Spuffy Ficathon Challenge
Written for: Andrea
Timeline: Season 6, pre-Smashed
One or two things you want to see: much UST, a black-tie event
One or two things you don’t want to see: Riley
Rating: Hmmm, definitely R
Disclaimer: The characters don’t belong to me, but I love Joss Whedon & Co. for sharing them with us.
Distribution: Don’t have a website. If you’re interested in archiving, please ask. I’d be more than flattered.

A/N: This was my entry in the April 24 Spuffy ficathon, conducted by Lara. There are nine chapters that I’ll be posting as I can since my online time is sadly limited these days. Hope it pleases. If so, praise is happily accepted and kept in a little place in my heart that I go to from time to time. If not, by all means let me know why. Constructive criticism is sometimes bad for the ego but always essential for those who wish to excel at their craft.

Unfortunately, no betas were injured in the making of this story, so all mistakes and inconsistencies (hopefully not too many) are mine and only mine. Gulp.

Also, the translation thing mentioned by Giles? Totally made up and not even remotely authentic.

Just in case you were wondering. ;-)


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Touching Fire
By Night Owl

Buffy ducked just in time to avoid the dagger as it whizzed past her head and embedded itself with a solid thunk into the skull of an Ishnara demon. The slimy creature had charged her just as she was finishing off its twin. Now, it fell to its knees, swayed drunkenly, then toppled face-first into a muddy patch of ground.

Scowling first at the muck splattering her jacket, then at the dagger hilt protruding from the dead demon, Buffy turned to shoot an accusing glare at the leather-clad culprit.

“Had to act fast. Sorry, love.” Spike threw her an apologetic shrug before he whirled and slammed his fist into the face of yet another oncoming demon. Buffy didn’t know what this one was, but it looked and moved something like a two-legged rhinoceros. The creature bellowed in pain or rage, or perhaps both, as Spike followed up his assault with an unrelenting flurry of kicks and punches that forced the massive demon into a staggering backward retreat.

“Showoff,” she muttered, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. But her brief role as interested bystander was cut short when two more demons rounded the corner of a nearby crypt, making a beeline straight for her. “Okay, that’s it! What is this? Free-admission night at the cemetery? Big demon convention in town, and nobody told us?”

Turning to face the new threat head-on, Buffy spared a quick glance around to take in the bodies of seven recently deceased demons littering the vicinity. A few yards away, Spike was still whaling away on the eighth. All had appeared out of nowhere, and with the exception of the slime twins, no two were alike. Most had been armed to the teeth, literally, while she and Spike had started out with only a handful of stakes between them. Luckily, they’d been able to liberate a few of those weapons, giving them a distinct edge. But that was slowly changing. As quickly as one demon went down, others arrived to take its place.

Adjusting her grip on a sword she’d confiscated from a big, scaly, lizard-looking thing, Buffy waited until the nearest demon was within arm’s reach, then dodged to one side as the momentum of its charge sent it barreling past her. Stepping forward again, she wielded the blade in a swooping arc and neatly severed the head of the second demon that followed close behind. The body lurched forward another step or two before it seemed to notice its head wasn’t along for the ride. Then, as if its bones had suddenly liquefied, it slumped to the ground, forcing Buffy to leap over it as she whirled to face its companion.

The first demon had recovered from the botched charge and was now closing in for a second try. This one looked a little familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it until a wicked-looking bone skewer suddenly shot out of a thickly muscled forearm.

Oh, yeah. It was one of those Polka…Polga…whatever…thingies, like the one Maggie Walsh had used to give Adam his lethal forearm. As it lunged toward her, she dodged the skewer, leaping onto a waist-high headstone and lashing out with one booted foot. It was just enough to send the demon staggering back a step or two.

Pushing off from the stone, she sailed through the air, colliding with the creature and sending it crashing to the ground, Buffy on top. At such close quarters, the skewers were useless, but it gave her just enough room. Her sword hacked off one, then the other, before plunging deep into the demon’s chest, prompting a final, outraged bellow as the creature jerked and fell still.

She jumped up and spun to face the next attacker, but the only demons left standing were Spike and the hulking rhino-thing he was still fighting. It was obvious Spike could have taken the thing out by now if he’d wanted to, but she could tell by the wicked grin on his face that he was enjoying himself too much to end it.

And then it happened, so fast that for an instant Buffy thought she had imagined it. One second Spike was dodging cumbersome swings from the slower demon, the next second something sharp and horribly familiar seemed to materialize from thin air, clutched in a large fist as it took another swipe at the vampire.

This time, the blow connected..

Spike froze, staring down in shocked disbelief at the stake protruding from his chest.

“No!” Buffy heard the shout, only dimly realizing it had been torn from her own throat. All her attention was riveted on the scene before her as she helplessly waited for Spike to explode in a shower of dust.

Spike, it seemed, had other plans.

Slowly, his head raised, moonlight glinting off the white of his hair and the pale, sharp angles of his face. He stared into the eyes of the towering demon with a smile of pure, menacing delight. “Missed, you wanker!” he growled just before his fist punched straight through the demon’s chest, dripping black gore and blood as it emerged out the back. The demon doubled over, roaring in pain. With his other hand, Spike grabbed a massive shoulder to steady himself and wrenched his arm free. Then, lifting a booted foot, he placed it squarely on the demon’s head and shoved. The force sent it sprawling onto the ground where it lay unmoving, dead eyes staring up at nothing.

Shaking off as much of the gore as he could, Spike grinned at Buffy and glanced around. “What? That’s all they’ve got? Piddling little dozen demons? C’mon! We’re just gettin’ warmed up here!” Spotting a handy bush, he leaned over to wipe his leather sleeve on the leaves but stopped with a sudden grimace. “Ow! Bloody hell.” He frowned, looking down at the stake still lodged in his chest. “Forgot about that.”

Looking up again, Spike caught her staring. “Reckon I could use a bit of help here, pet.” When she didn’t move, a puzzled crease formed between his brows. He tilted his head. “Slayer? Demon got your tongue?”

She finally remembered how to talk. “You want me to pull the stake out?”

“Well, yeah. Could do it m’self, but it was a near miss. Want to make sure it comes out nice and straight. No little side trips.” He smirked, clearly offering her a bit of fun at his expense. When she didn’t bite, he arched a brow, eying her with concern. “You all right? Not hurt, are you?”

A slight flaring of his nostrils told her he was checking for hidden wounds. The realization brought Buffy to her senses. “I’m fine,” she said tersely. “I’m not the one who looks like a walking coat rack.”

“Ooh, less-than-snappy comeback there, Slayer. Not up to your usual standards. Not sure I want you operatin’ on me if you’re all worn out from a little demon ambush.” He smiled at her, then his puzzled look returned. “Speakin’ of which, what do you s’pose that was all about?” He motioned to one of the bodies on the ground, the movement causing another grimace. “That there is a Kraylok demon. And the one just beyond is a Mak’shon. The two are sworn enemies. Their kind would rather rip out their own tongues than speak a civil word to each other, let alone team up. Somethin’s off here.”

Buffy found herself moving toward him. “Never mind that now. I’ll ask Giles about it later, see what he thinks.” As she reached him, she wrapped her right hand around the end of the stake and placed her left palm against his chest for leverage, her gaze carefully avoiding his. “Hold still,” she warned, then yanked.

A hissing intake of breath was the only sound he made as the stake slid free. She steadied him briefly as he swayed on his feet but he caught himself, legs bracing against the surge of weakness, and Buffy stepped away.

Kneeling, she used the grass to wipe Spike’s blood off the tip, still unwilling to look at him. It didn’t help. She could feel his gaze on her just as surely as she could sense a vampire at twenty yards.

She rose, keeping her face expressionless as she tucked away the stake and finally met his eyes. “We’d better knock off early tonight. You need to rest and heal, and I need to get home to Dawn.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the dark stain on the front of his black T-shirt. “Why don’t we skip tomorrow night, too? I can handle it on my own.”

The puzzled crease in his forehead deepened, a hint of confusion coloring his eyes. “That’s not a good idea, Buffy. Leastways, not until we find out what’s happening. Could be that same someone who was messin’ with your head before is aiming to make more mischief.”

Buffy shook her head, remembering her disastrous job hunt a few weeks back and the conviction that someone was out to sabotage her life, such as it was. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel the same.”

“Maybe not, but still –”

“Spike.” She stared at him a long moment. “Go home. I’ll let you know when I need you.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him standing there.



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A short time later, Buffy watched from the shadows of a large oak tree as Spike disappeared inside the crypt he had called home for the last two years. After leaving him in the cemetery, she had doubled back, making sure to stay far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to detect her.

A tiny frown marred her brow as the door swung shut. He hadn’t seemed that badly hurt after the fight, despite the close call with the stake, but his whole demeanor as he’d made his way from the other cemetery to this one had been decidedly unSpike-like. The swagger was gone and there was a marked air of weariness about him that Buffy had never seen before, not even after the hours of torture he had endured at Glory’s hands the previous year.

Maybe the battle-driven rush of adrenaline had worn off and he was just now feeling the effects of the staking. Whatever it was, at least he was safely inside. No more demons lying in wait along the way, hoping to finish up what the others had started. Not that she’d really thought there was any danger of that, but a nagging doubt had drawn her back, and she’d followed him home just to make sure.

The area around the crypt was silent and still. Nothing stirred but a few branches blowing in the night breeze. Buffy waited a few more minutes then turned back toward Revello Drive. As she made her way home, her mind began to replay the events of the night in an endless loop, forcing her to think about the fight and the unsettling revelation that had followed.

During the mini-battle, she’d been keenly aware of the differences between this fight and countless others she’d faced in the past. The primal rush, the thrill of flying fists and whirling blades, joyfully dancing the line between precious life and certain death – all of it was lacking or strangely muted, like an old, faded photograph with fuzzy images. It seemed like an echo, like an afterthought, like peering at something through a haze, faintly distorted and unreal.

It had been that way since she’d come back. From there. From that place where she could finally rest and be at peace. She had tried hard to get past it, to find the girl – the slayer – she’d once been. And she’d succeeded to a point, enough to fool her friends into thinking everything would be okay. That all she needed was a little more time.

Buffy knew better. Time wasn’t her friend anymore, and the future stretched ahead of her like a bleak, colorless void.

But in that split second when she’d seen the stake heading for Spike’s heart, even before it had plunged into his chest and she’d heard the crunching impact from several feet away, everything had crystallized. The world was suddenly sharp and clear and exquisitely painful. The searing panic, the anguished horror suffusing her, had taken her off guard. It seemed like an eternity since she’d felt anything so deeply. Even her brief reunion with Angel a few weeks before, though poignant and hard, had failed to cut through the layers of dull indifference that cocooned her.

She loved Dawn and her friends. She loved Angel. In their presence, she still felt happy and sad, amused and annoyed. But never content. And never did her emotions have the same vibrant clarity she’d experienced for that one moment in the cemetery.

So why now? When had Spike become someone she cared about? When had he gone from being a pain in the ass to someone who mattered? And what was it about him that made her feel so…

That made her feel.


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TBC in Part 2

A/N: See Part 1 for disclaimers and other info. This one is actually the first part of a way-too-long chapter, so I've split it up, even though there's really no good place to do that. I think I was suffering from OKS (Overactive Keyboard Syndrome) when I wrote it.


Chapter Two

Two days later, Buffy was no closer to answering any of the questions that had plagued her on the walk home from Spike's crypt. Probably because she had actively avoided thinking about them. She had told Giles about the attack, at least as much as he needed to know, and he'd made the usual noises about looking into it. So far, nothing had turned up.

In the meantime, Buffy had done a little digging herself, visiting a couple of the more popular demon haunts, including the demon bar where Spike had taken her to play kitten poker. She hadn't uncovered any useful information, but she had liberated another batch of kittens, much to the dismay of the outraged poker players in the back room.

Too bad. She'd said it before, and she'd say it again. Kittens were stupid currency.

She had halfway wondered if Spike would be there and didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he wasn't. She hadn't seen him since she'd followed him to his crypt. Giles had felt it would be "prudent" if Buffy skipped patrolling for a night or two, so except for her quick field trip to the demon bars, she'd stayed close to home.

Now, it was mid-morning on a Saturday, and Buffy was growing restless. Not to patrol since that, like everything else, held little appeal for her. But she was tired of the house and of making the effort to appear normal when all she wanted to do was find a little peace and quiet, far away from worried eyes and listening ears.

So she'd plastered on a fake smile and escaped to the grocery store. A far cry from heaven, but it was the best she could do at short notice. Now she was back, brief respite over. Pausing on the steps of the back porch, one hand clutching the small sack of groceries while the other dug around in her purse, she searched for the elusive house key. It stubbornly refused to show itself.

"Come on," she muttered. "I can decapitate a training dummy blindfolded, but I can't find a stupid little key? How lame is that?"

Giving up, Buffy shifted her grip on the sack and moved to the door. She sighed when the knob turned easily in her hand. So much for her recent epiphany, which she had quite pointedly shared with Dawn – that maybe a town hosting a Hellmouth and an unending stream of ooglie-booglies was not the best place to practice an open-house policy. Old habits were apparently hard to break.

At least vamps were obliging enough to wait for an invitation. Unless you were talking about a bleached-blond, leather-coated, pain-in-the-ass, mortal-enemy-turned-confidante type vampire. In that case, it would probably be easier to install a revolving door and be done with it.

And there she was, thinking about Spike again.

Buffy shook her head, struck anew by the difference four years could make. Who would have thought, when Spike had first threatened to kill her, that he would eventually wind up as her patrolling buddy and a semi-regular fixture in the Summers household? Not to mention her sister's protector and someone Buffy could actually trust to guard her deepest, darkest secret.

Because he loved her. Or said he did, and somewhere deep inside, Buffy thought it might be true. She'd tried not to think about it. Didn't want to think about it. If she did, it would make it real, and she so wasn't ready for that. Not where Spike was concerned.

He wasn't like other men. He wasn't even like other vampires, at least as far as Buffy could tell considering the whole not-thinking-about-it aspect. When she did let herself dwell on it, a part of her realized that Spike's love would be every bit as determined, passionate, and impossible-to-kill as he was.

It worried her. But, as much as Buffy hated to admit it, it also comforted her. She needed the quiet support and undemanding acceptance he seemed all too willing to give these days. And she needed the feelings his presence had begun to stir in her -- the little frisson of anticipation whenever she heard his voice, the vague longing for something beyond her reach every time he smiled. And that really worried her.

When you leave a door open, you just never know what might come through it.


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The kitchen was empty, but the sound of muffled voices wafted in from the living room. Since Willow and Tara were out for the day, attending a weekend seminar on campus, and Dawn had long since outgrown her imaginary playmate, that could only mean one thing – company. Buffy sighed. Random surprise "visits" from Social Services had been taking place sporadically even before her return from the dead. On the other hand, spot checks from the caseworker of the week – like everything else in Sunnydale, the turnover rate was quite high – almost always took place on a weekday. Besides, it was way too soon after the last one. Which brought her back to square one – if not Social Services, then who?

Frowning, Buffy abandoned the sack on the kitchen counter and went to investigate. Passing from the dining room into the foyer, she stopped, surprised to see not only Dawn, Willow, and Tara gathered around the front window, but also Xander and Anya.

Dawn knelt on the sofa, gazing out the window toward the street. No one had noticed Buffy yet since they were all too busy watching her sister.

Xander leaned down, peering over the teen's shoulder. "You know what they say, Dawnster. A locked pot never spoils."

"Huh?" Dawn's head whipped around.

"He means 'watched,'" Willow clarified, giving Xander a wry look. "A watched pot never boils. Not spoils."

"Really? That's what it is?" Slapping his forehead, he made a "duh" face. "Now it all makes sense!"

Rolling her eyes at Xander's antics, Dawn spotted Buffy standing in the doorway. "Oh…hey. I'm glad you're back. Giles called just after you left. Said he wanted everybody here right away. He didn't say why, just that he'd be over as soon as he stopped and picked up something. Sounds like there's big trouble, huh?"

"Isn't there always?" Buffy started into the room but stopped again at the sound of a car pulling up outside.

Dawn turned back to the window. "Oh! He's here! Wait…uh-oh." Dropping the edge of the curtain, she bounced off the sofa and bolted to the front door, almost knocking over Buffy in her mad rush to get there.

Xander looked around. "Uh-oh? He's not even through the door and already there's an uh-oh? This can't be good."

