“All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee to me”
Sonnett XLIII – William Shakespeare
Chapter 1
Buffy leaned over the tiny balcony, watching the busy to-ing and fro-ing of the lunchtime pedestrians rushing about their business. She sighed, her chin resting on her hand, wishing she had somewhere to go in a rush. Truth was, she was bored beyond boredom. For a girl who’d spent her formative years in service to the world, to find herself free of all responsibility was old after about a month. She’d tried to be a ‘lady who lunched’, and a lady who ‘dinnered’ and ‘suppered’, but there was only so much variety that pasta offered. The gelato scored big time, though…
Of course, the fact that she was bored had no impact on Dawn or Andrew, who were both quite happily carving a new life for themselves. Dawn had college, and Armando – despite Buffy’s initial objections to the ardent attentions he paid her sister - and the two of them seemed to find things to amuse themselves with until the wee small hours of the morning. Andrew, too, was gainfully employed in a little comic book shop hidden in plain sight around the back of the Vatican, and it seemed that he always had after hours work from which he came home flushed and strangely reticent, and sometimes missing socks.
Only Buffy spent much time in the tiny apartment, with its very fashionable address but slightly less fashionable rent charge. Giles sent a payment to her account every month to defray most of the cost, Andrew chipping in what he didn’t spend on Italian fragrance and Italian tailoring, but Dawn was still a drain on the Summers’ resources with her ever-growing limbs. Buffy was convinced her sister was an Amazon in disguise, Dawn’s five feet ten frame towering over her petite slayerness. Dawn loved it, of course and never left off teasing her about her lack of height.
Lately, though, Buffy had been thinking of leaving Rome, maybe travelling a little, visiting Xander in Africa, or perhaps joining Willow on her spot-a-slayer tour of Europe. In her dimmest hours, she even considered volunteering to help Giles in the Watcher’s Council. It had to be very dim…
With a quick glance at her Gucci watch, a birthday gift from Andrew that she didn’t even think of refusing, Buffy decided it was time she got moving to at least stock up the fridge before Dawn descended on her and was forced to suck ice cubes. The tiny produce market would be in full flow now, and during her sojourn in Italy, Buffy had surprised herself and everybody else by becoming quite the cordon bleu chef. No more placing the cereal packet by the milk for breakfast; no – now Buffy baked bread rolls and made her own jam with a secret ingredient that she wouldn’t divulge to anyone, and her coffee was a revelation.
A quick stroll through the market provided dinner, one of Buffy’s regular purveyors pressing her to purchase a piquant sauce that would enhance the lean chicken pieces to accompany her gnocchi. A couple of bottles of rich, red wine and she was done, heading home overloaded with ingredients that would provide fine fare for the evening’s repast. It was almost a pity that she had no appetite herself and had dropped weight slowly but surely since the hellmouth was closed. Closed. Closed by-- but no, she couldn't think of that.
Buffy was deep into steaming and chopping when the phone rang, interrupting the wistful operatic aria that she was trying to emulate without success. She wiped her hands on her jeans, ruefully thinking that she really should invest in an apron, and dug the phone out from the couch cushions.
“Hello?”
“Buffy. How are you? It’s Giles…ahm…are you free to talk?”
“Hi Giles, I’m fine, and free, me? Oh yes, I have acres of free space and time in which to gambol and frolic. How are you?”
“Fine, fine. And you?”
Buffy rolled her eyes and nestled the phone in the crook of her neck as she walked back to the kitchen to check on her potato dumplings. “I’m great Giles. Are you okay? You seem kinda weird, more so than usual.”
“Oh, I’m fine. And you…oh…yes. Fine…you said.”
Buffy waited for the next round of 'fines', but there was only a crackly silence on the line. She stirred her sauce, and still nothing. Sighing, she prodded Giles verbally, strangely excited; he only got this monosyllabic around an apocalypse and right now she’d welcome one, if only for the workout.
“Earth to Giles? Hello?” A crash and an “oh lord” signalled that she’d gotten through to him, and it sounded as though he was fumbling with the phone, his voice breathy as he answered.
“Ah, yes. Sorry. Ahm…Buffy. Are you well?”
“Giles, we could go on like this all afternoon. I’m fine, Dawn’s fine, Andrew’s fine, you’re fine. Or at least, you say you are. Call me Buffy the Seer, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“What! Me? No, nothing. There’s nothing to tell, nothing.”
