END OF THE BLOODY LINE CHAPTER 7 – ROUND ROBIN FIC
BY SPIKESDEB
BETA’D BY NANALOU
RATING : R
Dalton hovered on the perimeter of the Slayer’s home, unable to enter without an invitation. Four pairs of eyes were fixed on him, each with a maelstrom of emotions swirling in their depths. He’d made the decision to wreak his revenge but now he’d blurted out the trigger words, he felt nauseous. Spike was right, he wasn’t dangerous at all, a poor excuse for a demon in fact; but as a scholar he was second to none, graduated top of his class and the youngest professor in living memory. He would focus on his strengths; he may be a vampire in the same way that he was a male, but he was more than that. He’d show Spike, show the Slayer, show them all.
The older man, the Watcher, spoke first. “Invite him in, Mrs Summers.”
The Slayer’s mother looked panicked, glancing at her daughter for guidance. She’d noted that the visitor didn’t look dangerous but knew all too well how deceptive appearances could be. Mr Giles had in fact just reminded her of that fact. She really didn’t know what to do; this was outside her realm of experience. This was Buffy’s world.
“Buffy?”
Buffy stared at her feet. It was all too much. She’d just got used to the fact that the man…demon…she thought she was in love with wasn’t what he seemed, and had just agreed to see an end to him. She was making mooneyes at a soulless vampire who made her tingle all over in ways she’d never imagined. Her mom was coming back from freak city following the revelation of her slayer status plus her near death. And now this. Now she had to make a choice. Angel, souled up and brooding or…or…what she had now and the possibilities of what could be. Oh, and let’s not forget the Slayer dream, the one with the hands and the tongues and the heavy breathing. It was just…too much. She couldn’t do this.
Spike stood off to one side, to all intents and purposes completely indifferent to the drama playing out in front of him. He leaned against the wall, arms and ankles crossed, a bored expression on his face. But, to anyone who knew him, even slightly, it was obvious that something painful was taking place. And Dalton did know him. Looking at the pain in those sapphire blue eyes, the scholarly vampire’s resolve wavered. He wanted nothing more than to show his mentor exactly what comfort and joy could be had in the embrace of a masculine body. But noting the flicker of Spike’s eyes towards the bowed head of the Slayer, the slight movement hinting at his internal battle with his need to comfort her – his stance told Dalton everything he needed to know. No matter what happened, Spike would never seek him out, never regard him as anything other than a sad and sorry loser with poor eyesight and questionable hunting skills. He was done with being overlooked; there was more than one way to skin a cat.
Buffy paced, arms crossed over her chest. Joyce was at a loss, unsure what to do – a vampire in the hallway, a vampire outside the door. This was the stuff of nightmares.
“Buffy…what should I do? Shall I ask him in?”
It was Buffy’s turn to be stared at by all present as they waited for her reply. She couldn’t meet any of their eyes. Without looking up, Buffy nodded.
“Please, come in.”
Spike moved away from the wall, arms suddenly at his side. He took two steps towards the Slayer, eyes wide with disbelief, one hand raised to touch her arm. She’d really done it. She’d chosen that sanctimonious bastard with a rickety soul over him. Was that it? Were they done?
She wouldn’t even look at him. Dalton watched the interplay with interest. So, the bright and burning Slayer abandoned Spike once she thought her dark knight would be back to shower her with cool kisses? So be it. The game was afoot.
Buffy turned and pounded up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door like the sixteen-year-old girl she was. She couldn’t deal with what was happening so she shut it out.
The silence was awkward, like a streaker had just run through a convent. Spike was frozen where Buffy had left him – hand reaching out to the void she’d left. Giles cleared his throat awkwardly, muttering something about making tea for everyone.
Dalton took a step over the threshold, unhindered, prompting Giles into inquisitor mode, firing questions, his Watcher genes kicking in. Dalton let himself wallow in the Watcher’s effervescence – this was more like it, at last somebody recognised his worth. Spike had remained rooted to the spot, eyes shadowed and tear-filled, staring up the stairwell towards the Slayer’s room. Joyce had been watching him and her reservations melted. This wasn’t some demonic monster in front of her; this was a man with a poet’s heart. In all the time she’d known Angel, he had never shown this level of dedication and adoration for her daughter. And even though, if she was honest, the thought of her daughter dating a demon made her cringe and reach for the schnapps bottle, she’d rather the demon at least made her happy. And Spike did; she saw it clearly, Buffy had had a new glow about her.
Moving to the vampire, she touched him lightly on the shoulder, but he shrugged her off. Reaching for a cigarette, he stomped away down to the basement, not a word spoken. So Joyce found herself alone in the middle of the hallway, the open door framing her in twilight. Giles and Dalton had taken themselves off into the dining room and were sorting books in piles before them. Joyce looked outside, now she knew about the monsters that went bump in the night she’d never be able to fully shut them out. The slam of the door closing showed just how much she wished she could.
Joyce hesitated before going up to talk to Buffy. She would have liked to check on Spike but her maternal instincts were screaming at her to see to her only child. She’d call in on him later, needing to assure herself he would be all right. A final look at the academics seated at her dining table, and she took herself off upstairs to start working through the turmoil.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Angelus was delighting in torture, the clinking-chains mood music stirred his memory as he admired the S & M scene he’d laid out with Drusilla as the central exhibit. The insane vampiress was writhing in ecstasy, her white skin peppered with bite marks and gashes where her demon lover had torn at her flesh. And every mark aroused her even further. Angelus lazily selected a heavy barbed whip from the pile at the side of the bed, flicking it across Dru’s bare abdomen. She gasped at the painful caress then giggled as Angelus lapped at the trail of blood left by the barbs.
But, somehow…it wasn’t as satisfying as it should be. It was beginning to irritate him. He had the girl, the one he’d devoted years to, moulded to his whim by insanity and then dragged down into depravity; he had all the toys he could wish for, enough to strip the flesh from her body if the fancy took him. He’d completely decimated the remnants of the Master’s entourage, and as a happy by-product had eradicated all of Spike’s minions too. Yeah, he was surely on a roll.
So why the hell was he so uneasy?
Snarling in frustration, he flung the whip across the room to scatter the recently repaired dolls neatly arranged against the wall. Drusilla started keening as her beloved babies hit the floor in a crash of shattered porcelain. “Miss Edith! Mummy’s here…”
Angelus leapt at her bound figure, pinning her to the bed with his bulk. “Fuck the dollies, Dru! You’re supposed to be thinking of me…only me!” He sank his fangs viciously into the fleshy part of her upper arm, wrenching them out to leave torn and bloody flesh. Drusilla’s pain fought with the pleasure of her lover’s bite as she bucked her hips seeking friction. Her legs were roughly forced apart by heavy thighs, meaty hands pawing at her breasts and digging into the soft flesh of her belly. Angelus sank his thick cock inside her, fucking her mercilessly in an effort to assuage his restlessness. Ignoring her increasingly frantic efforts to angle his thrusts so as to gain her own completion, he pounded on, soon filling her with his cool semen and leaving her desperate for release. Dru’s cry of want washed over him and he gave her a cruel smile. He could never have too many ways to torture her.
Leaving her writhing body manacled to the bed, he sprang away to grab his clothes. Once he was dressed - all black leather and satin - he turned back to the hissing vampire left naked and unsatisfied and threw her the key to the handcuffs. When she couldn’t get the key into the lock, he relented, but only because it was delaying his plans. He freed her bruised wrists, and caressed her cheek in passing. He didn’t love her any less, it was just that he felt he was missing something…something he had no way of identifying. A spot of mindless violence may do the trick for him, and maybe then he could fuck Drusilla upside down on the bodies of innocents. Yeah, that was a plan.
Mood changing abruptly, Angelus swept his dark haired lover off her feet, swinging her round before setting her down with a bruising kiss.
“Get dressed, Dru. We’ve mayhem to make and minions to recruit. Can’t have your pretty hands getting soiled with housework, now can we?”
