It was a completely different Willow that exited the Summers’ bathroom, arms wrapped in trepidation around the gaping sash of skin bared at her middle. She waited—knowing that Buffy was all friendy and not likely to burst out laughing at her sex-kitten interpretation gone bad, but still not completely sure what impulse might wring out of a person. If Buffy laughed, well…say hello ghosty costume from the costume shop.
Buffy smiled and Willow was stuck. Was this an on-the-edge-of-laughing kind of smile, or something else? Something kind of approvaly? Her complete lack of experience in this kind of situation just left a shuddering line of confusion, not able to risk one side of the possibility for fear of taking the wrong step. And making that step when she felt close to naked.
“You look fantastic, Will,” Buffy gushed in enthusiasm, all the while hiding her own minor embarrassment at her choice of costume.
“Oh,” whooshed out of Willow as the tension relaxed and her body slumped against the doorframe. “You too,” the redhead rushed in to add as the veil of her awkwardness was lifted fractionally. And Buffy did look pretty awesome.
“Thanks. It’s kind of hard to do Xena without the threatening cleavage. And the…you know…height.”
“But you do the brunette thing really well,” assured Willow, admiring the sleek thick hair of the wig.
Buffy grinned as she pulled Willow into her room and in front of the mirror. They stood staring at their reflection completely speechless, stomachs hurtling to the floor in a rally for returned propriety.
It took Buffy several swallows before she bucked up and got courageous.
“I guess we both know how to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.”
Willow smiled nervous encouragement, raising her fist to wave it uncertainly in the air.
“Yay, go us.”
Buffy giggled. “You are so going to make Xander’s eyes pop,” she told Willow gleefully. If there was one thing guaranteed to put a smile on her friend’s face, it would be Xander’s interest.
“Buffy, I-I don’t think I can really do this. I mean, it’s just not me.”
Buffy arched a brow. “And queen of the naked Amazon wannabes is my kick? I mean, do you actually see my cleavage?”
Willow snorted. “Oh yeah. Do I!”
Buffy rolled her eyes as she elbowed Willow in the ribs. Her friend rubbed the contact spot with a pout on her lips.
“Ow.”
“Come on. If I have to bare myself to all of Sunnydale, so do you. And I think I hear Xander at the door.”
Their light feet on the steps showed a hesitation about the coming confrontation that neither girl showed. Their smiles may have been a little forced but their determination never wavered. Even though Buffy knew better than to expect Spike at the door—having already agreed to his spending the early part of the night with Giles and Ms. Calendar to help in translating the soul curse—a little sliver of disappointment caught her off guard. The first hour of being dressed up was always the best. As the night wore on, so did the make-up and clothing. Right this minute, in front of Xander’s adolescent approving eye, she was fresh. Fresh and bulging from her costume.
Buffy pouted in a flash of discontent with the night’s plans. Then took a good look at her only male friend.
“Private Harris reporting for... Buffy! Lady of Buffdom, Duchess of Buffonia, I am in awe! I completely renounce spandex! Skin tight skimpy leather is without doubt my truest friend.”
He caressed his toy rifle like it was the leather incasing Buffy’s body. Or some other implement he would rather be reassuring with his touch. She felt herself flushing red, managing to stay still and not inspect her rather obvious display of skin for the altered complexion only through will and eagerness to showcase her other blushing friend to the object of her affections.
“Why thank you, kind sir.”
The Slayer stepped aside, allowing Xander’s first unobstructed view of his childhood play pal. Despite descending the stairs with Willow right behind her, Buffy was irrationally relieved to find her still there, still in the same skimpy outfit that she had exited the bedroom wearing. Somewhere in the back of her head, Buffy had half expected the redhead to race back to the room to retrieve her packaged ghost costume.
“Well, Private Harris is now split right down the middle, though the leather of the skirt variety still makes me Mr. Happy Man.”
Buffy smiled knowingly at Xander’s slight hitch in breath and grabbed her coat before leading them out of the front door.
