Devil in the Belfry
The first thing she was aware of was the warmth that surrounded her entire being upon awakening. It was a bizarre feeling. Despite the lack of substantial heat, the sense of protection that settled without thought was as true as anything she had ever known. While she knew it unfair to persist in the likeness between Spike and Angel, she couldn’t help noting a continuity of difference. Her former lover’s arms had never offered pure comfort. He was always tense. Always afraid of what he might do. Of what she might do. Even in the few select instances when they had found succor in each other’s arms, he had never been wholly at ease. He had never trusted her. They had never trusted each other.
When Buffy awoke late that afternoon entwined in Spike’s embrace, the sensation of security and adoration that besieged her was so ample, so pure, that for the briefest minute, she could imagine everything as perfectly all right. That the cares that burdened her to the earthly vortex were gone forever. Not because Spike was there—she would never force the entirety of her well-being on someone. But together, together, they were infallible.
The Slayer turned to face her sire completely. Her sire. His arms were abound her tightly, hers draped over his chest, curled over his side to draw him even closer into her. The look on his face reflected the same worriless regard that had befallen her upon awaking. Any hint of the previous night’s grief and revelation was temporarily banned from retrospection. He was at peace. For the briefest while, he was at peace.
Buffy smiled faintly. There was still so much to consider. So much to think about. She hadn’t yet allowed her mind to fully embrace the truth about her nature. She was still so very afraid of what would come of it. What it meant for her. The thought that her cells were instinctively drawing away from the light sealed intently from the room bothered her on unfathomable levels. The idea of drinking blood to live had yet to make home within her psyche. And the big one. Immortality. She was here forever. She was bound to the world and her duties until the world finally ended. Until she knew the dust that had clinched the fate of so many before her. She was the hunted. She was a vampire. She was a creature of the night.
It was too much. Too much to wrestle with now.
And still, the idea of love was so much more frightening. It gave her so much more to lose. The steps she was taking now was full into alien territory. Whatever she had experienced before lay by the wayside of her feeling now. Angel. Riley. None had ever gone to the extents for her that this man had. And while it was unfair to assume they wouldn’t have, Spike had gone in on blind faith. He had given her hope when no other could. He had given her everything. Everything.
But that wasn’t why she loved him. There was no why. There was only knowledge. She loved him. His faults, his cockiness, his loyalty, his devotion, how it took crumbling that outer wall to get to the good stuff. How he loved so unconditionally. Even when it was against his nature. When it was against his very being. He had still come for her.
He always would.
Buffy secreted a small smile at that, her eyes traveling the expanse of his body. He hadn’t bothered to undress the night before more than to discard his customary black shirt to the ground. Gunslinger jeans clung approvingly to the sensual curve of his alabaster hip, doing little to hide the small marks and wounds that only centuries of living could bestow. Imprinted knowledge in his skin. Experience. He was a work of beauty. From his fingernails that were coated in chipped black polish to the peroxide locks that draped inelegantly into his face to the scar that distinguished his eyebrow. His imperfection made him perfect.
One hand was curled around hers. It nearly made her flush to consider how well those hands knew her now. So little and so much had passed between them. He had given her comfort with no want for himself. He had given her so much.
Her eyes settled across the length of him again. She wanted to give to him, too. She wanted to try to repay the tremendous debt she owed, even though she knew he would never accept it. The last thing she wanted—the last thing he wanted—was for her to come to him out of gratitude. And while she was grateful, there was a line between thanks and what she felt. A line so definitive she suspected the blind could see it.
Buffy pursed her lips uncertainly. They hadn’t explored their relationship the night before. They hadn’t even defined it. Words, confessions, all of the above remained reserved ad infinitum—to attempt and envisage his mood upon awakening was a tentative endeavor. But she wanted this. She had waited so long to touch him. To deny herself now was nothing short of self-torture. She wanted to touch him. The samplings she had stolen the night before could not hope to compare to what she had dreamt of doing. Small fantasies. Whims to keep her company while she was away. Things that she would have once banished from her mind with graphic astonishment.