Drusilla nodded, unsure what to make of her mercurial sire. But, his plan sounded like fun, and Miss Edith would be here when she returned. She quickly shrugged on her slip and dress, turning round in a wordless request for Angelus to lace her up. He did so, hurriedly, anxious to get to the kill.
Hand in hand, they left their lair in search of slaughter and servants.
Down by the Fish Tank the two master vampires found a trio of fledglings feeding off an unfortunate barfly. A quick flash of fang and an intrusive stare from Drusilla had the three youngsters fawning over their elders like puppies. Five minutes later, Angelus stood in the midst of some thirty-odd vampires bowing down in supplication while Drusilla skipped around the edges, eyes turned heavenwards as she communed with the stars. The former leader of the cadre was dust; the momentary inconvenience of his refusal to submit to the new regime solved by one twist of Angelus’ hands around his neck. The few others who chose to make a stand soon joined their erstwhile leader as floor covering.
It was astonishingly easy, but they’d have to shape up if they wanted his protection. The line of Aurelius didn’t suffer fools.
Drusilla’s piercing shriek drew his attention away from a blonde beauty currently working her way with her hands up his legs. Stilling the greedy fingers with a snarl, his eyes sought out his distressed mate. Shrugging off the clinging vampiress, he leapt over the grovellers on the floor and scooped Drusilla up in both arms, cradling her to his chest.
“Shh, Dru…shh; Daddy’s got you now. Shh…”
“No, no…I can’t abide it…my Angelus…nooooo.”
Angelus strode through the deserted house in which they’d engaged the minions; on finding an empty room he tossed his weeping mate on the filthy bed.
“Dru, darling…talk to me? You saw something, what is it?”
Drusilla stilled, her body rigid as she gripped his arms and pulled him towards her. She looked on his face, her eyes dripping tears.
“I saw them, Angelus…I saw the two of them. They were laughing at us, and then… The Slayer and Spike, wrapped around each other, kissing and fucking and…. we were there, you and I….”
She started wailing, Angelus soothing her with kisses and patting her hair.
“They’ll be our end, Angelus…bound together we were, helpless and naked. They pawed at each other, laughing…then the Slayer…she had a stake…my Spike…he told her to do it …and then she leant over and we…we were gone…pouf! No more Dru, no more Angelus…and they were laughing and laughing...”
Her howl of anguish echoed around the shabby building, and nothing Angelus did could console her.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A soft knock at the door didn’t evoke any response. Joyce rapped harder. Silence.
“Buffy? Can I come in?”
“Not now, mom, just leave me alone. I’ll be down later.”
Joyce tried the handle; it wasn’t locked so she let herself in quietly, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. Buffy’s tearstained face turned towards her mother, the little girl longing to throw herself into her mom’s arms and make the world go away. But the Slayer – the woman emerging from the shadow of the teenager – couldn’t let herself take that comfort. This was her problem and she’d deal with it in her own way. No one else was going to put this right, just her alone. Alone, as the Slayer should be.
Joyce could see the conflict on her daughter’s face and her heart ached for her. It was a tough lesson when life’s problems were no longer something mom could fix with a wave of her magic wand. Her little girl was all grown up.
“Buffy, please. Talk to me. I only want to help you.”
Hesitantly, she sat on the bed next to her daughter and took the small hand in hers. Buffy’s body slumped. It would be so easy to snuggle to her mom’s side, inhale that unique scent of lemongrass and fabric softener that meant safe haven. But she couldn’t; not this time. Angelus was out there, and he’d be coming for her. Nobody would be safe from him. And yet Dalton said he could be re-ensouled. Shouldn’t she be happy about that, delirious almost that she could have him back? It would solve the Angelus equation – Angelus + soul = Angel, broody, loving, non-killing Angel. End of problem.
Except that it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure she wanted Angel anymore. She was so confused! The touch of Spike’s hands, his lips…nothing had ever felt more right in all of her life. The night in the basement, sleeping wrapped in his arms. Heaven. And to walk away from that…she wasn’t sure she’d be able to. Even if she did, there was still the Slayer dream. This wasn’t her first, and they had a habit of coming true. Hell, Spike had the same dream! That couldn’t be a coincidence, not on the Hellmouth. Her uncertainty showed on her face, the hitched breathing, the flushed cheeks, the tear-filled eyes.