“Now, Giles said that tonight is actually kind of dead for the undead. But now we have Angelus all explory and vengeful, we need to keep an eye out. Bonus though for keeping the vamp population indoors. Makes the search less of the needle in the haystack variety.”
Her friends stayed quiet despite her rousing speech about their current evil, eyes for nothing but each other.
“I am so glad we managed to bypass Snyder and not get saddled with a ton of kids while I have to keep a look out.”
Again she was met with distracted grins before attention quickly went back to admiring each other rather than her.
“What am I, chopped liver?” she huffed, her pout firmly in place.
“Oh, sorry Buff. Just a bit distracted.” Xander slung his toy rifle over his shoulder and straightened his back, looking for all the world like a confident soldier of years of experience.
“Of course you were,” Buffy agreed and giggled as he quickly ducked his eyes to look at the ground and Willow attempted to stop her face from blending with her hair.
She surrendered all attempts at conversation then and just walked. One foot in front of another until her pace meant she was leading the trio, the other two lagging further and further behind her sturdy pace. And so she walked and watched out, feeling miserable to be the one in front; the one aware of surrounding evil and yet lonely and bereft for the loss at her side. Stupid Spike for not wanting to walk with them anyway.
When Giles had mentioned the complete deadness of the Night for the Dead, Buffy had almost choked on her disbelief…until Spike had stepped in and agreed that the nasties liked their one night off in the year to rest up and be unpredictable. Her vision now was spotted with little scary people, all costumed up to scare their neighbours into coughing up the candy and filling their little sacks. Buffy found a smile tugging at her lips and she felt a release of tension. Maybe Giles was right and they wouldn’t see Angelus tonight. Maybe she’d gotten all dressed up in the skimp mode of seduction all for nothing.
Thoughts of Spike and the things he had made her body do and receive brought the rush of red back to her entire body and she grinned at the real reason she had adopted the Halloween tradition. She may have seized a leather wonderbra and leather wrist cuffs to emulate the buxom heroine, but she was dying for Spike to be her Hercules tonight. To take her back to those perfect moments in his arms when she could have sworn he’d taken her to a place they could exist forever—as long as they were together.
By the time Buffy twigged to the changes going on around her—pulling her out of the fertile imagination she had in regards to the joining of their naked and sweaty flesh—things had become slightly chaotic. Willow and Xander had lagged a decent distance behind, and once she had turned to locate them, Willow was standing back and pleading with Xander about something—she holding her hands up against his raised rifle. Without thought, Buffy had turned back and ate up the path to return to them. After a few mystified minutes, both she and Willow managed to work out that Xander no longer knew who he was or who they were. He swung his rifle around at each terrified scream that filtered through the night like it was his business to protect everyone from the monsters that dwelled in the shadows.
As miniature monsters jumped out from behind bushes; as altered children terrorised Sunnydale after dark, the girls could do nothing but rush their friend back home. In their panicked backtracking they managed to snag a ravaged Cordelia in a skintight catsuit.
Barricading the front door, Buffy took a few breaths and tried to work out what could possibly be wrong. Little groups of mini-monsters were rampaging gardens and letterboxes up and down the street, as well as some adults that Buffy recognised as some of the parents that had taken their children out—introducing them to the delights of the holiday celebrating the supernatural.
Preventing Xander from firing his rifle at menacing passers-by seemed to take all her energy and Buffy was so far at a loss. As she wrestled the door from him once more, fiercely wrenching the gun from his hands, she directed him forcefully to a chair.
“You’ll have to give me back my weapon, ma’am. You are not authorised to handle it and I will have to use whatever methods necessary in order to regain it.”
“I’d like to see you try, Soldierboy!” she huffed, rolling her eyes in irritation.
