Disclaimer: The characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. None of the writers of this fic are collecting any monetary compensation for it whatsoever, mores the pity . Any characters that we create we freely give to Joss, as recompense for borrowing his.
Rating: This chapter is PG-13-for some quasi-intense sex. Nothing you don’t see on the show though, in fact I‘d say it is much less graphic than either “Smashed“ or Dead Things.” You be the judge however.
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Special thanks to Linne who has joined the B/S SS editing staff, and who has done a wonderful job of clearing up a lot of my often jumbled hen scratchings :-)
At any rate, we sincerely hope you enjoy the chapter, and will please tell us what we are doing right...and wrong. As you will see, the story is coming to a close, and we promise a slam-bang ending. Until then...
Chapter Seven
"Strange Bedfellows"
Written by CJ and Phil
*
The bell above the door in the Magic Box jangled as Xander walked through the door. “Pizza delivery man,” Xander announced and then corrected, “Ok. Less pizza and more outdated bags of donated blood, but same delivery concept.”
“Thank you, Xander.” Buffy greeted him and took the two paper shopping bags from him. She laid the bags on the counter and began taking out a packet.
“Must you play with bodily fluids at my checkout counter? It is discouraging patronage of the store.” Anya looked disapprovingly and tapped her foot. Buffy rolled her eyes and moved the bags over to the big research table.
“She kinda has a point there though, Buff,” Xander said rather uncomfortably. “Looks to me like Spike is getting to the point where he can go out and scrounge up his own bags of blood. Don’t you think you’re taking this nursemaid thing just bit too far?”
“What I think, Xander is that we don’t need to be discussing this anymore,” she snapped at him a bit too quickly. “It’s okay, Xan,” she added in consciously softer tone of voice. “ I’ve got it all under control, honestly.” She really hoped that had sounded convincing to everybody else, because she certainly wasn’t buying that line of crap.
Tara held a mug for Buffy to pour the blood into. “So how is the patient today?” She questioned, concerned. They had set up a corner of the training room for Spike. He was still somewhat injured, and they weren’t comfortable leaving him alone in the house when they all had to go out during the day. This way there was always someone around if he needed anything.
“Dawn’s in with him now.” Buffy offered, “He’s doing a lot better these days, but…”
“Ooh. You’ll never guess who I ran into on my way back here.” Xander interrupted. The group all stared at him with a 'this better be important' look. “Jonathan,” he answered. Everyone’s anticipation deflated and they went back to what they were doing.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Tara asked.
Anya answered, “He was in that movie. The one with the computer world within the real world and the ‘There is no spoon.’”
Xander and Buffy just shook their heads. “Well,” Xander continued. “He said that this morning he saw Willow walking around campus with Amy.”
“Amy? Rat Amy?” Buffy said disbelievingly.
“The one and only, but now in new and improved non-rat form.” Xander replied.
The look on Tara’s face was pure chagrin. “So you’re saying that Willow’s been practicing transmogrification? She knows how dangerous that is."
Buffy quickly moved over to her and put a comforting arm around her. “I’ll go talk to her. Could you heat this up and have Dawn give it to Spike?” She handed Tara the mug as she got up to leave. Tara just nodded. It broke Buffy’s heart to see what her supposed best friend had done to a person who cared about her more than life itself. With that she got up and headed out the door.
About an hour or so later, Buffy found herself standing outside of Willow’s dorm building, debating with herself about whether this was really a good idea or not. Concern for Willow finally won out over her caution and she entered the building. She made her way to Willow’s room and was relieved to hear only female voices inside. She knocked on the door and was greeted by Amy. “Buffy!”
“Amy.” Buffy smiled
“Wow. It feels like its been forever.”
“Not forever, just a couple of years.”
“Hey, for a rat a couple of years is a life time,” Amy tried to joke.
“For some people it is too.” Buffy had intended that to sound a lot less self-pitying than it came out.
Amy didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, Willow told me about the whole dying thing. That’s just so weird. Dead, poof, not dead.”
“Almost like rat, poof, not rat.” Buffy retorted weakly.
Amy tilted her head, “Huh, guess you’re right.”
“Would it be alright if I talked to Willow for a little while?” Buffy was wondering why her friend hadn’t come to the door yet.
“Sure,” Amy gestured for her to come in, “I’ve gotta go out and get something to eat any way. I’ve got this strange craving for cheese. Go figure.” She smiled and walked off.
I think that girl was a little more sane when she was a rat. Buffy thought as she entered the room. The first thing she noticed was that the room was completely different from the last time she'd seen it. There was an extra bed made up and Amy apparently had her own half of the room decorated as well. And Buffy could swear that the privacy wall hadn’t been there before. Either Willow had been on Trading Spaces in the past few days or there had definitely been some magical remodeling going on.
“Well, look who finally decided to drop by.” Willow snapped Buffy out of her surveying of the room.
“Hey Will. I tried coming by a few days ago, but you weren’t home.” Despite the bitter tone that had been in Willow’s voice, Buffy decided that she should stay friendly and unassuming as long as Slayerly possible. It was then that she noticed how badly Willow really looked. The witch was sitting in bed, propped up against pillows looking, well, old. She had bags under her eyes, she was pale, and it even looked like there was some gray in her hair.
“Are you ok?” Buffy hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so “oh my god, you look awful. Are you ok?” but she couldn’t help it. Here was her 21-year-old best friend looking like a woman in her late 40’s.
“Never better.” Willow spat at her.
Buffy swallowed hard at the discourtesy and tried to stay calm as she went on, “I’ll take your word for it.” She sounded doubtful. “You’ll never guess who Xander bumped into earlier.” She tried cheerfully.
“Should I care?” The response was bitter.
Buffy pretended she didn’t notice the barb. “You remember Jonathan?” Willow opened her mouth to reply, but Buffy hurried on not really wanting to hear whatever nastiness was sure to spew from Willow’s mouth next. “Well he said he saw you and Amy earlier and we were all like ‘wow, rat Amy?’ so I figured I should stop by and see what was up.”
“Oh.” Willow sounded hurt. “So that’s the only reason you dropped by. To see what bad things Willow’s up to. What ‘abuses’ of magicks have I done now. Well you know what? I don’t need that kind of friend anymore. You and your moral superiority. All of you. I’ve got people that really understand me now.”
That was all Buffy could take. “Listen Willow, we are all concerned for you because we love you, but you’re scaring us.” Willow just smiled at the last sentence. “You’re getting into deep dark stuff here and we are afraid we’re going to loose you. And all this with Amy? Did you just decide to make yourself a new friend that you could keep her here and get her to do your magic with you?”
“You think I have to conjure friends for myself and hold them prisoner to keep them? Well sorry to inform you, but Amy’s just staying here while she adjusts enough to go talk to her dad. She can leave whenever she wants. Why would I need an amateur like her to help me with magic anyway? I’m way above her level. Crispin says I’m…”
Buffy cut her off, “Crispin. That name again. Willow, this guy seriously weirds me out. Me and everyone else. I don't think he's good for you, Will. Seriously. Look what being with him has done to you!”
“Being with him is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Look how far I’ve come with my magic. You were supposed to be my friends and all you ever did was stifle me. ‘No Willow. That’s not right Willow. You’re using too much magic Willow.’ He’s helped me gain so much power.” Willow was ranting now, and beginning to scare Buffy. “That’s it! You’re just jealous. I’ve become more powerful than you and you can’t handle it.”
“Willow,” Buffy tried to interject.
“No, Buffy. That’s it. I know I’m right. I’m stronger than you and you can’t take it.”
“That’s not even…” Buffy tried again.
“No. You know what. I’m sick of this discussion, and I’m sick of you. Crispin was right. You all don’t really care about me at all. Now get out before I throw you out.” Willow demanded.
Buffy stood in shock for a brief moment. Willow looked so angry. She held up her arm, flicked her wrist and the door slammed open. Feeling a deep sense of sadness and bitter disappointment in her best friend, as well as a creeping feeling of impending doom, the Slayer turned and strode out haughtily, attempting to hold on to some of her pride.
Just after Buffy ran out Amy walked in through the door. “What was that all about?” She asked.
“Oh, nothing.” Willow responded, “You know what a bitch Buffy can be some times.”
Amy looked a little puzzled, “She always seemed pretty nice to me.” Then Willow lifted her arm, looked at Amy, passed her hand in front of her face. “Yeah, what a total uber-bitch. Who does she think she is?” Amy replied in a drastically altered tone.
“I know.” Willow smiled.
**
Tara checked her watch casually as she headed into the courtyard between the Bramwell Arts & Sciences building and the University's Administration center. She'd been in class and at the library since early this morning and was more than ready to call it a day and make for home. A faint smile came to her lips as she realized that for the first time in a very long time, she really did have a home, with a real family. It was a good feeling. She was also reminded that she was supposed to pick Buffy up this afternoon so the two of them could hit the Sunnydale Mall for some Christmas shopping. Dawn had asked for a leather coat and Tara had seen one advertised on sale. Besides, it was a good way to get Buffy's mind off her confrontation with Willow last week.
Tara certainly knew what that felt like. Confrontations with Willow were getting to be as common a thing as taking a breath. She simply wouldn't listen to anything that any of her friends had to say anymore. According to Xander, who had made one last ditch effort at talking to her, Willow spent most of her time closeted with her new lover. Tara had also seen her once with Amy the one time rat, but both witches had made a decided point of snubbing her. The look of pure malice on Willow's face had been enough to make Tara's skin crawl. It still did. God, Willow, what's happening to you?
Silently chiding herself for morbidly dwelling on something she had no control over, the young witch shook off her melancholy and opened the door to the Bramwell building. She often used it to cross the campus to the parking deck because she could cut at least five minutes off her walk. As she walked down the corridor, she heard a voice calling her name.
"Hey, Tara! Hang on a sec!"
She turned around to see a young blonde woman heading toward her, who was obviously out of breath. Tara instantly recognized her as one of the students in her 'Feminist writers in the 20th century' study group.
"Oh, hi Chris. How are you?" Tara barely knew Christina, but she seemed nice enough, if a little forward at times.
"Pretty good," the other girl replied. " Listen, did you happen to get that reading list from Dr. Carter? I think I missed class when she passed it out. I was wondering if I could make a copy of yours, umm if it's not too much trouble."
"Sure. I have it at home but I'll run by Kinko's later. I'm going to the mall this afternoon anyway. I'll take care of it for you then."
"Thanks, Tara. I really appreciate it. I mean, really, if there's anything I can ever do for you just let me know." She really had the most beautiful smile.
"You're welcome," Tara smiled back at her "Anything I can do to help."
"Well, I gotta book. Late for French class but like I said, anything you ever need, don't be afraid to ask. Umm, maybe we could go out for a drink sometime?" She added rather shyly.
"Uhh, s-sure. I'd love to...sometime," Tara managed to stammer out as the other girl blew her a kiss and sauntered out the door. Okay, she thought to herself as she watched Christina's extremely well put together form disappear down the concourse, I really need to not be thinking what I'm thinking. For all I know, she's not even gay. Still, three months without sex will do that to you.
Shaking off a couple of nagging impure thoughts she turned around and walked straight in Dr. Crispin McDermott.
Too stunned to think straight she just stood there, unable to even mutter a half-assed apology, which would have been her normal response. She had made a point of avoiding Willow's current lover and had been pretty successful at it. Until now, anyway.
"Miss McClay? What a pleasant surprise. I trust that you've been keeping yourself well?" The Professor said brightly, which immediately set her teeth on edge.
"Yeah, I'm g-good. Very good. Well, I need to get going. If you'll excuse me..." She blurted out. She had planned a very hasty retreat but before she could go however, McDermott grasped her arm.
"Miss McClay, umm Tara. May I call you Tara?" Without waiting for a reply, he pushed on. "It's rather fortunate I ran into you. I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you. About, well I suppose you can guess what I want to talk about. Or who, rather."
Regaining some of her composure, she pulled away from his grasp and back off a couple of steps.
"I'm sorry, but I don't think we have anything to talk about," she stated firmly as she prepared to walk back out the door.
"She misses you, you know," he said quietly.
That brought her up short. For the first time she took a long look at him. He seemed totally sincere-and well, rather worried.
Seeing her indecision, he continued. "I know things are bad between you and that you've both been hurt by what's happened and I certainly know that I really don't have any right to be talking to you about this, but..."
"Why are you, then?" Tara snapped at him, regretting it the instant the words were out her mouth, as she saw the hurt expression on his face. "I-I'm sorry, Dr. McDermott, I didn't mean to be rude but I'm not sure what us talking is going to fix. Willow and I are through. She's made it very clear what she wants, and it's not me. You should know that as well as anyone. You win-I lose. What else is left to say?" All the pain that she had thought had been locked away over the last few months was threatening to surface again. It was all she could do keep from breaking down and crying in front of him.
"Tara, please," he responded. "This isn't about winning or losing. Willow still loves you very much. She's just going through a very rough time right now. She does need you though, and I thought that if I talked to you maybe we could find some way to work together to get her to ease up a little. I've tried telling her that she's making a mistake by shutting all of her friends out of her life, especially you, but so far I'm making little progress. I do want to see you back together though."
"Why? Why would you do that? Don't you love her?" Tara was absolutely stunned by this revelation.
"I do," he said. "And it's just because I love her that I want to see her completely happy. She's not, you know, and I don't think she'll ever be until you two are reunited. I promise you that if you agree to help me talk to her, we will work everything out. Scout's honor," he added warmly as he reached out and took her hand again. This time she did not pull away.
He truly loves her, Tara thought to herself. How could he not and come to her like this? She could hardly believe how much she had misjudged this man, as she felt his love wash over her. It was a nearly a living, breathing thing. Who was she to question that love? She'd never encountered anything that pure before and it touched her deeply. It also made her feel ashamed that she had ever doubted his sincerity or Willow's love for him. They were perfect for one another. She knew that now.
He continued to gently stroke her hand as he continued. "I want you to know that I do understand how much Willow means to you. You should be together. I can do that for you, Tara. I can make it possible for the two of you to be with each other for the rest of your lives. You deserve that Tara. You're very special, you see. You're the most important person in the world. Surely you must understand that."
She did understand. She could feel his love and his compassion for her. All he wanted was to be with her, to love her, to see her and Willow happy together. As he continued to talk to her, visions of the three of them together filled her mind; glorious pictures of perfect love and contentment... and pure joy. The things they could do together; the power they could wield together was overwhelming to her. Her, and Willow, and Crispin together forever. It would all be so wonderful, almost too good to be true...
Then almost out of nowhere, she heard a voice. A voice she had not heard in a very long time, but one she could never forget. If someone offers you the world, check the price tag first.
"Mom?" She muttered, utterly bewildered.
Crispin stopped for just a second. "I'm sorry, you said something, my dear?"
And just like that, Tara came screeching back to her senses.
Sonofabitch! A voice in her head sounded the clarion call. A spell. That bastard is using a spell on me.
It was a powerful one too. She could sense it now as she regained her sense of equilibrium. Incredibly subtle, but yet at the same time almost overwhelmingly compelling...and evil beyond the telling of it. It had to be a high order enchantment. Which meant that whoever, or whatever, this Crispin McDermott was, he had to be a very powerful user of majicks.
“At any rate,” he continued, apparently unaware that his enchantments had failed to seduce his intended victim. “I am afraid that as much as I hate to do it, I must leave you for the time being. I have to be at a student conference in a few minutes. You’ll think about what I said about coming around to see Willow tonight, though?”
Suddenly taken aback, Tara found herself fumbling for an excuse. “Uhh, that sounds wonderful, Crispin, really but I-I uh may need to help watch Dawn tonight, umm baby-sit for a friend that is. Could we do it tomorrow?”
If he felt any disappointment at that, he certainly hid it well. “Of course my dear. No rush at all. You need time to adjust to...things, and I really should speak to Willow first. Lay the groundwork, as it were. Shall we say tomorrow evening then, maybe around 9 o clock?”
“Sure. I’m really looking forward to it,” she said, trying desperately to sound like a woman in the thrall of seduction. She even managed to subtly adjust her body language just a tiny bit in order to let him think that his ‘charms’ were working on her. Of course, it took conjuring up an image of Christina’s backside to actually pull it off convincingly.