It was too much for Joyce. She gathered her daughter into her arms, rocking her and kissing her hair.
“Oh Buffy, my darling. Talk to me, please - tell me what you’re thinking. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
Buffy sobbed a little, the rocking motion almost hypnotising her. As she calmed she pushed herself up from her mother’s embrace. She couldn’t afford to be weak now, too much was at stake.
So she told her mom about the dream…without the Playboy channel details…but let her know that slayer dreams almost always came true. She told her that she believed she would be with Spike, that she felt whole when he was with her in a way she’d never thought she would. She told her mom how being the slayer was making her hard, unable to let herself be entirely at ease, but that with Spike she could finally let the barriers down. With Angel it had been different, shy almost, first love. A love shattered now by her knowledge of the vicious creature he truly was.
“Buffy…I can’t pretend that I understand all of this…it’s all been such a shock to me. First, I’m told you’re dead, that you’re ‘the Slayer’…a girl with superpower. Then I’m emphatically convinced that vampires and demons are real when one shows up at my door with you in his arms - alive. Not only that, I then see you kissing him…yes, I know, you didn’t know I was there. The thing is, Buffy, I’m not blind – I see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him. I believe he cares for you, deeply. And I know you care for him too. I can see it; it’s in your eyes and your actions.”
Buffy hung her head. Every word her mother said was true. She did care for Spike, more than she wanted to confess. But Angel…Angelus…whatever he was, he had been her first love. Didn’t she owe it to him to help him become what he was? Aaargh! She felt like screaming.
“Buffy, right now I’m just as confused as you. But I do know that there’s a…man … in our basement every bit as desperate as you are. He’s hurt and that bothers me more than I like to admit. Whatever you do I’ll support you because I trust your judgment. But you have to think about what you’re doing, the consequences to everybody. Everybody.”
Sitting back, Buffy’s head now resting on her shoulder, Joyce continued speaking softly.
“Tell me about Angelus.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dalton had proven to be an exceptional researcher, devouring all the books at the Summers’ residence at breakneck speed and requesting more, being very specific about the volumes he required. Giles found it refreshing; usually he had to spoon feed his research assistants in order to get any results…apart from Willow, of course. She was refreshingly diligent.
Having exhausted materials and Joyce being otherwise engaged, Giles had escorted the bookish vampire to his car and ferried him to the apartment. Strangely, it was only the fact that the vampire paused at the door that reminded him of the nature of his guest. Sternly berating himself that the slight, myopic figure on his doorstep was a vicious killer, he reached for his crossbow before inviting Dalton inside.
Dalton blinked owlishly as the bright light played havoc with his eyesight. Eventually he managed to focus and stepped over the threshold, eyes fixed on the lethal weapon aimed in his direction.
“In there,” Giles gestured, never taking his eyes from Dalton’s stooped form. They made their way over to the table in the middle of the room on which rested more books, some open at marked pages. They sat either side of the table, eyeing each other warily – one the predator, one the hunted. But which was which?
“Look,” Dalton started wearily. “We both want the same result, right? Angel, not Angelus?”
Giles nodded.
“Well, stop looking at me like I’m about to rip your throat out. It’s a nice throat by the way, very…cultured. But for now, I’ve other priorities.”
Giles considered the words and the situation. He’d play nice. He deliberately placed the crossbow out of reach, then leaned back in his chair arms crossed.
“Ok, Dalton. I’m willing to cooperate, as long as we have the same goal. What do you know?”
This was it. This was when he had to play his joker. How much did he tell the Watcher? Everything? Nothing? The man was shrewd and wouldn’t be fooled easily. Perhaps honesty would be best. Rupert Giles was not unknown to him. He wore the face of a bumbling book-lover, but there had to be more to him. His reputation in the demon world was subject to speculation. There were rumours that in his youth he’d dabbled with demon worship, thrown his lot in with a minor Dagon sex and drugs sect. Hard to believe looking at the tweed-clad figure before him. But then…wasn’t that the same assumption others made about him? And how wrong they were. He was about to prove it.