She had never done this. She had never fathomed wanting to do it.
She wanted to now.
Carefully, she extracted herself from his arms, dropping a kiss onto his chest. His head quirked a bit at that, but he gave no sign of waking. Buffy cocked her head with a small smile, her heart warming again. It was just so…
Without thought, her hand was wandering across his abdomen. The feel of his skin under her fingers sent cool shivers across her body. And she wanted more. More, more. Always more. Even in his sleep, he was indulging all primitive responses. Small goosebumps sprouted across his stomach and a smile quirked his lips. But he was asleep. She knew it. She could feel his deep slumber. His peace. Wherever his mind was, it was far from consciousness.
But not her. Never from her.
Buffy’s hand dropped to the waistband of his jeans, wedging through the belt loops as she used his weight for leverage to pull herself closer and dropping brief, openmouthed kisses across the skin she explored. A responsive purr reverberated through his body, his hand searching for hers through his sleep and finding solace when his fingers wove into her hair. The touch was gentle and did nothing to jar him to wakefulness. Merely a reassurance that she was there. Some call from the dreamland he currently entertained.
More notably, the strain against his jeans had turned fiercely pronounced. The Slayer was enjoying herself and found no reason to hurry, but she similarly could not resist briefly turning her attention to the demanding bulge. A low moan rumbled through his mouth at the contact; her eyes shot up in time to see him lick his lips and move sensually against her. He remained asleep, but she was willing to bet that his dreams had taken an interesting turn.
“Mmmm…” The Slayer’s hand seemed to have a prerogative of its own; despite its possessor’s will. She found that one sample was hardly enough—her fingers indulged long strokes the suffering denim, a smile tickling her lips when he gasped sharply and arched against her. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
She sneaked a quick peek up. No change. His balance was normal, if not a little excited, and she reveled in the variation of knowledge. It was nothing particularly noteworthy—some vampire sense that she had adopted with the transformation, but it was nice. Over time, she reckoned, she would grow accustomed to just how much it took to get Spike to wake up. How much he could stand without beckoning participation.
It occurred to her that she had just associated herself with a sector of the vampiric lifestyle, and the knowledge was somewhat liberating. It was small, of course, and not nearly enough, but a start nonetheless. That was good—relating herself with the brighter aspects of her transformation before she confronted the whole of the bad.
Buffy shook the thought away as she stripped herself free of clothing. There were too many unknowns floating around out there and she wasn’t ready for that step. She was still so afraid on so many levels. And yet, the prospect of losing herself wasn’t as scary as it had been the night before. Love was a frightening thing. Love was the indirect cause of her conversion. Love had guided Spike to her from the beginning. Were it not for love, she would have died without a blessed second chance. She would have lost herself. She would have been lost without hope.
It was scary. It was so scary. But it was also real.
Her fingers encircled the buttons keeping her from her objective, deftly popping the first open when her patience got the better of her. In seconds he was free to her; his manhood leaping into her willing hands, engulfing her with the feel of him. The long hardness that he gave her, even if he remained unaware of her ministrations. Somehow she knew that the cool steel enjoying her gentle caress was all for her. And the notion warmed her beyond reproach.
It wasn’t enough. She needed more. Always more. Drawing in a deep, excited breath, she shimmied his jeans down passed his knees, leaving him splendidly bare to her exploration.
Buffy turned her eyes upward once more. Without removing her eyes from his face, she crawled upward and delivered a long, lavish lick to his length. This time, his reaction was so enthusiastic that the entirety of his pelvis leapt up, beseeching her for further attention.
A devious smile curled her lips and her tongue snaked over the leaking head of his cock, drawing drops of precum into her mouth. The hint of his taste surprised her—he was delicious. The act in itself had a reputation for degradation that she had always assumed its outcome to be no more pleasurable. Spike, however, had a flavor that stood proudly unique from anything she had ever sampled. Whether or not her love for him had heightened the experience or not was something she doubted she would ever truly know.
In hindsight, she suspected it didn’t matter.
Buffy glanced up again. No change. Her hands curled around the base of his erection, tightening instinctually as her mouth became more boisterous in its explorations. Her tongue took to his quivering underside, fingers careening and caressing the weight of him. With each taste she stole from his skin, the more she wanted for herself. Her confidence gaining momentum, she settled next to him, licking in long, even strokes. Savoring the richness of his skin. The feel of him quivering beneath her touch. His responsiveness, even in his sleep, was incomparable. Every twitch, subconscious moan, every move he made enhanced the opulence of her enjoyment.
It was even more of a rush when she felt him jolt to awareness.
She felt his sweeping confusion as though it were her own. The gasp that tainted the air was one of the most inspiring sounds that had ever touched her ears. Spike attempted to sit up, but once he caught a glance of the attentive blonde between his legs, he collapsed in awe against his pillows, thrusting against her with involuntary urgency.
“Oh God,” he moaned. “My God. Buffy…”
“Mmmm?” she asked rhetorically, sending vibrations through his skin.
Spike whimpered inarticulately. “Christ!”
The Slayer pulled back impishly, eyes sparkling. Everything was worth it if only to savor his reaction. Her lips lingered for a deliciously long moment before leaving him altogether. The agonized groan that tore from his vocals at the loss buzzed every nerve in her being. “Nice way to wake up, huh?”
“Oh God…”
“Want more?”
He thrust against her pleadingly, gaze wide and frantic. “Buffy!”
“I’ll take that as a big yes.”
The surprise faded; Spike leaned invitingly against the mattress, all lazy satin and seduction. It amazed her how quickly he could change seasons; begging one second and in complete control the next. “Very big, luv,” he purred.
“The biggest,” she agreed, granting him a kittenish wink.
“You flatter.” A groan spilled from his lips as her tongue found a particularly sensitive vein, her fingers busy caressing the weight of him. She caressed him for long, agonizing seconds before tracing him again lightly with her teeth. “Feel free to…oh god, don’ stop.”
“Really?”
The peroxide vampire’s eyes widened as though he doubted her ability to think it otherwise. “Please,” he begged. “Feels so bloody good, baby. So…oh…”
Buffy quirked a brow, her mouth moving to sample the texture of his sac. Once more, Spike whimpered and crooned back. His hands, however, had an entirely different route. Almost intuitively, he sought out the sweet wetness from her apex of curls, stroking leisurely to bring her over with him. He attempted to bring her body closer to taste her richness fully, but she was steadfast. This morning rendezvous was for him and him alone.
However, that didn’t stop her from spreading her thighs to allow him access. And the next moans that tickled the air were hers.
Then they were moaning together. Her hips moving sensually against his as their attentions sharpened in wondrous unity. Even still, she remained singularly focused. Every whimper to touch the air was music to her ears—stylish cliché and all. Her focus returned to his cock when his groans reached summit, her grip tightening at the base. Everything else was instinct. Her nibbling tastes as much to her enjoyment as to his, her own excitement drawn more from his responsiveness than anything she thought possible. She took him as far into her mouth as she could, her hands moving back to the fullness of his weight to massage erotically, her strokes moving in direct counterpoint to her lips. Then she was deep-throating him in earnest, drawing him in as far as she could and back again, suckling at his flesh with eagerness that did not know her. The taste of him, his skin against her tongue…she couldn’t get enough of him. When she sensed him fighting the immediacy of his climax, she drew him out completely, smiled as his whimpers of protest colored the air, and swirled her tongue again over the head once, twice, and that was it. With her hips crashing against his fingers and her mouth battling his thrusts for dominance, she grasped his thighs and held determinately when the power of his orgasm flooded her with enthusiasm she couldn’t have anticipated. Wave after wave surged through him—the impact of his fullness drowning into an abyss sweeter than anything he had ever hoped to discover. His own grasp was forced from her womb and replaced at her hips, holding with such fierce severity that he wasn’t sure even her pure and strong femininity was enough to anchor him.
Buffy smiled warmly as his shudders subsided, licking him clean and restoring his hardness. The pants that mingled in the air were naked and colored in disbelief. Reality returning where it had no chance before. For long minutes, he left himself to gather his bearings, detached and nearly unaware of even her presence lingering so near. She rested against his hipbone, drawing artless patterns across his abdomen. The thought struck her with breathtaking revelation as she watched him; there was no way she would ever get enough of this. These leisure mornings of granted solitude. The love she felt swarm within her at every touch. The incredulity and adoration blazing behind his eyes when they finally found her. He looked at her as though he had never seen her before. As though the impact of his feeling was threatening to spill from him, he could not contain it. He unraveled her with a glance. He saw into her with nothing more than a glance.
And he was always surprising her. One minute watching her with calm scrutiny, the next reaching for her with such insistence that she could not deny him. He finally found her hips and dabbled with no pleasantries, no further foreplay. As though the imminence of her release would impact him even greater than her. His tongue plunged into her, searching and nibbling and tasting her hidden cavern as his fingers found her clit and kneaded her in soft, sensual strokes. He searched. He implored. He drank her fully until her waves were crashing over him. Until it was her pants coloring the air. Until they were coiled on the bed, recovering together.
Forever could have happened and neither would have noticed. When she summoned the strength, Buffy turned and crawled up the length of him, curling into his side as though she had been made to fit there. His arms wound around her and held her against him, nuzzling her hair as he slowly returned to himself.
“Buffy…”
She smiled and crooned, suddenly bashful for reasons that were unfathomable to her. “Hey,” she replied, burying her head into his shoulder.
He stared at her blankly, as though the possible weight of her shyness enchanted him. “Hey yourself.”
“Whatcha doin’?”
Spike couldn’t help it; he smiled. “’m tryin’ to fall back from Heaven. You?”
“Getting used to feeling safe,” Buffy retorted. “It’s a funny sensation.”
There was a heavy pause; the hand stroking her back absently coming to a brief pause. “You feel safe?” he asked lowly. “Here? With me?”
She feathered a kiss on his chest. “Yes.”
“With me?”
“Again, yes.” A small smile tickled her face. “So it was okay?”
“Okay? Okay?” Spike’s arms tightened around her. “That was the most amazin’ thing I’ve ever…” His face nuzzled her hair, inhaling the fullness of her essence. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that. You’re so…god…’m never gonna get enough of you. I never could.”
The smile grew timidly. “I’d never done that before.” Buffy buried her face in his chest to hide her embarrassment. “I’d never wanted to with anyone.”
“You didn’t—”
“I wanted to with you.” She brushed a kiss against his skin, unable to refrain from teasing a nipple with her tongue. The moan she coaxed sent small ripples of pleasure over her skin. “I wanted to share that with you. Just you.”
The peroxide vampire stiffened perceptibly, though it was not from discomfort. The weight of his euphoria, as well as the furthered emphasis on his fear, tainted the atmosphere with a sense of cherished foreboding that could not be embraced nor ignored. Infinitely at a standstill. Continually attempting to find where they stood. To make that foundation secure. “You amaze me,” he breathed a minute later. “You absolutely amaze me.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Why?” he repeated hoarsely. “God…I don’…” He trailed off as his thoughts meandered and lost their footing. “Because you shouldn’t be here. After what I did to you…there’s no reason…” His lips found her temple and lingered reverently. “You shouldn’t even let me touch you. ‘m not worth it. After what I did—”
“I thought we covered this already.”
“I jus’—”
Buffy sat up and moved for his mouth, kissing him with such fervor that he could not mistake her intent. Her meaning. The truth behind her words. Even if he never agreed with them, he would likewise never doubt her sincerity. Her forgiveness. She had given him more than anything he had ever hoped to touch. And here she was. In his bed. Sharing his bed. Her tongue wrestling with his for dominance, sampling the fullness of his essence. He tasted as good as he smelled. Faded cigarettes and liquor, the more present salt of his tears and, more overpoweringly, herself.
Spike moaned into her, finding his own taste and the richness of her mouth. God, she gave him so much. Gave him everything he didn’t deserve. More than what he didn’t deserve.
“I don’t know how it happened,” she said softly when they pulled apart. “But I know that it started before this. It started…I don’t know when it started. Maybe it started the first time I saw you.” She felt him smile at the implication, but continued before he could interrupt. “But this is what I want.”
Spike froze, arms clamping around her. “What is what you want?”
“This.” Buffy’s eyes leveled with his so that he would understand her. So that he would have no reason to doubt. “You. I want you.”
Awe and disbelief flooded his gaze. That and so much love she expected to drown in his ocean. “You want me?”
“Yes.”
“You…” She watched emotion overwhelm him to the point of tears, and feared tumbling after him. The knowledge that she could kill him with words was already more power than she wanted, but the understanding that his love could flounder her elevated her to levels she had never experienced before. “Oh, Buffy, I—”
A sharp knock shattered their solitude, bringing the world outside back to deafening reality.
There was little peace. Cordelia’s voice followed shortly thereafter. “Hey! You two alive in there?”
Buffy felt Spike grow rigid but clamped a hand on his shoulder before he could offer a retort. “Hardy har har, Cordy!”
“I thought it was cute. Anyway, we got a problem.”
The mood in the room automatically dropped. The vampires exchanged troubled glances.
“What is it?” Spike asked.
“You better come down.”
Another beat passed. “We’ll be right there,” the Slayer conceded.
They both sensed her move away. Spike grasped Buffy’s wrist to hold her to him.
“We’re not done here,” he promised huskily. There was something in his tone that made her clench her thighs together in anticipation.
There were a thousand witty things that sprung to mind but she lacked the prosperity to voice any. Thus she opted with the safe ground. “I know.”
A grin tickled his lips but he did not call her on it. Instead, his eyes averted to his legs and a frown creased his face. “Uh…what happened to my trousers?”
“I took them away.”
“Not all the way away.”
“I know. Got kinda frustrated, so I left ‘em.” She shrugged. “We better get going.”
Spike smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He expressed so much with so little. He gave so much without giving at all. And it was all she needed. “We’re not done here,” he repeated, gaze dropping to her mouth. “We’re not even close to done.”
This time, words did not fail her.
“You better believe it.”
He kissed her and it was everything. More than everything. A place to find that relief. A reasoning behind whatever truth she had ever known.
For this, he had given everything back to her.
And she could never repay it.
The world was not nearly as frightening descending the stairs as it had been on the way up. Spike and Buffy were careful not to look too hopeful, even though their hands were clasped and they couldn’t tear their eyes from each other for more than a few seconds at a time. It was a state of suspended rapture; they didn’t want to exhibit more than they felt a right experiencing while their relationship was still young, not to mention undefined.
A few things were evident right away. The lobby was as packed as it had ever been. Nikki was lounged in one of the middle sofas with Rosie in her lap. Kate Lockley and Lindsey McDonald had propped themselves against the checkout counter; a foul disposition over the former, but everyone was—by now—accustomed to her. Wesley, Wright, and Cordelia were talking quietly near the former Watcher’s office, and Gunn was surveying the weapons display.
“Bugger,” Spike muttered. The Slayer turned to him with wide eyes and he nodded at the icy blonde who had turned to briefly observe something to McDonald. “I don’ even know the bint all that well an’ I know that her bein’ here’s not a good thing.”
“Who is she?”
“Some police officer your ex honey managed to brass off.”
Buffy’s brows arched appraisingly. “I see. So why’s she here?”