“Well, then, I must be off for the time being. Until tomorrow night then, my darling.” With that he bent down and brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently, before smiling at her again and departing back down the hallway to the faculty offices.
Goddess, she thought to herself, as she stood there quaking with rage and feeling terribly violated. Do women actually fall for that crap, even straight ones? I think I need a shower.
Now that she had stumbled onto his sorcery, it became apparent to her that something dreadfully wrong was going on. If he had done that to her there is no telling what he was doing to Willow. She had been right all along. Something evil had gotten control of her lover; it just hadn’t been the Urn of Osiris.
I’ve got to tell Willow, she thought. If I go to her now and tell her what I know...she’d laugh in my face.
Sighing inwardly with frustration, the witch forced herself to see the truth. Without any proof of McDermott’s enchantments, Tara would sound like the bitter and jealous scorned ex-lover that Willow had been making her out to be all this time. She didn’t really know anything; all she had were suspicions and intuition to go on. She needed proof, and she needed to know what she was facing, and there was only one place that she could think of that might hold some answers for all of the questions that were now rapidly filling her mind.
Steeling herself for a long night, Tara shook off the feelings of dread that were threatening to suffuse her entire body and made resolutely for the parking garage. She just hoped that Anya kept plenty of coffee in the Magic Box. She had a feeling that she was going to need it.
***
"So, exactly what am I supposed to do now, your greatness?" Clarissa asked, the anger in her voice quite apparent to everyone who could hear it.
"Well, for starters, you could try following orders for once, instead of engaging in your penchant for amateurish theatrics," replied the demonic creature she had been addressing. "Or is that a tad too difficult for you, my dear?"
"Hey, it's not my fault that they had a witch with them, which is a bit odd considering that you told me that their witch was being taken care of."
"She is. They have another one. I'm sure you were informed of that fact."
"Yeah, but nobody said she was that tough. I'm afraid that what we have here is a failure to communicate, and I for one am getting sick and tired of it, buster."
The demon appeared bored by her outburst. "Keep a civil tongue in your head. You forget who you are dealing with. Do I really have to remind you...again?"
Clarissa, angry as she was, still managed to keep her rage in check and choked off the nasty reply that had been forming on her lips. She may have been seething with rage, but even so, she was far from stupid. Openly challenging her patron was akin to suicide and she had been around long enough to know it.
"No, of course not," she said in a more placating tone. "I'm just saying that I've taken a lot of losses recently and so far, have jack to show for it."
That was putting it mildly. As far as Clarissa was concerned, the raid on the Slayer's house had been a disaster. Sure, she had messed up the little bitch's windows a bit, but that was nothing in comparison to what it had cost her. The two or three minions that had gone up in smoke she could live without, but having the Slayer stake Karl was causing Clarissa all sorts of grief.
For one thing, Karl had been her strong right arm for a very long time. Terry of course had his uses, but he lacked the sheer hulking ferocity that had been Karl's trademark. Sure, it had been incredibly stupid of him to get that close to the Slayer's stake but it had been typical Karl: Kill first-think about the ramifications second.
For another, the effect his death had on Veronique had been devastating. They had been together for over fifty years, and she had very nearly lost her mind. As it was, she could barely bring herself to eat anybody and Clarissa had been forced to put Lysette on suicide watch, so instead of just putting one vampire out of action, the Slayer had cost her the use of two others as well, both of them very powerful and cunning killers in their own right.
The worst of it though was the detrimental effect it was having on the overall morale of the minions. It had been difficult enough for her to whip them into any kind of fighting shape when she had first swept into town, due to their inherent dread of the Slayer. Finally, after instilling some order into them, she had been cajoled into that premature assault against the Summers household. All the progress she had made the past few months had vanished in a puff of smoke. And the real kicker is that they hadn't managed to kill any of the Slayer's people, not even that blasted turncoat vampire of hers, who according to Clarissa's spies, had been seen walking around town again, despite his massive injuries of only a few weeks earlier.
Before she could actually voice any of her complaints, though, her patron held up a scaly arm, indicating that he was not interested in hearing her side of things. Oh, isn't that just so typical of these underworld big shots, she thought bitterly. You have to sit and listen to them blather on about their great schemes for unholy devastation, but do you get even the slightest chance to express valid concerns about worker morale? No, of course not; because that would make too much sense. Damn the infernal power structure.
" Now, now, no need to be so upset," the demon said, adopting a much more even-tempered tone, which nonetheless struck Clarissa as being condescending. "I do sympathize, really I do, but to be perfectly honest, I don't think we've lost all that much, in the grand scheme of things, that is."
"Well, maybe you haven't lost much, your unholy magnificence, but from where I'm sitting it sure feels like a box office bomb to me," she snapped back just a little too quickly.
"Believe me my dear, when I tell you that how you feel is of absolutely no concern to anyone. You were contracted to do a job for me, plain and simple. Your losses, such a as they are, are your own affair and I do not want to hear about them again. In fact, I would urge you to trust me that if I do hear another word about it from your pretty little undead lips, it will be the last thing I ever hear from you. Is that understood?"
The demon had not changed the tone of its voice even the tiniest of decibels, but Clarissa realized that she had gone to far in questioning him. Gulping visibly, she nodded.