Yanking open the door, Dawn jumped aside to make way for a blanket-covered figure that came barreling into the house, trailing a cloud of smoke behind it. Buffy coughed a little, waving away the acrid smell as Spike shrugged off the smoldering blanket and tossed it carelessly over the staircase banister.

Straightening, he looked around. "Hey, there, sweet pea," he said to a grinning Dawn. "Much obliged." Turning to Buffy, his voice softened. "And, hey to you , too."

Buffy glanced briefly at the others then back at Spike. "Hey, yourself. What's up?"

"Dunno. Have to ask your Watcher. He dropped by my crypt and offered me a ride in his death-mobile. Bloody thing doesn't even have a decent-size trunk, so I'm stuck smokin' away in the back seat. Said he'd explain when we got here."

"And so I shall."

Buffy turned to find Giles standing next to Dawn, holding a book in one hand as he closed the door behind him with the other.

"I see we're all here. Excellent." He continued talking as he moved into the living room, Buffy and Dawn trailing after him. "We haven't much time, I fear."

Still standing by the stairs, Spike snorted. "Typical. Why is it every time an apocalypse rolls around, it has to be 'the world ends at midnight tonight' or some such nonsense? Don't they schedule these bloody things in advance? They can't all be last-minute."

"This is not an apocalypse, Spike, as I have already told you," Giles replied, his long-suffering tone giving Buffy a good indication of how many buttons Spike must have pushed on the drive over to the house. "It is, however, a matter of dire urgency."

"Dire, huh?" Xander sighed. "Not lovin' the sound of that."

"Nor should you." Giles nodded toward the sofa and chairs. "Perhaps we should make ourselves comfortable and I'll start from the beginning."


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TBC in Part 3

A/N: Here’s the rest of the OKS chapter. I’m sorry to say it’s not the only time I got carried away at the keyboard while working on this story, but at least the other chapters were well-trained enough to break better. Bad, chapter, bad!

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Chapter Three

Giles waited until everyone was seated, except for Spike, who folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb. When they were all looking at him expectantly, he cleared his throat. “Yes, well…I received a phone call this morning from an old friend, Roger Kensington. Roger is an expert in the field of antiquities, particularly those of a somewhat…mystical…nature. He contacted me because he has learned that the museum here in Sunnydale will be hosting a traveling exhibit featuring an ancient artifact, the Ag-rith-h’lal Oo-jah’ri-m’shik.”

Xander shook his head. “Okay, now you’re just showing off.”

“Loosely translated, it could be taken as ‘all things possible,’ although there is considerable debate as to the exact meaning. The object is currently on loan from Ethiopia, once known as Abyssinia, and has been traced back as far as the early kingdom of Axum.”

“The kingdom of what?” Buffy asked.

“Axum.”

“Gesundheit! ” Dawn chirped from the sofa, then slouched down as Giles regarded her with a level stare. “I thought it was funny,” she grumbled to Tara, who gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder.

“If I may continue…there is very little known about the early Axumite kingdom, though it is believed this artifact may pre-date even that period.”

Buffy frowned. “And why are we worried about this…this…Aggie-whatsawhosit?”

“It’s not so much the artifact itself that poses a threat, but a suspected plot to steal it and revive its dormant powers through a blood ritual performed on the eve of Denrothe, a sacred day for the Ancient Ones. Which, coincidentally, happens to be tonight.”

“Wait…back up a minute.” Xander held up his hand. “Tonight is which one of those?”

“I’m guessing the ‘eve’ part,” Willow ventured, with a nod of confirmation from Giles.

“Oh, goodie,” Xander said. “Because it would’ve been so disappointing if we’d missed it. We might actually have had a safe, uneventful evening, and who needs that?”

“So who or what wants to steal it?” Dawn asked.

“I’m afraid Roger hasn’t been able to ascertain much in that regard. He only knows that an attempt will be made and that it will definitely occur tonight.”

“Unless we stop it,” Tara added. “You have a plan?”

Giles nodded. “There’s a fund-raising gala at the museum tonight with the Ag-rith-h’lal Oo-jah’ri-m’shik as the featured attraction. It’s an extremely valuable artifact; therefore, the security surrounding the exhibit has been exceptionally tight. It will no doubt continue to be so. Our best course of action is to attend the gala, then position ourselves strategically and wait for the museum to close.”

“You mean hide,” Xander stated.

Giles sighed. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“No, you said—”

“Pity to interrupt this earth-shatterin’ debate, but Rupert still hasn’t answered the Slayer’s question, has he?” Spike pushed himself away from the doorjamb, moving to stand beside Buffy’s chair. “We know what it’s called, but we don’t know what it is or what it does or why we should be worried about it.”

Xander nodded. “Not to mention how a big, important exhibit like that winds up in little ol’ Sunnydale.” He eyed Spike. “Funny how bad things just seem to show up here, isn’t it?”

Buffy glanced up in time to see Spike blow a mocking kiss to Xander, which certainly wasn’t the response he’d intended, judging by the sour expression on Xander’s face. Though Dawn swore the two had tolerated each other surprisingly well over the summer, Buffy had seen no sign of it since her return.

“All very valid questions,” Giles said dryly, “which I might have answered by now if not for the constant interruptions and staggering lack of focus in the room. Perhaps you could all manage to restrain yourselves for at least the next five minutes?” Glancing around at the now-silent Scoobies, he nodded. “Now, to address Spike’s points, the ‘what’ is an obelisk that, as I said, pre-dates the early Axumite kingdom. It’s small, as such objects go…only a few feet taller than a man, but it’s made of solid granite. And, according to Roger, it’s indestructible.”

Xander raised his hand.

“Yes, Xander?” Giles asked wearily.

“That would only be a problem if we wanted to destroy it, which I’m guessing we do. But for those of us who actually live in the 21st century, define ‘obelisk.’”

Buffy watched as Giles placed the book he’d been holding on the coffee table, letting it fall open to a page marked by a faded red ribbon. “An obelisk is a four-sided pillar with carvings, generally made to honor a specific person or event. The purpose was frequently sepulchral.”

Again, Xander’s hand shot up.

“It means related to a burial,” Willow whispered. “Sort of like a monument or a headstone.”

With an “ah” expression, Xander nodded and lowered his hand.

Giles gave him a sour glance before forging ahead. “The illustration in this book depicts an obelisk very similar to the Ag-rith-h’lal. In this particular case, it was part of a structure that included several such pillars, complete with sacrificial alters. Ritual sacrifices were performed for any number of reasons – as an offering to ancestors, for instance. And we know that the ancient Sabeans who lived in that area were heavily involved in astral worship, which also required sacrifices.

“As to why it’s here in Sunnydale, apparently someone arranged for the museum to be included on the tour. One would assume our proximity to the Hellmouth has something to do with it, but at this point there’s no way to be certain of anything. Apart from one thing.” Removing his glasses, Giles stared at them all with a deathly calm air. “The Ag-rith-h’lal is arguably the single most powerful weapon in existence. If we fail to stop whatever is planned for tonight, we could be facing a total disruption of life as we know it. The world could be irrevocably altered.”

Nothing but silence as seconds ticked by. Xander raised his hand.

Giles sighed deeply. “Xander,” he acknowledged, patiently stopping just short of an eye-roll.

“If world-altering includes making a certain overdue library fine disappear, I’m thinkin’ that might not be a bad thing.” Looking around, he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

“What are we talking about, Giles?” Buffy asked. “What exactly does this thing do?”

He met her gaze evenly. “Anything that is asked of it. Literally. Provided the appropriate ritual has been performed.”

“Anything?” Dawn asked. “Anything anything? You mean, like…” Her voice trailed off as the implications sank in.

“I mean that when the ritual is performed and a request is made, that request will be granted. No exceptions, no limitations. As the name indicates…‘all things possible.’”

“Well, that just opens up a whole realm of unpleasantness, now doesn’t it?” Spike commented from the sidelines.

Buffy noticed Willow chewing on her lip. “What is it, Will?”

“Does it have to?” Willow asked, forehead crinkling in a slight frown. “Be unpleasant, I mean. Couldn’t the obelisk be used for good just as easily as bad?”

“You mean like wishing away world hunger or asking for global peace? That sort of thing?” Dawn asked.

“Or, hey! Here’s an idea,” Xander chimed in, voice dry. “We could make a world without demons and then we wouldn’t have to have conversations like this.”

“Oi! Standin’ right here, you know,” Spike objected, glaring.

“It doesn’t matter,” Giles overrode them. “Utilizing such forces is far too dangerous, no matter what the ultimate goal may be. The possible benefits will never outweigh the risks, something we should all have learned by now.”

There was a slight edge to Giles’ voice that Buffy didn’t hear very often, and she wondered if Willow had noticed.

“You were telling us the plan?” Tara prompted gently, intentionally or unintentionally steering the conversation into safer waters.

“Yes, thank you, Tara.” Giles nodded, but his gaze lingered on Willow. “Once the gala has ended, we shall position ourselves to wait for the unknown party to make his move.”

“Like a stakeout,” Dawn offered helpfully.

Giles responded with a faint smile. “That is one colorful way of putting it,” he conceded before turning to Buffy. “I’ve managed to procure floor plans for the museum. There’s a very convenient utility closet in the area where the artifact will be on display. You and Spike will be stationed there.”

Buffy looked from Spike, whose attention was now totally riveted on Giles, back to her Watcher. “What about the rest of you?” she asked. “Won’t you be there, too?”

“It’s a rather small closet, I’m afraid. There isn’t enough room for more than two people. For obvious reasons, you and Spike are the logical choices. There’s also Spike’s ability to hear what we can’t, which should allow him to detect any suspicious activity in the exhibit hall, even from inside the utility closet. Willow and I will be nearby in one of the wash rooms located in a corridor off the main exhibit area. She’ll be close enough to perform a basic warding spell that should prevent the security patrols from checking either the closet or the wash room.”

“What about me?” Dawn asked, bouncing on the sofa, eyes large and hopeful. “Where do I get to hide?”

Giles gazed at her sternly. “You don’t. You’ll be here.”

Dawn’s face fell. “Crap.”

“Dawn,” Buffy warned.

“What? It’s not a bad word! Not even close. I could’ve said ‘bugger.’ Spike says –”

“I don’t care what Spike says,” Buffy interrupted, sending a pointed glare his way. “We’re not having this argument again.”

As Dawn flopped down on the sofa in a huff and Spike tried to look innocent of any and all bad influences, Buffy noticed Willow standing off to one side, frowning and biting her lip. “Will? Is something wrong?”

Willow’s troubled gaze fixed on Giles as the others turned to look at her. “Which one?”

“Pardon?” Giles seemed lost.

“Which one – the men’s room or the women’s room?”

Giles looked even more puzzled. “Either one, I suppose. Does it matter?”

“Well, sure! I mean, when one of us is a boy and one of us is a girl…it kinda does!” Dead silence greeted her statement. A blush colored her cheeks and her gaze dropped. “Okay, I just regressed to kindergarten, didn’t I?” she mumbled in a small voice.

“Nah!” Xander shook his head, throwing his arm around her for a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Third grade at the most.”

“Yes…well…I assure you there’s no need for concern,” Giles said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “We’ll merely be hiding there for a short time. Whichever one you prefer will be perfectly fine.”

Willow smiled, looking sheepish but relieved.

“Delicate sensibilities aside, if we’re all scattered around, we’ll need a way to signal each other,” Xander pointed out. “What’s the plan for that?”

“That won’t a problem,” Willow poo-pooed, her face lighting up. “We’ll just do it the way we did over the summer.” Looking at Buffy, she grinned. “It’s kinda neat. I talk to people in their heads, and they can talk to me. That’s how we did the slaying when you were gone. Ooh! Hey! I bet I could make it so we could all talk to each other! Then we could hold secret conversations all the time and nobody would ever know.”

Giles frowned. “Thank you, Willow, but that won’t be necessary. A three-way link will be quite sufficient.”

Again Buffy caught the edge in her Watcher’s tone. This time she could tell that Willow had, too. Her friend’s gaze dropped, and even though she said nothing, her mouth was pressed into a thin, flat line. But, almost faster than Buffy could process the change, Willow seemed to shrug it off, raising her chin. When her clear gaze met Buffy’s, she was happy Willow again, as guileless and easygoing as ever.

Buffy blinked at the abrupt transformation, so swift and subtle she wondered if it had really happened.

“When you receive Buffy’s signal,” Giles added, “just pass it on to Xander.”

“Yeah. Because we all know how much I love being mentally violated,” Xander said, nodding solemnly. He turned to Giles. “Which brings us to the question…what’s the plan for the rest of us?”

All eyes were focused on the Watcher again. “As I said, Dawn, of course, will remain here.” His stern gaze cut off any further protests the teenager might have made. “Tara, would you mind staying with her? We should be back before sunrise.”

Spike snorted. “Bloody well hope so.”

Giles ignored him, waiting only for Tara’s nod before continuing. “Xander and Anya will procure a rental truck large enough to transport the obelisk, then wait for us near the loading bay. As soon as we’ve secured the artifact and dealt with any difficulties that may arise, Buffy and Spike will carry it out to the truck.”

Buffy’s eyes again sought out Spike. He had left his post by the door and settled himself on the arm of the sofa where a disgruntled Dawn was still sitting. His attention was focused not on Buffy or on the briefing Giles was giving them, but on her sister. She watched as his hand reached over to tug gently on a strand of Dawn’s hair. When she glanced up, Spike winked at her. A radiant smile bloomed on her face, erasing the pout. It drew an answering smile and approving nod from Spike.

Feeling like an intruder, Buffy looked away. The affection between them was obvious, and the bond they had forged in her absence over the summer was another thing she hadn’t wanted to think about. Somewhere along the way, Spike’s protectiveness toward Dawn had become less about his promise to Buffy and more about his own personal feelings.

That shouldn’t have been possible. But it was, and it made her just as unsettled as everything else about him these days.

“So what happens to it once we’ve got it?” Tara’s question pulled everyone’s attention back to the planning session. “If it’s indestructible, like your friend said? It’s going to be a threat no matter where it is.”

“Quite right, Tara,” Giles said, nodding. “Fortunately for us, however, Roger has the resources to keep it well guarded until he can perform a cleansing ritual that will forever render it harmless. It may take some time. Several of the items needed for the ritual are rare and nearly impossible to find, but he assures me he is quite close to locating everything he needs.”

“You trust him?” Buffy asked.

“I do. Absolutely. And…we have little choice. We cannot leave it where it is, and we can’t guard it ourselves indefinitely. We shall take the obelisk and rendezvous with Roger at an appointed spot in the desert to place it in his care.”

“Going undercover, a daring museum heist, desert rendezvous…is anyone besides me getting turned on?” Xander grinned.

“I don’t like it!” Anya, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “It’s not fair! You all get to drink champagne and wear pretty dresses and dance the night away, while Xander and I have to sit outside in a dirty old truck. Not drinking or wearing pretty dresses or dancing at all.”

“Just so you know, Rupert?” Spike drawled. “I draw the line at wearin’ a dress.” Dawn giggled, and Spike smirked.

Giles removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as a weary sigh escaped him. “Dawn, please don’t encourage him,” he entreated, then turned back to the group. “Anya, do be reasonable about this. Not all of us are needed inside, and it’s vital that we have the truck waiting. Besides, four tickets were all I could obtain at such late notice.”

“Fine!” Anya sniffed. “Then let Willow sit in the truck. I don’t see why she gets to have all the fun.”

“Anya…honey…” Xander began, but an indignant Willow interrupted him.

“Hey! Casting a warding spell isn’t all ‘la, la, la,’ no matter what some people think. It takes hard work and a lot of concentration!”

Before Anya could reply, Giles jumped into the fray. “There’s no point in arguing about this! In order to perform the spell properly, and for it to have the maximum effect, Willow must be in close proximity to the area. I’m sorry, Anya, but you can either wait outside with Xander or remain here with Tara and Dawn.”

Anya clearly wasn’t pleased with the choices. She folded her arms, a mulish expression settling over her face. “Willow’s not the only one who can do magic,” she pointed out.

“No,” Giles said, drawing out the word in a clear effort to hold on to his patience. “But she is—”

“Demon girl has a point,” Spike broke in. Giles glared, Anya beamed, and everyone else looked surprised. “You lot are always tellin’ everybody what to do, like it’s a bloody dictatorship or something. I say if Anya wants to get all dolled up and kick up her heels a little, you should let her.”

