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| On the Wrong Side of the Tracks - One | | | | abc + + + | | | 
On The Wrong Side Of The Tracks
by Megan
Chapter One
“Hey!”
“Hey?”
The simultaneous calls came from two different directions, but neither projected enough force of authority to halt the flurry of fists, the jumbled cries of pain and denial, the grunts of defeat and resignation.
Finally, the cold hard reality of a cocked and prepared firearm pointing down in her face caused Buffy pause. As she looked up at the toffee skinned male police officer— her fist poised in mid-strike—the sound of heavy, urgent footsteps reached her numbed mind and she blinked.
When she had seen Spike’s face earlier, open in his desperation to protect her and thus inspiring a belt down of major proportions, she’d lost control. She had not anticipated an audience—this side of town, open to the normal, human public, was a side she rarely saw at this time of night, except for the Bronze. But the very real presence of a police officer put her fists in sudden perspective and, embarrassed that she had been caught beating on someone - even if he was the evil undead—meant she was in for a barrel of difficult explanations.
Ones she really wasn’t up for.
Because she’d come to turn herself in.
For murder. And Spike would not be standing in her way. Or, well, lying in her way, all bloodied and bruised and puffy…and…oh God…what had she been doing?
“Holy mother of God, Buffy. What did you do?”
Her body jerked back under the pointed focus of the gun’s muzzle, allowing her eyes to be pinned under the scrutiny of a very disturbed Xander. Best buddy Xander. Friend Xander that tore her out of heaven. With other bestest buddies.
“You know this citizen?” the officer inquired, black fury hardening his impressive jaw. Violence was a definite high point in this locality, and he had been in the job just long enough that the unsolvable nature of crime in Sunnydale had not quite jaded him in the eyes of which wrong he could put handcuffs around. At Xander’s stunned nod, however, his laser-like attention searched the face of the female blond prostrate on the road.
“And the victim?” His fists twitched around the handle of the revolver, knowing he needed to check for the status of the injured male—unmoving and dead looking— lying in the road, his face busted open like an over boiled hotdog. Black bruising and eye swelling causing his alarm with the situation to boost his already bouncing adrenaline.
Xander stared at Spike, and gasped in shock at his first real clue of the damage his very own live heroine had inflicted first hand.
“Yeah, he’s a friend,” he answered, momentarily stunned at the ease with which the claim had stumbled from his famous ‘put a foot in it’ Xander mouth. And for once, he examined the close truth of the statement. Right about now, he figured, the vampire needed someone to claim him. ‘Cause Buffy had sure as hell kicked him to the wind.
And somewhere, right at the back of his mind, he had a bloodcurdling suspicion that the bleached pain in all their asses was just trying to stop Buffy from doing something monumentally stupid. Kind of what he had been about to do. Except he had no misconceptions that his cushy body would have put up with the wailing that Spike had just copped from Buffy. So for the moment, yeah. Friend. United allies in the ‘get Buffy home without a criminal record for murder’ club. Except, he would hopefully get home to Anya unbruised. Even if he did bring a house-guest with him.
As he tried to suck in all the vital information about the situation, Xander swallowed hard. The Scoobies were rather unused to seeing the law in motion, having themselves existing on the periphery of a world where human justice rarely made an impact. This time, however, he wondered how the excuse of ‘but she’s just beating up on the undead, officer,’ was gonna fly.
Taking in the expression of fury that added that touch of insanity to Xander’s night and his eyes fell once again in sickened compulsion to Spike’s knocked out form. That Buffy was beating helpless Spike into unconsciousness made something turn over in his stomach, something he had been ignoring for months now, ignoring since the tremendous success of bringing ‘Buffy from Heaven’ back to reside in hell.
So, yeah. Spike was right. Magic had consequences. And big idiot Xander—just like big idiots Anya, Willow and Tara—forgot that Spike was over a century old and maybe could teach them something, if they ever got over being know-it-alls. Right now, Xander knew. And what Xander knew he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be in the front row of what was about to go down as a ‘not so shiny’ Buffyesque moment, her ‘too close’ scrape with the law.
But, man! Spike was so thrashed. Again! He looked almost as bad as when Glory carved him up, and that hadn’t been personal. As full of faults as Spike was, he was devoted to Buffy and Dawn, and had been the glue that held the Scoobies together over the summer she was, well, gone for lack of a more honest description of where she’d been. He was still too raw to say it. But Spike, they didn’t acknowledge his contribution either, his glueyness of the bandaid variety, the keeping of Slayerness against the demon front. So friends—even if Xander wanted to deny it—Spike had more than earned it.
And now he looked like pulp.
And Buffy’s hands bled.
Xander gulped hard and reality graded his acceptance with another shade of dark demon possessiveness. They all, each of the Scoobies, owned a little piece of Spike. Particularly demon Spike. He truly wanted to run away from this potential mess screaming—tell Dawn he was too late to stop Buffy from screwing up her life by turning herself in for murder.
But it was getting close to morning, and Spike didn’t look like he was gonna get lucid any time soon. Friend. He had to get him out of the alley, out of the rising sun, and somehow manage to get back on track. Buffy. How the hell could he even look at her? She’d obviously lost it somewhere along her walk to the jailhouse.
A quiet moan of pain and a voice, raspy and hoarse, brought all the players into sudden focus and Xander felt again on edge. He watched Buffy, defiant in her unwillingness to accept what she had just done to the guy who looked after her sister for months.
Suddenly Xander felt sad. And tired. At his age, life shouldn’t be this hard. He had his fiancé, he had his Wicca friends, he had his superhero pal that he could quietly lust after in the dark, he even had his vampire villain and substitute dad, albeit absent. All this other stuff was just crap.
This kind of stuff should have been Giles’s job. He was her Watcher, why wasn’t he here watching her fall apart? Why did he leave the job of keeping her hanging on to a bunch of inepts like himself and an overtly ‘in love’ vampire who didn’t know right from wrong?
“Buffy?”
And she startled.
A crackling in the radio the cop wore shed some light on the situation, and a name was put to the body of her victim. Katrina. Except that seemed kind of familiar, and as that thought materialised, so did others. Scenes of the only Katrina she knew, the remarkable resemblance putting the perspective too close to her comprehension.
Warren.
She had been about to turn herself in because of Warren, and she’d beat Spike half to death. Un-death. Whatever, he asked for it. Asked her to put it on him. Her remorse was non-existent for the creature calling her name at her feet; her face hardened at the dope she had been to those three wimps. Slayer strength and purpose once again flowed through her and she was about to turn and stride away when she felt the gun’s muzzle—the one held by the cop she had forgotten about in her justifiable anger at the nerds—as it poked her in the back.
“Lady, I think you need to turn back around. You aren’t going anywhere.”
The cold certainty of the voice chilled her blood. Her first instinct was to knock the gun from his hands, but as she turned the gun didn’t waver. She looked into the face and suddenly a flash of Katrina took on his features and it was brought back to her that this man was human, and here she had no power.
Her eyes fell in irritation to the blond bleeding in the road and she felt like staking him, even though a twinge was telling her she had no right to be angry with him. For once he was doing the right thing. But that made her even angrier and without thought she pulled her foot back and kicked him hard in the ribs.
The cop was on her in seconds, much faster than she could ever remember a human moving. She had steel bracelets clapped around her wrists just as fast and finally it began to sink in what a human, and a cop no less, had seen her do. Suddenly her argument of ‘he’s an evil soulless vampire’ didn’t seem so reliable anymore, or even much of an excuse. The earlier fear of spending her life in prison for murder had abated with her epiphany of identification, but now a new fear took hold of her heart, and a glimmering of humanity crossed into her shiny eyes. Xander didn’t see it, but Spike, through his pain haze caught it and held onto it in hope.
“You are under arrest for assault and battery, you have the right to remain sile…”
“No!”
Everything stopped as Spike pulled himself to his knees, hunched over and heaving while focused on the ground, swaying slightly. Xander rushed forward and reached out his hands in help, feeling a little burst of relief that Spike allowed him to try and felt all gushy warm as he recognised the glimmer of gratitude flashed his way.
Standing tall was a bit of a problem, as really was standing at all, but Xander helped him stay on his feet, gave him that strength so he could concentrate on talking. The silence stretched uncomfortably, Spike seeming to need a few moments just to gain enough power in his vocal chords to spit out his wishes, and Xander found himself studying the cop.
“What do you mean, no?”
Okay, the cop was done waiting. He projected weariness, along with his anger and instinctively he knew if they could get this over quick then Xander could return Buffy home, drag Spike home with him, and maybe still not get a complete tongue lashing from Anya about racing again to Buffy’s side without real need. Even if this time she was so completely wrong.
“I mean, no! Got a problem with the ears, mate? I’m not pressin’ charges, so there’s no point lockin’ her up. Let ‘er go.”
Xander could see that Spike’s attention was completely isolated from Buffy, neither of them could bear to look at her just yet, the cop probably disgusted both at the brutality of the little blonde’s fists, and the weakness of the guy for putting up with it. If only he knew the truth.
But Xander looked at her, and he felt alarmed that he was happy he saw tears in her eyes. Oh, not tears of relief…even he wasn’t feeling like she deserved those. Tears of awareness, tears of understanding that Spike had saved her ungrateful ass, again. All their ungrateful asses for keeping her safe. He wondered if they should start a tally, because even though they all denied it, Spike had saved them all an awful lot of times—a big bunch of times. Xander felt a strange mist of personal growth drift over him and he strengthened his arms around Spike in a show of manly solidarity.
The cop seemed to falter, seemed really reluctant to let Buffy free of the cuffs. He decided to divert his attention instead.
“Are you all right? Need to go to the hospital?”
Xander could feel the tensing of Spike’s body as he felt his own muscles cramp from holding him upright. The more energy he expended, the more he knew Spike’s waned. Still, he was admiring the friendly control of the voice currently linked to him, and wondered where the vampire that had threatened them all four years earlier had disappeared to.
Spike tilted his head and really looked at the human who was zealously protecting him and couldn’t help the little black cloud of doubt sweep him away, wondering if he would receive the same concern if the knowledge of what he was were revealed. The little devil perched near his ear was insistent that the answer would be ‘no’. But then the meaty arm of Xander was all that was keeping him on his feet—as opposed to the ground which is where Harris usually preferred to view him—and his normal assumptions suddenly felt a bit wonky.
“Nah, just a bit bruised. No need for the medics.” He flicked his head to the side, indicating the restrained Buffy without looking at her, the hurt so palpable that even clueless Xander got a whiff of it. “You gonna let the chit go?”
The cop blinked, checked Spike’s injuries over before clenching his jaw.
“I really think you should reconsider pressing charges. What she just did to you is assault, and…” He turned his head, quietly taking in Buffy’s stubborn rigidity, engaging her steady stare before completing his thought, “I don’t care what she thinks you are, no one deserves to be flattened by anyone’s fists.”
Xander could tell, in the moment Buffy’s eyes widened, that their innocent human act might have been a bit suspect. He guessed that the injuries that were more than noticeable on Spike’s rapidly blackening features were rather severe to come from a small scrap of a girl like Buffy. Still, he wasn’t so sure that their act was completely dead in the water just yet.
Without taking his eyes from her, gun still raised against her movement, the cop waited. Then he lowered the barrel and contemplated her for an extra long second before finally allowing the question they had half-expected fall forth.
“You’re her, aren’t you?”
Buffy blinked uncertainly, consumed with the double whammy of getting almost arrested for beating up her boyfriend, and, well, beating up her boyfriend. Her green eyes, suddenly flooding with anguished realisation of what the night had consisted of for her, fell on the barely standing sight of Spike—head turned away in what could only be hurt and betrayal—and took in Xander. For whatever reason, she had blocked out that her friend was here, seeing her like this. He was comforting and helping Spike in the standing up and …huh? Her eyes went wide with confusion.
“Xander, what are you doing?”
For the first time ever she was stunned by the conflict of feeling in Xander’s simple expression. She could see the torment that helping his hated and sworn enemy was causing, conflicted with his general sense of fairness. And Buffy felt guilt, misunderstood guilt.
“I don’t think any of my actions need explanations, Buffster.”
He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see that look of confusion, the distance that tainted all her correspondence with her friends these days. For some reason he felt loads more comfortable keeping Spike’s undead ass from slipping back to the road.
“Officer?” he butted in. Really, things had to move on or Spike would turn into a nasty crispy critter right in front of the first diligent member of Sunnydale’s finest that he had ever met. “Really, we can take it from here. Can you take care of the cuffs and we’ll be on our way.”
The officer of the law ignored him.
“So, your name is Buffy. Buffy what?”
Really, everything was getting out of hand, and if that didn’t prove to him the influence Giles had had on them all over the years, nothing would.
“Look, can’t you just forget…” Xander started, only to be shot down with venomous opposition that shocked them all.
“No, I really can’t.” They all turned to gape at the officer, mixed feelings highlighting their separate roles in tonight’s little drama.
Sympathy stripped Xander’s voice of the strident and possibly desperate tinge it had started to evolve into, and concern took its place.
“Look, I know this is your job, but it is really kind of urgent that we get Spike here home before the sun comes up.” His caring summonsed gasps of surprise and deflated shoulders of resignation. Watery blue eyes told Xander all that he had suspected for a long time, but was too cowardly to test. Spike’s gratitude wasn’t going to kill him. Xander still stood mortal, but maybe less of an insensitive ass.
The fuzzy moment, though deeply moving to the men at least, obviously left Buffy on a new outer. She was always the inny of the group, and now Xander was pulling testosterone forces against her and she was understandably lost.
But still cuffed.
And waking to exactly what she had done to Spike. The monster persistently in her bed. The soulless evil that dragged her down. The one who could beat up on her but who hadn’t since that first night they had been together. The one who was immoral, murderous, hateful, had no feelings and couldn’t love…and the list got longer but less convincing as she ticked them off in her head. Less convincing with every bruise and split area of skin that she catalogued on his face.
And her hands began to shake as she looked at the eyes that couldn’t bear to look at her. Beautiful ocean blue that seared her with the fire of his love every time she allowed herself to disappear within his touch; chocolate pools that held her above where she really was but lowered himself to offer her understanding and support even if he didn’t understand why she took it. And lastly, angry black orbs that wanted to lock her away and make her pay for taking her anger out on another.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, those were the ones with the most impact, the ones that cut her to the quick and made her see what she had done. Not the ugliness that now marred Spike’s perfect skin, but the knowing that held all her truth in their reflection. She was being judged by humanity, and found seriously wanting.
But wasn’t there something she had missed?
Ah, the recognition, the curiosity she may once have revelled in. Now, she could tell it was tempered with distrust and steely resolve to punish.
“Who her?”
“I’ve heard talk…” he began, obviously not wanting her to feel like he cared that much who she was, what she was, and the next words proved it. “But I couldn’t give a flying fig who you are, lady. I saw you ruthlessly beat up a guy, who I am assuming is your man, for doing no more than trying to hold you back from entering the station. Now, my hands are tied about doing justice here, seeing as the fella doesn’t want to see you behind bars, but I’ll be damned if I’m just gonna walk. The three of you follow me. I’ll take you all home so I know where you all live, then later, after the white-haired dude gets hidden from the rays, we’re all gonna sit down and chat. No alternatives,” he snapped as both Buffy and Xander attempted to deny the possibility of that ever happening, both jaws snapping shut again in the wake of his hostility. “My patrol car is parked over here.”
He waited for Xander to position his arms better for helping Spike walk—sharing the flinch Spike made when Buffy tried to close in and offer her help—then led the way to his car. He guided Buffy to the front with a firm hand around her upper arm, allowing for Xander to help Spike into the back amidst groans of agony, and he shot the female another glare of dislike.
Muttered offers of an address had the car spin into motion and they were off to see where the next scene of the night was bound to take them.
To be continued
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| On the Wrong Side of the Tracks - Two | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter Two
The engine’s hum had a hypnotic quality, a centring effect that allowed Buffy to see the night again from that vital step away. Every vile word, every nasty threat, and every vicious punch caused her to flinch, and tears welled in her eyes as she concentrated on staring through the front windscreen of the patrol car. Her wrists were still cuffed behind her, so she sat awkwardly in the front seat, allowing a little part of her that wasn’t yet disgusted with herself to get wound up with irritation. Nobody had recognised her discomfort and asked the cop to change it.
The car rolled to a stop in front of her house and she prepared herself for leaving when Spike spoke quietly from the back seat.
“Not here. Don’t want the Nibblet to see…” And Xander jumped in with his own address, putting them back in motion again.
Buffy cringed and fell deeper into herself.
Dawn.
Dawn loved Spike. No way would she be okay with what Buffy had done to him. And for the fourth time that night, Spike was trying to save her. Emotions contradictory and confusing clashed within her so violently that she actually felt her body cramp in reaction. Her skin was chilled, the freeze broaching more barriers to reach her insides; to swallow her heart.
Risking a peak at her driver, she noticed his covert glances in the rearview mirror and the slight crinkling of his brow in confusion. He wasn’t able to see Spike’s reflection, and though initially she thought to be derogatory in comment about his lack of existence to the real world, something held her back. Something that acknowledged the major hurt she had already inflicted upon him without his deserving it. Something that knew that that little space within her that actually did care for Spike—the space she was loathe admitting to and kept so far in the dark recesses of herself to convince her of its non-existence—would break her if she added even more to his pain.
Disgrace.
She felt it in the cuffs that dug into the skin at her wrists. Finally order was streaking back through her control and she felt the beginnings of shakes. How could she have sex with someone she wanted to beat to a bloody mess? Why did she accept him into her body but not her life? Why couldn’t she admit that he was important, even if only to herself? Important enough to give her just a small amount of herself back? A piece that her friends had stolen from her.
This thing with him was more than a craving; it teetered on the edge of something completely overwhelming.
Vital.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind, couldn’t ignore the ‘specialness’ her time with him usually became. Couldn’t acknowledge that he felt fundamental to her existence. Not without drowning in her fear. And fear was stronger than courage. Fear had great muscley arms braced winningly against courage. And Spike’s continual little pushes against it were useless.
Spike was unable to go up against her great wall-a-rama of hurt and rejection, her expectations of desertion so deeply entrenched that all honest intentions of commitment bounced right back off like a rubbery bouncy ball. But each jab awakened a little patch of her heart—cried at her to let him in just a little, to take a chance on him crashing full-bodied through the wall. But then he would call her nature dark and remind her of all the things she hated, and she would effectively block his efforts once again.
As the wheels rolled rubber over bitumen toward Xander’s apartment block, she had too much time to think, too much time to feel if she actually could, but the complete lack of sensation isolated her fears once again. She was in the cold—frozen against what made her human—her frailty non-existent. Although the inner monologue was speeding down the path of remorse, she had squeezed it silent and closed within her ball of apathy.
She wouldn’t let herself think, couldn’t let herself feel, because if she did then she opened the door to all of the hate and anger and disgust she felt at her friends for ending her bliss, for pulling her kicking and screaming from her heavenly retirement. That Spike and Dawn weren’t in on the act hadn’t quite made it to her list of those to be exempt from her rage, they combined to bind her to this place as willingly as the others. And Spike’s face currently told the story about how happy that made her.
For a moment the ice seemed too hard to sustain—short, sharp glances over her shoulder took in the blackened swellings of Spike’s face and something twisted at her heart. It brought a heat to her skin that was so far from the normal infusion of desire that she stilled in confusion. She hadn’t felt heat at any time other than when Spike undulated above her, stroking the fires within her. When the chords of his cock scraped against her inner channel and set goosebumps fluttering to her skin. The moments were as short-lived as her connection to him. Once away from him, the warmth would dissipate. But now, the result of her loss of control—her mixed feelings of self-punishment—were the raised welts on his face. Buffy felt the ice shifting, chafing against other blocks of ice until the friction caused a little meltage. And for the first time, she really noticed that her heart was still beating.
As she contemplated this new form of living—or was it waking?—she encountered another dirty, disgusted look from the police officer who had the key for the cuffs holding her to the mortal world of justice. That a human could see her with such abhorrence—one of the race that she had been chosen to protect disliked what she was—and she finally realised that just because she felt lost and alone, despite her many dalliances with Spike, she was failing all that she stood for.
The car pulled to a stop outside the apartment block and the passengers alighted. Buffy remained stuck behind a closed door, waiting to be let out, her hands restrained. The officer didn’t take off the cuffs as he almost pushed her along the path to Xander’s door, the sky beginning to lighten. Now that she was once again in a position to see faces without straining her neck, she felt the ice chipping away again, disturbed at the silence that being ignored entailed. She knew that they were about to wake Anya, and that some explanations were about to become very ‘on the table’, and for the first time since she encountered Spike tonight, she felt some hope. Xander might be acting all buddy-buddy with Spike right now, but it was probably all about to come out about Spike and Buffy. And instead of the usual cold fear that accompanied that thought, she was overwhelmed with relief.
Even with his face turned away, she could see the hunched form of her lover, the bruising down his cheek and a little blood by his ear and the shaking began to invade her body again. That little piece hidden within her, the one that allowed her freedom to care for Spike, felt nauseous, sickened by what she had done to the man she spent hours touching and stroking.
It was almost like she had never seen this night before, her numb humanity standing on the outer edge of the events of the night, and so hadn’t grasped the magnitude of it. A human, no less a police officer, had seen her beat a man, and not just a man, but her secret boyfriend. The word sent sudden tingles over her skin and fired up her blood, and she teared at the inappropriate reaction of her body.
This officer no doubt thought her an abuser, suspected her of domestic violence. God, if her mother had seen her now. But she wouldn’t, because she was gone too, just like all those who supposedly cared about her. It was just a matter of time before the others left, including Spike. No matter what he professed, she didn’t believe he would stay forever. She would end up alone; no one could bear to stay around her.
Her father, Angel, Riley, her mother and even Giles. There was just something about her that sent them all packing, choice had everything to do with it and they all chose to leave. She may as well fight against the lies. Spike might say he loved her, but so had they all and none of them loved her enough to stay. She couldn’t help it if the frustration of hearing the continual lies made her want to beat them out of him, send him on his way. Before.
Before.
And tears again tumbled headlong down the smooth plains of her cheeks. Even in her head did she whisper. Before he chose to leave her. Before she fully gave him her heart. But as something cracked within her she fell to her knees on the paving and sobbed, knowing it was too late and she really couldn’t bear it if he left her too.
“Spike?”
Her voice was broken, little girlish and repentant.
“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” She shook violently against the arms that encircled her and she struggled against the cuffs that prevented her from returning the embrace. She kissed his jaw, her face slippery with grief and teetering floodgates of emotion. “I’m sorry I hurt you, all the time, don’t want to anymore, please hold me…” And her lips caressed his neck in goaded misery, so afraid he would push her away, throw her away even now that she was showing him her insides. Her babbling increased, tears gushing torrents against his neck.
“Take these bloody cuffs off, now!”
Over her head he pleaded with Xander to talk to the cop, to release her, and as shocked as the boy was, he recognised the weakness in Buffy for what it was…a letting go of grief so huge that she needed to cling. And even if it was Spike she fell for on the pavement outside his apartment, the night was so crazy that it was looking like a really good idea. Whatever his Buffster needed to be whole again.
Some quiet discussion, and the click of metal as it gave way was the announcement that she was free. Her arms flew to Spike’s neck, clinging for all she was worth, afraid to let him go in case he decided this was the moment he couldn’t take anymore. She renewed her pleas, begging him to stay, not leave her, she’d be better, he could do anything he wanted to her, anything, just please stay…
And though her face was a mess when he forced her back from his chest, forced her to look into his eyes, forced her to see the truth, he offered her his swollen fleshy lips in promise. Mindful of the pain she had already caused him, she didn’t suck his lips into her mouth, nibble and bite like she normally would do. This time she let herself rest against him; lip against lip in a beautiful caress of mutual love, even if one was hidden.
The darkness was lifting while they kneeled on the cement, neither caring nor knowing what happened around them as they held each other tight, as they gazed into each others eyes filled with forgiveness and hope. They were oblivious to everything but the moment, but Xander remained alert, watching the lightening and the revelation of colour around them with rising concern.
“Come on, guys…enough of the Spuffy lovin’. Time to get fangless inside before you’re holding an armful of ash, Buffster.”
The officer startled uncomfortably, before hardening his lip and waited beside the collapsed couple, planning on following them into the apartment block. Determination tapped his foot on the cement as he countered his patience.
With sudden dread, Buffy lifted her eyes to the sky and sucked in a lungful of air. Grasping Spike’s hand she put his arm over one shoulder and waited for Xander to support Spike’s other side. Together they headed for Xander’s apartment, the Sunnydale law following doggedly and confused in their wake.
Anya was awake and pacing when they made a quiet entry. Her eyes soaked up the vision of the group, and despite the tender emotions of those embroiled within it, only the officer was surprised by what came out of her mouth.
“Xander? It’s a little late for group sex. And although I know I’ve mentioned the possibility of Spike to you before, it would be much better for orgasm potential if he wasn’t so beaten. Many points for the police costume, though.” She eyed him approvingly, her eyes resting on the gun in his holster, confusion arching her brow. “I don’t know you, do I?” she asked, eyeing the officer with an animal intensity he found more amusing than alarming.
“I’m the real police, ma’am. Officer Jones.” He stepped forward and offered his hand for shaking, smiling at the first real effort of friendly interaction of his night.
It wasn’t until his name and title had finally been offered that Xander wondered at their lack. The lawman had become a part of one of the most personal and bitter experiences of the three now huddled inside the door, and yet just now were they learning his name.
Xander felt exhausted, rushed beyond knowing in his revelations of the night. The latest had his head spinning, and he quietly stepped back so as to easily watch a still crying Buffy with her face buried in the throat of the vampire Xander had spent so much of the past few years loving to hate.
The room had remained remarkably quiet, everyone watching the completely miserable pair trying to connect, trying to forge new ties amongst the multiplying streaks of light filtering through the window. With an unaccustomed bout of concern, Xander dived for the curtains to pull them closed, not wanting Spike’s body to go up in a blaze of fire when he’d only just stopped him being beaten to a pulp. No, the ending for Spike could come upon them another day.
The vamp had noticed the sacrifice and offered the second smile of gratitude that Xander had ever seen from him. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of it, then indicated with a sweeping hand the empty sofa.
With crippling effort, Spike directed the clinging and weeping Buffy to join him on the relative comfort of the seating and he wrapped her up in his arms. His heart was still unbeating on the path outside, still caught up in the fact that he held the girl he loved in his arms. In front of people. Real people. Not demon people she had every intention of dispatching before they could spread a rumour.
Anything emotional with Buffy and he was helpless to repress his own teary reactions, and with clogging emotion clinging to his voice, he attempted to calm and reverse the angry effects of the night.
“Buffy, love?” And the most important fact to them both. “I love you. I’m not going to leave you. I’ll only go when you stake me.”
His attempt to amuse her fell flat as she looked at him in horror.
“No,” she gasped, very real pain seizing and clutching her heart in her chest. The image of his death struck her hard and a severe growling assaulted her ears. All she heard was the thundering rush as she cried out and almost collapsed to the floor, her hands clutching at her head as she desperately tried to stave off the coming of Hell.
The walls were gone, frozen solid now molten puddles of flooding water, and she was balanced on the edge of raw. It hurt. Everything caused a pain so deep and at the top of the pile was a Spike turning to dust, her own stake still clutched in her hand.
“No,” she cried ever louder. “No, no, no, No, NO…” on an ever rising hysteria that encased her in a heated cavern belonging to something other than God. This was not what she remembered at death. No, this was opposite, this was her life without the one man who brought emotion to her core.
There it was. She was useless without Spike. She couldn’t find herself anywhere but in his arms, and as she writhed on the ground, kicking and screaming for him to come back to her the only thing to stop her was his heavy body as he gingerly lowered himself on top of her. His familiarity immediately halted her struggle, though she continued to cry, great sobs of agony blanching her skin.
