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| In Omne Tempus - The Minor Fall And The Major Lift by Holly (4 Reviews) | | abc + + + |  | | | A/N: A few things. I’m basing Buffy’s first patrol on the BtVS movie (the bad one that starred Kristie Swanson, Donald Sutherland, and Luke Perry). I know that some consider this taboo in the fandom, but honestly, I was a fan of the movie way before I liked the show…its crappy acting and cheesy special effects and all. I never bought Merrick as the little guy that showed up in Becoming—he’s always been Donald Sutherland for me. Therefore, the following is a hybrid of early and late Whedonverse, twisted, of course, to appease my plotline.
Secondly, a few people have been asking about Angel. Angel does not appear in this story. I’m sorry for not being clearer with the beginning, but this is all based on the assumption that Angelus was never cursed by gypsies, and therefore, no one would know to curse him now. Plus, there’d be no point—to the characters, he’s better as dust. That’s not to say he becomes dust (or doesn’t)—it’s all based on perspective.
So that’s the low-down. Donald Sutherland as Merrick, Angel’s role will be played by Angelus, sans the guilt and the brooding, and everything else in canon is subject to either being cropped completely or briefly mentioned but not thoroughly detailed. My objective is to tell a new story without depending on the canon too horribly much.
Lastly, WOW! Thank you all so, so, so much for your awesome feedback. I’d be lying if I said my update-speed wasn’t determined by how the story is received. I’m your average, feedback-craving writer where that’s concerned…though I attempt (and fail) to be modest about it. You guys are just awesome. Thank you so much!
Chapter Five
The Minor Fall And The Major Lift
Spike sat in the driver’s seat of his Desoto, stunned motionless. For the first time in fifteen years, Buffy had snuck out of her house. He didn’t know whether to be proud or alarmed.
More over, she was following some tall bloke in a fedora and a long brown coat. No, no, no, he didn’t like the look of this at all. The old sod had the classic appearance of a pervy pedophile.
Buffy also looked fidgety. That bothered him more than anything. In the eleven years he’d spent following her, she’d never had a nervous moment. Right now, she looked downright terrified, and it was doing a number on him; every muscle in his body was wound tighter than a violin string.
The old man led her to a car that gave Spike’s Desoto a run for its money in the category of charm. The vampire allowed them a brief head start. Very brief. The numbers on the old man’s license burned in his mind; there was absolutely no way he could ever lose her. Her sight, her scent, the impression she made on him…body and the other thing. He waited about two minutes, drew in an unneeded breath, then revved the engine to life.
Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t believe where he was.
The man had taken Buffy to a cemetery.
Bleedin’ fuck! He’s tryin’ to get her killed!
If not to administer the killing blow himself, then to certainly make her vamp meat for all the newbies rising that evening.
Good Lord.
As Buffy got older, the temptation for Spike to reveal himself to her had similarly been getting stronger. Watching as she wasted time with boys she had no future with. As human hands touched what was his. As others tasted her lips, ran fingers through her hair, and fumbled over his gorgeous girl.
She was gorgeous. Painfully so. It only served to weaken his resolve.
But he wasn’t going to do it. He forbade himself. She was still far too young, and he refused to pull an Angelus and turn a blind eye when it came to things that young girls weren’t ready to grasp. He’d stood by for a hundred years, watching little girls get sired and staked for fun. Watching and knowing what his wanker of a grandsire had done to Drusilla; what he did to pass the time.
It hadn’t truly bothered Spike until he mentally put Buffy in the shoes of so many of those faceless girls, and then it enraged him.
Truthfully, eighteen was still a bit too young, but he didn’t think he could stand to wait any longer than that. He would make his move the day California law saw her as an adult. After all, if it was good enough for the feds, he wagered it was good enough for him. Until then, there would be more nights like this.
More nights following her, hoping he walked into a time warp that dragged the years ahead.
This man was taking Buffy to a cemetery. If anything happened, Spike feared losing his heart’s desire. Everything he had been setting himself toward. Every goal he’d made. Every promise he’d sworn he’d keep to himself.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Buffy was saying. “I can’t believe I’m in a graveyard with a strange man hunting for vampires on a school night.”
Spike froze.
Hunting for…what?
Oh my God.
“Why didn’t you ever tell anybody about your dreams?” the man replied, his voice aged with an accent Spike was very familiar with.
And just like that, everything around the vampire collapsed.
No. No. It can’t…she can’t…bloody hell, this isn’t fair!
Buffy was the Slayer. Buffy had been called. God, Buffy had been called. Just a few days ago, Spike had gotten word that the one from Paris had died in a patrol gone bad. And now here he was, and Buffy was the Slayer. Buffy was the new Chosen One.
In a day—in one bloody day—his mate, his salvation, had been given an expiration date.
No.
Tears stung his eyes. The past few years had conditioned him to accept that his young mate was human. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t imagine he ever would, but it no longer bothered him. Rather, he had embraced the wonder and gratitude that he had found his mate at all. Whether or not he had to wait for her, that span of time would be nothing compared to the eternity they would eventually have.
And now this.
Buffy was the Slayer.
His Buffy.
Spike killed slayers. He’d tasted the life of two before her. Before he even knew her. Before he even knew it was possible that anyone out there was destined to belong to him.
Buffy.
Not fair. None of this was fair. Was he such a miserable excuse of a vampire that this was his punishment?
“Oh, yeah, tell everyone that I’m crazy,” Buffy retorted cynically. “’Cause that option is with the sense-making.”
Spike willed his eyes closed and muttered an oath. He had to have strength to get through this. To not lose it here. To watch and wait. To be given some sort of explanation for why he was forever the Powers’ punching bag.
My mate. My gorgeous mate.
“This is it,” he heard the man say. They had stopped at a headstone. “Robert Berman was killed three days ago. The body was found in the bushes out by the canal. Extensive tissue damage—tearing—at the neck and shoulders. Coroner thinks it’s a dog.” He turned and indicated a plot across from the grave. “You sit here.”
Buffy obeyed reluctantly, and plopped atop another stone.
Even now, with new knowledge compressing him, wrangling his willpower, he found her graceless beauty enchanting.
Mine.
Buffy was his. Slayer or not. Enemy or not. She belonged to him.
The man—whom Spike could only assume to be her Watcher—reached into his jacket, pulled out a stake and a cross. The latter he handed to the Slayer.
Buffy froze, and the vampire froze right along with her. “Wait a minute,” she said uncertainly.
“Just for protection. You won’t have to do anything. I just need you to watch.”
“All right. What do we do now?”
The Watcher paused dramatically, then moved over to the headstone opposing the girl. “We wait for Robert to wake up.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Spike could’ve sworn his heart was beating again.
“Do you have any gum?” Buffy asked after a minute.
The Watcher tossed her an irritated glance. Then there was nothing.
It didn’t take long. After a few moments of prickly silence, a low, almost indistinct moan filtered slowly through the soil and touched the night air. Buffy sat up straight, the cross in her hand shooting protectively to her chest. The moan became louder in a flash; a growl instead.
Spike’s ears tingled. He knew well that sound.
Some little boy was digging his way through his coffin.
The Watcher was pitching a newly called slayer into the thick of it without even telling her where to aim her stake? Spike’s horror faded to outrage, and he felt his face shift and his fangs descend. If this baby vamp came anywhere near his mate, there would be all hell to pay.
First the youngster, then her Watcher for pitting her against a fledgling without proper training.
The look on Buffy’s face was stunned; aghast. She watched the vampire climb out of his grave; stared as her Watcher grabbed the newly revived Robert Berman and raised the stake over his head.
Spike knew that she had seen this before, of course. Eleven years earlier after his former lover had abducted the little girl from a toy store; Buffy had seen Dru’s bumpies. Hell, she had even seen his. Spike honestly didn’t know if Buffy was now frozen with astonishment or if her mind had jarred a distant memory, and she was reliving something he was nearly certain she’d forgotten.
She didn’t notice the stirring beneath her. But Spike did.
Another vampire was going to rise tonight.