"Fine. Now that the matter is settled, I can tell you that I am not entirely displeased with the recent turn of events. In fact, I'd say that everything is going pretty much according to plan. We're already moving into the last stages of this endeavor and I should be ready to make the final preparations very, very soon." He, (Clarissa assumed it was a he anyway) finished with what appeared to be a smirk on his face.
He was certainly a strange sort of being, Clarissa mused to herself. Reptilian in nature, he seemed to enjoy adapting an almost human style of conversation, emphatically insisting on using polite forms of address. She didn't know much else about him except that he was a Malthusian demon, and that he was some sort of major league heavyweight in the demon realms. Other than that, she neither knew nor cared.
"So cheer, up," he continued "You'll have your chance to wreak your vengeance upon the Slayer and her pack of annoying do-gooders soon enough."
Clarissa nodded, pretending to be mollified, although she was still inwardly seething. "Okay, whatever you say, but I'm telling you right now that once I get my hands on her, I'm going to take it out on that little slut's ass for the next three or four centuries."
"Yes, well, I have other plans for her, but feel free to help yourself to the rest of the human population of this miserable excuse for a town. For right now, I want you to cool your heels a bit, replenish your numbers by all means, but do it quietly. No more wholesale slaughters of high school students for the time being. Take a few of the marginal city dwellers if you must, but don't provoke the delightful Miss Summers any further until my agent can complete his mission properly."
"He's taking his own sweet time of it," she complained. "If you ask me he's enjoying it just a little too much."
"Then I suppose it's a very good thing that nobody asked you, isn't it?" Another voice, coming from behind the demon, broke into the conversation.
"Ahh, there you are, my boy, "the Malthusian said in a manner that Clarissa found to be almost fawning. "We were just talking about you."
"Nothing but good things I hope," the man continued as he stepped into the meager lighting that the several torch sconces on the wall of the cavern provided.
"That probably depends on your definition of 'good' she sneered at him. "Does being an overly confident and self-important weasel count?"
"As much as being an incompetent and melodramatic slattern, I would imagine," he shot back at her, in an infuriatingly smooth manner.
The demon interrupted them at this point. “Children, children. Enough is enough. Do I have to spank you both and send you to bed without supper? Now kiss and make up, if you would, so that we can get on with the business at hand”
Crispin McDermott merely smiled breezily and him and nodded. Clarissa, still fuming at his insolence, nevertheless gave the Malthusian her own curt nod of acquiescence. There was no point in pushing the matter...for now.
The demon‘s face contorted into what appeared to be a smile of approval. “Very well. So, Crispin where are we with the witch? I take it that I don’t have to stress just how important she is to the big picture.”
“Everything is going according to schedule,” McDermott replied. “ She’s completely isolated from her friends and using more magic than she could ever possibly hope to control. She’s getting weaker and more dependent on me every day. I’d say that it was only a matter of a few days before she’s completely open to your designs.”
“Excellent. Very good job, my boy, especially considering just how powerful our little Miss Rosenberg is.”
McDermott shrugged. “She’s not that strong. Yes, she may have a lot of mystical capability, but she’s still a woman; weak, emotional and foolish. I managed to twist her around my little finger with relative ease. She’s certainly no harder than any of the others I’ve had to deal with over the centuries.”
Clarissa snorted. “Well, lookee here. Somebody has deep-seated issues with strong women. What’s the matter, dear? Afraid that us poor little ladies are going to crush that delicate little ego of yours?” She said that last bit in a mock southern belle accent, a la Scarlet O’Hara.
He glared at her with studied contempt. “Exactly what would you know about it? Any similarities between you and a ‘lady’ are purely coincidental. Besides, just because you look like a woman, it doesn’t make you one. You’re just a bloodsucker with a slightly better sense of makeup application than your undead playmates.”
Clarissa felt her anger rise as he laid on his latest insult. Terry, who had been standing at her side the entire time without uttering a word, growled menacingly.
The Malthusian demon grunted his displeasure at this latest outbreak of discord among his followers. “That’s it. I have better things to do than listen to this nonsense. Clarissa, you have your instructions for the time being. I’ll send word when I need you again. Until then, no more overt signs of aggression. Are we clear on this point?”
When she nodded sullenly, he waved his hand in her direction. “Fine then. You are dismissed.”
McDermott watched the two vampires disappear down the passage that led from the cavern and shook his head.
“Something wrong, my boy?” The demon asked him.
“I just don’t know why you bother to put up with that trash. Vampires are little better than animals, and far less trustworthy.”
“Tut-tut, Crispin. We use the tools that we have. Besides, you must admit that she does have a certain panache’.
“I admit nothing of the kind. She’s an unstable and unpredictable element. Typical bloody female. You should destroy her and her pack of jackals before they the turn on you or bring the wrath of the Slayer down on our heads.”
The Malthusian merely grinned at his friend and long time associate. “No need to worry about her. Rest assured that I shall dispose of all unnecessary entanglements once we have finished what we set out to do.”
“And when will that be?” McDermott asked. “The year is almost up. The Winter Solstice is nearly at hand. If we try a Revivification ritual of this magnitude after that, it’s bound to blow up in our faces."
“Relax, things are going swimmingly. Trust me. Everything is in hand. We will be ready by the time the Solstice rolls around in a couple of weeks. And then...”
“And then, what?” McDermott asked his demonic patron.
“Then SHE will arise from the ashes and this world will know a torment that it has only dreamed about in the darkest recesses of its collective imagination. The rivers will run red with the blood of millions of victims and the Sun itself will quake in dreadful awe and reverence.” He paused. “What do you think? Am I going overboard on the apocalyptic imagery?”
“Well, maybe just a tad. It could use a little polishing up.”
The Malthusian sighed heavily. “Damn. I really should just bite the bullet and hire a professional speechwriter. Do you think Pat Buchanan would be willing to do a little free-lance work?”
“Trust me. If he’ll co-host a talk show on FOX News Network, he’ll do anything,” McDermott replied.
“Tell me about it," the demonic creature shuddered visibly. "I don’t know about you, my boy, but Rupert Murdoch scares the hell out of me.”
****
Buffy glanced at her watch for the tenth time in an hour. She’d been on plenty of do nothing patrols, but this one was taking the cake. Just the night she felt like working off a boatload of tension and there weren’t any vampires handy. Nothing new there, though. Clarissa and her little gang of wanna-be Slayer slayers had been as hard to find, for the last few weeks, as a good, inexpensive cream rinse. It was as if they were deliberately avoiding her, and while she knew they had to be up to no good, it was nice to have the breathing room. For a while, at least.
On the other hand, the extreme lack of vampire activity meant that she was forced to think about things she'd rather forget. No luck there, though. She’d have to deal with them sooner or later, and sooner always seemed to come so, well…soon.
The real biggie of course, was Willow. Buffy had finally been forced to see just how out of control her best friend really was when she'd visited her last week. She was still thrown by how much Willow had changed since September, physically as well as emotionally. Here it was less than two weeks before Christmas, less than three months since Buffy had come back, and Willow was an entirely different person; one that Buffy could barely stand to be in the same room with. Something had to be done about Will, but like everybody else, Buffy was totally stumped. The mere fact that she was as clueless and lame as the others was driving her nuts, she was supposed to be the Slayer after all.
Willow was the reason Buffy found herself wandering aimlessly through the Sunnydale Cemetery instead of doing something socially redeeming, like Christmas shopping. That actually frosted her quite a bit. Here she had been all set to contribute to the crass Holiday commercialism that Giles detested so much, and Tara had cancelled at the last moment, muttering something about ‘having an idea what might up with Willow.’ Right now she was holed up in the back room of the Magic Box doing research, too engrossed in her work to be concerned with shopping.
Dawn was also out of the house, having finally convinced her big sister to spend the night at Janice’s. That girl still got seriously on Buffy’s nerves but a couple of days of being forced to look at Dawn’s pleading and pouty face had ultimately cracked Buffy’s resolve. She had to admit that Dawn was far better at emotional manipulation than she had been at that age. I’m such a wishy-washy pushover. Still, Buffy had gotten a little of her own back by insisting on walking Dawn right to the Penshaws’ front door. The look of total horror her sister’s face as Buffy loudly offered, in front of half the neighborhood, to go back and get Mr. Gordo so Dawn could sleep better, went a long way in balancing the scales. Buffy chuckled at how much mileage she was going to get out of that one.
Her mirth at mentally torturing Dawn quickly faded as she realized where she was, smack in the center of the partially overgrown cemetery.
Spike’s crypt.
It still amazed, annoyed, and confused her how badly she had missed him these past several days. After spending nearly two weeks as an invalid, first at her home and then at the Magic Box, the vampire had abruptly left without a word one evening. She hadn’t seen him since and now she was becoming worried, and worried that she was worrying so much. God, life used to be so much simpler when we were mortal enemies, she thought. Oh well, no sense in putting this off. And a one, and a two…
She pushed back the door to the crypt and walked brazenly forward into the gloom. There was really no sense in pussyfooting around with this. She was worried about him, she wanted to check up on him and that was all. She’d make sure that he was all right and then she would beat a hasty retreat. Right? As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room, she realized it was empty. Spike wasn’t home.
Relieved and disappointed at the same time, Buffy turned to leave when she heard a sound from somewhere deep in the bowels of the crypt. Oh right. Spike’s little underground lair. She’d nearly forgotten about it since the last time she had been here. The memory of Spike tying her and Drusilla up, then going off on them for ruining his life, was less than pleasant. Okay, do you really want to go through with this? He’s a vampire. Why are you still trying to play nursemaid to a monster who’s tried to kill you all several times, no matter how much good he's done?
Good questions all, and ones to which Buffy did not have answers. She’d come this far though and there wasn’t any point in coming back another time. Besides, Spike might actually need her help.
Easily finding the hole in concrete floor, she climbed the ladder down to the small cave that Spike used as a retreat. It was certainly different from the last time she had been here. There was now an ornate bed set up against the wall, as well as a nightstand with a glowing lava lamp. The one piece of furniture she noticed above the others, however, was the battered recliner sitting in the middle of the rough-hewn floor, the one that had once sat on the level above. The reason it figured so prominently of course, was the platinum blonde vampire sitting in it. Spike held a cigarette loosely in his left hand, and a bottle of bourbon tightly in his right.
Buffy stood there for a long moment, unnerved by his lack of acknowledgement. Finally, she worked up the nerve to say something.
“Spike? Are you all right? I haven’t heard from you in a while and...”
Her voice trailed off as she realized that he was not listening to her; just sitting there staring at the bottle in his hand. He looked well enough though, the burns had healed completely and there was virtually no scarring left on his perfect face. Oh, God, not this again, she thought to herself, trying to cleanse of her mind of thoughts she knew she should not be having.
Spike remained silent, but he took a quick drag of his cigarette and then crushed the butt against the arm of the recliner.
Buffy felt her irritation rise a bit as she realized that there was nothing wrong with him.
“So,” she began again. “It looks like you’ve made a full recovery.”
