Chapter Two
He turned his back on her and marched off around the corner of the house, leaving the astonished slayer staring after him with her mouth open. As soon as she could no longer see or hear him, she realized how very silent the early morning darkness was and with a shiver she hurried after the muttering vampire.
By the time Buffy got around to the back of the house, Spike was rooting around under a large rock, clearly searching for something. With a triumphant, “Ha!” he stood up, holding a large old-fashioned looking key in his hand. Without looking at the semi-contrite Slayer, he walked up the steps of the back porch and inserted the key in the door.
He opened it with a flourish, pausing from force of habit to hold it open for the small blonde girl right behind him. Buffy gave him a suspicious look, although she already knew from when they were “engaged” that Spike had manners he was usually careful to keep well-hidden. She slipped past his outstretched hand just as he realized what he’d done and they both turned away to pretend it never happened.
The interior of the room they’d just stepped into was hidden from Buffy’s eyes. Even with her Slayer enhancements, she couldn’t see in the nearly pitchblack room as well as Spike could. He stayed in vamp mode as he looked around the kitchen, sniffing to see if anyone had been there recently. All he could smell was a faint trace of Cook’s scent and another, less familiar one. Neither one indicated a recent presence in the house, and he relaxed a bit.
Taking Buffy’s hand again, he led her into a hallway, stopping at a small table to use his lighter to fire up a kerosene lamp. By the flickering light, he continued down the hall and into the front parlor, pausing and shutting his eyes briefly in pain when he saw the piano at which his mother had spent so much time before she became ill.
He set the lamp down and walked around the room, lighting a few others as he came to them. He was pleased to see that all the lamps had oil and the wicks had been recently trimmed. Turning to look at the Slayer, he saw that she was looking around with wide eyes. She caught sight of the portrait over the fireplace and, picking up the lamp, she walked over closer to it to gaze up into a pair of blue eyes that mirrored those watching her so carefully.
She turned and asked softly, “Is that your mother?”
“Yes,” was the short reply.
“She’s…she was…very pretty,” Buffy offered somewhat timidly.
“Yes, she was,” he replied, doing nothing to encourage her line of questioning.
“When did she…I mean was it before you were turned? Or did you…?”
“She had TB,” he said flatly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” she amazed him by saying softly. “I didn’t mean to bring up—“
“It’s fine. Just leave it, alright?”
With a last look at the sweet-looking woman in the portrait, she nodded and sat down in a wing chair.
“So, now what do we do?” she asked, casting another look around and noticing the lightening skies outside.
“Don’t know what you’re going to do,” he said impatiently. “I’m going to find a room with heavy drapes and catch some kip. Got a feeling it’s going to be a long day…or night.”
Buffy yawned in spite of herself. “I guess I could use some sleep too,” she said hesitantly. “Since you don’t think I can go out dressed like this.”
“You can’t,” he said, running his eyes up her bare legs appreciatively. “Not unless you’re planning to earn us some dosh the hard way.”
She blinked at him in confusion for a second, then flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“You are such a pig, Spike!”
“Oink, oink,” he agreed cheerfully, laughing as he caught the leather coat she’d shrugged off and thrown at him.
He picked up the lamp and nodded toward the double doors leading to the front hall.
“Come on, pet. Let’s find a place to bed down for the day.”
She followed him meekly, telling herself she was not noticing how the muscles in his butt flexed as he took the stairs two at a time.
(I am NOT watching Spike’s butt! I’m just keeping my eye on him so he doesn’t leave me alone here in the dark.)
He stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at her speculatively for a minute before pointing toward the first bedroom.
“That was my mum’s room. You can sleep there today. And there should be some dresses in the wardrobe that might fit you. Don’t go out until I’ve checked what you’re wearing – it’s important to have on the right kind of dress for the time of day.”
“I’m NOT an idiot, you know!” she huffed. “I’ve been dressing myself for years.”
“ ’S why I mentioned it, luv,” he snickered, handing her the lamp and moving toward another door. “Been watchin’ you for years, haven’t I? And I know Victorian England is not ready for Buffy Summers and her wardrobe.”
“Hmph!” she snorted, tossing her head and walking toward the closed door. She stopped when she had her hand on the doorknob and asked, without turning around, “You’ve been watching me?”
“Well, yeah. Had to know all about you if I was gonna kill you, didn’t I?”
“Oh.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice as she concentrated on opening the heavy door.
Spike’s deep rumble stopped her for a second. “Wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, pet. Watchin’ you.” He waited to see if she was going to look at him, but she just nodded her head and kept walking. “I think you’re very watchable.”
She turned her head just enough that he could see the twitch of her lips as she tried not to smile.
“Well, it’s not like I actually CARE if you like watching me,” she tried to sound uninterested, but her accelerated heartbeat told him different.
“No, ‘course not,” he agreed.
“Just so we’re clear on that.”
“Got it, Slayer,” he said with a small smile as he opened the door to his bedroom. “Sleep tight, pet”
“You too, Spike,” she said, closing the door softly and turning to look at the room his mother had used.
In addition to the beautiful four-poster bed and matching wardrobe and dresser, there was a small writing desk near the window and a comfortable looking chair and ottoman close to the fireplace. The sheets on the bed had a musty odor from being unused and in a closed house for so long, but the mattress was comfortable and Buffy was soon asleep.
While she slept, she dreamed that she was running along a dark street, wearing a long dress that hampered her movement and slowed her down in a frustrating manner. She became aware that she was being chased by someone or something and that it was rapidly gaining on her. Picking up the impeding skirts, she pushed herself to a faster pace, rounding a corner only to find herself facing two familiar looking people also wearing 19th century dress.
A closer look at the large man with the shoulder-length hair had her reeling back in surprise as he licked his lips and stared at her.
“Well, seems like Will has done something right for a change,” Angelus said with a leer. “Drove this little darlin’ right to us, he did.”
The blond woman at his side sneered and dismissed Buffy with a toss of her head.
“She’s hardly big enough to be a snack,” she sniffed. “Just kill her and be done with it.”
Buffy had just recognized Darla under the powder and hair when a slender brunette seemed to float out of the mist to join them.
“Oh no, Grandmummy. Daddy. That is my William’s sunshine. You mustn’t try to take it. He will be very cross with you.”
“Shut up, Dru,” Angelus said absently. “She’s mine if I want her. Will has nothing to say about it.”
“You willin’ to argue that point, Angelus?” came a growl from the shadows as a Spike Buffy had never seen before stepped up beside her. He was dressed in the same old fashioned clothing as the other vampires and his much longer hair was threatening to block his vision as soft, brown curls hung over his forehead. The sharp cheekbones and startlingly blue eyes were the same ones she saw every day, though and she had no trouble recognizing him.
Although she had been running from him at the beginning of the dream, Buffy realized that he was now the only thing standing between her and the rest of the Scourge of Europe. Even as she chastised herself for behaving in such an unSlayerly fashion, she shrank into his side and allowed him to place a protective arm around her.
Angelus shook his head in mock dismay. “Ah, Will, Will, Will. Poor boyo. You still don’t get it, do you? If I want her, I’ll have her. She’s mine. Always was, always will be. They’re all mine,” he gestured expansively to include Darla and Dru. “I only let you borrow them sometimes.”
“Not this one. You don’t get to touch her.” She could sense Spike shifting into game face as he pushed her behind him and challenged the much larger vampire.
Moving faster than the eye, Angelus was in front of them, holding Spike/William up by the collar. “I take what’s mine, boyo. You’ll want to be pickin’ your battles a little more carefully. She’s not worth losing your unlife over.”
With a snarl, he tossed the smaller vampire into the street and turned to reach a hand toward a frozen Buffy. Just as he was about to touch her breast, a growling blur flew into him and knocked him down. Buffy watched in horror as the two vampires rolled around snarling and snapping, their claws rending and teeth tearing flesh. The older, heavier vampire was soon on top and switching back to human guise, he began pounding William’s face with his fists, turning the beautiful human features into a mass of broken, bloody flesh.
When there was no longer any movement from the younger vampire, he rose to his feet and spat contemptuously on the inert body.
“I’ll be back for her, William. And she WILL belong to me.”
With that, he offered his arms to the two waiting female vampires and they walked off as though they were strolling through the park.