Spike nodded at Cordelia, who brightened at their appearance. “Got a feelin’ we’re about to find out.” His eyes averted to Wright and a smile broke across his face. The demon hunter was staring at the Slayer in wide-eyed reverence. He had not seen her since the botched rescue. He had not seen her as she was in normal light; the tension searing across his form was palpable, but the curiosity and noted assessment was even more so. The vampire grinned and tightened his grip on his ladylove’s hand. “But firs’, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
The Slayer followed his gaze. She knew Wesley and Cordelia; the other two were strangers. It was the look in the rugged man’s eyes that betrayed him. The fearful inquisitiveness. The genuine wall of concern.
This was he. This was the man responsible for her vampirism.
There was a rustle from behind. “Excuse me,” the officer began immediately.
Spike tossed a nasty glance over his shoulder. “Hold up,” he growled, tugging Buffy alongside him as he started for the other side of the lobby.
“That wasn’t nice,” she whispered to him.
He shrugged in response. “What can I say, luv? ’m a bad, rude man.”
A smile whispered across her face and she leaned up to brush a kiss over his throat, reveling in the shudders that broke across him. “Yeah, you are,” she agreed. “An awfully sweet one, I might add.”
He gave her a look that was meant to be menacing while secreting the glee that shined behind his eyes. “Hush. You’ll give me away.”
Buffy cuddled self-consciously into his side. “Couldn’t have that. I want you all to myself.” She could have flushed under the smoldering look he gave her at that and instead nodded at the increasingly apprehensive demon hunter. “Think he’s scared of me?”
“Bloody terrified.” Spike flashed a quick grin. “But ‘e’d never admit it.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m not mad at him, either.” A shudder ran through her. “I’m still…I’m still dazed a little, but I’m not mad. I don’t think…with everything that happened, I don’t think…”
“That’s fine, luv,” he assured her, dropping a kiss on her head. “But ‘m not the one you should be tellin’.” His eyes brightened as they stilled. “Buffy, this is Zangy.” He nodded to Gunn. “An’ that bloke’s Charlie.”
The Slayer’s brows arched expectantly.
“Zack Wright,” the demon hunter clarified, grasping her hand with such overwhelming fervor that it couldn’t help but touch her heart. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve heard about you.”
A warm smile touched her lips. “It’s great to meet you, Zack.” Her eyes averted to the one so lazily brandished as Charlie with wry expectation. “And—”
“Gunn,” he corrected, shooting a hell-freezing gaze that had absolutely no effect in Spike’s direction. “Charles Gunn. Just Gunn, as a matter of fact. Not Charlie.”
“I didn’t think you looked like a Charlie,” she agreed.
“Yeah, well, you might try tellin’ your boyfriend that.”
Again, she felt Spike stiffen. He very notably had no objections to the term itself in reference to her, but he was ever conscious of her reaction. They needed to have that talk soon; while his integrity was as adorable as ever, she wanted him to be certain that she returned his regard in every manner possible.
“What?” Buffy replied with a laugh. “Don’t tell me you guys have been hanging around each other all this time and you still don’t know how stubborn he is?”
“Well, you know guys,” Cordelia said, leaning on Wright’s shoulder. “In one ear and out the other. It’s going to be nice to get some additional feminine influence around here. Other than Wesley, of course.”
“Of course,” the Slayer agreed with a nod.
The Watcher frowned at that. “I beg your pardon.”
The girls exchanged a conspiratorial grin and chuckled quietly together.
“How you feeling?” Cordelia asked a minute later.
“Good,” Buffy replied. “Better. Much, much better. Last night was kinda heavy…I guess this entire thing’s gonna be one of those one-step-at-a-time shindigs.”
“Nah,” Gunn drawled in jest. “Weeks of torture, dyin’…I woulda thought you’d be ready for some real down partyin’ and the whole nine yards. Don’t tell me you’re tired, girl.”
“You’d be surprised at what can do it for you,” the Slayer commented, smiling faintly. “I guess my threshold came when—”
Spike’s hold on her hand tightened. He wasn’t ready to hear about this. Obligingly, she quieted and nodded instead for the discarded pair at the front counter. “Anyway, what’s up?”
