Chapter
Seven
His hands stroked over her, soothing her as
little shudders continued to run through her body. Buffy’s face was mashed into
his chest, and he wondered if she was hiding, and how long she planned to keep
doing it. Not that he minded. He could stand here holding her all night.
Longer.
“You okay?” he murmured softly against her
ear. She nodded into his shirt. “You smell so good, love. Hot, aroused.” His
tone dropped further. “Ready.”
She made a little sound, but still didn’t
move. The hands that had been digging into his neck moments ago,
had moved down his body and found their way around him, under his duster. They
were resting against the small of his back now, fisted into the fabric of his
t-shirt.
Didn’t look like she planned to stake him, then,
he decided. At least, not yet.
“You still feel warm – like before?” he asked.
He was curious about the sensation. He thought she’d experienced it before
tonight, too, but they’d never spoken of it.
“No.” She sounded a little sad. “It’s gone.”
“Could see if we can find it again,” he
offered, rubbing his chin along the top of her head. Was it really gone? he wondered. He didn’t feel the heat anymore, but he’d felt
like parts of it had settled into him, become a part of him.
Her face moved against his chest.
“Shhh. Just for a minute? Let me… Ah… Don’t
talk, just… dance.”
Dance? he wondered,
before realizing that their bodies were indeed swaying lightly. Must be
instinctive on his part, he thought, to keep their bodies moving together.
Unless it was instinctive on her part.
Or something beyond instinctive – something conscious.
Either of those last two possibilities almost had him groaning out loud.
Buffy.
God, he wanted to take hold of her hips and
grind himself against her. Show her what she did to him. Wanted to… Spike’s
lips twisted. Pretty good chance she knew – their wasn’t
exactly much distance between them right now. And he could hold off – deny
himself. Before the tower, he’d had months of experience controlling his body
around her. Bloody hell, years.
“You think we’re dancing?” he asked. It took a
bit of an effort to keep his voice light.
She tipped her head back and met his eyes. Her
own looked big in her face, and, to his relief, still full of the warmth he’d
grown used to seeing in them in the last few weeks. He felt some of the tension
leave him. No need to rush, he reminded himself. They had time.
“That’s all we’ve ever done, isn’t it?”
Spike felt a little jolt of surprised pleasure
jump through him. Memory, or coincidence? he wondered.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, his hand sliding
into her hair. He bent to kiss her, and she raised herself up to meet him. The
kiss was hot and slow, a sweet satisfaction. “Mmmm,”
he murmured his approval, lifting his head. His tongue flicked out to touch his
lips, tasting her there. “Yeah.”
On the stage, the band shifted into another
slow number, one Spike preferred to the last piece, and he began moving more
deliberately to the music. Their eyes stayed locked for several long minutes,
and for once, he wasn’t spending the time attempting to read her thoughts.
Instead he was allowing himself to think about how beautiful she was. Trying to
suss out what was going on in his Slayer’s head
occupied a lot of his time, but right now, he didn’t feel like probing. He just
wanted to enjoy the moment.
Enjoy her.
He ran his hands down her back, letting them
come to rest on her hips. Bloody beautiful hips. Buffy broke their eye contact,
and turned her head to lay her cheek against his chest. She moved against him,
with him, an intimate imitation of dancing. God,
she feels so good. Her hands remained tangled in his t-shirt, but their
hold was looser, and her knuckles had begun to rub lightly against his back as
they swayed together.
A few numbers, and a very pleasant fifteen
minutes or so later, when the music changed into something faster, Spike
stopped pretending to dance. One of his hands pushed into her hair, and he bent
and kissed her again briefly, before detaching himself from her a little.
His sussing out
instinct had reasserted itself.
“You wanna talk about what happened, Slayer?”
Her eyes went wide, and her mouth actually
dropped open a little, causing his to curve.
“I meant Joan, R.J. – whatever the sodding
hell made us forget who we were, and whatever it was made you look like you
were in the middle of some teen horror flick when we got our memories back.” He
paused. “Course we can talk about the other if you want,” he murmured
suggestively, his tongue curling against his teeth. “Talk about it.” His eyes
slid down her body. “Do it again, see where it might
lead…”
His light taunting seemed to bring Buffy back
to herself, and she let her hands fall away from him. They’d shuffled onto the
dance floor, and when she glanced around, he knew she was looking for a place
that would give them a little privacy. He touched her shoulder, inclining his
head toward a quiet corner with a couple of available chairs.
“What’d’you think
happened?” he asked, following Buffy as she led the way to the indicated spot.
Buffy sat gingerly on the edge of her chair, but Spike slouched back into the
cushions of his, limbs sprawled as he lit a cigarette.
“Spell.” What else? her
expression said.
“Those
vamps were after you – ‘Slayer! Slayer!
Come out and play!’” he mimicked, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Stupid prats! Think they zapped some mojo
on us, then tried to slip in during the confusion an’
take you out?”
“Maybe.
But they seemed to think I knew who I was. You know – calling me ‘slayer’,
expecting me to fight…” She shrugged, her body tightening up a little. “But
just in case – we got them all, didn’t we?”
His
mind rewound what he’d seen outside the Magic Box, reviewed the evening’s body
count. “I think so.”
“If
they had some spell, then, we can hope it died with them. I’m really not too up
with the idea of every demon in town knowing the magic words to wipe out my
memory. ‘Cause, I’ve pretty much had enough of the memory problems lately.”
“That
you have.”
“Whoever cast it, I wondered if it had
affected everyone in town – you know, like that spell those floating Gentlemen
creeps cast.”
He looked the question.
“Sunnydale falls victim to mass laryngitis?”
she prompted.
“Oh, yeah.” He hadn’t been paying much
attention to anything going on in the world at that time beyond his own newly
neutered state. He didn’t remember much about the town’s muteness except that
it had happened around the time that he’d been exiled from the joys of being
chained in the Watcher’s cozy bathtub to the even more joyous ghetto of Harris’
basement. That, and thinking that even an hour’s
reprieve from the boy’s incessant yammering was probably worth whatever evil
the demons had been up to. He was fairly sure he’d been enjoying a good book
during most of the brouhaha.
“The locals,” her head indicated the normal
young adult activities taking place around them, “Don’t seem to be acting any
different than usual, so, either denial has risen to new heights in Sunnydale,
or – not the whole town.” Her eyes
glinted at him. “Gosh, Fred! Do you think maybe it just affected the Scoobie
gang?”
Spike snorted. “This cannot surprise you,
Slayer.”
“Yeah, if it’s only gonna affect a few, we’re
the chosen ones. Sometimes, we’re, like, spell magnets.”
Spike tilted his head slightly to the side,
studying her. “You’ve remembered everything, haven’t you? When our memories
came back, your fuzzy ones were cleared up, too, weren’t they?”
“Yeah,” she admitted, exhaling heavily.
“Knew something happened.”
He dropped his cigarette to the floor, and sat
up, moving to the edge of his own chair. He reached for her hands, holding them
much as he had the night she’d been resurrected. Tonight, though, he allowed
his thumbs to brush over her knuckles. He leaned toward her.
“You okay, love?”
“I – I don’t know.” She looked genuinely
unsure. “God, I really don’t know… It’s great to remember my friends more
clearly, my past with them. And my mom…” She leaned in closer to him as well,
so that their heads were less than a foot apart, their knees touching. She was
staring at the floor near their feet. “But I remembered some other things, too.
Some not so great things…”
Spike waited, his hands, his thumbs, offering
comfort. He could hear the fear in her voice – the fear he’d sensed in her
earlier.
“The Slayer stuff… I didn’t really get it.”
She lifted her bent head and looked at him. “The patrolling, the workouts… I
thought that’s all it was. You know, kind of like a job. A cop or something.
Okay,” her shoulders moved. “Having a ‘Watcher’ did clue me in that it wasn’t
quite that simple. And my mind had flashed the words ‘chosen one’ at me a few
times. But I didn’t get that it’s not like that at all. Not just a job.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not. It’s what you are.”
“When it hit me, it was… a shock, I guess.”
~*~
Shock hardly covered it. She’d felt like she’s
been plunged into some alternate universe, where the world looked the same, but
wasn’t, not in anyway.
As she’d sat at the bar in the Bronze staring into the untouched glass of beer, she’d spent
some time letting memories of her friends and her personal past wash through
her. The lost and fuzzy details were there – accessible – and there had been an
amazing sense of release in not having to struggle for her friends’ names, in
being able to remember something as simple as laughing at a television show
with her mom. She’d wanted those memories back so badly. She’d spent endless
hours trying to drag them up, and, whenever they were momentarily clear, trying
to figure out how to keep them from slipping away again.
Well, she had them now, but her priorities and
her perspectives had shifted.
Those memories, for now at least, had become
secondary things, details that seemed to fade into insignificance next to the
overwhelming realities of what her life had been.
The
Slayer.
The
Responsibility.
Choices. Decisions to be made. No easy way out. The necessity to be always,
always on top of things.
Duty.
Sacred duty.
And
she was transported back to the desolation of the last few months of her life;
that time before the final battle, the tower, and the decision to jump… It all
rushed into her, swamping her – the terrible stress of her mother’s illness,
and the devastating pain of her loss, the doubts she’d been feeling about her
ability to love, the fear of Glory and the fear for Dawn.
“I
didn’t mean – I shouldn’t have shoved you away like that,” she said. “I was
just…”
Terrified.
Buffy’s
insides tightened up. She couldn’t do this. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.
Spike’s
hands gave hers a quick squeeze as he dipped his head closer to hers. “Just
what?” he asked, his voice low. “Talk to me, Buffy.”
She
hesitated. “I – it, it was like the coffin.”
“What?”
His brow furrowed. “Remembering?”
“No,
being the Slayer. Being me.” She
looked up at him. “I was trapped. Before – with Glory. Everything was closing
in on me, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I knew I couldn’t beat her,
couldn’t win. And everyone was counting on me, depending on me to save the
world. Even if it meant killing my sister. They expected me to do that. To kill
Dawn.”
The
memory was so horrifying, she felt a brief return of
her earlier nausea.
Spike
reacted with a low growl. “I remember.”
“It
was like everything was falling on me – like the dirt and rocks falling in on
me, burying me alive. And I couldn’t cry out for help, because if I did, the
dirt just filled my mouth – more people worrying about me, their concern
weighing me down, making it harder for me to fight.
“It
was all smothering me. Until there was nothing left but darkness. And death.”
“You
came through in the end, Slayer, like you always bloody do. Saved the world.
You fought your way out of that coffin.”
“And
into another one. I died, Spike.”
His
eyes dropped to the floor, and his hands tightened around hers again, squeezing
harder this time. She saw his jaw clench.
“You
did what you had to do,” he said tightly. “There was nothing more you could have done. Nothing you could
have changed.”
His
tone made her frown.
“But
I couldn’t… I –” Buffy broke off, interrupted by memories.
“I do remember what I said. The promise. To
protect her. If I'd done that ... even if I didn't make it, you wouldn't've had to jump. … I did save you. Not when it
counted, of course. But after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all
again, do something different. Faster or more clever,
you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways …”
Where
had she heard those words? He’d spoken them to her. Had it been in a dream? No.
No. In those first foggy days or
weeks… Soon after she’d been brought here, brought back. In his crypt, sitting
together on the floor, his hand resting on the back of his down bent head, his
hair spiked up. And his voice… full of pain and anguish. It had been the day
she’d told him she’d been in heaven…
“If I’d done that…”
And
another night...“You let – someone – hurt
you, torture you, to protect her. And then you promised me you always would. ‘‘Til
the end of the world.’ Tell me that’s
how it was.”
“Yeah.
I didn’t do it, but yeah…” His
face twisting, the haunted expression…
“…do
something different. Faster or more clever, you know?
Every night I save you.”
“There was nothing more you could have done.”
“You.”
Oh,
god.
He
blamed himself.
He blamed himself for her death.
“Spike…”
His
head came back up, and he stretched his neck a little, squaring his shoulders.
His jaw remained hard.
“You’re
afraid it will happen again, aren’t you? That everything will pile up on you?”
“Spike…”
She tried again to take him back to what he’d said.
“You
need to learn how to balance everything, Slayer. What and when you can let go.
Stop taking the whole bleeding world onto your shoulders.”
“Spike…”
“For
starters, your little pals can run their own lives. Don’t let them muck up
yours with their problems.”
Buffy
studied his face. His eyes stayed on hers, hard, implacable. Closed doors. She
didn’t think she’d ever seen them so cold and distant, lit not even by the fire
of rage. She took in the hard line of his jaw, still tightly clenched. Seeing
him like this did something, made something turn inside her. She didn’t like seeing him like this.
She
took a breath. “I can try,” she told him. “But it isn’t that easy. Being the
Slayer means I’m the one who’s ultimately responsible.”
The
taut line of his body relaxed slightly, and the hard grip on her hands eased
up.
“It’s
like – the buck stops at Buffy.” Her eyes glinted. “I’m a buck-stopper.”
He
closed his eyes and cranked his neck again. Then his thumbs resumed brushing
back and forth across her knuckles as he raised his eyelids.
“You can
handle it, Slayer,” he told her, his voice back to normal. “Seen you do it
enough times, haven’t I? You come through. And you can damn well learn to
delegate. If the Scoobies are gonna be hanin’ about
all the time, they can pull their bloody weight.”
“They do! I mean they did!” she objected with
some spirit. “And they will again. As, um, as soon as… Soon.” As soon as she
felt comfortable with them again, she finished silently. As soon as she let them.
Buffy
hesitated before going on. “But there’s something more than that… something I
can’t quite…
“You told me I was strong; that I could take
you. But I thought it must be because I worked out all the time or something.
All this martial arts stuff. I didn’t get it, didn’t know about the powers…”
“Yeah, you’re full of power.” He ran his eyes
over her. “Always liked that about you, pet.”
“But I’m not,” she insisted. “I mean, I am. I
can see that I’m strong. The fighting… yeah, some of it is there. And now that
I’ve remembered more about this whole Slayer thing, it will probably help me
more. My technique and the timing you’re always harping on.” She turned her
hands, folding her fingers around his. “But Spike, I don’t… The edge – the, the
fire, maybe…” She swallowed. “Giles keeps saying that he doesn’t think I quite
have my edge back yet, and… I –” Her eyes looked into
hi, revealing her fear. “I don’t feel
it, Spike. I’m – I don’t think it came back with me.”
“Slayer –”
“I told you, remember? That I felt like some
parts of me are missing? Maybe
“Stop.”
She did, startled by his harsh tone.
He seemed to be trying to bring himself under
control. “You’re pushing too fast again, Slayer,” he began carefully. “Worryin’ yourself for no good
reason. You’ve only been back a few weeks. An’ you’ve been dealing with all
kinds of things, trying to adjust. Some of your problems got cleared up
tonight, and you remembered some others. Doesn’t mean you’re not gonna overcome
them, too. You’re worried about getting buried by your duty? Good first step in
making sure that doesn’t happen is not beatin’ yourself about the head like this.”
Spike leaned in closer to her, his tone
softening and becoming more intimate.
“Listen to me, love.” He bent in nearer yet,
running his cheek along hers briefly. “This edge you’re talking about -- you
want it back, don’t you?”
“I need
it back.”
“No, you don’t. ‘Cause you have it.” His forehead came to rest
against her. “I know you. Oh, god, Buffy, I know
you. And everything you need is here.” He lifted one of her hands and laid
their palms together. His fingers threaded through hers and folded down,
gripping her hand tightly. “It’s here,”
he repeated, his voice firm, compelling. “I can feel it. It’s in you.”
For a minute they both gazed at their clasped
hands, the entwined fingers.
“Look at me, Buffy.”
Her eyes moved to his.
“Maybe it’s like your memories – the edge, the
fire. Just not as accessible as it should be. Something zaps some type of mojo on us and your memories are jogged loose. They’re
there for you now. You haven’t needed your Slayer edge. Not yet. You need it,
it’s gonna be there for you too.”
He held her eyes, and she knew he was trying
to drive the point home.
