“Bleeding Christ. Who bangs the door down at…11:30 in the morning?” Spike grouched as he ran a weary hand through his spiked up curls. He didn’t have much of a leg to stand on, being that they’d slept half the day away. There was a memory scratching at the back of his brain, and as soon as he heard Giles calling at the front door, he remembered they’d managed to miss a riveting history lesson on slayer dreams and flaming great animal anomalies.
Buffy sat up abruptly, reminding him that he was still lodged deeply inside his girl and that her sudden movement wrenched his cock painfully, not that it prevented him from releasing the automatic whimper of devastation when she climbed off and he slipped out like a dejected floppy snake.
“Spike!” she hissed, scrambling over his body and off the bed for her wrap. “Oh God, get dressed.”
And the natural world order according to Buffy had returned, fully operational and wild cannon-free.
“Why should I? I’m not breaking in, am I? Let the berk see us. Might teach him to keep his key to himself.” Spike sat up in the bed, barely covered by the recalcitrant sheet, and ignored Buffy’s glare.
“Get. Dressed. Now. Or so help me, I’ll kick your ass every last step into the basement.”
On closer study, Spike found little doubt that the honeymoon was over and that she’d do it. Her face was flushed pink and her heart was beating the tune of terror and he just knew that if it was still night outside, he would have been successfully shoved arse over tit out the window.
“Keep your shirt on,” he mumbled, missing Buffy’s surprised glance as she did the buttons of her shirt up.
“I was planning to,” she huffed miserably, already seeing how everything had gone totally wrong and Spike was taking everything the way of the dodo. As in, dumb ass. Oops, too many ‘s’s.’
“Just tell the git I was up here acting as pest control. Scared of a spider, aren’t you, luv?”
Eyes wide, Buffy stared at Spike like he’d sprouted a second head and his new hair colour was orange. “Like he’d believe the Slayer was scared of a spider. He’s more likely to believe you’re the pest, you idiot!” And just like that, Buffy could see that the Spike-sniping habit of old wasn’t going to die a sudden death.
His glare was icy with dislike, though, and that hurt. In her panic of habit—never ever let a Scooby see her macking on the undead—she’d managed, without any real trouble at all, to kill the good feelings Spike had managed to drag out of her through the night.
She cringed at the clench of his jaw and waited for the inevitable eruption of insults, feeling even lower when they didn’t come.
“He’s on the stairs. Might want to get out and head him off, and then your dirty little secret will remain exactly that. Distract him and he’ll never need to even see me.” Spike spoke quietly, and yet the venom in his tone was unmistakable and Buffy’s belly cramped in objection. But with Giles less than seconds behind her door, what was she supposed to do?
Buffy knew that her eyes would reveal how scared she was—and not of seeing Giles on the landing—but Spike didn’t even bother to glance her way. He gathered his pants and turned his back, letting Buffy almost lose sight of the bigger picture as she stared at Spike’s muscular back and thighs while he slipped the fabric over his hips and caught the clasp together.
When he was done, he didn’t move—a vampire staring at the shaded window that held back the sun but not the heat. Buffy sighed against the urge to cry and flung open her door; now that she knew she’d damaged something fragile in the name of saving face, she didn’t care who saw Spike standing in her bedroom.
Giles stood with his hand suspended to knock—now hanging in the air as the door was removed from his reach. His eyes took in the sight but he was slow to reach understanding, his speech moving on in habitual grace rather than remaining silent and working around new information.
“I’m terribly sorry to intrude,” he said softly, “but when you didn’t show up at the Magic Box to research your dreams and the killer rabbits, we all grew quite concerned. But that was unnecessary on our part, wasn’t it?”
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have slept in—”
“Oh, Buffy. How could you?” Giles wiped his brow and swept his glasses off his nose, the world a little more balanced the second it all went fuzzy.
