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Of Light And Shadow by FetchingMadScientist
 
All The Difference
 
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As shadows begin to wane, an army will rise and friend will become foe. - Prophecies of the Unhesines
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Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe. The words he had just said kept running through her head: Being that…was killing me.

The thought of what had happened to him-what Travers had put him through- made her sick. He had changed himself. A demon she had been taught, through both word and deed, could not change the vicious nature that lurked beneath, had essentially killed himself to be with her.

And, when he was at his weakest, when he needed her most, she hadn’t protected him. He was taken and held prisoner, tortured and violated by the force that gave her the strength to fight the things of the earth that seemed to be like him but were not.

Suddenly she realized that what she was had almost killed him. Travers had forced him to…she was overcome with revulsion, “Oh God,” Buffy gasped, pulling away slightly from his embrace, she looked up and saw the dichotomy of his face; the soft blue of his eyes and his harsh, emaciated face. All he’d been through showed on his face, “…Spike,” she shook her head, trying to blink the tears away, “I’m so sorry.”

At first, Spike wasn’t sure what he’d heard. It sounded as if she was apologizing. She had been so strong, but now she seemed unbelievably fragile. He could feel her trembling as he held her, “Buffy…” his voice shook as he tried to discern where he had gone wrong, “What is it…?”

“I just realized…” her eyes were downcast, unable to see what was done to him, “The Ukesolrill…”

“Ukesolrill?” he questioned softly.

“The demon…that gives the Slayer her strength…Travers used it,” she quickly looked up, but could not bear his soft gaze, and her eyes fell again, “Spike,” she stuttered as the tears began to fall, “It…I raped you…”

The room fell deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Buffy held her breath, waiting for him to say something.

Say something, Spike! Stupid soul…first I can’t get you to stop talking. And now, I can’t get you to start! Things were so much easier when you didn’t have…Oh, God…
Buffy’s eyes widened; she looked at Spike’s face. His expression was hardened and unreadable. Did I really just think that?

His embrace tightened painfully around her arms. It was painful enough to make her want to pull away, but she didn’t- she couldn’t- and not just because he was holding her. She couldn’t pull away now, not when he needed her, “Slayer,” he said, his voice tight and controlled, “Don’t… ever compare yourself to me,” his words were colored with a strange blend of pity, anger, sadness and distress, “Don’t do that! Don’t you dare drag yourself down to where I am, where I belong,” his words drew her reluctant gaze, and when she saw the fire that burned within his eyes, it nearly took her breath away, “I tried that…and I’ll never be the same again. I knew that,” his eyes lowered in shame, and his voice faltered again, “I knew that that night. The moment I saw…in your eyes,” he choked back a sob, “I knew. I know…” he whispered, “What the Watcher did… it doesn’t compare,” he fell silent again, clearly reliving the tortures he’d been through, “…You’re nothing like me.”

“Aren’t I?”

The stunned silence that filled the room was broken by a gentle knock at the door, “Spike?” Dawn’s shaky voice filtered through the door, “Whenever you’re ready, Giles is back from the butchers. He asked me to come and get you. He wants to talk with you. Something about some gaps in the Council’s records about you…well all vampires, really, and he wants to know if you could help. So…come down when you can?” Spike could almost hear his Little Bit blushing at the thought of what was- or was not- going on away from her prying eyes, “Okay,” she said, “I’m leaving now. I’m helping Willow with her meditation drills…It’s really distracting…won’t hear a thing. Come down soon…okay?”
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31 OCTOBER 1976- LONDON, ENGLAND-

Rupert Giles made his way to his Grandmother’s room. The hour for visitors was long passed, so why was he hearing an unfamiliar voice- a male’s voice- wafting softly out of his Grandmother’s room? She should have no one other than family visiting her now and he knew of no brother, or son, other than his own father, who still survived.

Unsure whether this was indeed a member of the hospital’s staff, he decided to linger outside the room and listen.

“…William,” his Grandmother’s frail voice, broken by age and impending death, “I knew you’d come. It hasn’t touched you, you know. You’re still the brother I loved. Never forget that. You’ve been with me…I know it. For every important thing,” the rasping breath shivered Rupert to the bone. With all that was in him, he wanted to be at her side. He wanted to hold her hand, but some invisible force was keeping him still, keeping him out of her room, and away from her side, “…I heard you…in the little chapel…when James and I married.”

“Please Rachel…don’t…” Rupert could swear that it was his own thoughts had somehow been voiced. He was not even certain that it wasn’t, in fact, his own voice that had spoken, and was still speaking now, “I need you to save your strength. Don’t waste it.”

“…When Thad was born…you were there. And even when Rupert was born…don’t know how…it was bright. Too bright…you shouldn’t have.”

“I had to,” the voice spoke the pain that Rupert felt in his heart. Just how his most intimate emotions had acquired the ability to speak he couldn’t begin to fathom, “I had no choice. Your life is mine. The dark…I need it. But, I need you so much more. I need you…to live…”

“Rupert…” her voice was ebbing away, “He is angry…He doesn’t understand…he doesn’t know. And now…you’re here and I’m so tired…”

“Sleep, Rachel. Sleep for me. Rest…”


As Rupert Giles thought back to the night of his Grandmother’s death, the voice he heard suddenly became clear.

The voice he’d heard that night had been Spike’s voice. The voice of a vampire, a thing he’d been taught to hate- even to fear- had been Rachel Giles’s only comfort at her death.

It made him wonder- if the Slayer’s power came from a demon- what made the Slayer any different from the vampires she fought? And for that matter, what was it that distinguished Spike from all the others of his kind. What made him different from Angelus? Or even he, in his darker, confused adolescence?

He had killed a man, with his own hands, and he had a soul. So, was it the soul that made the difference? And, what did that say about Willow, and the countless other humans who had been and were incarcerated for evil they had done?

Quite clearly, there was an unknown in the equation. It was something that had to be faced, and dealt with.

A voice from his past broke him out of his thoughts, “…You wanted to see me, Rupert?” Spike asked.

“I did. I was hoping you might be able to tell me…” his suddenly felt old, and found it difficult to find the strength to ask the questions he needed to ask, “What makes you different from Angelus?”

Spike chuckled, and his eyes twinkled, although dimly, “Do you have a hundred years to spare? This might take a few minutes.”

“Yes, quite,” he muttered, “Then perhaps you could tell me,” he looked up expectedly at Spike, “what my Grandmother’s brother…my uncle, was like?”

The wide-eyed look Spike was wearing told Rupert Giles that his suspicions were correct.

“I hear tell,” Giles smirked, “That you used to be him.”

The ease and humor in the Watcher’s tone made Spike momentarily speechless, “Well,” he started, silently asking to sit in the chair that was opposite the man. Giles nodded, and Spike quickly sat, facing the Watcher across his desk, “isn’t this a kick?”

“Indeed,” Giles agreed.

Spike lowered his eyes, “He still is me, you know,” he said quietly, “Always was…a little.”
 
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