“Does it?” he replied in a voice entirely devoid of any emotion. “Well, good on me then.” He took a swig of the bourbon and continued to stare straight ahead, not bothering to look at her.
“Look, I came here to see you were all right…”
“I’m fine, luv. Cheers and thanks for the visit.” He took a pull from the bottle and went back to focusing on the cavern wall, which proved too much for Buffy’s already frayed nerves.
“Spike, what the hell is going on with you? Are you just going sit there on your ass, swilling booze all day?"
He shrugged almost imperceptibly. “”Certainly seems that way, don’t it?”
Buffy was angry now. After everything that had happened lately, with the danger that was still looming out there, threatening to bury them all, she needed a strong right hand. With Giles gone, and Willow...the way she was...a Spike in full control of his faculties was essential. Instead of what she needed, she got this pathetic lump.
"Spike, I don't know what your problem is but you need to get over it, and fast."
This time he did look at her. Setting the bourbon on the floor, he sat back in the chair and glared at her with those incredibly piercing blue eyes.
“Do I now? Is that a command, Slayer? Cause if it is, you didn’t bloody well use the royal ‘we.’ You didn’t even say ‘mother may I?’” The vampire giggled, and it became apparent to Buffy that he was almost completely drunk.
“Okay, I’ve just about had enough of this crap from you, Spike. I need you to…”
“Right you are then,” he snarled back at her. “There it is. You need, the Slayer needs, Buffy needs. What about Spike, huh? Did you ever think about my ruddy needs, you self-centered little bint? Did you ever once think about what you’re doing to me?”
“Doing what to you, exactly? Nursing you back to health? Feeding you cups of blood, to the point where I may never eat red meat again? Is that the terrible thing I’m doing to you, Spike? Taking care of you?” She was getting pissed off now, and hurt by his ingratitude.
“Oh yes,” he continued bitterly. “You’ve certainly taken care of me. You’ve turned me in a sodding eunuch, is what you’ve done.”
“How dare you blame me for that?” She fairly screamed at him “I didn’t put that chip in your brain. I took you in when nobody else wanted you. I made you a member of the team. Let you into my…”She balked at finishing the sentence but the word hung around her tongue like an angry ghost. Family.
“I’m not talking about that blasted chip. Sod the flaming chip!” He yelled back, gesturing towards his head with his index finger as an illustration. “This is about you, Buffy. I told you once that you were all I thought about. It’s truer now than it was then. I thought...” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before lashing out again. “You have no idea how much I missed you when you were…gone. No idea how hard it was for me to…to go on. I don’t think I’ve ever hurt that much in my whole miserable, sorry life. You were everything to me. And then, a miracle happened. We got you back; well, Red brought you back, and everything changed.”
He snorted in self-derision as he continued. “Only it didn’t, you see. I still don’t have you, and you want to know the real joke? I’m closer to you now than I’ve ever been, than I ever dreamed I could be, and I’m even further out in bloody Siberia!”
Shaken by his anger, Buffy nonetheless felt her own ire rise. “No way are you doing this, Spike. You are not blaming me for your feelings. You know how I feel about you. I’ve never given you any reason to think I loved you, and we both know that. Right?”
“No, of course not. The high and mighty Slayer would never lower herself to care about a piece of trash like me. I’m only good enough to do your dirty work. And you’re right, pet. I did know all that. I know it’s not your fault or your bloody problem. I just allowed myself to forget about it for a bit. Sorry, won’t happen again.”
He reached for the bottle again, but she kicked it out of his reach.
“Stop it! Stop wallowing in your own self pity and listen to me.”
“Why should I?” He sounded utterly defeated, in a way she had never heard before, not even that night in her kitchen. He didn’t even seem interested in yelling at her for spilling his precious Bourbon. “What’s left to say? I’m useless…to you and to myself. I can’t even do my job anymore. You know how that miserable trull managed to get her hooks into me? Because I was pining over you; over the fact that you don’t love me. I’ve become a walking joke among the rest of the vampires in this sewer. I just can’t do this anymore, Buffy luv. I’m too tired.”
“Tired of what, Spike?”
“You, me, this whole stupid game we play with each other. This sodding dance that we do,” he told her. “You want to know the truth? The absolute, unvarnished and thoroughly useless truth?”
“Can I stop you?” she asked through clenched teeth.
He flashed her a dazzling and deeply cynical smile. “With this much liquor in me, probably not. The fact is, I could handle it if you just told me to sod off like you did on Valentine’s Day. I’d miss the niblet terribly, but I suppose I could live without her, for a while at least. You know, I was getting to the point where I had a purpose again. Dawn needed me. Hell, even Giles and rest of those wankers depended on me. There were even days when I only thought about you a few hundred times or so.”
.‘Now you’re back, and I see you everywhere, all the time. I hear you and smell your scent wherever I go. You’re all over Dawn, Glinda, even Harris and his demon girl. I can feel you in my blood. It’s driving me bonkers, but that’s not the worst of it.”
Buffy, knew that she should turn and leave at this point but she found herself unable to move.
“Go ahead, Spike,” she seethed at him. “You know you’re dying to tell me your great truth.”
He smiled again, this time at her attempt at sarcasm. “Fine. The truth. The punch line to the biggest joke ever played on William the Bloody. The truth is that the woman I so desperately desire, the one I can’t live without and who says she doesn’t and can’t love me, wants me as much as I want her. More even, if the real truth be told. Isn’t that one for the books, pet?”
