Chapter Two
“God, do you ever shut up?”
Spike snorted. “I find it helps me not to run screaming that the Slayer’s gone crackers. You want me to keep that little nugget of information to myself, you’ll get used to the chatter.” His expression fell to mild amusement; Spike knew it was bound to annoy.
He really hadn’t bargained on the implacable hand that seized his throat and shoved him dangerously into the nearest tree, though.
Buffy nearly growled in his face, just barely controlling the hand that wanted to pop his head right off his shoulders. “You say one teensy little thing about me to any of your demon buddies and your dust won’t be needing to get rid of any chip. Got it?”
It wouldn’t be so farfetched to describe his enemy’s eyes as glittering with insanity. Wasn’t like he didn’t already suspect she’d gone carrot top, so the added touch of her obviously unhinged mind made him all the more alert.
Careful to not activate his own personal little head-kicker, Spike shrugged away from her, his hands balled up into helpless fists of rage. Silence reigned as they started walking again, Spike sniffing the air to make sure all good little commandos were at home in bed. It took a while to re-establish his priorities, but once he remembered the hell of being caught and helpless with no option to even move beyond stark white walls, he felt himself calming fractionally.
It had been an exhausting night, and one he’d really love to forget. He couldn’t believe how much a witch’s bitch he’d been and if he hadn’t wanted to drain the little redhead dry before he’d been defanged, the desire was almost making his body thrum with violent dislike now.
It was interesting how she’d completely manipulated his feelings. He could still remember the pleasure of having the spellbound and willing Slayer writhe in his lap; could remember the happiness he’d felt to know he was going to belong to someone again—someone who enjoyed running her fingers through his hair. Just the way she’d teased his lips, barely tasting while she did nothing but hold his hand. Did nothing but love him with her heart rather than her body. He’d felt every false emotion and taken it deeply inside himself until he was positive this woman—this bane of his existence—was the one he’d wanted forever in his life.
Except it was nothing but a bad dream and being woken amidst the poison of it—her lips still showing him what his life could have been—made him want to beat someone very bloody. Red should thank her lucky stars he’d been rendered a vampire with no bite.
The night was quiet—except for the thundering heartbeat of the Slayer. They walked closely at each other’s side, darting uncomfortable glances at one another. Buffy’s body buzzed and the closer they made it back to Giles’s, the sicker she felt. How was she going to pull this off? While she obviously didn’t want the demon public to work out that she was under the influence of magic while she was macking incessantly on Spike, she also felt humiliated that Willow now knew how easy it was to influence her. Her emotions were divided up into so many segments of bad right now that she felt venom just tickling the edge of her tongue.
Despite it being night and her usual patrolling time, Buffy felt surprised to be faced by another vampire. She’d been so lost in thought about the one right beside her that she’d forgotten she had a job to do. This one looked scared, but quickly relaxed once he realised who he’d managed to cross paths with.
“Oh hey! Congratulations,” he said, a huge smile eclipsing the ugly ridged face. He extended a hand out to a befuddled Spike, shaking it enthusiastically while he looked between the two blondes. “So, you’re gonna make the Slayer go easy on us now, right? I mean, getting married will mean some kind of compromise, right?” He was nodding avidly, grinning in confidence right up until he splintered into dust.
“Ugh! I was so hoping this hadn’t gotten out. What a disaster.” Buffy shook her head and flopped down on a nearby headstone. This rated right up there with attempting to flash Xander when he’d done that stupid love spell—only worse, because at least she could hit Xander if he made fun of her. Realisation brought her the first smile post-Willow’s spell. She could hit Spike too—a lot. In fact…
Spike reacted to the sudden malicious glee sparkling in the Slayer’s eyes with an incredulous arch of his brow. “You realise that looking at me like I’m the most deformed bug you ever put out of it’s misery with your oh-so-sexy boot is going to put the kibosh on this romantic idea of yours that we’re still engaged. Your friends are pretty stupid, but even they won’t buy you being in love with me if I have blood spurting out my nose.”
Crap. She hated it when he made sense and thought things out faster than she did. A great wave of hopelessness washed over her and left Buffy feeling limp and wrung out. As convincing as her first post-spell public kiss with Spike had evidently been—what with the Xander mock-heavage—Buffy was reasonably certain that she wasn’t going to be able to easily partake in nuptial-like kissage again in front of her friends without leaving meal remnants all over the place.
This plan was going to need some more thought, and while she was thinking about it, she needed to keep herself and Spike away from anyone she knew. Which meant that either Spike was spending the night with her instead of tied up at Giles’s, or she was going to get over her revulsion at being close to Spike in a big hurry.
Buffy took a deep breath, turned to look at Spike and felt the pitch of her stomach as it objected strongly to what she knew she had to do. “We have a problem.”
Spike raised the obligatory brow and sneered. Not many could simultaneously attempt that trick without falling over, but Spike’s century of practise time had obviously gone to good use. “Check your pronouns. I'm pretty sure it's YOU who has the problem.”
And she really should have known he’d make this crap all about her.
He was so right though. She did have a problem, and if the swaggering congratulations that came off the lips of the second vampire to approach them wasn’t enough to emphasise the seriousness of said problem, Buffy didn’t know what was.
“Heard you’re taking the plunge, ole Spike.” This one almost slipped to a stop, the alcohol he’d imbibed obviously not something his now-dead body had taught him meant little in the way of real intoxication now that he lacked the blood flow to his head. He played the drunk more than convincingly, though the fangs that dripped as his eyes fell on the little bride-to-be and coursed up and down her body was enough to give away how much he wasn’t.
