Taste of Juliet
by Megan
Chapter One
Buffy found him. Soaked through with rain; miserable and half starved to death and for some reason, it didn’t even occur to her to stake him. He lay unconscious under a tree on the university grounds and would no doubt dust at first light. Buffy’s feet changed direction and she took two steps, three, five before turning back to him in an almost desperate panic. She knelt over him and rolled him over.
His haunting blue eyes stood stark against his pasty wet face, reminding her that the steady pelt of rain had not come to an abrupt end in the last two minutes since she had discovered him. His open eyes were unexpectedly focused and she sucked in a breath in surprise that he seemed aware enough of her being there. But if he did, he closed them without further acknowledgment. He was soaked through to the skin and his body periodically shook in reaction, making Buffy jump in gut wrenching agony. Why, she couldn’t tell. This once frightening and evil warrior had helped her save the world, and as evil as he remained, at that one time she fancied she had recognised something worthy in him. It was vague, and she didn’t consciously understand it, nor at this moment did she seek too. Something of him called to her, something almost mystical, deep and primal, otherwise she would never have found him under the tree.
With a shaking hand she pushed back some sopping curls from his forehead, marvelling at this new information. ‘Holy shit, Spike has curls!’ ran through her mind, as confusing to her as the steady thump of her heart caused merely by her fingertips barely whispering against his skin. If she had ever thought about him much she might have noticed that the gel that created a hard helmet of his bleached hair was for a reason. As it was, the knowledge now came to her in an almost affectionate shock.
Something of her strangely gentle touch must have reached his awareness again as he cracked open an exhausted and ailing eyelid.
“Slayer,” his hoarse voice rasped. No surprise, no fear, almost like he was used to seeing her beside him. “Help me.” His hand reached for her awkwardly but dropped from the air in weakness and fatigue halfway along its path. Again he closed his eyes and lost consciousness.
Buffy reached for his hand, no hesitation about her movements at all, and stroked the skin of his palm. In a completely spontaneous gesture she curled the hand and placed the knuckles against her lips. A single tear slid from her watery eyes and dripped from her cheek to his lazy fist. Her mind was suspended in fear, ‘What could have done this to someone so strong?’
“Hold on Spike,” she whispered. “I’ll help you.”
With that she slung him over her shoulder like an enormous bag of potatoes and ran for Giles’s, knowing that there would be confrontation and refusal, but determined that he would help them. Besides, for something so horrible to happen, there must be something bad about. They would need him for information.
For all Spike’s attempts to kill her, Buffy almost cried at the relief she always felt when she laid eyes on him during his various returns to Sunnydale, and she could go to bed knowing that he still existed somewhere in the world. That he was not yet dust. But tonight, she knew, sleep would be a little more evasive. Giles would just have to suck it up and help, and that was that. Spike was her vampire. The death he seemed to be courting right now? Not bloody acceptable! She giggled humourlessly at her Spikism, but groaned in relief when Giles’s door came into view. She stopped for a moment, and lowered her head, trying to summon courage with her steady view of the pavement. Then she heard the whispered “ Buffy,” from the mouth against her back and knew an almost delirious happiness that she had no explanation for. She straightened her spine and marched determinedly for the door and almost certain disappointment from the face of the man she could call dad. Chills suddenly prickled under her skin as she remembered that horrible day in the library when her friends had invited her to her own intervention. Angel’s return: what a doozy of a day that was, and now she was bringing another vampire stray to her watchers door. ‘Will history please stop repeating itself?’ she called out to whatever interfering little powers out there continued to muddy up her path.
For once she didn’t care. Spike would die from no other cause than one that she could inflict, and she would not kill him from neglect. This was not like Angel, she wouldn’t hide from the Scoobies condemnation. There was something personal about this, something they could not understand as normal humans, how could they understand when she didn’t herself? All she knew, all she felt, was that her survival somehow depended on his. Why else would she be relieved that he walked away almost unscathed and undead from their battles? There was almost pride that she hurt him but never destroyed him. She was proud of him that he gave as good as he got, that he never backed down, that he liked to keep fighting her. It thrilled her to know someone like that, someone not intimidated by her strength, someone who in fact revelled in it.
Somewhere down deep she suspected that if it came right down to it, and it had been Spike she had had to send to hell through Acathla, she may have flipped out anyway in the very same way. Angel and Spike were linked, and no matter how much they hated each other- abhorred each other- she could never see either of them as the disgusting, murdering animals that haunted her nights. Vampires on the whole disgusted her -and Spike frightened her, though she would never admit it- but she could never put Spike or Angel up against her eternal measure of vampire badness. Even Drusilla jumped into her weird ‘save that vampire logic’. It must all be about family then. It was almost like, as much as she belonged with the Scoobies, Angel’s introduction to his family had also made her one of them. Oh, she could probably kill them all if she had too, but way down deep, she didn’t want to. They were linked alright, and now she was starting to see that there was something almost special about that family, atleast the men of the family, though something dark bordered on her almost acceptance of Dru. Something like maybe her heart and soul belonged to them. Spike was not a normal vampire, as Giles himself admitted begrudgingly once she told him of Spike’s role in helping save the Watcher and defeating Angelus, but that would still gain him little favour once they stepped across the threshold.
There was the door, and with a heavy dread, but a renewed sense of right, she pounded on it with her closed fist.
Chapter Two
Angel couldn’t relax. Ever since he had jumped in his car following Cordy’s impassioned alarm, he couldn’t make himself calm down. Just one word—Spike—was enough to make him grind his teeth and thump again and again on the little dining table he sat at. The second name—Giles—had him nearly jumping for safety every time the man came near him on his continual laps around the room. He may have his soul back and still be trying to fight evil like the rest of the Scoobies, but he knew he was barely tolerated by the man whose house he now found himself situated.
“Are you quite certain Cordelia saw Spike?” Giles asked for about the fourth time, cleaning his glasses again with a near ferocity of alarm and concern.
“He’s rather hard to mistake. You know, no one else quite wears white like Spike!”
Angel raised an eyebrow and Giles almost recoiled in disgust until he checked himself.
“I’m not trying to be funny Giles, I am just as worried as you are.”
“Right then, tell me again exactly what Cordelia told you.” His glare made Angel feel uncomfortable and he was about to start squirming in his seat until he realised he was over two hundred years old and shouldn’t feel like a child. He sighed and again tried to make sense of Cordy’s message.
“She just said to get to Sunnydale and that Buffy would need help with Spike. I didn’t wait for anything else. I just took off. I really didn’t want to waste time when it has to do with Spike.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, we have had dealings with him in the not so distant past, and we haven’t needed your help then- or rather Buffy didn’t- so I wonder why this time is any different.” Giles resentfully continued pacing and rubbing his glasses as he pondered.
“So Cordelia gets visions from the Powers that Be? How incredibly fascinating. Couldn’t have happened to a lovelier girl,” he sarcastically shot over his shoulder.
Giles was putting up a brave front but Angel could tell that he was worried out of his mind. His fingers started drumming a rhythm on the tabletop as he thought of his options.
“Giles, where might Buffy be patrolling right now,” Angel asked. He jumped, alarmed at the explosion of sound that answered his question.
“I don’t bloody know, she wanders, nothing the same each night. She could be in Timbuktu for all we know.” He raised his finger to point at Angel and start another burst of fury mixed with fear when there was a loud thump at his door. With something akin to dread he approached it, Angel following so closely behind him that he nearly reeled away in pure revulsion. He touched it once then opened it with a rather unsuspected force and nearly collapsed back gratefully on Angel when he saw it was Buffy. Angel for his part nearly had eyes bugging out of his head when he came face to face with Buffy, the girl he had left behind, and the back end view of what was unmistakably combat boots and a long black leather duster.
Buffy didn’t seem to notice him as she asked Giles to invite her in: her voice hard in her determination. Giles just stood in front of his charge with his mouth hanging open rather indelicately. He hadn’t seemed to have made the connection between the new arrival and their earlier conversation, but Angel sure the hell had.
“What are you doing Buffy? You can’t invite Spike in here.”
Buffy raised surprised eyes to Angel.
“Wow,” she almost breathed. “I guess this is a good old family reunion. Giles where’s the food?”
Giles quickly snapped to it, and his eyes widened as he finally worked out what was going on.
“Buffy, is that Spike?”
“Yeah, and guess what, he’s heavy. So can you invite us in already.”
“Us?” Giles jumped back in fright and reached for a cross and stake.
Buffy snorted.
“Watcher man,” she started sarcastically, and then rolled her eyes. Great, she thought, first I start with the ‘bloody’s’ like Spike and now I’m channelling Xander.
“You saw me two hours ago before I went on patrol. I haven’t had time to be turned. I may be good but I’m not that good. I just meant us as in I’m carrying Spike us.”
Giles stood completely flabbergasted.
“Why would I do that?”
“Giles, I don’t want to argue about this. There is something wrong with him. I found him passed out under a tree and he looks really sick.”
That got Angel’s attention.
“Vampires don’t get sick,” he said arrogantly.
Buffy narrowed her eyes angrily. “They do if they get poisoned,” the barb close enough to make him flinch and he stepped away.
“Giles,” she turned back to him. “Both Angel and I will stake him should it be necessary, but I really don’t think he could raise an eyelid right now, let alone a fang.” Her voice grew steadily louder as her impatience grew. “He’s heavy Giles, let us in.”
For some really odd reason Buffy sounded like she was going to burst into tears.
“If you don’t let us in I’m taking him to my house and he already has an invite there.” Her voice cracked with emotion and Angel stared at her in shock. He couldn’t believe that she was fighting so hard for his Childe. His eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on Buffy?” he ground out and was met with a furious glare. She was about to offer a heated reply when she felt, as well as heard, Spike groan.
“Buffy,” his voice worn, exhausted. “Put me down, luv. It hurts.” The last was whispered as he again lost consciousness.
“Giles,” Buffy and Angel called together and his eyes snapped again to the dead looking undead that hung over Buffy’s shoulder. He rubbed his forehead absently as he stepped aside.
“Come in Spike.” He waved his arm in a flourish of welcome. “You are so very welcome to come in and kill me in my sleep,” he mumbled as he walked further into his home.
“You can lay him on the sofa Buffy,” he called as he watched her struggle through the doorway. Angel went to help her but stepped back at her angry glare.
“Don’t interfere Angel,” she nearly spat as she finally upended her load, wincing as Spike’s head bumped the arm of the sofa.
The three stood back examining the now black leathery contents of the sofa with varying expressions of fear, interest and care. Angel could see Buffy flushing while she looked at Spike and a sharp slice of what he thought was pain hit him somewhere in his chest. He shook his head in confusion and turned back to the other vampire. His childe, his… hang on…
“Buffy,” he turned to her, confusion running rampant over his suddenly very brooding brow. Anger and jealousy suddenly barrelled out of control and he huffed at her like a child. “Just when exactly did Spike get his soul?”
Chapter Three
“What?” Buffy swivelled toward Angel, her fist cocked back ready to let fly. “Spike doesn’t have a soul. I just fought him last week when he had the Ring of Amara, standing in the sunlight and all 'You’re going to die slayer.' He was still obnoxiously evil then.”
Angel’s only reply was a raised eyebrow.
“I can smell it on him Buffy. He definitely has a soul.”
All three stood staring at the horizontal figure of Spike in equal parts amazement and shock.
Unaccountably, Buffy’s heart rate picked up a few beats and she could feel the steady thump, thump pounding against her ribs. She couldn’t tear her eyes from him. It was only last week he had cut her to the quick with his insensitive ribs about Parker. Why did his words shred her heart so? It didn’t make sense, but not only did it hurt to hear him say those things, for some reason it made her feel sick that he even knew she had slept with that waste of space.
Now Angel said Spike has a soul. Why? Where did it come from? How did he get it? And yeah, again, why? For one very strange but giddy moment she knew he had gotten it for her. That, however, did not make sense.
“Aargh…” Spikes sudden scream of pain made all three jump, their collective feeling suddenly turning from introspection to concern. Buffy fell forward and dropped to her knees at his side.
“Buffy.” His eyes were closed; he did not see her.
She clasped his hand and Angel and Giles gasped in astonishment. The connection of their hands erupted in flame, bright but non-igniting. Buffy continued to cling to his hand, completely unaware; with her other hand she allowed her fingers to sift gently through his hair, trying to calm him.
“Buffy, it’s so beautiful. I can see it; my soul. There isn’t much time. Get out, baby, Live.” Tears fell from his eyes, the lids squeezed tightly shut. Tears slowly slid down Buffy’s cheeks in sympathy for this fierce and frightening warrior, becoming more and more confused not only by what was going on, but also by her reactions to him, to his voice. ‘He called me baby’ and suddenly she smiled happily, just for a moment, blissful that he chose her for the endearment. ‘He can see his soul. I bet it is beautiful.’ The smile began to wane though in view of his obvious torment.
“It burns. Buffy, it hurts.”
The three interlopers just stared at him bewildered anew, all falling back as Spike suddenly opened his eyes and he jacknifed in the chair, dragging Buffy forward with him. As he turned towards them he caught Buffy’s eye and the expression in them was tender. Like an earthquake her world shook and she was transported to a place she didn’t know, standing before her champion and telling him of her love while he stared disbelievingly into her eyes. His reply was heard only by her, and she gasped, knowing that she had spoken the truth and hurt beyond measure that he was about to die not knowing how much she wanted him to live. Then she let go of his hand and ran, except she could still see him laughing while he was engulfed in flame and light, disintegrating and turning to dust. ‘No’, she screamed almost hysterically and started sobbing, ‘Please don’t leave me.’ But in one final burst of bright, he was gone, like so many other worthless and unworthy vampires. Not him though, never him. He was her champion. And then the earthquake was over.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Buffy stared into his eyes, confused and upset by her vision. She still shook her head from side to side in denial and a wave of fierce possessiveness swept her away and she gripped his hand hard.
It couldn’t remain, though, and as one they turned to their held hands and stared in shock at the flames still binding them together, but neither trying to pull away. Ever so slowly Buffy let go of her tight hold of his hand but didn’t pull completely away. She stroked her fingers sensually against his skin before they fell away and into her lap. She continued to stare at her hands clasped together on her knees and tried to sort out what had just happened. She had had a vision, of that much she knew, but how could it be. In that vision she told Spike she loved him and felt devastated at his demise. That wasn’t right though, because she didn’t need a vision to know that his final dusting would be devastating to her. The single most important fact that she gleaned from the moment though was that he was her champion. Not Angel, but Spike, and could anything be any weirder?
She raised her eyes hesitantly to him, her gaze resting on his shoulder, lifting slowly to his neck. She was almost afraid to go any further. Then she really looked at his neck, the skin a sort of grey, not the white she had expected and her eyes flew to his in alarm. The flash of fear and confusion in his own electrifyingly blue orbs brought her back to Giles’s living room with a bump. She remembered, finding him unconscious under that tree, his half starved appearance freaking her out. She searched now, for a reason of why he was in such poor shape. He seemed shell-shocked however, and she doubted that at this moment he could tell anything more than he had already relayed in his unconscious rambling.
“Champion,” he whispered through cracked, dry lips and she jumped in recognition of her vision.
“Spike,” she whispered back, raising her fingers to her lips as though to catch a kiss. ‘Oh man, this is weird,’ she thought, rolling her head from side to side as if to view him from the different angles. Or even to get comfortable for a real kiss, and she stopped abruptly.
“You need to feed, Spike. You look like you haven’t had any blood for weeks.” Buffy could hear her voice getting weaker as she spoke. “What happened to you?” And again the tears came, and she tried desperately to not let them fall. Even though she had seen what happened to him in her vision, it still didn’t explain this, his current state of starvation.
“Yes Spike, that is something I think we all would like to know.” And just like that she remembered there were others in the room.
Spike had obviously not worked out yet where he was or what was happening, possibly still lost in the same vision as she had seen, still her champion and denying her love. His gaze fell on her lips and seemed unable to leave and she could feel a very odd shiver begin to travel up her spine. Suddenly she felt warm and her skin flushed, and those words came back to her in a rush and she just knew that she was in trouble. At some time or place, or maybe yet to come, she had told Spike that she loved him. She knew it was true, yet he hadn’t believed it. Where did all that hate, and mortal enemy stuff go though, that she couldn’t even look at him with any trace of animosity? She was stumped.
Oh that’s right, Angel and Giles. Still kneeling beside the sofa she turned to the other two occupants behind her and tried really hard to work out what they were doing here. Take charge, she silently pleaded, and Giles, God love him, came to her rescue.
“Angel, perhaps you could go to Willy’s and get Spike some blood.”
Angel looked angrily at Giles then seemed to cower under Giles’s penetrating glare, suddenly thinking what a very good idea it might be to escape this weirdo house for a while.
“It’s not like getting a soul these days is something wild and new. Been there, got the coffee mug,” he muttered bitterly as he made his way out the door, grabbing his leather coat on the way out.
“Well Spike,” Giles started, about to begin a tirade centring on his desire to not have Spike in his home, when one look from Buffy had him taking off rapidly for the kitchen. “Time for a spot of tea then, I think,” he spluttered and he was off.
That left them alone. Buffy stood and made her way to sit beside him on the sofa, with Spike following every movement, an almost giddy expression on his face.
“So,” she breathed. “My champion, huh?” And her breath hitched in her throat as he grinned at her. Then like an owl, his eyes widened to their full capacity and he stood, shouting “Bloody hell,” before grabbing his skull and falling gracefully to his knees.
“I got knabbed Slayer, by bloody soldiers no less. I can’t feed anymore, and I was so hungry. All I could think to do was come to you, though I knew you would probably want to dust me, then something came over me while I was on my way here and I collapsed.” His broken voice for that moment matched his body, and she again struggled to remember how she had felt about this vampire only last week. Weirdness was definitely in the air because all she could think of were those three little words, and how unbelievably right they felt.
“What came over you Spike?” He looked startled at the softness of her voice, but turned to face her and placed a hand on either side of her knees.
“I don’t know what it was, it felt like a burning, like a spark, and then I fell into a kind of dream State I guess, though it felt more like a bloody nightmare. Now I feel…” He looked to her as if she could tell him how he now felt. He was grasping for something, she could tell, but even though she suspected the ‘spark’ was his soul, how he felt remained a mystery. He may have always been able to read her but she wasn’t exactly Miss Observant when it came to people and their emotions.
“Wretched,” he almost spat it out, the word obviously distasteful. “That’s how I bloody feel, wretched. What the hell happened to me?” She was stunned to again see the shimmering of new tears in his eyes and she felt a gush of tenderness flood her system.
Reaching out her hand she placed the palm very softly against the skin of his cheekbone.
“I don’t know how it’s happened, but I think I saw something when I held your hand earlier. I saw you turn to dust.” Her tears fell silently as she whispered the last. She looked at him in beatific wonder as she traced a finger, barely touching, down to outline his lips. “Spike, I think you have your soul back.” Again their eyes clashed, the shock of her statement rivetting his eyes upon hers, unable to shift even slightly.
And then the panic set in.
Chapter Four
“Isn’t that wonderful, Spike? Angel says you have your soul.” Buffy had a smile that stretched across her face from ear to ear, making Spike cringe in horror.
“What the bleedin’ hell are you on about Slayer?” Spike nearly screamed at her. He could hear the desperate panic in his voice as he finally looked around his current surroundings; nowhere to run from her. Then he took in his position. He kneeled at her feet with his hands placed beside her knees on the sofa. Her smile had slipped a little at his earlier exclamation, but despite his fear he could feel the heat from her body as it reached from her legs to his fingertips and he felt hard pressed to keep his hands to himself. And what the hell was that about? Last week he wanted to rip her throat out and gorge on her blood and now he wanted nothing more-wanted with a desperation in fact- to find out what it would feel like to slip his hands under her skirt and rest on the skin of her thighs, to feel that heat and be overcome.
With a suddenness that was startling he projected himself backwards at force and ploughed into the bookcase behind him, the impact knocking it back and causing a mini avalanche of books to land atop him. Stunned, he didn’t move, but more terrifying to him was not his lack of grace in movement, but the horror of the image of indeed ripping her throat out and ending her life once and for all. Oh God, his soul screamed at him, and then he was finally aware. I think I’m gonna be sick. His stomach muscles clenched in a way they had never done before as a vampire. He decided not to move just yet.
Spike thought closing his eyes might be a good idea, so with a final glance at Buffy, now looking rather concerned, he closed them to the room and tried to not only forget he was there with the slayer, but tried to work out where the hell he was. Almost immediately the visions assaulted his darkness and he sat confused, trying to understand the message that he felt must be important to relay the meaning behind his current little dilemma.
Buffy had mentioned, before the bombshell, that she had had a vision of sorts, and in it he had turned to dust. He hadn’t seen the same thing as such but he had felt it, the burning pain as his body disintegrated and was no more. What did it mean? Why did he not see it like she did? He only felt and heard some words. He heard her tell him in the last seconds of his existence that she loved him, and him denying it so she would get her cute arse out of the bloody cave, because couldn’t she tell the whole bleeding place was about to implode? He felt her hurt, but as for himself he was pretty dumbfounded by what she had said. Dumbfounded, but stupidly happy.
What was going on? Since when did the Slayer have that kind of a relationship with the Big Bad? As mystified as he was, he wasn’t confused on his own feeling, and this is where the whole scenario is bloody whacked, he groaned to himself. When she said those words, it felt like he had been waiting for a lifetime to hear them, and he felt ecstatic. He felt euphoric. Some other incarnation of himself had the hots for the slayer, but not him, oh no, she might be shag worthy, but, hey, wasn’t Peaches around here somewhere? His eyes darted around for his Sire, and then narrowed as he suddenly began to think of him again as competition. Not again. He wouldn’t let that ponce win again.
A sudden scent pervaded his senses and heat took over his spot by the bookcase and his eyes opened almost of their own will. He had been so caught up in some kind of memory? vision? past life? That he hadn’t noticed her approach.
“Spike?” Her voice was soft, careful, but what made him wary was the concern.
“Yeah?” He felt incapable of saying anything else to her just yet. He felt speechless, rendered dumb by a sudden view of holding her in his arms and kissing her till she was breathless and moaning for more of his touch. And he found that he liked that image. Looking into her eyes he suddenly realised that he would really like for that one to come true. Then tried to shake some belated sense into his muddled brain.
“Before you woke up you said you could see your soul. Do you remember anything?” He felt her eyes on him, pleading with him to remember, but what exactly did she want him to remember? He couldn’t tell her that he remembered her saying that she loved him, not unless he felt like being sliced and diced, and dusted just for good measure. But what about this soul garbage? And just like that the images came to him, of blood and gore, his mouth tearing and destroying the flesh of the young and innocent, even the not so innocent, and those feelings of nausea came rushing back with a vengeance.
“Oh God, Buffy…”he cried out as he fell to his side and cried in a disgusting display of weakness.
“Buffy luv, I’m gonna be sick.” With a desperate lunge and tug she had him off the ground and hurtling toward the bath at what felt like the speed of light, but just in time for him to heave and heave with a violence that was frightening.
His body shook uncontrollably when he at last fell away from the tub. Standing and swaying on shaky legs he allowed the Slayer to lead him back out to the sofa where he collapsed in exhaustion. He had never experienced anything like that in all his unlife, and now that he had his fear reached new heights. He didn’t understand what was going on.
“Spike,” her voice broke through his haze and he felt a wet cloth clean his face. It brought him relief and he turned watery eyes to her in gratitude. “When did you last have any blood? All that upchucking and you had nothing to show for it.”
He tried to think; was it days, or weeks?
“When was it that I last saw you luv?”
“Just over a week ago.” Her eyebrows knit together in worry, almost suspecting but not quite believing his answer.
“Then before then. Those soldier boys nabbed me that night and their bagged blood was drugged. Did something to my head so I can’t feed anymore, bloody hurts whatever it is, get a shock, like, every time I go grrr at anyone. The pain, it's blinding. So I thought finally to come to you, thought you lot might take pity on the neutered vamp and help keep the soldiers away from me.” There had been a quiet control about his story, a sense of awe at what was done to him, rendering him toothless, and taking his favourite happy meals off the sodding menu, and he froze at the thought and felt like hurling again at the thought of any more of his aimless killing.
He turned pleading eyes on the Slayer as he silently begged her to do something, to understand what was going on and explain it to him.
“I don’t know about the soul, Slayer. Is it like Peaches? Will I lose it? Why aren’t I crawling around trawlin’ for rats? I mean, it hurts, I feel bad for all that I’ve done, and bloody odd feelin’ that is too I tell you, but I don’t think it feels like it should if I just got it, you know?” He was rewarded again with her smile and he breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t cracked him in the nose, and he wasn’t dust. In fact…
“Oi, Slayer, what’s with the gooey looks you’re sendin’ me?” His voice was croaky and weak and maybe that was why he still had an unbroken nose, and why her smile hadn’t slipped during his insert foot here moment. Instead, she seemed to beam at him.
“Hell if I know, Spike.” And she giggled adorably. His own smile seemed to disappear as that thought came to light, he wasn’t ready for adorable. He wasn’t ready to understand a soul. He wasn’t ready to be in Giles’ home, as he finally figured from all the cursing drifting in from the kitchen. And he really wasn’t ready to understand why the hell he would ever have warm fuzzies for the Slayer. Let alone be in a position where she would tell him she loved him. To tell the truth he was well and truly freaked and he needed to get off the topic now, before anything stranger happened.
“So Slayer, do you have my Gem around handy. Wouldn’ mind that back at all,” and his devious grin battled weakly.
She returned his grin with beaming amusement.
“I was going to give it to Angel,” she all but teased and then laughed at his growl, knowing it was good-natured. “I thought I might keep it for now though, probably not the best thing for Angel to have in case Angelus ever comes back out to play.” Then her smile and sunny disposition evaporated like rain on a steaming footpath.
“We need to know what happened to you with this soul thing Spike. It could be really important. And, well, I get weird vibes from the whole situation.”
Spike tilted his head to the side, studying her.
“Yeah Slayer, I guess it would be good to know.”
“Why do you do that?” He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Why are you calling me Slayer again? When I found you, you called me Buffy, and again when you started calling out when you were unconscious.”
“I don’t know.” He looked away confused, tiredly trying to work out this mystery on his own.
“It almost feels like there are two Spike’s inside me.” He looked again to her and she smiled encouragment. “You said before that you had a vision of me turning to dust? It’s like I have a memory of it, but I don’t think its really happened. Do you get what I mean?” He wanted her to get it because he didn’t know what else to do, how else to explain it.
“I guess we need to research then. Try and work out what happened and where the soul came from. Find out if it has any affect and whether you are likely to ever go Spikelus.” She giggled again and he felt a flash of pure and familiar lust in his groin. His eyes shot wide as saucers as they focused on her lips. And without thought of who they were or who was in the flat, they drifted toward each other and burned as their lips finally touched. Spike knew without a doubt that something about that other Spike, the one to burn and dust for his love, was really a little part of him too. And her lips brought him finally home to rest.
Chapter Five
Giles stood on the periphery, unsuspecting and shocked by his sudden view of his Slayer and her mortal enemy in a lip lock to end all lip locks. Just before his glass of scotch took a first class dive to the floor he observed a strange red glow surrounding them. The Watcher in him kicked in and he filed it away for further research, though he had every belief that this was one that he would never find in the books. This was one he never thought he would find on his living room floor either. He was completely without a clue as to how to solve this mystery, and unless Spike could tell them something—or might have already told Buffy something—he didn’t know where to start. He felt it was an accurate measure of his evening so far that he hadn't gone in there with stakes a blazing and rendered William the Bloody plant fertilizer.
Something nudged a little corner of his consciousness though, and he closed his eyes in order to try and think of what he was missing. It also had the added advantage of blocking the kissing two from his sight. Ah, Cordelia. What did Angel say that she saw? That Buffy would need help with Spike. Maybe she knew something else before the great lumbering ex-lover vampire came crashing to the rescue. Giles humphed, before spinning on his heel and heading back to the kitchenette and another glass of scotch.
~@~@~
Buffy didn’t know how it happened but it was everything she had, well, never thought about really. Her mind was blissfully blank as she felt her lips just barely touch his. There was no movement for a while, just a quiet jostle of their bodies on the floor seeking comfort before her eyelids grew heavy with anticipation and she surrendered her lips to sensation. His lips were a little dry but soft as they went. There was no pressure, almost like fairy kisses, and that scorched her skin all the more. She opened her mouth a little and could immediately feel his tongue slide across her lower lip before gently and shallowly diving beyond to lick her own tongue.
There was no longer any thought, just sensation as she craved his kiss, and as it deepened it tore her former restraint apart. Her hand snaked around his neck to pull him closer and goosebumps erupted on the skin of her arm as a little touch of his hair scraped over. And she remembered. Mmmm, Spike curls. She moaned into his mouth and moved closer again as his own arm twined around her waist, and suddenly she was hauled into his lap, but still his lips were gentle on hers. His tongue stroked the insides of her cheeks, her teeth, but mostly it caressed her own tongue. Where she might have forcefully duelled, feeling desire escalate beyond her thought, he remained patient in method and so got the best of her.
She wanted to be closer; she was starved for him. Something told her they belonged like this, but it was so fast. How could this happen? She had never imagined being with Spike like this, had never imagined him with a soul. She was frightened. Could she do this again? But God, why was she even thinking that she wanted to? What if the soul was a curse and he lost it like Angelus? Something basic however clanged like a church bell telling her that she didn’t need to worry, this was her warrior, her champion, and he would never betray her, if she were just honest. With his lips continuing to tell her stories, she believed it. She wanted so much to give him the chance. Not to prove himself, because she had a feeling that he had more than done that already. The chance for right. Could they do it without the struggle? This was the Hellmouth though, who knew how possible that was. Not once did it occur to her to wonder about the reaction of Giles, her mother or the Scoobies. Nothing mattered, bar his lips upon hers.
Somewhere out of sight she had heard a glass smash on the floor, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the rush she got from this man’s-vamp's- lips. It deepened as she lost her fingers in his hair, her whole body vibrating with the hum of desire. She could feel a slow, slick burn all the way to her toes, but particularly areas in between and she remembered Parker, how wrong he had felt compared to this. She shifted the angle of her head and the kiss became more desperate as Spike held her head to his, his fingers tangled in her long, golden hair. Suddenly he wrenched her back and started to cover her neck with long sultry licks and kisses. She felt there really was no choice now but to let her warm palms drift across his abdomen under his shirt and her body blazed like an out of control forest fire. Knowing her face was red and her heart pounding out of control she let her mind wander to other times when they had done this, how wonderful it felt to have his naked, muscular body slide back and forth against hers. The memory added to her overflow of sensation and her body felt a flame.
She felt his hand at the underside of her breast, brushing against her bra when they came crashing back to reality with the screeching ring of the telephone. Spike obviously came to his senses first as he thrust her away from him with a look of pure torment and horror on his face. The images of their sweaty and slick bodies took more time to evaporate from her fevered mind but once they did her eyes narrowed.
"That never happened." Her voice was flinty and he shrunk back away from her. He should have known she would deny that, as involved as she was in it. Why should he be hurt that she didn’t want to acknowledge their heat? This, after all, was more like the Slayer he had always known, not this soft, caring girl who couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. He felt the beginning of a roller coaster ride already speeding out of control.
Her face softened slightly as she took in his wary expression.
"Not the kiss," she whispered. "That so did happen. I meant the visions I was having. I think my memories might be melding with another Buffy. I think we can assume that our emotions might be doing the same. So the question on the table is, do we go with it and allow it to happen, or do I dust your sorry ass now so I don't sit up all night trying to work out why, after two years of hating your guts, I now want to lick you from head to toe? Do these visions come from another Buffy? Maybe from another dimension? Or are they from me but from the future?" Along the way of her little musings she had lost sight of who she was talking too.
Spike was intrigued despite himself. As grey and hungry as he still looked, he recognised her distraction and he adopted his renowned smirk and kinked his head at her. Leaning forward slightly with his hands draped over his knees he was hoping to hide his obvious excitement at the image she had just brought to his mind. Licking…he could definitely get into some of that!
"What visions did you have, gorgeous?" He licked his lips as he gazed hungrily at hers.
Buffy flushed and almost in a trance she told him of the wild and powerful sex she had seen them have, how real it felt like she had definitely experienced the sensation of him, when she suddenly realised what she was saying. They were out of control enough already, no need to give him further ideas.
"Not that you need to hear any of that kind of stuff. So not going to happen again buster, so wipe that sleazy grin off your face," she huffed, embarrassment forcing her to look down and away from him. The feeling of being trapped overwhelmed her and she looked round for an escape. She found it by the quick glimpse of the phone line leading into the kitchen. "Giles," she yelled and took off for the kitchen, leaving Spike on the floor with his own sexy images in his head.
Spike hauled himself to his feet and slowly fell back to the sofa, still feeling remarkably weak, and wishing angrily for some blood. His gut was all twisted with emotion, remorse, hunger and lust, and for the unlife of him, he couldn’t work out which he wanted to resolve first.
That kiss, he thought with a gleeful chuckle, was bloody hot. He knew what she meant. It was beyond strange that just touching her made him know personal things, sensual things, about her body and how she would react to his touch. He shouldn’t know these things; they had never had any kind of relationship that would even hint to him of this situation occurring. He knew what it felt like to rub his tongue over her nipples, nipping hard at them with his teeth once they became rock hard for him. He knew what it felt like to be encased in her heat, to hear her moan beneath him, above him as he slid back and forth. He knew what sounds they both made as she took him in her mouth and sucked him in her own special way. She needn’t be embarrassed, was his predominant thought, finding it impossible now to control his erection after recapturing those beautiful images. He was embarrassed enough for the both of them. Spike thought it was high time he tried to solve an easier mystery. Where the bloody hell did Peaches go?
To be continued
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