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| In Omne Tempus - Double, Double Toil And Trouble by Holly (4 Reviews) | | - abc + + |  | | | Chapter Twenty-Seven
Double, Double Toil And Trouble
Spike eyed Buffy wryly. There was absolutely no way she wasn’t doing that on purpose.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re tryin’ to drive me outta my mind, aren’t you?”
Buffy frowned. “What? I’m sitting here.”
He arched a brow and raked his eyes down her body. She was wearing nothing but his t-shirt and her panties, which she’d only put on after he assured her that if she didn’t, he’d take her several times over the course of breakfast. Now she was sitting on the counter, her ankles linked as her legs swung back and forth in a typical teenage fashion. Her hair was tousled, her eyes following him as he moved about the kitchen. She looked thoroughly bedded, and she was driving him mad.
“You know what you’re doin’.”
“I can tell you with absolute certainty that I don’t.”
He smirked at her. “You won’ be so clueless if I drop everythin’ now an’ shag you senseless against the fridge.”
She grinned coyly and batted her eyes. “But I’m hungry,” she retorted. “And you already had your breakfast.”
His eyes sparkled. “Don’ s’pose you’d let me have seconds.”
Buffy fidgeted and ducked her head in a veiled ploy to mask the lust that flashed across her face. “Maybe later,” she said, her voice strained in an effort to sound disinterested. “Spiiike, I’m hungry.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, turning his attention back to the eggs he was scrambling. “I’m neglectin’ you.”
“I know. I’m feeling very neglected right now.”
He tossed her another look. “I could rectify that.”
“Hey, you’re the one that made me hungry with telling me that I needed breakfast.”
“Yeh, an’ I’m beginnin’ to regret it.”
“You’re regretting talking me into breakfast?”
He smiled. “Jus’ ‘cause I have this burnin’ need to be touchin’ you every few seconds.”
“Well, you should have thought of that before you made me hungry with your talk of food.”
“I s’pose I should’ve. You want jelly with your toast?”
“Do we have jelly?”
“Maybe not.” He scooped up the eggs he’d made onto the two plates he’d set on the island. “When we move into a place together, we’ll always have jelly.”
“Yeah?”
Spike grinned and abandoned his task once more. Honestly, how was he supposed to concentrate when she was deliberately provoking him like that? “Always,” he promised. “All kinds, if you like.”
“All kinds?”
“I like to spoil my girl.”
“With a surplus of jelly?”
The grin stretched into a smirk. “Or whatever else she happens to…crave.”
And he couldn’t help himself. She was sitting there, driving him out of his mind with her glances and her soft perfection. He felt the essence of her surging through his veins. The air sparked with electricity. His skin missed hers. The claim, he’d heard, was a bit unbearable in its infancy, in that many couples experienced the need for constant contact as their bodies adjusted and their senses came alive.
He cupped her face and brought his mouth to hers, consuming her with soft kisses, drowning in her taste. In the warm strokes of her tongue, the small murmurs and whimpers that she poured into him. The way she molded her body against his, grasping his forearms; the tantalizing scent of her tickling his nostrils and tempting his tastebuds.
Christ, he wanted her so much. He had her in his arms, he had her love; he had her forever and he lived to want more.
“Mmmm,” she gasped, pulling away just slightly and pressing sweet kisses to his cheek. “Spike…”
“Sweetling?” His mouth dipped, sampling her throat. Reveling in the shrill gasp that broke through her lips as he teased the mark he’d given her.
“The toast is burning.”
He froze and pulled back, meeting her twinkling eyes. “Bloody wench,” he sighed good-naturedly, releasing her to return to the small feast he was preparing for breakfast. “You jus’ mated me to have a permanent man-slave, din’t you?”
Buffy grinned. “Yup,” she agreed, popping the ‘p.’
Even her teasing couldn’t spoil his mood. Hell had fallen over them the night before, but now, this moment, he was on Cloud Nine. He’d never bought the thought of bells ringing or a voice singing from the heavens, or any of the old adages anyone associated with love. But his head was fluffy and he was warm—wholly warm. Not borrowed warmth, nothing he’d stolen. No, he’d earned this peace with Buffy. Man-slave? If she wanted, he’d be all too willing. She had him wrapped around her finger. She had from the beginning. Her eyes had flashed for him, yes, but that wasn’t what won him over. The claim, beyond the physics, had nothing to do with it.
“What kinda place are you wantin’, pet?” he asked. She’d hopped off the counter and was searching the fridge for something.
