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Hi, guys! Sorry about the delay. There's a typhoon in my part of the world and the power's usually down.
Chapter Fifteen - I know all I need to know by the way that I got kissed…

Previously: Dru had a vision all about William, Spike and Tierre and of Tierre in danger. Since she acted crazy for a few minutes afterwards, Seyhan assumed she was going nuts. She wasn’t. In the hospital, Dru and Seyhan got into an argument because the vampiress wouldn’t stay put. Angel managed to talk her into getting treated, and then, later on, to tell him what she knew of Tierre’s true identity…

***

The water was cold enough to cause hypothermia. Tierre placed his palms flat against the tiles in front of him and dunked his head beneath the icy needles of water. He felt them sluice over him, mercifully cooling his overheated body. Ahh… thank God. He’d been worried that the cold shower therapy wouldn’t work this time.

He’d been in the shower for almost an hour now. Normally it didn’t take him this long to bathe; but then, he wasn’t just scrubbing clean this time. Like the randy idiot that he was, he had spent the first few minutes visualizing Buffy lathering up her wet, naked self in a shower not too far from this one. Definitely not the thing to do if he wanted to get his baser instincts under control.

And he had been that close to losing control, hadn’t he?

What happened back there? Tierre wondered. His emotions had been see-sawing from the moment he saw Buffy Summers. And he hated it. First, he enjoyed teasing her, while at the same time countering her sneaky little attack; the next, he felt bad for teasing her in the first place. And then, back at the foyer of the house, when the memories of Toya had first assaulted him … what had made him give in to her like that? His best friend’s death had been brutal and tragic, but it hadn’t been the first ―nor the last― of the iron nails Hell continuously made him swallow. He had lost so much more, less than a year later, when he still hadn’t even healed from Toya’s death.

He had been broken … but he hadn’t gone running to anyone. Not even Maggie.

So what the hell made Buffy Summers so bloody special? What had possessed him to take even just a little of the comfort she so willingly and ignorantly offered?

Maybe there’s more of Spike in you than you first thought.

Tierre’s eyes widened at the idea. He had long ago accepted that he and Spike were more than just similar ―there was a very big possibility that he was, indeed, William the Bloody, sans memories. But he had never been able to confirm that, and he wasn’t particularly eager to do so now. Tierre’s greatest dream was to be just Tierre again ―the Maggie Wolfson version, that is. Not Tierre, possible Spike-incarnate, or Tierre Wolfson of Scarlet fame. Just Tierre ―the freak of nature with the strange life; the one who was oddly worldly yet naïve at the same time and who stupidly believed that you could trust others, that freedom was free, that love was the end-all-be-all of his existence and that friendship did indeed last forever … the little buffoon.

There was no way he could go back to that, of course. Innocence lost was lost forever. But it didn’t matter. Tierre could still fight his way out of his current existence and earn his freedom. He could go home to Maggie, the sister-friend who had convinced him that ultimately, it didn’t matter what his past might be, that what mattered were the choices of today. It was his life. He should live it the way he wanted, no matter what others said or did.

You’re a good person, Tierre. Never let anyone tell you different.

Maggie had told him that. And, ironically, Tierre had found it written in one of Spike’s books (one of dozens that Drusilla apparently hoarded). The book had been among the pile of ‘personal possessions’ he and Drusilla had collected as part of their memory-release spell, and in it, an inscription with the same message: Trust yourself, William. You have a good heart, and a kind soul. I love you and I’m proud of you.

It had been signed Mum. Spike’s mother.

Both women had been wrong. William had become Spike, a bloodthirsty monster, and Tierre had become … what was he, exactly? Certainly not a good man. More of a killing machine than anything else.

William and Tierre. Both men with an unnatural predilection for evil. Both men with dark sides unleashed by the presence of love, and the absence of it. Both men had started out good and innocent, but were inevitably transformed into warriors fighting for a side they should’ve been against. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Heh. Whoever had said that must have had William and Tierre in mind.

