy went to the mailbox again and there was no new letter. She wants to hunker down in her pajamas, hug Mister Gordo, and mope in her dorm room; but she has to go patrol. So, she washes her face, changes into some tougher clothing, and arms herself, before heading off into the night with her shoulders slumping. No ice cream or RomComs for her.
She runs into Harmony Kendall on an outdoor bench along one of the winding paths through the grass. She hasn’t seen her since high school graduation. They get to talking. Harmony mentions Buffy’s red eyelids and asks. Buffy tells her about being stood up and then Spike coming out of nowhere, in broad daylight, and attacking her verbally.
Harmony asks who Spike is and Buffy recounts a bit from their junior year and a bit from senior year to bring her up to speed. After clarifying things about him like he’s a vampire and some of their past interactions, Harmony says, “He sounds totally jealous.”
Buffy’s reaction is a startled, “What? No.”
“Trust me, the one thing I’ve mastered over the years is knowing when a guy is interested, even if he doesn’t want to, like, want you.”
Buffy laughs. “No, seriously,” Harmony insists. “This guy’s a total drama queen. He attacks you and lets you, like go. Then he stalks you around town, through his buddies.” “Minions,” Buffy interjects.
“Whatever.” Harmony swats the interruption off, barreling forward. “Then you cripple him, but instead of coming after you, he like, teams up with you against your ex to save the world. Next, he comes back and convinces you to break up with your sort-of ex. And now, he’s mad at you for going out with some guy you don’t even know.”
Buffy blinks, gaping at Harmony. “You think Spike like-likes me.” Harmony nods. “That’s – kind of hard to accept.”
Harmony snorts. “Hard to accept? My whole life, everyone pretended everything was fine whenever someone didn’t show up the next day. Then, Xander-dork comes to us on the last day of school, arms us with stakes, and says our graduation’s ‘gonna be a vampire buffet.’ And now,” she looks afraid, but determinedly into Buffy’s eyes. “I am a vampire.” She gently guides Buffy’s fingers to her cold wrist. “See?”
Buffy stares and tears up. “Harmony,” she starts. “Don’t,” the vampiress commands calmly. “You didn’t make me what I am. It’s not your fault. You were saving the world when it happened.”
They’re silent for a long while, listening to the energetic crickets nearby. “Thank you,” Harmony says, “for saving my mom.” Buffy looks up. “Without her,” she continues, “I wouldn’t have been able to cope as well. She’s kept me sane during this whole, undead thing.”
Buffy’s eyes get huge. “You live with your mom?” she asks incredulously. Harmony says with finality, “Sure. I did before, didn’t I? All we had to do was block off most of the windows in the house and she has the housekeeper go buy me fresh blood.”
After thinking on that revelation for a bit, Buffy asks with anticipation, “What’s the weirdest part?”
“Like, how not that different it is from before. My social life has gone to Loserville though. But I hear in Sunnydale that Loserville can be pretty cool,” she teases.
Buffy laughs, then confesses, “I’ve always been afraid of becoming a vampire. For a few minutes, awhile back, I was one.” This confuses Harmony. “It’s that day everyone’s worst fears were coming true,” Buffy explains, “but it wasn’t really real.” Harmony nods.
“Bummer for that Spike dude then.” This appears bewildering for Buffy, so Harmony clarifies, “If you’re afraid of what makes him him, then you’ll never seriously consider him as boyfriend material.”
“Hey! I’ve had a vampire boyfriend before!” Buffy protests.
“Would you like me enough to be my friend, Buffy?” she asks, befuddling her by the seeming change of subject. “What?”
“Does the idea of being friends with a vampire scare you?” Buffy looks conflicted. “Uh, I dunno.” Harmony plows on. “If you and I became B-F-Fs, would you be able to trust me around your friends, your family?”
Buffy chews on that thought for a moment. “Maybe.” Harmony appears happily smug, surmising, “So Spike has a shot at being your boyfriend.”
“Hey!” Buffy shouts teasingly, playfully shoving Harmony’s arm. They’re both smiling at each other when a ringing noise comes out of nowhere. Buffy seems confused, until Harmony pulls out a cute little flip-phone with a pearl white lining and a pink cover.
“It’s my mom; I need to get home.” Buffy smiles and answers, “Thanks for the talk, and for reminding me that I’m not Supergirl.”
“Totally. We should hang out sometime Buffy.” They say their goodbyes and wave.
Buffy then continues her patrol, surprised that she confidently trusts in the knowledge that since Harmony won’t kill her own mother or housekeeper, then she won’t kill other people.
A/N: I simply had too much to post, so Part 3B may be posted on one of the free for all days.
Originally posted at: https://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/737031.html