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he tilted his head and gazed at her through narrowed eyes. “’S a shame, though. When you stop to think about it.”

Anya’s smile dimmed. “Shame?” she asked. “There’s shame? What shame?”

“Oh…uh, nothin’ much.” Spike shrugged. “It’s just…well, money’s been tight around here and a truck like that won’t come cheap. Someone like you, with your head for business…bet you could have bartered them down a penny or two. But ’m sure Harris and Red will do the best they can. It’ll work out all right.”

Anya froze, eyes widening in alarm. “No! No, you’re right! Rental agencies are evil! They have all kinds of secret clauses, and hidden penalties, and unnecessary fees. I’ll have to go with them to make sure they’re not taken advantage of!”

Spike looked sympathetic but shook his head. “Can’t, pet. Won’t have time to do that and get yourself all gussied up for tonight. Don’t fret your head about it. Shouldn’t even have brought it up. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he added, his tone clearly implying otherwise.

Anya went from distressed uncertainty to steely determination in less than sixty seconds. “No,” she said firmly. “Thank you, Spike, but I see now where I’m really needed. I could never forgive myself if I let them go in alone and something terrible happened.” She turned to Willow, smiling indulgently. “Willow, you may go to the gala and have your meaningless fun. I have important things to do.”

Willow stared. “Oookay. Um…if you’re sure…”

“Quite sure,” Anya said, resolute now. She frowned at the Watcher. “Really, Giles, I’m sure you didn’t want to hurt their feelings by explaining the real reason you wanted me to go with Xander, but you could have told me before the meeting. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

Buffy saw Giles lock gazes with Spike, his head nodding a faint and reluctant acknowledgment. The vampire shrugged.

“Of course, you are,” Giles responded evenly, his gaze shifting back to Anya. “It was very foolish of me. Terribly sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Anya assured him. “I accept your apology, and I know you won’t let it happen again.”

Bemused, Buffy glanced back at Spike only to catch him watching her with a strange expression on his face. As their eyes met, his gaze warmed and his full lips curved with the ghost of a smile. She couldn’t help but smile back before she caught herself, looking quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, no one had. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to calm the strange fluttering in her stomach and risked another glance.

He was gone.


-----------------------------
TBC in Part 4

A/N: Okay, now we’ve got the setup pretty much taken care of. Time for things to start happening, right?

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Chapter Four

Buffy’s eyes flew to the window where sunlight outlined the closed curtains. Still in the house then. She was almost to the doorway when she heard Giles call her name. So much for a discreet exit.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Nope, nothing wrong.” Buffy shook her head, innocence personified. “I just…I was going to check up on Spike. See where he went. Make sure he hasn’t changed his mind about helping out tonight.”

Noting the vampire’s absence, Giles frowned. “Yes, well…there are a few more details to be discussed. He should be here for that. And we still have to procure a tuxedo for him to wear tonight.”

Xander raised his hand. “For the record, can I just say…all the insults, all the aggravation, all the attempts on my life? So worth it for a chance to see Spike in a bow tie…and laugh hysterically.”

“Um…yeah. So, I’d better haul him back in here, then,” Buffy said. “He probably got bored and decided to raid the refrigerator or something. You know what a short attention span he has. I’ll just…” She pointed toward the kitchen. “…go.”

Without waiting for a response, Buffy fled. She found the sack of groceries still resting on the counter but no sign of Spike. That familiar tingling sensation, however, was as reliable as radar. She located him in the basement, sitting at the foot of the stairs.

Flipping on the light, Buffy made her way down the steps, settling a little above him – close, but not too close. He didn’t turn around.

“You disappeared.”

“So I did. Can’t get anything past you, eh, Slayer?”

Considering how things had been between them lately, that should have been a teasing remark. But it wasn’t. There was a hint of bitterness and something else she couldn’t quite name.

“What’s wrong?”

He turned his head, revealing the lightning-shaped scar that marred his left eyebrow, a present from another of her kind. She wondered absently what that Slayer would have thought of this cozy little conversation? Or of the strange dreams she’d been having since some time before Halloween. Dreams that involved strong arms, and moist kisses, and blue eyes smoldering with passion.

Fevered dreams that burned and made her long for the sweet, searing promise of sleep.

Buffy felt her whole body flush as a deep wave of desire coursed through her, the sheer unexpectedness of it leaving her shaken and a little breathless. Spike’s scarred eyebrow shot up.

Oh god. Where had that come from? And could she have it again, please?

Except…she shouldn’t want to, not with Spike, of all people. Just like she shouldn’t want to spend time with him or confide in him or care if he suddenly vanished from a room when he was supposed to be there waiting for her to notice him. But it was happening, whether she wanted it to or not.

He still hadn’t answered her question, so she tried again. Anything to get her mind – and his – off of things best not contemplated. “Giles wasn’t finished outlining the big plan. I think you hurt his feelings.” She marveled at how steady her voice sounded.

This time his whole body turned to face her, and she forced herself not to fidget under his steady regard, returning his curious stare with a level gaze of her own. Slowly, one side of his mouth quirked up as a hint of amusement warmed his eyes. “Didn’t make him cry, did I?”

Her mouth twitched. “Just a little. I don’t think anyone else noticed. He pretended it was something in his eye.”

Spike snorted. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, he stood up. “Best go make it up to him then, hadn’t I? Think it’ll cheer him up if I let the sun sizzle me a bit on the way to rent the monkey suit?”

She smiled and took the hand he extended to help her up. “I think he’d be happier if you promised to knock off the geriatric jokes and never again raid his liquor cabinet. If you’re lucky, he’ll settle for sizzling. But, yuck…stinky car. Maybe you should think of something else.”

As it dawned on her that she was still holding his hand, her wry grin faded and she pulled away, his grip tightening imperceptibly then loosening almost at once. Her hand slid free, fingertips brushing his, evoking delicious, butterfly shivers that chased each other up and down her spine.

No, it was a chill. It was cold in the basement. It had nothing to do with Spike. Right.

With her higher position on the stairs, they stood face-to-face mere inches apart, the air thick with something she couldn’t name. The silence stretched between them, his gaze darkening as she watched, a fathomless well drawing her in. So deep, so warm, so filled with longing…

Flustered, Buffy dropped her gaze, which didn’t help since she wound up focusing on his mouth instead. His lips parted slightly, and her eyes remained riveted, following the curve of his lower lip, skimming down a chiseled jaw, settling on the strong, smooth column of his neck with an Adam’s apple that just begged to be nibbled. She didn’t know how long they stood that way. Could have been a minute. Could have been a week.

“Buffy…”

And she really liked his voice, especially now. All plummy and rough at the same time, a smooth, rumbling whisper buried deep in his chest as he reverently breathed her name. Slowly, her gaze rose and locked with his. There was that expression, the one she’d seen earlier in the living room. Only then it had been guarded, a pale shadow of what it was now. Staring into glittering eyes she found a swirl of emotions, breathtaking in their intensity. Warm approval, naked longing, and more than a little desire resided in those depths. For one, brief instant, she felt as if she could lose herself forever in his eyes and never regret the loss. It was all there to see, Spike’s very soul laid bare for her.

Except that he didn’t have one.

She’d secretly wondered, since her return, if maybe she didn’t have one either. The thoughts she’d been entertaining with increasing frequency these last few days added to the doubt in her mind. Forbidden thoughts about a soulless creature who was wild and reckless and violent and irritating and devious and ruthless and fearless and determined and strong and vibrant and loyal and gentle and passionate and sexy…

What had he said last year about drowning in her? Was this how it felt?

She panicked, grabbing for a lifeline. “Shoes!”

Spike frowned, “the look” fading as confusion set in. “Come again, pet?”

Buffy tore her eyes from his, swallowing hard. She felt…different…around him, lately – off balance. Like the rules had suddenly changed in a game she didn’t know she was playing. She didn’t like it.

Trying to look unaffected, she fought to get her racing pulse back under control, replaying the last few moments in her head.

Shoes? The Slayer, the Chosen One, the lone girl in all the world destined to vanquish evil and save humanity couldn’t come up with anything better than that? As distractions went, it really sucked. But she was stuck now, and worse yet, she could feel a dreaded babble attack coming on.

“I…uh…just remembered. No shoes. To wear with my dress, I mean…the one I’m going to wear tonight? I got it last year. You know. Before. But…I never had a chance to wear it. Lucky thing, huh? Cuz it’ll be all fresh and new and I really hate wearing an old dress to a big, important gala, don’t you?” Her eyes widened. “Not that you would wear an old dress,” she added hastily. “Or…any kind of dress at all. Cuz you’re not a girl. And that would be way too weird.” She laughed awkwardly, risking a quick peek at him through her lashes.

He was staring at her as if she’d just announced her presidential candidacy, but that was a look she could deal with, so it was all to the good. With any luck, he’d be dazzled by her raving insanity and forget the momentary vibey-ness between them.

He blinked. “Riiight.” Nodding solemnly, he drew out the word. His head tilted. “Guess you’d best be off, then. Can’t save life as we know it without a proper pair of shoes.”

Outwardly, Buffy kept her smile in place, but inwardly she cringed. It was the same tone of voice her mother had used when a four-year-old Dawn had tried to blame a broken table lamp on poor Mr. Gordo.

“You’d…be surprised,” she agreed, smiling weakly.

Great. She’d managed to wriggle off the hook and Spike, for who-knows-what devious reasons, had let her. So why was she still standing there like a moon-struck loon, gazing into the most mesmerizing blue eyes she’d ever seen? She had to leave before he got the wrong idea.

Or the right one.

Forcing herself to break eye-contact, Buffy looked away. The abrupt loss of the connection caused a pang so sharp it was almost physically painful. Ducking Spike’s searching gaze, she retreated behind a mask of stoicism and slowly mounted the basement stairs, intensely aware of the vampire’s presence behind her as he followed her back to the living room.


---------------------------


It didn’t take long for Giles to go over the few remaining details of the plan, and he and Spike departed for the tuxedo rental shop soon afterward. But not before Buffy had surprised the others – and herself – by suggesting that Spike return to her house to get ready, rather than travel the slightly longer distance to Giles’ apartment. She’d drawn more than a few odd looks as she mumbled something about not wanting to ride “in a stinky car” or show up at the gala with “a toasty escort” on her arm.

Buffy instantly regretted that last bit, which had practically launched Spike’s left eyebrow into orbit and brought a wicked smirk to his lips. But Dawn had chimed in, offering to let him use her room, and Giles had hastily agreed, so all Buffy could do was brazen it out and pretend she hadn’t really just implied that Spike would be her date for the evening.

Because that was just…wrong.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Dawn had disappeared upstairs, probably to straighten her room before they headed out on the shoe-shopping mission. As lame an excuse as it had been, Buffy hadn’t been lying about needing shoes to wear with the dress, and Dawn had quickly volunteered to go with her.

Excusing herself, Buffy left the others to fetch her purse from the bedroom but only made it a few steps before remembering the groceries she had abandoned earlier on the kitchen counter. Making a quick detour to put them away, she was returning to the stairs via the back hallway when Xander’s voice brought her to a dead stop.

“I’m telling you, Will…something’s going on with those two.”

“Oh, pish! You’re overreacting,” Willow scolded. “Buffy’s just being nice to Spike, that’s all. It’s not like she wants to marry him or anything!”

In the long, pointed silence that followed, Buffy imagined Willow’s face turning red. Probably guilty fidgeting was involved, too.

“Well…so, okay…there was that time with the spell and…but…so not making that mistake again!”

There was a heavy sigh from Xander. “That’s not what I’m talking about here, okay? I mean…Buffy wanting to get hot and heavy with Spike when she isn’t under the influence? That’s about as likely as…” He trailed off, clearly wracking his brain for the equally unthinkable.

“…as something that will never, ever, ever happen!”

And clearly not finding it.

“Actually, Xander,” Anya’s clipped voice contradicted him, “if you had lived as long as I have you would know that absolutely anything is possible.”

“Anything except that,” he insisted, then sighed again. “But they are both acting weird. I mean, Willow just used ‘Buffy,’ ‘Spike,’ and ‘nice’ all in the same sentence! That’s wrong on so many levels!”

Buffy eased forward, positioning herself so she could see their reflections in the wall mirror. They could see her, too, if they looked, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

“Maybe…maybe she’s just grateful,” Tara offered. “He stayed in Sunnydale and helped out when she was…gone. He protected Dawn. He didn’t have to, really. He could have left town.”

“It would have been better if he had.” Xander’s voice was quiet, steady. “He may have been batting for our side for awhile, but only because he didn’t have a better offer.”

Tara traded a quick glance with Willow. “It seemed like you were starting to trust him a little,” she said. “Over the summer. Did something happen?”

Xander shook his head, his face grim. “I worked with the guy…for Dawn’s sake and because everybody thought we needed him. I never trusted him. I’m not saying he didn’t pull his weight. He did. I’ll give him that. But he’s still a vampire. You forget that and you could wind up regretting it for the rest of your life. Assuming you still have one, that is.”

He snorted. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I don’t get it. Spike falls for Buffy and that’s supposed to magically make him okay? Yeah, all right…I think he does want to help, because that’s what she wants. And, yeah, something comes after one of us? It would probably have to go through him first. But what about everybody else? You think he gives a damn about old Mrs. McCaffrey down the block? Or Joe Blow out on the street?”

Xander’s reflection vanished from the mirror as he paced away. “What about everything he’s done? Everything he’d still do if he could? That chip in his head changed what he does, not what he is. Do you think he’s sorry for the things he’s done? For the people he’s killed? Have you ever once heard him say it?”

There was silence as he waited for someone to contradict him. No one did.

“Look…bottom line is, I’ll fight alongside him. We may even play a game of pool and knock back a few brewskies together from time to time. But he’ll never be one of us. Buffy’s losing it if she can’t see that.”

Another moment of silence, then Mirror Willow raised her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. “Um…Xander? Before you get all critical of Buffy…remember that thing they say about stones?”

“They can’t get no satisfaction?”

Willow cranked up the look a notch or two.

“I don’t live in a glass house, Will.”

Willow didn’t respond, but Buffy saw her slide a quick glance in Anya’s direction. Though Anya was facing away from the mirror, her posture stiffened noticeably.

“She means me, Xander. I’m the glass house.”

Buffy could tell she was hurt, though not particularly surprised.

“I’m sorry, Anya.” Willow sounded sincere. “It’s just that…well…you tell all those stories about what it’s like to wreak vengeance and you sound like you’re talking about a trip to Disneyland or something.”

“It’s not the same thing, Will!” Xander leapt to her defense. “Anya just doesn’t know how to…she doesn’t understand how it sounds. She doesn’t mean it that way.”

“You don’t have to apologize for me, Xander Harris. I’m not three years old. And I’m certainly aware—”

At that moment, Dawn came thundering down the stairs, killing the conversation and sending Buffy into a quick retreat to the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door opened and closed, announcing the departure of Xander and Anya. After waiting a few more minutes, Buffy ventured forth again. By that time, Willow and Tara had gone up to their room and Dawn was the only one waiting.

“Private Summers reporting for shoe duty!” She sketched an awkward salute, Buffy’s purse dangling from her arm. “You ready to head to the mall?”

“What?” Buffy stared at Dawn blankly. Her head was filled with troubling thoughts raised by the conversation she’d overheard.

“Shoes? To go with the dress you’re wearing tonight? You said I could help you pick them out.”

“Oh…right.” Buffy nodded. “Shoes.” At the puzzled frown that crossed Dawn’s face, she smiled brightly, hoping to head off any uncomfortable questions. “Better get a move-on then. We don’t have much time.”

As they moved toward the door, Buffy cast a glance back at the now-empty living room. She couldn’t believe how far she’d let things go. If Xander had picked up on the vibes between her and Spike, how much longer would it be before the others noticed, as well? Especially now that it had been pointed out to them.

She had to put an end to this…thing…they had, whatever it might be called. No matter how isolated she felt, no matter how sympathetic an ear he offered, no matter how she responded, mind and body, to him, Spike would have to be off limits to her. In every respect. Just as soon as they took care of the obelisk, she would put him behind her once and for all.

Buffy’s eyes widened as that last turn of phrase took her mind to a place she hadn’t at all intended. Gritting her teeth, she banished the erotic images to a remote part of her brain where she hoped they would never, ever be heard from again.

Then, with a little nod of determination, she followed Dawn out the door, closing it firmly behind her.


---------------------------
TBC in Part 5

A/N: Here’s a quick drive-by update. More stuff, more UST. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy…silly girl. You know you really wanna…

------------------------------

Chapter Five

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of activity. Despite a lingering preoccupation with her decision to distance herself from Spike, it didn’t take Buffy long to find the shoes she needed. She and Dawn made it back to the house with plenty of time to spare.

Their arrival coincided with Giles and Spike’s return. From the cryptic jibes flying hot and heavy between the two, Buffy gathered there had been “an incident” at the tuxedo shop. Much to Dawn’s disappointment, neither man would elaborate, but going strictly by the depth of Giles’ glower and the breadth of Spike’s smirk, Buffy suspected it was Vampire 1, Watcher 0.

Giles departed again, and Spike and Willow went upstairs to get ready. Dawn seemed to have forgotten her earlier disappointment over being left out and had insisted on helping her sister dress, but the gown Buffy had chosen to wear roused mixed emotions in them both. It had been a gift from Joyce on Buffy’s last birthday, a present she’d never had a chance to enjoy. Looking at it brought back not only bittersweet memories of their mother, but also Dawn’s traumatic discovery of her “keyness.”

Still, it was a beautiful dress, and Buffy figured the best way to honor her mother’s memory was to wear it in a good cause, instead of hiding it away in the back of her closet. Dawn agreed.

Now, standing in front of the full-length mirror, Buffy stared back at the girl reflected there. It wasn’t her. It was a stranger, someone with a life that didn’t belong to Buffy Summers. Someone who had time for pretty dresses, and parties, and small talk that didn’t involve how many demons she’d skewered that day. Not like her at all.

“You look so beautiful.”

Dawn’s voice startled her from her thoughts. Buffy glanced from her sister’s smiling face back to the image in the glass. The dress was breathtaking. A nude slip gown in liquid satin hit her at mid-calf, shifting fluidly with every movement of her body. It was offset by a mesh overlay that went from a black-lace bodice and form-flattering drop waist to a sheer skirt, ending in a slight handkerchief hem that reached almost to the ankles. Beaded spaghetti straps left her arms and shoulders bare, while a low, squared neckline revealed the gentle swell of her breasts.

Her hair was swept up in a loose chignon that nestled low on the nape of her neck. A few wisps were pulled free at the sides to form loose, curling tendrils. The shoes she had found that afternoon, open-toed black heels with ankle straps, completed the picture.

The overall effect was elegant yet sexy, and she should have taken more pleasure from it. But she didn’t.

“Buffy?”

She turned to Dawn, who was watching her a little anxiously, and forced a smile. “The hair is perfect, Dawnie. Thank you.”

Dawn grinned and shrugged. “No problem. It’s actually comforting to know that if my career as a rocket scientist doesn’t work out, I’ll have something to fall back on.” She perked up. “Hey! You want me to help you pick out a necklace and earrings?”

Buffy shook her head. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you head down to the kitchen and surprise Tara with dinner? We’ve got everything you need to make a killer spaghetti and meat sauce, and we can warm up the leftovers tomorrow night.”

“Kind of like a consolation prize for missing all the excitement, you mean? I could do that,” Dawn said agreeably. “On one condition.”

Buffy raised a brow.

“I get to have a glass of wine to go with it.”

Buffy’s other brow joined the first.

“Okay, okay,” Dawn grumbled. “You know you would have been disappointed if I hadn’t tried.” Stopping at the door, she paused, studying Buffy. “You really do look pretty. Really.”

Buffy answered with a faint smile. “Thanks.”

Dawn nodded and disappeared into the hall, but her head reappeared in the doorway just as Buffy reached for the jewelry box. “I bet Spike will think so, too,” she teased, then vanished again.

Buffy was glad no one was there to see her blush.


------------------------------


Minutes later she was heading down the hall, the necklace she’d chosen to wear dangling from her hand. After a fruitless struggle with an uncooperative clasp, Buffy had finally conceded defeat and decided to seek out Willow’s help before she ripped the necklace apart in sheer frustration.

Nearing Dawn’s room, she slowed, wondering if it might be a good idea to check up on Spike first. Left to his own devices, he’d probably toss out the tux in favor of his leather duster, and wouldn’t that be just peachy keen? She frowned, biting her lip. If she had to go through the whole evening pretending Spike was her date, then he’d damn well better be presentable.

Mind made up, she tapped on the door.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.” Like she really had to tell him. He would have known it was her even before she’d knocked. “You decent?”

She heard what sounded like a snort. “You serious?”

“Spike…” Exasperation, thy name is Buffy.

“I’m dressed, if that’s what you mean. Strictly G-rated in here, Slayer, so don’t think you’re gonna get lucky.”

Oh, goody. Just what she needed – the return of snarky Spike and his infamous innuendoes. Shaking her head, Buffy opened the door…and froze. All thoughts of staking smart-ass vampires with delusions of hotness vanished as she stood and stared.

A part of her mind vaguely noted that Spike was staring, too.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. The thought of Spike in anything other than his habitual black T-shirt, jeans, and leather coat was just too hard for her to wrap her brain around, so she hadn’t even tried. It was that total lack of imagination that left her completely unprepared for the sight of him now.

He hadn’t yet donned his jacket, so the first thought that crossed Buffy’s mind, once her brain started functioning again, was how incredibly broad his shoulders looked in the white dress shirt and red satin vest. The backless vest, with its halter-style neck, showcased his muscled chest in a way that made her hands itch to explore. A matching satin bow tie, paired with the shirt’s high-button collar, accentuated his full mouth and chiseled features, looking deliciously elegant and not at all ridiculous.

Something told her Xander was going to be very disappointed.

Her eyes continued their journey downward, noting how nicely the black trousers fit him before moving on to settle on his…scuffed boots? She blinked.

“Okay, tell me you’re not planning to wear those.” Her gaze flew back to his face as she motioned toward his feet.

Spike’s eyes were busy taking their own scenic tour. “Yeah,” he breathed softly, head tilted to one side. Then he frowned. “Wait…what?”

“The boots?” Buffy prompted, folding her arms. Spike’s gaze, which had moved to her face, immediately backtracked to points further south. She hastily unfolded her arms. “I mean, really…in terms of a fashion faux pas? That’s about as faux as it gets.”

His eyebrow rose. “I could go barefoot, but I figured you’d like that even less,” he said pointedly. Then, shifting gears so fast it made her dizzy, he sighed and shook his head. “Bugger. The shoes are over there. Thought I might have some fun with you, but I just don’t have the heart. Not with you lookin’ the way you do.”

Surprised and more than a little wounded, Buffy cast a surreptitious glance at Dawn’s mirror, seeking reassurance. “You don’t… Why? What’s wrong with the way I look?” she asked, mentally wincing at the plaintive note in her voice. Needy much?

Buffy looked back to find Spike staring at her, head tilted, body overtaken by sudden stillness. Unconsciously mirroring him, she froze, the open tenderness in his face and soft sincerity of his gaze stunning her into immobility.

Nothing, not even the moment they’d shared in the basement, could have prepared her for the sight of this Spike, so unlike the one she’d always known. But there he was, and his voice, low and fervent, flowed over her like smooth molasses.

“I loved Drusilla. From the moment she turned me, I never had eyes for anyone else till I came here. But there was a woman once … in St. Petersburg. They said she put the angels to shame, with hair like fire, and skin like cream, and eyes that would haunt a man past reason. Men died for her. And they lived for her, too. And when she stood in a room, it was like everything else went away. Not a man there could look anywhere else but at her. Even I could see it. Feel it, too.”

His voice deepened with a husky intensity that sent warm tingles straight to her core. “She was a pale ghost next to you. You’re so bloody beautiful, Summers, you break my heart. Nothing in the world compares. Never could, never will.”

Oh, god. She stood there wordlessly, knowing he could hear her heart racing. What could she say to something like that?

There was a long moment of silence before Spike looked away and shrugged. “But I suppose compliments from an evil creature of the night isn’t high on the Slayer’s wish list, yeah?” Spotting the necklace that still dangled from her hand, he nodded at it, releasing her from the spell he’d woven with his words. “So…you planning on wearin’ that or carryin’ it about?”

Yet another thing that unnerved her – a Spike who saw a weakness but didn’t try to take advantage. Once upon a time, Sunnydale had been a simple world of black and white. Now, things were turning a complicated shade of gray and she didn’t have a clue how to handle that.

It didn’t help, either, that he was standing so close to her. She summoned up a faint smile. “I, uh, had some trouble with the catch. It’s being very un-catchy.”

He nodded solemnly and held out his hand. “Right, then. Give it over.”

Freezing, she eyed him warily. “What? Why?”

“Why do you think? More than a century with Dru gave me a fair bit of practice with the like. Expect I can wrestle it into submission.”

“Oh. Well…that’s okay. Really. I can get Willow to—”

“What, are you six years old, woman? ’Fraid you’ll get vampire cooties?” He smiled, a teasing gleam in his eyes. Then his head tilted again, his voice changing to a suggestive rumble. “Or maybe…it’s somethin’ else that’s got you rattled?”

Startled, Buffy felt her eyes widen for a split second then narrow dangerously. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her chin. “The only thing getting rattled around here is your head if you don’t knock it off, Spike. If you think anything else, you’re delusional.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Instead of taking the bait like she’d hoped, Spike raised his eyebrow and waited, hand still extended. Buffy stared back mulishly for several long beats, refusing to break eye contact. Then, slowly and deliberately, she placed the necklace into his upturned palm. A faint smirk touched his lips, but he didn’t move, just continued to watch her, waiting. She huffed, rolling her eyes to show how unimpressed she was, but obediently turned around. Smug, stupid vampire. She was the Slayer. She wasn’t about to run from a double-dog dare, even if he hadn’t actually put it into words.

The pendant descended in front of her face, settling against her skin as he positioned the chain around her neck. She latched on to it, steeling herself against the contact as his hands slid beneath the chignon, taking care not to muss her hair. Despite her resolve not to react, the soft brush of his knuckles against the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck set off a delicious fluttering sensation deep in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes drifted shut. Then snapped open.

There would be no shutting of the eyes for Buffy Anne Summers. That would be asking for trouble and all sorts of bad thoughts. She had to focus on something else.

“I see you managed the bow tie.” Mindless chit-chat, voice nice and steady. So far, so good.

“Cheated,” he confessed, his voice rasping pleasantly in her ear. “Pre-tied. The magic of modern formal wear. Bloody brilliant.”

Then the necklace was in place and his hands retreated. But as he withdrew, the lingering caress of cool fingers on her shoulders sent Buffy’s already-racing heart into overdrive. Though he no longer touched her, she could sense his presence behind her, separated only by an inch or two of charged air. All she had to do was shift ever so slightly backwards and his hard body would be pressing into hers. All she had to do…

“Buffy!” Dawn’s voice, floating up the stairs, hit her like a bucket of ice water. “Are you ready yet? Giles is here!”

A heated blush suffusing her cheeks, she stepped away and kept her face carefully averted from Spike’s gaze. He probably knew anyway, but she wasn’t about to advertise it. Plausible deniability was her friend.

“Thanks,” she said briskly, already halfway to the door. She marveled anew at how steady her voice sounded. “I’d better grab my wrap and see if Willow’s ready. You finish up and meet us downstairs. Don’t be long, okay?”

If Spike replied, she couldn’t hear it through the closed door.


------------------------------


Buffy’s appearance duly impressed those waiting downstairs, and Willow, who looked stunning in an emerald off-the-shoulder gown, also received her fair share of accolades. Giles, too, cut a dashing figure in his classic shawl-collar tux, silver paisley vest, and elegant four-in-hand necktie.

But the real stir was caused by Spike’s arrival.

Dawn was the first to notice. “Hot damn,” she said, looking toward the foyer with a stunned expression. The automatic rebuke died on Buffy’s lips as she followed her sister’s gaze and found Spike, in all his sartorial splendor, standing at the base of the staircase.

The full effect was even better than the sneak preview she’d had upstairs. Stupid rental tuxedos. They really weren’t supposed to look so good.

Xander, taking in Anya’s appreciative once-over, turned to Giles with a sour look. “You couldn’t have rented him a lavender tux? You had to get him that one?”

“You look fantastic!” Dawn enthused, rushing over to him. “Like James Bond…only, you know…blond.” She grabbed hold of his arm, tugging on it excitedly, probably testing to make sure he was real.

“Phfft! That ponce…him and his martinis…he’s a bloody disgrace,” Spike scowled. “Never could understand what the birds saw in him, no matter which sorry sod was playin’ him.” Then, relenting, he smiled at Dawn. “But thanks, bit. Appreciate the sentiment, just the same.” His gaze shifted to survey the others in the room. “Well, now, aren’t we a pretty bunch?” He nodded his approval to Willow. “Lookin’ good, Red.”

“Thanks! And…um…you look nice, too. The tux looks really great on you. Really.” Turning her back on Spike, she gave Buffy a quick who-would-have-thought look. Buffy shrugged and glanced away, chewing on her lower lip.

“Yes, well…if we’re finished with the mutual admiration, perhaps we should be on our way,” Giles suggested. “Xander, you and Anya will follow us over in the truck and park behind the museum near the loading bay. Are there any questions or concerns that we haven’t already discussed?”

Buffy saw Dawn tug sharply on Spike’s arm just as he opened his mouth, shaking her head as she gave him a stern look. He sighed heavily but subsided, swallowing whatever snarky comment he’d planned to make.

The Watcher looked around. “Very well then. Shall we?” With a grim expression, Giles exited the house, leaving the Scoobies to follow.

As Willow, Xander, and Anya filed after him, Buffy sensed Spike’s gaze lingering on her. She glanced over and their eyes locked. There was a speculative gleam in those blue depths that left her more than a little unsettled. Or maybe she only imagined it, for no sooner had they exchanged looks than he was all business, winking at Dawn and brushing by Buffy to follow the others out to the car.

But as he moved past her, words breathed low and soft reached her ears.

“Breakin’ my heart, Summers. Breakin’ my bloody heart.”

And her own heart raced as she stared after him.


------------------------------
TBC in Part 6

A/N: And here’s another chapter. We’re on to the gala and some…*ahem*…up-close and personal time for Buffy and Spike.


------------------------------


Chapter Six

One car ride and three boring speeches later, Buffy found herself longing for a little apocalypse-style action. Anything to escape the awkward dinner conversation and the walking, talking mine field that was Spike.

It had started with the introductions, when they had found themselves sharing a table with two other couples.

Giles had introduced himself, then Willow, but as he reached Buffy the social niceties had ground to a halt. One of the women, a fifty-something matron with a pearl choker and big hair, had been a frequent patron of her mother’s art gallery and immediately recognized Buffy’s name. Even now, almost a year later and with Buffy’s own death in the interim, it was still hard to accept the loss of her mother. Being reminded by a stranger, even one as well-meaning as Ellen Carmichael seemed to be, didn’t help. Buffy felt herself withdrawing more and more as the woman babbled on.

“Joyce used to talk about you all the time, dear. She was so proud of you. You and your sister…Debbie?”

Buffy’s eyes fastened on the table’s centerpiece, a colorful floral arrangement surrounding a miniature replica of the obelisk. “Dawn,” she murmured, then cleared her throat and spoke a little louder. “Her name’s Dawn.”

“Oh, that’s right. I think I’d forget my own name sometimes if I didn’t have Dan here to remind me. But yours is so unusual. I knew who you were the minute Mr. Giles introduced you. Your mother was right, you’re a lovely young woman.”

Buffy jerked in surprise as strong, cool fingers entwined with her own. Looking up, she found Spike staring at her, an inscrutable look on his face. Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss across the back. “That she is,” he agreed softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m a lucky bloke to sit next to such a beauty.” Then his head turned and she could breathe again.

Spike gifted Mrs. Carmichael with a dazzling smile, all the while maintaining his hold on Buffy’s hand. She could free herself, but not without causing a scene, something she would only do if, oh…say…a pack of hungry werewolves decided to crash the party.

Maybe she would get lucky.

She settled for kicking him under the table, which might have been more effective if she’d worn something other than open-toed shoes. Giles glared from across the way, but their dual displeasure was apparently lost on Spike as he became the new focus of Mrs. Carmichael’s attention.

“So…you’re Buffy’s young man?”