Unconsciously, Buffy disengaged her hand from
his and began toying with the fingers of his other hand. Her fingertips traced
the edges of each digit, lifted one, then another, as she considered his words.
“You really think it’s in me? That it’ll be
there for me?”
“Yeah.”
“’Cause, you know, based on my past, I’m gonna
need it.”
“You’ll have it, love.” He promised.
“I’m gonna need that technique, too. All the
kicky stuff.”
“And the timing.”
“Yeah.”
“They’ll be there.” He paused. “So will I.”
His low voice held a promise, and her body
tensed slightly. “Spike, I don’t know –”
“You know how I feel, Buffy. You know I’m
yours.”
Standing
on her stairs looking down into his face. He
belongs to me.
Her eyes gentled. “I – yeah,” she said. Her
thumb and forefinger were tracing the hard edges of his index finger, and she
looked down at their hands, not focusing. “I don’t think I … I don’t feel like
I can make any – sort of make any decisions… big, huge, decisions… not right now.” God, she was babbling. “I
have to figure myself out, and I…”
“Shhh,” he came to her rescue. “Too soon for
you, but…”
Her eyes came up to meet his.
His head tilted to the side, and both his
expression and his slight smile were warm, soft. “Earlier, under the stairs…
Was that my crumb, Slayer?”
A soft sound of amusement left her as she felt
the tension slip away.
“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “Or maybe a little
more. Like, a chunk. A big chunk.”
That sentence alone qualified as more than a
crumb, and she knew it.
“Felt like a whole slice to me, Slayer.” His
mouth brushed her ear. “A generous slice,” he went on. “With a dollop of cream
on top.” He drew back just enough to run his eyes down her body, lingering on
her lap. “Lovely cream.”
Her breath caught, and she went absolutely
still. An entirely different kind of tension started humming though her.
“The slice was delicious, but I didn’t get a
chance to taste the cream.”
Oh, god. He had the most amazing voice. So – intimate. It was hypnotizing her,
sending little frissons of pleasure through her body. Buffy’s right hand, the
one that had been toying with his fingers, had unconsciously curled around his
index and middle fingers and was squeezing them tightly.
“And I wanted to. You smelled so good, love.”
That beautiful voice dropped further. Became husky. Oh, god. “Still do. You’re
gonna taste good, too. I know it.” He brushed his nose softly along her jaw,
and stopped, his lips hovering just above hers. His tongue emerged, touching
the curve of her lower lip. “Next time, I’m not gonna let that cream go to
waste. Not gonna let it go untouched, untasted. I’m gonna take it all in. Savor
it. Every. Last. Drop.”
He punctuated each word with a flick of his
tongue against her lips.
“Oh, god.”
He breathed her name. “Buffy.”
“Can I get either of you something from the
bar?”
As well as making her jump, Buffy was pretty
sure the intrusion of the waitress’s voice kept her from melting into a sloppy
Buffy puddle on the floor. Spike’s head turned toward the intruder with a sort
of slow, menacing deliberation. She imagined that movement had been very
effective on other occasions, but the tall brunette didn’t look intimidated in
the least.
“We’re having
a moment here,” he growled out.
“Sorry.” The
waitress, obviously anything but, let her eyes run over them. “I thought you
had that earlier,” she drawled. “Over by the stairs.” She smirked at their
expressions, and moved off, leaving them staring after her, their mouths
slightly agape.
Buffy’s eyes
dropped to their hands, and grew wide as she realized how she’d been squeezing
and, oh god – pumping – Spike’s
fingers. Horrified, she jerked her hands away and pressed them between her
knees. She could actually feel the
color running into her face. Spike abandoned the killing glare he was directing
in the waitress’s wake, and whipped his head back to her as soon as she yanked
her hands from his. He watched her lame attempt to hide them, and she saw him
suck in his cheeks hard. His blue eyes were wicked with amusement.
Damn him! He
was laughing at her!
Spike pried
one of her hands out from between her knees which immediately clamped back down
on the remaining hand. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing her palm.
“Only for a
moment, then the moment’s gone…”
“Dust in the
wind,” Buffy continued automatically.
“Is that a
threat, Slayer?”
A burst of
surprised laughter escaped her. She relaxed her legs, flexed her abused hand,
and stood up. “Only if it can be directed at nosy and kinda – what’s the word?
“Smart arsed?” he offered.
Buffy nodded.
“That’ll do – nosy and smart arsed waitresses.” She
stretched her neck and shoulders. “God, how long have we been here?”
He rose as
well. “Hasn’t been that long.” He squinted toward the clock behind the bar.
“Couple hours, maybe?”
She must have
spent about half of that staring into her beer. Buffy thought.
“I need to go
home,” she said. “Check on Dawn and the others.” She glanced up at him.
“Coming?”
Spike’s tongue
curled against his teeth and he took one slow step toward her, his hands
gliding onto her hips. His lips brushed her ear. “Didn’t. But I’m open to any
ideas you might have of ways to – rectify that.”
She drew back from him. He was so… “I thought
the moment was gone,” she said loftily. She turned away, glancing back at him
over her shoulder as she moved toward the exit.
He followed. “And here I was expecting ‘You’re
such a pig, Spike.’”
“Your mouth has been surprisingly oink-free
lately.”
“Maybe I
can rectify that.”
~*~
They were walking along the sidewalk quietly.
Even though she knew that he was always alert to what was going on around them,
Spike had a way of strolling slowly, exuding calm. Right now, she was envying
that. Without the distraction of, er, other things, her earlier fears and
confusion had reasserted themselves. Not to the same degree, but… She still
felt scrambled, like she was being jerked in several different directions at
once.
Now that she’d remembered so many difficult
things, she was thinking it might be a really good idea to learn some self
relaxation techniques. She’d been battling the panic from the coffin
nightmares, and the unsettled sorrow from the dreams of loss, and now this…
Slayer,
comma, The.
How could she have ever forgotten for a moment
what that meant? And why, with all the things she’d been struggling to
remember, had she not wondered about that? Spike called her ‘Slayer’ all the
time. She was fighting vampires and demons, for god’s sake! Why had her brain
not tried to understand the deeper meanings of that? Didn’t that seem to
be a pretty big deal? Instead she’d just sort of – ignored it. Work out, patrol, try to do
her best, listen to Giles and Spike. Period. Not once had she given any deeper
thought to it. It was almost as if – when she wasn’t actively engaged in Slayer
activities, the ‘Slayer’ didn’t exist.
That
wasn’t entirely true, she realized suddenly. She had thought about it a little. The night they’d ridden the
motorcycle…
A Slayer is destruction. Absolute. Alone.
That
thought had caused her pain, deep pain, and had made her panicky, so she’d
pushed it away, refusing to dwell on it.
Had
that been the problem? Or part of it?
Had she, like Gregory Peck, not
wanted to remember? Maybe there had
been some reluctance in her mind. Something inside her that remembered the
fears and pain of the last months of her life, and had strongly shielded that
part of her past from her, taking even curiosity away. Maybe her subconscious
had been trying to give her an out, if only temporarily.
Did
her subconscious think she was ready now? ‘Cause she thought she could argue
that point pretty forcefully…
Her troubled eyes turned to Spike.
“I don’t understand how I could forget all
that – what being the Slayer meant. And with all the fogginess that was my
memory since I came back, there was no hint of that. None. I was reaching for
details – names, places, stuff like that. The whole Slayer thing? Not so much.
Or, um, at all.”
“And God will wipe away every tear from
their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor pain,
for the former things have passed away.”
Her jaw dropped slightly. “Huh?”
“Revelations, love.”
“Huh?”
“The bible…”
“You can quote the bible?” That distracted her.
“It’s called an education, pet,” he explained.
“I had one.”
Which really didn’t explain
why he could quote bits and pieces from it more than one hundred years later.
She’d been in school a lot more recently and she could hardly remember…
“Revelations is your hotly debated book of the
bible – lots of stuff about the end of days. But most people read that
particular verse as a description of heaven,” he went on. “The last few months
of your life, love? I could see it was takin’ a lot
out of you. Causing you more pain than you should ever have had to…” he broke
off, and took a long drag on his cigarette. “You were in heaven for hundreds of
years. Stands to reason, the parts of bein’ the
Slayer that caused you pain – they’d be wiped away, wouldn’t they? ‘The former things have passed away…’ Taken
from you.”
She looked into his face. How does your mind
work? she wanted to ask. She’d told him about not
remembering the Slayer details less than half an hour ago, and, even with –
other stuff – happening, his mind had already turned it over, studied it, and
come up with explanations and possible conclusions. All wrapped up with
supporting biblical references. It approached boggley.
“Do you, ah, believe in God?” she asked
instead.
He shrugged, not seeming in the least
uncomfortable with the subject. She supposed he’d had time to contemplate lots
of subjects over the years.
“Don’t
need to believe in God to quote the bible, pet,” he told her. “But I figure
there’s somethin’,” he admitted. “Don’t quite know what, but some power… Kinda
like you said, I guess. Good and evil exist – we know that. Fate, too, maybe.
Don’t know if the ‘good’ is God or something else.” He studied her in turn.
“You’d know more about it than me, love. You were in heaven.” Another pull on his cigarette. “You didn’t come across
an elderly bloke with white robes and a flowing beard while you were there,
huh?”
“Yeah,
be a typical guy and assume God would be male,” she said. “But no,” she went on
over his outraged ‘Typical?!’ “I didn’t come across anyone, remember?” She knew
she sounded slightly miffed, and he smiled.
“All that laying about,” he jibed. “You
probably slept through the bloody welcome wagon. Either that or you were
supposed to report for good deed doing duty or somethin’ an’ didn’t get the
memo.”
She made a face, accepting his attempt to
lighten the mood. Her mind was spinning and letting it all go for awhile
sounded like a great plan. “Oooh. That would be like
that nightmare where you lose your class schedule and then find it at the end
of the semester and realize there’s a class you haven’t been to once, and now
you’re either going to get a big, fat, red “F” for ‘Forgetter’, or be forced to
take the final exam completely unprepared or something.” She paused, taking a
deeply needed breath. “Only, in a sort of eternal life type way…”
He
snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re almost home, Slayer. You’re obviously sleep
deprived.”
“Am
not,” she stated. “I’ve been sleeping better, for, um, awhile. Definite
decrease in nightmares.” One per night was fewer than three, wasn’t it? And the
occasional night without any…
“Didn’t
get your mental calendar back, huh?”
“I
guess not,” Buffy shrugged. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes
before continuing casually. “I mean, I know the order things happened in. Like,
I know my mom scared you off with an axe on Parent’s Night before I kicked your
ass on Halloween, and that both of those were before you showed up in the
middle of the day once just to experience a sun-shiny ass-kicking… Things like
that…”
“Oh,
you’re bloody hilarious, you are.”