So what else do our poor, misguided anti-heroes have in common? Tierre thought, banging his head lightly against the wall in front of him.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Both were irresistibly drawn to Buffy Summers. Like ants to picnics, a thirsty man to water, Ryan Alvarez to life-threatening situations, moths to flame, *insert your own analogy here*.

Once William became Spike, there was no avoiding an un-life with Buffy in it. Poor Spike. He just never saw that bloody cupid’s arrow coming for him.

At least Tierre had left a margin for lust for Buffy Summers. He’d seen her long before he’d met her in person, of course. Thanks, mostly to Dru’s spell, wherein he saw Buffy’s image, looking so real and alive. She wasn’t exactly his type, since Tierre preferred tall, elegant-looking brunettes, to short, blonde, California girls. But still, there was no denying that she was very beautiful (Tierre had also noticed that he found Spike’s exes supremely attractive. He’d even had a little crush on Harmony Kendall once, but she’d shot him down, told him that she could never trust him because leopards never change their stripes, and then had proceeded to treat him as though he was a poetry-writing, chess-playing, bumbling geek/virgin who was put on earth just to torment her. Which, he had been… except for the tormenting her part.)

And now that he’d met Buffy, Tierre knew one thing: he wanted her. Buffy was even more beautiful in person, and there was a fire in her, a unique brand of spunkiness that he responded to, because it wasn’t unlike his own.

Tierre found the truth easier to accept than he first expected. He was attracted to Buffy, maybe even liked her a bit. He could accept that, just like he could accept the things about him that were undeniably Spike-like.

So, once again, ladies and gents, Tierre was involuntarily pulling another Spike.

The only difference was, where as Spike had loved Buffy with all of his heart and soul, Tierre’s feelings for the blonde Slayer didn’t go that deep. He wasn’t in love with her. And he knew he never would be.

It didn’t explain why he’d let his guard down with her, but he ignored that. He was entitled to a little breakdown, wasn’t he? He was only human, after all.

Buffy should know what he felt. If he was lucky, maybe she’d even want the same thing. He just hoped that she didn’t expect him to fall head over heels for her like Spike had. If she did, Tierre would just have to back off. No bloody way was that happening.

The part of Tierre’s heart that could fall in love was long dead. He had the scar to prove it. He’d seen it buried.

Along with Maria Scarletta.


~*~*~*~


Oh, God, please don’t do this to me … please, somebody explain what’s happening … how is this even possible? What the hell does this mean?

Buffy Summers, the girl pleading to the heavens, sat huddled in the cold ceramic bath tub. The water from the shower rained in an icy torrent over her, heedless of the young woman’s confusion and sorrow.

The initial haze of electrifying desire had been washed away by the shower, and slowly, Buffy’s sanity had returned. Right now, she was sorry that it had. She wished that she could turn back time to less than an hour before, to when Tierre was just an annoying, evil, potential-arch nemesis who looked astonishingly like Spike.

She wished she could turn back time to before she had seen him hurting from nightmares that never went away …

Before she’d given in to the primal gut-instinct to comfort him, to drive away his pain even for just a while …

Before he’d kissed her, this time just as Tierre, with no hidden agendas or pretenses; before she’d let her desire, her need for him, overwhelm her and she just had to taste him, feel those talented hands and divine mouth on her burning flesh …

Before she knew, without even a shadow of a doubt …

Buffy whimpered. She drew her legs up to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. She wanted to stay inside this bathroom forever. In here, at least, she was safe.

This was cowardly of her. Buffy didn’t care. If she stepped out of this bathroom, she would have to face him … the one thing in the world she never even dared to let herself hope for; the one man in the world she’d been dreaming of in all these lonely years, no matter how hard she tried to banish his memory. She would have to face him, and the infinite possibilities stirred by his… miraculous return. But was it a miracle? What if it was a punishment instead?

Whatever this was, she couldn’t handle it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So, she would just stay in this bathroom and hide.

“Buffy?”

Buffy’s heart leaped inside her chest before her brain processed that the voice calling her name didn’t belong to Tierre, but to Andrew. Her heart stopped its energetic dance so fast, she actually thought she’d been sedated.

“Buffy, it’s me, Andrew! Are you in there?”

Buffy kept quiet.

“Buffy, if you’re in there, please say something.”

She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t Andrew just go away? Couldn’t he hear that the shower was on? Of course she was in here! And, duh, she needed her privacy!

Andrew paid no attention to her telepathic messages. When he called for her again, his voice had taken on a panicked edge. “Buffy, are you okay in there? Hang on, I’m coming in, okay? I ― Oh. My. God.”

Buffy sat up straight. Her heart was doing that mad, bouncing thing again. Outside her door, she could hear Andrew’s not-too-subtle “Eep!”, and Elsa’s irritating, “If you want me to, I could pick that lock for you …”

“’Ta, pet. I got it.” The slightly raspy baritone sent chills running through her. Buffy jumped out of the shower, and was hurriedly wrapping the big fluffy towel around her by the time the door opened and Tierre walked in.

He was wearing a towel identical to her own wrapped around his lean waist, a few stray droplets of water … and. Nothing. Else.

Deeeellliicioouusss…

Without even glancing behind him, Tierre shut the door on Elsa and Andrew’s eager faces. Andrew instantly began pounding on the door, demanding noisily that Tierre come out of the bathroom.

Tierre leaned against the door and ran his eyes over her body in obvious appreciation. He curled his tongue beneath his teeth and slowly asked, “Why were you hiding away in here, Buffy?”

Pleasure curled like gentle warmth around Buffy’s heart at the way he said her name. God, she had it bad. She locked her jelly-knees together and forced herself to be articulate. “You took a long time to get showered yourself.”

A one-shoulder shrug; practically a patented mannerism. “I got … sidetracked.”

She almost missed his innuendo. “Oh,” she murmured. And then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

She was blushing. Bloody hell, but the woman was a vision. The lovely pink color crept up from her exposed shoulders to her delicate neck, coloring her pretty cheeks like apples. Could she do that on purpose, some sort of ‘Blush on Command’ program? Tierre decided that he didn’t care, as long as she didn’t blush around any other man.

The temperature was rising inside the room. Buffy knew it wouldn’t be long now before she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from jumping his Evil Gorgeousness, overpowering him, and having her wanton way with him. Whether he liked it or not. Although, with the way he was looking at her, lack of cooperation probably wouldn’t be a problem.

Buffy allowed herself to appreciate the perfect male specimen in front of her. He was beautiful. His thick hair was all messed up from the shower, looking more brown than blond now. He would make one mouth-watering brunette, she found herself thinking disconnectedly. Those full, ruby lips were every bit as soft as they looked. She’d felt like she was tasting a cloud that was sweeter than candy when kissing him. His skin … oh, how she ached to lick away those diamond-dots of moisture covering him. Never had the element of water been so sensuous. She gazed, almost mesmerized, at the sheer beauty of his sculpted muscles, from his long neck to his broad shoulders ―that chest― was he even allowed to have a chest like that? Wasn’t there some kind of quota as to how scrumptious a guy could look? Never mind the defined six-pack of his abs, or the toned muscles of his long legs. Hell, even his feet were works of art. And they were moving towards her. Oooh … nice feet, closer, closer …

He tipped her chin upwards, and Buffy was drowning in blue. Just like in my dream. That was you …

“I’m up here, luv.”

Yes, you are, Buffy thought, her heart expanding inside her, You’re really here. Those eyes, those ever-changing blue eyes … she’d know them anywhere, the color shifting along with his emotions. Sometimes they were the exact shade of a clear summer sky, other times, the violent gray of a storm-tossed Pacific.

Right now, they were dark, almost blue-violet, and the golden flecks in them seemed to glow. Once upon a time, those same eyes held all the secrets of his heart and soul in them. Once upon a time, Buffy had been too afraid to look into them.

She was still afraid now, but she didn’t have the chance to be the first to turn away. His heavy lashes descended, and she almost cried out a complaint, not willing to let go of his gaze.

But then he was kissing her. Soft and gentle, his lips just touched hers, really, and it just felt so right… just like it had years ago, when he had been hers.

You’re the one. Buffy’s thoughts were disjointed, and yet they had never made more sense. You’re the only one I should be kissing. The only one…

Her hands fell to his waist, and then traveled upwards again. She slipped her arms around him, pulling him closer as they deepened the kiss. Tierre’s hands pulled at the towel wrapped around her, using it to lift her up and against him. The motion caused them to part, and Buffy found herself looking down at his face, her hands on his shoulders and legs around his waist.

She traced one sharp cheekbone tenderly. Tierre closed his eyes, savoring her touch. Buffy leaned down and kissed first the tip of his nose, and then his forehead, her lips grazing across to his temple before finding their way back to his lips again.

And then finally, she just stopped, resting her forehead against his.

She hitched a sharp breath.

Tierre stilled.

And her tears fell on his face.

“Buffy?” Tierre tried to pull back, tried to see her eyes, but Buffy shook her head and tightened her hold on him even more, arms banding around his neck and legs locking him in place. An ordinary man would’ve been broken. Tierre didn’t even flinch. “Buffy, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong …” she sobbed, voice muffled against his neck. “Just … please, don’t let go … if you do, I’m afraid you’ll disappear.”

If he had given it any thought at all, Tierre would’ve dropped her on her dainty little feet at that moment. But, the plea in her voice, the way she held onto him… there was no room for thinking. Her comfort came first, and his reaction was as natural to him as breathing. Holding her to him, he carried her all the way to the marble sink. Their reflections in the big, oval mirror over the sink showed Buffy clinging to him like a frightened child.

“I’m not goin’ ta disappear,” he told her, voice gruff. “I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere, luv.” He placed her on the sink, but her limbs were still wrapped tenaciously around him. He ran his palms in big, soothing circles on her back. “Shh… kitten. Right here, pet, not goin’ anywhere …”

He felt her grip loosen, and he lowered his head, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. She pulled back slightly and raised her tear-streaked face to his. Tierre smoothed her wet hair from her face. Buffy leaned forward again and rested her cheek against his shoulder. She smiled when she felt Tierre brush a kiss on her hair, before laying his own cheek on the crown of her head.

For the next few minutes, they didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. They just held each other. Tierre still made circles with his hands on Buffy’s back, his touch soothing. He felt her begin to calm and it was only then that the pressure inside him eased off.

This wasn’t even anywhere near the hot and steamy scenario he’d had in mind for the both of them, but right now, Tierre wouldn’t have it any other way. Something had frightened Buffy; hurt her. Her distress brought to life Tierre’s protective instincts, usually reserved only for the people he deeply cared about. He knew if he thought about it, the situation would spook him senseless, so he didn’t think. He just did what he always did.

He followed his blood.


~*~*~*~


Buffy let her fingers run up and down Tierre’s back. Tierre, she thought. The name suited him. But then again, so did William, and her favorite of his monikers … Spike.

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. She was a bit embarrassed by her actions earlier, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. The reality of him being in her arms again, alive and healthy, had overwhelmed her, bringing with it the fear that maybe this was all just a dream. That he wasn’t real.

But he was real. Arms she knew better than her own held her safe; his touch, his words… he was real. He was here. And he was hers.

He just didn’t know it yet.

A little bit of her peace was disturbed. He doesn’t know, Buffy reminded herself. He doesn’t know who he really is… yet. Intuition told her that they would have to take it slow. He wasn’t ready. Hell, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with this. Barely an hour ago she had still been convinced that Tierre was not Spike.

She knew better now.

Funny how one true kiss could change everything you thought you knew; turn your world upside down and make you see things in a whole different light.

Buffy felt as though she’d just walked into one of those rooms where the tables and chairs were on the ceiling, and the floor was supposed to be the ceiling, and vice-versa. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was standing on the ceiling, and that the floor, along with all the furniture, was hanging above her head.

Spike was back.

And she felt right at home.


~*~*~*~


Things had gotten out of control.

If it weren’t for the fact that his head felt like it was about to split open, and his entire body ached, Franco might have smashed every gilt-edged mirror he’d passed while stomping through his mansion. He was livid. His anger had even grown to the point where he couldn’t face his guests anymore. He’d had to send two of his personal assistants down with some story about how he’d suddenly come down with something and wouldn’t be able to join them for the rest of the evening. It was a weak lie, and the party would undoubtedly make it to tomorrow’s social pages as a disaster, but Franco couldn’t care less. None of the simpletons he fraternized with could possibly understand what he was going through right now.

Tierre was gone. No, kidnapped ― taken from him by force ― by that undead bastard, Angel. Well technically, Tierre had given himself up voluntarily… damn it! Franco clenched his fists. He cursed, muscles rigid, forcing his breathing to stay deep and controlled. It took all of his remaining strength not to give in to the temptation to scream in frustration.

The estate had been well guarded. Not all of Scarlet were around; most of them still had missions to attend to ―but still, more than enough had been left to adequately guard the estate. This was their home. Tierre should’ve been safe here. Instead, he’d been taken, literally, from under Franco’s nose.

His boy. They took his boy. His future, his life. The only one he had left.

The last time Franco Scarletta had felt this helpless, he had been holding Maria’s dead body, after having been told that there was not a single trace of Ivo found. At the same time ―unbeknownst to him― a stone-faced Tierre had been slowly defeated by grief, until he had tried to take his own life.

He had failed Ivo. He had lost Maria. Would he defile her memory by losing Tierre, too?

“No …” Franco whispered.

“Mr. Scarletta?”

Franco whirled around and backhanded the intrusive imbecile so hard, he felt the blow reverberate all through his hurt body. He turned and stared contemptuously at Eagle, or, as Tierre called him, Chick. The shape-shifter had taken the blow stoically, and even with his bleeding lip, still managed to speak respectfully. “They’re here, sir. We’re all here.”

Without another word, Franco strode towards the library. It was the one place Scarlet knew he would expect them to be if he called for them. They were gathered there now when he arrived. They were completely silent, their failure and the unbearable price they had to pay weighing heavily on them.

Looking them over with an icy glare, Franco suddenly realized that it had been a mistake to send Mercury away. Logan and his team had been ‘grounded’, for their indiscretion in attacking the Council. Had Mercury been here, this wouldn’t have happened. If only one, just one, of the higher-ranking teams of Scarlet had been present, Tierre would still be here, safe and sound. But with the exception of Mercury, all the other higher teams had missions to attend to that prevented them from joining the party.

So they’d been stuck with the lower-ranked members. They were usually excellent fighters, but tonight … tonight, Franco found it so much easier to forget that they had ever served him well before.

“What are you still doing here? Waiting for my orders?” Franco barked, his voice hoarse with anger. “Can’t you do anything by yourselves? They have everything I’ve worked for, for decades, and they took Tierre! And you’re all just sitting here, doing nothing!”

“Mr. Scarletta … Master Tierre himself told us that he doesn’t want a war,” Chick said.

“A war? What a wonderful idea!” Franco’s eyes were now glittering. “Mercury should have wiped out the entire Vashkan race. This should never have happened. Arm yourselves. We’re going to New York.”

Roe, the invisible contender who had fought against Seyhan and Willow, spoke up. “I don’t think that would be wise, sir.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. If I want advice, I’ll ask for some from someone who didn’t need to be extracted from the ceiling!”

“Mr. Scarletta, with all due respect, I agree with Roe,” said Arthur, the one who had tried to rescue Franco from the battle in the Forest. “New York is still largely Angel’s territory. Master Tierre may have a home there, but he never stays long enough to gain a foothold in the city’s Underworld. In the four years that he has been keeping a base of operations there, Angel could have cultivated a formidable network of allies that we know nothing about.”