Shit.
The arms burst forward first, seizing her around the middle and pulled her to the ground. Buffy snapped out of her daze and screamed. She screamed like she had never screamed before, and Spike burst forward before he could help himself. His mate was in trouble; there was no way he could sit still and watch.
It didn’t make much of a difference. He stopped just as Buffy yanked herself out of the vampire’s grasp, began to run, then remembered the cross that her Watcher had given her. She shoved the small crucifix against the woman’s skin and her eyes widened in horror as the vampire began to burn.
“’Bye now,” his mate said quickly, turning and running toward for her Watcher.
Spike’s eyes fell to the abandoned woman, whimpering at her cross-burns. A familiar look of angered vengeance shadowed her eyes, and he cursed loudly. Buffy had already broken a cardinal rule; she’d left an enemy alive.
His eyes fell to the ground; a makeshift stake in the form of a fallen branch meeting his gaze.
He was about to break every law of his nature—throw himself in with a slayer. For her he would kill his own kind, and not out of defense or anger, or any reason justifiable to the unspoken vampiric code. Kill his own kind because his mate was the Chosen One, and she was in danger.
His mate.
He had the stake in his hand the next minute, and watched it spiral across the graveyard until the angered vampire was nothing but an explosion of dust.
Bugger.
Everything he had known for a hundred years was gone.
Spike glanced anxiously to Buffy, who was on the ground, staring at her hands, a cloud of dust falling around her. Her back was to him, her knees tucked under her body, and he could see her trembling even at a distance.
My girl.
He’d never seen a slayer the night she was called. Truthfully, he’d never even thought about it. Never cared enough about the terror that the girl must feel. Never thought of the life her calling interrupted. Never even blinked in consideration. To him—to all vampires—slayers were either feared or hunted. He’d killed two and spent every day thereafter either bragging about it or reliving it in times of staunch boredom.
Buffy was terrified. His girl was wholly terrified.
“Where’s the other one?” the Watcher asked, shooting a look in Spike’s direction.
“I…” She shook her head and shuddered. “I don’t…know.”
“You didn’t stake the other one; where did it go?”
“My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me that question.” She slowly rose on wobbly legs, wiping dust off her body, her eyes trained on the ground. “I…I killed—”
“Staked,” the Watcher corrected. “Slayed. You didn’t kill anything. Robert was already dead.”
“I…”
“You did him a favor, I promise. Vampires are mere shadows of the people they once were. Robert was dead; you slayed the thing that killed him.” He placed a hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “This is what you do, now.”
What she does.
Spike’s eyes darkened dangerously.
What she does. She kills my kind. She hunts us. An’ they will never stop huntin’ her.
She’s the Slayer.
That thought had the demon raging. Kill Slayer. And then all chaos broke loose, as any notion to lift a hand against his mate was enough to rip his innards to shreds. He couldn’t fathom harming her. He’d walk into sunlight before touching her in anger or rage. He couldn’t make her bleed without dying.
Slayer…
Spike’s eyes fell shut and he expelled a deep breath.
Mate. The Slayer is your mate.
Mate.
What she does…what she is…is yours.
Her voice snapped him back, and his eyes absorbed her as though he was seeing her for the first time. She was gorgeous. His mate—his Slayer—was absolutely gorgeous. And she was all his.
“What I do. Why is this what I do?”
“Because you were Chosen.”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Yeah, well, unchoose me.”
“That is not an option.”
Spike’s heart broke. Oh, Buffy.
If he ever found the sod that thought mucking with his unlife was so hysterical, he swore he was going to rip out his innards and feed them to hungry maggots.
“Not an option?” Buffy’s gaze flared as she tossed her stake to the ground. “Watch me make it one.”
She turned and stormed away in a huff, her anger doing little to mask how hard she was still trembling. And Spike was torn.
He needed to be with her. Needed to console her. Needed to hold her as they shared their mutual outraged confusion. His fear for the future; his fear for her. In a hundred years, he hadn’t had anything to fear. Not as a member of Aurelius, not even as Dru’s boy toy. There had never been anything to fear before. Not until Buffy.
