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REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 8: ‘Buffy’s Interests’


A/N: Just the teensiest-weensiest bit of Angel bashing in this chapter! Please review and give me your thoughts on this fic. I’m interested to know if my historical lore in the plot line is believable; if the language used is close enough to the times? And if, of course, you like it or not. Thanks, Luv, S


When Spike first laid eyes on Angel O’Connor, took the hand that the tall, dark haired man offered in a shake, he knew. There was something almost sinister about this O’Connor bloke and as hard at the man tried to cover it, Spike could detect the darkness of his soul. ‘His hand,’ Spike thought, startled momentarily, ‘it’s ice cold and it must be nearly 80 degrees outside.’ This Angel, ‘who the bloody fuck is named Angel, for God’s sake,’ Spike smirked; this O’Connor was rambling on about some rot right now.

“Have a drink,” Spike offered some of Finn’s best brandy. “Thank you,” Angel nodded whole-heartedly, “I shall. I came here often, before Riley left for the War. Tried to talk the man out of it, make him come to his senses and all. There is no way that the Colonials or Patriots as they call themselves will ever defeat His Majesty’s fine Army. Besides,” O’Connor added, smugly, “what man in his right mind would go off to War, of his own accord, and leave a beauty like Mrs. Finn behind, eh Captain?” Spike merely grunted, “hmmm” and sipped his brandy as he eyed the taller, darker man with dislike.

Angel O’Connor had plopped down on the sofa, his booted legs placed up on Buffy’s fine china coffee table. Spike resisted the overwhelming urge to kick the bastard’s feet off of the table and punch his stupid jaw to wipe that bloody smirk off the older man’s face. ‘Prick,’ the Brit thought with contempt, ‘makes himself too damn comfortable in my Buffy’s house.’

“So,” Spike began evenly, if not a bit gruffly, “what’s your story O’Connor? What brings you here to Finnwood?” The dark haired man smirked even wider, “as I said Captain Anderson,” he purred, “I ‘am’ Riley Finn’s best friend, we grew up together. I feel, as that, that I am obliged to keep an eye out on his beautiful wife, Elizabeth. Even though Riley and I are miles apart on our political beliefs, Sir, I still am his friend, therefore, I feel that I should step in as proctector of his interests, including his wife and his Ward, young Andrew.”

‘Oh, I just bet you do, you stupid fuck,’ Spike hissed to himself as a wave of harsh jealousy hit him. “In fact,” this moron, Angel, continued with a false frown, “if our dear Riley does not make it back from this ridiculous War, I intend on taking on Finnwood as ‘my’ interest. To protect Mrs. Finn’s and young Andy’s own interests, of course. I think Riley would want it that way, don’t you agree, Captain?”

Spike was just about to take out his gun at his hip and blow this bloody fuck to hell when he was interrupted by Buffy’s entrance back into the parlour. “Hello, Buffy,” Angel had the audacity to greet her, the tone in his voice was pure honey.

“My name is Mrs. Finn, Angel O’Connor. And you well know that you are no longer welcome in my home, Sir. I would be most obliged if you leave, this minute and not return again. At least, not until my husband has returned from battle and can receive you himself. However, I doubt you will be welcome here then either. Good day. And to you, Captain Anderson.”

Buffy turned quickly and fled the parlour, scurrying up to her bedroom to hide there once more. “That fool,” she rasped as she sat down at her vanity table and began to brush her long, golden hair out, angrily. “How dare he come here, after, after that night when Riley had just left and he tried to…”

It was only minutes before there was a soft tapping at Buffy’s bedroom door. “Yes,” she sighed, knowing full well it was Mahalia on the other side. “That Captain Anderson, Missy,” she called through the door, “he wishes you to join him downstairs in the parlour. He sent that awful O’Connor man away, Mrs. The Captain would like to apologize for his lettin’ that rotten man in your house.” Buffy sighed again and nodded, more to herself then anyone else, “all right, Halia,” she called back, softly, “please tell the Captain that I will be down momentarily.”

When Buffy looked back to her mirror, she realized that her hair was quite shiny, it resembled spun gold. ‘Just the way Will likes it,’ she smiled at her relfection. Deciding to just leave it down, she rose to meet with William and try to explain, as she knew he would surely ask her to, why Angel O’Connor was not welcome here. And, why she, Buffy, detested that so called best friend of Riley’s so much.

Spike watched, almost amused, as Buffy paced about the Parlour, quite agitated. He had already apologized for allowing O’Connor in the house, had no idea that the man was not welcome and all, but Buffy would not be swayed from her nervous antics.

‘I’ll kill that bastard,’ Spike promised himself about this so called, Angel. “What is O’Connor to you Buffy,” he finally asked, halting her from her pacing.

“Angel O’Connor is nothing to me, William,” she sighed in frustration. “In fact, he is ‘nothing’ at all, at least as far as I am concerned.” Spike raised his left scarred brow and thought for a moment, ‘put this next question just right, mate,’ he advised himself.

“He, O’Connor, he’s done more then just not support your allmighty cause, your Patriots, hasn’t he Buffy dear?” She averted her beautiful green eyes, so full of fire at the moment, but then nodded silently in answere.

“Oh, very well, William,” she sighed and finally joined him on the sofa. When she sat next to him, he noticed that it was far closer then he could have hoped. “Since you insist on knowing the whole sordid mess, I will tell you. However, you will not like it and I hope you do not make a rash, bold move because of it. Understood William?” Now Buffy raised her own left brow at him in question and he nodded this time in answere.

“Angel O’Connor,” she began with hesitation, “is a monster. A hideous, cruel man with no compassion or grace of any kind. He was indeed my husband’s best friend, and do not flinch, William,” she ordered gruffly with a serious expression, “every time I mention Riley as my husband. Or I will not finish this ridiculous tale you are so interested in hearing.” Her mouth was set in a hard line and Spike fought the desire to kiss her right then, “go on, luv,” he encouraged gently.

“Angel O’Connor was indeed my husband’s best friend; he stood up for Riley at our wedding. Although their political beliefs and all were far from agreeable, Riley and Angel remained good friends. Then Riley, in an unusual act of unselfishness, enlisted in the Contenintal Army and arranged to leave to join General Washington up North. He was not gone, to the War, for even 72 hours before Angel O’Connor rode up to my house and snaked his way in here.”

She paused to watch William not only flinch at her words, but actually swallow hard and try to fight his anger from his eyes. It was almost comical to see, but Buffy continued on with her tale.

“At first, Angel,” and she snorted, most unladylike, at his name, “tried to ‘seduce’ me with kindness. Words of friendship and sympathetic understanding. He made it quite clear that he knew, very well, how diverse and shall we say dabased Riley’s tastes in,” Buffy hesitated then shrugged, “how my husband’s tastes in ‘marital’ relationships could be. God, Will, he probably had joined Riley at least once or twice in his ‘pre-marriage’ activities.” She felt her face go quite hot and flushed, her stomache felt ill, suddenly and she had to take a deep breath to keep from swooning.

“Buffy, luv,” Spike whispered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “say nothing more. Not if you don’t want to, Princess. I should not have asked. I was jealous, hateful and cruel, myself. Please don’t go on if…”

Buffy shook her head violently, “no,” she rasped harshly, “you asked. I will tell you most of it, anyway.” He nodded, still regretting that he’d ever brought this painful subject up to her.

“Angel realized, quite quickly, which is a miracle in itself, seeing as how incredibly stupid the man is.” This brought a smirk to Spike’s face, but he just took her tiny hand in his, pleased she did not remove it. “Angel realized quickly,” she sighed as she continued in a low voice, “that his false ‘sympathetic friend’ ploy would not sway me. So, he changed his tactics. He became surly, intimidating, or so he thought anyway. Threw Riley’s faults at me in the most hateful manner, using the ugliest and most disgusting terms. Even my husband’s post marital indiscretions were not off limits to Angel. By the time he had finished, I still made it clear that he had no chance with me and I told him to get the hell off of my land. And, stay the hell off!” Buffy’s whole body spoke of strong defiance and it pleased him, greatly.

Buffy had finished the story, Spike assumed, but her last words were barely audible to him. He felt sick for her, with worry, with jealousy, with rage. ‘She’ll never be safe,’ he groaned inwardly, his heart sank with the knowledge. ‘That fucking moron, O’Connor, will not give up. He’ll come at her as much as possible, in all kinds of ways. Like a fucking snake, ready to strike. Especially after me, this Army, after we have left this place behind.’

His vision suddenly became quite blurred with white, hot anger and he bolted up off the sofa. “Where are you going?” Buffy gasped, a sick, concerned look in her own green eyes. “I’m going to go blow that bloody moron to Kingdom Come, Buffy darling,” he replied, quite calmly in the situation.

“No! Will no!” she leapt up to grab his arm. “I cannot have it. I will not have it. Angel O’Connor is a fellow American, no matter how obnoxious or evil that he is. I will not have it, Will. You promise me, now, that you will not go after that monster. Promise!” She ended with a yelp, desperately clutching at him and searching his eyes with hers.

Buffy watched William, warily, as he seemed to ponder her words, then visibly calm down, right before her eyes. The anger in his beautiful sky blue eyes slowly dissapated as he began to breathe more evenly by the second. “Promise me,” she demanded again, her voice a mere whisper.

“I promise, Princess,” Will mumbled, never taking his eyes from hers. She realized she still grasped his arms, roughly and that his own hands had somehow found their way to her waist. He rested them there, even now, as the look in those blue orbs of his changed from anger to desire in a matter of seconds. Before either one of them said another word, William pulled Buffy into a crushing embrace and crashed his lips to hers, kissing her hungrily.

Buffy had kissed him back, he knew she had, how could he not know? Spike felt her responses to his greedy lips on hers, felt her part her mouth just slightly to allow him to kiss her more deeply. However, as soon as they had started their dance of kisses, Buffy broke their contact and pushed away from him. “Buffy,” he groaned as he took a step closer to her, his arms outstretched before him.

“No Will,” she rasped and stepped back from him even further. “We cannot do this, not now, not ever. I am a married woman.” Before she could slip past him and out of the room, William grabbed her by her slim arm and yanked her back to him.

“You are not going anywhere, Buffy,” he growled at her, “we need to talk about this and you are not running off from me.” She pulled her arm from him and hissed, “no more talks, William. No more touching between each other, kissing, definitely not. This is no different then when Angel tried to seduce me away from Riley months ago and also in my own house. Goodnight, William.”

Spike didn’t even bother to keep his voice down as he screamed after her, “we will talk of this Buffy. Soon. And it is different, I love you. Want you and you want me too. Buffy!” He screamed desperately, but she had already fled the parlour.

With a deep, heavy sigh, Spike looked around the room, hopelessly and rested his gaze on the bar in the corner. ‘She does want me,’ he assured himself again as he reached for the decanter of good Irish Whiskey.

Buffy had tried to sleep, honestly she did, but rest had not come as of yet. It was now close to 10:00 PM and she was sitting on the window bench, looking out over the front courtyard area of the house. You could see the fires of the some of lodged British troops from here and for some odd reason, it calmed her a bit. Mahalia and Jesse would both be asleep by now, little Jacob curled up in his crib next to their bed. Andrew had been asleep for hours, it’s all he seemed to do lately, Buffy shook her head sadly.

William? What would he be doing? Sleeping? She doubted that as he was quite angry when she had last seen him. No, he was still awake, in his room provided by her, probably drinking some kind of liquer and cursing her very name. Buffy had locked the door of her bedroom, even before she undressed from her day clothes and donned the little white nightgown that she wore to her lonely bed. ‘I am a fool,’ she actually giggled, ‘locking my door like some silly school girl who fears for her virtue.’

The sound of heavy footsteps invaded her thoughts, especially when they halted right outside of her bedroom door. Buffy stood suddenly and slowly made her way across the room towards the sound, startled completely when the door knob rattled loudly.

“Bloody hell!” came William’s booming voice and Buffy clasped her hand to her own mouth, trying to stifle a cry. Before she could make a move to do ‘anything’ at all, her bedroom door burst open and Will stumbled inside. He didn’t hesitate, not even for a heart beat; he slammed the door shut behind him and pulled a heavy table in front of it. The table would replace the lock he had just broken when he kicked the door in.

“Will!” Buffy gasped, “what are you doing in here? Get out!” William spun around to face her, his blue eyed gaze burned like fire right into her very soul. He had been drinking, that was obvious, but how much? It was hard to say. Right now, Buffy had other things to worry about, such as how she could get herself out of this situation and without being compromised by a man that she did ‘truly care for.’

“We are going to talk, Buffy. Now!” William closed the gap between them and pulled her flush to his strong body. His left hand entangled itself in her long hair and he pulled her head back to force her to look him in the eye. “We’ll start,” he rasped harshly as his right arm held her to him, “with just why you did not meet me that night in Boston.”


A/N: Oh, Spike…sigh. Well, we’ll have to wait until the next chapter to see if Buffy escapes with her ‘virtue’ intact, shan’t we? Oh, and please don’t be angry with me, about Spike being so ‘forceful’ and such, he really does love Buffy in this fic, he’s just real confused right now. Thanks for reading, please, please, please review (begging now). Even if you don’t care for the fic, I appreciate knowing your thoughts. Thanks again, Luv, Spuf





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