And when Xander set upon her to indeed relieve her of the weapon, she found herself involved in a fight fueled with confusion. Should she knock him flat on his ass so she could rest and think the situation out? Buffy hated to think of using her power against her friend, but the alternative left her occupied when she needed to be free of hassle and knee deep in finding out what the freak had happened to her night. And hopefully all without having her costume or hair altered in any way at all.
Sighing loudly, she overpowered her friend, bundled him into the basement and tied him to a chair.
“Where’d you get the nice shiny weapon, Xan?”
“It’s standard army issue, ma’am. You are in violation of the US Army. Untie me right now and I’ll consider not turning you in to my commanding…… officer.”
Buffy turned to Willow. “I thought this thing was a toy, but it looks like nice killing type bullets that’s he’s firing out there.”
“Oh no. I think he bought it from that costume shop. Ethan’s?”
Buffy frowned as she remembered having a quick look in there when she was looking for the perfect costume to knock Spike on his ass.
“The place that had that early era pink satin dress?”
Willow giggled at the memory. “Yeah. The one you said covered up too much flesh and you didn’t think you could wait how long it would take Spike to get it off you in one piece so you didn’t lose the deposit.”
“Oh, yeah,” Buffy admitted with a blush. “And Xena was so right for the flesh and skimpy…”
“Oh don’t worry, Buffy. It’s very sexy.”
They stopped at a snort from tied-up Xander.
“No man in his right mind would let his girl walk around in an outfit like that. That is a bedroom kind of costume. I can practically see your nipples.”
“Xander!” exclaimed Willow and Buffy together, the sixteen year olds suddenly feeling the need to cover up.
And nipples on display or not, Buffy felt an urgent need to get away from Xander’s roving eye.
“Cordelia,” she shouted back up the stairs, not quite believing the girl would agree to soldier-sit but knowing that she might need Willow to help her think out this mess.
The brunette argued herself hoarse about what Buffy asked of her, but settled in near the tied up Scooby like she was prepared for a long stay. Buffy raised a brow and hoped that the snark wasn’t covering an interest that might cause Willow pain. Right now she didn’t have time to worry about love lives or even friends.
She had a night to save.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It felt weird for Spike to sit in front of Rupert and help a woman he hadn’t even met with a spell his own Dru had encouraged murder to stop. Admittedly, back then he’d been proud of Dru’s violent impulses towards Buffy and her friends—had even slightly admired Angelus for his creativity in his torment. The extent of his change made him sometimes wonder if he was really Spike. He didn’t have a soul, yet what behaviour he exhibited to these Scoobies and toward Buffy seemed to imply that it wasn’t so much necessary as already developing.
He had always been a nonce for the power of love, but giving Buffy the credit for changing an evil yet displaced vampire into a veritable do gooder white hat seemed like a stretch. Without doubt he loved her, would do anything to keep her safe and happy and alive. But was he mocking his own ability to know right from wrong and crave against his demon for smiles instead of screams?
Buffy had started it; he had no doubt about it. If not for his altered feelings for the Slayer he might have just continued to find a way to get the chip out and return once again to Dru. It might have taken him another ten years or more of being dumped by his dark princess before he realised the import of what she had said.
The Slayer was all around him. And now she was in him, over him, consuming him until there was little left of the old Spike. Of the inherently and mindlessly evil Spike. The monster was in change only. When he took on his altered features it was more out of curiosity than need. He put himself on show for Rupert and Jenny, allowing the bones in his face and skull to crack and grind and let his fangs drop through pink fleshy gums. He swam in the scent of their fascination and fear, feeling the euphoria of that power rush through his body searching for the vicious need to tear them apart.
Only, his demon refused to surface in that way. Somewhere along the way, the primitive evil that had been with him for over a century had shrunk back into acceptance—and even approval—of the life he had forged alongside his lover.
