I'll Fly Away

5-5-02

Part 12: The Hills of Night

Another year, another love.

She had held other men in the Bronze's smoky atmosphere, had kissed their beer-scented lips and led them through the crush of swaying bodies. She'd danced with them in smoke and neon, as she would dance with him tonight. A slow smile curled across Buffy's lips as she led Spike into the teeming crowd. All around them, Sunnydale's youth danced with their eyes closed and mouths open, as silent as saints receiving the stigmata. They danced and they forgot. For a little while.

She felt eyes on them, and was not surprised.

They would have attracted attention in broad daylight, even without the shadows that enhanced her brightness and his grace. Heads turned and eyebrows lifted; more than one sentence trailed off into infinity as Slayer and Vampire moved into the space created by those who'd automatically taken small, backward steps. They were striking, all grace and fluidity, stark beauty and fierce power. The vampire scowled at the appraisal, but a few, brave souls continued to stare at the couple, who exuded a raw, vital sex appeal that was palpable; one could almost taste it on the tongue. Buffy only laughed at his forbidding expression. She knew better. Buffy turned to take him in her arms, and their eyes locked in man's ageless message to woman. She knew that her gaze was the color of changing leaves; his was gray-blue, but never the same, a deeper shade of twilight.

The band was playing a song about crying suns and rusty moons as they swayed together, but Buffy was busy listening to the rough, happy rumble in his chest, the almost-purr that turned feral and hungry when he was angry or upset. He was such a vital, vocal creature; sometimes she expected to see a pulse fluttering in the strong vein of his throat. She buried her face in that spot and inhaled the scent of alcohol and leather and trees. Not like any other man's smell. Of course, some would say he wasn't a man at all. But she knew better.

His careless posture in no way concealed his intensity, or the possessive way he held her body and gaze. Buffy slipped her hands under the beloved duster and rested a hand on his hip; the other skipped under cotton, then up his bare back, like a leisurely butterfly. She loved his skin, how it shone like silver in the moonlight. Especially when he lay naked and sprawled atop rumpled covers, his sex pink and half-hard against a lean thigh. She wanted to paint him in those moments, to make a portrait for those who wondered why she hadn't sent William the Bloody to his unrest years ago. She could point to it and say this is why!

He was her dark man, her own monster, and he was beautiful.

Strong, supple fingers stroked up and down her right thigh, and Buffy's nerve endings sparkled in response. Her free hand rested briefly against the bright ridge of a cheekbone before sliding into the champagne-colored curls that were seeing less gel these days. They spent more time in bed than out, and his hair flopped free. Buffy flushed pink, thinking of how shameless she'd become, how aware of herself as a sexual creature and a woman who'd found her…other.

He leaned in to kiss her with a devastating sweetness that contrasted diabolically with the sudden, hard thrust of his hips against hers. He tasted like their combined history, like the bone and blood of her ancestors and his; like the deserts, caves, and plains where Slayer and vampire first fought, danced, and died; like carriages, cobblestones, and chaos unleashed. All the dark chapters of a united past.

Her chronicle might call him as a bit player in her life. She knew better.

******************************************************

Xander eyed the spectacle on the dance floor and made exaggerated retching sounds into his beer mug.

Willow elbowed him sharply. "Don't be a doody-head. I think it's sweet--in a dark and twisted kind of way, of course." She sipped her wine cooler. "Like Santa Claus. A fat guy with a whip, a wife at home, and a list of who's been naughty, crawling down the chimney. Hello! Restraining order!"

Xander clapped his hands together in front of her face. "Willow! Focus! We're talking about Buffy, remember? She who is currently shrink-wrapped to the evil undead." Xander shuddered. "Everybody's looking."

Tara took a sip of her mixed drink. "Well, yes. They're very pretty."

Xander pounded the table. "Hey! Earth to Lesbians! There's nothing pretty about Dead Boy. A hard on for Buffy does not count as personal growth. That guy's like a laxative. He irritates the shit right out of me."

"Do you want to be the one to try and tell her that?"

Xander shook his head. "You can't talk to her when she's like this. It's damn near impossible. Like herding cats." Xander knew he was being difficult. If Dawn were there, she'd have tossed her hair and asked if the aliens forgot to remove his anal probe.

