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| In Omne Tempus - Some Solemn Graces by Holly (8 Reviews) | | - - - abc |  | | | Author’s Note: Following this, there are just two more chapters. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck this thing through with me, even with interruptions for holiday fics. I never thought I’d allow myself to get so distracted while in the middle of a project that I love––even though you can technically also blame schoolwork, of which I have no control. Heh.
The next two chapters, god willing, should be written and out very soon. I’m hoping for another update later this week.
Previously: Jenny Calendar has banished Asmodeus to Porthos, effectively ending Angelus and Darla’s plans for demonic control and a possible apocalypse. Spike sustained a minor injury from Angelus, allowing his grandsires enough time to vanish. Now he and Buffy are hunting down his family, determined to stop them before they flee the town.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Some Solemn Graces
She kept herself paced at his side, tossing him glances that she was sure were driving him out of his mind, but she couldn’t be bothered to care about preserving his masculine pride. Vampire or not, the wound in his gut had her worried. She knew he’d survive—of course he would survive. Not even her panicked, possessive, ‘hands off my mate’ mindset could douse her knowledge of what killed vampires and what didn’t.
Still, the man she loved was cut and bleeding. She couldn’t help but go into overactive-protective mode.
“Stop,” he said softly, squeezing her hand. There was no true reprimand in his voice–more a gentle coaxing to reassure her that all was well.
Still, it was always better to play stupid. “Stop what?”
“Lookin’ at me like I’m gonna vanish.”
Buffy released a deep breath, acknowledging that she was acting silly, and forced a nod. “Sorry,” she said, ashamed at the tremble in her voice. With all she had seen, with all she had done, one would think that a silly would-be apocalypse and a face-off with two of the world’s oldest and most notorious vamps wouldn’t matter. And yet, her voice trembled like she was in the running for the world’s most-convincing damsel. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
She saw the corner of his mouth lift in a half-grin. “’m fine, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Jus’ a flesh wound, yeh? Smarts like a bitch, but it’ll heal.” He paused. “They always do.”
“I know.”
Spike released her hand and wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers delving under her shirt to caress her stomach, softly massaging her skin where he’d been hit. Where she’d felt the cut. “An’ you? You’re okay?” He didn’t slow their pace, though she could tell he wanted to drag her aside so he could inspect her fully.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bruised.”
“Yeah, and you’re bleeding. We’re both fine.”
He frowned and expelled a shaky breath. Good. She wasn’t the only one. “’m not bleedin’ anymore, sweetling. Vampire, remember? We don’ bleed much.”
“I know.”
“But you’re bruised.”
“I’m the Slayer,” she retorted in the same manner. “It’ll heal quickly.”
That didn’t seem to relieve him any. “I got you hurt,” he said. “Din’t know claims could do that. That you could really get…”
“Don’t worry about me.”
He snickered. “You might as well ask me to stop existin’, pet.” There was a long pause. “It doesn’ hurt, does it?”
“Well, it’s a bruise, so I’m not looking to start a collection.” Buffy drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t feel them anywhere. No tinglies…other than you.”
Spike arched a brow at that.
“You know what I mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You vampire, me slayer, we mates…massive tinglies. Every move you make, I get a tingle.”
“Interesting bit of info,” he mused thoughtfully. “I’ll have to investigate these tinglies later.”
She chose to ignore that. “Well, do you feel anything?”
Spike shook his head. “Whatever mojo Angelus an’ the grand-bitch had goin’ earlier…I can’t feel a bloody thing.” He sniffed at the air. “Though they haven’ yet thought to guard their scent.” His jaw tightened, his hands falling to his sides as his fists clenched. “That bloody, yellow-bellied wanker.”
“I still can’t believe they’d just bail,” Buffy muttered. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Makes perfect sense if you’re a yellow-bellied wanker.”
“Spike—”
“It’s been like this since the moment Dru pulled me outta the grave, sweetling. He’s lost too bloody much to stay ‘round here. Like I said, he’s got a mighty well pissed off slayer to contend with, an’ unlike yours truly, he’s never dealt with them ‘hands-on.’”
“I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I just can’t believe it.”
Spike snickered. “Believe it. Moreover, they won’ let us rest, kitten. The only thing Angelus hates more than failure is people knowin’ he failed. He might leave us alone for a while, even a century or two, but after a while, it’ll start to drive him batty. An’ then it’ll be like this all over again.”
A long sigh pressed through her lips. “Gee. The more I get to know this guy…”
“I know, sweetling.”
“And if he’s already out. Oh God.” She turned to him, her eyes wide with horror. “Spike, what if they’re already gone? We have no idea where he’d go or—or…If we—”
“I know.”
“Then why the hell aren’t we driving?”
“My car’s parked at a garage at the other side of town, for one thing. An’ I need to track his scent. Figure out which direction’s he’s headin’.”