“The spell, the one used to cure Drusilla. It didn’t go wrong; I changed it a little. I did it for Spike, not that he’d notice of course. Not even a thank you, can you believe it? I tried to rid him of that crazy woman and not even that made him see me as anything other than a failure. I handed him his freedom after years of pandering to her idiotic demands and what does he do with it? Rushes straight into the Slayer’s arms.”
Dalton studied the Watcher carefully for any reaction. There was none up until he mentioned the Slayer; then the clenched jaw and sharply indrawn breath told it all. He’d been right to tell the truth; this man would help him. He didn’t want Spike anywhere near his Slayer. They had more in common than they thought.
“So, it was you who removed Angel’s soul? Well done! Great job!”
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Dalton. He coughed uneasily and shifted in his seat.
“That wasn’t my intention. It was…unexpected. It was only meant to bind Angel and Drusilla together so that they’d leave, so that Spike wouldn’t have to be hanging on Drusilla’s skirts for all eternity. My research said nothing about losing his soul.”
“Well, as Angel was the only vampire with a soul, it hardly seems as though spells would come with a handy warning regarding same now does it? Do you have any idea of the danger you’ve unleashed?”
Dalton couldn’t hide a smug grin; dangerous as an old teabag was he? Seemed as though he’d done pretty well for a fangless vampire. At Giles’ pointed cough, the smile slid from his face. Not a good idea to bask in his evil plan when he wanted help from the white hats to overturn said plan.
“Yes, quite. I see that I erred in my research. But it’s a temporary impediment; I know how to restore Angelus’ soul. Once that is done things will be as they were, Angel will be all over his Slayer, Drusilla and Spike will resume their twisted games. I just need your assistance.”
Giles sighed, removed his glasses and gave them a quick polish. Replacing them on his nose, he made a decision. “All right. You’re sure you can do this?”
At the answering nod, he continued. “Tell me what you need. You are of course quite right; we both want the same end result. I really don’t care what happens to Spike and Drusilla as long as they are far away from Buffy. To be frank, I’d prefer it if Angel left too. But the danger posed by Angelus is very real and immediate. He’s relentless and won’t rest until he’s slaughtered Buffy and everyone dear to her, I’ve gleaned that much from my reading already. It would appear that the best way to restore the status quo is to give Angel back his soul - if such a thing is even possible. Where did you find the spell?”
Dalton considered his position; he didn’t trust the Watcher and knew that the feeling was mutual. The moment his usefulness was over, he’d be nothing more than a pile of dust to be swept away. No, he would play his cards close to his chest, only reveal enough to get what he wanted. The ultimate component, the actual incantation, he would keep to himself. That way he’d be in control. And there was of course the final twist; the original spell to re-ensoul a vampire wouldn’t work here: the spell used to bind Angel and Drusilla had transmuted due to the presence of the soul. To restore it, there would have to be a vampire sacrifice.
Happily, they had one available.
With a final recollection of Spike’s dismissive attitude and the way he’d looked at the Slayer stinging his emotions, Dalton outlined his plan for Giles’s approval. When he finished, the Watcher sat back in his chair, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.
“I’d say that would work admirably.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
He heard soft footsteps on the basement stairs and knew by the way the back of his neck tingled that it was the Slayer. He was torn between wanting to grab her to him, make her forget that Angel had ever existed, and wanting to slap her around for being such a feckless, deceitful bint. She’d said there was something between them and yet at the first mention of Soul Boy she’d denied him, nodded her assent to let that wanker Dalton start with the research. Bitch.
Her voice cut through his musings.
“Spike…I...we need to talk. There are things I need to explain to you. Please.”
The plaintive sound of her stifled sob was his undoing. He got to his feet and walked to her as she descended the last step. They stood, eyes locked, neither able to make the first move. Ever Love’s Bitch, Spike caved and reached for her hand, drawing her close. Buffy sagged against him, her arms entwined around his back squeezing him to her. Good job he didn’t need to breathe because there was no room for him to inflate his lungs within her fierce embrace.
He gathered her up in his arms, enjoying the warmth of her breath on his neck and sat on the cot with her cradled on his lap. When she’d calmed a little, he placed a quick kiss on the top of her head and pushed her hair back so that he could see her face.
“Talk to me Buffy. I’m not going anywhere luv, only if you kick me out.” He gave her a lopsided grin that had her crying again.
“Hey, hey! Come on now; thought you were the Slayer, pet. If you keep on like this I may just have to tell the demon community what a softy you are. Look at me…that’s better. So, tell me what’s going on in that pretty little noggin of yours.”
“Oh Spike. Why do things have to be so complicated? I’m so scared of getting it all wrong. If I mess up…”
“Not gonna happen. You’ve got your bloody friends and Watcherman to help you out – they always seem to come up with something; yours truly speaks from painful experience. And your mum, she’s quite a feisty bird. I still have nightmares about her standing over me with that buggering axe!”
Buffy managed a small giggle, which was exactly what Spike was aiming for. She relaxed a little in his arms. Spike stayed silent, enjoying the moment and letting her continue at her own pace.
“Thing is, I really thought I loved him, you know? The whole white wedding and picket fence love - though deep down I knew that was never gonna happen. In my head, it would be perfect, idyllic. Didn’t matter that it was a dream, I never let myself dwell on the impossibilities.”
“That’s what first love’s all about, pet. Doesn’t matter that it’ll never work, you gotta keep on believing.”
Buffy nodded slightly, catching her bottom lip between small white teeth.
“But now; I feel like I didn’t even know him – not really. All the time he had this monster inside him, soulless, a killer.”
Spike stilled, uncomfortably aware that she was describing him also. Buffy didn’t notice and carried on talking.
“All it took for that monster to come out was some magic, a spell. And I was building my whole life around him, not knowing. I thought he was different.”
Buffy finally noticed the unyielding body she was leaning against.
“Oh, Spike! I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…don’t think I meant..…”
“It’s alright, luv. Not said anything that’s a lie. I am a monster, a killer. Never tried to hide it. It’s my nature, can’t change the facts to suit.”
“But why are you so different then? If you haven’t got a soul, why aren’t you like Angelus? Why are you helping me? Why do you…care for me?”
The last words were whispered, Buffy’s voice faltering as she met his deep blue eyes. His emotions were swirling, blazing in their depths. Without conscious thought she leaned into him brushing his lips with hers as she brought her hand up to caress the back of his neck. Spike hesitated, not wanting to take advantage of her fraught state. But the flick of her tongue against his teeth took away all restraint and he crushed her to him, devouring her mouth, pouring into the kiss all the feelings he was struggling to deal with.
With a growl, he pushed her away again. He couldn’t handle this, not now. He’d told her they needed to wait and he believed it. Just wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep from ripping at her clothes if she kept writhing on his lap like she was. Panting, he cupped her face in his hands, willing her to understand. He saw the fight inside her as she struggled with her own unaccustomed feelings for him, the musk of her arousal told its own story, the need to be held almost painful. The Slayer part of her was submerged by her hunger to connect to him and assuage the yearning started by the dream; hell, his demon was having a hard time coming to the fore from behind the poet so he knew what she was going through.
If he didn’t take charge, they’d be lying in sweat-soaked sheets just waiting for Angelus to off them both. And Dalton, the prick, he never got anything right anyway so he wasn’t really bothered that the loser thought he could give Angelus his soul back. He wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But then…she wasn’t to know that, she’d chosen to give Angelus another shot at his soul. The demon inside him roared.
Sliding Buffy off his lap abruptly, he stood, reaching for a cigarette and pacing. All the hurt he’d felt when she told her mum to let that git in hit him hard again. Another bloody woman treating him like he was just…convenient. Well, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. If she wanted to choose Angel, she could bloody well have him! He couldn’t look at her though; he knew that if he saw one tear, one tremble of her lip he’d be putty in her hands again.
