Summary: It's summer 2000, Spike is chipped and he and Buffy hate each other. But then time changes everything... Time-travel fic, S/B
Distribution: Life’s Not A Song (http://www.geocities.com/notasong), fanfiction.net. If you’d like to archive this fic please email me at tiny_eternity@yahoo.com :)
Disclaimer: Spike and Buffy, Sunnydale all the genius that is Joss!!
Notes: There are some historical inaccuracies in this story. Most are there because I couldn't find out everything that I wanted, but some are intentional for storyline purposes. Special thanks to: Aia, for beta-ing the story!
Feedback:tiny_eternity@yahoo.com
“C’mon Slayer, you can do better than that!” Spike kicked the blonde again
and she toppled over backwards. Within a second, he was on top of her, holding
her down. The air filled with a sweet tempting smell, and he grinned. Slayer
blood. He licked his lips while struggling to keep the fighting Slayer down. The
sweet smell grew thicker. Close now….
Spike awoke suddenly. Damn, that
had been a good dream. Pity he had to wake up. The birds had ceased their
daytime chatter and dusk hung like a clouded veil over the farm while the sun
still lit a thin strip of rose-colored sky in the west. They had found a nice
bed the previous night in the hay of the barn of a small farm. Friendly folks
who offered them a roof for the night, and more importantly, the following day.
Unconsciously, Spike licked his lips again. The smell of blood still surrounded
him. In a flash, he realized it was not the lingering rags of his dream that
smelled so good to him. It was real Slayer blood.
“Buffy!”
The
girl lying next to him in the prickly hay started awake by his urgent call.
“What?” she asked wearily, annoyed by having been torn out of her soft
sleep.
“Are you alright?” The blond vampire asked. The fact that she did
not seem hurt reassured him a little.
“Yeah, why?”
“I thought you
were hurt. I can smell your blood,” he said seriously.
Buffy sat up and
as she moved her legs, a look of utter dismay crossed her face. “Oh!” she
blurted out as she felt the stickiness between her legs. Realization dawned on
both of them at the same time. Spike grinned sheepishly as Buffy’s cheeks
flushed red.
“Sorry luv, didn’t think of that.” Spike said
sympathetically.
Buffy turned her gaze away from him. She sighed deeply
and tried hard to suppress the incredible feeling of aggravation that bubbled up
inside her. “I’m umm, going to wash,” she said, and quickly headed out of the
barn.
Standing at the entrance of their shelter, he admired the view of
her back as she stood at the well in the yard, the last rays of the day’s sun
coloring her pretty blonde hair a dashing strawberry. She had to stretch her
muscles slightly to hoist up the big bucket full of ice cold water. While Buffy
stood washing her one pair of knickers as best as she could, Spike wondered what
the next few days would be like. He did not have a lot of experience with this
sort of thing. Dru had never had this particular monthly problem. If he knew
anything of the Slayer though, it was that she could be a real bitch if she
wanted to, and he figured he’d best try his best to not make her cranky the next
couple of days. After all, they were still stuck with each other. “And you
wouldn’t have it any other way,” his mind whispered secretly, but he shushed it.
That part of him, the part that loved her more than anything in the world, was
scaring him. Not only because of who she was, and who he was, and what they were
to each other – bitter enemies? But even more so because it made him like this
godforsaken journey through this bloody backwards age. Because it made him think
of what it would be like when they would make it back. Because of the scorn he
would see in her eyes then as she would try to convince herself she did not feel
the same, and because of the life she would pick up again there, a life that did
not have him in it. Because it made him want to stay, here, in fucking medieval
Italy. “Never thought you would manage to bloody scare me someday, pet,” Spike
muttered.
~*~*~*~*~
“This is hell,” Buffy thought. She was having
her period in an age that did not know tampons or pads. How on earth was she
going to survive the next few days? She washed out her panties as well as she
could, the cold water numbing the feel in her fingers. Then she stood straight,
thinking for a moment. Solutions she needed, not panic! And he, he could smell
it, he’d said. Her cheeks turned slightly red again at the thought. Of course,
extraordinary sense of smell came with the vampire package. Before her thoughts
could venture into any guttery directions with her last thought, she turned her
attention back to more urgent matters. If she had at least had some sheets or
other pieces of fabric! Buffy’s gaze flew around the yard and finally settled on
the hay spilling out of the barn. She groaned inwardly. “Here goes
nothing.”