“We have vampire trouble,” Wesley simplified, nodding at the blonde officer and McDonald, who started over without hesitation. “Buffy, this is Detective Kate Lockley. I believe you know Lindsey.” She nodded, eyes sullen. “Best we can figure, Angelus is aware that his attempt to murder you was…” A dramatic breath rolled across his shoulders. “He knows that you’ve been brought over.”
Buffy tensed, eyes fluttering closed subconsciously. Her grip on Spike tightened, and she pressed herself against him as though searching for security that she innately did not need. His presence was comforting, and she capitalized on that comfort. The memories that even Angelus’s name brought when spoken aloud were too fresh to explore. As though every part of her that had ever felt pain suddenly screamed to agonizing life.
“How?” she asked softly.
“’S Dru,” the peroxide vampire answered. “She had one of her visions.”
“Most likely,” Wesley agreed. “Lindsey also speculates—”
“There’s a chance they were exposed to the security film,” the lawyer intervened. “I haven’t been there to supervise, therefore I cannot say for certain, but—”
“Whoa. Wait.” Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Security film? As in…cameras?”
Spike’s gaze narrowed dangerously. “You’ve seen everythin’ that—”
“Yes. I know. Bad. But hey, I’m over it.” Lindsey held up a hand diplomatically. “It gets worse.”
The platinum vampire snarled and his eyes blazed a dangerous yellow. “How worse?”
“Worse as in your friends have been tearing apart the town,” Lockley growled, blue gaze blazing with arctic fire. “In a manner that is blatantly obvious. In two days, they’ve hospitalized more than—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Buffy decided, pulling away from Spike for the first time.
“They’re trying to draw you out,” Lindsey said. “He wants to—”
“What part of ‘don’t wanna hear it’ didn’t you get? If you need, I can go over it again, slowly if you like.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Summers, you have to hear it,” Kate retorted. “Because until you answer, people are going to keep dying.”
“You heartless trollop,” Spike snarled. “You’re askin’ her to—”
“I’m sure that if you have a better idea, you wouldn’t have waited so long to give it to us.”
“This is the firs’ we’ve bloody well heard of it!” The platinum Cockney turned hotly to Wesley, his expression as deadly serious as any had seen it. “You better get her outta here before I take a chunk outta her neck. You have—”
“Spike.” Buffy laid a delicate hand on his arm, her touch sponging his hostility into her with power that was frighteningly potent. “It’s all right.”
His eyes softened, the swarm of emotion grounding her with palatability. “She’s askin’ you to—”
“I know.”
“You can’t. I’m not gonna let him near you again.”
“Hey, I’m not breaking into song over it.” She smiled faintly. “But I’ll be ready. The reason he bested me last time was because I wasn’t ready. This is what I do. I—”
A choking note wormed into his tone, his eyes powerfully emotional. “No. Buffy, please…” He glanced down, shivering in his determination to keep from a more pronounced emotional outburst in front of his colleagues. “I can’t have you out there again. After what I went through…’s too soon.” He turned an accusing eye to the lawyer and his accomplice. “You’re askin’ this too soon!”
“Tell that to eighteen year old Miranda Livingston, whose funeral is arranged for tomorrow afternoon at three,” Lockley snapped, not the least bit moved. “Or how about twenty-three year old graduate student Clark McAlister. He died of severe hemorrhaging as a result of—”
“Stop!” Buffy cried. “I don’t—”
“Yeah, it’s easy for me to stop. Tell that to Angel.” The officer stepped forward intently. “I know it’s asking a lot. It’s asking more than a lot. What you’ve been through…I can’t begin to imagine. But I do know about you, Ms. Summers. Granted, I don’t know everything about Slayers, but I know enough. I know that you had power before and I’m willing to bet that you have even more now. If anyone can put an end to this, it’s—”
“The answer’s no,” the peroxide snarled. “I don’ give two fucks what your sodding reasoning is. ‘S not—”
Buffy’s hand on his arm tightened. “I’m going to have to do it.”