She should have expected something like this but he caught her flatfooted anyway. “Spike, we’ve already had this discussion. I admitted that I find you attractive…”
He cut her off with a snort. “Bollocks. Don’t try to pass this off as some sort of girlish infatuation; one you’ll grow out of in a few weeks. That might have worked before, but you’ve changed. I can sense it. You’re not the same person you were when you went off that tower.”
“What kind of lame crap is this? God, you really will say anything to get what you want. And you know what? I’ve had it! I’m tired of your mind games, Spike.” She sounded far too angry, even to herself. What was worse, she knew she wasn’t fooling the vampire.
“I told you Buffy. This is about you, far more than it is about me. What you want, what you need. I can smell it on you, more and more every day. The desire to shake loose all the rules of polite society and toss out your Chosen One obligations. You’re becoming more like me with each week. Chained by artificial forces that are becoming less binding by the moment. Every time you go out patrolling, your need to hunt and kill becomes that much stronger. So does your need to mate. You’re becoming less human, more primal. More like a demon.”
She felt a chill in the pit of her stomach as his words sank in. She couldn’t be that way. And yet…No, it’s all bullshit, she told herself. Some sick, twisted game that Spike was playing to push her towards him. Some stupid con game he had worked up to impress her with his cleverness. But in the back of her mind she heard a voice that she had thought long suppressed.
You think you know. What you are. What you will become. You haven’t even begun.
Buffy remembered Dracula’s words, and his bite vividly. In some ways, it had been more intense than forcing Angel to drink from her. That had been about her lover’s survival; Angel hadn’t wanted to do it and she knew that he hadn’t enjoyed it. The ugly truth of the matter though was that she had, completely and unreservedly. While she’d never felt anything resembling affection for Dracula, when he bit her, she had wanted him almost as much as she had wanted Angel. The way she wanted Spike now.
There it was. Spike was right, in that maddening way that he was usually right about her. She did want him. She wanted him so badly that she could almost taste him--a musk of stale cigarettes, flat whiskey, and lust that was driving her wild. It was getting harder and harder to think about anything but him. The fact that she didn’t love him and could never really trust him didn’t seem to matter at this moment.
She could tell he sensed her confusion and desire. The cocky grin that she adored and hated was back.
He rose from the chair and leaned in so close to her that she could smell his breath. “See now,” he whispered in her ear, “My girl knows I’m telling the truth.” She felt his tongue pushing a strand of hair off her ear as he began to nibble around the edge of her earlobe.
“I’m…I’m not your girl,” she said weakly, overcome with battling the heat rising slowly up from between her legs, threatening to overwhelm her.
“No?” He questioned her, his voice husky with alcohol and lust. “Why did you come here, Slayer? To tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story? To show me how much you missed me? Well then…show me.” He moved his tongue to her neck, working slowly and carefully down towards her nape.
“This...this is wrong,” she muttered, half to herself as his teeth scraped along her skin, setting her whole neck on fire.
“No argument from me, luv” he said soothingly. “I’ve known that since the beginning. It’s so bloody wrong it scares the hell out of me, and that’s saying something.” He was moving further south with his tongue, caressing her throat with it, while at the same time his hands found their way under her shirt and bra and onto her breasts before she could stop him.
Why, a voice screamed at her through the lust-induced fog that had settled over her consciousness, why are you letting him do this to you? He’s a monster!
She couldn’t seem to stop him, however. As his hands caressed her rapidly hardening nipples, she felt his tongue reach out and touch her lips. Lingering there for a few moments that lasted a tiny slice of eternity, it slowly found its way to her tongue, setting off an electrical charge of wanton lust deep in her core.
I’ve got to leave, she told herself, though her feet seemed welded to the cavern floor. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. It wasn’t until his hands reached her crotch and unbuttoned her jeans in a fluid motion though, that she gathered enough resolve to push him off her.
Still panting heavily, she wiped his saliva off her mouth with her sleeve as he watched her, his beautifully inhuman face glowing with exertion and desire.
“Leaving so soon, Slayer?” Spike husked at her, moving towards her seductively and seamlessly.
His movements weren’t threatening, though; just the opposite. They were altogether inviting. As she tried to make her way towards the ladder that lead to the upper level of the crypt, and safety, his hands shot out and grabbed her tiny waist. Very slowly, he pulled her back to him. Her body continued to give in to him, even as the diminishing voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to stop what she was doing in the name of everything decent she had ever believed in.
“Spike, please. Let me go,” she begged, even though her body was now betraying her by demanding that she submit to sheer carnal need.
The vampire merely smiled at her, a smile of victory that made his features even more inhuman. He had her now and they both knew it.
“Tell you what, pet,” he whispered in her ear as his hands slipped into her tight jeans and nearly soaking wet panties. “Make me.” He kissed her so hard that it seemed she would shatter.
When she finally came up for air, and found that same cocky victory grin on his face, she’d had enough.
She broke free of his tight grasp and shoved him hard towards the far wall. As he fell backwards, he landed on the bed, all cockiness and arrogance knocked temporarily out of him. Before he could sit up, she launched herself at him in a pure, cat-like pounce and landed on top of him.
He struggled briefly as she straddled his chest, until he realized that she was leaning in to kiss, not attack.
“Oh, I’ll make you,” she rasped at him after a fiercely passionate kiss, letting him tear off her shirt and bra with one hand. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you,” she told him, unzipping his jeans.
“Yeah, I know” he said, lost in a fog of lust and raw need. "That's half the bleedin’ fun, luv.”
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