Taste of Juliet
by Megan
Chapter Twenty-One
Angel had unhappily parted with a set of keys to his apartment, but instead of relocating just yet, Spike clung to the familiar sheets of his pullout bed in Giles’s study. It wasn’t that he wasn’t ready to be on his own- the continual questions from Rupert were driving him bloody insane- but he wasn’t ready to relinquish Buffy. He knew that she would be spending the day trying to cook up a storm, and what better place to see her act all domestic housewife but at Giles’s. So he encouraged the sympathy for a little longer, and got to see Buffy in an apron, covered in foodstuffs as she panicked prettily. Not that they could just have an ordinary day, though. There were various undertones that spoilt it; Oz having run away to find control of his wolf and Red’s politically correct stand on why there shouldn’t be Thanksgiving. And to really round out a perfect start to the day, Harris rocked up sporting several nasty diseases that he had contracted from being too stupid to stay away from an old Mission with cursed Shumash Indian Spirits. Oh, it was lovely, and Spike was ever so glad that he hadn’t skipped the bunk and missed the lot. He might have a bright, spanking new soul, but he was still evil!
When the call came from Angel to tell them of a threat to Buffy, thanks again to the Cheerleaders ‘visions’, Spike was almost laughing at the curse that seemed to be on the Scoobies themselves. Did they manage to not court trouble everywhere they went? He wasn’t laughing, though, when the first attack occurred. Hard to laugh around an arrow sticking out of your shoulder, inches from your heart. Buffy had looked at the narrow stick protruding from his shoulder and paled in alarm, copying the dainty housewife act down to a ‘t’. He figured her many recent visions in which she witnessed him turning to dust was enough to spark a bit of fight within her. Thankfully it spurred her to action- abandoning for the moment her holiday feast- and the activity of trying to slay a number of unkillable spirits perked her up immensely, bringing her back in touch with her purpose. Only to turn one of the buggers into a bear. Spike’s frantic pleading of “Turn it back, turn it back,” had the Scoobies in stitches around the dinner table for hours that night. The dinner that was not totally ruined by the attack, unless you could call the Slayer’s culinary skills weapons of gastronomy.
Spike just felt grateful to not be tied to a chair this time around, and he got to sit next to Buffy into the bargain. He was profuse in his giving of thanks. He munched and crunched his way through the meal, but once he got to the pumpkin pie, he stalled.
“Ah, so Slayer, this is what you were beating the hell out of that condensed milk for?” He looked at it nervously.
“I never expected you to eat human food, Spike. Could I get you some blood instead?”
He looked at her in wonder and the affection he could see betrayed by her flushed cheeks hardened his resolve and he turned back and stabbed the pie with his fork. His determination wavered slightly as it reached his mouth, but her gentle smile pushed him over and he opened wide and slipped it in. Closing his lips he pulled the odd tasting piece onto his tongue, the flavour not entirely palatable, and quickly swallowed it whole. He made a play of chewing, and wiped his mouth with a napkin, gentile manners forcing him out into the open.
“Mmm, delicious.” He smiled, wondering how he was going to get the rest past his lips, then noticed that all eyes around the table had been observing him. He was shocked when he encountered the gleeful look on Harris’s face, one step away from shoving the whole slice in his mouth. He was suddenly tempted to shout a warning, but instead decided to distract Buffy when the git turned green and spat the pie out, hiding his napkin in his lap. Everyone then proclaimed themselves to be full and the rowdy clean up began.
The night became tedious as soon as the dinner plates were cleared as far as Spike was concerned. All he wanted was some alone time with Buffy; time to explore the phenomenon that was them. As confused as he felt about his own identity for the moment, he was sure of his feelings for the Slayer. He could feel the rightness of this soul, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his demon had surrendered to the love he felt for this girl, the one in all the world chosen to slay his kind. He had never feared irony, but was flabbergasted- no, that was a Giles word- stunned that his demon had fallen so hard for this chit. Time for contemplation and musing was gone though, he needed to get her alone, and fast.
“Slayer?”
She looked at him with a mix of sadness and annoyance. “My name is Buffy. Why are you having trouble with that?”
He cocked his head to the side in the way only he knew how and gave her a lascivious grin.
“Buffy,” he breathed, and she drifted over to him as if bewitched. He pulled her backwards toward the study and leaned into her, clasping his hands round her waist. Their steps were slow, measured, as she curled her arms up around his neck. They stopped at the door and she pulled her body closer to his, her hot breath tickling his ear.
“I love how you say my name,” she whispered in a voice gone croaky with desire. “It gets me hot.”
He dragged her inside and kicked the door shut, ignorant of the mixed stares that followed them. On the other side of the door he claimed her lips, almost lost in her taste, but his ears picked up discord from various members outside.
“Pet? I think we should pack up and head over to the apartment.”
Her response was slow, her movements almost drugged as she lifted her head to peer into his sparking blue eyes.
“Wha?”
“I’m sure it was your eloquence that drew me to you, luv.” His quiet chuckle brought her closer to reality as she let go of the sensation of his lips.
Then what he had said kicked in. Privacy. That was what they needed. Privacy to explore this thing they had going on. Uninterrupted privacy to make out, kiss for hours, or even days if she so chose. She had to make sure that Giles didn’t have a phone number.
Running a longing hand down his arm from his shoulder, she linked her fingers in his and pulled him to the bed. She collapsed on its edge and looked at him.
“Are you already packed?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t come with much, luv, if you rightly recall.”
“Oh yeah,” she breathed. “Where is your stuff?”
“In the Desoto. Hadn’t moved in anywhere when the soldiers got me good.”
“Okay. Let’s get your car then and go move you in.”
He pulled her back to her feet and within seconds they stood again in front of the Scoobies.
“Happy Thanksgiving, guys. I’m going to help Spike move in to Angel’s old place.”
Not waiting for objections, they departed, leaving a more subdued atmosphere behind them.
Within forty minutes they had dragged all of Spike’s belongings into the place, mainly weapons and a few changes of clothing.
“Bugger.” Spike suddenly remembered his record collection and books left in the lair he had shared with Harmony, and determined sometime soon to reclaim them before she decided to toss his stuff onto a bonfire. A time when she was absent, he thought, would be best. No need to get Buffy riled up like she had been over Anya.
The place could do with a bit of cleaning, but Buffy was unprepared for the feeling of rejection that she associated with the place, and suddenly saw that it might not have been the best option. Pushing it to the back of her mind, she refused to look through to the bed in the other room and instead sat in Spike’s lap, as he was- after all- sitting in the only chair in the room. Her apprehension of past memories leant her forgetfulness and she was suddenly more forward than she had been so far. Once in his lap however, with his arms around her waist, her shyness returned and she lowered her eyes. With a finger under her chin, he nudged her to look up and caught her gaze in a magnetic grip, refusing to let go till he had said his piece.
“I’m not him, Buffy. My soul won’t disappear. I won’t disappear. We ‘ave time to sort this out. Not doing anything tonight that you might regret in the mornin’.” And he kissed her softly, yet boldly, marking his claim on her heart, and she surrendered it to him willingly.
It was as she dreamed; innocent but passionate. They kissed until the need to wrench herself away was paramount for self-preservation. Her body protested loudly for her to go further; she knew his body, and knew what he could do to her, how he could make her skin sing with sensation, and her mind die a little in satisfaction. But that was her future self and all of that was based on a lack of stability in the world. Her return from death clouded her judgement so that she didn’t know that the mate she had chosen was not an attempt to gain feeling back in her world, but the obvious choice from her heart. Their relationship had been fraught with too much pain, on both sides, for her heart to not be involved. She hadn’t seen it then, but now she wanted to savor everything. It had been too early, and she was wary of repeating the same mistakes.
She wanted to experience the little steps. The hand-holding, the little secret kisses of hello and goodnight; she wasn’t ready for the commitment of the flesh. She wanted the romance she had had with Angel, the romance that eclipses the common sense of a teenager. She wanted it to last because she was positive this was her forever.
Spike, in his intuitive wisdom seemed to understand without being told, and held her close, his hands securely clasped behind her back; not wandering like his body screamed at him to do.
“How ‘bout you stay pet? No funny business, just let me hold you while you sleep?”
She looked upon him, yearning and hungry, but for so much more than flesh. Slowly she nodded, and with a gentle and hesitant hand he led her to the bed that had revealed Angelus to her. She closed her eyes and was determined to dismiss him from her mind, more than ready to create more memories, happier memories.
“No pressure, Buffy. Just let me show you I’ll be here when you wake.”
And she fell deeper.
Chapter Twenty-Two
That Oz would instruct Devon to pack up all his things came as a big surprise to the group. For Willow, it was that final nail that destroyed her hopes. Overwhelmed by her grief, she found no place to relocate herself: nothing that could offer any relief, even momentarily, and she began to resent her friends. She dipped into the alcoholic solution, only to find condemnation and intolerance from best buddy Xander and an overprotective Buffy. So, no fun was to be had in that quarter. Her trouble lay in the pain, the physical tearing of something from her body.
“I feel like I’ve been split down the centre and half of me is gone.” She sat on her bed that night, her face a mess from too many tears, and begged Buffy to understand. It wasn’t that she didn’t comprehend Willow’s experience-can we all say Angel?-but Willow was lost in a place that had no time for those who weren’t mourning right along side of her.
As Buffy slept, Willow crept from her bed, collected her magical paraphernalia and set up a circle in the dorm bathroom. The floor was chilled but her pain was colder, and truly the rush of flame from the evenly spaced candles around the circle offered very little distraction. She thought ‘So mote it be’ would be the magical incantation, the one that would eradicate her suffering, rid her heart of its drama, and return her to an even keel. She went back to bed with high hopes for an easier tomorrow.
But it wasn’t. Several attempts to mend her broken heart ended in confusion and a rising bitterness regarding her capabilities as a witch. And, to top things off, Giles’s unusual visit suggested that she was incompetent and unreliable to boot. Nobody cut her any slack. Everyone only cared about her suffering as long as it was convenient for them. During her rant at Giles, trying to show him that she just needed time- that she shouldn’t be punished for experiencing human frailty-she informed him in a fit of pique that when it came to her hurt, he just couldn’t see. He was meant to be her honorary father figure and he was giving her a hard time about a truth spell? If she was so late why couldn’t he just get the ingredients and do it himself? As she worked herself up more and more she didn’t notice Giles making a hesitant exit due to his dimming view.
Next she pleaded with Buffy for a girls night in, being all grievy, but Buffy had to once again rush off to do her duty- as long as it meant extra snuggly time with Spike- and her resentment grew some more.
While Buffy and Spike wandered around trying to find the entrances to the Initiative- and hey, she knew that it was important, just not right this minute- Willow tried to find solace in her oldest friend, Xander. She found him apathetic, his words holding a distinct lack of comfort. Even worse, he defended Buffy in being out with Spike, citing the urgency to take Adam out before he became active. And she knew that he was right, but the bitterness of Buffy’s desertion clouded her mind and all she saw was a girl who was falling in love while she was being torn away from hers. As far as she was concerned, Buffy and Spike should just get married and live happily ever after, like all good fairytales. Why should they care that her own fairytale was being decimated?
Xander’s sympathy had all but dried up by then, hating any mention of Buffy and Spike in the same sentence. His holier than thou attitude against Spike was getting to her, a little loyalty to the burgeoning relationship that was making Buffy so happy still within her, and her resentment had her recalling all Xander’s luck with demon dates. Finally, having had enough of all of them, she told him spitefully that he was a demon magnet, and left. As she contemplated dorm room wallowing as opposed to another splash at drowning her sorrows, with perhaps a little more lite and a little less beer, she had no inkling of the devastation a few poorly chosen words had inflicted on her friends. Well, at least not until she was abducted by D’Hoffryn and received an offer to be made a demon. Which she contemplated for a couple of seconds, because hey, who wouldn’t be tempted by all that power? She had been warned to be wary of her future attraction to black magic, however, and so found herself sent back with the determination to turn her careless will around.
“Hey, Giles. We found an air vent and another entry in the graveyard.”
Buffy gave her report of the night, her smile to the blond vampire by her side, and only turned to face him when he dropped a tumbler of scotch on the floor. She was startled to see that he didn’t even look at the glass and the billowing stain on his carpet, instead his gaze fixed at the bare wall.
“Giles? Are you alright?”
“I rather think not.” He replied in an unsteady voice. “I think, in fact, that I’m, somewhat, blind.”
The hush in the room was disquieting before the first burst of denial.
“What do you mean blind? Watcher? You mean your pissed?” Spike looked around for the bottle of scotch, determined to see how much his former landlord had imbibed, when he was stopped by the harsh rebuttal.
“No, you bloody fool. I’m blind. I can’t see a thing.”
Buffy and Spike stood stunned, looking to each other for an explanation to this strange moment. They had been absent for the event of his rapid onset of vision impairment and were at a loss as to how to counteract it.
“Do you know how it ‘appened, Rupert?”
“I think it must be some form of spell…” he stopped on hearing Spike’s heavy step toward his books, and wondered at the frantic turning of pages.
“What you’ll need is a general reversal spell.”
They discovered that certain ingredients were needed and left Giles to fend for himself, with a replenished glass of scotch, while they headed out for the Magic Shop. They made quick time but unfortunately some of the ingredients were unavailable. They left the shop, hand in hand, their concern about the situation escalating.
Then Buffy seemed compelled to stop in front of a store window looking at a wedding dress, and Spike was hit with an abrupt need to solidify their new tenderness toward each other. He ran his fingers over a small ruby ring in his duster pocket, one of the very few things he had taken from his home on being turned, and wondered how he could give it to Buffy and have her see it for the promise that he wanted to give. He took her hand and led her to a bench along the street and sat her down, him crouching down on his haunches in front of her. Taking the ring from his pocket he held it low, staring at it for a short moment before raising his eyes to hers. He was bemused to find hers shimmering, and was gladdened that he could cause her these tears of happiness.
Before he could open his mouth and utter the words of friendship, loyalty and hope that he had been planning for days, something better inspired him and he asked her to be his wife. It hadn’t been his first plan but every time he had closed his eyes lately he saw images of the harshness that had been their future, and he felt raw terror that it would be repeated and he’d lose her all over again. With a sense of urgency he felt a need to assure her once and for all that he was hers, and he wanted her to be his, bound for all time in something more sacred than just a verbal promise.
Her eyes sparkled as she gripped his hand, a few tears escaping her rapidly blinking eyes to make watery paths down her cheeks. Her bottom lip wobbled and she brought one hand up to cover her mouth.
“Do you mean it?” she asked in a small, hopeful voice, and he swore he felt his heart beat just once as a defining stamp of approval to his decision.
He nodded and offered her the ring, the stone glittering under the streetlight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to him.
He knew she wanted to ask him where he got it, but probably didn’t want to spoil the moment in case he had stolen it or it had once belonged to Dru. Both possibilities were far off the mark, and he gently told her it had belonged to his mother.
With no hesitation she held out her left hand and he placed the ring on her finger, admiring its perfect fit and her tanned, small hands. In silent agreement they stood and wandered toward his place, never noticing the stunned look on Riley’s face, who had been standing across the street.
Over the past few days Buffy had come to a kind of truce with Angel’s old place. She and Spike had gone out of their way to redecorate, even replacing the boring bed with something slightly more lavish and lush. Satin sheets and brocade coverings lent a Middle Eastern, erotic flavour that made Buffy’s blood heat each time she glanced at it. Delving into memory Buffy knew that it resembled a little of what Spike’s bedroom in the crypt would have been like, had they proceeded along that path. Buffy liked it. They had painted, taken out most of Angel’s remaining furnishings and replaced it with things more suited to the blond vampire, with a little splash of Slayer. And Buffy liked it. It was fast becoming her home away from dorm.
As if they had discussed it already and agreed upon the path, they headed nervously to the bed and stopped.
“Buffy.” His voice was husky, taken over by emotion and desire as he lost himself in the glimmering jade pools of her eyes. He began to slip and drown before remembering, and his body shuddered to think of what he now had in his life. “You are the most beautiful woman I know. There are no words powerful enough for me to tell you how much you mean to me, or how much I want to show you. You inspire me to do good, to be better. You open my heart to sing and celebrate life rather than destroying it. You are forever my light, my one shining hope. I love you with all that I am, with all that I can be, and all that I will be. I sought my soul for you, Buffy. I belong to you.”
Without waiting for any response he pressed his lips to hers and she sighed in complete acceptance that she was absolutely where she belonged. Without conscious thought her hands combed through his hair and held his head still, not allowing his lips to depart from her even slightly. Her tongue was lost within his mouth as he sucked on it, allowing the course slide of it to push out goosebumps on her skin. Nibbles on her lips caused her to shiver and she fell again under a wave of intense sensation that had her lose her heart entirely. Even when they finally pulled away his lips rested against hers, her warm, panting breaths a puff against his mouth.
She couldn’t believe it. He had asked her to marry him. She could feel the new weight of the ring on her finger and she couldn’t help but begin to cry at the beauty of this experience. While his arms held her tight, she buried her head in his chest and quietly sobbed her happiness before raising once again tear-drenched eyes to his.
“I told you in the Hellmouth, but you didn’t believe me.” She was unable to lift her voice above a whisper, emotion having sapped her vocal chords of all ability to be harsh or strident, as if knowing that tenderness was the flavour of the day. She was lost in it, her heart thudding and her body beginning to vibrate right to her fingertips. With trembling hands she traced her fingers over his hard chest until she reached the belt at this jeans. Looking him straight in the eye she raised the shirt out of his pants and lifted it over his head.
His look and subtle tilt of his head asked her if she was sure, and she nodded slowly, a huge smile lighting up her face. He let her go, allowing his hands to drop to his sides as her palms moved once again over his chest, this time sans shirt, and he felt like a silly teenage hormone bomb ready to blow. Her hands were hesitant- the first time she had actually seen his naked torso- and a fingernail gently clipped a nipple on its journey upward. He shuddered as she bent her head and her tongue flicked out to explore the same nipple. He moaned out loud and clenched his hands into fists, trying to restrain the need to touch. She needed to go at her own pace.
Her eyes grew hazy and heavy with desire as she contemplated all the things she wanted to see and feel and as she walked slowly around him her hands almost floated over his shoulder blades, the soft skin of her cheek barely brushing him as she inhaled his masculine scent. Not even Angel was all man like this. Hard as stone, muscular definition giving him planes and surfaces that all women would envy her for touching, holding, possessing. His muscles bunched under her hand, and without being told she knew that her slowness was torture for him. But in this instance, torture was of the good. Her hands skimmed over his hard shoulders to his chest as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, her breath heating his skin as she licked and nibbled, and drove him insane. Running her hand slowly down his arm as she moved back to face him, she held his hand briefly before letting go and stepping back out of his reach. He almost cried out at her distance, several muscles going into spasms from the sudden loss of her body heat.
Without dropping her eyes from his she lifted the edges of her black top and slid the fabric upward. Inch by inch her tanned, smooth skin was exposed, and if she wasn’t so hot and eager she would have laughed at his hungry expression as the top passed her head and she tossed it to where his own T-shirt lay.
With not another second to spare he grabbed her and crushed her body against his, breast to breast, claiming her lips in a passionate assault that defined her meaning of hot. His tongue knew her and she allowed his familiarity as her hands roamed freely over his cool skin. His hands never loosened their grip on her arms but he subtly relaxed enough that her body drifted back to be barely touching, just the hardened tips of her nipples teasing against the skin of his chest. Little flicks of heat and desire jolted through her nipples before passing though her breasts to heat in her belly. Her attention had obviously been caught up somewhere because once she was again aware of her surroundings she realised that her olive pants had disintegrated, never remembering lifting a leg to divest herself of them. She remained in nothing before him, and her body blushed, eager for his touch and his love.
He stood back to admire her, and though shy, she felt unable to lift her hands to shield her naked breasts or sex from his view. She loved him so much that she wanted him to look. And that is when she realised. It was wrong to keep her feelings to herself, to hold a part of herself away from him. It was a betrayal to all he had done for her.
With deep, yearning contact her heated gaze clashed with his and she spoke, her voice wavering and weak, but high.
“I love you. Not in the future, where I so did mean it.” Her eyes softened with her affection. “But now. I love you now. So much.” And he collapsed at her feet, his face buried against her taut belly gasping needlessly for breath.
“Thank you,” he rasped, and she again lost her mind when his lips made determined contact with her skin.
They fell to the bed in a sensual haze and she gave herself over to learning again his body’s feel against hers. With an agony born of long abstinence she let him slowly trail his lips over her flesh, desperate to reacquaint with every part that was her. Her skin tingled, before flashing hot white fire when his clever lips delved into her secrets, and for the first physical time of her life, she felt a hot wet tongue slide inside her body. Hot blood thundered through her veins and she suddenly arched her back up off the bed and gasped as his lips and tongue found her clit and sucked, swirling and flicking until she called his name on a sob. Sensation shook her and at last she felt his kiss on one hardened nipple, his tongue laving her lovingly and she knew what it felt to make love. In her small distraction he claimed her lips with his for a short, but consuming kiss, leisurely running his cool hands up and down her body, her skin blazing with every small contact. The look in his eyes was the same that she remembered from her flashes of memory, but this time she accepted and saw them and allowed herself to return them, soft golden looks of love. And that is when she knew. Through all the hate, and anger, and fear and self-loathing that hall-marked their relationship after her death, the only reason she never experienced the bliss of his love, of their joined love, was because she never once looked him in the eye. It had always been there and she hated herself a little more for denying them of this molten knowing of their affection. She had been a fool.
The feel of his hand between her legs, slipping against her wet opening, raised her to another level of sensation and she thought her skin was about to ignite. She refused to close her eyes as he positioned himself above her. He dipped his head and licked along her collarbone, one hand running the length of her body and down her leg, encouraging her to bend a knee around him. She couldn’t keep her hands from his skin, the cool smoothness doing nothing to cool her heated energy and she thought that she would explode soon if he didn’t make a move. Just as she thought to beg him she felt the slippery and bulging head of his cock surge against her and her lips glued themselves to his in a silent cry of disbelief. With their eyes locked on one another he entered her and she released her breath, lungs burning from the torture of longing. His smooth length was bathed in her, surrounded by heat and moisture unlike he had ever felt. Even distant knowledge and memories of their old future together did not feel like this, always intense, but never so molten. Her hands braced on his hard shoulders as he moved within her, building a sensational tinder box, on the edge of that one match.
Her body rumbled and slickened with his movement and she knew again the deep satisfaction that came from being with only this man. Her skin buzzed and blood rushed through her veins and not once did she feel afraid that it would prove too much for him; the bloodlust. The pace never quickened, despite her bucking and swirling her hips in encouragement, this an event too sweet and pure to rush. She thought it was too slow, that she would never reach that pinnacle that her heart and soul craved for completion, but it built steady and solid steps. With a final kiss she felt his head burrow into her neck and a gentle sting as everything flowed forth in a grand rush, killing her forever to mediocre. Each and every skin cell reached high alert as they buzzed and burst in a hidden sea of bliss. She felt a deep flush take over and her body grew hot with release and shattered in an alarming implosion of a monumental kind. Her mind was lost on some other plane, one that drifted in and out of clouds pure white and she wanted to stay forever, only being drawn back by a severely choked voice claiming a possessive ‘mine’. She looked at him in wonder as she put a finger to his lips, and further tears clogged her throat. ‘Yours’ she agreed and they laughed nervously together before emotion took hold and they murmured and giggled softly in each other’s arms.
Only after hours of renewing their intimate knowledge of each other did they remember Giles, blind and alone with a bottle of scotch. Quickly they dressed only to fling themselves back in each other’s arms, whispering promises of love and forever, needing to hold and be held against fear of indecision.
On the walk back, Buffy held his hand and couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips. She felt satiated, comforted, loved like she never had before, even through the crazy time that was their beginning together. She looked at her ring with amazement and couldn’t wait to tell her mother, but felt hesitant about broaching the subject to her friends.
“Spike?” She pulled on his hand to get him to stop and they found themselves alone on the sidewalk. “Can we keep this to ourselves for a little while? With Willow so upset about Oz and, well, Xander’s over-all dislike of you, I kind of want to keep tonight special between us. We can tell them all tomorrow. Would that be okay?” He caught the urgent appeal in her eyes, and for once couldn’t think of a sarcastic thing to say or summon a snarky desire to flash his luck in the whelp’s face. He found himself agreeing without any hesitation and wrapped her in his arms, breathing in the fruity scent of her hair and the earthy scent of his possession. What did it matter when they all found out, he had his love, his fiancé, his mate, and he could be generous.
With a wistful sigh they found themselves in front of Giles’s door and forced their way into the middle of pandemonium. Willow stood in the middle of a storm of shouting and accusations, tears falling silently as she took all their anger and frustration upon herself.
“Willow did another spell,” Xander shouted at them before his eyes swung to their hands clasped together. He spied the ring that Buffy had forgotten to remove and his eyes widened comically.
“They’re engaged.” His arms swung around him wildly, before pointing another accusing finger at the devastated redhead. “I thought you reversed everything?”
Buffy looked on in confusion, a sudden chunk of lead thudding in her stomach and causing her to clench Spike’s hand in a fearful sense of foreboding.
“What do you mean Willow did a spell?” Her quiet voice seemed to calm the room and Giles stepped forth, obviously without any remaining difficulty in finding his way.
“Willow did a spell to do her will, to get over the heartbreak of losing Oz, but said some things in the interim that affected some of us. She said I couldn’t see, that Xander was a demon magnet, and that you…” and he hesitated, seeing the fear reflected in his Slayer’s eyes and Spike’s look of mounting rage. “She said that you and Spike should get married.”
Buffy pulled her hand away in horrified shock and shook her head, denial flocking at her tongue.
“It wasn’t a spell,” Spike shouted at her furiously, but she couldn’t look at him despite his frantic attempts to take back her hand.
‘Oh no,’ she thought, panic welling up inside her. 'No, no, no, no, no, no…’ and the word repeated furiously on her lips as she ran and ran away from them. We mated, she thought in blind terror as her legs sought her solace. Tears blurred her path and she landed on her knees, luckily on grass, and she looked up to find the front yard of her mother’s house. The thought of seeing anyone had her scrambling up the tree to her room and she sunk to her bed, both grateful that the boxes from the gallery had gone, and that no one was there to offer her false reassurances.
Had he only asked her because of a spell? Had she ruined their moment of knowing each other on a false sense of euphoria? Never before had she felt such pure hatred for her best friend. No cookies could repair or replace the moment she had been waiting for all her life. The moment that made her Spike’s. Now she didn’t know if she had given herself to him because she wanted him, needed him, or if a spell had directed her actions.
Oh God, her silent prayer through her sobs. What if that wasn’t really what he wanted? What if he only claimed me as an extension of the engagement. What has Willow done to us? On a tide of misery and fear, she cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You bloody bitch!” Spike exploded. “Does it feel good, little girl? Does the dark stuff do it for ya? Does causing pain to your friends make you feel all better?” His eyes narrowed as he watched Willow shrink away from him, almost smelling the remorse that ate away at her minimal composure. “We warned you, told you you’d go belly-up. Don’t you have any bloody control what-so-ever?”
Spike spun back and forth, his demon flashing in pure rage, leaving the other occupants of the room to balance haphazardly on his livid tension.
“Now she’ll think everything we said, everything we did, only happened because of a bleeding spell. BLOODY FUCKING HELL!” Spike roared in fury and frustration. “I bloody hate you lot, sometimes.” He pivoted on his heel and strode to the door, leather duster flapping angrily around his ankles.
Suddenly he stopped, his body humming with repressed violence as he stared fixedly at the door. “Glad you can see again, Watcher. Now do something ‘bout her before she really fucks something up.” He couldn’t look at them. Tears welled up in his eyes as a wound in his heart so profound took hold and encouraged him to vengeance. He wanted to rip the little witch limb from limb, soul or no soul!
He remembered the original spell, the sickly sweet marriage proposal and his and Buffy’s shared disgust at its end. This had been nothing like it, and though he had actually popped the question, now that they were free of the spell, the feeling was still there, and he couldn’t recall any sense of unnaturalness about the act. He knew that all the looks, the little touches, the meshing of one future life and deeds to the present had tipped him so far in her favour that he couldn’t conceive of being anything other than hers to do with as she chose. He wanted so badly to be her mate, to be her love eternally that it seemed natural to give her the equivalent human dedication. In truth, he was not so far removed- barely at all actually- that the romantic in him didn’t get a thrill out of a ceremony with her wearing white and a gold band to ward off other human males. Like that bloody great git, Finn. He refused to go down that road again. She was his, and the world needed to know it.
Bloody hell!
She needed to know it.
But Buffy thought he didn’t mean it. He saw it in her eyes before she had fled the Watcher’s flat. Knew that she had remembered their flashes of the spell and was terrified that his wanting had been inspired only from magic. She didn’t know that he had been staring at that ring in eager contemplation for what felt like a lifetime. She probably thought that his bite was an ill-timed accompaniment to the engagement, and if there was no spell, there would be no wedding, and there most definitely should be no claiming.
His understanding reached its limit by that point. How could she not know that his feelings for her had always been so deep that all the things that had occurred earlier were what he wanted, had always wanted? No spell could have obliterated his hopes quite so fantastically as this. She was being bull-headed and stubborn. And as usual, she had no faith in him. They had just shared the most wondrous, amazing night of their lives cherishing all that they could be to one another, and she debunked the lot by believing it could only have happened due to a stupid my-will-be-done spell. Well then, she deserved to suffer.
His feet had been moving steadily toward Revello Drive, unconsciously drawn by the fading vanilla signature scent of her. He hadn’t even noticed that he could sense her like that, but he wasn’t surprised. They were fundamentally entwined. Mortal, supernatural, they had the approval of Powers far beyond them, and she thought it was a bloody spell. Bleeding stupid women always read him wrong. What the hell was it about him that caused them to distrust so spectacularly?
Well, unlike the previous incarnation of himself, he refused to chase her. He had shared the brightest part of himself with her tonight, he had given her his soul, his heart, his mind and his love. If she wanted to disbelieve then good on her.
He changed direction mid-stride and headed to the cemetery, a sudden nostalgic need to see his old crypt. Staying at Angel’s place, while warm and cozy with electricity and running water, it was also stifling and not really him. The crypt though? That had atmosphere. That had style. And right now it had comfort. It also had privacy, and for once he didn’t want to be around anything with a heartbeat, especially since he couldn’t rip it out. Damn chip! Then he cringed. Bloody soul! As if he would do anything anyway except rant and rave like the impotent git he was. Guilt slammed into him like a thousand pound sledgehammer and the tears he had been holding at bay threatened to overwhelm him. Thankfully he saw the crypt door and stumbled his way there. One violent kick smashed the door open and a small huddle of three vamps jumped at the sudden invasion.
“Well, fellas. Looks like a little squatters rights? Wanna hand to unsquat?” He brought game face forth as fists flew, connecting hard with the bumpy and feral faces of his kin, images of himself masking their true identity. All he saw amongst the rapidly increasing dust mounds were visions of himself and all the things she hated. He had sold himself out for her, stripped himself bare of his century long identity, made himself small and less, to be more, for her. His demon had willingly surrendered to the inevitable. His love was true and all-consuming, but he wanted it to be conscionable. In getting her what she deserved, when was he ever going to get what he deserved? A little hope, a little light, a little sanity, a little trust. Love, when the bloody hell was he going to get that?
Blinking for a moment in confusion, he made his way to the sarcophagus and wondered what she would have done if he had refused to stay in Angel’s flat? Just seemed like another pass down to him. Another way to pigeon-hole him into what he wasn’t and didn’t want to be.
He could understand why they did it. For centuries Angel had led his family- slowly growing throughout the age- on a merry, resplendent ride on the coattails of humanity. They had stayed in underground squalor only when their existence was in danger, usually due to the over enthusiastic activities of the youngest family member; William. Any other time they lived it up in wealthy mansions and hotels, sometimes even paying for the privilege with human money. They were respectable demons.
When Angelus had left and torn their family apart, Spike had still followed the example set forth and kept Drusilla in splendour and comfort. Only in Sunnydale had he resorted to hideouts like the factory, and underground caves. Only when he was to confront the Slayer had he felt a need to emphasise his evil nature, and evil lived in the dark, in hiding. A crypt, a factory, a cave, all with no access to life’s mod cons and electricity, reinforced the bad. He had wanted her to think of him as evil, as a monster that would rip out her throat and relish the sound of skin tearing and blood gushing. He had never stopped to wonder why it had been so important for him to have her believe him dangerous. He was a Master vampire, danger was a given. Maybe even then he knew, perhaps it was a song on the air that he was about to become fallen and would never again be what he was.
He had come to her town but not to seek her out, that had been a generous bonus of the fates. At least he had thought so at the time. He had come to heal his love, but his devotion to his black beauty had been the beginning of the end. He understood now. Dru had known all along. He was positive she had known from the moment she made him, and for the first time he wondered why she had brought him along when she knew that he was never meant for her? The fates had a real wacky sense of humour.
Emotion exhausted him, and he collapsed flat on his back, an arm covering his eyes as he thought back to earlier in the night when he had the most beautiful of girls in his arms, making love to her and receiving love like he only ever had in his dreams. And now he feared he had lost her. He could feel her turmoil through the claim, not strong but it was there. He was glad that he wasn’t close to her as the fury rose once again, his head nearly exploding with some nasty words he was dying to spew at her. He couldn’t stand that he was the one who had to work hard at making her see what they had. He slammed his head back on the lid of the sarcophagus in fury, and was about to roar his frustration to the bones in the crypt, when he picked up a scent that made him feel ill. Recognition had him jumping up, every nerve suspended for action as he took stock of his surroundings. Seconds allowed him cover and he slid under the necessary morbid cloak, relief suspended as he heard them enter the crypt. Stealth was not their friend as they crept around, searching and seeking the escapee.
The lid grated against stone as it slid to the side, revealing nothing but an antique corpse. The soldier shuddered in disgust. “All clear,” he called and they headed out once again, Riley Finn in the lead, a determined scowl marring his face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
There had been an uncomfortable silence for a full minute once Spike had walked out the door before a broken sob shunted them all back to motion and Willow fell to the sofa, holding her head in her hands. Thoughts whirled too far within reach for her to grasp any peace of mind. This led to splintering shivers of guilt- knowing she was far from deserving peace. But as she raised her eyes, she found it in the forgiving eyes of her best friend.
Xander took a seat beside her and tentatively wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, allowing her to sob against his chest in quiet, best-friend support. Anya glared as she sat down next to them, but with a small space in between. She crossed her arms in temper and looked over at Giles as she swung the foot of her crossed leg.
“Well,” she started in confrontation. “That was extremely helpful. I don’t know what Spike was all huffy about. He didn’t have demons coming out of thin air to eviscerate him.”
Her matter of fact words caused Willow to silently shudder against Xander’s shoulder and he closed his eyes before quietly counting to ten.
“I think they may have experienced a little mental evisceration, Ahn. Giles, Buffy didn’t look so good when she ran out of here. Do you think we should go find her?”
Giles contemplated the group in silence, slumped in the armchair and bewildered about the events of the day. It had been a confronting thing to be blind; a man reliant on his ability to read a great many books and needing to absorb that information relatively quickly in cases of crisis. Though he felt disloyal, he had to agree with Spike. He really had to get Willow some help. Her power was undoubtedly great, but her maturity was surprisingly weak. Willow’s lack of control when suffering emotional upheaval was truly dangerous, not only for the young redhead, but for all her friends. He was mystified as to why he hadn’t recognised the symptoms of her inability to control her magical growth the first time around. As Ripper, he knew better than anyone the seductive lure of all that power, the wielding of forces in direct challenge to what he was meant to stand for. This time, they knew without doubt the destruction the novice witch could pile down on all of them. Negligence wouldn’t be excused anymore.
Buffy.
He had an inkling of what had happened with the blond pair. Before he had the ring pointed out to him by Xander, he had noticed the healing bite mark on his Slayer’s neck and suspected that Spike had finally laid claim to her. To tell the truth he had been expecting it.
The devastation she had shown at his explanation of events had made his own heart shrivel in remorse. He hadn’t wanted to cause her pain. Not when he knew she loved the vampire. He honestly believed that the spell had minimal impact on their actions; nothing had occurred that wasn’t going to in the near future.
He knew his Slayer though. The girl lived in denial. After her experiences with Angel she ran from emotional complexity. He could understand her hesitation, but not her lack of faith. He thought she was probably being unfair in this instance, and he feared what this could do to the couple’s relationship. Giles had been startled by the look of hostility in the vampire’s eyes and had been relieved that he had had difficulty in looking at them as he was leaving. To be frank, after some of the stunts pulled by these children, sometimes he hated them too. As the elder respected in their midst however, he never felt he could chastise them quite as viciously as Spike had just done..
Lost in his reverie, his eyes suddenly looked on the impatient figure of Xander, fair bouncing in his seat almost commanding action.
“No Xander. I believe it might be best if we left Buffy alone for the moment. She has had quite a shock.”
“Shock, shmock. It’s only Spike. She’s probably disgusted by the thought of thinking she was going to marry him. A bit of Scooby support is just what she needs.”
He was on his feet when Willow called out in shock.
“Xander, are you really that blind?”
Giles cringed visibly at the word and Willow shrank back against the back of the sofa, trying to make herself smaller and less visible to everyone’s scornful gaze.
Xander slumped in a dining chair, having not made it all the way to the door.
“She’s not disgusted, is she?” His voice had lost some of its forced humour, even some of the hostility, and now he was just resigned.
“I’m afraid not. I think it would do you well to just accept that she is falling in love with Spike, and that it is, actually, meant to be. If you give her a difficult time over this I think you risk harming your friendship.” Giles felt so terribly bone weary all of a sudden and felt unable to even raise his head and look at the other occupants of his flat, but still he found himself hoping that some sense had been found from the events of the day.
“So, what should we do then?” Xander hadn’t looked up from his intense scrutiny of a small patch of crumbs on the table.
Willow and Giles exchanged a glance and Giles finally gave her a hesitant smile.
“For now, I think we should leave her. We don’t know where she may have run off to and in all probability, Spike has probably located her and they may be sorting everything out as we speak.”
They nodded their heads in unison and Anya stood, holding a hand out to Xander. “I think some pizza might be appropriate right now. Willow looks a little peaked; she needs some cheese to brighten her up a little. And besides, I’m starving.” Again they nodded before leaving together in search of sustenance, a slow sense of forgiveness tingeing the air around them.
~@~@~
Buffy awoke with puffy, sore eyes and a sense of panic. The gentle tingling of the fresh bite mark adorning her neck caused her a small amount of irritation while she tried to work out why she was feeling worried. When she was unable to recall any dreams- prophetic or otherwise- her attention turned once again to her scar and her eyes shot open in alarm. She had never looked into the characteristics of a claiming but she felt certain that what she was feeling right now might be a sense of oneness with Spike rather than any fear manifest in herself. That of course caused the beginnings of that sense of foreboding and she realised that Spike must be in trouble.
She felt torn. Her insides screamed at her to keep her distance, but she wouldn’t be doing her job if she let him be recaptured, even if she did know where he was or how to find him.
Her job!
She laughed humourlessly and sunk back onto the pillow, tears resurfacing in her misery. Was that what she was convincing herself he was now? A job? An innocent it was the Slayer’s duty to protect? She wasn’t liking herself very much right now, and from what she had been feeling earlier, she wasn’t so sure that those feelings originated entirely from herself. She had a small tingling suspicion that Spike was furious with her.
Her confusion took root and grew claws. She had no idea what she was to do or how to make this right. She didn’t even think she could fix this. It was all so wrong. She hated herself right then, hated herself for feeling this turmoil, because she knew it was wrong, even if everything still felt right.
She’d had flashes of the last time this spell had been done, but amidst the bigger picture of all their revelations, its warning had dimmed to insignificance and thus, been forgotten. Now it stood prominent in its clarity. Both she and Spike had hurled disgusted comments at each other, even though a spark had lain unbidden down deep. She had behaved in a horrendously gushy school girl fashion in accepting the proposal, and they had smacked lips like a typical couple in the first flushes of superficial love. They had been happy, though still fighting. But she didn’t remember the feeling of wholeness, and belonging, that she had experienced this time around. He hadn’t attempted to bite her last time either, she thought as she ran her fingertips over the raised puncture marks on her neck.
There was one really glaring difference, however, that she was only now starting to realise. She and Spike had been working toward this. Their direction had made no detours along the way, and the euphoria about being claimed that she had felt hours ago while lying in his arms, despite her current emotional flux, had not withered. She felt proud and strong in her sense of belonging; she was Spike’s. And if that offended any feminists, she didn’t care. It felt beautiful to acknowledge a connection so deep.
With a great yearning her eyes drifted to her hand and the ruby ring encircling her finger. Harking back to a future derailed, she remembered that he had offered her an ugly gothic skull ring. That engagement had been spur of the moment, and though he may have wanted her to have better, he had never given it; until now. The whole of Buffy’s body suddenly flushed as she grabbed hold of the significance. He had had the ring in his pocket; he had been prepared. Then the look on his face when he had shouted at her, telling her it wasn’t a spell, flashed through her mind and the bottom suddenly fell out of her world.
It hadn’t been the spell. He had been planning to ask her all along. Or if not proposing marriage, then something that equally meant to proclaim ownership to the mortal world. She knew she had been stupid in this instance, but she wasn’t always so dumb. The claim had been to make sure the vampire world knew that she, the Slayer, belonged to none other than William the Bloody.
And the ring?
The ring was to make sure that all mortal men, but particularly Riley Finn, knew that she was irrevocably taken. And no spell had caused him to want to express his proprietary attitude toward her. Just a deep desire for her to be one with him- the man- and thus the ring that once belonged to his mother. Her brows furrowed as she grasped something else. A ring that Drusilla didn’t wear. God! He had never given it to anyone in over a hundred years. It was like he had been waiting his whole unlife for her.
Oh God, she was dumb. How could she have rejected him like that? She had been so afraid that their perfect night had been ruined by Willow’s magical interference that she had gone and ruined it herself. She had shown a lack of faith in his feelings of love, run out on him instead of staying and believing his desperate call, and in doing so she had driven a wedge right between them.
With tears once again flooding her eyes she threw herself down on the bed and sobbed for all her self-possession.
How the hell was she ever going to make this better?
With the scar pulsing on her neck she felt Spike’s relief over something, and then a distinct throbbing began and she could almost feel him pacing because of his impatience with her. She could sense the fury, the outrage that had swept him up on a wave of discontent and she held her breath. Now she knew. Maybe her lack of faith in him made it impossible to make this better. Maybe he couldn’t forgive her for not trusting in him.
Their beautiful night of sharing themselves with each other was disintegrating into great clouds of dust, and it was all her fault. She had been so afraid that meaning would be bleached from the event that she had caused the disaster herself.
With a very deep sense of loss and horror, she closed her eyes and willed herself to fall into a dreamless oblivion and if not that, at the very least soft memories of the earlier events of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It had been several days since Buffy- and by extension, any of the Scoobies- had seen or heard from Spike. Buffy had made it to Angel’s old apartment one night -I have to remember that it’s Spike’s place now- but paused sadly at the door, finding herself teary at the muffled sounds of the television through the door. She had breathed easy that he was at least still on the loose from the Initiative, but as she raised her fist to knock, her courage deserted her and she ran away as fast as her Slayer legs could carry her. She’d never had to knock before, and she was determined that she would never have to knock again. Her heart ached so much that she was desperate to make things better, but the continual tingling at her neck allowed her enough warning that he was still furious with her. And she was still enough of a coward that she didn’t want to face the fury that she completely deserved.
Still, despite her emotional upheaval, things had been quiet on the commando front and she had found herself taking that coffee with Riley that she had promised before Thanksgiving break. From every look, every casual attempt to draw her out, she could see his interest in her. Despite the complete lack of chemistry on her end, she couldn’t give him the cold shoulder. She knew that they would need him to gain access to Adam, and that he himself would need medical intervention in the future, so she was hesitant to end her burgeoning association with him.
So she sat and shared a mocha, smiling warmly at all his lame jokes, and let her heart thaw just that little bit until she caught sight of the ruby ring that she couldn’t bear to take off her finger, and the frown would once again take over her face. She had changed the hand that the ring graced, not wanting it there until she had made things right with Spike and she could be positive that he still wanted to make that human claim. She knew that it was almost hilarious, the idea of a vampire marrying a human girl—and the Slayer even more comical—but she was still a girl. A girl who had grown up in LA with girly dreams of weddings and flowers and photographers, and she so wanted to make that commitment with the man that she loved. Why hadn’t she seen him? Her eyes blurred as she once again thought of the look on Spike’s face when he told her it wasn’t a spell, that fleeting look before she had run like the emotional giant that she was.
Riley noticed on more than one occasion her preoccupation both with the ring and her thoughts, and his jaw locked in frustration.
“That must be some cup of cocoa you’ve got going there?” His gentle voice brought her back from another useless round of introspection and she smiled.
“Oh definitely. It’s just bursting with chocolatey goodness.” She warmed her hands around the still hot mug and resigned herself to Riley’s company.
She heard all his chatter and cringed inside. She felt guilty and knew how this would look to Spike. Just as the thought crossed her mind, the scar on her neck flamed painfully and she just knew that he was there. She looked up and there he was, right on the sidewalk looking in at her table, his jaw clenching repetitively in fury. The hurt in his eyes lanced at her heart and she could feel it all falling apart around her.
“Spike!” She stood, desperate to be in his arms rather than sharing beverages with Riley, but too scared to confront her lover.
“I guess this is why you haven’t apologised,” he spat at her furiously. All colour seeped from her face.
Her hand shook as it came to cover her mouth and her grief took on heavier burdens as she saw his eyes narrow at the ring that wasn’t where he had placed it.
“You are some piece of work, Summers.”
“Spike, please.” She pleaded with him to calm down, her voice choking with threatening tears. Buffy took a step toward him but his arm flew up to prevent her moving.
“Just, don’t. I can’t bear to look at you right now.” He pivoted on one heel, striding determinedly in the opposite direction of home- but not before Buffy could see the moisture in his eyes that her betrayal had encouraged.
She sat down hard as a stone, and her eyes glazed in both worry and fear. Her body began to vibrate as she realised what her lack of action on the make-up front had caused. She was hurting him, just like she had before in the future. Just like she always had done. And more so, she was hurting herself for no good reason.
“Who was that?” Riley’s angry voice again dragged her back from unpleasant thoughts and she looked at him in surprise. Sometimes she forgot that her inside knowledge of the future didn’t mean that all the figures were in play.
“That was Spike. Riley, he’s my boyfriend, and I love him with everything that I have in me. I’ve really hurt him being here with you.”
“Why are you here with me?” His tone was bitter, and she wondered at that, knowing that to this point she had not encouraged him even a little.
“Because I said we would, before you left on break. That’s what people do, right? Go to college, make friends, have coffee. Did I do something wrong?” Her brow furrowed in confusion and she saw him relax his shoulders as he slumped back in his chair.
“So, tell me about Spike. What’s he so upset about?
Suddenly she was eager to share, not having had the faith in Willow to tell her what her stupid spell caused. Deciding to take the plunge, and knowing that he could take it, she sounded him out first.
“Do you believe in magic?”
His eyes widened but he nodded his head slowly.
“My friend is a witch. She did this spell to make her will be done, and she wished that Spike and I would get married.”
Riley choked on his sip of coffee.
“You can’t be serious?”
At Buffy’s raised eyebrow he decided to change tack. “But why would she want you to marry him?”
Buffy looked up alarmed at the way he had spat out him, but decided to let it slide for the moment.
“I guess she was jealous that Spike and I were so close when she had broken up with her boyfriend.”
Riley pondered this news for a moment, then his face cleared as he finally made some connections.
“You’re talking about Willow, aren’t you? But why Spike?” He pushed on without waiting for an answer. “You do know that there is something not quite right about him, don’t you?”
Buffy’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the commando busting to break free from the TA cover of innocence and her patience snapped.
“Spike is a vampire, and is under my protection. No one hurts him.” Not waiting for his response she stood and made her way in the direction Spike had disappeared earlier.
Riley had remained sitting, shaking his head in confusion. He was surprised that a girl as smart as Buffy could be dating a vampire, but what was that about him being in her protection? She couldn’t be serious. How could she fight a creature like that when he decided to drain her? Riley determined to save her. Standing, he left the Espresso Pump and headed to base, eager to renew his efforts to recapture the escaped hostile as well as rounding up some others that might just be in his way.
To be continued
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