“No.”
“Spike—”
“No. No, I can’t stand for that. Please.” He turned to her violently, eyes large and beseeching. The sheen of tears he was trying to restrain flooded her with grief. If ever she had doubted the trials he had endured with her seizure, every inkling of conviction was before her now. “Please don’…” In desperation, he pivoted to Wright and nodded. “We’ll go. Zangy, Charlie, Wes…we’ll go.”
“I’ll go,” Nikki volunteered.
The peroxide vampire, Wright, and Cordelia flashed her a series of irritated glances with one indisputable decree. “No.”
“But I—”
“No.”
The Slayer pulled Spike back to her. The look in his eyes had not changed, nor had its power over her heart lost any sway in the past few seconds. She felt her will crumpling without forward warning. “I need to do this,” she said softly.
He was shaking his head even before she spoke. “No. No. ‘S too soon, baby. I can’t…you can’t do this to me so soon.”
“Spike—”
“I can handle Peaches,” he promised. “I can.”
“We all can,” Zack agreed with a nod. “Especially with Lockley coming. Right?”
It was a clear challenge. One that she accepted gladly.
“Of course.” Kate’s gaze centered on Buffy. “If this is a problem that you two need to work out, by all means. But I have to agree that a Slayer on our side—”
The platinum vampire growled dangerously, turning with such force that it took her by surprise. “Shut your gob before I rip your tongue from your mouth.”
“Hey,” Lindsey contested. “Calm down. There’s no reason to—”
“No reason? No bloody reason?!” His hand moved to tighten around the Slayer’s subconsciously. “She’s all the reason I need.”
There was no way her heart could withstand that statement without melting.
“We need to stop this before it gets worse,” Lockley said reasonably, reasserting herself with a calm breath. “We need to apprehend Angelus.”
Spike shook his head. “’S too soon. You can’t take…” He exhaled deeply, turning his gaze to Buffy. “’S too soon. I know you’re…you’re brilliant at what you do, sweetheart. There’s none better. But I can’t…’s too soon. I jus’ got you back. Losin’ you was…” His voice broke and he turned away, suddenly self-conscious. “Please don’ ask me to…”
Kate’s eyes narrowed unsympathetically. “You selfish bastard.”
A resonating growl rumbled through the Slayer’s throat that she hardly noticed.
The peroxide vampire appraised her with an adoring look that seared with raw emotion.
“Hey,” Cordelia snapped. “Back off. You’ve been Miss Absentee for the past forever. Spike’s done all the work. He deserves a break. Okay?”
“Because he’s afraid to get his feet wet—”
“I’m not going.”
The entire lobby drew to a defined standstill.
“Ms. Summers…” Lockley began slowly. “I know this has been a trying time for you, especially given recent circumstances, but—”
“I’m not going. Not now.” Buffy emanated a deep, anxious breath. “I’m too…I wouldn’t help. At all. I’m not ready to go against him. With what happened…it was like nothing that’s ever happened to me. It was…” She broke with a shudder, drawing on her sire’s strength subconsciously. “It’s just…not enough time. And I’d be unbalanced, Spike would be unbalanced, and I’d be even more unbalanced worrying about Spike getting caught off guard because of his unbalanceness.” She smiled faintly at the relief that flooded the peroxide vampire’s eyes. “It’s too…I just can’t. Not now.”
There was a long silence and a lot of nasty glances. But not a word. Simple resignation.
Spike’s relief remained steadfast. There was nothing comparable to the way he looked at her now. It was the most overpowering feeling she had ever experienced. In a way that was nothing about power, she was on top of the world.
And it scared her for more than she was worth.
No words. The gratitude in his gaze spoke for more than simple dialogue could contend.
And that was all she needed.
Nothing else.
To be continued in Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Three Great Troubles...