Buffy gripped the phone and pressed it to her ear, perturbed now. “Well, that settles it. There is something to tell – you’ve never been any good at the poker face. So…spill. Do I need to sharpen my scythe thingy? Is there a monster?”
On the other end of the phone, Giles gasped, sending Buffy into freefall panic. “Giles? Is there a monster?” Her voice was higher, her dumplings forgotten in their salted water. His response confused her, enough that she had to sit down and really concentrate.
“Not as such, no. Look – I can’t talk about this over the phone. Can I tempt you to come to England?”
Buffy was reaching for her passport before she could formulate a reply. A trip to England? Hell yes, bring it on. She tried to stay calm and collected, but ended up sounding completely girly.
“England? Really? When? What shall I bring? Do I need …what are they…Wellington boots? Spike always…” Buffy swallowed, Spike’s spectre popping up and almost stopping her heart as it always did. She was so busy trying to cope with the memories that gripped her, she failed to notice Giles’ reaction.
“Spike? No, no Spike, not at all. Nothing to do with Spike. Completely Spike free. Ahem…so…you’ll come?”
Buffy had calmed enough to reply. “If you’re sure you need me…”
She could hear the smile in Giles’ voice as he made the arrangements, told her that he’d book the flight and arrange for a trainee Watcher to collect her from the airport, advised her that she’d better get used to fawning because she was a legend to most members of the Council.
By the time she’d said goodbye and put down the phone, Buffy was giggly and totally unconcerned that she’d let her gnocchi boil dry, thereby rendering the piquant sauce useless. Ah, for once, they could slum it with ordered in pizza. Dawn would probably be delighted.
+ + + +
“Good job, Watcher.” The drawl was unmistakable. “Very suave. Bet you just can’t move for birds falling at your feet with your line in patter.”
Giles pushed his glasses further up onto his nose and snapped at the very present reminder that there had been a survivor in the final battle with Wolfram and Hart. “I’d like to see you do better, Spike. I still don’t know why I couldn’t just hand you the phone. You’re the one who wanted to know how she was. Exactly why are we carrying out this charade, please remind me?”
Spike rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck and sinking down into the burgundy leather chair in front of Giles’ desk, swinging his legs up so that his dirty Docs rested on a pristine file on the edge of the mahogany monster.
“Told you, it’s ordained. Gotta get the slayer here so’s I can break it to her gentle that I’m undusty.”
“Ordained by whom, Spike? I have yet to see evidence that your continued existence is the result of any mystical convergence. It’s more likely to be the mischief of Puck in my opinion.”
“Oh, ha bloody ha. You wound me, Rupes. Here I am, laying my life down – don’t interrupt – twice, for you lot and this is the thanks I get? D’you see any other heroes around here? No, thought not. So, pipe down and be a good chap and let me do what I need to.”
There was an awkward silence, broken only by the sound of Giles dragging the file from beneath Spike’s heels and locking it away in the drawer. The watcher’s leather chair creaked as he settled himself in it. The two sat in silence for a while, the long case clock ticking away the awkward seconds, until finally Giles gave up.
“Okay, Spike. You win. You obviously have some sort of a plan, so I’m prepared to let you get on with it. But it’s to help Buffy, yes? And you’ll let me in on it, so far as you’re able?”
Spike squirmed beneath Giles’ penetrative gaze. Truth was, he didn’t have a clue what was going to happen, only that Buffy would be here, nearby, and he could see her. It had been so long since he’d seen her…His plan, such as it was, ended there. He’d considered going to Rome, bursting into Buffy’s apartment and kissing her senseless, but instead followed his sudden yearning for home, needing to centre himself, mourn a little himself for his friends lost in the final battle in LA before moving on. He felt very alone and losing his comrades had finally made his mind up for him. He didn't care if she kicked him to the kerb: he had to know. But telling Giles it was purely a get-to-Buffy plan would surely earn him a staking at best; no, the way to the paternal watcher's heart and to gain his help, would be to make it seem as if Buffy needed him for some future purpose. Pity he hadn't actually managed to lay his hands on a manuscript that said that, cryptically or otherwise.
He decided to bluff it out, see how far he could push Giles before he cracked.
“Yeah, right. Suppose we are on the same side.” Giles rolled his eyes in acknowledgement. “It’s like this; Buffy thinks I’m buried in the Hellmouth so it’s gonna be a bit of a shock to see me walking about in living colour, right? So, I need to take it slow, give the girl a chance to get used to having me back. Once she’s over the shock and I’ve spent time with her, say…a year or two…I’ll let you in on the master plan.”