Released from her immobility, Buffy fell to her knees beside the bloody, broken body of the only person she knew in this time and place.
“Spike?” she whispered softly, “Spike? Can you hear me?” Her voice rose as there was no sign of life or movement from the vampire. “Spike! Spike!” She could feel herself almost screaming as she tried to revive the very dead-looking man on the ground.
Suddenly, she felt a gentle shaking on her shoulder and she woke up abruptly to find a concerned-looking Spike bending over her asking what was wrong. Without thought, she threw herself at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and sobbed into his chest.
After a startled second, he tentatively put his arms around her and began rubbing soothing circles on her back as he murmured comforting words in her ear. He tried to ignore the effect her warm, barely covered body was having on him as she clung to his neck and repeated, “You’re ok, you’re ok,” over and over.
“It’s all right, pet. It was just a nightmare. I’m right here. Spike’s got you, luv. You’re all right. Stop crying, Slayer. It’s okay.”
As Buffy woke up more completely, she realized that not only was she completely overreacting to the dream, but she was pressed up against Spike’s body wearing nothing but a tee shirt and her underwear. The vampire, she noticed with a blush, was only wearing a pair of jeans and the hard object pressing against her stomach told her he wasn’t wearing anything else.
The jeans were barely zipped, the top button undone, as though they’d been thrown on hastily. As awareness came back to her, she realized that she must have been screaming in her sleep and awakened the vampire. (Spike sleeps in the nude) irrelevantly crossed her mind as she somewhat reluctantly pushed herself back from his chest, and stopped crying.
“I…I’m sorry,” she hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was dreaming.”
“Yeah,” he said softly, letting his arms drop to his sides with a small sigh of regret. “I think I got that. Must have been a really bad one to get you that upset that you’d be calling for me.”
She blinked at him in shock; then remembered her reaction when she’d seen him standing over her, alive and uninjured. She blushed and ducked her head as she mumbled. “In my dream I was afraid you were dead.”
“I am dead, luv,” he said gently. “You already knew that.”
She rolled her eyes at his deliberate refusal to get what she was saying. “You know what I mean,” she grumbled.
He grinned at her and sat down cautiously on the side of the bed. “So, then, pet. Want to tell me about this dream of yours? I mean, I’ve got to be curious when the Slayer has a dream and wakes up screaming my name…”
At the sight of her glare, he lost his grin and hastily added, “Not that I think you were screaming my name in anything but sheer terror. Was I trying to kill you?”
“Yeah,” she growled, still glaring at him. “I was screaming in fear that you were killing me, that’s why the first thing I did when I woke up was give you my best octopus imitation.”
“Jus’ teasing, pet,” he said mildly. “So, if I wasn’t killing you, and you weren’t in the throes of passion… were you?” He gave her a hopeful leer, causing even more eye rolling.
“You wish!” she huffed.
Remembering how it had felt to hold her warm, trembling body against him a few minutes ago, he was tempted to nod his head in agreement, but the expression on her face told him she was still too traumatized by her dream for that kind of revelation.
“So, what was it then, Buffy?” he asked seriously. “What got you so upset about my possible demise? ‘S not like you don’t threaten to dust me yourself every couple of days.” He stared at her curiously, waiting for an explanation of her out-of-character behavior.
The Slayer started at his use of her name, but began to recount her dream in a shaky voice. When she got to the point where Angelus said she was his, Spike’s eyes flashed amber for just a second. He nodded at her to continue and she described the fight, ending with his lifeless-seeming body on the ground.
There was silence for a minute as he digested her story. Skipping over, for the time being, the fact that she seemed so upset over his apparent death, he mulled over her words and tried to make some sense of it. When Buffy shifted uncomfortably he looked over at her and asked, “Is there more?”
She twisted her hands together in her lap, drawing his eyes to where her tanned thighs disappeared under the hem of her tee shirt, and said slowly, “I think it might have been a slayer dream.”
“A what?”
“A slayer dream. I have dreams sometimes… about things that are going to happen…or that might happen. Sometimes…they’re hard to understand. Giles usually has to help me figure them out.”
“Well, the Watcher’s not here, is he? So I guess we’ll have to suss this one out by ourselves.” He looked at her worried face and before he could stop himself he ran a hand lightly up her cheek, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“What’s got you so worked up, pet? Know it can’t be seeing my old body being abused like that. You’ve done worse to me yourself.”
She gave a ghost of a smile and looked up at him gratefully.
“In my dream, I couldn’t move. I was all…girly. I hid behind you and then when Angelus came toward me I froze. I couldn’t defend myself and I couldn’t help you. It was…I hate that. I don’t like feeling helpless,” she finished in a rush.
He stood up, the filtered light from behind the curtains giving her a good look at his flat stomach and the line of soft brown curls that plunged into his precariously zipped pants. She unconsciously licked her lips as her eyes traveled down his torso to the obvious bulge just behind his zipper.
“You’re not helpless, pet. Know that first-hand, don’t I? An’ I’m not all beat up. I’m my usual handsome self…” He deliberately ran his hand down his body, smiling as her eyes followed it to where he hooked it into the waistband of his jeans, causing them to open even further.
Terrified they were going to slide right off his narrow hips, Buffy squeaked out, “You need to zip your pants!”
“Sorry, pet. Just had an armful of warm Slayer. They’re just a little too tight to fasten right now.” The leering smirk he gave her said he wasn’t sorry at all and she jumped to her feet to glare at him.
“Have I mentioned lately what a pig you are?
“Not in the last couple of hours, no.” He paused for effect, then added, “Course we’ve been asleep most of that time, so…”
“Well, you can go back to sleep now,” she said with asperity. “Nightmare’s all gone. No more screaming Buffy to keep you awake.”
She deliberately turned her back on him and got back into the warm bed, sliding under the covers and shutting her eyes against the morning light. She kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut until she heard him give an exasperated sigh and the sound of the door shutting behind him, then she sat up and put her head in her hands.
“I’m in Victorian England, dreaming about Angelus trying to turn me and all I can think about is how sexy Spike looks without his shirt on. This cannot be good.”
Giving up the idea of getting any more sleep that morning, she got out of bed and wandered around the room looking for a bathroom. Buffy’s grasp of history in general was pretty shaky, and she had no idea whatsoever when the indoor toilet had been invented but she sincerely hoped it was before whatever time they were in. When she found nothing in the bedroom, she ventured down the hall quietly opening and shutting doors.
She thought she was being very quiet about it, but an amused drawl behind her told her that she wasn’t.
“It’s the last door on the hallway, pet. And there may or may not be water in the cistern for flushing. It’s not like anyone’s been living here for the last several years.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, coloring with embarrassment at his having guessed what she was looking for.
“You’re welcome, pet. Make yourself at home – jus’ don’t go outside without asking me first.”
Before she could expel the indignant response in her mouth, he shut the door to his room and went back to bed. Buffy huffed silently and went into the surprisingly large bathroom at the end of the hall. She looked longingly at the large, claw-footed bathtub, but remembering Spike’s warning about the water, she decided to skip the bath and just take care of her business.
When she found that there was water in the tank to flush the toilet, she took a chance and turned the tap, allowing a small amount of cool, not overly clean water to fill the sink. One look at the greenish water and she decided to skip the face washing for the time being and went back to her room to look for something to wear.
She rummaged through the wardrobe and dresser, discarding undergarments that she had no idea how to wear, and examining the plain, but well-made dresses with a critical eye. She pulled out a light green dress that looked like it would be appropriate for day time wear and shrugged out of her tee shirt. She pulled the dress over her head, and buttoned the tiny pearls on the front as she walked toward the window.
She pulled the curtain back and looked out onto what was obviously a well-planned, but neglected garden. Tiptoeing back out of the room, she listened for a second at Spike’s door, but when she didn’t hear anything, she went silently back down the stairs to the kitchen.
(I don’t know what I thought I was going to hear. Vampires don’t breathe, so they obviously don’t snore. And I doubt Spike ever wakes up screaming from nightmares.)
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Even though this is a fairly long fic, the chapters are also long, so my plan is to only put them up one at a time for now. I'll try to keep to a schedule of one in the morning and one in the evening on most days.