Summary: Spike is in for the fight of his life as he takes a vampire challenge. Buffy, now a vampire, is Spike's minion...but will she ever be his Queen?
Rating: R, for gore and adult themes
Disclaimer:Joss Whedon, the WB and Fox own Buffy and Co. Sandra owns the rest
When he finally emerged, it was almost dawn; and the curtains were tightly closed against any possible light.
Buffy was already in bed, lying as close to the edge as she could get. Spike scowled at the sight; how was he supposed to control his desire for her if she was right beside him? Then he remembered that he had ordered her to sleep in his bed.
Grudgingly Spike admitted that he did desire her. Even when he'd seen her first...back when she'd been simply the hated enemy he'd sworn to kill...he'd felt stirred...and excited...and even a little...frightened.
Why? Because he knew he wanted her?
No! It was Drusilla he wanted...she was the woman he loved...the only one he could ever love. He'd been so besotted and so faithful...and she'd played him for a fool all the time. At first he had lied to himself...calling her flings < flirting > and her sexual antics < making out >. Her affair with Angelus he'd put down to former devotion to a sire... And then, one day he'd caught her with another vampire in their bed....
Her infidelity hurt less than his realization that she had never loved him- was probably incapable of it. He climbed in beside Buffy, holding thoughts of Dru in his mind as a sort of talisman.
Yet, when he woke, he had both arms wrapped around the pretty blonde beside him...hugging her to him with a needy desperation that shocked and shamed him.
He dressed hurriedly and left the suite before she woke....hunting would make him feel better. But it didn't; he didn't even bother killing his victim.
Spike was curiously restless; fighting an impulse to return to the hotel and tell Buffy that he didn't mean everything he'd said.
An elegant jeweller's shop caught his eye; and he paused thoughtfully. He'd bought Buffy lots of clothes, but no jewellery...she should have some. Maybe it would help make things up to her...start them on a new track? After all, no need to brutalize the girl...he wasn't a savage, after all! And- why shouldn't he give her a gift if he felt like it?
The experienced clerk did not make the mistake of snubbing him. A casual reference to the price of a pair of diamond earrings failed to make this unusual customer blench; the clerk marked him down as a rock star or perhaps an actor and hauled out some of the most costly items.
Spike grew impatient, pushing away a tray. "No rings, mate!" He'd be damned if he wanted to remind her of that wanker Angel and his Irish betrothal ring!
"Yes sir," the clerk acquiesced promptly. "Perhaps a bracelet?"
"No..." Spike shook his head.
"A necklace, then? Pearls?"
"Not pearls!" Spike said testily. "It's not for a bloody wedding! But I want something different...something special. Just a...gift, for a lady. A YOUNG lady," he emphasized, "with blonde hair."
"With blue eyes? Some sapphires..." the clerk suggested.
"Not blue," Spike demurred. "I mean, they're sometimes blue, but then...green. They're changeable, like the sea."
The clerk nodded. "I think I may have what you want."
"What...is it?" Spike asked, awed.
It was a pear-shaped stone in a simple gold setting...but what a stone! It was like a living thing...swirls of blue and green and black...even flecks of gold...that seemed to shift and change even as he gazed.
"A black opal," the clerk said complacently. "The finest we've ever had...the finest I've seen! Beautiful, isn't it?"
"I'll take it," Spike said decisively. "Although," he later grumbled good-naturedly, "I could have bought her a diamond for less!"
The clerk permitted himself a thin smile. He privately thought that a girl who could inspire a gift like that would have no trouble getting a diamond as well...but he had no intention of saying so and risk offending his valued new customer.
Spike let himself into the hotel suite silently. Buffy was seated in the large leather chair, watching television. She barely gave him a glance, and his heart sank.
He removed his leather coat; and the feel of the velvet case in the pocket gave him courage. He wished he wasn't so nervous about giving it to her...like a kid buying sweets for a girl he fancied. Not that he did fancy her, of course...but, she was his, after all.
He walked over to her. "What's that, then?" he indicated the television.
For a moment he feared she wouldn't answer; and his face darkened in anger.
"It's a movie," she said at last, her voice reluctant. "Jefferson in Paris. It's pretty good."
"Maybe I'll watch with you," he suggested.
She made no response; and his temper flared. In one swift motion he scooped her out of the chair and sat down, settling her firmly on his lap. She gave a little cry, and started to rise, but Spike would not allow it. Their eyes met; and the look in his was what made her stop fighting him....unknown to him, it was almost...yearning.
He wound his arms around her, enjoying her weight snuggled against him. His restlessness disappeared, eased as always by the mere touch of her body against his...he never ceased being amazed at the way she simultaneously soothed and excited him.
The sensations threatened to overwhelm him; he attempted to concentrate on the film.
"Did you know Jefferson had a child with Sally Hemings, love?" he asked, trying to put a more amiable cast on the evening. "I read about it in TIME magazine. More than one, actually. Quite a love story, hmm?"
She turned her head and looked at him coldly. "Yeah...right!"
"You don't think she loved him?" he persisted, tensing.
She shrugged. "Why would she love him? She was his slave! She had to do whatever he said."
He drew a sudden, painful breath. "What about him, then? Maybe...maybe he loved her."
Buffy laughed scornfully. "He loved OWNING her...that's what he loved!"
"He cared for her!" Spike insisted. He didn't know why he felt so certain, but he did.
"Not enough," Buffy's voice was suddenly sad. "Not enough to set her free."
Furious, Spike jumped to his feet and almost flung her back into the chair. He strode angrily into the bedroom, still fuming. Set her free! He wasn't stupid...she was talking about them...about her and him. Well, she could talk all she wanted; he would never let her go!
By vampire law she was his...as her sire, he owned her. If he released her, who knew what might happen?
Would Buffy even be able to survive on her own? She would be too squeamish to kill to feed...she would likely fall victim to a more powerful vampire, or even a Slayer. She would be in danger...
She would leave him....
Once more, when he woke, he found her asleep in his arms. Slowly, almost fearfully, he kissed her fair, fragrant hair...she sighed in her sleep, and smiled, rubbing her face against his chest.
His grasp tightened convulsively; he leaned closer...and saw her eyes open, and her smile fade. She pulled abruptly away from him...and his impulse was to protest...but then he let her go.
"We're going out," he tried to say it naturally, but his voice was clipped and abrupt. "Wear your black dress, pet."
Spike hesitated, then wordlessly held out the velvet case.
Buffy opened it; and her eyes widened.
Spike could contain himself no longer. "Do you fancy it, pet?"
Then an old hurt brushed him...he suddenly saw Drusilla, staring down at his Valentine's gift. And Angel- his hands possessive on her as he fastened the jewels around her throat.
Spike reached for the opal and placed it around Buffy's neck, hands trembling...he felt an impulse to kiss her neck and shoulders, to place his palms on her breasts and pull her firmly against him.
To make love to her...
He took a long step back, releasing her; and she turned, radiant, to face him.
"It's gorgeous!" she said excitedly. "Thank you, Spike!"
He grinned, pleased at her response...this was more like it.
"I didn't think," she told him happily, "that you even knew when my birthday was!"
He froze.
"Birthday?" he repeated blankly. And saw the pleasure fade from her face; like someone taking a wet sponge to a chalkboard.
"Oh...oh, right...how would you know?" she murmured, trying to excuse him.
His dismay at her disappointment made him harsher than he would otherwise have been.
"Nothing to know, pet. You've had your last birthday, remember? You'll never be...how old?"
"Twenty," she said woodenly.
"But now, why, you're forever nineteen. No point in bothering with birthdays- you're not getting any older."
A thought struck him. "Is that why you were in L.A. when Fergus caught you? To celebrate your birthday?"
She nodded wearily. "Yes...I was...visiting my father."
"Oh. I forgot he lives in L.A."
Buffy turned pain-filled eyes in his direction. "He doesn't. Not any more."
She picked up her jacket and waited. Silently he followed her out...wishing he could take back the last ten minutes and start all over.
Things seemed to improve at Madelon's. He asked her to dance, and, after an initial hesitation, she preceded him onto the dance floor.
Spike admitted it...he loved holding her. No matter how roughly he spoke to her, he had only to touch her and his hands grew gentle...almost cherishing.
Buffy sensed it, slowly relaxing into the protective circle of his arms. When they returned to their table, he would have liked to pull her onto his lap; but didn't want to disturb the fragile peace their dance together had created.
"Spike..." the sibilant hiss in his ear annoyed him, but he turned to greet Isabelle with a polite smile.
It stiffened on his lips when he saw the man with her.
Isabelle noticed. "Do you know Gunther von Drache?"
"We've met before." The German did not bother with a smile, polite or otherwise. He was too busy taking in Buffy.
"So." He looked her up and down. "You are Spike's new consort?"
"Oh no," Buffy said sweetly, "more like an acolyte."
Spike nearly choked, attracting Gunther's attention. "A...what?"
"Only a joke, von Drache," Spike said expressionlessly.
Gunther shrugged. "If you don't value her, Spike, perhaps we could reach an agreement?"
Spike said coldly, "The time for that was in the ring, Gunther. I didn't see you there."
The German's eyes flared briefly. "Unfortunately I was not informed of the challenge...until it was too late!" He flung a murderous look at Isabelle.
"But Gunther," she said quickly, "I tried to reach you, but your people in Munich said you were away."
Spike gave Isabelle a sharp glance, detecting a false note in her voice.
The German scowled, unmollified. "If I had been present, Spike, the outcome would have been very different! I have never been defeated."
He turned back to Buffy. "And I have no queen! THAT is what you should be, little one! Not a minion for Spike!"
Isabelle's eyes darkened with anger; but Buffy was unresponsive. She merely looked at Gunther, with a bored stare of indifference. Then one hand reached up to finger the black opal. "I have no complaints," she said, with a small, secret smile that made Spike's heart lurch.
"Bah!" Gunther saw the gesture. "I would give you all the jewels you desired...if you were mine!"
"But she isn't." Spike leaned forward. "Nor will she ever be. Come, Buffy," he pulled her to her feet, "let's dance!"
Buffy's voice was soft in his ear. "Who was that?"
Spike's body grew rigid. "His name is Gunther von Drache; he's known as the Dragon. That's from his name...Drache is the German for dragon."
Buffy tilted her head to look at him. "I didn't want a language lesson, Spike! You know I meant...who is he, to you? Specifically- why do you hate his guts?"
He stopped dancing abruptly. "Let's go back to the hotel."
She said no more until they were back in their suite and he was busy pacing. Then... "Don't you think you'd be better off talking about it? Repression is supposed to be bad for you!"
"What did you think of von Drache?" he demanded, suddenly.
"Other than the fact that he acts like a pompous, arrogant jerk?" Buffy shrugged. "I have no opinion at all."
He gave a short laugh at that. "He's the vampire king of Munich. He's got several billion dollars; a noble title, and a castle on the Rhine. Where you could be the queen."
Buffy grinned at him. "Heyyy...I don't speak German."
"That doesn't seem to stop most women." Spike's tone was so bitter that she experienced a flash of understanding.
"You haven't told me yet why you hate him."
He didn't answer.
Buffy followed her hunch. "Does it have...something to do with Drusilla?"
For an instant she feared he would vamp out; he growled at her. Then, his anger faded....and he turned away.
"I ...found them...together, once. That's why...that's what finally ended our relationship."
He kept his back towards her, unwilling to reveal the hurt and the shame in his.
Then, he felt her soft arms slip around him....
Desperately, he turned in her embrace, pulling her to him with an eagerness that he could no longer control. He kissed her hungrily, hands tugging at her dress, finally managing to unzip it enough to have it pool around her feet.
"Buffy..." his voice was harsh with urgency, "Please..."
He felt her touch, feather-light on the back of his neck. She had always touched him that way.
"Please..." he heard his own voice, begging. Almost...whimpering like a child. And so all-consuming was his need that he didn't even care. Nothing mattered beside the sheer force of his craving for her...
He kept seeing her face...that enchanting smile when her eyes opened to find him staring down at her. Lazily, she lifted a caressing hand to his cheek.
"Hi," she said, snuggling closer. "Sleep well?"
And...he'd spoiled it. Acted like such a sodding bastard and said, "Of course, love. You're not a bad lay at all."
"No?" her eyes laughed at him. "You didn't think so last night, I seem to recall."
Abruptly, he swung away from her, stood up, and began yanking on his clothes.
"Spike?" The first cloud on her pretty face. She sat up in bed, staring at him with big, worried eyes. "What's the matter?"
He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, hoping she wouldn't notice his shaking hands. "Not a thing, pet. I'm going out for a while."
"I'll come with you," she offered quickly.
"No." He grabbed his coat, careful not to look at her. "I think we've had enough togetherness for now."
"Something IS wrong." Buffy started to scramble up.
"Don't be so bloody daft!" he snapped. "We had an evening out at Madelon's, we had a bit of slap and tickle, we both slept well. Don't get your knickers in a twist over nothing!"
She'd gone very still. "Nothing?" her voice was a whisper that seemed to cut right through him.
He glanced at her briefly on his way out the door. "Now, don't upset yourself...we had a nice romp in bed, and that's that. Very nice, in fact; you must have learned more from Angel than I thought."
He'd flung out of the room leaving her standing there in stunned disbelief.
And then- he was in the street, heart raging because he'd...almost, he'd lost it...almost done what he longed to do; and pulled her into his arms and covered her with kisses.
Dimly he recognized that it was his own panic and fear that had sent him out...driven him away to this dark maze where he could try to convince himself that what had happened between them wasn't all that momentous. That it didn't necessarily mean that anything had to change. Not at all.
But deep inside, he knew- and refused to be comforted.
He knew that a barrier between them, a barrier he'd carefully constructed for his own protection, had gone down.
He was lost. Despite all his big talk, his bravado posturing, he knew he would be helpless the minute she smiled at him.
Groaning, Spike hurled the almost-empty bottle against the sidewalk, hearing it smash. He fought the urge to return to her even as his traitorous feet carried him back to the hotel.
He opened the door to their suite and stopped...stock still.
Staring at them...together. Angel and Buffy, standing there gazing into one another's eyes like some Victorian Valentine card. And even as Spike watched, Angel took Buffy's small hands in his and raised them to his lips.
"My love," Angel murmured.
"Bloody hell!" Spike yelled.
"Spike." Angel's voice was level. "I came to see you."
"Well, you bloody well see me, don't you, mate?" Spike retorted angrily.
"I'd like to speak to you alone," Angel added, with a sidelong glance at Buffy.
She hesitated, then walked into the bedroom.
"I came to ask you to release her." Angel said immediately.
"Release..?! " Spike nearly laughed aloud. "Never, mate! Don't you run away with that idea! As if I'd let anyone...let you...take her away from me! She's mine; and she's not going anywhere."
"If you refuse," Angel said calmly, "I'll fight you; and I'll kill you if I have to."
"You weren't so quick to fight in the ring!" Spike taunted.
Angel scowled. "You know Fergus kept that challenge as quiet as he dared! He knew I'd come for her, if I found out, no matter what- and so do you! I'll set Buffy free if it means I have to tear you apart!"
You and what army?" Spike sneered. "Come on, then!"
The two powerful vampires began to close with one another...
"No!" Buffy was suddenly there- between them. "Stop, Angel! He's not yet fully recovered...and he's been drinking! He isn't up to a fight with you."
"Here!" Spike was outraged. "Who isn't up to it? He thinks he can waltz in here and take you away...well, we'll see about that! Hell, I'll kill the flaming prat just for thinking it!"
"Nobody's killing anybody," Buffy ordered. "Calm down, Spike!"
"Who're you telling to calm down, Slayer? You think I'm afraid of that wanker there? You think you can tell me what to do? ME? Just because you're bloody marvelous in bed, it doesn't mean you get to call the shots!"
"Don't talk to her that way!" Angel growled at Spike.
"And why not? She's MINE...she belongs to me...I own her!"
"That does it!" Furious, Buffy put her hands on her hips and surveyed the blond vampire. "You don't own me, Spike...let's get that straight, once and for all. I am not a possession, I don't come with a warranty. And- I'm out of here!"
"Buffy," Angel said urgently, "if you walk out...without his leave...every vampire in the country will be sworn to hunt you down, to return you to him! There's no appeal against that...let me kill him! It's the only answer!"
"Not the only answer," Spike gritted his teeth. "There's another- I kill you, instead!"
Buffy shook her head. "No killing." She turned toward the door. "But I'm going, anyway."
Spike stared in shock...she was really going...she was leaving him, leaving her sire...her protector. Two minutes with her former love, and she was willing to go off with Angel forever.
Enraged, he found his voice. "Wait!"
She paused at the door, her eyes on his face.
"You're free." Spike spoke in short, staccato bursts, struggling mightily to force the words past his closed throat. "I release you from any bond with your sire."
"You're...letting me go? Just like that?" Buffy asked, shocked.
Spike smiled meanly. "Why not? It was fun, but I don't fancy you around forever, pet. You run along with your little lapdog here...goodbye, good luck, good riddance!"
She took a deep breath. "Goodbye, Spike!"
"Get out." He could say nothing else; but she was already gone. Angel gave him a curious look as he followed Buffy out.
When he was sure they'd left, he allowed his knees to buckle under him, and slid to the floor. His face felt strange; and it was not until he lifted his hands to his eyes that he realized he'd undergone the change; and that blood-tinged tears were falling over the lines and ridges of his vampire visage.