That made sense enough, though it did little to kill the dread spreading through her body. Something wasn’t right. The pulse from the night was gone. The rhythm of steady energy was dying—the same that had followed them from the moment they stepped out of her house—had died into a lonely nothing. Lonely—not satisfying. Not coated with the feeling of accomplishment.
The bad guys had gotten away. That had never happened to her before. Never.
Every second that ticked by, the further away their chances slipped.
God, she wanted so badly for the night to be over. The prospect of returning home now almost seemed foreign. The thought of waking up without the nagging voice that wouldn’t let her forget that any day was the day for moves to be made. For the vampires that haunted her every step, for the impending apocalypse that tagged her every move—it was over, but it would never end. Not if Angelus and Darla got away.
What a terrifying thought.
“It won’ happen,” Spike murmured softly. “Nothing says we have to wait for them to show interest in us, yeh? If we can’t catch up tonight, we won’ give up. We’ll track them to the end of the earth if we have to, sweetling. We won’ give them a chance to come after us.”
Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, not even bothering to question the ease with which he read her. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Yeah.”
“It’s not over till it’s over.”
“No. It’s not.”
Never over.
As long as Angelus was out there, it would never be over.
*~*~*
He’d known they were gone long before they reached the city limits. Hell, he’d known the second they stepped out of the library. The thought of catching them at all was a pipedream. He could have had a head start—it wouldn’t matter. He would have ended up here as it was. Staring at the wrong end of the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign that the city council was determined to preserve, answered by a black, silent road.
Cowards.
His family was composed of cowards. Why on sodding earth it had taken him over a century to realize it, he would never know. For the length of his existence, he’d been following them in the run from some mess they pretended to have under control. Even in the glory days prior to his siring, the ‘family legends’ had circulated around such feats as murdering Holtz’s family after spending years on the run from him, only to bolt after the deed was done. Those they killed were the weak—too vulnerable to defend themselves, and only valuable to the hunters that tagged their family. They never stuck around to do more than enjoy the fruits of their labor.
The night was over, and after a long, murderous campaign, they were gone. They’d slaughtered his mate’s best friend, attempted to instigate an apocalypse, attempted to blackmail Buffy with Spike’s life to guarantee their own protection, and now they were gone.
They were gone.
With all their cowardice, they had still managed to escape with their unlives. The story of his existence prior to finding his salvation had been based on being the pun to their practical jokes. To lagging after them when the left him behind to clean up their messes. When they tore apart entire communities, then bolted when word came that the demon hunters were on the move. It had bothered him before—it had driven him near to the point of madness. He would nod, roll his eyes, mutter something about poisoning their blood, then return to Drusilla’s side and try to convince himself that all was worthwhile.
That was before the sun shone on him. Before he saw gold. Before he had Buffy in his arms.
Now they had crossed him and his mate. They had hurt her, raped and murdered her best friend, attempted to raise a demon, and now they were gone. Gone. The damage was done, the demon hunters were after them, and they were once again on the run. Only Spike wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. Spike was the one chasing them. Spike was the one that was going to make them pay.
They had injured his mate. They had cut him, and in turn made her bleed. He wasn’t going to let them rest. He wasn’t the same vampire they knew, and if anything, tonight had proven it. There would be no waiting for an indefinite next time—he would ensure that the next time would be determined at his disclosure.
It killed him that they had been able to hurt Buffy by knifing him. That she was bruised because he had bled.
“Not over until it’s over,” Spike murmured again absently, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
“I can’t believe it,” Buffy whispered. The emptiness in her voice killed him. “How did they get away so fast?”
“Literally lifetimes of experience. Bloody well spent more time runnin’ from their messes than makin’ them.” He paused and kissed her brow. “’S all right, sweetling.”
She released a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. “It just feels so…it feels like a chapter in my life is over. They’re gone, and it’s over.”
“It’s not over, Buffy.”
“No, it’s not,” she replied softly, nodding. “But this is. This little phase of my life. The thing that began to end the minute you came into it.” She tossed him a careful glance and offered a half-smile. “I was such a different person just a little while ago, Spike. Yeah, I was the Slayer, but I was also a girl. I worried about homework when I wasn’t patrolling. I thought about things like shopping and the senior prom and, well, boys.”
“An’ the fact that you couldn’t stomach them ‘cause yours truly is your one an’ only?”
“There was that, too.” Buffy licked her lips. “Point being, it’s over. They’re gone, and it’s over. I’m…the person I was is gone now. While Angelus and Darla were here, it was…it was easy to pretend that nothing was going to change.”
Spike frowned. “Change is good, baby,” he murmured.
“Yeah. I know. And you’ve seen a lot of it, right?”
“Tons.”