“Yeah,
I know,” she nodded seriously. “I’ve always made it a point to work on the
humor.”
“Not
hard enough.”
“Do
you suppose I’ll get my punning ability back now?”
“One
lives in hope.”
~*~
They paused at the end of the sidewalk leading
up to her house.
Spike watched Buffy stare at the house, saw
her taking in the blazing lights. Still, she turned a face full of appeal up to
his. “You don’t suppose they’re all in bed, do you?”
“Sorry, Slayer. I can hear voices. Can’t make
‘em out, but…”
Spike’s eyes ran over her. He touched her
chin, brushed a windblown strand of hair off her cheek. Her huge eyes, shot
with wonderful glints of green and golden brown, stayed on his. Enhanced night
vision had lots of merits.
“Ready, Joan?”
Amusement touched those hazel eyes, and the
golden lights intensified for a moment. “Ready, Rupie.”
He eyed her sternly. “R.J.,” he corrected.
“Right.”
Buffy and Spike came in the front door of the Summers house just in time to see
“Is everyone alright?” Buffy asked her sister.
She glanced back up the stairs. “Physically, anyway?”
“Physically,
I think so.” Dawn glanced back and forth between them. “I think Anya and Giles
will be spending a couple of days getting over their ‘engagement’, and
apparently Anya was completely terrorized by the hundreds of rabbits that
showed up in the Magic Box when she and Giles were trying to do some spells.
But otherwise I think they’re all okay. Xander took Anya home. He said he had
some sedatives, and he was gonna make sure she took some. How about you two?”
Spike looked at Buffy, who seemed to have no
idea how to answer that question, and spoke for them. “We’re doin’ okay, luv. What’s wrong
with
“It’s – she’s upset with
Spike’s jaw tightened perceptibly,
but Buffy looked confused.
“Why? Not because
“No,” Spike drew out the word, and his eyes
were hard. “’Cause Will’s the one who did this, isn’t she? Another little
attempt to mess with people’s minds. Am I right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dawn said. “She and Tara had
a big fight when we got back here.”
“What are you talking about? Mess with
people’s minds how? What people?”
“She’s done it to me a few times. Not always
successful, but…”
“How?” Buffy looked shocked and disturbed.
“Messed with your mind how? Why?”
“She and I don’t always see eye to eye,” Spike
dismissed. He wasn’t about to bother her with the details of any of his little
run-ins with Red.
Buffy stepped closer to him, touching his arm.
“Spike? What did she do?”
He glanced at her hand on his arm, and into
her face, taking in her concerned expression. Concerned. For him. He stared into her eyes, slightly stunned. “I – later,
love.” He forced his eyes away from her, and looked back at Dawn. “What,
exactly, did
Dawn’s arms tightened around her waist. “She
and Tara were arguing. I didn’t hear everything.”
Buffy seemed to accept the statement, but
Spike just rolled his eyes. “Sure you did, bit. Now spill.”
“She did a spell. To, um… I guess she wanted
to make Buffy forget about being in hell.”
“Oh.” Just for a second, Buffy’s face
expressed her horror and fear, and Spike watched as she struggled to bring
herself under control, to hide her reaction from her sister. Too late.
“Steady, love,” he said quietly, laying a hand
on Buffy’s shoulder. “You have your memories.”
Dawn frowned.
Spike’s eyes went to the younger girl, studying
her. “You got any idea why the spell wasn’t just cast on Buffy then?”
Dawn shifted under his steady regard. “Not
really.
“I’m going to see if
“You sure you’re okay, luv?”
Spike asked as Buffy went into the kitchen. “The others took care of you
alright?” She looked stressed out, and disturbed. He knew it upset her when the
people she cared about fought. It always reminded her of watching her parents marriage disintegrate around her.
“We were ducking some vamps in the tunnels,
and there was some slayage by Xander
, but, yeah, I’m okay.” Her expression changed. “Hey! I helped with the
staking.” A note of pride had crept into her voice.
“Did you now?”
“Well, mostly I just tossed Xander a stake,
but still…”
“From humble beginnings…”
Dawn’s half hearted smile in response clearly
indicated how upset she was.
His eyes stayed on her until she shifted
restlessly. “What?” She shifted again, growing uncomfortable under his eyes.
“What?” she demanded.
“Stupid hair?”
Color ran into Dawn’s face. “I was all, um,
confused,” she said lamely.
“That right, Umad? You didn’t sound confused. You sounded mouthy.”
Dawn bucked up. “Oh, What. Ever. Rupie, Jr. Whatever you do to your hair, I’m
sure you’ll always be the badest vamp in Sunnydale,”
she informed him in a tone of voice that suggested she’d repeated these
particular words far too often.
“That’s a given,” he agreed.
His eyes didn’t stray. Dawn caved.
“Okay, okay, I like the curls! Is that a
crime? Geesh!”
“Now, how bleedin’ scary would I be with my head all poofed up?”
“There has to be something between ‘all poofed up’ and helmet hair, Frankie.”
She came closer, and reached up toward his
hair. He ducked away. “Hey! Hands off!”
“How about cut short and kinda spikey? That can be punk, right? Look all rebellious and – ooo – scary.”
Spike glared. “I’ve been honing this look for
almost a quarter of a century, pidge. Perfected it,
too. No need to mess with it now.”
“Oh, yeah? Well guess what? It’s a new century
now, fang boy. You could think about joining the rest of us in it.” She looked
beyond him. “What’d’you think, Buffy?”