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“It always matters to chits.”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t to me. You want orange juice or milk?”
Spike made a face. “I’m snaggin’ the rest of your mum’s wine.”
“For breakfast?”
“Hey, I’m evil.”
She giggled. “You’re evil, therefore you drink wine for breakfast?”
“I’m corruptin’ the youth with my bad habits. Come on, pet, cut me some slack.”
Buffy grinned and dropped a kiss on his shoulder. “You’re adorable,” she said, squealing a bit when he growled and smacked her ass in playful retaliation.
“Take that back!”
“Make me!”
His eyes darkened. “Buffy, you’re treadin’ on dangerous ground, here.”
“Whatev,” she replied, popping a piece of bacon—bacon that had to be cold by now—into her mouth. “A hungry mate is an ornery mate. Really, you brought this on yourself.”
Spike sighed and shook his head. “Go sit down an’ eat.”
She pouted. “Bossy McBossy.”
“An’ don’t gimme that lip.”
“You don’t want my lip?”
“Bloody chit.”
“Bossy vamp.” She finished off another bit of bacon, licking her fingers. And bloody hell, he knew that was intentional. No one moved their tongue like that unless they wanted to drive a man crazy. “I’m going to go eat my breakfast now.”
“’Bout bloody time.”
“Sheesh. Aren’t we touchy?”
He scowled. “A touchy mate is a horny mate,” he replied in the same tenor. “Go eat.”
“Caveman much? ‘Go eat. Want shag.’”
He grinned. “You catch on quick.”
Spike followed her into the dining room after locating the aforementioned bottle of wine. Buffy had dug into her eggs the minute she sat down, and she flashed an apologetic look in his direction, though he didn’t know if it was for the manner in which she was eating or that she hadn’t waited. He didn’t care—he was just glad to see her eating at all. He knew from watching her, and from being with her the past week, that she practically forgot about food when she was worried or upset, or particularly busy with something. It wasn’t for nerves—when she ate, she really ate, but her metabolism was so high that it wore off just as quickly. Such was the life of the Slayer.
“You need to tell me where you wanna live, sweets,” he said as he joined her.
“I really don’t care.”
“Buffy—”
“Seriously, I don’t care. I don’t need any big fancy place.” She shook her head and gulped down half of her orange juice. “I’ve lived in big houses all my life. With my dad, when he and Mom were married…and I know this place isn’t huge, but it’s pretty good for a single mom in southern California.”
“Hellmouth realty,” Spike reasoned, shrugging.
Buffy sighed. “My point is…I don’t need a big place. I don’t need a museum. Yeah, maybe after a while, I’d like a castle. But the way I see it, we have forever, right?”
His eyes twinkled. “A castle?”
“Well, you’re British. Don’t you own a castle somewhere?”
“I’m beginning to see a pattern in that school of yours, sweets. Firs’ they bugger up sex-ed, an’ now history?”
“You mean you don’t have a castle?” She pouted. “Well, phooey.”
“You mated me for my money, is that it?”
“I mated you ‘cause I love you, you big doofus.” She shrugged. “The money and the man-slave thing was just supposed to be a perk.”
“I see.”
“But seriously, right now, I’m happy with something modest and small. Something cozy…and temporary.”
“Temporary?”
She licked her lips. “Do you wanna stay here? After all’s said and done…I’m not the Slayer anymore…am I?”
“You have the strength, pet. That I can vouch for.”
Buffy blushed prettily, enchanting him. “I just—”
“I don’ think you’re the active slayer. There’d be a prophecy of some sort for that. Instead what you have is somethin’ that should’ve happened with every slayer up to you. You’re jus’ the firs’ that found a mate.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the other way out, pet. There’s death or life. Your strength doesn’ leave you no matter…but you don’ die this way. You jus’ pass on the calling, an’ your reward is life.”
She stared at him in endless wonder. As though he had released her. As though he had given her back the world.
“There’s something I think you should know,” she told him.
“Oh?”
“I love you.”
Spike smiled broadly. Those words did him in every single time. Like being embraced by fire-kissed satin. He would never tire of hearing it. Not as long as the sun rose and set. Not as long as stars lived in the heavens.
“I love you, too, kitten,” he replied hoarsely.
“And I don’t care where we live.”
“Yeh?”
“Well, a castle’d be nice, but it seems someone didn’t do his investing.”
He smiled adoringly. “I’ll get you a castle someday. But for now…”
“For now? I’m a simple girl, Spike.” She was anything but, but okay. “An apartment works fine with me.”
“An apartment?”
“Yeah. Might as well try it out. And like I said, not really wanting to be a permanent resident of the Hellmouth, especially if there’s a new slayer out there. And Giles’ll probably leave…if I’m not his concern anymore.”
“You’ll always be his concern, pet. He looks at you like a father does a daughter. He won’t be outta your life just ‘cause you’re not on the Council’s radar anymore.”
She licked her lips and nodded, taking a bite of toast. “And Mom?” she asked. “What do we tell her? God, what do we begin to tell her?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“It’s coming up pretty fast.”
“I know.” He paused. “Today, though, we need to go see your Watcher.”
That soured her mood. The reality he’d been intent on keeping out of her mind leaked in, and he saw her fall once more. But the desperation was gone, replaced with understanding. There was knowledge in her eyes that only came with living a thousand years, and their union had given it to her. A greater grasp of life and death—something that no human could begin to comprehend. It wouldn’t be easy for her friends and her Watcher to accept—she was having trouble with it, herself.
It’d take some getting used to. But they did need to see the Watcher.
They needed to discuss Asmodeus.
That would come later. When the sun was on its way toward the horizon. For now, he wanted to give her a few hours of peace. Wanted to freeze this moment with her so that it lasted forever.
Asmodeus. Where did his family get off raising Asmodeus?
Not now, he warned himself. Not now. That would be reserved for later.
He could be wrong. There could be another Asmodeus out there. The lesser known half-god. He hoped so. Angelus and company were bad enough.
And there was no way he was letting go of the sanctuary he and Buffy had created together. Not without a fight.
If they needed to fight an angel for it, so be it. The armies of paradise better be warned. He would not go quietly. He would not.
Not now that he had everything in the world to lose.
*~*~*
She hadn’t objected when he told her they’d be taking the underground highway to get to Sunnydale High. Rather, she shrugged as though she’d expected it, and proceeded to get ready in a manner that undoubtedly broke every standard about women in that department. He owned it up to nerves. By the time they were ready to leave, she looked ready to break something just to relieve some stress.
Well, break or kill. The Slayer couldn’t be restrained to inanimate objects when it came to methods of relaxation.
They didn’t talk much on the way to the school. Buffy had a determined, troubled look on her face, but she seemed otherwise calm. Accepting. She held onto his hand as though the world wanted to rip her away, and every time a troubling thought haunted her, she squeezed him for reassurance. But she didn’t say a word. Not unless he spoke first.
When they finally arrived at the school, Rupert Giles’s reaction was nothing short of what Spike had expected.
He looked up, his eyes large, angry, and sad, and he spat without waiting for a greeting, “Get the hell out of here.”
Buffy stopped shortly, her fingers tightening around his. He felt her will drop and harden. He felt everything. “No, he’s staying.”
“Willow is dead.”
“Yes. And Spike didn’t kill her.” A pause. “Neither did I, so stop looking at me like I’ve done something wrong.”
“You’ve mated that…thing.” He gestured to the bite mark on the Slayer’s throat. “You mated him after—”
“What happened to Willow wasn’t Spike’s fault, and it sure as hell didn’t make him any less my mate, or change my feelings for him.” Her eyes darkened possessively. “So back the hell off, okay?”
“You seem to be taking all of this very well,” Giles commented coldly.
“You seem to be an enormous bastard, but thankfully I don’t judge,” she retorted.
Spike had heard enough, either way. While his girl’s defense of his character was not taken lightly, he’d had enough of Giles’s blatant condemnatory overtones. Buffy had hurt enough for one lifetime. “So, respectively, fuck off. You don’ know what happened last night. She’s been through enough.”
“I have some idea of what happened. The Council called me to inform me that a new slayer had been called.” His eyes darkened. “So I take it that you weren’t so grief-stricken to keep your hands off each other.”
“Why you—”
“No, Spike.” Buffy was squeezing his hand so hard, he was sure she’d rip it off if she so much as budged, but he wouldn’t release her for all the world. “Let him be judgmental. It’s okay. He doesn’t know what happened, and he’d never appreciate it if he did.” Her gaze narrowed. “We’re here to tell you what went down after we found Willow.”
If her words did anything to rattle the Watcher, he did an admirable job of concealing it. “I don’t care for details,” he spat.
“Spike staked Dru to save my life. I burnt down Angelus and Darla’s place, and we found out what sort’ve apocalypse Angelus has planned. So no, Giles, we didn’t just shrug, go home, and make with the sex. Get that out of your head.”
Giles’s eyes didn’t lighten, nor did he balk from his position. He looked ready to speak, but the library doors swung open. It was all too fortunate. Spike understood how death underlined things—how it could weigh in on someone’s better judgment, and how all could fall apart once it was introduced to those who weren’t well versed in the art.
Buffy knew death, though. So did her Watcher. It was likely more a reaction to death hitting them personally, rather than a faceless coed dropping off the face of the earth as they tended to do often in this town.
The two newcomers weren’t going to make any of this easier. He knew who it was without having to turn. Xander and the wolf. Xander and the one who, if anyone, had a right to be angry.
But, unsurprisingly, it was Harris that stalked forward in a heated rage. The boy didn’t have any self-control. “Get the hell out of here,” he barked.
Well, well. Look at the mini-Watcher.
Buffy rolled her eyes and pivoted. “Nice to see you, too, Xander.”
He didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look away from the source of his hatred. “Get the hell out of here before I introduce you personally to the pointy end of a stake.”
The Slayer growled at that. “Xander,” she said lowly. “I’d think twice about threatening my mate when I’m standing right here.”
“You can’t tell me that—”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You’re brainwashed. You’ve gone completely crazy.”
“Stop,” Oz said softly, holding up a hand. “This isn’t going to help anyone.”
Spike met the wolf’s eyes sympathetically. He was a small one, but strong. He was more composed than anyone could have asked, or ever expected. And if he was at all brassed about being taken forcibly out of commission the night before, he didn’t show it.
“Willow wouldn’t want this,” he continued. “She wouldn’t want you to be fighting over whom to hate.” He sighed. “Spike didn’t do anything. He was there when we found her. And he stopped me from doing something stupid.”
The vampire blinked. So did Buffy. Apparently, neither had expected him to be so understanding.
Neither did any more than nod their appreciation. There were some things that couldn’t be conveyed with words.
“Whatever problems you have with me or my mate, we’ll settle after this is over. But if any of you suggest again that I didn’t love Willow, or that I can…just get over it, I’ll make sure you hurt.” She paused. “I love her…that’s why I can let her go.” She sighed and glanced down, wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “We’re here to tell you what we found out. Angelus plans to do something with someone called…”
She looked to Spike for help.
“Asmodeus,” he said, marveling at her strength.
“Asmodeus,” she agreed, nodding. “Angelus’s plan has something to do with Asmodeus.”
The biased hatred in the Watcher’s eyes diminished entirely to fear the next second, and he released a deep breath, paling. “Oh dear lord.”
“I really hate it when he says that,” Buffy sighed.
“What’s Asmodeus?” Xander asked, his own bitterness seemingly placed aside, at least momentarily.
“A bloody powerful demon,” Spike said. “Appears in noncanonical scriptures...the Book of Tobit, in Jewish folklore.” His eyes leveled with the Watcher’s. “Rupert, I’m thinkin’ of the right bloke, right?”
“Yes,” he agreed shakily. “He was the son of a mortal woman called Naamah and a fallen angel…or roughly, the man that came before Adam in Judeo-Christian mythology. He was the alleged cause of Noah’s drunkenness, as well as the construction of the Temple of Solomon.”
“You two seem to be knowledged up,” Buffy said, blinking. “I was expecting much research.”
“The story of Asmodeus isn’t as ambiguous as you’d think. He’s in the Apocrypha, as well as other texts.” Giles shook his head and removed his glasses. “According to legend, Solomon forced Asmodeus and his demonic cohorts to work on the temple through the power of a ring.”
“‘One Ring To Rule Them All’?” Xander quipped, his voice weak.
“Something that later became the Gem of Amara,” the Watcher said, glancing pointedly in Spike’s direction. “Something that made vampires impervious because of its ties to Asmodeus. I hadn’t thought it existed.”
The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “Needless to say, the son of an angel din’t fancy bein’ anyone’s slave. Asmodeus stole the ring an’ tossed it in the sea, forcin’ Solomon into exile. He took over the throne until Solomon found the ring in the belly of a fish. In retaliation, he imprisoned Asmodeus an’ the demon cronies in a jar, an’ that was the end of that.”
“And this is the guy that Angelus wants to raise?” Buffy demanded. “Okay, kinda wigged.”
“The jar was supposed to be unbreakable,” Giles said softly. “Though I suppose a powerful warlock or witch could reverse the decree. That is…if the story is to be believed.”
“And coming from the mouths of vamps…” Harris spat, glancing heatedly in Spike’s direction.
“Shut up,” Buffy growled. “Just shut up, Xander. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I have a fairly good idea.”
“Have you gone completely barmy?” Spike snarled, unable to control himself. “Look, I get that you don’ like me. Needless to say, you’re not my favorite person, either. But don’ blame me for what’s happened. I don’ blame every bloody human I see for the Holocaust, but Hitler sure as hell wasn’t a demon. We have bigger problems than your bigoted prejudice.”
Giles intervened at that, his eyes cold. “Forgive me if I don’t feel particularly warm to you or your species, seeing as of everyone here, you’re the only one that has ever committed all out murder.”
“Giles—”
“Really, Buffy, tell me where I’m wrong. I’m all ears.”
“You’re unbelievable. We have an actual problem on our hands, and you—”
“Actual problem?” Xander repeated, his voice an angry shrill. “You don’t consider the cold-blooded murder of your best friend an actual problem?”
“Don’t you dare. Losing Willow about killed me, so don’t you dare. I can’t believe you. She’s gone and this is how…God, do you want her to have died for nothing?”
“She’s already died for nothing.”
The blow was sudden but not unexpected. Spike was personally impressed that she’d held on this long. It needed to be her fist that hit the boy; needed to be her to vent their mutual outrage. He could feel her fury. Every wave that rolled off her. Every dark thought that crossed her mind. She was strong. She was so strong.
She was also hurt—she was trying to reason with people who were beneath her. People who lived on that lower plane that they’d both inhabited for so long. It was like trying to describe colors to the blind. They couldn’t understand this—no one could. Only the mated knew what they felt. Knew the wisdom they’d obtained.
Something a wide-eyed, surprised boy was just now learning. The kid looked at Buffy as though she had breathed fire.
“You talk like that to me and mine again, Xander Harris, and I’ll make sure you suffer for it. There’s a demon that’s going to be raised. Yes, Willow’s dead. I was there last night—you weren’t. I know what happened. I saw it. I’ve also accepted that I can’t change it, but I can avenge it. And doing what you’re doing is exactly what Willow wouldn’t want. I have an apocalypse to stop. If you hate me so much, deal with it after I’ve saved your miserable life…again.” She turned to Giles. “Do you have a problem?”
“Many,” he replied.
“Well, at this moment, I couldn’t honestly care less.”
“You’re with a vampire of the Order that killed her.”
“He’s my mate, and that didn’t stop just because she died, Giles. What we have makes me strong. You mad enough to want me weak so that Angelus’ll kill me, too?”
Spike saw red at the thought. Angelus was never touching her.
However, with as liberated as he was, or the pride he felt in hearing Buffy defend him, there were certain truths to be reckoned with. They weren’t going to get past this today. They weren’t going to come to some mutual understanding, not with irrationality prevailing over common sense. No one wanted him to be here.
It was more important, he understood, that they cover what needed to be covered.
“Calm down, pet,” he said softly, stroking her arm. “I think it’s best if I leave.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide in objection. “No—”
“They’re not gonna let this go.” He shot a pointed glare in Harris’s direction. “An’ they’re targetin’ you because of me.”
“So leaving’s the best way to deal with that?”
“I know all about Asmodeus. The lot of you need to talk it out. I’ll be waitin’ for you when it’s over.”
Oz cleared his throat. “Spike, this isn’t necessary—”
He tossed the wolf a grateful glance. “’S all right.” He looked back to his girl and smiled. “’S all right. Let them be wankers. They’ll know they’re wrong someday. But we need to focus on the problem at hand instead of creatin’ new ones jus’ ‘cause I don’t have a pulse.” He turned his eyes to the Watcher, who was sufficiently rendered speechless. “They’ll get over it,” he said, “it’s jus’ grief. But we don’ have time for them to bloody adjust. I’ll go.”
There was fight in her eyes that he admired, but also acceptance that he understood. She drew in a breath and nodded, kissing his lips. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll be waitin’.”
He didn’t wait for Giles to intervene or Harris to say something that merited another black eye. He simply turned and strolled out, searching his pockets for his cigarettes as he went.
It was only a little while, he told himself. The claim protested and his demon grumbled in dissatisfaction. It was only a little while.
Understanding was a bitch. He hated being the bigger person when just yesterday he would’ve growled, grabbed Buffy by the arm and stormed home. But it wasn’t yesterday, and so much had changed.
He just hoped she came home to him soon. Leaving her went against every natural instinct in his body, and he could only hope it was the right decision.
It was a decision made for the right reasons, if nothing more.
That much had to count for something.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Glass of Wine…
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