She nodded. “My parents divorced, I became the Slayer, and you came along. Those are the only changes I’ve gone through…and it’s turned my world upside down every time.” A beat. “You’re still turning my world upside down.”
He smiled and brushed his lips against her brow. He knew the feeling all too well. Fourteen years had not even begun to prepare him for the curves she had thrown at him ever since the night he cornered her in the cemetery. “You, too.”
“And every time things have changed, it’s been ultimately for the better. My mom and dad should never be married. Ever.”
“I dunno, luv,” he mused thoughtfully. “I’m rather grateful that they got together. At leas’ once.”
She made an adorable face. “Gross.”
Spike smirked. “Don’ knock it.”
“I’m not…” Buffy replied, smiling just slightly. “When it’s us, I’m not knocking anything. Well…nothing that doesn’t wanna be knocked.”
The smirk broadened.
“But seriously…my mom and dad’s divorce devastated me, but it was for the best. A-and being the Slayer…it terrified me, but in a strange way, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” She curled her arms around him and kissed him softly. “It brought me you.”
“An’ that was worth it?”
“More than worth it.”
The words warmed him in ways he could never have fathomed. The woman in his arms was his everything; he couldn’t imagine what his life would have been like without her. Without the bubbly child that his sire had brought him as the pretense of a midnight snack. Without the woman that he loved so much—more than he’d ever thought possible. The fact that she was with him never ceased to make him shudder with awe. What’s more, she had faced so much. She had been through so much with him in such a small amount of time. She had lost nearly everything because of him. She had suffered and sobbed and allowed him to turn her life upside down, and through it all, she managed to love him the way she did.
And it was still like this. Standing at the end of a road that led to nowhere, staring into the darkness that had stolen what was left of her girlish innocence. She bore his scar. She carried the wound that loving him had given her. Angelus and Darla were gone and everything was different. She still loved him, and for that, he would be forever grateful.
The pain that he had caused her broke him. The fact that she had yet to blame him inspired both hope and shame. He had stolen so willingly from her, and through all the pain he caused, she never stopped smiling at him.
For that, though, there would be an answer. A vengeance. Angelus and Darla would never expect them to follow. Would never suspect their younger childe to track them down in the sake of revenge. Through all the changes in his life, they still saw him as the weakling fledgling Drusilla had sired in a moment of jealous weakness. They would never think to look behind them. To wipe the trail clean of their tracks. They would never consider him capable of anything to such an extent.
And they were gravely mistaken.
But for now—for now, he had a mate to care for. Let Angelus and Darla grow comfortable in their leave. A day or so should satisfy their arrogance. Buffy’s adolescence had come to an end, and he didn’t want to take leave of Sunnydale a moment too soon. He didn’t want to push her now when he had already robbed her of everything else.
Spike released her slowly and tugged at her shirt. “Lemme see, kitten.”
Buffy frowned. “What?”
“The bruise. Lemme see how bad it is.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not bad. It’s barely even there.”
“I still want to see it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Spike, you’re the one that got slashed across the stomach. If anything—”
“Yeh, an’ you’re the one who felt it.”
“You didn’t feel it?”
“That’s not what I meant. Let me see the bruise, kitten.”
Buffy quirked a brow. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. I want to get some disinfectant on that thing.”
“Sweetling, do I really need to remind you that I’m a vampire?”
“No, and what does that have to do with anything? A little disinfectant never hurt anyone.” She gently pressed her palm to the tear in his shirt, her body tensing. “I don’t know what I would have done,” she murmured. “I honestly don’t even remember feeling the pain from this. All I felt was…pure fury. Like every negative feeling I’ve ever experienced combined and materialized and all I wanted to do was see Angelus suffer. But I couldn’t go after him, because you were hurt.”
Spike nodded. “The claim does that, sweets. ‘S why Peaches could never leave Darla’s side if you attacked her. ‘S also why he got so bloody angry. More for his own pain than hers, I’d wager.”
“No.”
There was a small pause. “Well, I admit to bein’ new at this, but I do think I know a li’l about the whole ‘mating’ thing.”
“No. I mean, I don’t know about Angelus and Darla, but with me…it wasn’t because he hurt my mate.” She met his eyes, and he could have sworn she swallowed his heart. “It was because he hurt you. I love you so much, and if it had been…”
He nearly collapsed with wonder. “Oh, Buffy…”
Those words would never cease to stun him. How he could be here after everything, he’d never know. Never. But he would sooner walk into sunlight than question his good fortune.
“I do,” she repeated quietly. “I love you.”
“I know.”