“How ‘bout you show some respec’ for ‘ole Spike’s’ woman, and get your bloody evil eyes off her, you sleazy bastard.” Spike dragged himself to his full height—several inches shorter than Leery, but still a hell of a lot more imposing—and waited for the intruder to back down. Not once did it occur to him to wonder why he was willing to risk being beaten down by one of his own kind and his own little secret getting out, all to protect the reputation of his supposed betrothed. Before his opponent could make a decision that might be less than favourable for Spike, he crumpled into even greasier ash. Spike pursed his lips and glared at the Slayer. As much as he should have been grateful for the Slayer’s interference, all he really wanted to do was slit her throat.
“It might not be the best thing for you to be out here. We don’t know if those soldier guys are hiding in the bushes, and trying to take on a demon to protect my virtue is so not smart.” Buffy didn’t think Spike could sense how impressed she’d been that he instinctively did that—though those moments curled up in his lap and being told the true extent of his unnatural love should have warned her of the possibility. He was a proud vamp, and Buffy suspected that even if it weren’t true, that the demon population now seemed clued in to their possible joining and he wasn’t rushing in to disabuse them of the fact, she owed him something.
Like not puking in his face while they practised kissing and trying to get to a point of enjoying it.
“You don’t say?” His face was so screwed up with distaste that Buffy was sure he’d tasted poison at some stage just so he could get that exact look as accurate as possible. “But then I’m not the one stalling getting back to Rupes. Poor twit must be worried sick about me by now. Shame on you for pushing him into an early grave.”
The only word that could describe the way he tore his cigarettes from an inner pocket of his duster was violent. He was obviously angry and Buffy gulped. For the first time, she realised that it wasn’t just her own aversion to Spike intimacy that had to be taken into account in this ill-thought out plan of hers. He didn’t look like he’d be knocking down her door for the opportunity to rehearse more of their supposedly awkward passionate embraces.
“I can’t take you back to Giles’s place. Not yet. Not until we have this whole sitch worked out and flawless.”
His interest was definitely piqued by that. “Flawless? So, you think we need practise?”
Buffy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Think? I KNOW we need practise. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that the next time I have to let you suck my face off that there won’t be a handy bush for me to relieve my disgust.”
Spike scowled before releasing an angry plume of smoke. “And what makes you think I’ll go along with your crackpot plan? I don’t even know why you’ve got your knickers in a twist about something so trivial, but I’ll let you have this one. Anyone who has spent a prolonged period in the company of Peaches has to be a few screws loose. I just haven’t decided if I’m going to let you drag me into it.”
Buffy felt speared by a panic so wild and crazy that she almost lost her mind. She jumped off her headstone seat and bore down on Spike hard, her fists immediately full of his lapels as she hauled him as close to her face as she could get him without their lips meeting. “You are so with the plan. If you aren’t with the plan, then you’ll be impersonating Buffy’s dusty ex-fiance. Got it?”
Spike carefully pried her hands off his coat and took a very large step back. “Anyone told you the pressure’s going to your head?”
Buffy slumped in defeat. She was going to end up dead, all because Willow couldn’t handle her grief like a normal person. Did anyone see her summon up spells to make her feel better when Angel canon-balled out of her life? She could see it now; Spike drinking down at Willy’s—once he’d regained his over-confident footing—and bragging about how the only way he’d ever lock lips with the Slayer was through some barmy spell laid on by her own best friend. Perfect. She might as well just hand her neck over to the next vamp that ambled on by.
“I guess this just totally excites you, doesn’t it? Couldn’t kill me yourself, but it won’t dampen the pleasure to see someone else come along and spell me still while they chomp on my throat.” Her legs felt weak and Buffy couldn’t even see the point of remaining on her feet. She fell like a stone to the ground and hung her head.
Spike stood transfixed. It had never occurred to him that someone else could finally have his good day and kill the Slayer. The thought was more than disturbing. It was wrong and it made him furious. If she was going to perish at all, it was going to be on his watch. On his fangs—and no government organisation was going to stop him. And little witches with red hair and inappropriate grieving mechanisms were even less likely to be forgiven for getting in his way.
He considered her, a slayer-shaped puddle in a demon breeding ground, and he felt a small measure of affection. She was his, whether she knew it or not. He couldn’t blame her for her ignorance—he’d only worked it out himself. But now that he knew, he had to protect her until he could take her out himself.
“Get up then. Where do you want to take this? Your mum’s? I think your dorm room might be safe. I’m betting the witch is paying penance with the Watcher as we speak. She’ll probably wait there all night.”
Buffy looked up, feeling insanely hopeful and wondering why that didn’t disturb her more. Here she was, contemplating the best venue to go perfect her Spike-kissing technique and she was feeling more relieved than incensed. Willow’s spell had definitely rocked the world off its axis. She thought the redhead could possibly have more penance to pay than just Giles.
“Mom’s out of town on some Gallery business. Maybe…we could go there?” Why did she feel guilty about inviting a boy home to make-out? Buffy blushed a fiery red and wondered why her life had to be so bizarre.
“Right then. Off to Joyce’s.” Spike snagged her hand and hauled her to her feet, Buffy’s eyes filled with confusion and suspicion.
“Why are you suddenly so cooperative?” Buffy wasn’t moving, her feet planted firmly on the ground while Spike worked through tight lips, a sneer of irritation, and then a gust of pure frustration.
“Don’t bloody know, all right? I just am. Go with it.” Hand in hand they walked toward Revello Drive, and Buffy didn’t flinch even once.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much everyone. I'm overwhelmed by your support. I hope the rest of the fic lives up to expectations. It is my hope to answer reviews by the end of the day, so if you'd wanted to see a reply, check then. Oh, it's AM for me right now in Australia, so give me a few hours!