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| In Omne Tempus - Seek And Ye Shall Find by Holly (0 Reviews) | | abc + + + |  | | | Chapter Twenty-Two
Seek And Ye Shall Find
“When were you sired?”
Spike paused. He had just discovered Joyce’s liquor cabinet and was in the process of helping himself. He’d left Buffy upstairs about ten minutes earlier to let her get ready for bed and was busy scrounging through the kitchen for something to eat. There was no blood, of course; and even if there was, he couldn’t fathom indulging himself when he knew the chalice that awaited him that night.
Buffy was dressed in sweats and a camisole, which seemed to be her favorite pajamas. Plus, they were appropriate for company. She looked so sweet, so innocent. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had paused in the doorway, gracing him with a look that struck him as both domestic and coy. Even with everything they had shared, there was little she could do to take away the innocence that made her so warm and effulgent.
He had her for eternity. For the rest of his days, this was the face he would awake to. A rush of excitement filled his veins, and for the thousandth time in the past ten minutes, he found himself cursing the clock. Now that he knew it was tonight, that she would be his forever in blood and name after tonight, time had slowed to a near halt. His fangs ached like never before, and his body was tense with anticipation.
And she loved him. That was the amazing thing. Buffy loved him.
“When was I sired?” he repeated. “Why do you wanna know, sweets?”
“I was thinking—”
“Ah,” he said teasingly, glancing down to the bottle of wine in his hands. “A dangerous pastime.”
Buffy made an adorable face. “Thanks a lot, smartass.”
“’S what I’m here for. Want somethin’ to drink?”
She paused, looking from him to the wine to him again. “Ummm…you know I’m not old enough for that, right?”
He arched a brow. “Evil, pet, remember? Liquorin’ up innocent young girlies is my job.”
Buffy’s eyes darkened. “There better be no more innocent young girlies,” she pouted. “And here I thought I was special.”
“Better believe it, baby.” He uncorked the bottle and considered it before deciding that he was better off just buying Joyce another rather than dirtying one of her glasses. “If you don’ know by now that you’re the only one—”
She grinned shyly and crossed the room, curling her arms around his waist. “I know it,” she said. “Besides, seducing big bad vampires is totally my job.”
He growled at that, eliciting a giggle from his young mate as she brushed a kiss across his lips.
“Think that’s funny, do you?”
“I think the idea of me seducing anyone, least of all vampires, is hysterical.” Buffy kissed him again. “Oh, and if they’re not you. Vampires who aren’t you are a major yuck.”
“Bloody well better be,” Spike grumbled, taking a long swig of wine.
“Oh, stop. You know I love you.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that. Yeah, he knew. He really knew.
“And you haven’t answered my question yet.”
“When’d I get myself sired?” Buffy nodded. “Dru snagged me in 1880 after some upper class bint broke my heart.” He stopped, surprised with how quickly that confession had rolled off his lips. Speaking of Cecily was always a sore spot, even if he had long ago made peace with the fact that she was a vindictive bitch and hadn’t been good enough for him from the get-go. He hated thinking about her, and had actually dedicated several long hours during his years of solitude to concocting exciting stories about the night he became a vampire, knowing Buffy would eventually ask.
He hadn’t wanted to lie to her, though. He wanted nothing but truth between them.
It obviously wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “You got sired because…”
“I’m love’s bitch.”
She frowned. “Gee, thanks.”
Spike shrugged. “Doesn’ mean I haven’t made peace with it, luv. If you think I’d change anything that’s happened between us given the chance, you’re off your bird.”
“Because you love me.”
He smiled. “’Cause I love you.” More than words could express. More than poetry and sonnets, more than light and warmth. So much he felt he would quiver from it, a slow growing burn that threatened to devour him whole.
He’d watched her since she was small. Watched the child grow into a girl, the girl become a woman. He’d watched as she took her first steps as a slayer. He’d watched as she lost and sacrificed, learned and grew. He’d watched her fight with dignity and grace without succumbing to darkness that had always, in his experienced, coincided with great power.
God yes, he loved her. He loved her for being everything he couldn’t be, but loving him anyway. He loved her for her kindness and virtues, her quirky sense of humor, her faults, and every little thing that made her Buffy. He loved her for being his salvation, even when she couldn’t see it. When she didn’t understand what she gave him with a simple touch, and how watching her smile flooded him with warmth.
He watched her; her charming innocence, even in light of everything they’d shared, filled him with grace he had never anticipated wanting.
Amazing how love could change everything.
“And you got sired,” Buffy said, “because of a girl?”
I got sired because of you. Because this was what the world intended for me.
“Guess you can say that,” he replied, taking another long drink of wine. “The chit turned me down, an’ in my infinite wisdom, I ran outside in the middle of a bleedin’ killin’ spree that we’d been talking about that very bloody night, an’ the rest is history.” He grinned. “Guess there was some irony in that the killin’ spree that killed me ended up bein’ the handiwork of the blokes that became my family.”
Buffy quieted.
“’S it hard for you to hear, pet?”
“Yes.”
He felt a pang strike his chest, but shrugged nonchalantly all the same. “You asked.”
“I know.” She wet her lips. “I need to hear it. I need to know…I love you, but I want to learn to love all of you…not just the vampire you’ve been since you came into my life. The goodness you’ve shown me…and the bad. Because if I can love the demon, too, then I can appreciate the man all the more.” She kissed his lips. “After all, the demon’s what brought you to me, right?”
Her words awed him. The part of his existence before her was something he thought she’d never want to touch. Full acceptance was nothing he’d ever had. No one had ever wanted him that much.
Before he could stop himself, a passionate growl rumbled through his throat, and he cupped her face, bringing her mouth to his. She tasted like sunshine, like a star that had fallen from the heavens. He stroked her tongue with his, his hands sliding down her throat, over her arms, and finally cupped her breasts, pebbling her nipples between his eager fingers. He was so hard. God, he’d been hard for years. Waiting for her. Dreaming of the woman she’d become, but never had his fantasies brought him this close to heaven. Never had he envisioned her like this. So perfect, not despite her flaws, because of them. So warm. So accepting.
Buffy loved him. She really loved him. And Christ, he could feel it.
“Buffy,” he moaned into her mouth, lifting her in his arms and setting her atop the island. Her legs parted instinctively, and he seized the invitation before she could recant, thrusting his erection against her cotton-clad pussy. “Buffy, I want you so much.”
“Spike…”
His lips took chart down her throat. “Can’t wait. Need you.”
“Spike, we…Spike…” She half-mewled, half-protested before her hands came to rest on his chest. “Spike, stop!”
The shrillness of her voice brought him back to himself. He ripped himself away from her as though scathed, crashing against the counter, panting harshly.
Bugger.
“I’m sorry.”
Buffy shook her head. “No. No, it was me. I just…we can’t do this now.” She glanced at the clock. “Oz and Will are gonna be here soon, and I…”
He cursed. Bloody well forgot about that. Thoughts of tonight, of losing himself in her body, were taking their toll. He’d waited so long, but never had fate been cruel enough to squeeze in an eternity or two in a few unbearable hours.
“I want to,” she said softly, bringing him back to her. “I really want to.”
“Later,” he promised her.
“Later. Definitely later.”
“An’ all of tomorrow. If you think you’re goin’ to class after what I do to you tonight, you’ve got another thing comin’.” He paused. “Pun intended.”
Buffy’s blush enthralled him, but he forced himself to stay a pace away from her. She held his eyes for a long minute, then smiled and glanced down. “When all this is over,” she said. “And you and I are mated and the Order’s been taken care of, you need to take me out.”
“Out?”
“For a night on the town. Dancing or a movie…something normal.”
Spike arched a brow. “You really think you’d ever be happy with normal, pet?”
“No,” she replied immediately, making a face. “Ew, no. That’d be way boring. But it doesn’t hurt to remind myself why every now and then.”
He smiled. “You wanna go dancin’, an’ we’ll go. We’ll dance all over this miserable town.”
“You actually dance?”
“In my day, dancin’ was a part of society. Granted, it wasn’ as much fun as it is nowadays.” He shrugged and took another long swig of wine. “Plus in the ’40s, Dru was big into swing. She insisted that she had to learn how to ballroom dance.” His eyes distanced as the memory struck: his once black goddess, sinking her fangs into one dance instructor after another if he offered the slightest critique, or if she happened to be hungry. “I told you she was into musicals.”
Buffy nodded, pursing her lips. “Sounds like you two had a very exciting life together.”
“Pet—”
“It’s important for me to understand, Spike. It’s not like I was there in the past for you to be faithful to. I can take it. I’m a big girl.”
“I know.”
He didn’t want her thinking about his life with Drusilla, though. He never wanted her to think that he’d settled for something that was less than what he was. He’d let go of Dru a lifetime ago, it seemed. He’d seen her that night that she brought him his small mate, and it was as though a veil had been lifted and he was using his eyes for the first time. No longer content to watch the shadows on the wall of the cave and mistake that for reality; he needed the sunlight Buffy gave him. Needed it to be real rather than an allusion. He needed it all.
“My life with Dru wasn’ as excitin’ as you might think, luv,” he told her honestly. “It was the life of a vampire. I was a part of one of the oldest an’ most feared Orders in history. I was the only one of them to have ever tasted…the blood of a slayer. But they din’t respect me. Never. Angelus an’ Darla were never secretive in the fact that they thought sirin’ me had been a great injustice to vampire-kind.”
Buffy licked her lips. “Maybe they were jealous,” she said.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Angelus? Jealous of me?”
“You did kill two slayers…like you said.” She shuddered slightly, but managed to go on. “You accomplished what none of them ever had. For the big reputation, you’d think Angelus would seek out slayers…like you did. But he didn’t.”
Her words sent a haunting resonance through his body. Suddenly, he was a hundred and thirty years younger, and Angelus’s big clammy hand was around his throat. Trying to teach him a lesson. Trying to learn him good on what constituted a good kill. Warning him that his carelessness would eventually result in his death, if not by an angry mob, then certainly by the Slayer.
The Slayer.
He’d sought her out. Angelus never had. Rather, Angelus had waited from the sidelines, hoping that his grandchilde’s aspirations would eventually result in a good dusting. He remembered the big sod’s seething anger when he strolled out of his first confrontation with a slayer, smeared in her blood with a very amorous Drusilla glued to his side.
Angelus had nearly killed him that night, he realized. Why he hadn’t, Spike would never know. It hadn’t bothered him at the time—he hadn’t taken the lout seriously. After all, the blood of a slayer was on his hands. How much of a threat could his grandsire be?
It astonished him. Buffy was right.
Angelus had been jealous. And not only of the Slayer he’d done in during the Boxer Rebellion; of everything since. Of Dru’s doting, of Darla’s silent appraisal, of the boost in status that occurred almost overnight. His ownership over Drusilla barreled to epic proportions after that. After all, he couldn’t have his childe favoring another vampire over him. No, no, that simply wouldn’t do.
And now, Spike had more recognition than ever. The pages of history might remember Angelus as a nasty of son of a bitch, but for the first vampire to ever claim a slayer, there would be volumes of text. Tales of epic romance and sacrifice. How he, above any that came before him, had fought the monster within in the name of love. How he’d come so far. How he’d sought something more than the mediocre existence of a demon. How he’d sought to be.
How the small girl before him had brought him into a life that was actually worth living.
Spike shook his head in awe. “You’re amazing, Summers.”
“What’d I do?”
The ring of the doorbell sliced through the waiting reply on his tongue. The Slayer’s chums were here. He sent her a scorching look that spoke plainly that they weren’t through discussing this.
If anything, he was going to show her how amazing she was tonight. Graphically. With his tongue.
“Gah,” Buffy grumbled, sliding off the island. “I don’t see what the point of tonight’s get-together is, anyway. We haven’t found Angelus, we don’t know what kind of apocalypse he’s planning…so we’re, what? Brainstorming to brainstorm?”
“Gives your mates a sense that they’re prepared for whatever’s comin’,” Spike retorted with a shrug, reaching for his cigarettes. “Might as well humor the lot.”
She tossed him a narrow glance. “You’re actually in favor of wasting potential naked-time planning a strategy that could change in a blink?”
He smirked, striking his lighter. “Never said that.”
She frowned and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “No smoking in the house.”
He rolled his eyes. “Bloody fascist.”
“Hey, you’re lucky I let you drink my mom’s wine.”
“An’ you were gonna stop me, how?”
She paused and sent him a meaningful look. “Use your imagination.”
Spike smirked and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Hold that thought, pet,” he murmured, moving for the entryway. “This shouldn’t take too long.”
He bloody well hoped as much, at least.
When he opened the front door, though, and saw Oz standing by himself, he knew something was wrong.
“Spike,” the wolf said, inclining his head.
“Hey guys!” Buffy called over his shoulder.
A cold shudder ran through the vampire’s body.
“Just me,” Oz said, stepping inside. “Did Willow leave?”
Spike swallowed. He heard his young mate’s heart skip a beat. The air stank of fresh tension. The fear he’d coaxed her to cast aside only a few hours before returned with a fiery vengeance.
“She’s not with you?” Buffy demanded.
Oz frowned. “I thought she was coming over here at eight.”
“She left a message, saying she’d decided to come with you.”
The wolf shook his head, his normally stoic eyes flashing with sudden urgency. “I haven’t spoken with her since this afternoon.”
“Spike?” The sound of Buffy’s voice, so small and afraid, pierced the vampire’s heart. “What’s going on?”
He had no bloody clue.
“Go play the message again,” he said shortly.
Buffy didn’t need to be told twice. She disappeared back into the kitchen, Spike and Oz following close at her heels.
Willow’s message hadn’t changed.
“Hey guys. Ummm, slight change in plans. I’ve decided to stay and work on my paper until Oz is out of practice. Might as well get it all done at once, right? So, uhhh, if you need me, gimme a call, but otherwise, I’ll see you at eleven.”
“She never called me,” Oz said sharply. “She never told me any of this.”
Buffy shook her head. “Willow doesn’t lie,” she replied. “I mean, she doesn’t lie, and she can’t, even if she did want to. She’s a total crappy liar.”
“She’s in trouble,” the wolf said mournfully.
The Slayer’s eyes were wide with protest. “We don’t know that!”
“What else do you suggest?” he retorted, foreign anger rising in his voice. “You said it yourself. Willow doesn’t lie.”
“Then why would she lie about this?”
“She was made to lie,” Spike said softly.
Of course she was. He knew this. He knew it all too well. How in God’s name had he missed it? How many times had Angelus and Darla pulled this stunt? How many?
Devastation wracked his body; not for him, not even for Willow. His eyes met Buffy’s, and he knew that she knew in that instant. He knew that she knew.
God.
“Made to lie?” his mate repeated. “Made to—”
Oh Buffy.
It was over. He knew it then. Everything was over. He’d played with fate one too many times, and finally, fate had snapped back. He felt the wealth of everything he’d waited for slide through his fingers. The world he’d been building for Buffy and himself had been invaded by reality, and the weight of their self-indulgent avarice was crashing around them.
Avarice that Buffy would have never touched were it not for him.
There was fear in her eyes. He prayed it wouldn’t turn into hate. He couldn’t bear it.
The thick silence surrounding them exploded. A long, familiar wail that felt almost artificial, too far placed from veracity to touch him tonight.
But he knew.
“What is that?”
Spike met Buffy’s eyes and expelled a shuddering breath.
“Sirens.”
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Three: Excuse Me For My Sins…
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