“That would depend on your definition of young,” he answered with a charming grin. The two couples laughed appreciatively as his arm came to rest across the back of Buffy’s chair. While he wasn’t suicidal enough to place his hand on her shoulder, its dangling presence was implicitly possessive and impossible to ignore.

The other woman at the table, who looked and dressed a bit like a brunette Sharon Stone, was attending the gala with a man she had called “her friend.” Buffy sourly noted that she seemed especially taken with Spike, smiling at him a little too warmly. “I think we missed someone in the introductions. You are…?”

Spike met her gaze. “The name’s S—”

“William!” Buffy interjected frantically as she gave him another hard kick, ignoring his mingled look of amusement and exasperation. “His name’s William,” she repeated, steadily and without yelping this time. She relaxed, then felt her eyes widen comically as she realized they were waiting for a last name. “Um…Giles! William Giles.”

Buffy scooped up her water glass, taking a hasty sip and pretending not to notice the incredulous look on Giles’ face.

“Oh, you’re related then?” Mrs. Carmichael piped up, glancing from Spike to Giles and back again to Spike. “Father and son?”

“Yuh-huh,” Buffy answered weakly, since the pair in question were too busy glowering at each other. Twin scowls turned her way as both spoke simultaneously.

“I should say not!”

“Not bloody likely!”

Buffy’s toes connected with Spike’s shin a third time as she aimed a level stare across the table at Giles. “They’re such kidders, these two,” she explained, bestowing a brilliant smile upon their confused dinner companions. “Always joking around. Like father, like son.”

Spike looked as if he’d swallowed a barrel’s worth of congealed rat’s blood, while Giles managed a painful grimace vaguely resembling a smile. But both subsided without further protest, and Buffy breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

She should have known better.

The Sharon clone, whose name was actually Sheila, leaned forward, proudly displaying her ample cleavage as she addressed Spike. “So, if you two are father and son, do you mind if I ask why your accents are so different? I couldn’t help noticing.”

Of course she couldn’t. Any more than Buffy could keep from noticing the wicked gleam in Spike’s eyes as he straightened in his chair and assumed a terrifyingly innocent expression.

“Yeah. That’s because dear old Da’, here, up and left Mum and me when I was just a tyke. He was too busy gettin’ his jollies on with one tart or another to check in much. Has a thing for younger birds, you know,” he added, with a helpful jerk of his head in Willow’s direction. “It’s only these last few months that we’ve had a reconciliation of sorts. Reckon I’ll enjoy it as long as it lasts. He’ll get tired of me as soon as he’s got another little bun in the oven. Pretty well lost count of all the brothers and sisters I got runnin’ around now.”

If Giles had been glaring before, he was practically seething now. A red-faced Willow sat tongue-tied, while their new acquaintances were left speechless and blinking. Except for that Sheila ho, Buffy realized, who looked like she could barely keep from bursting into raucous laughter.

The music started up for the pre-dinner dancing and Buffy grabbed Spike’s arm. “Oh look, honey, they’re playing our song.” Smiling sweetly through clenched teeth, she hauled him up and out onto the dance floor, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake.

When they were far enough away, she whirled around, ready to tear into him.

He smiled at her. “Didn’t know we had a song. Would have liked something with more of a beat, but I guess it’ll do.”

“It’ll do? It’ll do?!” she asked incredulously. “I’ll ‘do’ you, mister!”

The sudden interested gleam in Spike’s eyes and the wicked smirk that curled his lips caused Buffy to mentally review what she’d just said. She blushed furiously. “You know what I meant!” she hissed.

Spike snorted, unable to keep from laughing, but he sobered quickly, casting a speculative eye around them. “What I know, Slayer, is that if we don’t start dancin’ soon, we’re gonna be attractin’ a whole lot more attention than either of us wants. Well…more than you want, leastways.”

Caught in a snit with nowhere to rant, Buffy glared at the dancing couples around them then back at Spike. After several long beats, he laced his fingers with hers and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She didn’t help him, but she didn’t stop him either. As they began swaying slowly to the music, Buffy refused to look at him, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on his chest.

Not that she was enjoying the view. No siree, not one little bit. She just didn’t want to look at that stupid bow tie the whole time they were out there.

Feeling Spike’s lips brush her ear, she stiffened in his arms.

“C’mon, pet, don’t be mad,” he coaxed softly. “Was just a bit of harmless fun. You can’t tell me the prospect of sitting through some dull-as-dirt speechifying doesn’t make you want to tear the head off somethin’.”

She gave him a pointed look.

“Something that isn’t me,” he clarified, his tone firm. Tilting his head, he searched her face. “Admit it now. You’re just as eager as I am to get to the main event. Am I right?”

Eyeing him with a sour expression, she tried hard not to let herself be distracted by the cool hand resting in the small of her back. “You mean am I looking forward to dodging security guards, hiding out in a dark, cramped closet, picking a fight with God-only-knows-what to stop some unknown event that’s going to be accomplished in some mysterious way we have yet to figure out, all without having the slightest clue as to why it’s happening?”

Her lips quirked. “Yeah…I am, actually. A little.”

With a pleased nod, Spike grinned at her. “See? That right there. That’s what I’m sayin’. Birds of a bloody feather, we are.”

Buffy sobered instantly. “No,” she said, stone-faced. “We’re not.”

His smile faded. “Yeah. We are. Or could be, if you’d stop denying it for two bloody seconds.” He looked to the ceiling as if he might find the patience he needed in one of the supporting beams. Then his gaze zeroed in on her again, intense and searching. “You know what I’m talking about, Buffy. Full on out, no holdin’ back, fists flyin’ and your blood howling for more. It’s pure poetry. There’s something inside us that calls, only most of the time you’re afraid to listen because someone’s made you think it’s something to be ashamed of. But when you’re not, Buffy…when you give yourself to the dance…”

He lowered his face to hers, staring deeply into her eyes. “When you dance, you’re bloody magnificent, Summers,” he breathed. “So…alive.”

The quiet reverence that shone in his face was almost as painful as it was compelling. Cradled in his embrace, Buffy could feel herself slipping again. Like she almost had in the basement. Like she’d wanted to in the bedroom.

She forced herself to meet his passionate stare with a cool gaze.

“And you’re not.”

Which was a lie, of course. Spike might have shuffled off his mortal coil more than a century prior, but he was filled with more vitality than anyone she’d ever known. That’s why, even as her words caused the light in his eyes to dim, she knew it would never be extinguished. It was an unquenchable flame, just as he was, and that was the real contrast between them. It was something she’d lost and desperately wanted back. But to admit as much would give him power over her, and that was something she could never do.

She lifted her chin. “You want to know the difference between us, Spike? It’s pretty simple. Remember what Willow and Xander said back at the house – about using the obelisk to make the world a better place? If you got your hands on it, what would you do with it?”

He stared back at her, obviously at a loss. “Wouldn’t do anything with it. Mojo like that, no good ever comes from it, not even the evil kind. There’s always payback. You know that, Buffy.”

“I do know,” she agreed. “But are you telling me that if you could have anything you wanted…or anyone…you wouldn’t even be tempted?”

Spike was a lot of things, but slow wasn’t one of them. Buffy could see the dime drop.

His jaw hardened. “Don’t want you that way. Wouldn’t be real.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” she reminded him, challenging him with the ghost of the BuffyBot.

She caught a flicker of something in his eyes. “Learned my lesson then, didn’t I?” he countered softly, his steady gaze holding hers.

And that was the problem in a nutshell. Evil things weren’t supposed to learn from past mistakes. Unless it was how to be even more evil. They weren’t supposed to fall in love, or fight beside you, or keep a promise when they had nothing to gain. They weren’t supposed to risk themselves to protect what you love most or keep a secret simply because you asked. And they really weren’t supposed to listen quietly to things you couldn’t tell anyone else, all the while never asking for anything in return.

Buffy’s eyes widened as her own dime dropped. Back at the table, Spike’s performance had been a carefully calculated distraction. He’d known what she was feeling, the pain her mother’s loss still caused her, and he’d acted like an ass, not to annoy her…

Well, okay…to annoy her. But only as a means of taking her mind off her loss. And that was something else evil things weren’t supposed to do.

Leave it to Spike never to play by the rules.

Disconcerted, Buffy ended the dance abruptly and walked off the floor, leaving an unusually silent Spike to follow. She was relieved that he made no effort to call her back or to finish their aborted conversation.

Thankfully, he had more or less behaved himself for the rest of the evening, but Giles was still seething and the atmosphere at the table had been a little…strained. It had come as an obvious relief to everyone when the speeches had finally concluded and they were free to escape into the exhibit area for the big unveiling.

Now, almost two hours after her short-lived dance with Spike, all of the gala attendees crowded around an elaborate replica of an ancient Abyssinian sacrificial alter. Buffy had maneuvered herself away from the vampire to a position between Willow and Giles, but she could still see the him out of the corner of her eye, standing on the other side of Willow. Her mind was a muddle of conflicting thoughts and emotions. She might have considered that a good thing under different circumstances, but not when it distracted her from the mission. And definitely not when it was Spike doing the distracting.

Buffy sighed, forcing herself to get back on track. For the first time since entering the room, she focused on the granite obelisk. It was at least ten feet tall, maybe a little more, and about two feet wide. It narrowed to a rounded point at the top and was covered with strange symbols and other carvings, which had so far defied translation, according to Giles. Near the base of the obelisk lay a raised alter containing a large stone slab that had several holes sunk into it. Back at the house, when Giles had shown them a drawing of a similar set-up in the book he’d brought, he’d explained that the holes were most likely used to collect the blood of sacrificial victims.

Nice.

She was still contemplating that less-than-charming thought when Willow leaned over to whisper in her ear.

“I don’t know, Buffy. It looks pretty heavy. Do you really think you and Spike can get it out to the truck okay?”

Buffy glanced over at Spike, who seemed more interested in studying her than taking in the exhibit. Looking away, she shrugged. “As long as Spike holds up his end, we shouldn’t have a problem.” She kept her gaze on the display, ignoring the soft snort that originated from the other side of Willow.

She could do this. She could. Starting now, the obelisk would have her undivided attention. She’d be cool, calm, and unstoppable – just like those old-time postal carriers people always talked about. Neither wind, nor rain, nor confusing Spike issues would keep her from her appointed slay. She’d stop the bad guy, deliver the obelisk to Giles’ friend, and put this bout of temporary insanity firmly and irrevocably behind her. Nothing Spike did from that point on could get to her.

She was sure of it.

------------------------------

The utility closet Giles had chosen as their hideaway was every bit as cramped as Buffy had feared. But, thankfully, not as dark. A small bulb in the ceiling cast a dim glow over the narrow confines, revealing shelves of cleaning supplies, as well as brooms, a large vacuum cleaner, and other equipment shoved off to the side.

One thing it didn’t reveal was Spike.

Buffy felt her jaw tighten. She had left him alone for only a few minutes, just long enough to slip into the ladies room to change out of her evening gown and into the fighting clothes that were stashed in the weapons bag she had checked at the door. The woman checking the coats and purses had been unusually oblivious to the heavy weight of the bag, or maybe she just hadn’t cared what might be in it. Either way, it was an attitude that could get her killed fast in a town like Sunnydale.

Five minutes. Five…freaking…minutes. And he couldn’t stay put. Seething, Buffy whirled around, intent on hunting him down before the security patrol made its first sweep, only to run smack into an unyielding man-shaped surface.

“Oof!” Startled, Buffy looked up as strong arms encircled her, catching her so that she wouldn’t fall. Which was totally unnecessary, of course.

She scowled at Spike, who seemed in no hurry to let go, and shrugged herself free. “I thought I told you stay put!” she accused.

Spike raised an eyebrow at her. “What does that mean, exactly? ‘Stay put.’ I mean, what’s ‘put,’ anyway? Some kind of code for ‘birdbrained sot who knows bugger-all about anything and does whatever anyone tells him,’ even if it gets him killed?”

Recovering herself, Buffy shrugged and gazed at him blandly. “If the shoe fits.”

His eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, a sound in the outer corridor warned them that the first security patrol was on its way. Grabbing Spike’s arm, Buffy hauled him inside the closet and shut the door. But she’d pulled a little harder than she’d meant to, sending Spike slamming up against the shelves, which in turn dislodged a bottle of ammonia that teetered precariously on the edge. Buffy dived to catch it before it could hit the floor and found herself up-close and personal with Spike, in a highly intimate way.

Red-faced, she was about to straighten and untangle herself when a sound at the door caused her to freeze. She couldn’t even turn her head to look in that direction, considering what her ear was pressed up against, but she heard the doorknob turn and held her breath.

Surely Willow had cast the spell by now. She’d been preparing for it when Buffy had left her and Giles in the ladies room. So why was she now on the verge of getting busted in a highly compromising position? Not to mention, humiliating, and totally not what it looked like at all and, oh my god, was that really what she thought it was pressing against her cheek?

Suddenly, a faint buzzing sensation settled over them like a softly vibrating blanket. As it dissipated, the rattling doorknob fell silent. Buffy waited a few more seconds, to give the security guard time to move on, then jumped to her feet, putting as much distance between herself and Spike as she could. Which wasn’t much, unfortunately.

Spike’s smirking face was the last thing on earth she wanted to see right now, but in their cramped quarters she had little choice. One word. Just one snarky innuendo and he was dust. She didn’t care if she had to drag the damn obelisk all the way to New Jersey and back by herself, he was so history.

But when she finally looked up, she didn’t find him smirking, or grinning, or even smiling in that wickedly sexy way he had that should really be against the law. Instead, he was staring at her intently. His gaze was smoldering, but his expression gave away little if anything. His voice, on the other hand…

“Buffy…”

Oh, why did it have to sound that way? Warm, and raw, and slightly breathless, even though he had no reason to be. His hand rose to hover in the air, almost cradling her cheek, but stopped just short of touching her, as if waiting for permission.

“Yes?” she breathed, vaguely aware her response could be taken more than one way. Even she wasn’t sure how she meant it.

But Spike, it seemed, had very definite ideas.

Instead of touching her face, as she was certain he would, he let his hand fall away. A sharp twinge of disappointment shot through her but turned into something else as he moved, closing the narrow gap between them. She looked up, straight into blue eyes burning with the same smoldering heat she remembered from her dreams and their brief encounter in the basement. Only this time, she didn’t pull away. As he slowly leaned down, still holding his body apart from hers, she felt herself straining upwards, lifting her face to his, already anticipating the heady feel of soft, full lips and his tongue in her mouth.

But again he stopped, a mere hair’s breadth away, his moist breath teasing her lips as he whispered into her mouth. “Do you want this? Tell me you want this,” he urged.

“I…” She couldn’t think, couldn’t react. All she could do was stand and wait, her body suddenly alive and tingling in a way it hadn’t been since she’d come back. Or for a very long time before that. She’d almost forgotten what it could be like.

“Tell me you want this, Buffy. Ask me to kiss you,” he coaxed softly. Offering further incentive, his hand rose to gently cup her breast, sending a tiny jolt through her as his thumb skimmed lightly across one very sensitive nipple.

A moan escaped her, along with a single word. “Please…”

It was enough. In a heartbeat, his mouth had captured hers, his tongue plundering the soft depths with a ferocious intensity as her hands rose to grip his shoulders. She clung to him tightly, squeezing the muscles beneath her hands, silently urging him on.

Somewhere in a rational part of her mind, Buffy knew it was wrong, knew there were a thousand different reasons she should not be doing this. But she did it anyway. Because she wanted it. Because at that moment the idea of not doing so seemed completely and utterly impossible.

His oh-so-talented mouth continued to move, drawing her out, igniting a raw hunger inside that blazed brighter with each broad sweep of his tongue. His arm snaked around her waist, a large hand spreading wide across her bottom as he pulled her snugly against his rock-hard body and held her there, grinding and pumping with ruthless intensity.

Oh god. Oh god. The things she felt.

And she finally let go, hands frantically caressing the smooth, hard planes of his form with feverish abandon, fumbling to reach elusive flesh hiding beneath troublesome clothing. His were equally busy, roaming her body, lighting somewhere then just as quickly moving on. Gliding and grasping, hungry and searching, never still.

Oh, right there. Please, stay there. And he miraculously obeyed, almost as if he could read her mind.

She was panting hard now. The fast, shuddering breaths shook her body with the force of a small hurricane. Her head fell back, cradled against a hard-muscled bicep as his mouth trailed moist kisses down her jaw and found the tender hollow at the base of her neck. His tongue flicked out to taste it, then fell into a steady licking rhythm, while his hands did other things that robbed her of any coherent thought.