“Uh – uh,” Buffy refused. “You two bicker just
fine without me getting in the middle.” She looked between her sister and the
vampire before her eyes inevitably drifted to Spike’s hair. “Short and spikey has some possibilities, though.”
“Not too short,” Dawn elaborated, looking
victorious. “No need to go all G.I. Joe or anything.”
“Sod off, Umad.”
Dawn laughed, and Buffy smiled.
~*~
Spike was pacing.
It wasn’t a straight back and forth movement,
but he was roaming the room, restless, obviously unable to stand still, much
less sit and talk in his usual easy manner with Dawn. He got kinda – into it –
when they were actually fighting baddies, but she didn’t know if she’d ever
seen him quite like this – this hyper.
At least since she’d come back.
He’d wanted to know what Willow had to say for
herself, and she’d told him that the other girl hadn’t been brooding on the
back porch – like I do, she added to
herself – and didn’t appear to be wandering anywhere in the yard, either. Using
her eyes, she’d also made it quite clear that they were not discussing this any further in front of Dawn. He’d inclined his
head in agreement.
But she could see the wait was taking a
serious toll on him.
Dawn had been watching his odd behavior,
frowning slightly, and finally, she looked at Buffy, rolling her eyes.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” she announced.
Finally.
Spike might just as well have said it out loud, Buffy thought, with body
gestures and much volume. Dawn disappeared up the stairs, and as soon as they heard
the shower start up, he rounded on Buffy.
“There is something seriously wrong with that
witch.”
“I know,” she agreed. She’d had a little time
to think about this. “Something isn’t right. But we don’t know what, exactly,
and I think Giles and I should sit her down and go over it – ”
“Oh, sod that! You need to show her the door,
Slayer, Get her as far away from you and the bit as you can.”
“I should at least hear her side of the story,
don’t you think?” she asked, heat building.
“You’re gonna let her get away with this,
aren’t you? Are you out of your soddin’ mind?”
Buffy’s temper ignited. “Am I supposed to just
use the girlfriend equivalent of the ‘See evil, slay evil’?” She eyed him
angrily. “And, based on your personal history, you might wanna be careful how
you answer that.”
“That little witch tried to mess with your
mind. I don’t give a rat’s ass what she does to anyone else. She can toy with
them as much as she wants, as much as they wanna let her. But I don’t want her
fucking with me, and I don’t want her fucking with you and the bit.”
“We don’t know for sure –”
“Yeah, Slayer, we do. She wanted to make you
forget a part of your life. And she has no right to make that decision for
you.”
“She thinks I was in hell. I have to believe she was trying to help
me.”
“Then tell her you weren’t!” he growled out.
“Tell your little friends what they did to you! What they tore you away from.”
“What purpose would that serve?” Buffy argued.
“It would only hurt them. It can’t change what happened. I don’t wanna hurt people.”
“Grrraah!” he
roared. “What is it with you and protecting your friends? You. Are. A. Killer.
Slayer. Hurting people is what you do.”
Rage
suffused her. “I’m not a killer! That’s not what I’m about. I’m about
protecting the weak from the strong. It’s not the same thing.”
Spike’s
head fell back and the tendons in his neck stood out as he clenched his jaw,
his eyes squeezed shut. He was breathing hard.
“I
know that,” he grated out, after a moment. “I said that wrong. I bloody well
know what you’re about. You’re a white hat, a hero.”
His
struggle for control gave her a minute to calm down a little, too.
“Spike,
listen to me.
“Yeah, maybe.” Spike might be calmer, but he
clearly wasn’t buying into her line of reasoning. “This friend – that would be
the one who pulled you out of heaven, right? Bet if you asked she’d tell you
she was just trying to fix things – make them better – save you. Rescue you,
like she told the bit. ‘Cept you didn’t really need
rescuing, did you? And now she’s trying to fix things again by erasing parts of
your past. If that doesn’t bother you, it bloody well should. She messed up the
spell. You got your memory back, we all did, but what if we hadn’t? Or what if
you’d just lost parts of it? Permanently lost them? Parts of your past? Your
memories of your mum? Of Dawn?”
He let that sink in. “That first night we took
out the motorbike, you talked about being worried that you’d lose your memories
of heaven. That’s the part of your
life
“I –” She broke off when she realized there
was really nothing she could say. Looked at from that angle,
Pain
Quickly Buffy tried to push that last thought
away. She couldn’t blame
She wanted
to trust
“And you don’t even know for sure if she was
trying to fix things,” Spike went on. “That excuse might work for you – she
thinks you were in hell. But what about the rest of us? Did she bugger up the
spell, or was she trying to affect all of us? And why? I think your precious
Scoobie gang better damned well find out.”
“What could she want the others to forget?”
“Now, how the bleedin’ hell am
I supposed to know that, Slayer? Maybe you should ask
Buffy felt her anger flaring up again. “That
‘mob’ and I have been friends for a long time.”
“You can hardly stand to be around them! Have
you forgotten that?”
“No! I haven’t forgotten. I feel all weird
enough that I don’t feel connected to any of them. Do you have to rub my face
in it?”
“Rub your face in –”
Spike broke off, staring into that face. Even
though they’d spent most of it, little sparks of anger were still flying
between them, and Buffy’s breathing was rapid. His face changed and she saw
something come into his eyes. Something – personal.
“Look at you,” he said. The tone of his voice
had altered.
“What?”
“All flushed and smart mouthed.” His eyes ran
down her. “Body all tight, and eyes shooting daggers at me. Givin’
me hell.”
“Huh?” How did he succeed in distracting her
so easily?
“Told you, love,” he said with satisfaction.
“Everything you need is inside you.”
Spike’s arm closed around her waist and, with
a swift movement, he jerked her off her feet, hauling her against him. His hand
sank into the hair at the back of her head and he swooped in and kissed her,
hard and fast. She was breathing even more rapidly when he let her go.
“Welcome back, Slayer.”
He gave her one of his patented smirks and
strolled casually out of the house.
Her mouth fell open.
“You…” she said into the empty room.
Damn him!
Get back
here, she wanted to shout after him. We.
Are. Not. Done. Arguing…
~*~
“You.
Are. A. Killer. Slayer. Hurting people is what you do.”
Brilliant. Bloody. Move. You. Stupid. Wanker.
He punctuated each word with a vicious blow to the punching bag. He was
surprised she hadn’t knocked his teeth down his throat. It might not rank up
there with chaining her up and offering to kill Dru to prove his love, but it
had it all over beating his practice Buffy about the head with a box of
chocolates in frustration.
How. The. Hell. Do. Humans. Control. Their.
Tempers?
After swaggering out of
Buffy’s house, what he’d really wanted to do was find Red and chat her up a
bit. But he’d damned well promised the Watcher he’d let him take care of any
contact with the bint. Well, he hadn’t promised
exactly. “I’ll see what I can do.” Still, intent… And he knew the Watcher was
counting on him to follow through.
His
fists plowed into the heavy sack again, a rapid volley. Seeing
It
was hard to even contemplate turning responsibility over to someone else – to
not take charge of things on his own. Even when he’d screwed things up, and
that had happened far more often than it bloody well should have, especially
since he’d come to the Hellmouth, he hadn’t regretted his decision not to
delegate. Because he knew he was the only one he could count on.
He’d
done it occasionally – turned responsibility for something over to someone else
– if the someone else in question was located in the
same room with him, and he could keep a very close eye on them.
Even
Dru – he’d never exactly been able to count on her to come through on specific
things. Whether that was due to her fickle nature or her insanity, he didn’t
know. Still, she’d never disappointed him, never bored him, never
made him feel like anything but the luckiest bloke in the world to have her at
his side… Until…
Wanker.
You. Are. Supposed. To. Be. Working. Off. Your. Frustration. Thinking. About.
Dru. Will. Not. Help.
He’d
agreed to let the Watcher take the high road with
Argh.
What
the hell had that red haired witch been up to? And why?
If
he was honest with himself, Spike would have to admit that in the past he’d
rather liked
Of
course, no one on the bleedin’ earth could be more annoying than Harris. He’d
always figured the powers in charge of such things had used the whelp as a sort
of Pandora’s Box for Vexing Things, and some wanker
just couldn’t resist opening him, releasing him onto the world.
And
Buffy? The Slayer had always irked him, deeply. She had aggravated him,
irritated and infuriated him, bothered, beset, and beleaguered him. Spike’s
mouth curved with affection. Stupid bint aroused him,
too, made him hard and hungry, made him ache, made him care, made him feel,
made him change…
Once
he’d met her, how could he ever have thought for one minute that he’d be able
to bring himself to kill such a bloody perfect woman? Had he been out of his
sodding mind?
He
forced his thoughts back to
Trust.
There.
Was. That. Bleeding. Word. Again.
The
Scoobies trusted Red. She’d been a
part of the gang, loved, counted on, respected, ever since his Slayer had come
to Sunnydale. Even Buffy, twitchy or not, had made it clear she wanted to trust her friend, to believe
in her, to give her the benefit of every doubt. Spike feared that even if the
others talked this out, mouthed the need to use caution with the witch, their
every instinct would be to trust her, and that could prove to be dangerous.
Spike
glanced at the clock, and stopped the swing of the punching bag. It was time to
head back to Buffy’s, take up his vigil on the roof. He swept his duster up off
a chair and was pushing his arms into the sleeves when he saw one of Buffy’s
jackets hanging on a hook near the door. The sweatshirt Dawn wore during their
workouts hung next to it. Spike stroked his hand over each of them, smiling as
his hand came away with a long strand of Dawn’s hair. His girls had beautiful
hair, he thought. One dark, one light. He brushed the strand of hair from his
hand and watched it fall to the floor of the training room.
Clothes.
Hair.
Spike’s
eyes narrowed.
He
could have a protection spell put on them. He knew people. Reliable, white
magic types that spurned the dark arts. Trustworthy. He didn’t know if Buffy
would go for it, but strictly speaking he didn’t have to tell her. No need for
her to know, was there?
Of
course there’s a soddin’ reason for her to know, you
stupid git.
Soddin’ trust.
His
Slayer was big on it. He figured trust was bound to be an ongoing issue between
them. Even though things seemed to be going fairly well in that department
right now, it would come up again. After all – Slayer, vampire, past attempts
to kill one another. He wasn’t gonna bugger things up by having some white
witch cast a spell on her without her knowledge, even if it was for her
protection. Having one cast on little sis probably wouldn’t sit any better with
her.
There
was no reason he couldn’t have one cast on himself, though, was there? Nothing
too strong. Just a little something to keep Red out of his mind.
Tonight,
he decided. He had experience prowling the rooms of the Summers
home while the occupants slept. All he had to do was climb in the bit’s window,
make a little side trip to Joyce’s old room or the bathroom, pick up a couple
things. Some of
He’d
told the Watcher he would guard his girls from
~*~