As she calmed he began to lift off her, but the minute absence of his weight started her off again and she couldn’t face it, couldn’t be without him, and couldn’t let him leave her, too. She screamed her need, begged and pleaded until she was hoarse, grabbed painfully at his body until, with a roar mindless of his audience, his face changed and he sank his fangs deeply into her throat.
Immediately she calmed, and though he felt the panicked response behind him, smelt the fear and the indignation, he supped from her blood, taking her into him with a finality that caused his body to shiver. He took slow gulps, his lips holding her against him with amazing suction.
Her lips fell open, her fingers tangled hard in his hair and she whispered words of welcome and acceptance. Her legs hugged his pelvis to hers, rocking against his in their comfort, wanting but waking to the knowledge that this place wasn’t the right one.
Her eyes regained focus and the Slayer became aware of the teeth marking her again, making her a chew toy for another vampire. But the overwhelming surge of heat from deep in her belly convinced her to relax her objections, to wait and see where this ride would end. She had the utmost confidence that despite his talk of darkness, Spike wouldn’t let her reach for it.
And she was right. As her haze began to descend, the lightness freeing her inhibitions, he pulled from her throat and pressed apologetic kisses to her slackened lips. A small jewel-like tear squeezed from beneath his closed lids and she tearfully swept it away with her finger, letting it rest on her tongue when his eyes had opened enough to observe her tenderness.
They smiled and were lost in the tangle of greens and blues that indicated a merging deeply of spirit.
Until a cough broke their concentration and they remembered the others around them.
Spike fell to her side, already feeling the healing effects of her blood, and pulled them both up to their feet. Buffy, marginally weakened, rested her head lovingly against his shoulder and focused on his hand, the skin cracked and bloodied. With a gentle hand she lifted it to her lips and kissed the wound, then carefully threaded her fingers through his to publicly declare them through the intimate handclasp.
She encountered Xander’s gaze first, and prepared herself to see ugly condemnation. She could already feel her body shrinking with regret, when she recognised his look of love; confused love without doubt, but he wasn’t judging her like usual.
“Oh.” She sighed out of intense relief and flung herself into his warm, surrogate big-brother hug and allowed herself the comfort of his understanding.
Through the deep chasm of pain that had been inflicted tonight, something mysterious had cracked open and allowed truth to escape. It followed with a smothering of something soft and loving, something forgiving that allowed Buffy to see with a clarity that had been missing since her crawl from the grave.
It allowed Buffy to love, to feel love, to believe and be empowered by love.
So, when her eyes fell again on Officer Jones, she felt a little stronger in the face of his dislike and suspicion.
But she had felt the change, felt the removal of something ugly from within herself and felt giddy with the recognition that the purging was only successful with the acceptance of Spike’s love. With the unashamed wanting and needing of him. HIM. Spike.
Her lips curved in the first genuinely happy smile since she had come back from Heaven and she turned it upon Spike. Before her eyes his bruises and cuts were fading, and with another giddy grin her fingers ghosted over the marks he had left at her throat.
“Thank you.” Her words were imbued with the heaviness of grief shirked, yet coloured with an overpowering wealth of hope. Dreams. With Spike in her arms she could dream again.
The human had forced her back to humanity in a way that fantastic sex had not been able to. With Spike she could fight against emotion, appeal against her deepening feelings. She could deny him and all he did for her. But when forced to face her behaviour by one she was meant to be a star for, it was the final straw. It was the challenge she needed to own her attitude and see how broken she could make Spike.
She was finding she didn’t like to abuse her power.
And with that, a massive burden lifted from her shoulders and she hung against the body of the man she wanted in her life, wanted to be a part of her. And who now, was.
It was the first time she had felt thankful for his demon. Wild and creative sex had just been another reason to hate, to condemn and turn away. She spurred on her enemy to take her in ways and lift her to heights she could blame away on depravity. That she instigated the most of it was her blind spot.
But by forcing his teeth into her, gaining her calm and showing her the ultimate sacrifice in love—his bared back to Xander—she had no more resistance to the strength of his feelings.
So, turning to him with an unaccustomed light in her eyes, she couldn’t help but release her secret.
She smiled warmly with understanding.
“I know who we are now, Spike. I love you.”
The End
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