“Don’t you start on your melodramatic hubbub designed to make her whither with guilt. The girl’s legal age, pops. It’s time to cut the strings.” Spike was furious, and not only because Buffy stood as still as Barbie and with an identical smattering of brains. From the moment her precious gang intruded on them, she’d been too immersed in desperate movement to veil the truth. He’d thought he’d made inroads with her, but he should have known better. Buffy was a back roads kind of girl. The only time she’d take the highway would be for a human. It was acceptable and favoured, and he was neither of those things to her friends.
Giles sighed exasperatedly, and then seemed to come to some kind of decision. “Would I be correct in assuming that this has something to do with the slayer dreams that you’ve been rather averse on sharing with me?”
The heartless bint jumped at that avenue of excuse—just as Spike knew she would. He clucked his tongue in disgust, retrieved one of his many new grey shirts and tugged it violently over his head.
“Exactly! See? Dream badness. Totally bad.” Her eyes shot comically wide as she finally heard the words she’d employed to back out of the situation, reputation intact. Too late she saw Spike’s pursed lips, his balled fists as he very sexily stomped past Giles and headed downstairs. “Except really good?” she finished weakly and found it much harder to hold back the tears.
Giles wasn’t blind to the tension-filled atmosphere. It was something he’d have the skill to pick up, even with his self-inflicted blindness. “I-is there anything else I should probably know?”
Buffy stood a moment, wondering at how quickly being with Spike became her norm and rendered the typical oddness so much less, but there was still the issue of the claim that she’d managed to uncover no relevant details about. But she didn’t want to discuss it in her room—not the place that held the manly scent of Spike’s body and their mingled desires.
“Can we—?” Buffy led Giles downstairs, nibbling on her bottom lip while she tried to think of the best way to intro this part of the dream curse.
Spike was predictably in front of the television when they’d made it to the living room, and as worried as Buffy was that she may have driven a rather large and unnecessary wedge between them, she was still annoyed that he didn’t know her well enough to expect that her gut reaction to possible exposure would be denial.
Just to be contrary, as well as making an effort to put them back on the right footing, Buffy made her way to sit down next to a reclining Spike, smirking inwardly at his surprise to see her there.
Giles remained silent and watched as Buffy fidgeted nervously, and then in a sudden decision to be brave, she seized Spike’s hand and gripped it in a parody of an intimate handhold. Both sets of male eyebrows hit hairlines, but Buffy stubbornly refused to budge and instead stayed silent while she waited for the questions to start to flow.
“Buffy, you implied there was something else significant you’ve neglected to tell me? Though I fully suspect that holding Spike’s hand would come under that heading.”
She nodded—so avidly it hurt the muscles of her neck. Body aching in that way it does when a lover spent the night showing you all the ways in which he loved you, and yet Buffy shivered in fear at Giles’s expected reaction.
“The first slayer somehow manipulated us in my dream to…um, to…have…”
“Sex. The crusty old bitch forced us into having sex, and somehow managed to make me claim Buffy. I think that’s what’s got the Slayer’s panties twisted.” Spike slumped back in the chair, his hips swivelling him into a nice comfy state while he waited. He could feel Buffy shaking, her eyes too scared to look away from Giles, and yet he caressed her palm in his hand anyway.
“Yup. What he said. So I…kinda need to know what claims mean.”
Spike rolled his eyes. He could have told the silly bint all she needed to know, but oh no, why ask the bloody vamp about vampiric rites and rituals?
“H-hasn’t Spike discussed this with you?” Giles asked, clearing his voice several times to clear it of the obvious shock.
He loved it when she got all flushed. Not only was it an explosive reminder of all that delicious hot blood pumping in her veins, it also showed that she had emotions swirling in that bitchy interior on occasion.
“Hasn’t bloody asked me. But then I’m just the vamp with the fangs. What would I know?”
“Well, go on then. Enlighten us. Prove you’re not completely useless.” There was menace in Giles’s expression and Spike could see that while they might not actually come to blows over this development, he could definitely be receiving a wallop or two for being slack with the information.
“It doesn’t mean a bleeding thing. It’s nothing but a romanticised non-ritual that you ignorant non-vamps thought up to give meaning to a vamp bite during sex. Some idiot way back fell in love with a human girl, and instead of turning her, ‘claimed her.’ It’s absolute bollocks and doesn’t come with any special tricks or powers. We’re just joined. For life. Like any married couple, I guess. Except divorce is usually a bit more extreme.”
“Oh?” The watcher had his research cap on and for some reason, Spike found that image quite funny.
“Well, a human divorce doesn’t often end up with someone sweeping up the remains and tossing them out the back door, or does it? I admit I’m out of practise with the human element.”
Buffy looked positively horrified, and it was a second too late Spike before remembered the dreams she’d been having about his slice and dice death at the paws of their slippery rabbits.
“There’s something else,” Buffy admitted in a really small, insignificant voice. “The dreams are colour-coded.”
Giles looked totally befuddled. “What? Do you mean you sometimes dream in black and white? And sometimes colour?”
Buffy released a nervous laugh. “Um, no. I mean that the first slayer tells me I’m orange, and that’s usually when Spike and I…and then I say things like I don’t want to be orange, I want to be purple instead. I mean, who wouldn’t?” she said defensively. “Purple equals pretty. Orange—blah!” She shook all over to emphasise her point. “I have nothing to match orange, and after the carrot flaying incident, I know I now have an orange phobia. Definitely!”
“Oh. Well, that’s likely the easiest part of this whole…debacle…to solve,” Giles admitted with some relief.
“Really?” Buffy sat forward in her seat, still holding fast to Spike’s hand as she waited for Giles to relieve her mind of one of the mysteries that had crowded it lately.
“Why, of course. Didn’t you do any dream analysis, or colour significance in that university course in psychology?” Giles was back to impatient, and tempered with mild disapproval. But if mild was all she was going to get, Buffy could see a party in her not-so-distant future.
“Nope. Dead Professor, remember? So anyway, tell me what it means.” Buffy positively jiggled in excitement, and added in with the handholding, it was very successful at capturing Spike’s interest. When she was excited, her body thrummed with life and Spike found it almost as potent as the deadliest of drugs.
“Y-yes, of course. That was a shame,” Giles admitted dryly before tugging his ever-present hankie out of his pocket. The polishing commenced as the possible explanation rolled effortlessly and excitedly from his tongue. “Traditionally, the colour orange is associated with some form of conflict.” He raised a brow in question, effectively questioning if either of them had noticed any more conflict out of their usual, and he deflated measurably at Spike’s harsh bark of laughter.
“We are conflict, mate. It’s who we are. Every week is a new form. No week is any less or any more. Just different.” Spike spoke with bitterness in his throat. It wasn’t how he wanted it. Mostly he liked the way they traded barbs, loved the scent that overcame the Slayer when she argued and fought with him. But lately, just once he wished she’d accept something he said or did without putting up a fight about it first. But on reflection, that wasn’t Buffy and he’d likely get bored if she became insipid and agreeable now.
Just like that, his mood lightened and Spike prepared to hear more of the Watcher’s ruminations. He was buggered if he knew which way was up with these dreams. However, the sooner they figured it out, the quicker Buffy could get over herself and work out what she really wanted instead of pinning it on some supernatural interference.
“Er, well, perhaps the actual colour manifested because of the situation you’ve been facing with the…carrots.” Giles coughed a grin into his fist and looked down at the floor, where he thought his amusement was adequately hidden.
“Fair go, Watcher. Might seem ludicrous, but the bloody things are still stacked in my crypt. And some house-keeping bastard has been along to clean up the mess Dru and the Slayer made of it.
“Yes-yes, I’m quite sure your situation is…dire,” he allowed, failing at keeping the cynical smirk from twisting his lips. “Anyway, let’s deal with the possible significance of the colour purple.”
“What? But Oprah wasn’t there.” Buffy waited and then cracked up at Giles’s disgusted, disbelieving expression. “I’m having fun with you, Giles. You really need to loosen the neck of your shirt sometimes, you know!”
