Perchance to Dream
by Larissa
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Notes: A bit of a crossover fic - Angel, Cordelia and Spike share the same 'vision' of things, Spike gets a job (!) and Buffy sees Spike through new eyes.
LA - A late autumn afternoon at the Hyperion
Angel can't shake the feeling of languor, not only the strange blend of physical languor and arousal Darla concocted in his dreams all those weeks ago, but the ancillary mental and spiritual web of languor that has been cast over his every waking moment. Angel knows he has to close and lock the door on those dreams and walk away from them forever, but he doesn't know if he is ready to do that yet. He is so practised at the art of moving on that the motions come easily. It's the emotions that lag behind. Still, he feels sure that, if he found the strength to leave Buffy and Sunnydale behind, he can surely find a way to sever his ties to Darla and extricate himself from the clutches of Wolfram & Hart. No matter how much he tries, however, there is no escaping the waves of anguish and guilt wearing down his resolve.
As he sleeps, Angel's chest swells and ebbs unnecessarily. A practised sigh crosses his lips as he sleeps the sleep of a breathless dreamer. He can't escape a weird parallel world where Buffy, Cordelia, Kate, Lilah, all coalesce into a beautiful, hybrid demoness who offers him sexual favours if only he'll give up on his quest to become human. A few minutes before sunset, Angel starts to awake. The demoness is gone and he now sees Drusilla, Darla, and Spike spinning in a blinding vortex. They are pointing accusing fingers at him. Angel knows he's still dreaming; he doesn't want the dream to end. He and his vampire family are attending a ceremony... A wedding ceremony.
As the sun sinks below the skycraper horizon that protrudes into the smog-laden sky, Angel's eyes fly open. For the fraction of a moment, he can still see Spike and Buffy at the altar holding hands. For one second, he remembers how it feels to see them gaze into each other's eyes lovingly. But, by the time Cordelia hands him his glass of blood half an hour later, the images have been swept away by the usual tide of regret and guilt. He remembers nothing of his dream. Instead, his senses quicken as Cordelia's hip brushes his arm and the scent of her wafts past him. His mind becomes paralysed for an instant and he is careful to put a smile on his face for Cordy's benefit when she turns to face him. He barely hears her cheerful chatter as she details her latest theory about Wesley's girlfriend, Virginia. When Cordy walks away, Angel sits back in his chair and closes his eyes. His mind has already scurried on to another remembered sensation. He doesn't bother to resist the sensual recollection of the taste of Kate's blood on his lips and in his mouth. The thought of taking another leisurely draught of her life's blood has been haunting him for weeks now. As silence descends on the hotel, Angel once again revels in the rush of having Kate's vitality spill into his emptiness.
A few weeks later - the events of A:tS' "Reunion" have taken place
Cordy, Wes and Gunn have regrouped at Cordy's apartment. Cordy is on the phone with Giles while Wes and Gunn argue about what they should do next.
"A troll vandalised your store?" Cordelia exclaims loudly. There is a minute of silence as Cordelia listens disbelievingly to Giles' story.
"Of course I'm shocked! My God. Who'd ever have thought you'd own a store that wasn't a store of… useless, esoteric, Wesley-like knowledge". Abruptly roused from his conversation with Gunn, Wesley whips his head up to glare at Cordelia. Cordelia fails to notice or chooses to ignore his irritated pout and its accompanying squint.
"The troll broke Xander's arm? Well now, that's … really too bad in a poetic justice kinda way". Cordelia wraps her arms around her body tightly.
Wesley gets up and starts gesturing emphatically:) and mouthing: "Tell him about Angel. Tell him that…"
Cordelia frowns at Wesley and dismisses him with a wave of one of her long-fingered hands. To Giles, she says, "Your troll sounds very droll but to tell you the truth, Giles, we've got some more contemporary problems plaguing us here in the city of Angel. You see…". Cordelia hesitates and can't bring herself to speak. As tears well up in her eyes, she shoves the phone receiver into Wesley's chest and says, "You do it. OK?" in a choked voice. Wesley holds his hand over Cordy's trembling one for a minute before taking the receiver from her without a word. She walks over to the couch and sits down beside Gunn, looking miserable and dejected and doing a good job of berating himself mentally for not seeing Angel's fall coming. Neither Gunn nor Cordelia looks up when Wesley starts talking to Giles.