He eyed the vampire with malice aforethought. If I throw sticks at you, will you go away?

Willow poked him suddenly. "Speaking of hard ons, there's Anya…with a guy. One who is most definitely not a troll." She pointed to the bar, where his ex-vengeance girl leaned, whispering into the very suave ear of Carlos, whom Xander had hoped never to see again.

Xander frantically tugged at Willow as she rose to her feet, waving cheerily. "Anya! Over here!" Dear, sweet Willow. Her intentions, while good, were cobblestones on his road to hell.

Brave Tara, who was smarter about people, made a valiant grab for her former lover's arm. Alas, she was too late. Anya was tugging her date through the crowd, heading straight for them.

********************************************************

The song ended, but Spike didn't move. Buffy tapped his cheek. "Hey, you. Whatcha lookin' at?" She turned to follow his gaze.

He nodded at the uncomfortable group gathered around table twelve. "Is that the famous Carlos over there? What happened to his sinister, flashing eyes and greasy, handlebar mustache?"

Buffy snickered. "I pictured Zorro. Xander kind of exaggerated."

"Look, the lad's all in a panic." Spike gestured to the fuming Xander, whose third beer glass was becoming empty at an alarming rate. "Harris is in hell…my work is complete.'

Buffy smacked him lightly. "Have some compassion. Please." She gave Spike The Eyes, which never failed to move him.

He sighed. "All right, love. Give me a minute to turn on the part of my brain that gives a damn."

******************************************************

Carlos scored points for barely batting a lash at Spike's gothic/retro fashion sense, but lost them immediately when his eyeballs went cleavage-diving down Buffy's tube top. His presence did cause a chair shortage, forcing the Slayer to park her pretty behind on Spike's lap, which was very good. But any good will he felt toward the man was drowned in a flood of boredom after ten minutes in his company.

Spike tapped his unlit cigarette against Buffy's thigh and Carlos chirped, "Those things will kill you!" The burst of laughter that went up around the table only confused him.

Spike retreated into beer and brooding, and amused himself by imagining a day of grand eating. Dainty Richard, with his charming Beatles haircut, for breakfast, followed by Carlos the git for lunch. Geek-boy Warren would make a nice mid-afternoon nosh, and, after that, a full course of Harris if he didn't get off his arse and get to work ejecting the interloper. Brave Willow did her best to keep the conversation going, even when it became apparent that the bloke's understanding of alternative lifestyles was limited to Richard Hatch and the toaster joke on Ellen.

Buffy did her best. "Hey, guys. Did I tell you what Spike and I saw on patrol last--"

"One Latin eyebrow rose. "Patrol?"

Spike coughed. "Neighborhood Watch type deal." It wasn't a total lie. "MacGruff and all that rot."

Carlos eyed Buffy's petite frame. "You don't look strong enough for that."

Tara smacked a choking Willow on the back, and Spike resisted the urge to gnash his teeth and take a bite out of crime. Anya nattered on. "Carlos has a BMW. There is ample room in the back seat for both picnic supplies and---"

"Don't say it, An." That was the first they'd heard from Xander in quite a while. Spike actually felt a little sorry for the Whelp, despite his holier-than-thou attitude and crybaby, whiny-assed opinions that weren't worth a tinker's damn. After that, a silence fell. There wasn't much the group could say without letting Mr. Wall Street know that they were all freaks.

Plucky Tara tapped her fingernails on the polished tabletop. "So, anybody try any good recipes lately?"

Spike had had enough. When Harris stumbled off to take a piss, he quietly followed.

*********************************************************

Xander was standing at the urinal, minding his own business, when the door opened and his arch-nemesis glided in like a shadow. But shadows didn't make noise, wave their hands, or use foul language.

"Harris, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Taking a whiz, Barnabas. What does it look like?"

"It looks to me like you're letting that butt nugget out there hang around." Spike paced back and forth, boots slapping on the tiles.

Xander snickered. "You're just pissed off because he looked down Buffy's shirt. The laws of macho just won’t let you admit it."

Spike snorted. "The hell they won't." He leaned against the bathroom wall and lit a cigarette. "When those two leave together, they're going to go bang like a cardoor."

Xander really wanted to hit him, but just didn’t have the energy. "You're so sweet, Spike. You sugary goodness gives me a toothache."

Spike flicked ashes into the urinal, and Xander jumped. "Hey! Peeing guy, here!"

"Sorry." Spike flicked more ash, a fraction of an inch to the right. "What are you going to do about Gerardo out there? He cramps my style."

"What can I do? She can date whoever she wants. I left her at the altar, remember?"

''Yeah. What was that all about, anyway? Demon girl and the Slayer should have kicked your ass up the aisle." He blew a perfect smoke ring at Xander.

"Charming, Spike." Xander glared at the vampire. "I was confused. Contemporary insanity, I guess."

"Well, you can make up for your weeniness right now. Be a one man La Migra."

Xander shook his head. "I just can't."

Spike ground out his cigarette. "Do I have to zip you up and wipe your bum, too, Harris? Can't you lot do anything for yourselves?" He heaved a martyred sigh. "I'll take care of Don Juan."

"Thanks." Xander was shocked to hear the word come out of his own mouth.

Spike nodded and pushed lazily away from the wall. He passed Xander and raised his hand as if to slap him on the back.

"Did I mention that kick to the groin you'll be receiving if you touch me while I'm unzipped?" Xander began to gather the bits of his shredded dignity together.

"Right." Spike grinned and swept out the door, trailing cigarette smoke.

***********************************************************

Buffy had heard enough about the Dow Jones. She didn't give a hang about insider trading.

Anya's date, while yummy, was the most boring creature on the planet.

She leaned her head on her arms and wondered where Spike had gone. Tara was equally glazed and Willow looked to be on the verge of sleep. Xander was off having the longest tinkle in history. Well, bully for him. Buffy was going to hurl--big time--if Carlos told one more elaborate joke, only to forget the punch line at the very end and finish with, "But it was a real hoot, I tell you!"

Buffy stirred from her lethargy when a male voice cut through the Friday night din.

"Does anyone own a BMW, license plate I ROOL? There's some big guy breaking into it!"

Carlos shot off through the crowd and Buffy heaved a sigh of relief. Thank you, you wonderful car burglar. I’ll picket for your early parole.

Now, where was her vampire?

******************************************************

She found him standing on the curb, smoking.

She wondered if the novelty of him would ever wear off, like Dawn with her goldfish, a long time ago. They brought Mr. Blinky home in a plastic bag the year she was eight. Dawn lavished affection, and flakes of dried worm, on that frantic flash of amber. For a week, anyway, or maybe two, before exchanging that girl-love for the next, which happened to be tap dancing lessons. Not long after, the poor fish went belly-up from lack of love or worm flakes, she couldn't say which. Dawn barely noticed when Joyce flushed his little gold body. But, if you asked her today, she'd insist that tears and great mourning accompanied Blinkey's passing.

First loves were fickle that way. They were all about fears and forgiveness, an early lesson in letting go. Buffy was on her third love now, and it was still about fears and forgiveness, but she was learning a harder lesson: how to hold on. It became easier, as time grew more short. Buffy was twenty-three, now, two years shy of another jump into the great unknown. Five by five, B. Five by Five. And who would know better than beautiful, broken Faith, the wild, dark sister who was so much like Buffy's lover--not redeemed, not penitent, but hers all the same?

Buffy slipped her arms around his waist. "Whatcha doin' out here?" She had her suspicions.

He pointed down the street. "Waving to Carlos."

A sleek, gray car roared past them, quality tires screeching. Spike offered a jaunty salute to the driver, who was safely ensconced behind tinted windows. The vehicle lurched to the corner, then disappeared with a squeal.

Buffy frowned. "What did you do to him?"

Spike shrugged. "Nothing. Just told him the truth. If he pissed off Anyanka, bad things would probably happen to his penis."

Buffy smothered her giggle in the leather of his coat. No, he was not penitent, not redeemed. And maybe it was better that way. He was as nature intended, unashamed and unafraid, ferocious in his passions and bold in his spirit. He'd been gentled, not tamed. And that was as it should be. She asked only this: that he not satisfy the savage twisting of need, the roar of desire that was bloodlust, the thrill of the hunt, the lure of the moon.

Was that so much? Was that too much?

Only time would tell.

*****************************************************

Buffy yawned and threw down her cards. "I fold."

Spike leered at her. "That you do, Ducks. Exceptionally well." Buffy blushed and Xander looked vaguely ill. But that could have been the beer. Xander was mildly drunk.

Anya glared at Spike. "I don't understand what happened!"

Spike shrugged. "He just had to go. The stock market crashed." Xander let out a burpy laugh.

Buffy stretched languidly. The place was emptying fast; the sun would be up in a couple of hours. She closed her eyes for a moment, but they popped back open when a familiar tingle zoomed up her spine. Sober Xander called it her spidey-sense. Somehow, it knew the difference between "her" vampires and the rest. Spike's presence was an eternal blip on the Slayer radar, as was Angel's. This was more like a warning bell, or a trilling page. Buffy sat up. Spike had felt it, too, and was scanning the room with his exceptional eyes, the preternatural vision of the twilight hunter.

"Over there." He nodded to a figure in the corner.

Buffy frowned. "I could have sworn it was coming from over there." She pointed to the bar.

"Excuse me," Anya piped up, "I believe you're looking for that gentleman over there." She gestured to a man at the jukebox. "I saw him hanging around outside the Senior Center last Tuesday. Probably stalking the blue-hairs."

Spike nodded. "They can't run."

"That's just sick!" Buffy glared at Spike. "Tell me you never did that."

Spike looked offended. "Of course not. You'd be surprised at the damage old birds can manage with a heavy purse and one of those walker contraptions."

Buffy plugged her fingers in her ears. "La la la. So not listening.'

Willow made a grab for Xander as he lurched away from the table. "Wait. Where are you going?"

"The Honeycomb Hideout. They're having a meeting." He looked around, confused. "Where's the cereal?"

Buffy stood up. "After I do some dusting, we should take Xander home."

Spike smirked. "He's snockered, all right."

****************************************************

The three vamps in the Bronze were actually five, and by the time they made their way out to the street, Xander was lolling against Spike. He sniffed at the vampire's hair. "You smell like almonds, man."

Spike shoved him at Willow. "Get away from me, Harris."

Willow shoved him at Tara . "He's all beery."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Drunks usually are." She glared at Spike. "You shouldn't have chased Carlos away. Now, we have to walk. With him." She leaned Xander against a storefront.

"Spike chased Carlos away?" Anya was outraged. Then she brightened. "The stock market's okay, then?"

***************************************************

They met twelve vamps between the Bronze and Revello Drive, and stumbled home just before dawn.

Buffy was tired and dusty and more than a little turned on. So was Spike. Buffy could see it in the tight knots of powerful muscle and the wildly curling aurora of his hair. But she was also worried. Thus, Buffy broke from the savage tangle of his kiss with regret.

"Go up to bed," she murmured. "I'll be along."

Buffy moved through the house, locking doors and pulling blinds. She peeked into the living room, where Xander, Anya and Tara were sprawled like refugees. She felt a moment of peace. The people she loved were safe and slowly, slowly finding their way back to each other. Her lover waited for her on moon-silvered sheets. He put an ache in her belly and a fire in her brain. And Dawn…Dawn would be home soon.

She picked up the kitchen phone and dialed with shaking fingers. Would his voice be the same, as sad and sweet as Ireland, or a gypsy song, like a memory of what you once were? Probably not--it had been years. Years.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then a voice from her youth.

"Angel Investigations. We help the helpless!"

TBC

Notes--

*I know, I know--why is Buffy calling them? Especially with Spikeypuffs waiting on moon-silvered sheets, all sexy-like. Get thee upstairs, Buffy! Don't dither on the phone! But seriously, I won't let those LA people horn in too much. I love 'em…when they're in their own town.

*I had a Spike and Buffy wish list this season, but only the sex part came true. So I'm cramming all my frustrated hopes into this story. I wanted to see them dance. Together, not in a chorus line. I wanted hugs, goddamnit. I wanted to see Spike carry Buffy. I wanted Buffy to carry Spike. I wanted to see Buffy on the back of Spike's bike. Oh, well. There's the crypt door scene, at least. It sustains me.