Then his mouth was back on hers, slanting sideways, deepening the kiss as if he wanted to inhale her. She opened to him, more than willing to meet halfway. Her hands loosened their grip and slid across the broad expanse of his back, savoring the delicious sensation of taut muscles rippling beneath the smooth fabric.

God, she wanted to feel him…all of him, everywhere. She wanted his hands not to stop. She wanted the weight of his body pressing her down. She wanted his mouth on her breasts.

And it was, kissing and nipping, as if her clothes weren’t even there. How did he know? How could he tell? She rolled her head, moaning aloud in a wash of raw need, no longer caring who or what might hear. He was the wave battering against her shore, surging forth and receding, each time taking a little more of her with him. All she could do was clutch at his shoulders, pliant and willing beneath the onslaught of sheer sensation.

She was alive again.

Suddenly, his shirt was open, and she must have done it. The edges were fisted in her hands, while the buttons littered the floor, and his jacket lay tangled around their feet. The satin vest was a splash of red in the corner, shredded beyond repair. Her eyes lingered for a moment on his chest, heaving with the force of their exertions, then roamed over the well-defined muscles of his abdomen. Drifting lower still, she was confronted anew with the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, instantly kindling an answering flood of heat and desire in her.

She lunged forward, her mouth locking onto his, ravenous and demanding, firm and thoroughly committed. She smiled in triumph against his lips as a deep groan escaped him, ramping up the intensity, kissing him into submission. She was in charge now. Something inside had awakened and begun to stir. Something that had been sleeping since her return.

No. Even before that.

Letting go of his shirt, she splayed her hands against his chest. Smooth, and hard, and warm…

Gasping, Buffy pulled back, her eyes wide with shock. She looked at her hands, spread flat over the place where his heart was. The same heart she could feel racing beneath her fingertips, the hammering beat keeping time with her own.

Slowly, her gaze raised to meet his. His head was tilted in that way she knew so well as he stared back at her. Her eyes narrowed, and her hands slammed him back into the door with a force that rattled the shelves on the opposite wall.

“Where is he?” she hissed, her voice low, deadly. “Who are you? What have you done with him?”

Blue eyes that had smoldered with passion a moment before grew cold, and an ugly smile twisted lush, kiss-swollen lips. “Had you goin’ there, didn’t I?” ‘his’ voice whispered. “Expect you would have given it up in another minute or so. What gave me away?” His eyes trailed insolently down her body and back up again, fastening on her face as he added the last insult. “…love.”

A blinding rage out of all proportion to that taunting endearment overwhelmed her, as if someone had turned on a tap, allowing a torrent of emotions to come cascading out. Spike had made this possible, except that it wasn’t Spike, and she had almost given herself to it, thinking it was. Buffy didn’t know which was worse.

“Tell me where he is!” Her hold loosened as she raised a fist, prepared to deliver a vicious blow whether the thing answered her or not.

She never got the chance. A hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat, lifting her off the floor. The grip tightened, increasing the pressure as her legs kicked uselessly in the air. Slowly, so very, very slowly, the breath was being squeezed out of her, and nothing Buffy did could dislodge that iron grip.

As she flailed and wheezed, a dim mist descended over her vision, and the last thing she saw before the blackness engulfed her was the smirking face of the Not-Spike.


------------------------------
TBC in Part 7

A/N: Many, many thanks for the kind words from those who have commented on the story thus far. It is very much appreciated.

Didn’t mean to leave you hanging from that cliff for so long. My profuse apologies. Now let’s see…where were we? Oh, yeah. Buffy was in big trouble, and Spike…well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?

So without further ado, on with the show…


---------------------------


Part Seven

Cold. Hard. Hurting. A smell, sickly sweet. Stone scraping on stone. Can’t move. Can’t see. What? What’s happening? Where…

Buffy fought her way up out of a pit of darkness so thick it threatened to smother her. She could feel something encircling her wrists and ankles. Cold iron. Shackles? She forced her arms to move but they were sluggish, managing only the slightest tug at whatever restrained her. Still, it was enough to confirm that her arms were chained. The same must be true for her legs, then, which she couldn’t yet move.

She was lying on something hard, like the stone coffin-thing in Spike’s crypt. Or…the alter slab in the obelisk exhibit?

Buffy opened her eyes to shadows dancing on the ceiling high above her. Turning her head, she traced the source of the flickering patterns to a pair of burning torches positioned on either side of the slab. She shifted again, shackles clinking against stone. Frowning, she tried to concentrate. Where had the chains come from? They weren’t on the alter earlier in the evening; she was sure of it. She couldn’t tell how they were secured, but maybe she could…

A movement off to one side caught her eye. As she raised her head to get a better look, confusion rapidly gave way to stone-cold clarity. Kneeling on the floor a few feet away was what looked like a man, his face obscured by his bowed head. He seemed unaware of her, his attention focused on the symbols he was painstakingly drawing on the museum floor. She could see enough to guess that the symbols, whatever they were, formed a large circle around the alter slab on which she lay. Her eyes returned to the stranger just as he put the finishing touch on his work and rose, his gaze instantly locking with hers.

He smiled, but the warmth failed to reach his eyes, which were dark and cold. “And she wakes at last! I was beginning to believe you would sleep the night away, which would, I suppose, make it easier for you but infinitely less interesting for me.”

Buffy was immediately struck by how colorless he seemed. His features were handsome enough, but bland, and his voice was smooth yet flavorless, like vanilla ice cream without the vanilla. His gray suit was equally nondescript. In fact, the only noteworthy thing about him was his hair, blacker than night and pulled back into a tight pony tail that fell to his waist. It was only when he sighed and moved toward her that his subtle threat finally registered.

Reaching her side, he paused to consider her. “Actually, I’m not being entirely truthful. You were only unconscious for a short time. I was barely able to attend to a few details and complete my preparations here. It must be that fabled Slayer healing ability.”

Buffy started to retort, but her first word came out as a hoarse croak. She stopped, coughing harshly, then swallowed and tried again. This time with more success, though her voice was still a bit raspy. “How did you do it?” she demanded. “A spell?”

“Do what?” He regarded her with a quizzical stare. “This?” Suddenly, the man was gone and the Not-Spike stood before her, his shirt, vest, and jacket miraculously intact. He cocked his head. “Hardly need any mojo to do what comes naturally, Slayer, now do I?”

“Where’s Spike?” The words were ground out through clenched teeth. It was too bad she couldn’t slay with a look. He would be so dead now.

He smirked at her, all blue eyes and cheekbones and sensuous lips. “The wanker was in the way. Now he’s not. Got rid of him all permanent-like. I expect you’ll be happy enough about it, seein’ as how you weren’t too keen on the way you were reacting to him.” Staring at her through hooded eyes, he did that little Spike thing with his tongue. Even though Buffy knew it wasn’t really him, it still sent a shiver through her traitorous body.

“Or I guess I should say, reacting to me,” he drawled, a lascivious grin appearing on his face. “Either way, he’s gone. You’re well rid of him.”

And just like that, the shiver died, replaced with a sick feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

He cocked his head again as his gaze sharpened. “What? Not happy about that? Huh. Is that what they call a…what is it, now…love/hate relationship? Never run into one of those before. Must be a real bitch.”

Buffy clenched her fists, fighting back the urge to smash his face in. She’d save that for later, when she was free of the chains. “What are you?” she demanded, even as she sent out a silent call for help to Willow. There was no response.

He leaned in close, lips almost touching her ear. “Haven’t you sussed it out yet, love?” he whispered. “I’m whatever you want.” Grinning, he pulled back, and suddenly it was Angel looking at her.

“Or don’t want,” he added, as he morphed into vamp face. Running his eyes over her body, he smiled broadly, fangs flashing in the light cast by the flickering torches. “Well, look at you. All trussed up and nowhere to go. Just the way I like ’em.”

No, not Angel…Angelus. Buffy stared at him coldly. “Am I supposed to be impressed? You can’t even do your own dirty work. You have to hide behind other faces, other lives. How pathetic is that? What do you expect to accomplish here tonight, anyway?”

Buffy was in a bad position, and she knew it. But she also knew that pretty much every evil creature she’d ever met had one fatal flaw – a giant ego. If she could stall him long enough, get him boasting about his grand scheme, then it could buy her some much-needed time. Willow’s mental link might not be working, but sooner or later, when they didn’t hear the expected commotion, she and Giles were bound to come investigate. And maybe it would give her the distraction she needed to get the upper hand.

She couldn’t let herself think about who wouldn’t be showing up.

The Not-Angelus laughed and shook his head. “Poor Slayer. Hate to tell you this, Buff, but your friends won’t be riding to the rescue. They’re a little busy right now.”

Buffy froze, eyes widening a fraction before she caught herself. She kept her face carefully expressionless. “What did you do?”

He shrugged. “Simple holding spell to keep them in place, with a little dampening spell thrown in for added flavor. I’m afraid your calls can’t penetrate that field. What a shame. At any rate, it’ll take them a while to break through. Too long to do you any good.”

Still alive, at least. Unlike…

Then, the true import of what he’d said sank in. Buffy spoke again, her voice flat. “You can read my mind.”

“Not exactly.” He shrugged. “Feelings, mostly. Though I gotta say, you don’t give me much to work with, Slayer. Still…impressions, ideas, desires…they all come together to draw a pretty clear picture. For instance, it’s not hard to figure out what you want to do to this one.” He gestured at his present form, wincing in mock pain. “Ouch.”

Then, as he leaned in close to her ear again, his voice took on a lilting note. “And I sure as hell know what you wanted to do with the other one. Such a naughty slayer,” he chided, smirking even as he shook his head. “Shame you’ll never get the chance now.”

The pain was almost palpable this time, punching through her carefully erected defenses.

He laughed out loud, and the Not-Spike was back. “Now that’s a bloody riot, that is! You care a lot more than you want to let on, even to yourself. Can we say, ‘mixed signals’ here? No wonder the poor sod was in such a muddle there at the end. Don’t think I’ve ever run into anyone so hard to get a fix on. You were the only thing in his head.” He shrugged. “Oh, well. Least he’s out of his misery now. And don’t worry,” he added, voice dripping with phony solicitude. “It was quick…if not entirely painless.”

Buffy’s fist lashed out like a lightning bolt, but she wasn’t fast enough. He danced out of range, laughing, as her arm was stopped short by the chain.

“Hang on, now! That isn’t very nice! Bloke might get the idea you didn’t like him. Course, you were singin’ a different tune in the closet, weren’t you?” He leered at her for a moment then sobered abruptly. Heaving a heavy sigh, he glanced around. “Bugger it. As much fun as this has been, we’re wastin’ time. I’ve got rituals to perform and worlds to rule. And you, my sweet Slayer, are going to make it all possible.”

“Only thing I’ll make possible is your death,” she promised grimly. “The painful and humiliating kind.”

Quirking an eyebrow, he smirked. “You know, that might worry me a little more if you weren’t trussed up there like a fish tangled in a net. A very pretty fish, give you that. But, all that aside…let’s get on with it, shall we?”

He moved to her weapons bag, which she only now realized was sitting on the floor a few feet away, and stooped to rummage around inside. Seconds later he rose and turned, holding up a wicked-looking dagger for her to see.

Buffy didn’t recognize it. He must have dropped it in there while she was still unconscious. Great. She should be grateful he wasn’t planning to kill her with one of her own weapons. Talk about humiliating.

“Ceremonial dagger,” the Not-Spike explained, running a finger lovingly along one edge of the blade. “It’s needed for the blood-letting. Couldn’t perform the ritual without it.” He stopped then, eyeing her expectantly.

Buffy snorted. “Oh, wait. Is this the part where I’m supposed to get all weepy and trembly and beg you not to hurt me? ’Cause gotta tell you…so not happening. Why don’t you just drop all the melodrama and tell me why you’re doing this? We both know you’re dying to brag. And another thing, do you even have a name, or should I just call you Mr. Insecure? It really is sad you have to hide behind someone else’s face. But I guess it sucks to be you, huh?”

He frowned, and Buffy could see the smooth, self-satisfied façade crack a bit for the first time. “Name’s Ardun. And you’re not showin’ the proper respect, woman. Don’t you realize how monumental this is? I’ve been preparing for decades, waitin’ for all the pieces to fall into place. And you’re the last.”

“Me? Why? Because I’m a slayer?”

“No…because you’re the slayer,” he corrected. “The one who was prophesized.”

Great. She should have known. Prophecy girl again. How special.

The Not-Spike morphed into the man Buffy had seen earlier, what she assumed was his true form, and when he spoke again it was with the air of one quoting a holy scripture. “‘She who dies yet lives, she who bears the mark of three vampires…’”

Trailing off, he smiled coldly. “Well, it’s somewhat fancier than that and there’s considerably more to it, but you get the idea. You are the one, Miss Summers. Blood straight from your heart, taken on the alter of the Ag-rith-h’lal Oo-jah’ri-m’shik during a sacrificial ritual performed on the eve of Denrothe – a sacred day for the Ancient Ones. It will grant me unlimited power, just as I told dear Rupert on the phone.”

At her look, he nodded. “Your Watcher thought he was talking to his old friend, but he was quite mistaken. It was merely a ruse to lure you here at the appointed time and place. Obviously successful. And you have very obligingly arranged to have a truck waiting to transport the obelisk for me.”

He pursed his lips as he gazed at her thoughtfully. “It’s quite a challenge, assuming the form of a slayer. It’s my first time. Of course, I’ll be forced to break the news of Spike’s death to the others. Tragically killed in a battle with the demon, who was in turn slain by me. They’ll never know the truth until it’s too late. Everyone will be dead, the obelisk will be mine, and I shall rule this world and every variation of it across an infinite number of universes. My power will be supreme.”

Buffy gazed back at him, unimpressed. “You’re kidding. All this, and the best you can come up with is ruling the world? There’s absolutely nothing original about you, is there? You couldn’t go for something useful, like being able to eat all the triple chocolate caramel ice cream you want without gaining weight? Or maybe something strange but creative, like a world without scissors? Since someone seems a little phobic,” she added, glancing pointedly at his hair.

She caught a flicker of something in his eyes and thought she might have struck a nerve. But then he smiled again and raised the dagger. “Speaking of sharp, pointed things, we really should get on with this. As delightful as our chat has been, there’s a rather small window of opportunity and I would be very disappointed to miss it. I’m sure you understand.”

Moving to a spot at the foot of the slab, he began to chant in a strange tongue that Buffy had never heard before. At least she didn’t think she had. All these demon languages sounded alike to her. What she did know was that she had run out of time. She had to find a way out of this now.

With all her might, she strained against the chain binding her right arm, but nothing happened. She tried again, rested a moment, then a third time. Still nothing. Whatever Ardun had used to secure the shackles, whether a spell or Super Glue, it was more than a match for slayer strength. But she had to keep trying.

Seemingly oblivious to her struggles, her soon-to-be executioner raised the ceremonial dagger and used it to make a shallow slash above his left wrist. Still chanting, he extended his arm over her, letting the blood drip slowly onto one bare foot, then the other. It was only then Buffy realized that her boots had been removed.

Gliding to the head of the slab, Ardun captured her fisted hands, methodically smearing his blood on the back of each one. As he disappeared from sight behind her head, the chant grew louder. Suddenly his arm appeared, hovering above her. She continued to thrash about, searching for hidden reserves of strength, until a drop of blood landed squarely in the center of her forehead and the chant came to an abrupt halt.

Buffy froze, breathing heavily, then craned her neck to glare up at him. His eyes were closed and his arms were raised high above his head, the dagger gripped firmly in both hands. The blade’s tip was pointed downward, poised to begin the powerful arc that would send it plunging into her heart.


---------------------------
TBC in Part 8


A/N: Oops. Another cliffhanger. Darn!

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. It was the work week from heck. Actually, the work month from heck. But as much as I don't love having to work extra on the weekends these last few weeks, I’m really very grateful to be gainfully employed.

No, really. Honest.

Okay, let’s see…when last we looked in on our intrepid heroes, Spike was MIA, Willow and Giles were trapped in the ladies’ room, Xander and Anya were still waiting outside the museum, and Buffy was chained to the mock alter about to be on the receiving end of a sacrificial dagger…


------------------------------


Chapter Eight

Buffy braced herself. For an eon, time stilled, suspended in a bubble where sound and sensation no longer existed. Then the moment was gone, and the deadly blade came swooping towards her.

An unearthly roar shattered the silence as the dagger vanished and a big blur went hurtling across the room, crashing into the far wall. The blur resolved itself, falling apart, separating into two distinct forms, and Buffy’s heart stopped. Was it really…

“Spike!”

Bouncing to his feet, Spike nodded in response to her call but didn’t take his eyes off the other demon, who had also regained his footing. “Present and accounted for, Slayer. No thanks to some,” he added, staring grimly at the shapeshifter. “Word of advice, mate. Next time you kill a bloke, you might want to make sure he’s not already dead.”

Ardun froze, then slowly nodded. “Vampire?”

Spike shook his head, growling low in his throat. “Pissed-off vampire,” he corrected. Then with a furious roar, he charged again.

This time, the momentum sent them careening into the granite obelisk. Ardun hit hard, his head slamming against the stone surface. Spike followed up the advantage with two powerhouse punches and a knee to the gut, but Ardun recovered quickly, his hand shooting out to latch onto Spike’s throat. Buffy remembered that vise-like grip all too well, and as strong as Spike was, Ardun was stronger. Buffy wasn’t sure she could take him on her own, even without the element of surprise on his side.

If she didn’t find a way to free herself, and fast, Spike could become a genuine casualty this time. And she wouldn’t be far behind.

Wrapping her hand around the chain that restrained her right arm, she again focused all her strength on it, straining with desperate determination. For the merest fraction of a second, she felt something – a change, a subtle shift, as if it might not be as secure as it had been a moment ago. Suppressing a small thrill of triumph, she pulled even harder. This time, there was a definite shift.

Her eyes darted back to the fight, if you could call it that. Still preoccupied with his opponent, Ardun seemed unaware of what she was doing. As she watched, he lifted Spike off the floor, just as he had done to her in the utility closet. But instead of trying to strangle him, which would have been pointless with a vampire, Ardun gave a massive heave that sent Spike sailing across the room. The crash landing demolished a nearby exhibit, burying him beneath a pile of debris.

Ardun’s head whipped around and his cold gaze locked with hers. The chains snapped taut, undoing the tiny bit of headway Buffy had made. Her eyes widened.

His mind! He was holding the chains in place with his mind.

Ardun moved toward her, his face a cold, hard mask. But for the second time, he had seriously underestimated Spike. No sooner had the vampire landed than he was up again, debris flying as he came roaring back for more. He slammed into the shapeshifter from behind, carrying him closer to the slab where Buffy lay, as his arm wrapped around Ardun’s neck like a steel band. His knee jabbed viciously into the small of the demon’s back, bending him so far backwards Buffy expected to hear the audible crack of Ardun’s spine.

But the shapeshifter was no lightweight either, as he had already proven. In an eye-blink, Spike found himself holding an armful of Buffy. Or so he must have thought. The real Buffy watched as he jerked in surprise, loosening his hold enough for the Not-Buffy to break free. Growling, he recovered quickly, ducking what would have been a powerful blow as he spun out of reach.

Then the two were back at each other, trading staggering punches and kicks like a brutally choreographed dance. It gave Buffy an odd tickling of déjà vu as she realized this was very much the way she and Spike must have looked during their mortal-enemy days.

But there was no time to dwell on the strangeness of it all. The Not-Buffy still had the upper hand, though Spike was gamely plugging away, standing up to stiff punishment and taking his shots where he could. With each blow or kick he landed, the chains seemed to loosen a bit more until finally, with one last Herculean effort, she was free.

In a flash, Buffy was off the slab and stumbling toward the combatants, the cumbersome ankle chains dragging and clanging along behind her. As she ran, she grasped the chain that dangled from her right arm and twirled it above her head, cold metal whipping the air with a deadly swishing noise.

Spike was on the floor now, and Ardun, back in his original form, was leaning over him. Just beyond them lay the remains of a splintered table that had been part of the destroyed exhibit. A chill seized Buffy’s heart as she spotted the sharp fragment of wood clutched in the shapeshifter’s hand. With a wordless yell she released the chain, letting it fly toward its mark. The chain struck, the forward momentum wrapping it around Ardun’s throat like a snake curled around a branch.

Grabbing her end of the chain, Buffy jerked the demon backwards, away from Spike, sending the makeshift stake clattering to the floor. But her victory was short-lived as he turned and landed a powerful blow on the side of her head. It would have sent her reeling, if not for the chain connecting them. Stunned, she barely managed to duck a second punch, this one grazing off her cheek instead. Then his fists were flying almost faster than Buffy could see, raining blows that beat her down to her knees.

But Ardun hadn’t counted on Slayer resilience. As he leaned down, intent on finishing her off, Buffy sent the chain on her left arm lashing upward, striking him hard across the face. The force of the blow sent him staggering back, pulling her to her feet. Before he could recover, she spun him around, leaping onto his back and gripping his sides with her knees as she looped the last length of chain around his neck. Then she held on tight, hoping to choke the life out of him.

Not her most shining moment, but right now she didn’t care. Whatever it took to get the job done.

Unfortunately, the job seemed determined to stay un-done.

“You think that will stop me?” he wheezed, hands reaching up and back to grab her shoulders in a bruising grip. “Nothing you do can—”

“Slayer!”

Something flashed through the air and Buffy instinctively reached out to catch it, her palm connecting with the hilt of the ceremonial dagger Ardun had dropped. She shifted her grip and raised her arm, ready to drive it into his heart, but a second yell stopped her.

“No! The hair! It’s got to be the hair!”

Bewildered, she looked over at Spike, leaning heavily against the alter a few feet away. Blood was running down the side of his face from a nasty gash on his forehead and his leg was twisted at an odd angle. He was breathing heavily, all his attention focused on her.

“Huh?”

“His power is in his hair, Slayer! You have to cut it off!”

She gaped at him for an instant before Ardun’s hands abruptly left her shoulders and fastened around her throat, strong thumbs threatening to crush her windpipe. Sending up a quick prayer that Spike was right, she wedged the dagger in between his skull and the hair band and began to saw.

Just as her vision started to dim, Buffy felt the resistance against the dagger give way. Ardun howled in anguish as the base of the pony tail separated from his head, only the chain preventing it from dropping to the floor. Simultaneously, the pressure on her throat eased, his grip losing the power to hold her. Buffy jumped off his back, spinning him around to face her. Staring into black eyes that burned with an unholy rage, she pressed the dagger point-first against his chest…

…and almost dropped it as her mother’s face gazed back at her.

“Buffy, you don’t want to do this, baby,” the Not-Joyce pleaded. “I’m helpless now. You’re not a killer. I know that. You do what you have to do, but you don’t have to do this anymore. You can rest. You can be with me again. We’ll be together, safe and at peace. Forever.”

Spike’s voice reached her, jolting her out of the heart-stricken daze she’d fallen into.

“Buffy! Don’t listen to it! It’s not your mum!”

“I know,” she said steadily.

And she did. But it was still hard. Swallowing, she closed her eyes and pressed the dagger in a little harder.

Then her eyes flew open again at the sound of her sister’s voice, her stomach clenching in a tight knot. “Buffy, what are you doing?” The wide eyes of the Not-Dawn begged her. “Please…you’re hurting me.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Spike’s voice freed her.

“Son of a bitch! You pissy little bastard! Stop hidin’ behind a little girl! You come back, or I’ll rip out your heart with my bare hands and shove it down your throat!”

For one insane moment it seemed as if the shapeshifter might return to his true form, but instead, the Not-Dawn vanished and the Not-Spike took her place.

“C’mon, now, love,” he coaxed, his voice low and infinitely seductive. “Don’t listen to him. I know what you want, don’t I? I’m the one can give it to you. It doesn’t have to end here. I can make it good, just like I did before. Only more. We can walk out of here. No one has to know…just you and me. Our little secret.” He leaned in closer, apparently oblivious to the prick of the dagger against his chest. “All you have to do is get rid of the vamp—”

Buffy drove the blade home hard.

The Not-Spike’s eyes widened in shocked surprise. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. As she released the dagger, he fell backwards, sprawling onto the floor. She landed beside him, the chain pulling her down along with him. When she turned her head, he was Ardun once more, lifeless eyes staring straight through her.

“Buffy?”

Spike limped over, his gaze soft and concerned. He knelt beside her, favoring his still-healing leg. “Here now. Let’s get you untangled.”

Making short work of the chain, he rose and offered her a hand up. Buffy ignored it, climbing stiffly to her feet, then stared down at the demon’s body as she pretended not to notice the wounded look that flashed in Spike’s eyes.

She should be thanking him. She knew that. But Ardun’s desperate transformation act had left her badly shaken. On top of that, his final words had brought those moments in the utility closet, when she’d thought Ardun was Spike, rushing back with a vivid clarity that left her breathless and trembling, her body on fire as she stood next to the real Spike.

Sucking in a deep breath, Buffy closed her eyes. No. Absolutely not. That way lay madness and other deliciously dangerous things she couldn’t deal with right now. It would be easier to pick a fight. So she did.

“Care to explain what just happened?” she demanded, hands on hips as she whirled to face the surprised vampire.

“Come again?”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had.

“You said his power was in his hair! I cut it off and he still changed!”

“Well, you didn’t cut it all off, now did you?” he asked, like a grown-up reasoning with a two-year-old. “Long as he had some hair, he still had a few tricks left in him.”

Buffy stared at him, incredulous. “Do you know how stupid that is? I mean, come on! His hair?”

Temptation receded, replaced with the flames of antagonism, and she almost laughed in relief. Instead, she folded her arms and glared at Spike, whose expression was fluctuating between total bewilderment and outright indignation.

Indignation won out. His jaw snapped shut, a tiny muscle pulsing as he gritted his teeth. “Not my fault if some buggerin’ demon species has a Samson complex, is it now?” he demanded. “It’s not like I make the rules…I only tell you how to slay ’em. They could carry their power in a box of Crackerjacks, an’ it’s all the same to me!”

He’d started to pace as he warmed to his subject, and Buffy felt a twinge of guilt. But before she could try to make amends, he stopped and whirled, pointing a triumphant finger at her.

“You want to talk about stupid…what about slayers, eh? One girl in all the world? What the bloody hell good does that do? You think every demon in the world is gonna come knockin’ on your door begging you to take him out? Make more sense to have a slayer in every country. Better yet, every city! But, no…instead you’ve got—”

“Spike!”

Halting mid-rant, he cocked his head and focused on her, curious and expectant, as if he’d just been remarking on something as innocuous as the weather. “Yeah?”

Buffy stared at him solemnly. “What happened earlier? He said he’d killed you.” The abrupt change in subject was her way of apologizing, only without the actual words. It wasn’t enough, but it was as close as she could get.

Maybe he understood. As he looked at her, a strange stillness settled over him. “That right?” His tone was dry but his gaze hinted at other emotions. “All broken up about it, were you?”

She folded her arms, face carefully devoid of emotion, and waited.

Spike huffed out a sigh. “He came in lookin’ like you, all right? Told me there’d been a change in plans. Thought something was off, but you…he…insisted we go meet with Giles. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up in the men’s room with a knife in my back stickin’ straight through the heart. Had to let it heal up enough to come looking for you. I thought something had crept up on us without my seein’ it. Didn’t know it was him pretendin’ to be you till he went and changed on me during the fight. That’s when I realized what he was.”

“Guess it’s lucky for us you’ve seen this thing before.”

He shook his head. “Haven’t. I’ve only heard of them. Never actually run into one till now. Far as I know, anyway. They’re very rare. Some demons swear they don’t really exist. Think they’re some kind of myth, like unicorns or fire-breathing dragons.” He snorted. “Which there are plenty of, by the way, if you know where to look. Just shy, is all.”

“Spike.”

“Yeah?”

“The demon thingie?”

“Right. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Our friend here was a Jezz ’raha demon. It’s pretty easy for them to blend with humans, ’cause they look like you even when they’re not takin’ on someone else’s form. They’re so normal-looking they tend to blend into the woodwork. No one ever notices them.” He shrugged. “Pretty harmless for the most part. Seem to like keepin’ their distance and all. But sometimes they find someone they like, a life they want to live, so they get rid of that person, and they take over. If they’re good at it, most people never realize anything has changed. If they’re not…” He shrugged again. “Could be a lot of happy marriages have crashed and burned that way.”

Glancing over at the body, Spike snorted. “Personally, I think this one was off his nut. Wantin’ to rule the world. Sounds great and all, but it’s a bloody pain in the ass.”

Buffy blinked. “And you would know this how? Did I fall asleep and miss the part where you actually ruled the world?”

“Uh, no,” he said, offering what might have been a sheepish smile. Except that it was Spike, of course, and he didn’t do sheepish. “It was before you were born, Slayer…and it was only for a day or two. One of those alternate universe gigs. A present from Dru to celebrate our anniversary. Things…didn’t go exactly as planned.”

Buffy stared at him, openmouthed.

“Don’t ask.”

Recovering, she eyed him warily. “I won’t, since we don’t have time. But you are so gonna spill later on. In the meantime, we’d better check on everyone. Ardun said he used a binding spell to trap Willow and Giles in the bathroom, but I don’t know about the museum guards. And then there’s this little problem.” She smiled wryly, glancing down at the chains hanging from her wrists and trailing behind her feet. “They really don’t go with anything in my closet. Think Willow can magic them off for me?”

Spike cocked his head. “Maybe she won’t have to. Hang on.” He knelt beside the shapeshifter’s body, rifling through his pockets until he finally produced a key. Still kneeling, he spun around and curled his fingers around Buffy’s lower calf, coaxing her bare foot onto his thigh.

A faint fluttering tickled her stomach. “Your leg,” she protested faintly.

“Is fine.” His voice was firm as he unlocked the iron cuff. “Vampire healing. All better. Now let’s have the other one.”

Surprising herself as much as Spike, Buffy silently offered her other foot, all the while fighting the urge to curl her toes into his hard-muscled thigh. The second shackle fell away and he stood, lifting her hand to reach the lock on the wrist cuff – first one, then the other. Buffy couldn’t stop staring at him as he worked, his head bowed perilously close to hers. He seemed unfazed by their close contact until a tiny muscle twitch in his jaw gave him away.

After the last shackle came off, they stood staring at each other, as if unsure what came next.

“So…Red and Rupert,” Spike finally said. “I s’pose…” He trailed off, lifting one eyebrow.

“Right. We should go check. Make sure they’re okay,” Buffy agreed quickly, then glanced down, frowning at her bare feet. “And finding my boots would be good, too.”

Spike jerked his head toward the alter. “Over there.” He waited for her to retrieve them before following her to the door. “What about the spell?”

“I’m thinking that shouldn’t be a problem much longer. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a spell that was a match for Willow.” She didn’t find the thought as reassuring as it once was but summoned a faint smile as she added, “Not much is these days.”

“Yeah, kinda noticed that myself,” he said gravely as he followed her into the corridor.


------------------------------
TBC in Part 9

A/N: Just one more chapter to go…

A/N: This was my third foray into Buffyverse fanfic and the first piece that’s been more than a brief vignette. Hope you’ve enjoyed it.

I’ve got one last story in the works, and I hope to have it posted soon. It’s a very Spuffy story called “Unfinished Business” and is a follow-up to “Dear Departed,” also posted on this site. So if you’re interested, be sure to keep an eye out for it, ’kay?

And now, the conclusion…


---------------------------


Chapter Nine

“Good lord,” Giles looked from Buffy and Spike to Ardun’s body, sprawled at his feet. “A shapeshifter, you say?”

“Yep.” Buffy nodded. “He could take on any form he wanted. Be anyone. That wasn’t really your friend who called you. It was what’s-his-name…Ardun…setting us up. He pretended to be me to get Spike out of the way, then pretended to be him so he could catch me off guard.”

“Whoa! We have met the enemy and he is us.” Xander eyed the body warily, as if it might suddenly spring to life again. “Pretty trippy stuff.”

“You have no idea,” Buffy murmured, deliberately avoiding Spike’s gaze.

After leaving the exhibit hall earlier, she and Spike had run into Giles and Willow, halfway down the corridor. The pair had managed to punch through Ardun’s spell fairly quickly once they had realized something was wrong. Right behind them were Xander and Anya, summoned from the truck by a mental SOS from Willow. But her attempt to contact Buffy had been less successful, making them fear the worst.