A few moments and much frustration later, Buffy was ready to
go. She stomped over to Spike and gave him a glare. He grinned and opened his
mouth to say something, but before he could do so, one biting “don’t!” made him
swallow his words.
Buffy turned and walked towards Home. Spike followed
her and hastily unfastened the horse’s reins. He sighed inaudibly. This was
going to be a long day.
~*~*~*~*~
“Toll!”
Buffy looked up
to the face that belonged to the gloved hand held out in front of her. Mustache,
beard, red and rowdy looking guy. A hat of the same black leather as the man’s
gauntlets and a coat of mail completed the picture of low-life medieval
army-guy. The man looked a far cry from the knights that had populated Buffy’s
picture of old times. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Buffy said. “You want us to
pay toll?? What, you don’t even have a turnpike here! Just, just a... a small
mountain passage we need to go through which you guard.” Buffy’s shoulder
slumped. “Can this day get any worse?” she muttered.
Spike, standing next
to her, holding Home’s reins, turned to her. “We can take ‘em,” he said grimly,
surveying their now new enemies.
He was right. There were just six of
them, mere mortals carrying swords, playing knight. “Yeah,” she replied curtly.
“I just really don’t feel like fighting.” In her mind, she added. “Don’t feel
like anything.” It had been good for a little while, the traveling. She had felt
happy and carefree, healthy again, as they chased the night through the fields
and forests, down the ever winding road that would eventually lead them home.
Time seemed to fly, and so did they, until the dark looming shadows of snowy
mountain tops brought them crashing down. The landscape around them had become
more barren by the hour, trading field and forest for empty strips of rocky
ground. For the past two days now they had been hearing it everywhere. In every
village they had come by they had been told, warned, and occasionally laughed
at. “You want to cross the mountains? Now? You’re joking, right?” And the more
serious ones, telling them: “You’re crazy, don’t do it. Not in
wintertime...”
They had rode on, moving ever closer towards the slopes of
the Alps. But their resolution was wavering. Those that had warned them, and
maybe even more so those that had mocked them for their plan had planted the
seeds of doubt in both of them. Despite the fact that they had Slayer and
vampire strength as advantages to the average person, it would still be hard to
cross the mountains this time of year. Buffy certainly wasn’t auditioning for
another pneumonia. Moreover, the mountain caves would be snowed in, which would
make it very hard to find a place to shield from the sun during the day. But by
sheer lack of another option, they had traveled onwards, as if the answer to
their dilemma would eventually land on their path automatically. To Buffy, it
seemed it now had. She didn’t feel like journeying further. The fact that they
had to walk on the rocky, uneven and steep path in order to keep Home from
damaging his perpetually weakened leg, only added to her discontent. And now
there were these stupid toll knights. As if things weren’t bad enough
already.
“Alright,” Spike said slowly, giving in to her. “Then we don’t
fight.”
“Wait a minute,” Buffy thought. “That was much too easy.”
Shouldn’t they at least argue about it? Suspiciously, she glared at Spike, who
expertly dodged her gaze. “What?” she asked, not paying the least attention to
the knightly gang in front of them.
“Hm? What do you mean what?” Spike
asked innocently. Damn, this was tougher than fighting the blonde, he
thought.
“TOLL!” The knight on the brown horse roared at her from
above.
Buffy whirled around, her eyes ablaze. “Would you mind? We’re
talking!” Turning back to Spike, she pointed her finger at him accusingly. “You.
I mean you, you’ve been acting... strange all day.”
“Strange? Honestly
Slayer, I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”
“I am NOT babbling!”
Buffy blurted out. The vampire was starting to annoy the hell out of
her.
Spike could see it go wrong. Her mood was deteriorating by the
second. “What did I do, then?” he said, trying to sound calm.
Civilized.
“You’re... you’re being... too nice.”
“Too what??
You’re off your head Slayer! I’m not being nice.” Spike sighed, briefly looking
up, pleading with the dark, clouded sky. He had expected her to be cranky, but
walking on egg shells around her all day apparently wasn’t enough to avoid the
Slayer’s wrath. He was getting sick of it. “On second thought, you’re right. I
have been too nice. And guess what? I’m done with it.”
The blonde looked
at him, a look of disbelief in her eyes. “So, what? You’re going to be all
horrible again now?”
Spike shook his head angrily. “Fucking hell Slayer,
it’s never right, is it? I’m being too nice, or I’m being too horrible. When was
I ever horrible?”
Buffy uttered a dry laugh. She still didn’t feel like
fighting, but Spike was making a good effort to change that. She felt like
smacking the vampire in order to get him to shut up, but she knew the desired
effect would never be reached. Smacking him usually did nothing but make him
more annoying. Then verbal violence was the only way to go. “When were you
horrible?” she sneered. “What, you want me to make a list? Write a book?
Because—“
Again, the tin man on the horse interrupted the Slayer.
Impatiently, the man grabbed Buffy by the arm, and turning to Spike, started
saying, “you pay, or else she—“
The knight could not have picked a worse
moment for his interruption. Before he could finish his sentence, Buffy had
wrung herself loose from his grasp. A split second later, the man was on the
ground, rolling over to avoid his own horse’s stamping feet, with one pissed off
Slayer ready to beat him into a tin can. At this the rest of the group went into
attack mode, while Spike and Buffy stood waiting for them side by side. Before
it came to a clash however, a short horn signal resounded, echoing against the
mountains in the distance. Again the sound of the horn tore through the night,
and down one of the slopes rode another knight, galloping at full speed. Once he
reached the group it became clear this had to be the boss of the bunch. He was
dressed far more chicly and elegantly, with a nice glimmering harness and an
expensive-looking white fur cape.
“Hold it!” the newcomer snapped at his
men, who were ready to attack. He took one glance at the blonde pair in front of
them, and said, almost sounding surprised. “I knew it!”
“Knew what,
mate?” Spike said, relaxing while he light the last of his precious cigarets. He
really needed to find some tobacco sometime soon.
“We have been expecting
you to travel these parts.” Turning to his band, he spoke: “Men, you don’t want
to fight these people. Can’t you see their hair, their faces? Don’t you know who
they are?”
Spike took a long drag from his cigaret, savoring the taste.
That would be one reason to try to make it home quickly; he would really miss
his ciggies. Surveying the cryptic conversation going on in front of him, it
suddenly dawned on him what the men were probably thinking. “Buffy, it’s our
rep,” he said, ignoring the guys in front of them.
“Huh?” Buffy
replied.
“Our rep, y’know, angels of revenge and all that. I think that’s
what they think.” He gestured at the group of knights.
Next to them the
man Buffy had pulled of his horse scrambled back to his feet. “It’s them,” he
said to his colleagues. She’s very strong. It’s unnatural.”
The headman
turned to Spike and said: “My name is Marco Bonacci di Susa. We’re having a
feast at my castle tonight. We would be honored for you to join us. And you will
spend the night, of course.”
Buffy and Spike looked at each other and
turned away from the group a little. The tides had turned unexpectedly, and
Marco Bonacci’s offer was certainly very tempting. A good meal, a warm bed, and
in a castle, no less. “Spike, they’re scum,” Buffy said under her breath. “They
have no right to ask for toll here. They’re ripping people off, but we turn out
to be too strong for them. That’s why they invite us.”
Spike’s reply
floated on his last bit of ciggie smoke. “Yeah. So?” With a look of regret on
his face, he threw the cigaret butt on the rocky ground. Hey, maybe these
fellers had some tobacco for him.
“So?” Buffy said incredulously. “It’s
not right!”
“C’mon pet, don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to a bit
of a party, a nice bed, maybe a place to clean yerself up some
more.”
“Hey, watch it!” Buffy snapped.
“I’m just
sayin’…”
She sighed. Her tummy was grumbling for some food, and the idea
of a place to wash, and a good bed, was beyond alluring. It was incredible what
hunger and need for comfort could do to a person’s principles, Buffy thought.
“Okay, you’re right. As always,” she muttered. “And that Marco something guy
looks like sort of a nice guy, so, well, let’s do it.”
Turning back to
the group of rowdies, she mimicked their medieval courtesy speak, “we would be
honored to accept your gracious invitation.”
“Thank you,” Marco replied
simply. “Now, let us go. The night has fallen over an hour ago, and this is not
a good time to be outside. Remember poor Giorgio.”
Buffy gave Spike a
look and mouthed, “vampires?”
“Could be,” Spike whispered back. “Let’s
ask them at the party.”
Presently the small caravan started moving, the
men on horses first and Buffy and Spike following them, leading Home by his
reins once again. Up the slope they went, around a massive group of rocks, and
there they saw the castle.
It was rather magnificent. On top of a steep
mountain, at the edge of a cliff, the castle looked out over the valley. It was
easy to see why the men had picked the job of demanding toll. The citadel was
about two stories high, and had crenellated walls and one large tower. Even from
down here the tiny orange and yellow specks that had to be torches were visible.
The pale moonlight made the place looked somewhat ominous, but as they came
closer, the flickering light of the torches behind the open windows gave it a
more romantic air. The gate was opened, and they were welcomed inside by the
men’s wives. They all seemed nice women, who were simply happy to see their
husbands back after a long day no matter what their jobs were, and suddenly
Buffy was very glad she had not had to beat them up earlier.
Moments
later they were introduced to the mistress of the castle; Marco Bonacci’s wife
Maria, who immediately took it upon herself to provide Buffy with a presentable
outfit for the party. “My dear girl, let’s get you out of those dirty rags and
into a pretty dress. You’re beautiful, you should wear beautiful
clothes…”
~*~*~*~
Spike was standing in the bedroom that would be
theirs for the night. The feast would not start for another hour or two, and the
servant that had showed Spike to the room had quickly left in order to help with
the last preparations for the festivities. Spike leant against the crude granite
windowsill and looked out over the silent moonlit valley. They had got lucky
with this place. The fellers they had encountered were not half bad, and this
bedroom alone was worth the stay with them. The room bathed in the faint light
of a dozen candles, making for a warm and cosy look. The walls were covered with
richly colored Persian tapestries, that must have cost Bonacci a fortune. If he
had not stolen them from some intimidated travelers, at any rate. Except for a
low wooden table, the only piece of furniture in the room was a canopied bed,
covered in white lace and deep blue velvet covers, with clean white sheets
underneath the soft fabric. It was even quite big for medieval standards. He
smiled at the thought of Buffy’s golden hair spread out over those pretty
sheets. She deserved a bit of luxury. It did not really matter to him where they
slept, as long as she lay in his arms, but he knew she would appreciate the soft
clean bed.
The sound of the door opening made him look up.
Buffy
tentatively stepped into the room. She felt so much better now that she had
freshened up a bit. Although she had felt somewhat insulted when Maria had
called her old dress a dirty rag, she had to admit the thing was gross. She had
been wearing it for too long without any opportunity to wash it. And Buffy felt
very glad to wear something clean. And Maria had given her some kind of fabric
medieval pads, which were so much better than that horrible straw she had had to
use earlier. But most important was that she finally was wearing the pretty
dress she pictures herself walking around in back in this day and age. It made
her shine, she had thought while spinning around in front of the large
gold-framed mirror in Marco and Maria’s bedroom. The dress she had been given
was still rather simple compared to what some of the other women in the castle
wore, but it was splendid to her. It was all crème silk and some heavy brocade,
with long wide sleeves set with lace, and a low square neckline that showed her
cleavage. Maria had told her it had belonged to her when she was younger, but
she had gotten quite a lot bigger since then and the dress no longer fit.
Although it looked somewhat different, the dress still reminded Buffy of one
Halloween night back home, when she had dressed up in a Victorian type of dress
to impress Angel, whom she had thought to love girls in the dresses of his age
and time. The memory of Angel was still painful to her, and so was the thought
of home. She longed to be there, where clean clothes were not a
once-every-so-many weeks deal, yet at the same time she felt she would lose
something once they would get back. But she would not think of it
now.
She looked up to see Spike stand at the windowsill. He seemed less
pale than usual in the dim candlelight. And all the bit gorgeous. It felt good
to finally be able to admit that to herself. She had always thought he looked
very good, but back when they were natural enemies, that had not been an okay
thing to think.
“Buffy,” he said, a little stunned. She looked
incredible. “You look beautiful.”
She shrugged, a little shy suddenly.
“The dress is nice.”
“You’re always beautiful, pet,” he said, as he took
a step towards. “And sexy.” Another step. “And delicious.” He had reached her
and wrapped his arms around her as he bent forward and kissed her lips, her
cheeks, trailing down to her neck, licking and suckling. “I know you just put it
on,” he said huskily, “but would you mind if I help you out of that pretty dress
again?”
Buffy shook her head, smiling, and brought his mouth to hers
again. She plunged her tongue down his throat. She had seen it in his eyes when
he walked over to her. That look of adoration mixed with a hint of something
predatory. It made her knees go weak and it made her want him badly.
Mere
seconds later they were lying on the lush bed, legs tangled as Spike struggled
with the many ties and bows that kept the dress closed around her. Finally, he
got the fabric loose and threw the dress in a heap of silk on the carpet next to
the bed. He kissed her deeply, murmering again, “delicious,” as he proceeded to
kiss and nibble his way down her chest. Buffy leant back in the thick soft
pillows to enjoy the sensations he brought to her, until his tongue passed her
belly button and she suddenly remembered that she was having her period. She
froze.
Spike looked up, wonder in his eyes. It had felt so good kissing
her soft skin, making his way down to get a taste of her. The intoxicating smell
of her blood, that he had tried to ignore all day, was stronger than ever, and
he couldn’t wait to make her feel what that smell did to him. And now, suddenly,
she seemed disturbed. Catching her gaze, he noticed embarrasment coloring her
cheeks.
“Spike, not…” she stuttered, pushing him away from her. “I
forgot.. this is not a good idea, not today.”
After a beat, he realized
what made her say this. “You’re telling me captain cardboard never does this to
you this time of the month?”
Riley. It hit her. She had not thought of
him for all this time, all these many days now that she had been sleeping with
Spike. She had thought of home, longed to be there, and thought of her friends
and had even worried about what they would think of her if they knew that she
and Spike… but not Riley. He had never even crossed her mind. It choked her up
suddenly. This could not be good. She had struggled with their relationship
before, with the fact that with Riley everything was safe and secure. She had
kept trying to tell herself that this was a good thing, but could never help her
mind adding ‘boring’ whenever she thought of it. Did it really mean nothing to
her then, what she and he had?
Spike noticed the confusion jump into her
eyes. Wrong move. He should not have mentioned the soldier boy. He moved up to
kiss her again, stroking her hair. Then, looking straight into her eyes, he said
determindly, “Right now luv, it’s just you and me, alright? Just you and me.
Here and now.”
She nodded. It felt so good what he did to her, what he
made her feel. He made her feel more than she had ever felt before, it seemed.
And his words wiped the doubt from her mind again, temporarily. She did not want
to think now.
“Now,” he breathed, moving down again. “Let me…”
She
let him. He was eager and rough, and wild, and it felt better than ever. As wave
after wave of her orgasm washed over her, leaving her breathless and craving
more, he moved up and plunged inside her. They took turns riding each other till
they were both exhausted, and finally satisfied. Afterwards they lay together,
both thinking of what more they could do this starry hot winternight, but
knowing they had to join the dinner party soon.
Spike kissed her again,
his beautiful blond princess of the light. But Buffy suddenly felt sadness creep
up again. Riley was on her mind again, and he was marching down to her heart at
frightening speed. She could not forgive herself for not thinking of him all
this time, not even once considering her real, true boyfriend. Her love, she
told herself, but her feelings again spasmed to contradict this thought. “But
this is just now,” she thought, shivering slightly as Spike softly blew against
her ear, before nibbling on her earlobe again. “This is surreal, not real. Back
home all will be good again. Back to normal.” Instead of making it okay, this
only made her feel more sad. Still, she felt strangely obligated to speak her
thoughts out loud. Share them so that the vampire she had come to care for would
not get any ideas. “Spike,” she said, voice on the verge of
breaking.
“Yeah?”
She took a deep breath and spoke: “When we get
home, everything will be different. You know that, right?”
Her words
stung him. He had been half-fearing them, half-expecting them, but they hurt
nonetheless. He had to convince her, somehow… “It doesn’t have to be. We have
something, Buffy. Something special.”
She shook her head, wriggling
herself out of his arms. “No we don’t.” She sounded hard and cold. She could
hear it, as if it was somebody else speaking and not her. “What we have Spike is
sex. It’s lust, that’s all. When we get back, I’ll have Riley again and you will
find someone else.”
Stinging, again. “How can you say that??” he burst
out, getting up from the bed. “Buffy! You know it’s more than that! It’s much
more than that! I lo--- “
“Don’t!” She cut him short. “Don’t say it.” She
could not hear it. Not now. Besides, he could not really love her, could he? He
didn’t have a soul. She turned away from him coldly and gathered the pretty
dress in her arms. All the while not looking at him, not wanting to see his
undoubtedly hurt face, she put on the dress. As so many times before, she
struggled with the laces and small frilly silver buttons, but this time she did
not ask him for help. Finally, she moved out of the room, slamming the heavy oak
door shut, leaving him to his misery. It hurt her more than she could have ever
imagined.
~*~*~*~
The feast had already begun when Spike entered
the huge main room of the castle. More tapestries on the walls here, as well as
torches to provide some light, and a big fireplace at the far end of the room. A
fire crackled in its nest, just barely producing enough heat to warm the place a
bit. In the middle of the room stood a long wooden table with benches around it.
Atop were dozens of plates with all kinds of meat, jugs filled to the brim with
red wine and candles to make it possible to discern what one was eating. In one
of the corners stood a troubadour playing his lute for musical entertainment.
Spike had stayed in the bedroom for a while, trying to overcome his rage and
desire to hurt Buffy back the way she had hurt him. After a while, he had felt
sufficiently calmed down to join the party.
Spike’s eyes swept through
the room and settled on the Slayer. She was sitting at the far end of the table,
next to Maria who sat beside Marco at the head of the table. One of the young
men at the party was talking to her in the dialect of the area and behind him,
others lined up to meet the obvious queen of the feast. Maria was beaming
because of all the attention her new protégé was receiving, and Buffy seemed to
be enjoying herself a tad too much as well. Spike could feel the anger flare up
inside him again and quickly sat down at the other end of the table, unable to
keep his eyes of the spectacle at the other end. When Buffy looked up she
noticed him. Quickly, her eyes turned away, avoiding to meet his. The gesture
only fueled Spike’s rage. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Did she really
think she could just walk away from everything they had, everything they had
been through and everything they had done together?
Spike’s train of
thought was interrupted by Marco Bonacci, who stood up to deliver a small speech
before the start of dinner. Around him the chatter ceased till all was quiet,
and only the soft tripping sound of one of the catle cat’s paws could be heard
in the enourmous room. “My dear family and friends,” the lord of the castle
began, “I’m honoured you have all chosen to join us for this feast to lighten
the dark times of winter.” After profusely welcoming all of his guests Bonacci
took a moment to single out his “special guests, don Guillermo and his wife
Elisabeth from England.” Buffy cringed at the man’s words, still refusing to
look at her supposed husband. Why did everyone here have to think they were
married? The short speech was followed by a prayer, after which the dinner bell
was rung once and the feast began. Spike did not feel like eating anything. His
stomach lay in knots, and he still had a tinge of Slayer blood on his lips, a
taste he wished to savor and not loose. When one of the men sitting across the
table from him asked why he would not eat, he replied loud enough for everyone
to hear, “No thanks mate, I’ve already eaten.”
Buffy’s head shot up. That
was gross, and very rude of him. “Asshole!” she blurted out before she could
catch herself. The room rocked with laughter, and the girl turned bright red.
She chose to ignore Spike for the rest of the night and quickly engaged in an
animated conversation with her neighbor, the young, handsome son of Marco and
Maria. Spike watched her for another minute or so, his hands unconsciously busy
tearing a white hemp napkin to pieces. Damn, he needed a cigarette. With one
last glance at Buffy and her companion for the evening, he threw down the napkin
pieces and jumped up from his bench. “Bugger all,” he muttered as he left the
table and stormed out of the room.
~*~*~*~
The night was cool and
breezy. He sniffed the cold winter air for a moment, and then headed out to the
small pine forest he had spotted down in the valley below. Although the taste
he’d had of Buffy’s blood had been divine, it had been very little, and truth
was, he was still pretty hungry. Maybe in the woods down there he could hunt for
some more hares or rabbits. Also, he had not forgotten the words of Marco
Bonacci earlier that night, outside. And this is not a good time to be outside.
Spike hoped it was true. He longed to beat up something nasty and take out his
agression on it. Once again cursing the fact that he could no longer hunt those
that he was made to hunt, he disappeared in the pitch darkness between the
trees.
~*~*~*~
“So,” Buffy said to Marco’s son Leonardo, when a
rare pause split their conversation. “What’s up with this ‘be inside before dark
kiddies’ thing you got going here?” The memory of the comment Marco had made
outside had stuck and suddenly reared its head now. Could it be that there was a
gang of vamps operating in this neck of the woods? In that case she might
finally get another bit of much-needed action. The thought of beating up and
dusting a few of the undead appealed to her as a particularly good way to get
rid of her agression, and anger, and… confusion. She hated how torn up she felt
over the way she had treated Spike.