He shook his head as he fell back into the conversation with the two human adults—a major breakthrough in the translation of the curse leaving room for Giles to begin questioning about a future that Spike felt in his gut he had changed beyond his wildest dreams. And not only that he was Buffy’s first love. That he had taken Angel’s place as the love she might never be able to give up. Despite missing his history, missing the moments that had led him to getting drunk in the presence of the newly re-demonised Anyanka, he couldn’t let go of this remaking of his past.
He had been spinning tales of what he remembered from the year that he had first come to Sunnydale, apologise in a wanky fashion for not warning them of the possibilities of Dru—as both a healthy and strong vampire, along with her gift of sight. He was beyond an idiot to not work out that she had seen glimpses that first night he’d gone back. The night he had dusted the Annoying One for Buffy.
That they didn’t hold his lapse against him he brought down to the simple fact that Jenny Calendar was now alive. Living and sharing comforts with Rupert Giles in a way she hadn’t had the opportunity to do in the other timeline. If he was truthful to himself, Spike could admit that this little result made him feel pretty chuffed. He almost wished that Anya could reappear out of whichever dimension and show him how he had changed things.
Overall, they didn’t even seem to mind the childish glee he adopted in his retelling of his confrontations with Buffy. That Rupert could even find the laugh in each situation was a great relief to Spike, because despite the first years spent wanting to kill the Slayer, he could see now that he had always just wanted her—to be around her, fighting her. The end result was always clouded, and he couldn’t say for sure that his love for her had been sparked even back then, but something had. Some kind of admiration that made him seek her out again and again.
As point of fact, “Actually, Rupes, Halloween was a bloody good night. She was all dressed up in this costume, wig and dress right out of the pages of the 1700 who’s who and best dressed. Was a bloody riot. The chit had no idea if she was Martha or Arthur. Didn’t have a bleeding clue that the Big Bad was there to do her in. ‘Cept I didn’t…took so long talkin’ and procrastinatin’….again! Wasn’ much of a bloody vamp with her even then. Was sort of cute her not knowin’ she was the Slayer, all kittenish and weak…”
The eruption of screams outside brought his story into focus with alarming direction onto his inability to put fact to fact.
“Oh balls,” he sighed, a slightly amused smile teasing his lips as he watched Rupert’s alarmed eyes widen. “It’s bloody Halloween, innit?”
Giles and Jenny nodded dumbly.
“Do you, er, happen to remember what caused Buffy to lose her memory?
“If I rightly recall the stories you lot spun about it later, it was some wanker you knew from your Ripper days. Did some spell to turn people into their costumes.” His own eyes widened as he thought of the implications. “Dawn told me that Buffy wore that dress to attract the Poof. You don’t think she would have gone there for a different costume or something? Know she was gonna be out an’ about lookin’ for any sign of Dru and Angelus. Would be just like them to buck convention and go out to snack on a bunch of littlies.”
He missed the flinch from the gypsy, but had his own cringe going on. The thought of mini-snacks no longer tempted him, yet he thought his feelings on the topic were all academic. Saying it so matter of fact though, stung just a little. It was a visual he didn’t want in his head, didn’t want on his tongue, and the thought of his Nibblet on the receiving end—or even any other child now—was more painful than he ever thought possible.
Giles leaned against his window, frowning at the random violence occurring around his building as short monsters run amok.
“I don’t suppose you happen to remember where he conducted the spell from?” Giles inquired, his voice betraying his rising anger at a foe Spike had only a passing association with. Right, best to leave the Fyarl demon situation for later.
“Was a shop downtown. Had his name in the title. Edward, Elmer, Edwin…”
“Ethan,” Giles corrected, his jaw locked in fury. “That pillock just doesn’t learn. It would suit him; coming to the Hellmouth to spark off chaos. Let’s go, Spike. I think I just might let you eat the little rotter.”
Spike grinned, though not for the promise of real pumping blood. He hungered to see Ripper in motion, wanted to see the anger and hatred aimed at someone other than himself.