Can’t. Can’t go to her now.
His earlier resolve remained; furthermore, even if it didn’t, dumping on her that she was the mate of a vampire the very night she discovered she was destined to dedicate her life to fighting vampires wasn’t fair to her.
Not that any of this was fair to him. It hadn’t been from the beginning.
He followed the Watcher, who caught up with Buffy without much effort. She had stopped at the entrance of the cemetery; the weight on her shoulders crashing down.
“Why me?” he heard her ask, her voice overwhelmed with emotion. She hadn’t even needed to turn around to sense the elder man there. She simply stood waiting for him to join her. “Why, Merrick? There are billions of girls in the world. Why the hell was I tapped?”
“That’s a perfectly fair question,” the Watcher replied. “And I don’t have an answer.”
“I’m only…there’s only one? There’s just me, right? And…how many vampires?”
“Considerably more than one.”
Buffy’s eyes welled with tears, and the scent only weakened Spike’s resolve.
“I can’t do this.”
“Well, no. Right now, you can’t. But you will be able to. With time and training, you’ll be ready.”
“Ready?”
There was a pause. “An exceptionally old vampire arrived in Los Angeles three days ago, foreseeing the calling of a new slayer.”
Buffy forced a humorless laugh. “I’ve been the Slayer for an hour, and I’ve already got a fan.”
“He’s old. He’s wise. He’s also as arrogant as any vampire I’ve ever encountered.” Merrick expelled a deep breath. “Perhaps with the exception of one or two from the clan of Aurelius.”
Spike couldn’t help it; he smirked.
“Who is it?” the Slayer asked.
“An ancient. His true name was lost to the ages; he goes by Lothos.”
The vampire froze in his tracks and moaned.
Bugger.
Lothos. He bleeding hated Lothos. Some buggering slayer-killer who enjoyed a good rampage every other century. And yes, while a brief run-in during World War I that resulted in making Angelus look even more the git than he was had briefly warmed Spike’s opinion of him, he still hated the so-called ancient just for his planet-sized ego.
Lothos was the only vampire in history whose slayer rap sheet was longer than his, and that was only due to the fact that he had a few hundred more years on his side. Admittedly, he was one of the oldest vamps that had made it to the twentieth century, and consequentially, he thought he was invincible.
He sired those who were too weak to fight him. He killed slayers that had only just been called. He took lives that weren’t worth living, or weren’t strong enough to give him a decent run for his money.
And Buffy was his latest conquest.
Not if I have a bleedin’ say about it.
If his mate was a slayer, she’d be the best bloody slayer the world had ever known.
That would be a challenge for him, too. He’d have to fight his demon’s urge to protect her against every threat that came her way. To step in when he felt her life might be getting too dangerous. She was the Slayer. Her life was destined to be dangerous.
She was also branded with an expiration date. She was also supposed to be alone.
No.
Not alone. Not his Slayer.
Even if she didn’t know it, she’d always have him watching over her.
He followed them back to the Summers’ residence, only he took the shortcut that would save him from looking overly conspicuous. He was outside as the Watcher walked his mate to her front door, talking to her quietly as she nervously searched for her house key.
“Go to school tomorrow,” Merrick told Buffy. “Try to act normal. Don’t let anyone know what’s happening. This is important. When the vampires find out who you are…you won’t be hunting them anymore.”
That was a load of bull, but it needed to be said, nonetheless. Spike knew only a handful of vampires that would openly attack a slayer. Furthermore, the older a slayer, the more notoriety she obtained in the underworld. Her name would be broadcast among those she hunted; no stretch of caution would change that.
“All right,” Buffy said shakily.
The Watcher handed her a slip of paper. “Meet me at this address after school.”
“I have cheerleading squad.”
Oh yes. The cheerleading thing. That had been the subject of many of Spike’s nasty fantasies over the past few months.
“Skip it,” the Watcher replied.
“Merrick…they can’t come in, right? Unless you invite them. Is that true?”
“It’s true.”
Spike sighed. He had an invitation to Buffy’s house. He’d had one for a long time. The last thing he needed, though, was for the Watcher to fill her mind with horror stories of vampires. While most—if not all—were true, he didn’t need any more barriers between them.
He was soulless as any vampire. He’d never felt it, but he was.
She’ll want me to stop, he realized. Stop killin’. Stop everythin’.
He didn’t know what was worse; changing his nature, or the sudden swell of devotion he felt to whatever it was she needed from him. Even if it meant defying everything he was and had been.
“You know, she’ll be able to sense you some day.”
Spike stiffened, his eyes narrowing as Merrick turned the corner, his expression unimpressed.
“’m not too worried,” he replied. “I’ve gotten this far, haven’ I?”
“Buffy is the Slayer. She’s going to learn to scope out her surroundings. Going to learn to sense when vampires are near.” The Watcher studied him gravely. “And what are you doing following her every move, anyway?”
“She’s the Slayer, isn’t she?”
“No one knows that yet. No one can. The only vampires she’s run into—”
“You know nothin’ of the vamps she’s run into.”
“Really? Try me.”
Spike snickered. “Well, ‘f you think Lothos is bad business, you really shoulda been around eleven years ago. She was snagged by one of the nastiest clans in history.”
Merrick gave him a long, cold look; then his eyes widened with understanding. “You’re William the Bloody,” he said. “You’re the one that went missing.”
“The one that went missin’? Is that what they’re callin’ me these days?”
“The Order of Aurelius lost William the Bloody eleven years ago. Coincidentally, that was when they were recorded for a brief stint in Los Angeles.”
The vampire fidgeted uncomfortably. “How do you know that?”
“I’m a Watcher. It’s my job to know that.” Merrick’s gaze flickered to the house, then back to the vampire before him. “So it’s happened, then. I don’t believe it.”
“What?”
But that was all he said. The look on his face went stony, and Spike all but screamed in outrage.
He knew something. The old bugger knew something.
“If you hurt her, you will suffer for it.”
Spike arched a brow. “Funny. I was about to tell you the same thing.”
“I’m her Watcher.”
“Yeh, an’ Watchers have a nasty habit of gettin’ their slayers extremely dead.”
“William the Bloody leaping to the defense of slayers? Now I’ve seen everything.” Merrick shook his head. “You’ve been with her for eleven years, haven’t you?”
“Din’t I jus’ say that?” Spike’s eyes darkened and he stepped forward. “An’ you know why.”
“Of course I know why. I just didn’t think it was possible.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” The vampire turned and fumbled through his duster pockets for his cigarettes. “I won’ hurt her, mate. It’s physically impossible for me to hurt her, even if I wanted to. I don’t. I can’t even…I don’ care if she wins the Slayer of the Millennia award. When she’s cut, I bleed. That’s the way this thing works, yeh? An’ for the record, I got that other vamp tonight. You think I’m gonna let my girl go out by herself?”
“You have to.”
“Bollocks.”
“You have to. If I’m going to believe this, she can’t be distracted by your presence everywhere she goes. It will throw her off. It will endanger her. Your being there could well get her killed.” Merrick’s eyes darkened. “You can’t stop her from being the Slayer, but you can stop her from being a good one.”
“So I’m s’posed to stand by the sidelines an’ twiddle my thumbs while my mate’s out there, possibly catchin’ herself an’ extremely serious case of dead? Don’ think so.”
“If you step in for her every time there’s a threat, she’ll never know what she’s truly capable of.” He paused. “Just out of curiosity, why haven’t you done it?”
“Done it?”
The Watcher arched a brow. “Taken her. There are no marks on her throat, and I don’t believe her stunned fear was a show. You’ve just been watching her, then. You haven’t enacted your right on her.”
“She was four.”
“She’s fifteen now.”
“Yeh, an’ everyone’s all grown up when they’re fifteen.”
“You’re waiting until…”
“She’s eighteen.” Spike threw his hands up. “Never said I was a saint. I can’t bloody well wait forever.”
“And you don’t want her to see you.”
“Gee, sparky, was it my ‘skulkin’ to the shadows’ game plan that clued you in to that?”
Merrick shook his head. “A vampire doing his best to respect the boundaries of a girl that is, for all intents and purposes, his. My, my, I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Well, I’m glad to make your ‘Top Ten Things I Thought I’d Never’ list, but ‘f you don’ mind, I have a mate to protect.” Spike nodded to the tree outside Buffy’s window. The same that had practically been his second home over the past decade.
“You sit and watch her every night?”
“Most nights.”
“That’s…”
“What I do. All I know to do.” The vampire kicked at the ground. “’m the firs’ of my kind, that I know of, that couldn’t claim his mate right off. What the hell else am I s’posed to do? Knit sweater sets? Take it with a sodding smile an’ a nod? When vamps mate, they feel everythin’. There’s a connection there that you can’t…there’s a connection. I don’ have that. All I have is this thing where I gotta make sure she’s all right, ‘cause my eyes are all I can rely on right now. So yeh. I stalk. I lurk. I take notes outta my wanker of a grandsire’s book. Am I proud? Fuck no. You got a better plan, an’ I’m all for it. But this is all I have right now. Some day, she’ll be mine, an’ I think you’re a smart enough bloke to know not to stop me from takin’ what’s mine.”
“Stop you? No.” Merrick paused. “But don’t think I won’t stake you just because you’re an exception.”
“Don’ think I won’ eat you ‘cause you’re her Watcher. I’m willin’ to bet that I got a lot more experience killin’ pulsers than you do stakin’ vamps.” Spike tossed his half-smoked fag to the ground and stomped it out. “Now, ‘f you don’ mind, I got a mate to watch over.”
“If word gets out that Buffy has a vampire mate, they’ll use her against you…and vice versa.”
The thought made him shudder, but he didn’t take the bait. “I like to live dangerously.”
Merrick didn’t move for about ten minutes. By the time he did, he was all but forgotten. Spike’s eyes were glued to the window separating him from his mate.
His small Slayer.
Why the Watcher left without making an attempt on his life, Spike didn’t know or care. Everyone had their reasons, and it seemed Merrick wasn’t quite as ignorant to this business as the vampire was. Perhaps there was something more there. Something to be learned.
When he was alone, the vampire took his usual place in the aforementioned tree. His mind was clouded with dark thoughts, but he refused to be moved. Buffy was the Slayer? So bloody be it. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have obstacles to overcome anyway.
If Spike was a pun to the fates, he was going to give them a run for their money. They obviously didn’t know who they were dealing with.
He didn’t call it quits when he was nearing the finish line. He didn’t. They could throw whatever they liked at him, and he’d take it in stride.
There was Lothos. He would deal with Lothos, and it had very little to do with Buffy. Rather, he’d been looking for a reason to kill the bastard ever since their first meeting, and now he had one.
He wasn’t a part of the Order anymore. He was just a vampire.
And master vamps didn’t take too kindly to their territory being threatened. Los Angeles had been his territory for over a decade, and he wasn’t going to let some big-name-no-show take over as though they were stuck in one of those drastically unfunny westerns.
Buffy was the Slayer. His small, innocent girl.
Spike fidgeted and withdrew his pack of cigs again.
He just hoped she was up for it. He wasn’t going to let her bow out. She would be the longest living slayer in history. She would live as long as he did.
She would be the best.
*~*~*
Two weeks later, Buffy was kicked out of school. She’d burned down a building. She’d come home every night with bruises and scrapes, tempting his fangs with the richness of her blood.
She’d burnt down a building.
And Merrick was dead.
Lothos was dead, too, but that was a different story. A short, funny story about a vamp that spent his time siring wimpy, Pee-Wee Herman like lackeys and very little time doing actual grunt work. He’d growled a threat at Spike and was dust the next second.
Buffy, in the meantime, had lost her Watcher and burnt down a building. In her second week, she was already the best. What a nymph she would be. What a goddess.
His Slayer. His little Slayer.
And he couldn’t wait to share the dance.
To be continued in Chapter Six: Somewhere In Her Smile…
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