[Reviews - 426]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1973 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Sorry that this chapter is slightly shorter than my usual ones. The last week was insanely busy, so I'm glad I'm updating at all. Quite a few plotty thingies in this one. Hope you enjoy!

Massive thanks to All4Spike for her quick beta work!
Chapter 43

She’d never seen Spike so remote. So hurt. Couldn’t believe the way the day had gone from blissful to diving straight into shit creek. But that wasn’t quite true, was it? She knew it was all her fault. It all happened because she hadn’t told him and now he wasn’t speaking to her. Now her innards felt as though someone had dumped them in the freezing ocean.

She knew Joyce was looking at her, that she was saying something but all Buffy could hear were his words, stuck on repeat in her brain.

How could you not have told me?

Drusilla’s face stared at her, accusing and hollow, from the damning pages of her own sketchbook.

*******

Earlier That Day

Crap, she’d fallen asleep. And what was worse, with Spike’s limp arm around her waist and her back warm from the heat of his body, she didn’t exactly want to move. Being an only child, she’d never given sharing a room with someone much thought. And just half a year ago, she’d never have believed she’d be in the position to experience waking up in a man’s arms. And it was nice. More than nice. Amazing, even.

When Spike pulled her closer against his chest and kissed her shoulder blade, she knew he was awake. She’d noticed he never snored and always woke up to a slightest sound. It made her sad to think he’d never let himself relax, that even a subconscious part of him was constantly scanning his surroundings for a threat. Although the no snoring part was a definite bonus.

“You up?”

“Barely,” she replied. “I don’t even remember when I fell asleep.”

“Was somewhere between the third and the fourth time,” he said with laughter in his voice.

They’d only been able to find the two condoms but Spike was nothing if not ingenious. Just the thought of what he’d done to her made her blush. He’d made her moan and scream and… oh God.

“Spike!” She clutched his forearm. “How loud was I?”

“As loud as any woman having a multiple orgasm can be.” He bit her earlobe, not in the least bit concerned. He did, however, sound very cocky about the whole thing.

She grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll be able to face Joyce or Rupert ever again. Do you think they heard?”

“Nah. The walls are fairly thick.”

“I really, really hope you’re right.” And she couldn’t postpone getting out of bed because now she really had to pee. “I need to go to the bathroom. There’s one down the hall, right?”

“Yeah.” Spike caught her wrist just as she was about to climb out of the bed. “How about a kiss?”

“With my morning breath? A world of no.”

“Please?”

“After I brush my teeth.”

Spike pouted.

With a roll of her eyes, she quickly leaned in and gave him a quick, tight-lipped kiss. “Happy?”

He smiled, eyes half closed as he let her go. “Very.”

There was a strange weight to his words and she wondered whether he wasn’t talking just about the kiss.

*******

As soon as she was exiting the bathroom and sneaking down the hallway like a burglar in the night, the floorboards behind her creaked.

“Buffy. Good morning.”

Slowly, she turned on her heel, all the while thinking, ‘oh God I’m not wearing any underwear’. “Good morning, Rupert.”

“Please, do call me, Giles. Only William calls me Rupert, despite my wishes to the contrary.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of the striped bathrobe he was wearing over his pajamas. Couldn’t be too late then.

“Giles. Got it.” She nodded and blurted the first thing that was on her mind. “So, did you have a good night’s sleep?”

As soon as his cheeks reddened and his eyes darted away from hers, she wished she hadn’t asked. Guess there was her answer on the issue of thick walls.

“Ah, yes. It was… very fine, thank you.” He took off his glasses and started to vigorously polish the lenses. “Joyce is making breakfast right now, so do come down to… replenish your energy.”

If there was a hole anywhere near, she’d gladly crawl inside it and never come out. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll let Spike know.”

Yes, of course,” Giles said and if she wasn’t being completely delusional, there was a slight twinkle in his eyes when he put his glasses back on. “I’m sure he’s hungry as well.”

Someone kill her now.

*******

Breakfast was a quite comfortable affair, despite the glances Joyce directed at her and Spike. Glances that said, ‘I know what you’ve been up to all night’. Spike let it slip that she dabbled in drawing, which immediately sparked Joyce’s enthusiasm. As soon as they finished their meals, Joyce asked Buffy to show her some of the sketches while Spike and Giles disappeared into the study.

Since Joyce worked at an art gallery, Buffy was a bit nervous about showing her her mediocre drawings when there had to have been hundreds of truly talented painters Joyce must have met during her career. To her surprise, Joyce encouraged her to keep drawing and practicing, said she had potential.