Leonardo moved his head closer to
hers and answered in a conpirational tone. “It’s not safe out there. No one
knows what’s out there, but men that go out there at night disappear. There is a
swamp in the woods, over to the west of the castle, down in the valley… men…
anything male, even the dogs, and stray horses… they all get drawn in there.
They drown.”
Buffy looked at him, interested. So no vamps. That was a
disappointment. But it was still an intriguing story. “So nobody knows what does
this, or what exactly happens?”
Leonardo shook his head. “It’s a
mystery,” he declared, not without glee over the fact that he had such an
exciting story to tell her. “They find them during the day. Even then men are
scared to go into the woods, but they have to when someone’s missing. They
always know where to find them.”
“But during the day nothing happens,
then?”
“Exactly.”
“And what about the women?” Buffy asked. “You
said ‘anything male’…”
Leonardo looked horrified. “You are kidding,
aren’t you? You cannot expect our women to go into those woods. To go out at
night, alone!”
“Yeah, but dogs, or—“
Suddenly Marco interrupted
their conversation. “Leo!” he scolded. “You are not telling our guest spook
stories are you? You must not frighten her.”
“Oh,” Buffy laughed with an
off-hand gesture. “That’s alright. I don’t frighten easily.” Involuntarily, her
eyes searched Spike’s. Only to find an empty space where he had been sitting.
“Do you know where my friend went?” she asked shrilly.
“Your friend?” One
of the women sitting at Spike’s end of the table replied. “He left a few moments
ago. I have no idea where he went.”
A cold feeling settled in the pit of
Buffy’s stomach. “He didn’t go outside,” she told herself sternly. “Of course he
didn’t.” But her sense of reason countered, “why wouldn’t he? He’s not afraid.
He doesn’t know what’s out there. And neither do you.” Abruptly, the Slayer
excused herself and got up from the table. She hurried out of the room, and to
their bedroom. Even before she threw open the door, she knew he wasn’t there.
And she was right. She turned on her heels and sped down to the castle gate.
Spike was a big boy, he could handle himself. She knew that, but at the same
time… they didn’t know what they were dealing with, and she couldn’t help
getting worried because of it.
The gatekeeper stood next to the closed
gate, looking rather cranky. The guy probably didn’t appreciate that he was on
watch in the cold night while everyone else was warm inside eating themselves
twice their sizes. Buffy almost felt sorry that she didn’t bring him a bite of
one of the many dishes. But she had other things on her mind now. Such as a
stupid vampire who had to go outside in the middle of the night while
god-knows-what was out there. “Hi,” Buffy said to the gatekeeper. “Have you seen
my friend? I think he may have gone out.”
“Blond guy?” The man asked
curtly.
“Yeah, very.”
“He went out that way. I told him it was not
a good idea, you know, to leave the castle at night. But he was stubborn.” The
gatekeeper shrugged.
“Tell me about it,” Buffy said with an aggravated
sigh. “Could you please open the gate for me?”
The man looked at her,
surprise written all over his face. “You’re not thinking about going out there
yourself, madam, are you?”
Buffy nodded impatiently. “I’m kinda in a
hurry.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot allow it.”
“What?” Buffy blurted
out.
“It’s not safe out there. Bonacci would not like it.”
“Well
guess what, if you don’t let me through, I’ll make sure you are not going to
like it.” Buffy stepped right in front of the gatekeeper. When the man still
didn’t move, Buffy lost her patience. With one sharp punch she knocked him out
cold. “Sorry,” she said as she took the big iron ring with keys from the
gatekeeper. Quickly, she unlocked the gate and flew out.
At the edge of
the cliff, just outside the castle, she stopped. From the high rock she was
standing she could survey the entire valley beneath her. Buffy thanked heaven
that there was a moon tonight. Searching the field and hills below, there was no
sign of the blond vampire anywhere. To the west she could see the dark form of
what had to be the forest Leonardo had been talking about. Without thinking
twice, she started running towards it.
She had not even reached the edge
of the forest yet when she heard him. “Buffy!” Spike’s voice called out
somewhere in the heart of the woods. She ran faster, in the direction of the
sound, following the ever stronger getting stench of the swamp. