"Candles For Lucifer"
Author: Sandra
Email: 75211.522@compuserve.com
"I want him dead!" she hissed, obsidian eyes glittering with madness. "Kill him for me?"
"Get right to the point, don't you, Isabelle?" the blond man facing her casually lit a cigarette. "Why should I?"
She leaned forward, long dark hair swirling perilously near the candle on the table between them.
"You have no consort now, Spike," Isabelle smiled at him. "I know about Drusilla."
He tensed, eyes narrowing, and blew a smoke ring. "And?"
She heard the edge in his voice and said softly, "If you challenge Fergus, we could...come together, if you like. For as long as you like."
Spike had to struggle to contain his laughter. Isabelle, beautiful as a song...crazy as a loon! Did she really think her offer would tempt him to take on L.A.'s Master Vampire? Not bloody likely! Besides, he'd had his fill of insane lovers...
"Why do you want Fergus dead, pet?" he asked, barely troubling to listen to her rantings.
"He killed Charlotte!"
Spike arched one of the dark brows that were in such startling contrast to his almost-white hair. "Fergus killed his own queen?" he asked skeptically. "I find that hard to believe."
"He killed her," Isabelle said positively. "He was tired of her; and he was burning to have this new toy. My sister knew the risk; but she was determined to get Fergus what he wanted, even if it cost her her life."
Spike's face was impassive. "You haven't explained why siring this human cost Charlotte her life."
"Because...she wasn't a human!" Isabelle rasped. "She was a Slayer!"
The blond vampire's ice-blue eyes widened; he sat up suddenly. "A...Slayer? Are you sure?"
"Certainly I'm sure," Isabelle insisted. "Fergus sacrificed nine of his best followers to capture her."
"I thought...I was always told Slayers can't be turned," Spike frowned.
"That is generally the case," Isabelle agreed. "Any attempt will usually kill both the Slayer and the vampire. Fergus knew this; so he had Charlotte do it for him- the coward! And she died that night...but somehow, the Slayer survived. Since Fergus isn't her sire, he must offer her for the challenge...but he is hoping none will dare!"
Spike stared into space. "This Slayer...what...does she look like?"
"Tres belle, Spike," Isabelle assured him. "What you would call a stunner. Une petite jolie...she is small. So small...one would not think her a threat. But she fought hard...took out all nine."
"When is the challenge, Isabelle?" the blue eyes studying her were suddenly blindingly bright.
Isabelle smiled; her bait had been successful, her fish was on the line.
"Tonight, Spike," she almost purred. "The challenge is tonight."
The house on Hawthorne was huge, and the ballroom that was a relic of bygone days was packed to the limit, and beyond.
So many vampires were present that it was hard to move; yet the large ring in the center remained clear. Spike scanned the crowd; Fergus, forced to offer his Charlotte's childe in the arena, had understandably not wanted a large audience. He was hoping there would be no rivals for his newest prize.
But Isabelle in her fury had spread the word more widely than seemed possible; and there were several Master vampires in that room apart from Spike. The vampires clustered around the edges kept up a ceaseless hum of speculation over whether a battle could conceivably occur. Theoretically, any vampire could challenge another over rights to a human - or to a fledgling whose sire had recently died. Still, the process was extremely rare...since any such dispute meant a fight to the death. Few were prepared to risk that- far easier to bring over another human.
Spike turned the same cold impassive face to everyone; but his mind was working busily. He was present merely to observe- he had no intention of participating. Still, he found himself constantly sizing up newcomers.
Isabelle was also on hand- dark eyes glittering as she swept from one Master to another. It was unlikely any but a Master would be brave enough to challenge Fergus.
Fergus himself looked supremely confident; he was a giant of a man with long red hair, magnificently muscled torso bare as he strode to the center of the ring.
Spike tensed; they were bringing in the former Slayer. She was clad in a long black velvet dress that made her look more deceptively fragile than ever. She was dragged to a chair on an elevated platform at one end of the hall, arms and legs shackled to a ring in the floor. And- she was gagged.
But her eyes surveyed the mob with a look as impassive as Spike's own. Her eyes found him; and he thought he saw a flash of recognition there; but then they moved on, as if he were a stranger.
"What do you think?" a young male in front of Spike murmured softly, his gaze fixed on Fergus. "Could I take him?"
The older male with him reminded Spike of Dalton. "I'd think again, Damien! Fergus isn't Master in L.A. because he's easy to kill. Fight him, you die! It's as simple as that."
Damien shook his head regretfully. "I want a queen...and she's a real looker!"
The older one gave his friend a pitying smile. "Fergus thinks so too- watch him."
Spike followed their eyes- and was startled to see Fergus staring at his captive with ravenous desire. It was obvious he would not lightly give up the prize nearly within his grasp; and even as Spike reached this understanding, Fergus' face vamped and he roared his claim.
On the platform in front of the Slayer a tarot deck had been placed, face down. Fergus chose a card- the Sun, held it aloft, then with a growl, dropped it in the center of the ring.
All sound stopped....and then another vampire stepped forward, seized a card, and threw it on top of the Sun. The card was the Hermit.
With a sudden intake of breath Spike identified the new player- Jaqar the Babylonian, one of the most fearsome killers ever.
Jaqar, all sinuous skill...against the raw power of Fergus.
The excitement in the room was palpable- there would be a notable kill tonight.
Then Damien growled and another card- the Chariot- went spinning out to join the others. The excitement in the room reached frenzied levels.
An older vampire named Jeremiah was acting as major domo; and he spoke aloud. "Quiet, please! There are now three cards in the ring. Any others?"
Spike turned his eyes on the ex-Slayer; but she was staring straight ahead.
With a muffled curse, he thrust forward through the crowd, caught up a card, and threw it onto the pile.
With a sense of something like dismay, he saw the picture clearly- he'd drawn the Lovers.
Jeremiah's voice never changed. "Four cards now in the ring...Any others?"
Several vampires wavered...for an instant Spike wondered if the whole thing would end in some chaotic free-for-all. That might have been to his advantage. But the sight of the four already in the ring was unnerving...Spike could see realization dawning that perhaps discretion would be the better part of valor.
Not that he blamed them, Spike thought grimly. Sheer madness had brought him to this- and the odds of his survival were not good.
Jeremiah looked around, then nodded. "Four cards. Combatants are Fergus, Master of Los Angeles. Jaqar the Babylonian. Damien of Quebec. Spike- William the Bloody. Begin."
Fergus leaped into the center of the ring, magnificent muscles rippling while he roared defiance.
"Theatrical," Spike sneered- but he knew better than to underestimate a Master. Fergus was more powerful than he; it was very possible that he would die tonight, in a quixotic attempt to acquire a former Slayer who'd once fought him to a standstill.
Damien was quick to answer Fergus...leaping directly at him as if he expected the giant to stand still and take it. Fergus batted him half-way across the room; while Jaqar took advantage of the distraction to spring on Fergus' back. But his attempt to slit the giant's throat fell short; Fergus turned in time, shook Jaqar free...and the dark vampire rolled away and rebounded lightly to his feet.
Fergus closed on him...as Damien attacked again...Jaqar evaded easily...but Fergus, maddened by his own bloodlust, got his hands on Damien...there was a scream as the L.A. Master's huge arms crushed the younger vampire's chest.
Spike had his own hands full now...with Fergus preoccupied, he'd planned to strike- only to find himself menaced by Jaqar. The Babylonian had decided to eliminate another rival before dealing with Fergus; Spike's face never altered but inwardly he was enraged that the Babylonian considered him the lesser threat.
His rage gave him added power- and the Babylonian went reeling back. Spike had the satisfaction of seeing a brief flash of respect in those dark eyes....
Fergus ripped Damien's head from his shoulders, turned, and hurled it at the other two. The gesture saved Spike's life...Jaqar sought to slice him open but merely managed to open a deep wound in his shoulder as Spike twisted away...
Spike knew he was in trouble. He was losing blood rapidly; unless the fight ended soon, his own life would be forfeit.
Then- inspiration struck. He let his shoulders slump, his eyes glaze over as he staggered to one side.
Jaqar's dark eyes shone with triumph...he moved in for the kill, only to be intercepted by Fergus. For the giant had decided, as Spike had hoped, that the Englishman was all but finished, and the lone remaining threat was Jaqar...
The two sparred for a minute- the bear-like Fergus trying to get his hands on the swift fighter Jaqar..
It was the blood which undid the Babylonian. Weaving in and out, seeking to tire Fergus, he slipped in Damien's blood...just long enough for the L.A. Master's powerful hands to close on his throat- and tear it out.
Fergus bellowed his elation; then, almost incidentally, turned to finish Spike.
Spike, on one knee, watched dully as Fergus thundered toward him... then his hand grasped Damien's head by the hair, and swung it with all his strength into Fergus' face, shattering his nose.
As his opponent screamed, Spike leaped to his feet and gouged at the giant's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Fergus yelled again, clawing at his face...
Spike kicked his legs out from under him, and Fergus went down like a massive tree.
Then- Spike snapped his neck.
That whole huge hall had gone silent.
Jeremiah stepped forward, as serene as always. "The challenge has been met," he intoned. "The victory is awarded to Spike...William the Bloody."
He paused for a minute, then extended a gold key. "To the victor...belong the spoils."
Spike's red silk shirt hung in tatters, a blood-soaked rag; but he refused to remove it to display his wounds. He knew he had no supporters in the hall; he knew that Fergus did. The risk was not yet over. He picked up his leather coat and put it on...then he took the key and unlocked the captive. Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the cuffs, but she tried to stand.
It was Spike who forestalled her. In one swift movement he swung her up into his arms and carried her through the mob...which parted before them. Vaguely he was aware he'd just enhanced his reputation to the status of the legendary; but all he wanted was to get himself and the Slayer to a safe haven before he collapsed.
He almost made it...he got the door to his hotel room open, keeping a tight grasp on the girl...then the blackness overtook him.
Spike did not awaken until the following night; and then found he was alone in his hotel room. Cursing, he tried sitting up; someone had bandaged his chest and shoulder, and that same someone had also divested him of his clothes.
But- where was she?
"Damn that girl!" Spike swore. "I might have known she'd try to run. When I find the little bitch, she's going to regret pulling a trick like that!"
There was a slight sound at the door...and Buffy entered.
"Where the flamin' hell have you been?" he growled. The flutter of fear he'd felt had subsided; now he was annoyed that she'd made him feel it in the first place.
"Listen to me, pet. You don't go anywhere without my permission, is that clear? By winning that sodding fight, I acquired the full rights of a sire over you. You don't hunt, you don't feed, you don't MOVE- unless I say so! Understood?"
"Yes," she responded quietly. She held out a small paper bag.
"What've you got there, then?" he asked ungraciously.
"Blood for you."
Instantly he felt a fool; but he fought against the impulse to apologize. She was his minion- no different from any other- and she'd better not get the idea that she was in any way special to him. He seized the bag and drained most of the bottle he found.
"Easy kill?" he grunted.
"No..." she shook her small blonde head. "I didn't kill him."
He glanced at her sharply. "Why not?"
"I couldn't," she said simply.
Spike frowned. "You'll get over that squeamishness soon enough."
He then observed that she was still wearing the black velvet gown she'd had on during the fight. "Did Fergus give you that dress?" he demanded.
"No, Charlotte did," the Slayer replied. "After..."
"After she brought you over." Spike nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "Take it off."
"What?" Buffy blinked in surprise.
Spike grinned at her without amusement. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, my girl...I'm in no shape for what you're thinking. And..." he yawned deliberately, "I'm not all that interested, either. Now- I gave you an order."
Her sea-blue eyes blazed; but she said nothing. Instead she reached back and unzipped the dress. It pooled around her feet in a wealth of inky blackness...
She met his fascinated gaze defiantly.
Spike tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He had meant merely to check for possible injuries...but the sight of her naked, perfect body had put everything else out of his mind.
"You can wear...one of my shirts," he croaked. Silently she removed one from the closet and put it on. Only then was he finally able to drag his eyes from her.
"Where did you sleep today?" he asked.
"There's a love seat in the living room," Buffy explained. "Rather short, isn't it pet?"
She shrugged. "So am I."
"From now on," he informed her, "you'll share my bed. I want you where I can see you."
She raised her eyebrows. "Afraid I'll kill you?"
Spike grinned meanly. "Hardly. There are grave penalties for killing your sire, pet. No...you and I are now linked for eternity- unless, of course, I decide to set you free. Or kill you."
"Why did you fght for me?" she asked suddenly.
Damned if I know, Spike thought sourly. "For fun," he said aloud. "For the danger...besides, winning you did wonders for my reputation. And- it'll be amusing, handing out orders for you to obey. First one- help me up."
She seemed about to protest hotly; then, her expression changed. He saw a flash of something...impish amusement? It puzzled him, but not for long. Swiftly she helped him sit up, pulled back the sheet...
"Stop!" Spike yelled.
"What's the matter?" she asked innocently. But he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
"Nothing," he gritted. "Go fetch my dressing gown." He felt the impulse to punish her for his embarrassment; but he couldn't do that without revealing the effect she had on him. He could only hope she hadn't noticed.
His dressing gown was sapphire silk, quilted and luxurious. He had her place it carefully over his shoulders and then stood, wrapping it around his body.
"Not too bad, " he decided. "Good as new in a day or two...let's go shopping."
"Are you up to this?" Buffy questioned as Spike led the way into the mall. "I'm fine," he said coldly, almost as if he resented her concern.
"We'll start here." He headed inside a Victoria's Secret shop.
Buffy had lost her ability to blush along with her mortality- or she'd have turned scarlet and stayed that way as Spike, no whit shy, calmly selected the filmiest, laciest underwear for her. He did not bother consulting Buffy as to her likes or dislikes; and ignored any opinions she offered.
Later, he chose dresses, pants, tops with the same coolly detached care, not even glancing at any price tags.
Buffy felt somewhat humiliated; it was almost like he was dressing a mannequin, she thought resentfully. Yet she had to admit he was good at choosing clothes for her; they were trendy upscale versions of the types of things she'd always worn...and she was startled to see how well he remembered her favorite styles and colors. Spike arranged for their purchases to be delivered to their hotel; and they started to walk back. They were nearly there when the five vampires attacked- all seasoned fighters.
Normally they would be no threat to him, but Spike realized he was still weak from his injuries in the ring.
Fortunately- Buffy was there...fighting by his side. It was she who vanquished the last two, sending them fleeing into the night.
Spike clenched his jaw, trying not to pass out. "What did you do that for?" he rasped. "I could have taken them."
Buffy glared at him. "Yeah, right. You can barely stand up." She grabbed his arm and pulled it over her shoulder.
"Get away from me!" he snarled, trying to resist.
She ignored him, slipping one arm around his waist to half drag, half carry him along.
She lowered him onto the bed, stripping off his shirt. He could see the bandage was soaked in blood, but her expression didn't change.
Quickly she stanched the bleeding and applied fresh bandages.
"Since when did you learn the finer points of nursing, pet? " he sneered. "Playing...ow!...bloody Florence Nightengale..."
"Ingrate!' she retorted lightly. "I suppose you'd rather bleed all over the bed?"
"What? Makes you squeamish? Don't forget you're a vampire now."
Buffy gave him a long, level look. "I haven't forgotten," she said quietly.
He felt a flicker of something that might have been remorse; but he refused to apologize. Instead he deliberately closed his eyes- only to open them again when he realized she was still hovering over him.
"What is it?" he asked irritably.
"Would you like..a sponge bath?"
He was about to refuse angrily; but hesitated. In truth he desperately wanted a bath but didn't think he could take a shower without passing out. At his reluctant nod, she brought towels and warm water and sponged him gently, careful to avoid his injured shoulder.
He almost smiled...it felt so good. Suddenly, to his horror, he realized he'd grown..aroused.
"That's enough!" he snapped. He pushed her away; some of the water spilled over onto the floor. Silently she took away the bath things, while he struggled to contain his rage and embarrassment. Had she noticed his condition? Was she amused...or disgusted?
It was because he hadn't had a woman in so long, he decided. Not since Dru....
The thought of Dru brought the familiar stab of pain...he couldn't believe he still mourned the loss of that faithless bitch! It was his own fault though, giving his heart to a woman to play with. He'd never do that again...
Buffy came back into the room and looked at him expectantly.
"Now what?" he asked in exasperation.
"That attack..."
"Yes," he said broodingly. "Power play...someone will grab for Fergus' position as Los Angeles Master."
"Will you?" she asked.
"I haven't decided yet," he said coldly. He had no real interest in ruling a city; and he was strongly of the opinion that he ought to make himself scarce for a while before Fergus' supporters tried to take him out. He was a restless sort...he preferred to move around.
On the other hand, he did need a permanent base somewhere- why not here?
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Spike!" Buffy whispered. "It's Isabelle!"
Spike swore under his breath. He should have anticipated this visit from Isabelle...and it wouldn't do for her to find him flat on his back.
"Here," Buffy held out his dressing gown. "Sit in this chair...and I'll put this blanket over your knees." She got him setted and swiftly made up the bed.
Isabelle swept in imperiously.
"Spike! Cheri, I would have come to you last night; but thought you looked..."
"Hello, Isabelle," Spike greeted her heartily, wondering how soon he'd be able to get rid of her. "To what do I owe the pleasure, ducks?"
Her lovely dark eyes widened. "But, Spike...I told you if you killed Fergus, I would become your consort!"
Spike felt a jolt. He'd nearly forgotten that part of the chat with Isabelle; and now tried too hastily to extricate himself.
"I don't need a consort, pet."
"But Spike..." Isabelle's eyes fell on Buffy. "Is it because of her?"
"Hell no!" Spike responded deliberately. "She's just a minion...she's not my consort, won't be my queen- so there's no need for you to concern yourself, Isabelle."
Her black eyes flashed. "But...I think I will concern myself, Spike!"
She flounced out of the room in a towering rage; and Spike sighed. All he needed...another enemy.
The following night he moved them to another hotel- one of the finest in Los Angeles. Buffy toured the suite, examining everything; and he couldn't help smiling at her delight.
"I never stayed in a hotel this nice before," she said defensively, when he caught her eye.
He found this endearing, in a way...Dru had always taken anything he did for her for granted, and complained that it was never enough. Almost he regretted the roughness with which he'd been treating her.
"Don't invite any vampires in," he warned. "Especially not Isabelle...I don't trust her."
"No, she wants to be the L.A. queen," Buffy agreed. "I think that's why she got rid of her sister."
"Isabelle got rid of Charlotte?" Spike asked in astonishment. "She said Fergus wanted you; and set Charlotte on to turn you."
Buffy shook her head. "The siring was Isabelle's idea! I mean, Fergus was going to get one of his minions to do it 'cause he knew whoever did might die! But Isabelle convinced Charlotte it would be a good way to prove her love. And Charlotte died. I think maybe Isabelle wanted Fergus herself. But he wanted..."
"You." Spike nodded, his thoughts confirmed. "She must have been upset when you survived the change."
Buffy said nothing; but looked so bleak that he realized she wished that she'd died along with Charlotte. Because she had become something she'd always hated? Or was there another reason...?
Enraged, he grabbed her arm and hissed, "Fergus wanted you...did he have sex with you? Answer me!"
"What? No!" Buffy was horrified. "Did you really think that Fergus raped me?"
"I didn't mention rape, pet," Spike said contemptuously.
She stared at him blankly for one second- then she slapped him so hard she almost dislocated his jaw. Reacting, he seized both wrists; and threw her roughly across the bed.
"Don't you show temper to me!" he ordered, holding her down beneath him.
"I'm not your slave!" she retorted, defiantly.
His icy eyes met her blazing ones. "You're whatever I say you are, " he informed her. "I am your sire."
He was aware of a growing excitement; he released her hands to touch her neck...her smooth, cool skin.
Buffy stopped struggling, her big eyes fixed on him.
"If I say so," he continued, "you're my minion. You're my acolyte..."
"Acolyte?!" she exploded. "Since when do you care about religion, anyway!"
His fingers touched her lips, tracing them with obsessive intensity. "No. New-made witches served as acolytes too...did you know, they brought candles to the devil?"
Suddenly he lunged forward and bit her lips until they bled; Buffy cried out, and her body jerked under him.
Spike licked her blood away, and raised his head. "If I say so," he repeated, "you're my acolyte... and if I say so..." he smiled nastily, "you're my whore."
"No!" Buffy thrashed wildly; but was unable to dislodge him. Spike lay on her, longing to go ahead and take her...
She turned her head away from him; but not before he saw the tears glistening beneath her lashes.
Swearing, he wrenched himself away from her.
He was trembling with frustration as he headed into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower...a moment's reflection convinced him to make it a cold one.
When he finally emerged, it was almost dawn; and the curtains were tightly closed against any possible light.
Buffy was already in bed, lying as close to the edge as she could get. Spike scowled at the sight; how was he supposed to control his desire for her if she was right beside him? Then he remembered that he had ordered her to sleep in his bed.
Grudgingly Spike admitted that he did desire her. Even when he'd seen her first...back when she'd been simply the hated enemy he'd sworn to kill...he'd felt stirred...and excited...and even a little...frightened.
Why? Because he knew he wanted her?
No! It was Drusilla he wanted...she was the woman he loved...the only one he could ever love. He'd been so besotted and so faithful...and she'd played him for a fool all the time. At first he had lied to himself...calling her flings "flirting" and her sexual antics "making out." Her affair with Angelus he'd put down to former devotion to a sire... And then, one day he'd caught her with another vampire in their bed....
Her infidelity hurt less than his realization that she had never loved him- was probably incapable of it. He climbed in beside Buffy, holding thoughts of Dru in his mind as a sort of talisman.
Yet, when he woke, he had both arms wrapped around the pretty blonde beside him...hugging her to him with a needy desperation that shocked and shamed him.
He dressed hurriedly and left the suite before she woke....hunting would make him feel better. But it didn't; he didn't even bother killing his victim.
Spike was curiously restless; fighting an impulse to return to the hotel and tell Buffy that he didn't mean everything he'd said.
An elegant jeweller's shop caught his eye; and he paused thoughtfully. He'd bought Buffy lots of clothes, but no jewellery...she should have some. Maybe it would help make things up to her...start them on a new track? After all, no need to brutalize the girl...he wasn't a savage, after all! And- why shouldn't he give her a gift if he felt like it?
The experienced clerk did not make the mistake of snubbing him. A casual reference to the price of a pair of diamond earrings failed to make this unusual customer blench; the clerk marked him down as a rock star or perhaps an actor and hauled out some of the most costly items.
Spike grew impatient, pushing away a tray. "No rings, mate!" He'd be damned if he wanted to remind her of that wanker Angel and his Irish betrothal ring!
"Yes sir," the clerk acquiesced promptly. "Perhaps a bracelet?"
"No..." Spike shook his head.
"A necklace, then? Pearls?"
"Not pearls!" Spike said testily. "It's not for a bloody wedding! But I want something different...something special. Just a...gift, for a lady. A YOUNG lady," he emphasized, "with blonde hair."
"With blue eyes? Some sapphires..." the clerk suggested.
"Not blue," Spike demurred. "I mean, they're sometimes blue, but then...green. They're changeable, like the sea."
The clerk nodded. "I think I may have what you want."
"What...is it?" Spike asked, awed.
It was a pear-shaped stone in a simple gold setting...but what a stone! It was like a living thing...swirls of blue and green and black...even flecks of gold...that seemed to shift and change even as he gazed.
"A black opal," the clerk said complacently. "The finest we've ever had...the finest I've seen! Beautiful, isn't it?"
"I'll take it," Spike said decisively. "Although," he later grumbled good-naturedly, "I could have bought her a diamond for less!"
The clerk permitted himself a thin smile. He privately thought that a girl who could inspire a gift like that would have no trouble getting a diamond as well...but he had no intention of saying so and risk offending his valued new customer.
Spike let himself into the hotel suite silently. Buffy was seated in the large leather chair, watching television. She barely gave him a glance, and his heart sank.
He removed his leather coat; and the feel of the velvet case in the pocket gave him courage. He wished he wasn't so nervous about giving it to her...like a kid buying sweets for a girl he fancied. Not that he did fancy her, of course...but, she was his, after all.
He walked over to her. "What's that, then?" he indicated the television.
For a moment he feared she wouldn't answer; and his face darkened in anger.
"It's a movie," she said at last, her voice reluctant. "Jefferson in Paris. It's pretty good."
"Maybe I'll watch with you," he suggested.
She made no response; and his temper flared. In one swift motion he scooped her out of the chair and sat down, settling her firmly on his lap. She gave a little cry, and started to rise, but Spike would not allow it. Their eyes met; and the look in his was what made her stop fighting him....unknown to him, it was almost...yearning.
He wound his arms around her, enjoying her weight snuggled against him. His restlessness disappeared, eased as always by the mere touch of her body against his...he never ceased being amazed at the way she simultaneously soothed and excited him.
The sensations threatened to overwhelm him; he attempted to concentrate on the film.
"Did you know Jefferson had a child with Sally Hemings, love?" he asked, trying to put a more amiable cast on the evening. "I read about it in TIME magazine. More than one, actually. Quite a love story, hmm?"
She turned her head and looked at him coldly. "Yeah...right!"
"You don't think she loved him?" he persisted, tensing.
She shrugged. "Why would she love him? She was his slave! She had to do whatever he said."
He drew a sudden, painful breath. "What about him, then? Maybe...maybe he loved her."
Buffy laughed scornfully. "He loved OWNING her...that's what he loved!"
"He cared for her!" Spike insisted. He didn't know why he felt so certain, but he did.
"Not enough," Buffy's voice was suddenly sad. "Not enough to set her free."
Furious, Spike jumped to his feet and almost flung her back into the chair. He strode angrily into the bedroom, still fuming. Set her free! He wasn't stupid...she was talking about them...about her and him. Well, she could talk all she wanted; he would never let her go!
By vampire law she was his...as her sire, he owned her. If he released her, who knew what might happen?
Would Buffy even be able to survive on her own? She would be too squeamish to kill to feed...she would likely fall victim to a more powerful vampire, or even a Slayer. She would be in danger...
She would leave him....
Once more, when he woke, he found her asleep in his arms. Slowly, almost fearfully, he kissed her fair, fragrant hair...she sighed in her sleep, and smiled, rubbing her face against his chest.
His grasp tightened convulsively; he leaned closer...and saw her eyes open, and her smile fade. She pulled abruptly away from him...and his impulse was to protest...but then he let her go.
"We're going out," he tried to say it naturally, but his voice was clipped and abrupt. "Wear your black dress, pet."
It was the perfect choice for her...a simple short dress with thin straps and a front slit. He saw with approval that she'd pinned up her hair.
Spike hesitated, then wordlessly held out the velvet case.
Buffy opened it; and her eyes widened.
Spike could contain himself no longer. "Do you fancy it, pet?"
Then an old hurt brushed him...he suddenly saw Drusilla, staring down at his Valentine's gift. And Angel- his hands possessive on her as he fastened the jewels around her throat.
Spike reached for the opal and placed it around Buffy's neck, hands trembling...he felt an impulse to kiss her neck and shoulders, to place his palms on her breasts and pull her firmly against him.
To make love to her...
He took a long step back, releasing her; and she turned, radiant, to face him.
"It's gorgeous!" she said excitedly. "Thank you, Spike!"
He grinned, pleased at her response...this was more like it.
"I didn't think," she told him happily, "that you even knew when my birthday was!"
He froze.
"Birthday?" he repeated blankly. And saw the pleasure fade from her face; like someone taking a wet sponge to a chalkboard.
"Oh...oh, right...how would you know?" she murmured, trying to excuse him.
His dismay at her disappointment made him harsher than he would otherwise have been.
"Nothing to know, pet. You've had your last birthday, remember? You'll never be...how old?"
"Twenty," she said woodenly.
"But now, why, you're forever nineteen. No point in bothering with birthdays- you're not getting any older."
A thought struck him. "Is that why you were in L.A. when Fergus caught you? To celebrate your birthday?"
She nodded wearily. "Yes...I was...visiting my father."
"Oh. I forgot he lives in L.A."
Buffy turned pain-filled eyes in his direction. "He doesn't. Not any more."
She picked up her jacket and waited. Silently he followed her out...wishing he could take back the last ten minutes and start all over.
Things seemed to improve at Madelon's. He asked her to dance, and, after an initial hesitation, she preceded him onto the dance floor.
Spike admitted it...he loved holding her. No matter how roughly he spoke to her, he had only to touch her and his hands grew gentle...almost cherishing.
Buffy sensed it, slowly relaxing into the protective circle of his arms. When they returned to their table, he would have liked to pull her onto his lap; but didn't want to disturb the fragile peace their dance together had created.
"Spike..." the sibilant hiss in his ear annoyed him, but he turned to greet Isabelle with a polite smile.
It stiffened on his lips when he saw the man with her.
Isabelle noticed. "Do you know Gunther von Drache?"
"We've met before." The German did not bother with a smile, polite or otherwise. He was too busy taking in Buffy.
"So." He looked her up and down. "You are Spike's new consort?"
"Oh no," Buffy said sweetly, "more like an acolyte."
Spike nearly choked, attracting Gunther's attention. "A...what?"
"Only a joke, von Drache," Spike said expressionlessly.
Gunther shrugged. "If you don't value her, Spike, perhaps we could reach an agreement?"
Spike said coldly, "The time for that was in the ring, Gunther. I didn't see you there."
The German's eyes flared briefly. "Unfortunately I was not informed of the challenge...until it was too late!" He flung a murderous look at Isabelle.
"But Gunther," she said quickly, "I tried to reach you, but your people in Munich said you were away."
Spike gave Isabelle a sharp glance, detecting a false note in her voice.
The German scowled, unmollified. "If I had been present, Spike, the outcome would have been very different! I have never been defeated."
He turned back to Buffy. "And I have no queen! THAT is what you should be, little one! Not a minion for Spike!"
Isabelle's eyes darkened with anger; but Buffy was unresponsive. She merely looked at Gunther, with a bored stare of indifference. Then one hand reached up to finger the black opal. "I have no complaints," she said, with a small, secret smile that made Spike's heart lurch.
"Bah!" Gunther saw the gesture. "I would give you all the jewels you desired...if you were mine!"
"But she isn't." Spike leaned forward. "Nor will she ever be. Come, Buffy," he pulled her to her feet, "let's dance!"
Buffy's voice was soft in his ear. "Who was that?"
Spike's body grew rigid. "His name is Gunther von Drache; he's known as the Dragon. That's from his name...Drache is the German for dragon."
Buffy tilted her head to look at him. "I didn't want a language lesson, Spike! You know I meant...who is he, to you? Specifically- why do you hate his guts?"
He stopped dancing abruptly. "Let's go back to the hotel."
She said no more until they were back in their suite and he was busy pacing. Then... "Don't you think you'd be better off talking about it? Repression is supposed to be bad for you!"
"What did you think of von Drache?" he demanded, suddenly.
"Other than the fact that he acts like a pompous, arrogant jerk?" Buffy shrugged. "I have no opinion at all."
He gave a short laugh at that. "He's the vampire king of Munich. He's got several billion dollars; a noble title, and a castle on the Rhine. Where you could be the queen."
Buffy grinned at him. "Heyyy...I don't speak German."
"That doesn't seem to stop most women." Spike's tone was so bitter that she experienced a flash of understanding.
"You haven't told me yet why you hate him."
He didn't answer.
Buffy followed her hunch. "Does it have...something to do with Drusilla?"
For an instant she feared he would vamp out; he growled at her. Then, his anger faded....and he turned away.
"I ...found them...together, once. That's why...that's what finally ended our relationship."
He kept his back towards her, unwilling to reveal the hurt and the shame in his.
Then, he felt her soft arms slip around him....
Desperately, he turned in her embrace, pulling her to him with an eagerness that he could no longer control. He kissed her hungrily, hands tugging at her dress, finally managing to unzip it enough to have it pool around her feet.
"Buffy..." his voice was harsh with urgency, "Please..."
He felt her touch, feather-light on the back of his neck. She had always touched him that way.
"Please..." he heard his own voice, begging. Almost...whimpering like a child. And so all-consuming was his need that he didn't even care. Nothing mattered beside the sheer force of his craving for her...
He roamed restlessly through the dark streets of L.A., hoping to blunt the memories. Somewhere he'd acquired a bottle; he drank as he went, gulping at the raw liquor...but even that didn't help.
He kept seeing her face...that enchanting smile when her eyes opened to find him staring down at her. Lazily, she lifted a caressing hand to his cheek.
"Hi," she said, snuggling closer. "Sleep well?"
And...he'd spoiled it. Acted like such a sodding bastard and said, "Of course, love. You're not a bad lay at all."
"No?" her eyes laughed at him. "You didn't think so last night, I seem to recall."
Abruptly, he swung away from her, stood up, and began yanking on his clothes.
"Spike?" The first cloud on her pretty face. She sat up in bed, staring at him with big, worried eyes. "What's the matter?"
He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, hoping she wouldn't notice his shaking hands. "Not a thing, pet. I'm going out for a while."
"I'll come with you," she offered quickly.
"No." He grabbed his coat, careful not to look at her. "I think we've had enough togetherness for now."
"Something IS wrong." Buffy started to scramble up.
"Don't be so bloody daft!" he snapped. "We had an evening out at Madelon's, we had a bit of slap and tickle, we both slept well. Don't get your knickers in a twist over nothing!"
She'd gone very still. "Nothing?" her voice was a whisper that seemed to cut right through him.
He glanced at her briefly on his way out the door. "Now, don't upset yourself...we had a nice romp in bed, and that's that. Very nice, in fact; you must have learned more from Angel than I thought."
He'd flung out of the room leaving her standing there in stunned disbelief.
And then- he was in the street, heart raging because he'd...almost, he'd lost it...almost done what he longed to do; and pulled her into his arms and covered her with kisses.
Dimly he recognized that it was his own panic and fear that had sent him out...driven him away to this dark maze where he could try to convince himself that what had happened between them wasn't all that momentous. That it didn't necessarily mean that anything had to change. Not at all.
But deep inside, he knew- and refused to be comforted.
He knew that a barrier between them, a barrier he'd carefully constructed for his own protection, had gone down.
He was lost. Despite all his big talk, his bravado posturing, he knew he would be helpless the minute she smiled at him.
Groaning, Spike hurled the almost-empty bottle against the sidewalk, hearing it smash. He fought the urge to return to her even as his traitorous feet carried him back to the hotel.
He opened the door to their suite and stopped...stock still.
Staring at them...together. Angel and Buffy, standing there gazing into one another's eyes like some Victorian Valentine card. And even as Spike watched, Angel took Buffy's small hands in his and raised them to his lips.
"My love," Angel murmured.
"Bloody hell!" Spike yelled.
They moved apart unhurriedly, with not the slightest trace of guilt.
"Spike." Angel's voice was level. "I came to see you."
"Well, you bloody well see me, don't you, mate?" Spike retorted angrily.
"I'd like to speak to you alone," Angel added, with a sidelong glance at Buffy.
She hesitated, then walked into the bedroom.
"I came to ask you to release her." Angel said immediately.
"Release..?! " Spike nearly laughed aloud. "Never, mate! Don't you run away with that idea! As if I'd let anyone...let you...take her away from me! She's mine; and she's not going anywhere."
"If you refuse," Angel said calmly, "I'll fight you; and I'll kill you if I have to."
"You weren't so quick to fight in the ring!" Spike taunted.
Angel scowled. "You know Fergus kept that challenge as quiet as he dared! He knew I'd come for her, if I found out, no matter what- and so do you! I'll set Buffy free if it means I have to tear you apart!"
You and what army?" Spike sneered. "Come on, then!"
The two powerful vampires began to close with one another...
"No!" Buffy was suddenly there- between them. "Stop, Angel! He's not yet fully recovered...and he's been drinking! He isn't up to a fight with you."
"Here!" Spike was outraged. "Who isn't up to it? He thinks he can waltz in here and take you away...well, we'll see about that! Hell, I'll kill the flaming prat just for thinking it!"
"Nobody's killing anybody," Buffy ordered. "Calm down, Spike!"
"Who're you telling to calm down, Slayer? You think I'm afraid of that wanker there? You think you can tell me what to do? ME? Just because you're bloody marvelous in bed, it doesn't mean you get to call the shots!"
"Don't talk to her that way!" Angel growled at Spike.
"And why not? She's MINE...she belongs to me...I own her!"
"That does it!" Furious, Buffy put her hands on her hips and surveyed the blond vampire. "You don't own me, Spike...let's get that straight, once and for all. I am not a possession, I don't come with a warranty. And- I'm out of here!"
"Buffy," Angel said urgently, "if you walk out...without his leave...every vampire in the country will be sworn to hunt you down, to return you to him! There's no appeal against that...let me kill him! It's the only answer!"
"Not the only answer," Spike gritted his teeth. "There's another- I kill you, instead!"
Buffy shook her head. "No killing." She turned toward the door. "But I'm going, anyway."
Spike stared in shock...she was really going...she was leaving him, leaving her sire...her protector. Two minutes with her former love, and she was willing to go off with Angel forever.
Enraged, he found his voice. "Wait!"
She paused at the door, her eyes on his face.
"You're free." Spike spoke in short, staccato bursts, struggling mightily to force the words past his closed throat. "I release you from any bond with your sire."
"You're...letting me go? Just like that?" Buffy asked, shocked.
Spike smiled meanly. "Why not? It was fun, but I don't fancy you around forever, pet. You run along with your little lapdog here...goodbye, good luck, good riddance!"
She took a deep breath. "Goodbye, Spike!"
"Get out." He could say nothing else; but she was already gone. Angel gave him a curious look as he followed Buffy out.
When he was sure they'd left, he allowed his knees to buckle under him, and slid to the floor. His face felt strange; and it was not until he lifted his hands to his eyes that he realized he'd undergone the change; and that blood-tinged tears were falling over the lines and ridges of his vampire visage.
He found another bottle to replace the one he'd broken...several bottles.
He stopped sleeping...he couldn't seem to sleep anymore, not without someone to hold.
So, he tried that too. One night he sought out Isabelle at Madelon's, and accompanied her home. She was beautiful and willing; and very experienced with men...
But it was no good; and after a few minutes in her bedroom he left with a mumbled excuse, knowing as he did that she watched him go with eyes wild with hatred.
"Look, pal, we're closing."
It was a seedy bar in the bad part of town; but the bartender looked tough and shrewd.
Spike lifted his head wearily. "I'm off, then."
"You'd better go sleep it off."
"Can't." Spike picked up his glass with exaggerated care and drained it. "You understand...I am NOT missing her."
"Uh-huh," the bartender grunted.
"It's just that I got used to having her around, you know? And it seemed so...natural, waking up with her in my arms. But that's all it is."
"Yeah," the bartender steered Spike towards the door.
Spike sighed. "Who am I kidding? Every time I think about her, and how I made a bollocks of everything, I want to die!"
He stared bleary-eyed at the bartender. "Which is...sodding ridiculous...'cause I'm ...ALREADY dead, see?"
"Sure, pal, sure," the bartender said, shaking his head. He made to close the door on Spike; but the vampire clutched at his beefy arm.
"I got scared," he said with sudden clarity. "She got close to me...and I drove her away because I...got scared."
"Well, buddy," the bartender drawled, "then you better go and get her, right?"
Spike stared at him. "Go get her?" he repeated.
He took a deep unneeded breath. "Thank you, mate," he said gratefully. "You're a true friend."
"Any time," the bartender said, firmly locking the door.
Spike hesitated, then lurched off down the street. For the first time in weeks he had a goal- he had to find Buffy. And then what? A little voice in his brain asked.
"Then..." Spike said aloud, " then...I'll apologize. Right, so I'll have to grovel a bit. Oh, who am I kidding? I've got to crawl! But even if I have to get down on my knees and beg, at least it's a start."
What about Angel? the voice mocked. What'll he be doing while you're busy crawling?
"Sod Angel!" Spike shouted.
But he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Buffy and Angel had been together ever since that night Spike had released her...and his mind drew him a vivid picture. He could imagine them; Buffy in Angel's arms, sharing his bed, giving him kisses...as many kisses as he wanted.
"Never mind," he told himself. "Swallow it. It doesn't matter anyway; not if there's a chance in hell she'll take you back, chum."
But that might be too much to ask; why would she take him back? She was free now, free to be with the man she loved...why would she even look at Spike twice, after the way he'd treated her?
Spike groaned; his case seemed hopeless. Why had he been such a fool? If only he had the chance again, he'd move heaven and earth to win her love! He'd court her properly...with flowers and presents. He'd...
"Stop it," he ordered. "No point whining about the past. First thing first- FIND the bloody girl! And then....start crawling."
As always, there were ways to find someone, even someone who'd rather not be found.
"Spike!" Angel's voice reflected his shock. "What are you doing here?"
"I...came to see Buffy."
Angel just stood there in the doorway, staring at him like he'd sprouted horns and a tail..."You're drunk!"
"Look, mate," Spike clenched his jaw. "I just need to talk to her...ten minutes?" He'd come prepared to beg; but he wanted to start with Buffy, not Angel.
"Buffy," Angel began, "isn't..."
"I'm only asking for ten sodding minutes!" Spike screamed.
He forced it out..."Please..."
"Spike, I'm trying to tell you...Buffy isn't here!"
Spike felt stupid and slow, unable to take in Angel's meaning.
The other vampire looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't seen her since that night she walked out on you; she wouldn't come with me! She jumped in a cab, and...I haven't seen her since!"
"Not...with you?" Spike repeated numbly. He felt a brief surge of elation because she hadn't gone back to Angel- followed by a jolt of pure terror. "We need to find her!"
"Oh?" Angel questioned coldly. "So now you've decided you do want her around? What's the matter, sick of your latest playmate?"
"What?" Spike blinked; what was Angel talking about?
"We met her on the way up to your suite," Angel said flatly. "She told Buffy you'd sent for her."
"What...was she like?" Spike asked fearfully.
Angel looked worried. "A Dru type; Buffy seemed to think you...knew her pretty well."
"Isabelle!" Spike shouted. "If she's got Buffy..."
"How could she?" objected Angel, but he was alarmed now. "Wait! Where are you going?"
"To get Buffy!" Spike snarled.
"You can't go there in your condition! Spike...it's less than an hour before dawn!" He broke off, not wasting more words on the disappearing vampire. "Now what?"
"Where is she?" Spike demanded, bursting into the Hawthorne Street mansion.
Isabelle looked up in alarm, turning reluctantly from her intimate embrace with Gunther von Drache.
"WHERE IS SHE?" he almost screamed. "I know she's here, Isabelle!"
"Spike. You're drunk," Gunther's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Spike glared at him. "I am not playing, von Drache. You know why I'm here. I want to see her!"
"What for? She is with me, now," Gunther smirked. "What's more, she has found a great deal of pleasure in my bed. She won't thank you for this romantic rescue, my friend."
Spike's stomach clenched. "You forced her..."
"No, Spike. She was willing...more than willing." Gunther spoke with such utter conviction that Spike wavered.
"I still want to see her," he told the German. He HAD to see her, to plead with her...
"You want her back?" Gunther's voice was incredulous. "Even after..."
"Yes!" Spike said, almost shouting.
Gunther gave a short, sharp laugh, and beckoned one of his minions. "Ask my lady to come down," he instructed.
He turned his attention back to the other male vampire. "You know, Spike, I was told you would be a formidable opponent. But instead, what do I find? A weak, womanish fool!"
Spike ignored Gunther's insults. Soon...soon, he'd be reunited with Buffy; and he needed to think...to plan how to persuade her to go with him. Somehow, he had to convince her that he would care for her better than either Angel or Gunther. If only...
He heard her footsteps behind him, swallowed hard, and turned to face her.
And forgot to breathe.
"Spike!" Drusilla greeted him happily. "Miss Edith told me you'd be coming!"
Somehow, he'd got his two hands around Gunther's throat and was shaking him like a rat.
"Where?" he shouted. "What have you done to her?"
Gunther couldn't answer; it was Isabelle who summoned his minions; and as it was, it took five of them to drag Spike away from their Master.
"Spike," Drusilla said reproachfully, "you won't play."
"He must have gone mad," muttered Isabelle.
"No," Dru said, in her childish sing-song. "It's the Slayer. Spike ALWAYS liked the Slayer, even though he pretended not to! Miss Edith heard him, telling the Slayer to come and dance."
"Is it so?" Gunther's throat had been carefully bandaged, but his voice was a harsh rasp. "So, Spike, you have parted with your fledgling, have you? It's good to know. What a queen she would make!"
"But Gunther," Isabelle's dark eyes clouded. "You promised to make ME your queen!"
"Did I?" Gunther looked at her coldly. "We shall see. But- I think that I must add the former Slayer to my harem."
"Spike won't like that," Dru commented pleasantly.
Gunther laughed belligerantly. "Spike won't be in a position to interfere. You..." he nodded to the minions, "take him to the front door and wait for sunrise. Then- throw him out!"
Spike fought them off as best he could; but lack of food and sleep, plus the debilitating effects of the liquor, had taken a toll. They dragged him up to the double doors.
"If we open the door, the light may hit one of us," objected a young vampire.
"Let's throw him out now," suggested a second.
"Von Drache said to wait," the third protested.
"YOU wait! I'm not going to risk it!" the first insisted.
"Konrad is right," the second put in. "Look- there isn't time for him to find shelter if we throw him out now."
"He can barely stand up," agreed another. "I'm not getting caught out in daylight- dragon or no dragon. Von Drache can go to hell!"
He wrenched open the door; then shoved Spike down the steps. Spike's balance was already impaired, and he fell sprawling, flat on his face.
He struggled in vain to rise, knowing that the sun was already edging over the horizon. Then- there was the shrieking sound of brakes; and a hand on his collar heaved him into the back seat of a car with dark-tinted windows.
Spike forced open his bleary eyes to see a little man in the driver's seat, peering at him curiously.
"Hmmm," he commented to someone else, "he looks even worse than you did when you were scrounging around alleys, crying about the past and dining off rodents."
"Shut up, Whistler!" snapped a familiar voice.
Spike blinked. Angel? His head shot up and he glared at his sire. "What're YOU doing here?" he asked venomously.
"I don't know!" Angel retorted. "And- I'm trying not to think about it!"
Whistler chuckled. "Now...let's all make nice. And relax, because we've got a drive ahead of us."
"Drive where?" Spike demanded, clutching his splitting head in both hands.
"To find Buffy, of course," Angel replied. "Whistler thinks he knows where she is."
"No," Whistler corrected, " I said I knew where she'd go. Where people always go when they're unhappy...home."
"Sunnyhell?" Spike considered this; for the first time in days he felt a ray of hope. With increasing awareness, he was recalling his last trip to Sunnydale....drunk and disorderly though he'd been, he yet knew enough to grasp that he'd come home. "Home, sweet home...."
Odd, he'd never realized before that he thought of Sunnydale as home...shouldn't home be London? Or perhaps Prague? Even L.A. seemed a more suitable habitat for him...
Whistler gave him a knowing look. "Home is where the heart is," he smirked.
Spike decided to ignore him. This wasn't the situation he'd have chosen- showing up on her doorstep with Whistler and Angel in tow...but beggars couldn't exactly be...besides, at least he was still around...a bit seedy and down-at-heels, but...
"Bloody hell!" his voice made both Whistler and Angel jump. "I can't show up like this! I need...a shower, and some clean clothes! I need..."
"To sober up," added Angel dryly.
Spike glared at him, but held his tongue.
"Sorry, Spike," Whistler's voice wasn't unsympathetic. "We haven't got time for that! Besides, it might work in your favor....you never know, with women! Maybe she'll feel sorry for you, like a mangy old dog, and..."
"Arggh!" Spike almost shrieked. "I can't...I don't want her to see me like this!"
"Too late," Whistler said cheerfully, "we're here!"
His car pulled up in front of a familiar house.
"It isn't sundown," Spike protested, desperately stalling.
"In case you hadn't noticed," Angel said bitingly, "It's pouring! There's a storm and it's black as pitch. Now- out!"
He opened the door and gave Spike a shove that sent him reeling onto the lawn- where he promptly tripped and fell into a muddy puddle. He could hear the squeal of the tires as the car took off. Eventually, it filtered through to his brain that, dark or not, it wasn't a good idea to be outside at this time of day. He dragged himself to his feet...and squelched up the steps onto the porch, leaving streams of water in his wake. The door opened before he could knock.
With a sinking sense of deja vu, he said "Joyce."
And waited.
"Spike? Who let you in?" Buffy looked at Joyce accusingly. "Mom...you do know he's a vampire, don't you?"
"Yes, dear," her mother answered calmly. "Just like you, right?"
"No!" Buffy glared. "How come you keep inviting Spike in, anyway? You never liked letting Angel in."
"I don't like Angel," Joyce admitted. "I didn't like him BEFORE I knew he was a vampire!"
"Joyce," Spike said seriously, "You are a wonderful woman."
Joyce blushed.
"I don't believe this!" Buffy exclaimed. "When did you two form the mutual admiration society?" She turned her attention to the unhappy male dripping onto the carpet. "Look at you! You look like hell. And...you're drunk!"
"I know I'm bloody drunk!" Spike yelled. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?"
"I'll make some chocolate," Joyce offered, tactfully disappearing into the kitchen.
Her absence made Spike feel suddenly forlorn. Buffy didn't exactly look approachable; and his sodden clothes were causing him to shiver.
She noticed. "You come with me...right now!"
Half an hour later, when both he and his clothing were clean and dry, Spike felt more like himself...he sat nervously at the dining room table, sipping hot chocolate while frantically wondering what he was going to say to Buffy. She was still mad at him- he could tell. Joyce gave his arm a sympathetic pat as she left for her gallery; and Spike felt a little better.
"I, uh, guess you're surprised to see me," he said awkwardly.
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Yes."
That didn't sound encouraging. He decided to start over.
"I need to talk to you." There. Not bad. Sounded firm and manly. Pleased, he took a huge gulp of his chocolate, choked, and coughed.
Buffy had to pound him on the back. "You are a problem, Spike," she sighed.
He felt a spurt of rage at his lack of suavity. "What's the matter, pet? So I'm no bloody gentleman. I can't make big sad puppy eyes at you, like that flaming poofter Angel! If that's what you want then you've got the wrong man!"
"Obviously," she said dryly.
Spike forced himself to take a deep breath. He wasn't going to get anywhere yelling at her. "I'm trying to tell you...that I'm sorry!"
She stared at him in shock. "You're sorry?"
"Yeah..." he glanced away. "I know I didn't...treat you well. But...it would be different, if..."
"If what?" her voice was unmoved by the pleading look in his eyes.
"If you...came back. I know you are free now; and you're probably happy to see the last of me, but I...want you back."
"Why? To have someone to order around?" Buffy asked icily.
"No! I...never meant... all I wanted, the ONLY thing I ever wanted, was to keep you with me!"
She looked at him silently for a long moment. "Did it ever occur to you just to ask me?"
In a single blundering movement he got to his feet, turning his back on her to stare sightlessly out the window.
"I thought...I was sure...you'd refuse me," he muttered.
There had never really been anyone who'd wanted to stay with him. He remembered his pretty mum..."Not now, William! You're getting my dress wrinkled!" Slapping him. But he was only six, and he'd wanted a kiss...
And Drusilla..."But Spike, I'm going out with my Angel tonight..."
He turned around to face Buffy. "I used to obsess about you...mostly about how much I hated you. You were in my head...always there, until I figured the only way to get rid of you was to kill you! And then- there you were...the prize in the arena. And I knew I had to have you, no matter how much I hated you, because I loved you more than anything in the world."
His voice trailed off uncertainly...he said, with a trace of wonder, "I think I loved you from the beginning; I just didn't know it."
His throat closed; there was nothing else he could say to her, anyway.
Buffy looked at him, standing there for all the world like a small boy hoping against hope that the shiny package under the tree would somehow be for him....
Impulsively, she held out her arms to him.
He gave her a single incredulous look...and then he grabbed her; with a whoop of pure joy he lifted her, swung her off her feet, rained kisses all over her face...
"I have ...one ...condition," she gasped; for the first time she was glad she didn't have to breathe.
"Anything!" he promised, wild with delight. "Anything you want..."
"I want you to stop killing," Buffy told him quietly. "You can feed without killing."
"Agreed," Spike looked at her anxiously. "Is that the condition?"
"No...but it's something I want very much. The condition is..." she hesitated.
"I want to be the only woman in your life," she told him. "I don't want you with anyone else, ever." She knew that some of the Masters had many lovers- both human and vampire. But she also knew that was something she would never be able to accept.
That surprised a crack of laughter out of him. It seemed ironic- that the thing she asked of him was the one thing he was so eager to give.
"Oh, love...that's not a condition," he managed. "That's...a necessity! I couldn't cheat on you if I tried....you've ruined me for anyone else!"
She tried to frown at him; but her lips quirked up into a smile. "See that you remember it."
Spike grinned at her, the old cockiness flaring again. "Remind me, love?"
"Oh, I will," she took his hand and led him towards the stairs. "Sooner than you think."
The black limo slid to a stop outside the gates of the Sunnydale cemetery, disgorging its strange load of passengers. Two were women, darkly beautiful and like enough to be sisters- though in fact there was no relationship between them. One was a man, fair-haired and powerfully built, with a dragon tattoo clearly visible on his left hand.
"Come," he ordered two younger minions. "Bring the torch; and the prisoner."
"It's almost midnight," said one of the women nervously.
"There's time enough," said the other. She flitted lightly among the graves..."Here it is, Gunther."
The man turned to one of the minions. "Dig," he ordered. He indicated the shovel that the other minion carried.
The young vampire looked dismayed. "But Master..." he pointed to the cross that topped the gravestone.
Gunther's blow knocked him flat. "I said dig!"
Whimpering in fear, the vampire picked himself up and began to dig.
Drusilla smiled. "Mind the head...we'll need that." She turned to her lover. "We must stay within the circle at all times."
"Yes, Dru," Gunther said uneasily. "You're certain this will work against Spike and the former Slayer?"
"Oh, yes. This will mean the defeat...and death, of one," said Dru happily. "The conquest of the other."
"I want Spike dead; and the girl added to my household," Gunther said stubbornly. "Nothing else is acceptable."
"Come, Miss Edith," Dru crooned to the doll in her arms. "Now we must draw the circle. And call a Slayer...to fight a Slayer."
She stirred in his arms, opening her eyes to gaze into his.
"Mmm, couldn't you sleep?" she sighed, trailing feathery kisses along his shoulder.
His arms tightened around her, cradling her against him in a fierce possessive hold.
"Wasn't sleepy," he lied, unwilling to admit he'd been scared of waking without her beside him. And...he never wanted to wake without her beside him...never again.
Buffy wasn't fooled. "You can sleep, Spike." She slipped both arms around his waist. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?" he realized that he sounded like a kid; but he was too happy to care about keeping up pretences.
"I promise," she said solemnly.
Spike stared down at her, instinctively knowing he had to learn to trust her as well as love her. "Kiss me again," he whispered.
"The dead rise and come to me," Drusilla intoned. "Ego sum te peto et videre queo."
There was a sound like a long, mournful sigh...then...a figure in a long dark robe stood before them. Isabelle cried out; and the minion holding the torch shivered uncontrollably.
"Protect me, spirits, and bind the dead to my will. I call upon you, mighty Kore, Persephone, Ereshkigal, Adonis, Hermes and Thoth..." Drusilla's voice continued chanting as she drew out a long, sharp knife.
"It is time for the blood sacrifice."
Isabelle nodded at the unconscious body of Joyce Summers. "Where do you want her?"
"Not her," Gunther said coldly. "That's the bait."
"But you sent the other fledgling with the message," Isabelle protested. "If you kill this one, we shall have no light at all!"
Gunther and Drusilla both chuckled as if Isabelle had something amusing.
"Not him, Isabelle," Gunther said, "You!" He gave her a strong shove towards Drusilla; and Isabelle barely had time to scream before Dru viciously sliced her head off!
Isabelle's blood gushed from her severed neck, drenching the grave and its marker. The shrouded figure, formerly immobile, now bent its head submissively.
"It's done...the spectre is now bound to my will," Drusilla said intently.
Gunther stared at the spectre in ghoulish fascination. "Who...is it?" he asked fearfully.
Drusilla laughed in lunatic abandon.
"Kendra...the Vampire Slayer!"
It was sheer heaven to sleep like this. He didn't intend ever getting up again.
"Spike?" Buffy's voice sounded worried. "Get up! Please! I...need you!"
His eyes flew open. "What's the matter, pet?" Instantly he was all concern, reaching for her, cuddling her against him.
"My mother hasn't come back from the gallery!" she told him. "Spike...it's past midnight, and...she hasn't come home!"
"Calm down, love," he soothed, "Joyce might be playing least-in-sight for awhile, giving us a chance to sort things out."
Buffy shook her head vigorously. "She'd never stay out this late without calling....Spike, I'm..."
The sound of the doorbell galvanized them both. Spike and Buffy scrambled hastily into their clothes and flew downstairs.
The fledgling on the porch was trembling violently but managed to deliver his message.
Spike and Buffy exchanged glances. Then Spike turned back to the young vampire. "Take us there....step out of line, even for a second, and you're dead!"
The fledgling relaxed slightly. "Will...will you let me go? If I leave town?"
"If you don't get in my way." Spike's face vamped out.
Buffy walked over to him and took his hand. "Let's go."
The flickering torch pointed the way; the young vampire stopped at a safe distance. Buffy nodded at him- and then he ran like a hare, disappearing into the night.
Spike assessed their chances. "Knowing Drusilla, she'll have conjured up something fairly horrific."
He noticed Buffy was standing very still.
"Pet? You're not frightened, are you?"
She put a shaky hand on his arm. "Spike! Oh God...that's...Kendra!"
His stomach clenched at the sight of the Slayer's spectre. How diabolical of Dru to force a dead Slayer to face one who'd been turned. He took Buffy's hand, and gave it an encouraging squeeze.
"Don't you worry, pet...that bitch is going to pay for this!"
Buffy gave him a reproachful look. "It's not Kendra's doing...she isn't to blame."
But he hadn't been talking about Kendra at all. He was looking straight at Drusilla.
"Spike," she purred, "you came...Miss Edith said you would."
"Well, she was right, wasn't she, Dru?" he said ironically.
"Miss Edith is so clever," Dru nodded, "she shall have cake for tea. We'll have a party, won't we, Spike? After the Slayer girls have gone!"
"Was ist...?!" In his consternation, Gunther had reverted to his native tongue. "No, Drusilla! Spike is the one who must die...so I can have the girl!"
"Both will die!" the Jamaican accent was instantly recognizable.
"Kendra...." Buffy whispered in dread.
"They are vampires. They must die," Kendra stated flatly. She moved to face Spike and Buffy, standing in front of the circle.
Buffy sent an intoxicating smile in Gunther's direction. "Bet Gunther's not too happy about that, right Gunther? Now you don't get to show me your castle."
"The only part you'd have seen, girl," Dru hissed, "is the dungeon."
"Oh, is that where you guys get down and dirty? I hear your taste runs that way, but..."
"Don't disturb yourself, little one," Gunther fixed burning eyes on her. "if you please me, you shall rule beside me."
"Sounds mouth-watering...if your zombie doesn't stake me first," Buffy remarked.
Spike frowned. Surely she wasn't...flirting...with the dragon?
Gunther saw his expression, and laughed. "Can't keep a woman, Spike?"
Spike looked at Buffy, hurt. She would go with the dragon? But she'd said...he HAD to trust her. His head snapped up, and he snarled at Gunther, "And you can't win one in a fight, can you, wanker?"
He nodded at Buffy. "Take the little slut if you want her...while I add another Slayer to my list!"
Gunther bellowed in rage. "I will take her, Spike! Time and time again...and make you watch before I kill you!" Furious, he hurtled forward to grasp Buffy's arm.
"No, no, Gunther!" Dru screamed a warning. "Stay...inside the circle!"
But Buffy had already unleashed a vicious kick to Gunther's groin; Spike winced reflexively, and grinned. Then he found himself locked in combat with Kendra...
"Switch!" Buffy called, vaulting over him to face Kendra. Gunther, roaring in a frenzy, had found his feet...
"Aaahh!" Spike sank a punch into Gunther's gut with a long sigh of satisfaction. "I feel better!"