"Giles. It's Wesley. Look. There's really no way to explain this except to say that… here's the thing… Wolfram and Hart somehow got Drusilla to revamp Darla and Angel seems to have lost all perspective on things." Getting impatient with his own explanation, Wesley says: "To make a long story short, he went and locked a dozen lawyers in a wine cellar with Darla and Drusilla knowing that they had the lawyers lined up like a row of Jell-O shots." There is a pause as Giles reacts to the news.
"Yes, that Drusilla." Pause.
"Yes, Angel's Darla." Pause.
"Well, we *would* do that except that… well… he's rather unceremoniously fired us and we have no idea where he could be keeping himself". Pause.
"Yes. We'll call as soon as we hear anything. Please tell Buffy to watch out." Pause.
"Bye for now."
Still holding the receiver, Wesley asks himself: "What now?"
"Hell if I know", says Gunn looking up from his shoes briefly.
Suddenly, Cordelia grabs her head…
Sunnydale - At the Magic Box after the events of BtVS' "Triangle"
Giles hangs up the receiver and turns to face Buffy. She's gotten the gist of the conversation. All she asks is, "Has he reverted?" as she unconsciously fingers a stake she has stowed away in her jacket pocket.
"I don't really know, Buffy" Giles answers as he absentmindedly sifts through one of the ruined display cases. "We should expect the worst, I suppose, what with Dru and Darla in the picture".
"He just closed the door and walked away then. He just left those people to… " Buffy closes her eyes slowly. She can feel her chest rising and falling and she can hear her breath coming in and out but for a moment she has the distinct impression she is being smothered. Giles looks at her under his lashes and ventures to say: "I think we need to decide on a course of action."
Buffy keeps her eyes closed but one tear rolls down her left cheek. She opens her eyes suddenly, wipes the tear away impatiently and says: "Giles, I've got Dawn to take care of and Glory and the Council to deal with. I can't leave Sunnydale to traipse off to LA to save my ex-ex-boyfriend from his vampire nymphets or even, God forbid, to save him from himself. I'm done with all that. If they show up here, I'll deal with them. End of story."
"I wasn't suggesting you go to… Buffy, why don't you just go home and get some sleep before you go out patrolling?"
"I don't know, Giles. I'm sorta feeling a bit Restless. Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind"
Buffy's house - Buffy is napping
The sun glows like a traitorous ember on the horizon as Buffy pulls the quilt closer to her chin. For a minute, it appears as if she is using it as a shield to ward off an invisible enemy. Buffy frowns. In her dream, she can see a large black spider crawling away from her on the ceiling but soon she sees it for what it really is: Riley's departing helicopter. "I've had enough of *that* dream," thinks Buffy. "Next please!" But there is no other dream for Buffy to follow. She falls into unmitigated darkness and the Slayer sleeps. When she wakes, Buffy feels distinctly clearheaded. Quickly, she dresses for a night on patrol and strides out of the house purposefully, murmuring a perfunctory "Bye" to Dawn and her mother. The front door slams behind her.
Spike's Crypt - Early evening
Spike is getting ready to make a trek to the Bronze for some onion blossoms when he hears a knock on the door. For a moment, he considers not answering. He doesn't have any friends and it couldn't possibly be the Slayer, because she has never deigned to honour him with a knock. So Spike is genuinely shocked to hear her call out his name from the other side of the door. Spike opens the door leisurely, a bit wary but inwardly delighted by her presence on his doorstep.
"What do you want, Slayer?" his tone not altogether sarcastic.
Buffy hesitates so Spike opens the door wider, invites her in with a nod and says: "If you're going to beat the crap out of me let's get it over with, all right, luv, 'cause I've a date with a few pints of beer down at the Bronze." Buffy walks into the crypt slowly, deliberately, but says nothing. Spike starts to get a bit nervous as the suddenly closed-mouthed object of his affections turns to face him.
"Did you know Drusilla was in LA?" Buffy asks him all of a sudden. Buffy doesn't need Spike to answer the question. His flummoxed expression betrays his ignorance of the fact. "Well, she is and she's just revamped Darla." Spike starts at hearing Darla's name spoken. "Yes. That Darla. Don't ask." says Buffy shaking her head and waving her hands dismissively. Taking in Spike's inquisitive glance, Buffy decides to explain what she knows about the situation in LA. Once her tale is finished, Spike walks away from her without as much as a word. After a few minutes, she hears him ask, in a cool aristocratic tone unlike any she has ever heard him adopt, "Is he with them?" Buffy doesn't bother to ask what he means by 'with'. His implication is clear.
"I don't know," she says in a tone unconsciously as soft and breathless as Spike's own. "Maybe."
Spike turns around and looks Buffy straight in the eyes. "What is it you want from me, Slayer?"
"I want to know whose side you'll fight on if Drusilla, Darla and Angel decide to pay a visit to the Hellmouth?" replies Buffy, staring unflinchingly into his icy blue eyes.
Spike takes his time before answering her. Time enough for Buffy to feel a flicker of doubt as to her real reason for coming to see him. When he does answer her, it is in a tone as soft as a lover's caress. "Slayer, if you didn't already know the answer to that question, you wouldn't be here. Would you?" With a familiar, well-worn almost-smile playing around his mouth, Spike approaches Buffy until their faces are mere inches apart. Buffy blinks and swallows loudly before responding in a barely-audible whisper. "No, I guess I wouldn't."
LA - Cordelia's apartment
"What d'you see?" Gunn asks Cordelia while Wesley holds her hand.
"It's Buffy. I saw Buffy and Spike. This is all wrong. Princess-cut wedding gowns are so 5 minutes ago," protests Cordelia, still dazed.
"Cordelia. Focus. Tell us what you saw. It may be our only clue to helping Angel get back on track," Wes pleads, squeezing her hand too tightly.
"All right. All right. Give me some space here and let me think for a minute." Gunn and Wesley stand up in unison and give Cordelia some 'space' and Cordy can't help smiling through her pain. After a moment, she says: "I saw Buffy. Then I saw Darla and Drusilla… and Lilah, Kate, and um… me. Oh my god, Wesley!" Cordy grabs his forearm, "I think I'm seeing into Angel's dreams!"
"What do you mean? How can you tell?" Wesley demands.
"I'll never wish to know what another person is thinking about me ever again. I swear! Just stop sending me these visions already. Ick. Ew. Ew. Triple Ew." Cordelia shouts to TPTB as she squirms out of Wesley's reach.
"How exactly do you know you are seeing into Angel's dreams?" Wesley asks again more intently.
Cordelia grows very calm and answers: "Because I've just gotten a taste of what bloodlusting after myself would be like. Satisfied?" Pause.
"Oh dear," is all Wesley can think of to say. Gunn echoes his statement and says: "Damn, that's nasty," and shakes his head.
Sunnydale - The next morning
Early morning - Spike's crypt. The beast sleeps and dreams.
He's learned not to fight the dreams. Fighting just makes resistance impossible and the dreams more vivid, more intense, more disorienting. For now, then, he has settled into the passive resistance that has, by default, become his primary tactic and survival skill.
Drusilla and Darla are dressed to kill. Their bridesmaids' dresses are far removed from the horrors of debutante taffeta. They prance around and preen, all leather and lace, cleavage, pomp and circumstance. Spike can hear the organ music play, heavy on the vox angelica pedal. He smiles down at his bride as he recognises the first bars of "Wind Beneath my Wings". Both the organ and the song are reminders of a time when he and his fiancée didn't exactly see eye-to-eye. "What a wonderfully wicked sense of humour she has" he thinks as they begin to exchange vows.
Angelus stands stiffly on his right as he holds the rings. He looks far removed from the ceremony going on before him. "He's just going through the motions," Spike has time to think before focusing once again on his bride. She beams, glows with vitality, with new life. Her creamy white pallor is heightened by the princess line of her wedding gown. As besotted and entranced as he is, Spike hardly hears Dru's hushed words: "It's all in the family now".
The ceremony proceeds without a hitch. The happy couple peer into each other's eyes lovingly, longingly. The minister, a Chaos demon Drusilla recommended, is a surprisingly earnest and sincere orator and even Darla is brought to tears by his words. When the ceremony is over, the Chaos demon declares them man and wife and says: "William, you may kiss the bride." But Buffy is an impatient bride and before Spike can reach over to kiss her, her lips and tongue have already collided with his. Equally abruptly, Buffy breaks the kiss, looks into Spike's eyes, then leans in suavely, expertly and punctures Spike's jugular. She drinks, drinks, drinks until…
… Spike wakes with a start, as is his wont since his operation. It's 7:30am and he's only slept 2 hours. Wakefulness, however, does not bring the usual relief of forgetfulness. Rather, he has total, painful, recall of every detail of his dream. Every sensation, every word haunts him. The feelings inspired by the feel of her skin under his fingers, the scrape of her tongue on his own and the raking of her teeth against his neck still course through him along with a strange, nauseous feeling normally associated with severe blood loss. "Bloody hell!" murmurs Spike, "Damn her to bloody bleeding hell!" It only takes a few seconds for his jaw to unclench and his features to soften at the thought of 'his' Buffy, though. She torments his every waking hour and she has him acting like a complete and utter fool but he knows there's no remedy for what ails him. "That'll teach you to play mind games with the Slayer, Spike" he chastises himself ruefully. Silently, he thinks back to his latest face-to-face encounter with Buffy.
Spike's crypt - the previous evening
"No, I guess I wouldn't."
They look at each other and, just like in that old cliché, time stands still. Surprisingly, Spike pulls away from the almost-clinch first. "What, am I nuts! I had her exactly where I wanted her!" he thinks. Buffy quickly stands away as well, more confused than she lets on. "What was *that*?" she thinks. She composes herself mentally and sets her shoulders firmly. Spike appreciates what the small readjustment of her position does to other parts of her anatomy and marvels at her composure. "Proud little bugger," he thinks.
There is an awkward moment of silence as the parties retrace their lines of defence.
"Don't just stand here like an idiot, Spike. Say something. Anything." Spike thinks desperately.
There's more silence until Spike decides to backtrack into more familiar territory. "As far as I can tell, it ain't the end of the world yet so now that you've got your answer, I'll be off. Previous engagement and all," he says in the most complacent, matter-of-fact tone he can muster. Buffy is strangely reassured by the return of the Spike she knows and … well, knows. 'Sarcastic Spike', she can deal with. Soft-spoken, aristocratic, Svengali-like Spike, she'd prefer to avoid.
"Don't let me keep you from another wild night of alternative-style feeding," scoffs Buffy as she walks towards the door, then stops and turns around. " Wait a minute. The Bronze is a complete and utter mess. It's closed for business! How can I believe anything you say or promise when you lie to my face about a simple, trivial thing like where you are going! You're so unbelievably lame!" Buffy heads towards the door again, thoroughly disgusted with Spike and feeling curiously betrayed.
"Hang on a minute, Slayer," Spike says, taking a vice-like grip on her left wrist. "I'll have you know that, while I may be many things, I am not a liar." Spike hesitates, flustered. "Well, not unless I have something concrete to gain, at any rate," he continues defensively.
"Then what are you up to this time, Spike?" Buffy asks, wrenching her wrist from his grasp.
Absurdly pleased that she cares enough to ask, Spike shyly says, looking down at his feet: "Well. If you must know, the manager up at the Bronze was in a bit of a jam, and seeing as I made myself so helpful the other night, he's gone and offered me free drinks and munchies and a spot of cash in exchange for some overnight security guard duties. You know. Keep out the criminal element 'n all."
Buffy tries not to, but bursts out laughing despite herself. "Are you telling me you've got a job!"
"Well, ya. There's no shame in an honest night's work, luv? Now is there?" Spike responds a little harshly. He's slightly offended by her mirth.
"Then I'd better not keep you from slumming in the world of the gainfully employed!" she says, letting him exit the crypt before her.
Once outside, Spike starts to walk off in the direction of the Bronze. "Umm Spike!" Buffy calls out to him. He stops about 15 feet away from her and faces her silently. He manages to maintain a peevish glare for all of 10 seconds before relaxing into a questioning nod.
"Do you… Do you think they'll come… here?" she asks tremulously.
"Don't rightly know, luv," Spike responds nonchalantly but breaking eye contact with Buffy.
To change the mood, Spike adds, "But, if I were you, I'd carpe diem while I could." He strolls back to where Buffy is standing. She gives him such a blank look that he decides he needs to explain what 'carpe diem' means. Buffy interrupts him impatiently and says: "I *know* what it means."
"Coulda fooled me," replies Spike.
"What's that supposed to mean?" says Buffy, irritated, green eyes flashing.
Before she can think of stopping him, Spike reaches up and gently cups Buffy's chin between his thumb and index finger. He can feel the blood flow beneath his fingers accelerate as he says: "Maybe you know what the phrase signifies," Spike lightly rubs his thumb over her bottom lip, encouraged by her apparent passivity, "but you sure don't put it into practice much," he concludes as he gently strokes her cheek and lightly brushes away a few golden strands of hair that have strayed into her face. "It's a shame, really," he says stepping away from her and looking straight into the eyes for a beat before turning on his heel and walking away.
Dazed, Buffy watches Spike's form retreat and vanish beyond the black horizon line. When she begins her walk home, she can still feel the imprint of Spike's hand on her throat and the brush of his temperature-less thumb on her lower lip. Has Spike's imprint left a mark on her? "I'll think about it tomorrow," she thinks. When she arrives home, Buffy goes straight to bed.
Buffy's bedroom - the next morning
Buffy wakes from a dreamless sleep at 7:30 but she presses her eyes shut to keep out the harsh light of day. With her Slayer senses on alert, she can hear the sounds of Dawn getting ready for school and the deafening echo of her mother's silent tiptoe past her bedroom door. A gentle breeze blows in from the open window and settles over her deceptively quiescent form. Inside her a storm rages, a maelstrom of pent-up rage and anxiety. Buffy keeps her eyes closed and takes a deep, cleansing breath. She knows only her mental focus can calm the forces that work to tear her apart as much as they fuel her slaying abilities. Every day, she must calm herself down in this fashion in order to face the oppressive weight of the responsibilities that are incumbent on her. Today, her thoughts are clouded by a new source of worry, the result of Spike's darned hypnotic voice and questions. "Oh God!" moans Buffy, raising her hands to her face. "What was I thinking!" she thinks. "No. I guess I wouldn't." Had she actually said that OUT LOUD? "Ohhhhh!" She recalled every moment vividly enough. She hadn't meant to agree, hadn't meant to mean anything at all. But he'd made a statement and she'd agreed with his statement. The problem was, she wasn't exactly sure what it was she had agreed to.
Buffy forces her eyes open and stares at the ceiling through webbed fingers. All she can see before her are Spike's cold, icy-cold, blue eyes. Last night, it had all made sense but this morning she has absolutely no idea whether she and Spike are partners or whether they remain the fiercest of enemies.
"I cannot think about this anymore" she says to herself. Lowering her hands from her face, she successfully pushes all worries about Angel, Dru, Darla, Glory, Dawn, and Spike out of her mind and climbs out of bed in one graceful, feline swoosh. Sometimes, the ease with which she is able to switch off certain parts of her mind, as if she were sealing off a time capsule, frightens her. But it is just one of a myriad things she tries not to think about too much, like the look in the eyes of Riley's vamp-hooker, like the beaten look in her mother's eyes, like the innocence in Dawn's every word, like the feeling of pure freedom she gets when she's out on the hunt… "Stop it, Summers. Get your butt in gear."
"Mom! Buffy is talking to herself. Is that grounds enough to commit her to an asylum?" Dawn says as she stands on the threshold of Buffy's room.
"Get out you, you,… brat kid! Get out this instant! Now!" Buffy means business and throws a red high-heeled pump with such force that it leaves a mark on the wall where Dawn stood before she wisely ducked out of the way.
"Mom! Buffy's in pissed-off Slayer mode again! Just 'cause she's all special and stuff doesn't make her so *special*." Dawn's voice trails off as she sprints down the stairs and enters the kitchen downstairs. Buffy sighs with relief and begins getting ready to face the day.
It is only once she finishes brushing her teeth and starts applying mascara, as she stares at her own reflection, that Buffy can't keep an unbidden realisation from unfurling in her mind. In the mirror, she sees her own lips part in surprise as the memory of Spike's crackling blue-grey eyes once again comes into her thoughts. How was it that she had always believed his eyes were as dark as the pitch black of a moonless night sky?
THE END