Buffy smiled halfheartedly. “I can feel it, though. Your doubts. Your fears about everything. I just need you to know, whatever it has cost me has…it’s been terrible, but the only thing worse would be not knowing you.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m standing here…beside you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”
Spike wasn’t aware that vampires could feel a rush of blood or the wind knocked out of them, and suspected the sensation was entirely proverbial, but it didn’t make it any less real. He gasped in awe and fought the need to collapse to his knees. He had no idea how he had survived before she came into his life. How he had managed a lonely century without her. How he had been able to keep himself from touching her in the decade and a half of pursuing her in the shadows. And with everything that had happened—mate or not, she was standing at his side. Bruised and battered, worn and tired, but still smiling at him. Still loving him.
“God, Buffy.”
He seized her by the waist and drew her mouth to his, devouring her in a hungry kiss. The taste of her lips was euphoric—the sweetest sensation of coming home that only she could provide. Her arms were around his neck the next second, and she was murmuring sweetly into his mouth, thrusting her pelvis against his in a rhythm that was so natural, he doubted she even realized what she was doing. How she drove him mad with a simple kiss. With her flesh against his, be it a casual touch or a lover’s caress.
Spike broke his lips from hers abruptly, inhaling sharply. He hugged her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent as his hands played across her body. “My sweet, sweet girl,” he murmured. “My sweet Buffy.”
She clutched at him tightly. He felt her heart hammering against his silent chest, and wondered how it was that she could be immortal and retain that which made her clinically human. The Powers were all too kind to slayers in that, he suspected. Slayers weren’t meant for cold, empty bodies as demons were. That alone would likely drive them mad. Buffy’s physical humanity gave her warmth that could not be duplicated. She was made stronger for everything that demons perceived inspired weakness. She was perfection in itself.
And God, he knew it now more than ever. Now when they had reached the end, only to embark on a new beginning. He was standing at the finale of her adolescence with her—the last chapter of the life she’d led as a normal, sometimes aloof girl who slayed demons between parties at the Bronze and attempted to squeeze in time for homework. It was her end and their beginning. It was the end of so many things.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you.”
She merely hugged him tighter. He heard her reply in that.
He heard it without her needing to say a word.
There was so much left unfinished. Angelus and Darla were gone, their crimes unpaid for. Willow was dead, her murder yet to be avenged. Asmodeus was banished, the apocalypse that he could have brought with him averted. For now. Always for now.
“Porthos,” Buffy murmured, releasing a deep sigh. Feeding on his vibrations again, he knew. The fact that she could feel him so openly inspired him with warmth. “What’s Porthos?”
“One of the Seven Unspeakable Hell Dimensions,” he replied softly. “A while back, a bunch of your watcher wankers got together an’ decided to compile stories of each mythic hell dimension, an’ from that, the Seven Unspeakable places were studied an’ so named. Bugger all, luv, I din’t even know they existed until tonight. Porthos is one of your dimensions that’s as mythic as Heaven itself…the fact that your teacher could access it with a smile an’ a nod…bloody terrifying, really.” He tugged again at the hem of her shirt. “Lemme see your bruise.”
Buffy batted at his hand. “Spike—”
“We can have this argument as long as you like, sweetling. Lemme see.”
A sigh rumbled through her throat and she favored him with a look that bore more irritation than she felt. He merely smiled in turn and lowered himself to his knees.
Her skin was purple and swollen, the bruise itself curled in the exact shape of his own infliction. He could see where it had already begun to heal; where her advanced biology was working to cure her ailment. Just one look, though, and his insides burned with the familiar stirring of outrage that anyone had harmed his mate, even by way of harming him first.
He shoved his fury aside, however, for the immediacy of tending to her injury.
“They hurt you,” he growled.
“They hurt you first.”
“I don’ care.” Spike pressed his lips to her swollen flesh and whimpered softly. “They did this to you.”
“They did it to us.” Buffy shivered and kneeled down so that they were eye-to-eye, wrapping her arms around his neck again and drawing him into her until his head was pillowed at her breast, her fingers tunneling through his hair with veneration that made him quiver. “It’s okay. This’ll be the only time they touch either one of us.”
Of that he was certain. The scar on his stomach, the bruise on hers, would be the only trophy Angelus could pride himself upon. Only physical display of what they had suffered, and by this time tomorrow, they would both be healed of it.
Of it, if nothing else.
They were at the edge of town, wrapped in each other’s embrace, shadowed by the wilderness that encompassed the Hellmouth. Shadowed by a prison that had been their home together much longer than they’d known—even Spike, who felt he had a grasp on understanding simply for what he’d been made to suffer through in order to get where he was. What he’d made Buffy suffer in turn through means that he had never intended.
Their prison and paradise all in one.
There was much left to be done. Much left to think about.
And yet, there he sat. Buffy in his arms, inches away from the Sunnydale border. A thousand things to do, yet the willpower to do none.
Not then, at least. Not at that moment.
It was a time for rest.
To be continued in Chapter Thirty-Four: The Rest Is Silence... | | | | | | | |
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