|
Title: Roundabout Author: Devil Piglet Rating: R Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: This is set post-‘Hell’s Bells’, and while it overlaps some themes of ‘Normal Again’, for my purposes, that events in that episode haven’t occurred. Feedback: This particular chapter was a hard time coming. Reviews would be most appreciated: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 11: Healer To Heaven, Hunter Comes Home “Housekeeping?” The heavy metal door lock jangled. “Good morning, do you need housekeeping?” Buffy jumped out of bed and ran to the next room. “We’re fine,” she called out automatically. “Thank you.” Beyond the door she could hear Spanish chatter and the squeaking of wheels slowly fade into the distance. Buffy remained standing motionless in the lounge of the hotel suite. Her eyes traveled over the desk, and the closet, and the loveseat as if expecting them to provide answers to questions she couldn’t articulate. Turning around, she saw that Spike and Dawn were still out cold. She watched them for long moments, until Dawn snuffled and kicked Spike in her sleep, and Spike snuffled back and rolled away, still unconscious. Feeling suddenly unsteady, she walked to the sofa and sat down. She crossed her legs primly and wished for something a little less revealing than the skank-wear she had pulled on twenty-four hours ago. Then she remembered the way she had eagerly wriggled out of the pants, desperate for Spike to take her. God! It wasn’t fair. If there were any mercy in the world she’d at least be spared the memories of the last five weeks. Then she’d be able to claim ignorance, widen her eyes in shock and horror when told of her recent transgressions. The images rose up in her then, sickening in their clarity and brilliance: facing down Willow and Tara and Xander, confident in her ability to overpower them; the smell of sulfur, sweet to her senses at that moment, as she set the Magic Box alight; laughing and chatting with Rodger Kehoe; butchering countless demons at his behest. Chasing her sister through the streets of Sunnydale, wanting only to see Dawn’s blood spilled. Buffy gagged. She dashed to the marble bathroom, barely making it in time to drop to the freezing tile floor before retching uncontrollably. She vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach. Dawn found her there, crouched over the toilet and still heaving. She shuffled into the bathroom and dampened a hand towel under the faucet, then firmly grasped Buffy by the shoulders and tugged her up. “Here,” Dawn said sleepily, as she dabbed the towel around Buffy’s slack mouth. “Nothing like a round of barfing to start your day off right.” Buffy swiped at her eyes, which had begun to water. “Guess I had some bad…food.” “Guess so,” Dawn agreed softly. She gave Buffy a quick, impulsive hug. “I’m so glad you’re back. I mean, really back.” “Me too.” Buffy smiled wanly. She could live off this sight forever: Dawn, happy and healthy and safe, beaming at her in a temporary respite from sisterly sniping. And Spike in the next room, not killing and maiming but not bitching about it either. Yes. Everything was perfect now, just the way it was. Oh, how do I not want to go back to Sunnydale? Let me count the ways… “Dawn,” Buffy cleared her throat, trailed off, looked around for help. The shower curtain and bath mat remained impervious to her plight. “I am so sorry. The things I did…I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know…” “Shhh.” Dawn rubbed Buffy’s bare arm. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over, and you’re home!” She paused. “Well, not home home, of course. But we can go back today! I can’t wait to find out how Xander and Tara are. And Willow too. I can’t really be mad at her crack-magic car accident anymore, huh? Sorta pales in comparison.” Buffy blanched, and Dawn went on hurriedly, “Not that Willow has all the, um, good deeds stored up that you do. I mean, cosmically, you’re still on the plus side.” She looked at Buffy expectantly. “Right?” ‘How many people are alive because of you? How many have you saved? One dead girl doesn’t tip the scales!’ In her mind, Spike’s voice merged into Tara’s; kind Tara who said to her about death, ‘It’s always sudden.’ There was a sound from the next room. Dawn jumped. Buffy realized that she was covered in gooseflesh. Spike appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, rubbing the back of his head and looking for all the world like an exceptionally elongated eight-year-old boy. His hair stood up in stubborn curls, and he eyed them blearily. As she and Dawn looked back at him, Buffy wondered for the first time what he might see – when his gaze seemed to feast on them in the same manner that he had once feasted on the lifeblood of other girls. Maybe that propelled him now, Buffy ruminated. Maybe he missed the sensation of consuming someone, drinking them up until he lived again through them. “Don’t be scared,” Dawn told her. “His hair is like that every night he gets up. He’ll fix it in a minute.” “Ha, ha,” Spike grumbled, but he was looking at Buffy. “Are you still mad at me?” Dawn asked. “Yes.” “Mad about what?” Buffy asked. Spike just shook his head and wandered into the lounge. After a moment, Buffy and Dawn followed. He was rummaging through the honor bar, tossing honeyed peanuts and diet sodas onto the Berber carpeting. Buffy hung back, unsure, but Dawn walked up behind him and began smoothing his tousled hair back while he sat. It was an intimate gesture, and Buffy felt abruptly excluded. “Mad about what?” Buffy asked again, and Spike stood. He was holding a package of peppered beef jerky. God, this awkwardness was cruel. She could tell that Spike felt it, too, in the way relaxed marginally under Dawn’s gentle touch, and in the way he avoided her when once he would have done anything to remain her satellite. “Go on,” Spike said. “Tell your sister what you got up to last night.” Dawn grabbed the beef jerky out of Spike’s hand and her face took on an expression of practiced innocence that was gratifyingly familiar to Buffy. “I rescued you,” Dawn said airily, and Spike guffawed. “Nearly got yourself bloody killed is what you did, and robbed me of the pleasure.” He finally addressed himself to Buffy. “The mad thing stole my shotgun and faced down those bastards yesterday. Scared me senseless, she did.” His voice became gruff. “And she rescued me.” Buffy didn’t know what to say, but she was okay with that. It probably wouldn’t change anytime soon. “Spike didn’t know,” Dawn said hastily. “He had Clem’s cousins guarding me so nothing bad would happen.” “Like you firing a gun in a crowded theatre?” Spike asked, snark returned in full force. “And speaking of Clem’s boys –“ “Oh! I’ve been waiting to tell you for so long!” Dawn interrupted excitedly. Buffy sat down, suspecting she’d be glad she did. “I left the hotel room right after you did. I mean, right after. I took the stairs while you waited for the elevator. I was already hiding in the backseat when the valet guy brought the car around. That’s why they never saw me leave. And then I came into the club through the kitchen door. I hid the gun under an apron.” Spike fixed Dawn with the evil eye – and when one was dealing with a morally bankrupt vampire, Buffy mused, that wasn’t just idle posturing. She, on the other hand, couldn’t bring herself to castigate Dawn. “Wow,” she heard herself say. “Those monks didn’t spare any effort, did they?” Dawn grinned. “When they made me…” “…They broke the mold,” Buffy finished. She could see the humor in the situation, although maybe that was just residual BadBuffy. Spike, for his part, did not seem to have recovered entirely from last night’s ordeal. Against all reason, he seemed to have aged considerably. Dawn shrugged. “I’m mystical, not stupid.” A lock of hair fell in her face. Grimacing, she pushed it away. “And I smell like smoke. I’m gonna take a shower.” She brightened. “I haven’t tried out the Jacuzzi yet.” “Knock yourself out,” Spike said. Dawn tossed him the jerky and he caught it easily. Effortlessly, Buffy thought. He and Dawn were in tune; it was she who was discordant. She heard the bathroom door click shut. Spike wandered around the suite, edging around the heavy, drawn curtains around which sunlight flared. Poor Spike. He always goes back to what hurts him most. She wondered at this new forebearance she felt toward him. Had she left behind old angers when she escaped her latest, freakiest incarnation, like a snake that sloughed off venom with skin? And when the hell had she become so damn introspective, anyway? She was Buffy again, one hundred percent, no question, but felt at once greater understanding and less certainty. The world seemed more full-bodied, as if a whole new dimension had unfolded. Yeah, that’d be the psycho-killer perspective. Everything looks different from this side of the murderous rampage. “How do you feel?” Spike asked, studiously averting his gaze. “Hung over,” she answered truthfully. “Groggy, like when you’ve slept too long. And general, all-around weirdness.” “Guess you’ll be wanting to head home soon.” A short, panicked laugh slipped out before she could stop it. His eyes jumped to hers. Oh, it was still there, that intensity. She still sizzled from the inside out when he looked at her like that, sizzled in places that really should be taking a breather right about now. His hand on the back of his neck, his face so terribly naked…he’d never been more inviting than he was now. And she would have given a lot – a whole hell of a lot – to hurl herself into his embrace, to bury her head in the hollow between his shoulder and collarbone that she had once, many midnights ago, claimed as hers. If she did, she knew without a doubt that he would cradle her there, cuddle her close and murmur soothing nonsense despite the fact that she had never offered him similar comfort or compassion. Because her unhappiness was his woe; because he’d help her friends, useless and bumbling though he considered them, if it pleased her; because he’d goof endlessly with Dawn if he thought it would coax a smile from her. And today – -- With her sister splashing happily in the bathtub like a child, the sound of the water dim and becalming to Buffy’s pulsing brain-- With the early afternoon streaking yellow across the room, teasing Spike’s bare skin -- With the furniture of Buffy’s world suddenly casting shadows she hadn’t seen before One thought screamed in her brain, battered against its confines, refused to shut up until she listened. I was wrong about him. Wrong, wrong, wrong in so many ways, and I know I should probably be thinking about begging my friends to forgive me and figuring out how I’m going to make restitution to Anya for damage to the Box without selling her my firstborn child assuming I live long enough to have one but – Damnit, was I ever wrong. Because she’d had a taste of true evil, in these past weeks. And Spike wasn’t it. The thing that had uncoiled inside of her, spread like a virus until Buffy had been all but obliterated – that was evil. The memory of it was still on her fingertips and tongue, and she didn’t know if she’d ever feel rinsed of it. But she remembered what Spike had felt like on her fingertips and tongue, as well. So different from this, she almost couldn’t believe she’d ever despised the sensation of him lingering on her flesh. Spike had been tobacco and old leather, the frequent tang of liquor or barbecue sauce. And rapture. She’d been so consumed with throwing ‘William the Bloody, scourge of Europe’ back in his pretty face that she hadn’t notice the title no longer fit. She had a sudden, irrepressible image of trying to explain this revelation to Giles, or maybe Xander: ‘And Buffy, what makes you so sure he’s not really evil?’ ‘Um, process of elimination.’ “I’ll let you get cleaned up,” Spike said, startling her out of her reverie. He nodded to the bathroom. “I don’t know what the kid does in there, but if you want to use it sometime today you may have to break the door down.” He gave her a quick, assessing glance. “Shouldn’t be a problem.” “Right – right,” Buffy answered nervously. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking – that was new. Usually Spike’s every fleeting emotion etched itself across his features, danced in his eyes. Now his gaze was shuttered. “I’m gonna go settle up with Clem’s boys, idiots that they are,” Spike went on. “Then give your Watcher a call, fill him in on the excitement.” He paused. “’Less you want to do the honors.” “No, no…I – I think I’d like to wait a bit before talking to him.” Or anyone. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a week or two; possibly fifty years. Spike shrugged and reached for his coat. The branches of the ficus he’d tossed it on last night sprang up comically. He rooted in the pockets, finally coming up with a crumpled wad of bills. “There you go.” He pressed the money into her hand, looking as though he half-expected her to rip the paper in two. Okay, she’d only done that once. “Take Dawn up to the restaurant, get yourself something to eat. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” “Sure.” She suspected he was giving her and Dawn time to reconnect; part of her appreciated it and part of her wanted to throw him down on the loveseat and tie him there. Whoa, sex with Spike had changed her. No! she told BadBrain sternly. She wasn’t interested in getting her kink on with Dawn in the next room, she just…wanted to make sure he’d stick around. Not fall victim to the patented Buffy Summers drive-the-men-in-your-life-away-with-a-cattle-prod formula. A day late and a dollar short, her father had been fond of saying. Was that the case with her? Was she too late in getting hit upside the head with the knowledge of Spike’s…not-evilness? Something between an apology and a thank you was stuck in her