Drusilla snatched the torch from the young fledgling and thrust him towards Spike. "Help Gunther!"
The vampire wavered; he was terrified of the dragon, but he was equally afraid of Spike...and Spike seemed to be getting the best of it. He realized he had only seconds before SOMEONE was liable to kill him, and promptly took to his heels, determined to put plenty of space between himself and Sunnydale before dawn.
Buffy and Kendra were fighting full force now, trading blow for blow and holding nothing back.
Spike spared them a quick glance...so far neither showed signs of flagging, but Spike knew Kendra could outlast even Buffy's vampiric strength. Without stakes, they had no hope of ending it for good...
Then, Spike spotted the shovel the fledgling had used to dig up Kendra's grave.
He backhanded Gunther so hard he fell against the side of the mausoleum; then, before he could rise, Spike broke off the shovel's wooden handle and shoved it into the center of Gunther's chest.
The dragon screamed; and disintegrated.
Spike stood a moment; then turned his attention to Buffy and Kendra, still battling for dominance.
"Spike!" Drusilla held her thin-bladed knife, stained with Isabelle's blood, flush against Joyce's throat. Joyce, still partly dazed, stood frozen...staring at her daughter locked in combat with a tireless opponent.
Then her eyes met Spike's. "Buffy," she mouthed silently. He knew that she was asking him to help her daughter. But...he had promised...
"Baby," he said plaintively, looking at Drusilla, "I've had enough of this! Why don't we go home?"
Her glittering eyes held a brief glimmer of uncertainty. "But Spike, what about..." she looked at Buffy.
Deliberately he said, "I don't care about her, ducks. That whole thing...it was just to get you jealous, so you'd come back. Now why don't we make up, and go have some fun?"
Years of experience had made him anticipate the probe into his mind....he had ready his reaction, filled with yearning and adoration.
Drusilla withdrew, reassured. "My Spike, she purred, "how I missed you."
"Then, all's forgiven, pet?'
"Yes," Dru smiled. "I want my Spike again!"
"Then, why don't you get rid of that Slayer?" he pointed to Kendra. "She's making me nervous!"
"But, I called her to kill the other," Dru protested.
"Oh, I'll kill the little bitch, ducks. I promise," Spike said eagerly. He had never broken a promise to Drusilla.
"Kendra!" Dru commanded. "Return to the Kingdom of the Chosen."
Kendra paused, turning away from Buffy. She extended both arms; and plunged forward into the open grave. There was no sound as she fell.
Spike noticed that Drusilla had relaxed her hold on Joyce.
"Now, Spike! Kill her for princess?" Dru insisted.
He still held the broken wooden shaft of the shovel that he had used to stake Gunther. He seized Buffy's hair, pulling her head back viciously. As she went down, he struck...the wood penetrating Buffy's chest to stick upright in the ground.
Drusilla squealed in delight, stepping forward....forgetting Joyce in her glee at witnessing the death of her hated rival.
It was a mistake; Joyce yanked her arm free and pushed Dru out of the protective circle. Instantly both Spike and Joyce were moving- one springing towards Dru and the other jumping away.
"NOOO!" Dru screamed, slashing at Spike with the knife as he tried to grab her wrists.
Joyce reached her daughter, but Buffy was already scrambling up. The wooden handle was stuck in the ground where Spike had thrust it, the shaft passing harmlessly between Buffy's arm and her torso. Now Buffy seized it for a weapon.
But Dru's strength lay in her madness...her maniacal rage made it almost impossible for Spike to subdue her. Buffy tried to draw her attention...and was only too successful when the madwoman rounded on her, slashing open Buffy's arm and causing her to drop her makeshift stake.
The scent of Buffy's blood roused Spike's killer instinct to its keenest edge. He twisted Dru's wrist until the bones snapped. She screamed again; but as he moved in for the kill, someone else got there first. Joyce had picked up the handle Buffy had dropped; and with all her strength, charged at Drusilla like a medieval knight flourishing his lance.
Drusilla stared in disbelief at the shaft protruding from her chest...then she exploded into a cloud of dust.
Breathing hard, Joyce turned from Drusilla's ashes to see to Buffy....but Spike had already bandaged the wound with a strip torn from his shirt. Nor would he hear of Buffy's walking home; he insisted on carrying her, despite her objections.
"But Spike...the bleeding's already stopped! It'll be healed by tomorrow!"
"Then, you can walk tomorrow, can't you, pet?"
"But...it's my arm that's hurt, not my legs!"
"Stop your noise! I'm carrying you home and that's that!"
"Mom," Buffy began.
"I think Spike is right," Joyce put in. "Stop arguing until we get you home."
"Listen to your mum, pet," Spike instructed.
Buffy opened her mouth to protest, realized it was pointless, and resigned herself to be carried back to the house and fussed over by Spike and her mother. When she could stand it no longer, she rebelled....insisting on a shower before she would get in bed.
Since her wound had already closed, Spike grudgingly agreed- despite the fact that she refused to allow him to accompany her.
But he insisted on helping her into her pajamas. Unlike Willow, Buffy seldom slept in pajamas; in fact, the one pair she owned had been a gift from her friend. Although comfortable and warm, they were far from glamorous.
While Spike took his turn in the shower, Buffy sat on her bed and attempted to brush her tangled hair. It was difficult to wield the brush in her left hand.
When Spike came back he noticed her struggles and took the brush away from her. "Let me do that." Gently and patiently he brushed her hair....after a minute, he set the brush aside and she felt the clasp of something around her neck.
Joyce tapped on the door. "It's almost dawn, so I'll say goodnight. I mean...well, you know."
She took a second look at her daughter. "Oh, my...Buffy, that's just beautiful!"
Buffy beamed. "It's a black opal. It was a gift from Spike."
"For Buffy's birthday," Spike said quickly.
Buffy looked at Spike in surprise.
"You're a lucky girl," Joyce told her.
"You know, I'm starting to think so," Buffy said slowly, as Joyce closed the door.
Spike tucked Buffy in, then switched off the lamp, slipped off his jeans and slid in beside her. He tenderly fitted his body against hers, loving the feel of her against him.
She sighed...and laced her fingers with his.
"I've been thinking, pet," he murmured into her ear. "That pillock Gunther was right about one thing...you'd make a smashing queen! How'd you like to be vampire queen of L.A.?"
Buffy shrugged. "I'd look silly in a tiara."
"Don't fancy it?" Spike was surprised...most females vampires liked the status that queenship conferred. But she'd always been different.
"We could go anywhere, love. Wouldn't have to stay in L.A. Like to see a bit of the world?"
She grinned. "Where'd you have in mind?"
He considered. "Well...not Munich, at least for awhile!"
She rolled over to face him. "Spike..."
"What is it, kitten?"
"Do you...mind very much, about Drusilla? I know that you....cared for her."
Not even now could she bring herself to use the word "love." Not in connection with Drusilla...there had been nothing loving about her.
He hugged her tightly. "I believed what I wanted...needed...to believe. That she loved me. That we had an eternal love...I was a fool, but don't hold it against me, sweetheart. I had never known the real thing...had no way to recognize it, until you came into my life. You have all my heart."
"Mmmm," she snuggled closer, smiling happily. "I want it...all of it! I used to envy the way you loved Drusilla so...completely."
"Nothing to the way I love you, baby," he assured her. "Now, I'm going to see to it you have some fun! If you're sure you don't want to be a queen..."
"I want to be your girlfriend."
"You're my match!" He kissed her hair. "So, where shall we go first? We ought to have a honeymoon. At least for a decade or two. Paris?"
She eyed him dubiously. "I won't eat snails."
Spike laughed aloud. "India?"
"Please," she pouted, "I have a major appreciation for modern plumbing."
"London? I'll show you my hometown!"
"There's a thought! We can go tour the Tower!"
"We'll make plans tomorrow. Get some sleep now, love...you need to rest!"
She looked him up and down. "You don't look very sleepy!"
If he'd been capable of it, he would have blushed. "Never mind that!" He leaned closer and whispered, "See what you do to me?"
Buffy wrinkled her cute nose at him. "Oh yes- these pajamas are so sexy! How do you keep your hands off me?"
His blue eyes filled with laughter. "It isn't easy...especially since you look adorable!"
It was Buffy's turn to laugh. "You mean you prefer these to all that stuff you bought me at Victoria's Secret?"
"I wouldn't say that," Spike admitted. "But...I think you'd have the same effect on me, kitten, no matter what you wear. Or don't wear."
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Really? Let me see!"
In one swift movement she wriggled out of the pajama bottoms and pulled the top over her head.
Spike felt the need to take a deep breath. "That..." he fought to get the words out, "really... is... not fair."
She giggled, and rolled on top of him. "Why not?" she teased.
He pulled her head down for a kiss.
"Come here, pet...and I'll show you."
The End