“Look, luv. I know you’ll always love Angel, no matter what you’re saying now. Thing is, Dru and me’ll always have a history too, you know? She was my saviour, brought me out of mediocrity and gave me a whole new life. I owe her. So yeah, she’s always had a thing for her ‘daddy’, shagged him silly every chance she got. What? Didn’t you know about Angel’s Dru kink? Yeah, she was Angelus’ great creation – I’ll tell you the tale one day. But she always comes back to me. I’ll slap her around a bit, torture her ‘til she screams then things can get back to normal.”
He took a drag on the cigarette, filling his dead lungs. Buffy was silent behind him. He turned to face her.
“So, you see – do what you have to do. This thing between us – it’s not something that either of us wanted, yeah? It’s not even bloody feasible! Vampire – vampire slayer; not exactly happy ending material, is it? And, as you’ve said, a vampire is what I am – I’m a demon, a monster, a killer. I am, Buffy – no point denying it. Maybe the Slayer dream was just a little bit of wishful thinking on both our parts. I’ve always had a hankering to get in your pants, luv, ever since I saw you shimmyin’ about in that halter top and painted on jeans in the Bronze. And you can’t deny you’re attracted to me – I can smell you, those lovely juices all luscious in your knickers. I suppose we just got caught up in some rogue Hellmouth mindfuck.”
He wasn’t even convincing himself now. How could he hope to be getting through to Buffy? Still she sat silently, absorbing every word he spoke. He babbled on, unable to stop, as he paced up and down gesturing with his cigarette.
“And, if you get Angel all souled up again, you can go back to your life, I’ll go back to mine. We’ll forget all about this…whatever this is. I’ll take Dru and skedaddle, never darken your door again.” The thought of leaving Buffy forever was like a knife in the heart and he stopped, running out of steam.
He heard the creak of the cot’s springs as Buffy got to her feet. He didn’t turn, thinking she was heading off up the stairs, and couldn’t bear to see her walking away from him. The soft tap on his shoulder made him jump.
“Spike. Turn round.”
He turned, unable to deny her anything, desperately trying to affect the ‘big bad’ swagger but failing to hide his poet’s heart. Buffy reached out one hand to caress his sculpted cheek, her eyes wet with tears and a shaky smile on her lips.
“You are an ass, you know that? I come down here to tell you that I’m all confused, hoping that you’ll kiss me into a coma and I’ll not have to make a choice at all. Instead, you prattle on about me still loving Angel when I’ve quite clearly just told you that I don’t think I do. You virtually parcel me up and send me back to him, making me almost pop with jealousy when you mention Drusilla.”
Spike’s eyes widened in shock.
“And then you deliver the sucker punch with the whole ‘I’ll take Dru and skedaddle’ thingy.”
Spike snorted. “Buffy, that’s the worst English accent I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, you make me mad. I’m not sure what’s happening here, but I am sure I don’t want it to stop. I’d like to see where it goes…that’s if you’d like to.”
She moved towards him, gripping his cool hand in hers and continuing her speech.
“See, what I’ve decided is that for the good of puppies and Christmas, we should give Angel his soul back because Angelus…not big on the whole caring for humanity gig. But…”
Buffy raised her finger to place on his lips as he tried to pull away from her, a sneer forming.
“But, Spike…that is all. Nothing else. This thing between us, I really think we should find out more. And the dream? Well, it was amazing…but I’d like to see if the reality is better. What do you say?”
Spike said nothing, merely pushing her roughly against the wall and peppering her lips with bites and kisses until she was dizzy.
Neither of them saw or heard their observers as they retreated back up the stairs. Giles’ eyes were hard and determined as he spoke to the vampire.
“Dalton. Just do it. Leave Spike to me. Tell Buffy we need a vampire sacrifice; just don’t tell her that we’ve already earmarked the victim. She’s emotionally unstable. We’ll have to make the decisions for her. She’ll thank me in the end.”
Over to you Diabola!
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