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Of Light And Shadow by FetchingMadScientist
 
Whitewash
 
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LONDON, ENGLAND-1867

William squinted, trying to shield his eyes from the sun that sat high in the sky, making him uncomfortable in his dark mourning suit. Then he wiped furiously at his eyes as he stared at his father’s casket. He nervously slid his fingers under his collar, trying to find the air he needed to breathe. His clothes suddenly felt tight and he was having difficulty seeing.

There was no time for this. Mother needed him. He had to be the one now. There was no one else.

He hoped that his mother would not notice that he was crying at all.

They were alone now, Mother and he. He needed to be strong. He was the man of the household now. It was his duty to look after her now. She had no one else.

He looked up at his mother. She looked so strong, as if nothing could touch her. But he knew the widow’s weeds were heavy upon her. They made her beautiful blonde hair grey before it should have. The black had been weighing on her since dear little Emma had been taken from them. And now, there was this.

Father had carried her through the loss of Emma. With his help, she survived it. But, she was changed. And, as he watched the lines of grief change her, making her older still, changing her right before his eyes, he did not think she would survive the loss of her husband.

He had to be strong. He did not know if he could do this, but he had to try. It is what Father would want him to do and to be. He was all she had now. He was her world now.

Her hand was gripping his painfully. He was unsure if his tears were from the pain in his hand or the one he felt in his heart, but it did not matter. He had no time for pain now. She was depending on him. He had no time for tears.

He was a man now. He would stay beside her, help her through this loss.

He had to be strong. He couldn’t leave her. If he did, he knew- she would not survive.

He had to be strong-for her.

***************************************************

Spike tried to shield his eyes from the light that cascaded around him as he stood in his cell’s opening. For a brief moment, he had thought that the lady Watcher had come back. But the hope of that thought quickly faded as he saw Quentin Travers’s scowl looking back at him.

Spike slowly turned his eyes away, saying nothing. He preferred the memories of his family. Of his sister Emma as she searched for secret friends in the back garden; the remembrance of her hair was the closest thing he had to sunlight now. Even the torment of his worst memories, Father’s death and the weight he carried ever since, were far better than his present.

“Lydia cannot help you. You do realize that?” Quentin waited for a response, but the only response was the brief glint of light in the darkness. He continued, his tone deceptively light for the weight and threat his words brought with them, “By the time Buffy arrives, you’ll be nowhere to be found.”

He tried not to let Travers see how much he wanted news of Buffy. Spike couldn’t let him see how much the implication that she was still alive- and looking for him- made whatever the Watcher still had in store for him, so much easier to bear. What does he know? How much did he see? Oh God…poor girl… “Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere,” Quentin said easily, “But, by the time she finds you, and make no mistake, Miss Summers will find you, you will no longer be a threat. In fact, you’ll be an asset.”

Spike could feel his blood boiling. The laughter that escaped was derisive, “That little thing that was terrorizing the Slayer and her kith and kin a few years back,” he shrugged, hating the sound of the chains as they rattled with his every movement, reminding him of how vulnerable he truly was at this moment, “bint by the name of Glory?” Spike’s eyes narrowed at the man as he endeavored to keep his tone casual, to keep the Watcher from discovering how tired and frightened he really was, “She was a God. She wanted information too. Nearly tortured me to dust to get it, and I still wouldn’t give her a bloody thing. She was a God,” he could feel the demon taking over, and he let it. It was a necessity now, he didn’t think he could survive what he knew was coming, without it, “I don’t think you come close. The only place you might be anything but a sniveling little snack,” Spike raked his eyes appraisingly over his tormenter. I can still give him a good scare. Maybe throw him off balance a bit. He grinned widely, making sure that the man got a good look at his exposed fangs, “…in your cheap, Seville Row knockoff, is in your own mind. I took all she had to give and could have gone another ten rounds. What do you have?”

Quentin Travers calmly walked the breadth of the cell, being certain to stay well clear of his prisoner, who was eyeing him menacingly, and threw the switch that stood on the opposing wall, bathing the cell, once again in a harsh white light.

The Watcher took great pleasure in watching the vampire squint in discomfort, walked over to where the creature was chained and crouched just outside its chain’s reach.

Travers’s tone was measured and confident, “William,” he asked, his eyes holding a biting coldness that reminded Spike very much of a reptile, “just how much of your time as my guest do you actually recall?”

Spike tried to think. The last thing he really remembered was the lioness in Africa. He remembered that very clearly. The rest…That was fuzzy. It was lost. As if someone had wiped it from him. There were dreams but…nothing else.

Spike shook with the horror of the implication and his chains shuddered with him, “What did you make me do?”
*******************************************************************

Lydia stepped out of the ironmonger’s shop. She may not have been able to free William from Quentin Travers last night. Perhaps she could not save him from the torments he had in store for him, but by the light of day, she would free him.

The Council would change. The poets were right. The pen is, indeed, mightier than the sword.

She was surprised how much power one telegram carried with it. Once Rupert received it, Quentin, and the Council, would fall under its weight.

She looked up at the sun that stood high in the sky, and stepped into the street.

The driver of the lorry that was traveling the opposite direction failed to see the woman that had stepped off of the curb, because of the sun’s glare.

Inside the ironmonger, the clerk heard the squeal of breaks and looked out the shop window to see a woman lying under the bumper of a lorry. The driver was kneeling next to her on the pavement.

The clerk called for help and rushed out to see if there was anything he could do to until help arrived.
 
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