throat, but the words just wouldn’t come. So she simply watched as he plucked the valet ticket from on top of the television, and walked out the door. *************************************** Tara wouldn’t have wanted this, thought Xander. The Maclays had claimed her body from the Sunnydale morgue, and taken it back to her hometown. Despite her father’s obvious disdain at her friends, they’d not been barred from the funeral. So now Xander stood flanked by Anya and Willow. He hadn’t been this close to his ex-fiancee since their abortive attempt at marriage – she’d skirted around him that first day at the hospital, and hadn’t returned since. He mentally chastised himself for thinking about Anya’s unique scent, a hint of perfume overpowered by the John the Conqueror incense she kept – used to keep, he corrected himself – next to the register at the Magic Box. ‘It’s supposed to bring good fortune,’ she’d informed Xander the first time he smelled it on her. He’d shaken his head and made some stupid – stupid! – crack about there being only one kind of fortune Anya was interested in. And then he’d divested her of her clothes, so that only he and John the Conqueror and naked Anya were left. Jesus, what a fucking pervert he was. Zoning about sex while Tara was being lowered into the ground ten feet away. He looked around at the other somber faces, their staid, traditional black mourning clothes such a contrast to Tara’s ruffles and rainbow colors. The minister droned on, but the platitudes held no meaning for Xander. Nor did they, he suspected, for Willow. She stood next to him, spine ramrod-straight, mouth set in a tight, angry line. Rage rolled off her in waves, and not for the first time, Xander worried about her mental state. Sure, for sheer craziness Buffy had them all beat right now. But Willow’s fury seethed, bided its time. Hadn’t he known her most of his wasted life? Since she’d gotten back at him for stealing her Barbie fifteen years ago – G.I. Joe wasn’t the same after that – Xander had never underestimated her capacity for revenge. Even against her friends. Especially against her friends. He didn’t look forward to getting caught between a witch and a Slayer. Willow could marshal powers beyond Xander’s comprehension, and Buffy – well, Buffy wasn’t pulling any punches these days. Xander sighed heavily. The idea dismayed him, but…maybe Spike could help keep things under control. According to Giles, the evil undead was doing a passable job of caring for Dawn. For that, Xander would always be in his debt. Which frankly sucked, but so did just about everything lately. As the clods of dirt hit the coffin, Xander prayed for the first time during the ceremony. Please, God. No more pain. Not like this. My heart hurts with it, God…let this end okay. Let everybody just be okay. *************************************** Two hours on three highways, in the middle of a bloody Saturday afternoon. Spike wished he could shake off the glare of sunlight the way dogs shook off rainwater. He dashed out of the DeSoto and into the house. Front door still unlocked – good sign. Slowing now that he was safe from solar retribution, Spike wandered through the rooms he hadn’t seen last night. Oh, plenty of treasures here. He shoved gleaming trinkets of gold into his pockets, dawdled in the library before scooping up several first editions. Then he headed upstairs. Kehoe was, not surprisingly, still slumped against his toilet. He stared with unconcealed loathing, and not a little trepidation, as Spike entered the bathroom. Spike surveyed him, satisfied with his handiwork. “How you feeling, mate?” Kehoe didn’t answer, and Spike inspected the chains. Always helps to have a set of those around, he reflected. “So, how long you think you got left in here?” he asked Kehoe. “I mean, you got water, and the facilities. How long before hunger starts to make you a bit off?” Spike smiled. “Maybe you’ll start gnawing on yourself. About…here.” He touched Kehoe’s left wrist, where the man had strained against his bonds. “Like those animals do, to get out of the teeth of traps. How long d’you think it’ll take you to get through the bone? Will you make it in time?” The older man was becoming visibly unhinged at the picture Spike painted. Fine, then. Time for the next move. “I’ll let you go. Just have to do one little thing for me.” Kehoe didn’t bother to disguise his suspicion. “Indeed. And what would that be?” Spike leaned close. “Buffy mentioned you’d be able to help a bloke out.” He smiled. “I got a bit of hardware that needs to be removed.” Part 12: Released| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |