| Title: Between Now And Never Author: Minx Trinket Rating: NC-17, finally! Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. Not dealing with it well. Spoilers and continuity: If you haven't seen 'em all, don't read this! This story takes place, oh, call it 39 and 3/4 days after "The Gift." It completes the trilogy (such a grand word for a bunch of six-page stories!) of "The End of the Line" and "Lines Get Crossed," by yours truly. Summary: Spike, long abroad, returns to Sunnydale for his Nibblet's sixteenth birthday and is surprised to discover what has changed and what has remained the same. Author's Notes: This takes place a little less than a year after the events of my "Line Trilogy" (see parts 1, 2, and 3) I think it's actually longer than all three previous bits put together! Sorry it took so long, but I was working on some stuff I've got a chance in hell of getting paid for, and for that reason, chapters will be coming slowly. You should also know, gentle reader, that I wrote this under duress. I'm not a fan of closure. But I got seduced by the idea of the scene in the Magic Box, and before I knew it my beta reader Aethyl was screaming that I had to post it and that it was part of the great tradition of community mythmaking and I don't know what-all. So here it is, but I'm grouchy about it! As to the birth name with which I christened Spike, it's a tribute to Arcadia by Tom Stoppard. Read it, revel in it, note the parallels! (No, I'm not getting a kickback from Amazon; it's just a convenient link.) Want a song for the dance scene in Chapter 1? Try "Ghost" by the Indigo Girls (lyrics available here). As for Spike cleaning the crypt in Chapter 3…hmm. Creed's My Own Prison seems about right. Acknowledgments: To my demanding readers, who drag it out of me, and to Mrs. O, for calls that last long after midnight, my thanks. Email: minxtrinket@yahoo.com *************************************** "Hello, Harris," Spike grunted. He turned to scowl at Xander, his eyeballs following his head on a few seconds delay. Xander was smiling at him. He walked right up to the bar and patted the peevish vampire on the back. "I can't believe I'm saying this," Xander said, "but it's good to see you, man! Um…." He seemed to think better of it and, for a moment, pulled his hand away. "Um, you are still…living on Chip Lane, aren't you?" "'Fraid so," Spike sighed. Xander resumed the irritating patting. "Great to see you, Spike. Really. Patrolling hasn't been the same without your bad moods and foul language." "Gee, thanks." "What brings you back to town?" "Whad'ya think?" he said. "Dawn's birthday." Xander's smile faltered for just a second, and Spike knew that they were thinking of the same thing, how Dawn's last birthday, just after Buffy's leap, had been draped in black crepe and futility. Xander shoved his hands into his pockets, and, clearing his throat, tried to pretend he'd forgotten it. "Yeah," he said brightly, "hard to believe, our little Dawnie's almost 'sweet sixteen,' huh?" Spike decided to play along with the selective memory game and nodded. "Hard to believe that in less than two days, the Nibblet's gonna be a full grown…" he groped for the word and found nothing. "Nib," he said finally. Xander squinted at him. "Spike, I do believe you're loaded." "I do believe you're right." "And if I'm not mistaken, it's in a self-pitying, drowning-of-the-sorrows sort of way." "Correct again." "Well," Xander said, spreading his hands magnanimously, "you know your suffering has always been a great amusement to me. I'd be happy to listen if you want to talk." Spike considered this. He asked the fifth of scotch in his bloodstream. The scotch seemed okay with it, so he replied, "Ever loved two women at once, Harris?" Xander sighed. "Sadly, no. And since Anya and I are gonna be walking down the ol' aisle soon, it looks like I never will." Spike sneered. "I said 'loved,' not 'shagged,' you little pervert." "Oh," he shrugged, unoffended, "well, in that case, the correct answer would be 'most of my adult life.'" "Really?" "I think at one point I got up to four." Spike, warming suddenly to this unexpected friend, gestured at the empty stool to his right. "Have a seat, Harris. What're you drinking?" He slapped a few bills down on the bar. "Barkeep! Get my friend Harris here a drink." Xander slid onto the stool. "I think I like you in this mood," he said, and ordered a beer. "You like it? Well I don't like it. Bloody miserable," Spike muttered. "That's what I am. Pathetic sod. Blubbering ninny." "Go on," Xander said, straightfaced. "No, you go on. Tell me about your pathetic love life." "Formerly pathetic, thank you," Xander corrected, then continued. "Well, in my case, one girl didn't want me at all, which at least eliminated one of the possibilities." Spike burped. "Buffy," he said. "Yeah," Xander admitted. "You too, right?" "Who else?" "Who indeed. But, y'know, Spike, Buffy's not…she's not…" "I know," Spike muttered. "She's not Buffy now." Xander shifted uncomfortably. Though they'd all been thinking it for so long, apparently no one had dared to say it aloud. Except Dawn, and it seemed only the vampire had been worthy of that honesty. "I'm pathetic," Spike said, "but not irretrievably stupid. I've got eyes. And a heart of sorts. She didn't love me before she went and got all enlightened and now she bloody well loves everything, doesn't she? But nothing too much. Buffy's a lost cause for me, and D--" Spike caught himself in time. "This other girl, she's not….I'm no good for her." Scratching his head, Xander sighed, "Well, Spike, I'm not gonna advise you to go back to Drusilla, but--" "Drusilla?" Spike laughed. He hadn't heard, hadn't thought that name in he couldn't remember how long. "Bloody Drusilla? Oh, Harris, you have been under a rock." "Not Drusilla?" "No." "Well who then?" "Rather not say if it's all the same." Rather not have you stab me with a corkscrew. "Spike, buddy, don't leave me hangin'!" Xander rubbed his hands together, gleefully, and asked, "Do I know this girl?" Spike stared hard into the bottom of his glass. "You do." Xander squinted at him. "Not Willow?" "No," Spike said. "Nor Tara. Although, speaking of two at once--" "Yeah, I know," Xander sighed. "Let's not go there. Well, if it's not the witches and it's not Drusilla, who else do we both know?" Spike pursed his lips and waited. And waited. "You son of a BITCH!" Xander shouted, and tackled him. They went spinning off the stools onto the floor. Spike put his hands up to shield himself. Xander pounded Spike's face with his fists. "You sick, cradle-robbing bastard! I'm gonna kill you. I'm gonna put a two by four through your chest!" Spike found himself dangling suddenly in the air and saw Xander flailing next to him. The bartender, who must have been a cousin of Olaf's, had them both by the collars. "Take it outside!" he hissed, and sent them stumbling out the door into the alley. Spike, backing away from Xander and dusting off his coat, said sheepishly. "Well, nice to see they finally got some proper muscle in there, eh?" Xander pointed at him threateningly. "You're dead." "I'm aware of that." "I mean you're dust." "Um, well, y'see," Spike began, and Xander lunged again. This time, bracing himself for the chip reaction, Spike hauled back and punched Xander in the gut, knocking him into the wall. Twitching, he grabbed his forehead and waited for the electric storm in his brain to subside. Xander, gasping for air, squeaked out, "You…goddamn…fucking…bastard…you stay…the fuck…away from her." "What do you think I've been doing?" Spike roared. "Do you think I went to bloody Madagascar for the sunshine? I've been around the world and back trying to forget her, to forget both of them, for fuck's sake!" "Then why…did you come back?" Xander panted. Spike looked down at his boots. "Didn't bloody work." "Then go away again until it does," Xander growled. "I will if I have to," Spike said sadly. "Good," Xander said. "'Cause I swear to God, Spike, if you hurt Dawn, I'll--" Spike flew at Xander, shuddering with shocks from his Initiative-built conscience, and slammed him into the wall, pinning him by the throat. Through gritted teeth and blinding pain, he screamed, "I WOULD NEVER HURT HER!" Then he stumbled away from the coughing Xander Harris, clutching his skull and running blindly, following the compass of his still, cold heart. *************************************** Spike found himself on Revello again, but this time he didn't hesitate, instead tiptoeing around to the back of the house. All of the windows were dark. Spike found the one he wanted, and he scaled the wall of the house. Thankfully, the window was open far enough to accommodate him, and he slithered in past the drawn shade and landed in a heap on the floor. As quietly as he could manage, he struggled out of his coat and snuck over to the bed. She was there, sleeping peacefully, her hair fanned out like a mermaid's in the tide. He slid into bed next to her, on top of the covers. Reaching out carefully, he brushed a few stray hairs from her face. Dawn stirred. She opened her eyes and squinted, as if she couldn't quite make him out. "Hullo, Bit," he smiled. "Spike?" she asked. "None other." "The cheese is under the bed," she muttered, and Spike realized that she was still asleep. "I'll take care of it," he said. "Don't worry." "You should be too," she sighed. "I'll get right on that." "Sing?" she asked, and patted his chest. "What, you want a little Hendrix then?" She scowled and snuggled up against him. "Nice song," she insisted. He put his arms around her gently. "Alright. I've got one." Softly, he began crooning: "Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee, all through the night. Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night…" Dawn's breathing deepened, and Spike hummed the rest of the song to her, until he, too, was fast asleep. *************************************** Dawn was awakened by a Zip! Flap flap flap sound and a burst of sunlight against her eyes. "Mrrrumphth," she complained, and threw her hand up to cover her face. Then she smelled the smoke. She shot upright, looking around wildly, and saw him. "Spike!" she cried. The vampire woke and, noticing his broiling flesh, screamed "Bloody hell!" and rolled off the bed into a shadowy corner. Blinking up at the now-shadeless window, he saw Buffy, hands on hips, smirking down at him. "Well, good morning, Siddhartha," he scowled. "Good morning, Sid Vicious," she chirped. "Long time." "Yeah." He looked up at Dawn, who was still gaping at him from the bed, the sheets clutched to her chest. What he saw stopped the words in his throat. She was not how he'd left her nine months ago. She was still Dawn, unmistakably, those eyes, that scent, but in those missing months she had sleekened and stretched into a whole new form. The baby freckles had faded, and the pinch-me softness of her cheeks had hollowed out into caress-me lines. Her hair was still long, but it had been cut into a shaggy tumble spilling wantonly around her face and shoulders. What he thought he saw behind the tightly-held sheets were fuller curves, a still-tiny waist, and legs that, always long, now seemed to go on forever. He swallowed. "I thought I dreamed you," Dawn said. "I think I'm dreaming now," he replied, and Dawn's smile blossomed across her face. "Hi," she said quietly. "Hi," he agreed. "Welcome back, Spike," Buffy said, and he jumped. He'd forgotten she was standing there. She offered him a hand and helped him to his feet. "Um, could you," he began, and gestured at the beam of sunlight cutting him off from the rest of the room. Buffy pulled the shade back down, plunging the room back into blissful dimness. Dawn reached over to her night table and turned on a light, then released her modest sheets and unfolded herself to her full height, standing and facing him. He noticed with a start that she was much taller than Buffy now, nearly as tall as himself. She put her arms around him and drew him to her barely clothed body. He tried to cover the shock of lust that hit him, fumbling, trying not to touch what he wanted to. He let his arms curl carefully around her, returning her embrace. "Fucking bastard," she whispered tenderly. "I know," he said. "I know." If she'd staked him at that moment, he would die a happy vamp. Buffy cleared her throat. Reluctantly, they untangled themselves and turned to face her. "Dawnie, hon, you've got to go to work." "Um, I think Giles will cut me a little slack, considering the circumstances," she replied, and she gestured at the vampire. "Shows how well you know Giles," Buffy said. "Don't worry, I won't let him leave town." She held out her hand to Spike, and said, "C'mon. I'll make you some tea." Spike found himself strangely reluctant to touch her. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he smiled at Dawn but followed Buffy out of the room and downstairs into the kitchen. *************************************** Buffy made tea the way that monks moved stones. Calm. Precise. Each movement was a study in the creation of beverages, from the twist of her wrist as she flipped a teacup upright to the sweep of the kettle from burner to counter. Spike watched the ritual in silence. When it was done, Buffy brought him cup and saucer like a lotus in her palm. "I'm sorry," she said. "We haven't been keeping blood around since you left." "S'alright," he shrugged. He took the offered cup with steady hands. The heat and scent of it rose pleasantly. Buffy settled herself beside him at the table and watched him take his first tentative sip. Nodding his approval, he put the cup down and waited for her to speak. Somewhere in the house, a clock was ticking. "Um…." he said finally, then stopped. Tick. Tick. Tick. "How are you?" he asked. "I'm well. You?" "Good. Real good. How…" He picked up the teacup. "How's Dawn been?" "Hurt," she said simply. Spike, not knowing how to respond, brought the cup to his lips and took a long drink. For this Buffy, he had no words. Knowing that, he felt suddenly lighter, almost too light, like he would float through the ceiling. "She's missed you," Buffy said finally. "You had become very important to her. Then you left." "There were things I had to do," he said slowly. "I understand," Buffy nodded, "but I don't think she does." "You understand, do you?" A paper match of anger flared in his gut. Buffy regarded him calmly. "You were on your Journey," she shrugged. "It took you away. Then it brought you back. I know about that." Tick. Tick. Tick. Buffy said, "You know it's her birthday tomorrow." "I know." "We're having a surprise party for her at the Bronze. You're more than welcome." "I'll be there." Tick. Tick. Tick. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked. "Yeah." "Where was it?" "It was here." Next: Part 3| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |