[Reviews - 381]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 7053 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you all so much. Hope you like this chapter.
Spike had never been afraid of the dark. Even when he was human and wandering around London in the barely lit streets wasn’t done—the lamps almost useless in illuminating the surroundings—he’d made a regular excursion outside to feel the coolness of the night. It fed his poetic soul, and inspired words he’d hardly suspected he knew.

After he was turned, the darkness fed him full stop. Gave him a playground the likes he’d never known. The words still flowed, but not to his soul. And instead of trying to capture the images on quality paper with quill and ink, he’d used his fists and blood, a pretty corpse his canvas. Instead of exploring for words of beauty, he’d trawled for ones of devastation.

As he wandered the night of Sunnydale, home of the most selfish Hellmouth he’d ever had the misfortune of living on, he felt all words desert him. Despite his decision to stay, to help fight and protect these Scoobies who were much more accepting of him than the original bunch, he was still Love’s Bitch, and the words he needed to fulfill his role in that area were suddenly completely wiped from his vocabulary.

He spied Buffy in a graveyard, and for the first time he thought hard about walking away. Leaving her to fight whatever demons she needed to gain the satisfaction that being with the poof—and releasing his alter-ego—would have left her with a need for. Angelus had only ever been interested in furthering his own pleasure. The thought that his bed-partner might deserve some kind of release in their little death was completely beyond the space his brain allowed.

But it hurt to watch her. Hurt to see the body that had so recently been touched by the great Poof himself, taking from Spike again the one thing that would complete his unlife. He felt so tired from always losing. His eyes felt sore from the tears that had squeezed the pain from his heart.

Watching her, wanting her, and knowing he had lost her was no sweet torture. He’d never felt whips and holy water that devastated him like this. None of Angelus’s wicked knives had cut him so deep.

All he’d done, all he had planned to do, and one attack against the King of Woe had catapulted Spike directly into the doghouse. Well, he was bloody fed up, and he wasn’t going to wallow in this depression, distancing himself from her.

He’d warned them about the curse.

She should have bloody known better, and whether she actually understood what it was she’d released, someone should put the silly chit in her place and point out the bleeding obvious.

Then get the hell out of the way of the steamroller effect of her devastated emotions, crippling her for bloody life—slamming up the barricades stronger than those at Fort Knox. Fuck that. What she needed was an enthusiastic belting. Tan her arse till she learned the lesson that Angelus was better caged.

Angelus.

Thoughts of the impending battle made Spike shiver. All the hurt and humiliation he’d been through the last time, and here was the prospect again. Homicidal rage welled within him lightning quick and before he knew it, his feet propelled him with speed to intercept the Slayer.

She looked up in surprise before greeting him with a happy smile. It dimmed abruptly as she was slashed with his frosty reception, the ugly curl of his lip indicative of his fury and the frozen expression in his eyes conveying a feeling of hate toward her that made her heart almost stop beating.

The coldness, the lack of affection for her held him still in front of her, his eyes watching her with an intent that brought terror to her blood. He reminded her of the one horrible meeting when he had predicted her death on Saturday, and Buffy found herself absently sifting through the days of the week to reassure herself that this was indeed a weekday.

“W-what…”

She got no further as his rage spilled forth and erupted from his lips.

“Don’t bloody make out that I should be alright with this. Must have been a two-minute skit if you’re out here seeking violence already. Washed up and ready to go. I shoulda known, no matter what I do, the old Forehead wins every bleeding time.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously and Buffy felt her eyes drawn to it, hypnotised by the small sign of his temper so that she wouldn’t have to admit how stupid she was in not knowing the cause of this flaying.

“So, how was it?” he spat at her, and she finally caught the subtle tones buried within the attack. Hurt. Jealousy. Betrayal. And none of them provided Buffy with questions she could answer. Unless he thought…

Oh…

Buffy had been thinking about the scene in Giles’s house all night, fighting as many vamps as she could, focusing abnormally on the female ones in order to temper her frustrations. Guilt caused her a mass of confusion. As she worried over the damage to her burgeoning relationship with Spike, monumentally regretting her decision to protect and defend Angel against him, she had almost forgotten about Giles. Not forgotten completely, just relegated him as not an issue that needed confronting because as soulless as Spike was, she knew he wouldn’t let her Watcher die. Her faith in Spike—as bizarre and unnatural as it was—was unwavering. It was the stability of the steadily building lust and boyfriendy stuff she had been terrified of losing all night. Not her Watcher.

Though the world could definitely stand to lose some nutbaggy Dru. No apparent redemption in that quarter.

Buffy had seen the hurt and betrayal reflecting in Spike’s eyes when he’d walked away from her, leaving her downstairs to face Xander and the truth. But he’d been controlled, not like this. Not like he was going to haul off and bite her any second.

Maybe…

No! Buffy felt the cold seep through her clothing and encase her heart. Maybe something had happened, something she had believed was the safe event the whole night. What if Giles hadn’t made it and she’d run away rather than face the consequences of her actions? And now Spike was furious at her for being so self-involved. For leaving Giles dead in his bed without even a token goodbye.

“Spike? How…”

“How do I know?” His voice was incredulous as he raked her with his eyes, burning her from head to toe with the animosity barely contained. The promise, her gift of herself and her blood to him on her birthday now lay in ruins around his heart and he wondered if he would ever be able to offer himself in love again.

“Felt it, didn’ I!” He felt harsh, boiling hatred for his kin and this girl well within him and he was desperate to wreak vengeance. But the control failed to slip, and he felt himself bound within the rigid guidelines of being someone changed for the better. All in the name of love.

Okay, felt it? He was there with Giles, what was there to feel about it? Buffy’s confusion deepened as the events of the night seemed to quickly bleed out of control.

“I admit you’re a bloody fast one on your feet— gettin’ out of there—and a better decision you’ve never made, but hell, you disgust me.” His snarl sunk in deep, resounding in her head like a clang of doom.

“Oh,” whispered past Buffy’s lips as her body took in the edge to his voice, suffered the penetration of his words. He was disgusted by her, and the pain she felt at that nearly brought her to her knees. Tears gathered and she blinked rapidly to try and prevent their fall, needing some strength to not betray how much it devastated her to lose this with him.

How had it all come to mean so much? Not much, everything. His good feeling toward her had meant everything; she’d planned her life around him, wanted him to exist in her life with an edge of desperation that was almost frightening.

She’d made the decision, the one that would bind her to him forever—or at least until she died. She’d asked him to bite her and make love to her on her birthday, and instead of continuously fanning that flame, she’d been off sharing her night with her first major boyfriend. Even though Buffy had called the whole thing—whatever it was—off with Angel, she had indulged his need for a night out and defended him without even asking why Spike felt the need to attack him.

She’d made Spike her boyfriend, offered everything she was to him, trusted her life to his fangs and repaid him with unwavering support against him for her ex. So, yeah, she disgusted herself.

Then that solid wall of strength disintegrated and the tears tumbled from suddenly waterlogged lashes. It hurt so much; being discarded by a soulless vampire who had stolen her heart, even if it was thoroughly deserved. Breaking up with Angel had not been the wrenching destruction to her heart that this aching torment was. And again, her trauma over her colossal mistake with Spike eclipsed her concern over the tragedy that was possibly Giles.

“Okay,” she managed finally, her voice clogged with her tears, her face glistening in the moonlight. “I’m sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’ mean to…you bloody bitch,” he exploded, completely livid as he began to pace, his fury finally animated. He turned back abruptly, staring at her with such raw pain that Buffy felt helpless as she took a step back from him.

“How could you offer…ask me to…and then go off and boff…” He couldn’t continue, couldn’t say the words that would cripple his heart and make her deed rock solid in his reality. He never thought it possible, once falling in love with Buffy, that he could ever feel such seething hatred toward her again. But overwhelming strength began to tease his muscles, begging him to jump, to claw, and in unwavering support his demon surged to the fore.

In one desperate attempt to alleviate the violent impulses, Spike stopped and breathed deeply through his nose, taking in the scent of her sweat, the intoxication of her fear and the one he loved most of all, the very faint scent of vanilla from her last distant shower.

The mesh of scent tickled his synapses to discovery, but the journey to a conclusion was slow. When knowledge hit it left him floored. The shock widened his eyes, and he looked at her miserable face, her wobbly lip and the tears that still flowed in unending sorrow.

“Oh Buffy,” he surrendered, falling to his knees and shaking with the sudden deflation of his mood. He could feel the tremble of relief as his hands found his face.

He was wrong; not Buffy.

Angelus was back, but not because of Buffy. She hadn’t betrayed him, hadn’t used him as a warm up to pleasuring the Poof. So awfully wrong, almost pushing himself into another smashing confrontation that might have ended with the same violent joining as the last time he’d been angry with his future Buffy. He could have fought her, pushed her into a defence that would render her hopeless against his demon, raised her pulse so far that the only release she could have reached was through either staking him, or him staking her.

But, been there, done that. Old hat that happened to be the biggest mistake he’d ever made. Taunting future Buffy into his bed—or everywhere outside of it as the truth actually held—had not been his brightest move. And yet, it was the same action he’d been about to embark on with younger Buffy, simply because he’d believed she’d given herself to Angel. Spike knew that the fight got her hot, could smell it every time she raised her fists and struck something solid. Despite his belief in her recent activities, his demon had begun to prepare to goad her into a similar outcome. It was misdirected rage—if Angelus got it, then he wanted some, too. Particularly when his heart had filed her under ‘tease’.

But the truth came through his nostrils loud and clear as he took in more and more of her heavenly scent. There was not a whiff of sex near her and Spike kneeled as he castigated himself for being a paranoid wanker.

“Spike?” The Slayer’s voice was weak as she prodded a reaction from him. Blue eyes met miserable jade and Spike was instantly on his feet, tugging her into his arms and holding her safe as the sobs tore loose from her throat.

“Oh baby,” Spike murmured, the reassuring lilt in his tone calming her more than the steady pressure of his arms around her shaking body. Touch couldn’t be trusted; did the feeling ever change? No, it was the voice, the thing Spike had aimed at her to thrust his animosity in her face, to relay his hatred out bare.

But in combination, the tone and touch gave her a smidgeon of hope that maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he didn’t want to leave her, that Giles was okay, and they had just wasted ten minutes together because of a giant misunderstanding.

As the emotions calmed within her and Buffy’s mind cleared, she determined that that was exactly what this was. As horrible as her judgement had been in siding with Angel over Drusilla’s deadly actions—albeit completely unknowingly—there was no way that Spike would tell her that he was disgusted with her. He’d be angry, sure. What new boyfriend wouldn’t have been by such a display of misguided loyalty? But disgust was so much stronger than what she was sure was going on.

His lips on her hair were more than soothing. It set the stamp on a healing that might have begun through awkward words and actions. But it set her heart beating back at the correct rhythm as she wound her arms around Spike’s back, slipping gently on the cold leather of his coat but holding him dear.

“What did I do, Spike? Tell me and I’ll make it better. I promise.” Buffy had thought the tears were finished with, but as the request to be told what her actions had cost her fell from her lips, she felt them teasing again at the back of her throat and continue the flow through ducts to her eyes.

“You didn’ do anything, sweetness. Was just me bollocksing everything up an’ jumpin’ to conclusions. Never could add up right.”

The smile in his voice caused her to heave a great sigh and a hiccup, relief pouring from her in great crashing waves. The comedown from the emotional tidal wave was momentous, and Buffy could only be grateful that she was cocooned within Spike’s strong embrace.

“I’m sorry I jumped in to protect Angel from you. It was reflex, and really, he deserved a good smack in the jaw.”

In all the horror of knowing Angelus was once again on the prowl, Spike had completely forgotten all about the earlier incident that had left Giles minus a lot of plasma and laid out on his bed.

“Oh bugger,” expelled Spike, gathering up enough courage to extend his senses and search for his sire and grand-sire in their immediate proximity. For the moment all was safe, and he jerked his head, indicating for Buffy to come along with him as he took a step back toward Rupert’s flat.

“Got a bit of a situation, pet. We’ll talk about it when we get to the Watcher’s.”

Buffy threw him an inquiring look but hesitantly took his hand, her eyes seeking his to confirm it was the right move. The gentle and encouraging smile she received bolstered her courage and she slipped her fingers from his and wound her arm around his waist, standing a little aloof until he pulled her in flush against his side.

“So, we’re good now? ‘Cause I don’t want to fight like that again. It was scary.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, still a lot unsure of herself and where she stood, not understanding anything of what had just happened but postponing revelations on faith.

Spike stopped walking to hold her away from himself and catch her eyes in an intense avowal of truth. The words tripped over themselves on the tip of his tongue, the need to profess his love so strong it took a Herculean effort to hold them back. Those words had done nothing but inflame in his future, rob him of essence every time they were uttered and not reciprocated. And despite Buffy’s all clear with the naked Angel fiasco, there was nothing yet that provided him with a precipice to balance on.

He was going to put them out there anyway when he balked, came up hard against a wall of insecurity that almost had him gasping.

“Nothin’ I want more right now than to get whatever this thing is between us right out in the open. Got bigger problems though, luv. Need to get back to the Watcher’s and sort out a plan of action.”

Buffy watched his face, tight as he tried to conceal his feelings. That little flash of something that made her heart pump faster was there, though, reassuring and calming her in a way she was happy to accept for now, suddenly hesitant to push the words that would set everything on a new level.

She was content to wait for the future weeks, mend what she had broken in her misguided attempts at protection, and then launch a full offensive into the love ranks. Reassure Spike and herself that what they had—that was developing out of any control—was something real, something genuine that made Buffy feel positive about her future for the first time since the Master left her drowning in a pool of water. Something Angel had never succeeded in doing.

They resumed their pace, rather quicker than a casual walk, and before she knew it they had made it back to the door of Giles’s apartment. It was there the hesitation gripped Buffy again, the memory of Xander’s nearly incoherent explanation of Giles’s brush with death and her own cowardly dash from the facts.

“Is…is he okay?”

There was fear blatant in her question, a need to know but a want to run and hide away from whatever reality waited in regards to her Watcher behind this door.

Spike paused in his answer. Oh, he knew the Watcher would be okay, the amount of blood drained from his body on the right side of catastrophe, but the potential loss that loomed in their new future stole all speech for a moment. The gypsy teacher’s life stood in the balance, and now that Rupert was bordering on being Spike’s friend—or at the very least was accepting enough of him to offer simple courtesies like room and board—Spike was determined that the death toll for this little group was going to be nil. Angelus would have to find his fun elsewhere because Spike was here to save the day.

Tucking Buffy under his arm, he opened the door while giving her a comforting squeeze. Buffy took a slow step over the threshold, her eyes falling with an uncomfortable focus on the stairs leading to the loft housing Giles and his bed.

“He’s good. Was sitting up and threatening me before I went out earlier. Jus’ a bit weak is all.”

Buffy let the news of Giles’s condition filter into her brain then lost herself to the sensuality of Spike’s voice. To her avoidy brain, Buffy was all decided that the bad had passed for the night, everything was once again alright, and she could get on with the fun of discovering the world of pleasure with Spike.

Right after she went out and staked that conniving ho Drusilla.

Spike led her up the stairs on more steady legs. Girl Buffy was secure in her world again, Spike hanging off her side like all good boyfriends should. Not once did it occur to her once they had appeared at the side of Giles’s bed that the show of mushy togetherness would be a new event or even a surprise to anyone.

The quick glance at their clasped hands brought her insecure shyness out to play, and instead of confronting Giles with happy, caring eyes, she lowered her head and studied the carpet while she inquired about his state of health and comfort. Offered her apologies for leaving him alone with a psycho ho bag and asked if there was anything she could do.

“It’s fine, Buffy,” he answered, a slight hint of amusement in a tone that calmed the reactions of the room. Buffy relaxed and finally looked at her Watcher, gasping at the pale composure that met her gaze.

“Oh Giles,” she called out as she slumped onto the bed beside him, engulfing him in a strong hug.

“Buffy, breathing,” he choked out and then collapsed back against his fluffed up pillows when she let him go, a subtle cough reminding her of her own strength better than words probably could have.

“So, Spike said there was a bigger problem. Er, a big problem,” she quickly covered, not really wanting to get into what else there would have been a problem with.

Giles looked at the vampire with a mix of curiosity and concern. The fear was so palpable even Buffy could feel it and she wondered what it was that Giles had to fear from Spike.

“I-I thought you said that Buffy…that Buffy caused…” And then he stalled, either not wanting or unable to voice the dilemma that now faced them with the return of Angelus. Not wanting to believe the true cause for the monster’s return.

“Yeah, well…kinda got that part wrong.” Spike took a turn staring at the floor, this time in something akin to bashfulness.

Buffy alternated watching Giles and then Spike, becoming more confused as the silence reigned.

“So what was it that Spike got wrong?” The Slayer’s voice had hardened, way past ready to find out what the big mystery was that had firstly caused Spike to jump on her and almost break her heart over a misunderstanding, and secondly prompted the little meeting of severe, worried faces aimed at her.

“Come on. Enough with the evasive and tell poor little Buffy what you both seem to think she did.”

“We thought you had…slept with the poof.” Despite his desire to not drag attention back to the earlier bitter confrontation, he found the words torn from his mouth through bitter impulse. It was a compulsion driven by a need to punish her, make a Buffy pay for the monumental mistake of taking Peaches to bed.

While the hurt from this Buffy was yet to be set in reality—cast in concrete—the Buffy he had known for years had made him pay for her mistakes with the ponce continuously. Had judged him by a faulty, inaccurate yardstick for the entirety of their acquaintance. Old hurts were hard to let go of.

When he finally raised his eyes from the riveting swirl in Rupert’s carpet, he encountered the frigid composure of the woman he professed to love. Past indiscretion dictated the cause of Angel’s loss of soul the first go round for Spike; to consider another cause of his Grandsire’s resurgence was totally unexpected.

Small moments with Dru hit him, her intent search of something as she looked deep within him during those first moments he had returned to this time. Moments he had shortened as much as possible through both a desire to limit her exposure to him and thus prevent her gaining too much insight of where he had come from, but also because he was desperate to spend every spare moment establishing something with Buffy.

Obviously one of those short moments had been enough.

“She used thrall?” The sound of Giles’s calm voice streaking through Spike’s frantic search for an answer halted him fast.

Spike’s lost stare lifted from Buffy’s arctic return and focused on the weakened man in the bed.

“Yeah, Rupes. Think she did.”

“Would someone like to fill in idiot Buffy on what the what is here? Cause right now? Crazy talk! Incomprehensible to those missing the majority of a clue.”

The two men shared a considered look, setting Buffy immediately on a path of defense.

“You know what? I’ve had enough. I broke up with Angel days ago. I’m sorry I stopped Spike from hitting him, but I was all Uninformed Girl, and right now, all the crossed eyes and moody silences are upping the wig factor. What the hell would make you think I slept with Angel? We did this talk ages ago. Happiness means no soul Angel. I’m not stupid…hello, no happy giving Buffy. Remember?”

She was met with silence, nothing in their expressions to either confirm or deny that they had even heard her. It gave her important seconds to think, to try and fit the puzzle together in a way that made more sense than the cryptic comments she’d received so far.

The underlying point was that they thought she’d slept with Angel. That meant that they thought Angel had gotten happy. Which by definition meant he could lose his soul. Which meant…oh crap!

“Angelus. You think I slept with Angel because he’s lost his soul.”

Neither of the men stirred, her conclusion late to their already resolved and enlightened stance.

In this new light, Buffy went over everything that had happened since seeing Spike earlier and being crushed by his attitude toward her. I felt it. At the time it had made as much sense as a pimple on a first date with the captain of the football team. With Angel being some kind of vampire family equivalent to a grandparent, Buffy suddenly didn’t want to know what other kinds of things Spike could sense or feel about his ‘family’ members. Or what they could tell about Spike.

“So, you haven’t seen him. Just sensed him. How do you know for sure?”

Spike looked at her as if her ignorance was way beyond believable.

“Taught your girl well on vampire lore, mate,” he said as he cast a dirty look at Giles. “Vampires share blood, Slayer, an’ the experience is mystical. It’s like a security device—so we can always find each other. The buzz kinda went out of it when Granpappy got landed with a conscience like a real boy, but the las…er, I mean, I just felt him come back. The signal is strong with immediate family members.”

Buffy decided that at this minute, knowing there were two strong, evil vamps out there, she didn’t really care to alter her lack of ignorance much. Too bad she knew ignorance made you dead.

“Okay, so I need to know about him. What will he do?” Buffy hardened her heart to the fact that the vampire she had thought was her soulmate such a short time ago was now an evil, probably vengeful killing machine.

“He’ll likely come straight for you,” Spike told her, his tone implying there was no question that that was exactly what Angel…Angelus would do. “He’ll be mad as hell you made him feel any humanity. He won’t try to kill you straight away. Our boy likes to play with his food,” he continued the lecture, completely missing the flinches of the two humans.

Though the topic was already as serious as a heart attack, the next clue Spike offered was in an awful and sombre tone, chilling the circulating blood in both Giles’ and Buffy’s veins.

“You need to warn the teacher.” Spike exchanged a look with the Watcher, more implied secrets bombarding Buffy with resultant irritation.

“Why?” Buffy barged in stubbornly. “Why does Ms. Calendar need to be in the know?”

Spike turned hard, determined darkness on her, his irises eclipsed completely by the pupils.

“She needs to know ‘cause she is the key to returning the bloody wanker’s soul. If you want him back, that is. He’ll know, and he’ll go for ‘er.”

Giles turned to him, his darting eyes frantic with sudden realisation.

“He’ll go for her?”

Spike didn’t confirm again, or deny. His mouth was set in a determined line, plans formulating behind his half-closed eyelids.

“She’d better move in here.” There was nothing to argue, though Giles offered a stunned gasp. “Gypsy girl needs to be safe, needs to never be alone and never be out after dark. No hanging out in school rooms while she’s tryin’ to finish translating the curse.”

“But—” Giles began but was turned on by a furious Spike.

“No bloody buts, Rupert. She’ll move in even if you have to sleep on the kitchen floor. We’ll find room for the bint. ‘S not safe for her to stay on ‘er own.”

With that first decision made, the room fell silent; plans of action already underway against the threat of a monster.





You must login (register) to review.