“Attacking now would be like running through a minefield,” Gail said.

“They know our faces, what we look like,” Garret, Angel’s filth-hating opponent, spoke up. “If I were Rupert Giles, I’d be setting up Slayer snipers at every conceivable spot, licensed to shoot at anyone that looks like … well, us.”

Franco shook his head, “Is that all?”

“There’s also another possibility,” said the one who had first detected the infiltration. “Angel could easily sanction a Hunt.”

“You mean a true bounty hunt? There hasn’t been one ever since Tierre eluded some of the best hunters, killed most of them, and recruited Ryan Alvarez himself into joining his team.”

“Yes, sir. But Master Tierre is in Angel’s hands now. If I were a hunter, I’d listen to someone who has successfully gone up against Scarlet and taken Tierre Wolfson with him.”

“I hate what you just told me.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But that’s the most realistic scenario we’ve got.”

“That’s why I hate it.” Franco sighed. As frustrated as he was, he realized he had no option but to take it slow. If he was rash, he could get Tierre killed. “What are your suggestions?”

“I could go in, just me, sir. Have a look-see for any loopholes we can exploit,” Roe suggested.

Franco shook his head. “No. You may be able to turn invisible, Roe, but you’re not undetectable. Same goes for you, Chick. Drusilla can sniff you out in a nanosecond.”

“The Council in South―” Gail began, but Garret was already shaking his head.

“They would never have left the place unguarded. We’ll just be wasting our time.”

While they squabbled and worked out strategies, Franco watched, both detached and anxious at the same time. Given enough time ―an hour, at the most― he knew they could come up with a feasible plan.

But they didn’t have time. Franco was beginning to panic, his normally clear mind clouding over with all manner of horrors befalling Tierre. It was no secret that Angel hated Tierre. He might try to finish what he had started years ago and murder the young man.

It was a proven fact that Tierre was stronger, a better fighter, and so much more powerful than any vampire. But Franco was thinking like a father, and all he knew was that Tierre was all alone, surrounded by enemies, vulnerable… and way too far from home.

Angel and the Council had unwittingly found Franco Scarletta’s weakness; the only event that he truly feared. The billionaire suddenly found himself thinking: What would Tierre do?

The answer came to him in an instant. Tierre would use whatever resources were at hand. If he didn’t have any, he’d ‘liberate’ some. “Yesha Kavrois,” Franco said.

“The elvin queen, Mr. Scarletta?” Garret clarified. “Master Tierre took her to Montana, didn’t he?”

“We need her. Go get her.”

The present Scarlet crew looked at each other, not sure if they heard their employer right. “You want us to go to … Montana, sir?” Gail asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“But, sir …”

“Maggie will have to understand. She needs to cooperate with us, even if just this once,” Franco said, leveling a glare at his people. “They want their Vashkan, don’t they? Well, good. I want my son. It’s a fair trade.”

“If we so much as darken the Wolfson Ranch with our shadows, Maggie will sic her hell-guardians on us!” Roe blurted out.

“What’re you complaining about? You get to not have a shadow!” Chick shot back at him.

“What’re we going to do if Ryan Alvarez is there?” Gail wondered out loud.

“We pray,” Arthur muttered beneath his breath.

Franco walked over to his desk. The library was in shambles, but at least that damned witch’s spell had been reversed. Even so, it took several seconds to locate the phone. He looked up at the waiting Scarlet and demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“Perhaps Roe and Gail should stay here with you, sir. In case the bastards come back,” Arthur said quietly.

Franco shook his head. “No, never mind that. I’ll … I’ll have company soon enough.” He looked away, and then glanced down at the phone. “I hope they’re at home.”

“Who, sir?”

“Scarlet Ghost.”

“What? I thought they were retired!”

Franco smiled darkly. “Nobody retires from Scarlet. We’re family. You don’t walk out on family.”

TBC





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