“You really like them? You’re not just saying that?”

“I wouldn’t lie, Buffy. Your style still needs a bit of development, but I really like these. They’re very… haunting.”

She’d never heard the footfalls and suddenly Spike’s arms were circling her waist from behind. And she would have melted into him if it weren’t for the sketchbook flipped innocently open for him to see. It was as though the fabric of her world had come undone and she was unable to do anything but stand there, helpless to stop him from peeking over her shoulder.

Then everything just… froze.

Every muscle in his body turned rigid, his arms slipping from around her like water through grasping fingers and he was reaching for the sketchbook, his eyes darting between her and the dead girl on the paper.

“What is this?” he asked, the harsh grip of his hand crinkling the pages.

She stuttered, unable to give him an answer that would make sense. “The dreams… the dreams I had, the ones… after you did the spell—”

“I thought they stopped,” he said, voice shaking.

“They did! But I could remember after that. I got… flashes. When I was awake. Sometimes I could see memories, faces. But it wasn’t—” She’d tried to make it stop so hard. If only she could make him see…

His eyes widened. “Memories? My memories? You could see—”

“N-not everything. It was hardly… anything.” She felt as though she’d read someone’s diary and had been caught with it in her curious hands. But this was worse, so much worse, although it had never been her fault to begin with.

“How could you not have told me?” He dropped the sketchbook, staggered away from her as though she’d stuck a knife in his gut.

“William,” Joyce jumped in, reminding Buffy that the room had a witness to the floor crumbling under her feet.

“Spike, I—”

“No. I can’t.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Need some space.”

Space. To be away from her, where he wouldn’t have to see her lying eyes.

There was nothing more to say.

*******

“And another pawn dies a horrible death.” Eline’s features twisted into a scowl as she propped her chin on the upturned palm of her hand.

Drusilla looked positively giddy as she clapped her hands and added a black pawn to her collection of defeated chess pieces. “My knight shall be the bravest one in all the land.”

“You do realise your knight is made of wood, right?” She really didn’t like losing and it seemed pretty inevitable right about now.

“Shh.” Drusilla pressed one finger against her lips and turned her attention to her valiant knight. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just a sore loser.”

“Well, it’s not fair. It’s not like I have second sight.”

Drusilla hummed something under her breath, something that reminded Eline of watching cartoons on lazy Saturday mornings. Had Drusilla been watching Bugs Bunny again? Eline forced her attention back to the checkered field spread on the table and watched with dismay as Drusilla’s bishop joined the fray to support her knight. In the next move, the knight put both Eline’s king and queen in jeopardy and she cursed herself for not seeing such an obvious weakness.

“Check.”

Gritting her teeth, Eline was forced to give up the queen. “I don’t think I’ll ever play chess with you again.”

“Oh, but we’re already playing. Everyone’s moving into their place and the gears are turning.”

Eline straightened up and caught Drusilla’s gaze. “Are we still talking about the game?”

“What else would we be talking about?” Drusilla’s smile was as dreamy as it was wicked. “All we do is play.”

Frowning, Eline made a halfhearted effort to delay her loss.

“Check mate.”

“Well, damn.”

*******

On the other side of the world, Angelus ripped his fangs out of a milky throat and stumbled back at the flood of power. This one had been delicious. All soft skin and supple flesh that tore so easily under his hands. Licking his lips, he kicked the drained body of a naked girl aside and inhaled the incense of the ritual’s aftershocks.

Asia had proved to be a bottomless well of Potential blood. India. China. South Korea. Russia. The differences in the taste of their blood were subtle, and he’d rolled it around in his mouth as a connoisseur would a fine wine. It would be a sin not to savour, especially since the number of them was dwindling down.

Not much longer now.

Victory was so close he could almost taste the tangy, smoky flavour of it. Could imagine walking through the sunlight and charging into the Master’s lair to tear the bastard’s head clear off. Could see Darla falling at his feet and giving him that naughty little smile that she only reserved for special occasions. The one that said there was no-one’s side she’d rather join.

Let her see who had the power. The real, indestructible power, rather than the borrowed one encased in the ring coiled around his finger. Yes, it had made him impervious to sunlight and death, but having to watch the gem in case someone decided to cut off his finger was wearing on his nerves. It wasn’t nearly enough, not to erase the centuries of superiority the Master had over him. And as long as the old fart continued to poison the air around him with his old fashioned ideas of how the world ought to run, Angelus would never really be the alpha male.

Patience, he reminded himself for the hundredth time.

All he needed was for Drusilla to lead him to the remaining five. Just five.

Then the world would burn.

TBC






You must login (register) to review.