“Yes, fun. That’s something I don’t—” The shop-keeper’s eyes strayed to the vampire sitting on his charge’s couch and caressing her hand, the other hand resting on his thigh. Fun was such a strange concept to think of while being faced down by a chipped ex-master vampire that was renowned for his success in hunting and killing slayers, alongside his very own Chosen One who had multiplied his grey hairs exponentially. “Well, enough about me. We were discussing the purple aspect of your dreams. I’m wondering if it is possible that, with Spike being a direct descendant of the Aurelian Line, if that might not be considered royalty in the vampire world?”
Spike looked thoughtful for a moment, and then conceded the possibility with a dry, “Well, Dru always called me her dark prince, but I just thought it was another of her barmy sayings, you know?”
“Hold on a second,” Buffy interjected. “Are you saying it’s possible the First Slayer hooked me up for life with a royal vampire bloodline?”
Giles pursed his lips, but nodded in resignation. Spike might assert that it didn’t actually mean anything mystical to be joined for some indeterminate length of time to a blood-sucking murderer, but Giles was still reeling that Buffy had managed to hook up with another vampire at all.
“Cool!”
Was there any other response he might have had that wouldn’t end with an eye roll? Giles studied the pair and tried—with great emotional difficulty—to see them in their own right. It wasn’t as hard as he might have hoped, having suspected for some time that Buffy’s partiality for turning to Spike in times of crisis had gone some way in creating support that she would one day rely on. Without his even suspecting it, that reliance had somehow turned to something deeper.
“I-it’s highly plausible that by joining such a vampire line with the slayer line, that a significant royal connection has been made that supersedes all known lines. You’ve created something bigger, something—”
“Better?” Spike had no clue if all this had any basis is reality, but the bottom line for him was that he had Buffy. He’d had her in his arms, had his cock in her body, and he knew he was in her blood. If his feeling was right, probably always had been. She’d probably been biding her time with the brooding ninny until he’d come along to tear things up and point her in the right direction.
Giles ignored Spike as best he could and tried to form his next words thoughtfully before delivering them to Buffy. “You don’t have to settle for this, Buffy. We can do some research on how to break this bond.”
She was suddenly the centre of the room, and Buffy didn’t like either of their expressions; it put too much expectation on her response. Spike radiated fury and she could understand why. In his mind he’d married her, and if his feelings were real, it would be highly offensive and dismissive for her to basically agree to a divorce. Giles was like her father and she hated to be a disappointment, but the sudden feeling of abandonment that swept through her body and settled at her heart at potentially losing Spike was far worse.
“I’m okay, Giles. I think Spike and I have to sort this out between ourselves. I really would appreciate it if you don’t tell the gang just yet, okay? Or Mom and Dawn?”
Giles nodded, his lips a straight line as he prepared for the final question before he decided to go home and dig out his oldest bottle of scotch.
“Have you had any more dreams starring the First Slayer?”
He didn’t miss Buffy’s compulsive shiver at the mention of dreams, nor could he deny the obvious shine of fear in her eyes. He wanted to ignore how she turned her haunted gaze toward Spike and the way she clasped his hand so tight that her own turned white.
“No. No more slayer; just bunnies, and can I just say, I’m really seeing why Anya’s so terrified of them. Those things aren’t cute or cuddly at all.” Buffy shuddered and unconsciously sought Spike’s comforting embrace, feeling herself calm as he enveloped her tight.
“Well, perhaps that’s one of our mysteries solved then.”
And as Giles nodded his goodbye and left them sitting on the couch, it was the one thing they could hope for.
The pity was, it still left the rabbits.
Spike looked down at the crown of golden hair against his khaki pullover and smiled. He really should have known.
“Bloody knew you were my queen.”
Deep Purple by Peta
[Reviews - 55]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 1951 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
In a mad rush but I hope to address reviews later today. Thank you all so much for your support. It's been very difficult for me emotionally lately, and I really appreciate all of you for sticking by this fic and others. I hope you enjoy this one.