Giles and the others were full of questions, but Buffy had put them off until the security guards were located. It hadn’t taken long. They’d found them trapped inside a different wing of the museum, presumably by another holding spell, confused and upset but otherwise unharmed. Deciding to leave the guards where they were for the time being, the group had returned to the exhibit room for both the obelisk and explanations.

Buffy looked at Xander. “We should take the body with us. Can you and Spike get it out to the truck?”

“Can Elvis sing?” When no one answered, he glanced around. “That would be a yes, actually. Because he could, you know…if not for that whole being-dead thing. Which he is, despite claims to the contrary that are completely ridiculous. I mean, c’mon. An undead Elvis? Not even Spike would be that stupid. But…that’s what I meant. In case anybody was wondering.”

Spike snorted. “Really not, Harris.” Leaning down, he grabbed the dead shapeshifter beneath the shoulders and hoisted him up. “We all stopped listening to you blatherin’ on five minutes ago.”

“Oh, yeah?” Xander challenged, stooping to grab Ardun’s legs. “I’ll have you know I can blather with the best of ’em, buddy, and everybody knows it! They respect it! Unlike you, without a respectable bone in your body. Not that you’d want one, since you’re evil and all, but if you did…then, hey! You wouldn’t have it.”

The pair moved out of sight, carrying their unwieldy burden between them. Buffy smiled faintly as Xander’s voice drifted back. “And for the love of god, will somebody tell me why I can’t just shut up while I’m ahead?”

After exchanging a bemused look with Willow, Buffy turned to find Giles already examining the obelisk. Predictably enough, he seemed totally fascinated by the carvings, which looked pretty meaningless to her. He only snapped out of his self-induced trance when Xander and Spike returned a few minutes later. Spike was toting something that resembled a crude sledge hammer, which he carried over to Buffy.

“Saw this in one of the other exhibits. Thought it might come in handy.”

As Buffy took it from him, Xander snorted. “And again I ask, for what? The thing’s indestructible, remember? Giles got that straight from the demon’s mouth.”

“Oh. Right. ’Cause evil things never lie,” Spike deadpanned.

There was a long, heavy silence as everyone stared at each other. Then, shrugging, Buffy hefted the hammer and crossed to the obelisk. She waited until Giles had stepped away, then hauled back and let fly with a powerful swing. The hammer connected with a resounding crack, causing a slight fissure in the granite surface. Three more good smashes and a large chunk broke off and crashed to the floor.

Xander shook his head sadly. “They just don’t make indestructible objects like they used to, do they? No pride in craftsmanship anymore.”

Buffy shifted her hands to get a better grip and raised the hammer again, but Willow’s voice stopped her.

“Wait! Shouldn’t we take it out to the desert like we planned, so no one will know?”

Buffy shrugged. “I’m thinking destroyed or stolen, either way people are going to notice. Might as well do it here, dispose of the body, and save ourselves a trip out of town.”

“Works for me,” Xander said agreeably. “This whole daring museum-heist thing has lost its appeal, anyway. No way it could ever top the joy of lugging a recently deceased body around with Evil Undead there.”

A distressed Anya, however, wasn’t so agreeable. “That’s it? We demolish a priceless artifact, dump a body, and go home? What about the truck? What about our mission? We were the most important part of the plan and now we’re…not? You can’t do that! I missed dancing and pretty dresses and talking to rich and powerful people just to sit outside in a stupid truck. It’s not fair!”

“Anya…sweetheart…” Xander placated. He stopped as Buffy broke in.

“You’re right, Anya. It’s not fair, and I’m sorry.” She met the other woman’s startled gaze. “If I’d known it was going to turn out this way, we wouldn’t have asked you to sit in the truck. But thank you for doing it, just the same.”

Buffy wasn’t sure who looked more surprised, Xander or Anya. But Anya quickly recovered, her face glowing as she gave Buffy a tentative smile.

“You’re very welcome. And I accept your apology. It was our pleasure to help. Really. That’s what we do, after all…Scoobies, I mean…we help. Right?”

Buffy nodded. “Right.”

Anya beamed as she turned to Xander, giving him a pleased little nod. He smiled back and put his arm around her.

“Speaking of which, why don’t Anya and I take care of that little problem out in the truck while you take care of the big one here? Then we can meet up back at the house.”

“Excellent idea, Xander.” Giles nodded his approval, then turned to Willow. “And while Buffy destroys the obelisk, you and I should retrieve our things from the wash room and prepare the spell needed to release the guards once she’s done.”

“Piece of cake,” Willow assured him. She smiled at Buffy. “Just give a holler when you’re done.”

And just like that, they were gone, leaving Buffy alone again with Spike. She straightened her spine, determined to keep him at a safe distance, but when she turned and met his gaze the soft look he gave her almost melted her resolve.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Bein’ all considerate and mature. Think you made demon girl’s day.”

Buffy wasn’t sure why that irritated her so much, but it did. Maybe because it implied she wasn’t normally considerate and mature, which rankled more than a little. Exactly where did a soulless vampire get off judging her?

But instead of jumping into another argument, she opted to take her frustrations out on the obelisk. A few minutes and several swings later, the granite artifact had been reduced to a big pile of rubble, and Buffy felt infinitely better. In fact, she was fairly certain she could finally face Spike without wigging out.

Much.

Sighing, she looked up to find the vampire in question studying her intently. “What?” she asked warily.

“Nothin’. Just wondering what has you so worked up.”

“Nothing has me worked up,” she snapped. “There is no working up here. Or down…or…any other direction. This is a completely workless state that I’m in.”

He nodded slowly. “If you say so.”

His carefully neutral tone, combined with the puzzled look in his eyes, caused Buffy to deflate like a pricked balloon. She might not want to admit it, but none of this was Spike’s fault. Which was really strange, because who would have guessed there’d come a day when she’d even think those words? Certainly not her, and probably not Spike, either.

If she could make it that far, then she could make it a little further.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I guess I’m a little on edge. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

It took him a moment to recover from the surprise, but he accepted her apology quite graciously. “Perfectly understandable. Bein’ the designated human sacrifice can do that to a person.”

He smiled, and she smiled back. She couldn’t seem to help it. Then a thought occurred to her, and her smile widened.

Spike caught the change. “What are you up to, Slayer?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

She shrugged, innocence personified. “Not up to anything. Just trying to wrap my head around you wanting to rule the world, is all.

“Slayer!” he protested, his tone slightly exasperated. “I didn’t want to. Told you I did it for Dru. It’s not my style, really. Too impersonal. Wasn’t exactly boo-hooin’ all over the place when it went south.”

“Yeah…about that. What exactly did you say happened?”

His gaze narrowed. “Didn’t say. Never will. So you can just get that thought right out of your head.”

Buffy shook her head, lips curling in a smirk that rivaled his trademark look. “I don’t know. Must have been something pretty embarrassing to get the Big Bad all in a tizzy.”

“In a—? You don’t—” He broke off suddenly, his head tilting to one side. He stared at her, his face a study in amazed wonder. “Are you teasing me?”

She didn’t reply, just stood there smirking as an answering gleam appeared in his eyes. Slowly, he moved toward her until he was standing mere inches away. Flashing back to the utility closet, Buffy’s heart jumped and her smile faded. It didn’t help to remind herself that it hadn’t really been Spike in there with her. Her traitorous body had a will of its own, and right now it was screaming at her to drag him into the closet and pick up where she and his impersonator had left off.

She was already leaning in when a noise in the corridor brought her to her senses. She managed to put some distance between them just as Willow and Giles appeared.

“The preparations are complete. As soon as you—” Giles spotted what was left of the obelisk. “Ah…I see you’ve already finished. Excellent. Well, all that’s left now is to remove the spell restraining the guards and have done with it, I suppose.”

“Right,” Buffy agreed softly. She risked a quick glance at a stone-faced Spike. “Slayed the bad guy. Saved the world. All done.”

Even as she dropped her gaze, Buffy could feel his eyes on her. Her breathing quickened and her whole body tingled as if responding to a physical caress.

And she knew, with a deep sense of foreboding, that it wasn’t really done.

-------------------------------

They arrived back at the house to find a small victory party in full swing. Dawn met them at the door, demanding all the juicy details, while Tara quietly served refreshments, surprising Spike with a mug of warmed pig’s blood. They settled in, and it wasn’t until Buffy was repeating, for the third time, a carefully edited version of the night’s events that she noticed Spike had disappeared.

Excusing herself, she went to look for him, something that was fast becoming a habit with her. This time, she found him sitting on the steps of the back porch. The tux was gone, replaced by the familiar black T-shirt, jeans, and leather coat. Several cigarette buttes, crushed and discarded next to his boot, told her he must have bowed out of the celebration earlier than she’d realized.

Settling down beside him, Buffy acknowledged another recently acquired habit—these back-porch assignations of theirs. As rattled as she was by his presence tonight, she also found it oddly comforting. Maybe that’s why she was drawn to him, why she kept seeking out his company.

That, and one or two other reasons. But she wasn’t going to think about those.

“Hey,” she said softly. “The party’s not over yet. Why did you skip out?”

His head turned, his level stare challenging her. “You’re a smart woman, Buffy, much as you sometimes pretend not to be. Why do you think?”

Shifting uncomfortably, she frowned as she dropped her gaze. Score one for the soulless vamp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to deal with it, same as you don’t want to deal with anything else.”

Her head shot up as a rush of anger flared. “Where do you get off saying that? All I do is deal! I deal with a father who ignores us, and a mother I can’t save, and a sister who doesn’t really exist. Only she does. I deal with hellgods and stupid prophecies about my death and an apocalypse that never ends because each time I stop one, there’s another one waiting to take its place. I deal, Spike! That’s all I ever do.”

“Not since you’ve come back,” he shot back. “You live in hell now, Buffy. Your own words. But instead of tellin’ your friends the truth about where you were, makin’ them own up to what they did, you hide from it. Mustn’t hurt their feelings. They might get all sad and cry. Nibblet’s havin’ a hard time of it, too. Missing your mum. Missing you. Tryin’ to grow up when nobody has time to notice. But you don’t seem to give a lot of thought to that.”

Staring out into the night, his jaw tightened. “And you sure as hell can’t deal with Daddy Giles and the kiddies knowin’ you’ve been making nice with a soulless creature of the night. Or anything else you might be feeling.”

His head turned abruptly and his gaze locked with hers, intense and searching, as if seeking an answer there. “Why didn’t he know I was a vampire, Buffy? Why couldn’t he read you and figure that out?”

She stared back at him, startled, then her lips tightened in a stubborn line. “I could ask the same of you…” Voice trailing off, she remembered what Ardun had said. That Spike’s head was filled with thoughts of her. And apparently none of those had involved anything remotely vamp-like.

“Could be I had something else on my mind at the time,” he said softly. A long beat passed, then, “What happened in the closet, Buffy?”

Blue eyes gazed at her intently, all but begging for an answer. And it would be so easy. All she had to do was tell him and she could have it again. What she’d felt in the closet. What she’d wanted to do. Everything between them would change…

“Nothing happened.”

Her stomach clenched at the lie.

Motionless, he stared at her, the silence stretching out between them. It was no longer comfortable or anything resembling safe. It ate at her nerves with a jangling resonance, poking and goading her to speak. But she couldn’t … wouldn’t … say what he wanted to hear. Instead, she returned his stare, determined to wait him out.

Just when she felt ready to break, he stood and looked down at her, his face oddly devoid of emotion.

It was unsettling to see him that way. Spike had never been one to hide his feelings. His eyes were the most expressive she’d ever seen, and his mouth could tell a hundred different stories without saying a word. Every movement of his body was a direct reflection of his state of mind. If there was one thing Buffy knew about Spike, it was that he held nothing back. It just wasn’t in him to do so.

Until now.

“Guess that’s it then.”

And just like that he was striding away, heading toward the tall hedge that surrounded the back yard.

Buffy scrambled to her feet. “Where are you going?” The question was out before she could stop it.

He halted but didn’t turn around. “Does it matter?” When she didn’t answer, his shoulders slumped as he gave the barest nod. “Thought not.” And he was striding away again.

He got no more than a few feet before she called out, a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Spike!”

This time he faced her. “What is it, Slayer?” He looked resigned, almost weary.

Buffy thought of all the things she might say. Things that would change everything. Things that would give him power over her.

She didn’t expect what came out.

“That woman you told me about…the one in St. Petersburg. Did you kill her?”

He met her gaze without flinching. Not defiant, not apologetic, not pleased, just…

“Yeah,” he said gravely. “I did.”

Neither moved, but in an eye-blink the distance separating them seemed to expand.

He sighed. “Don’t ask the question, Slayer, if you don’t want to hear the answer. Should’ve learned that by now.”

Anger flared, and her jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself, Spike.”

“Don’t think I am,” he shot back. Eyes challenging, he moved forward, slowly mounting the steps until he stood so close that the flaps of his coat brushed against her thighs.

Trapped in the pull of his gaze, she felt her lips part and her head tilt back to maintain eye contact. With a rare clarity of insight, she understood what would happen next, and she welcomed it. She knew how he tasted, even without the fake Spike to remind her. She knew the strength of his arms, how his head would bend to hers, how his knee would nudge its way between her legs until they fit together like interlocking pieces of a puzzle. She knew all this and wanted it – not by way of a spell gone awry and not with some doppelganger.

She wanted him. Spike.

It was too late to pull away. Everything she’d once been screamed against capitulation. Everything she was now demanded it. If he touched her, she was lost. And, oh god, how she wanted him to touch her.

“Why didn’t he know, Buffy?”

His breath, cool and moist, teased her lips.

“Why didn’t he know what I was?”

His hand rose and almost touched her face.

Why couldn’t he feel it in you?”

Her eyes fluttered shut, body burning with anticipation.

“Should have been Angel there at the end…”

She heard without comprehension. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

“…but it was me.”

The deep rumble of his voice was all she could hear.

“What did he know?”

Any second, he would kiss her. Any minute, they’d be on the ground.

“What did he see?”

She trembled for the inevitable…

The inevitable never came.

She knew the instant he left her; it struck with the force of a physical blow. Her eyes flew open, searching frantically, then found him – off the porch and moving away, walking backwards as his gaze held hers.

“You’re not the girl you were before. That’s not a bad thing, just different. Time to make a new place here for yourself, an’ it’s up to you to decide what it’s going to be.”

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Struggled to remember how to breathe.

“You think about it, long and hard, pet. And when you have the answers, you know where I’ll be.”

The world shifted, confusion giving way to a stone-cold clarity that viciously silenced the small voice wailing inside her. She burned for a different reason now, and it gave her voice a brittle edge.

“I already have a place, Spike. So do you. They’re two different places.”

He smiled, eyes desolate, mouth all-too-knowing. “Go ahead and think that, if you find comfort in it. We both know it’s not true. I know you. Better now than any of them ever will. And I’m not going anywhere, no matter how long it takes you to suss it all out.”

She stared at him stonily, arms folded defensively against the truth. Each step he took away from her caused the empty feeling inside to grow.

“And I’m supposed to what? Come running to you, throw myself in your arms, and tell you how much I need you? It’s not going to happen.”

He stopped just short of the hedge, his back brushing the leaves. “Can’t deny it’s what I want. But not what I expect.” He turned away, then just as quickly turned back, voice vibrating with powerful intensity. “You do, you know. Need me. You hate the idea. It twists you up inside. But it’s there, and some day you’re going to admit it.”

With a rustle of leaves and a swirl of black leather, he was gone, leaving Buffy alone on the back porch. She stared blindly at the spot where she’d last seen him.

“Then what?” she whispered.

There was no answer.


------------------------------

FINIS


A/N: So there you go. The seed that grew into the villain of the piece was planted in early Season 7 of BtVS, when I thought it would be so cool to have a Big Bad that could assume any form it wanted, while fooling, misleading, and interacting with our heroes. But it turned out to be The First Evil, who wasn’t actually tangible and could only manifest as someone who had died. So, I borrowed the shapeshifter idea and gave it my own little twist.

I hope you guys aren’t too disappointed that it wasn’t really Spike in the closet making out with Buffy. I wanted to fulfill Andrea’s request for lots of UST while crafting a story that could fit into the show’s canon, hopefully without too much of a stretch. It’s meant to fill the gap between “All the Way” and “Once More With Feeling” and help set the stage for the musical, hence the ultra-angsty ending.

Many, many thanks for reading.

Owl