Giles nodded until his mind caught up with Spike’s words, his mouth opening to protest.
“Only kidding, mate. Give us a couple of days and we’ll be back to swapping spit, only this time no hiding away. And then I'll fill you in. The girl needs me, Rupert. You said so yourself.”
Giles spluttered, his face reddening. “I certainly did not! Whatever gave you that idea? Are you deluded?”
Spike grinned, enjoying baiting the watcher. “Did you or did you not say, ‘n I’m paraphrasing here, Buffy’s been miserable since the hellmouth imploded, mourning for yours truly? That she’s lost without me, lacks direction?”
Giles’ brow creased as he tried to recall his exact words, and couldn’t. He remembered Spike asking him how Buffy was, but he was distracted as he answered, Spike’s arrival causing him no uncertain amount of shock and panic. No matter, he was sure he hadn’t meant to give Spike the impression that Buffy was mooning after him. Although, to be fair to the vampire, she really was. They’d all noticed, but it had taken a while. As one by one the Scoobies moved on with their lives, Buffy clung to the few personal items she’d managed to save as they escaped from Sunnydale, revering them almost. Dawn reported that she had what looked like a shrine in her bedroom, the central feature of which was a skull-ring and a tattered journal, a scrap of black leather always lying on Buffy’s pillow.
They’d failed to deal with it then and somehow it just became accepted that Buffy had this ‘thing’ for Spike. There was nothing she could do about it, him being incinerated and gone, so they all just figured she’d mourn and get over it. But, according to Dawn, the shrine was still there and despite Buffy receiving several invites to dinner with many a dark Italian suitor, she always refused politely and smiled a sad little smile, her thoughts obviously far away.
Giles turned his gaze on the smug vampire waiting for a reply at the far side of his desk. The truth was that Spike turning up had really floored him; he’d heard rumours that there was at least one survivor after the Wolfram and Hart battle, but they couldn’t be verified, and to be honest, he hadn’t tried too hard to do so. If it was Angel, that would complicate matters even more with Buffy, he already knew that Cordelia had passed away before the battle and he assumed that if it was Wesley, he would have been in touch. The others he hadn’t known other than by reputation, and the fact that it could be Spike hadn’t really crossed his mind. He was only just getting used to the fact that Spike had survived the apocalypse in Sunnydale anyway, thanks to Andrew’s complete lack of discretion, and was trying to decide whether or not to tell Buffy when news came of the final conflagration. He’d been flooded with relief then that he hadn’t told her, because he doubted she’d have coped very well with news of the vampire's second sacrifice. Andrew had been under pain of death not to divulge Spike’s visit to Rome to Buffy and Dawn, and amazingly, seemed to have kept his own counsel other than a whispered report to his mentor.
“Gone dumb, Rupes? I sometimes have this effect on women, but it’s a first for me with a crusty old watcher. Still, a pleasure’s a pleasure wherever you take it.” This was just such good fun; Spike decided that he’d like to stick around a little while whatever happened, see how far Rupert Giles could be pushed before Ripper escaped. Would do no harm to practice dance steps, even with the wrong partner…
Giles blushed, fumbled with his glasses, and managed to knock a pot of pens onto the floor, ducking down to retrieve them. By the time he straightened up, he was able to reply.
“Very droll. To answer your questions, Spike, I admit that Buffy isn’t herself, and yes, she does miss you – and others – who perished. But if I were you, I wouldn’t expect a 'Gone with the Wind reunion'. It’s been a while, and it’s not as if you two were ever really together.”
Spike grimaced at Giles’ blunt assessment of his relationship with Buffy. The watcher was wrong. After that last night together, Spike knew that, but it still started him doubting. He spoke harshly, kicking the chair backwards across the polished wooden floor with a scrape as he rose and leaned over the desk, menacingly. “We’ll see. I have ways of making myself irresistible, and I don’t think I’ll have to try hard to do that with Buffy. She’s my girl, watcher – get used to it.”
With a growl, Spike spun on his heels and stalked out, his duster whipping around his legs with an audible snap.
Giles calmed his racing heart, wondering just exactly what he’d got himself into, and reached for the phone to make the arrangements for Buffy’s arrival.
tbc...
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is a story written as a thank you for Kris aka Spikeshunny who made me some lovely Live Journal icons. She asked for post Chosen/NFA, angsty reunion and some bitey ;) with dreams. Hopefuly, this fits the bill. The story is already completed and I'll be adding the rest of the chapters very soon. Beta'd by the amazing SpikesKat.