Before they left, Spike caught sight of the dark woman heading back to her computer console. “Oi,” he called to her, waiting till he had her full attention. “Don’t leave this flat. For no reason. Even if it’s burning down.” He spied a phone sitting beside her keyboard and swooped down on it, hurrying. “Anything happens, you call us. Watcher should outfit all of us with one of these. Could save a lot of time.” His focus was so hard it almost bruised her with the force. “Angelus could be behind this little set up. No way of knowing. He could just take advantage of the confusion, like I did. Speakin’ of, call Buffy an’ make sure she stays in her house.”
The swish of his coat saw her nod and the men were gone, leaving a suddenly shaky woman who had forgotten that her blood was sought by those who would do her harm. After calling Buffy and telling her Spike’s message, Jenny hung up and stared at her computer screen. Her own safety depended on this curse. On her translation and the hopefully soon act of re-ensouling. Spike’s dire warning—being burned out of a building—had seriously never occurred to her before, and seemed to place a whole new urgency on everything. Living with this fear every day was crippling. The only ways for it to end were to either finalise the words of the spell—or die. And now she was placed within the walls of one Rupert Giles, the loss of her life was not something she could accept easily.
Jenny buried herself back within the text on the screen, fear and newfound love fuelling her deciphering skills.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was a strange lack of resolution when things were set back to rights. Particularly as the angry kick at the plaster bust had been a stroke of good fortune, an accident rather than the well thought out interruption of the spell.
Ripper was flashing on Giles’s surface, nothing to punch and threaten in the empty shop. The signs of a struggle indicated a fight of some kind, but one obviously inspired by a motive other than ending the spell on the town. The replacement of threatening growls with the cries of children seeking the familiarity of their parents on the outside in the street was the only clue that the key to destroying the effects of the spell lay in the destruction of the head of Janus.
“Hit me,” Spike offered, seeing the need for the Watcher to relieve some frustration in a more hands on manner.
“I beg your pardon,” came the furious reply, hands balled into fists as his body felt overwhelmed by the sense of animosity.
“I said ‘hit me’. Get it out of your system.” Spike tilted his chin waiting for the first blow.
“Are you out of your bloody mind? What the hell is wrong with you? I’m angry, yes, but I’m not likely to just go about thrashing innocent people to make myself feel better.”
It was a punch harder than a fist could ever likely have been. Not used for that release—humanity showing him that he didn’t have to be the resident punching bag, just because that was how Buffy had always chosen to use him. To see him. It made her wrong. Made her actions cruel, unjust.
And it made him feel afraid.
Spike’s face twisted before Giles’s eyes, the onslaught of emotion knocking his wild and youthful alter-ego right out of him in a rush of concern for the vampire. In the scheme of things, Giles knew that there was a lot more to Spike’s story of his return to his past that he had neglected to tell or elaborate on. It didn’t take several university degrees for Giles to work it out, though.
Spike had withdrawn, shocked within himself for the sole reason of not being used violently to allay someone else’s spirit. It was no jump to surmise that—along with his bad relationship with all the Scoobies, including himself—Buffy lay at the crux of the vampire’s ill-thought out wish to return and do it all over. Buffy was his focus, was his obsession. Was his passion. Everything was all about Buffy, which didn’t in any way cheapen all that the former Big Bad had done for the rest of them. He’d extended the life of his own love, had given Xander a refuge and a hope of learning to grow in a care that had been so far denied to him by his own family. He had given caution in introducing Willow to magic and had brought about an amazing confidence in his Slayer. And after all this, he still expected to be punished.
Giles completely deflated, and in an action completely unbecoming from a British male, he clapped Spike on the back before subjecting him to a brash hug.
“There you go,” Giles told him, swallowing hard on his embarrassment. “None of us are the same people you knew, Spike. I don’t believe any of us would want to hurt you for our own benefit. An inanimate bag filled with sand would do just as well. Now come, let’s find Buffy and make sure all is well.”
Spike nodded slowly, his moment of realisation making him quake. Despite having had Buffy in his bed, having her whisper words of love all over his skin, he didn’t really expect that it would be different. Didn’t think a few minor changes could divert acts and personality so far from their path.
For this moment, Rupert had proved him wrong. He needed to be in Buffy’s arms to feel its truth. To once again drown in her love.
And bloody Harris snoring in the bedroom next door.
Life was turning wonderful and ordinary.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Dru giggled into her hands as the man was thrown to the floor, wrists bloodied from his battle with the ropes.
“Hmmm, Daddy. He smells so powerful. Can’t I have a little sip?” she implored, her eyes dancing with the lighted fire in the grate.
“Let’s talk about drinkypoos with the little magician later, Dru. Right now, I have an offer that he won’t refuse.” The smile was menacing and left Ethan struggling with his bowels.
The silence was left to fester the fear on purpose. Images of chaotic Halloween mini-monsters had appealed to his sense of justice. So he’d followed the news of Ripper’s whereabouts; watched his Slayer to the extent that even now he felt disappointment at failing to convince her to purchase any of his costumes. A demonised Slayer on All Hallow’s Eve held a sense of the irony that should have had him in stitches. Instead he was tied up, no confrontation with Rupert or the Slayer, but a potential vamp meal for a crazy girl and her Daddy. This kind of chaos in his own life he could have done without.
“Ooh ooh ooh, he’s thinking of her,” Dru grinned and bounced as her plan fell into place. “He wants them to suffer, to tear down their tower till then hang by their nails. I like him, Daddy. His heart is as black as mine.”
He’d been momentarily lost in her hypnotic way of speaking, but froze as she predicted the last. A black heart would normally have been laughed off if not embraced with pride. But a spark of humanity squeezed said blackness to an uncomfortableness he wanted to cling to.
“I can’t think what you can possibly want with me. Untie the ropes, that’s a good man, and I’ll get right out of your hair.”
The blood in his veins seized and turned icy as he was confronted by the cold, sinister smile of one and the abrupt maniacal laughter of the other.
“You’ll not be going anywhere. Didn’t you hear me mention the offer you won’t be turning your back on?” And just like that the dark humour fled from the monster’s eyes, evil face in place and ready to terrify into submission. “I thought you’d be all about taking the Slayer and her pets down. Now don’t disappoint me…Ethan.”
The Brit flinched at the mocking laughter and nodded his head. Despite being afraid for his life, there was no way he could deny the spark of interest that had him leaning forward to hear their plan, to relish in the pain they wanted to cause. For now he would ignore the killing part of the equation. He wasn’t a murderer, well…not really. But the promise of causing major upset to his long time enemy was definitely worth considering. The added incentive of keeping life was well worth it as well.
His nod was what they had been waiting for and a loud clap of hands from the minions surrounding the trio echoed through the high walls of the large room.
“Good decision. Now, to reward you, we give you a choice.”
His blood was already chilling in his body, but a block of ice just buried his heart and he felt the decrease in beats as he waited in terror for what the choice would be.
“None of that,” his new ally ordered. Angelus smiled, before reaching through the rules of speed to grab him by the throat and raised him to suspend dangling in the air.
“We can turn you right now, bring you a delightful young thing to break in…or just break, or…you can stay human, safe within your very own vampire hub.”
The room reached a frightening hush, and despite disbelieving how genuine the offer was, he clung to his life with the claws he was rejecting.
“I’d rather…” he rasped, the choke hold on his neck crushing his voicebox and causing his access to air to peter out. “Stay human, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Courageous. And admirable. Though monumentally stupid. But I did say it was a choice so…” He turned to the demon-faced crowd and bellowed his instructions to keep fangs off of human necks until otherwise informed differently.
When the cold hands left his throat before placing his feet back on the ground, he fell with a yelp to the floor, immediately focusing on the pain in one ankle.
As safe as a man could be while surrounded by hungry fanged vamps.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you muchly to my wonderful reviewers. You guys make me so excited about this story.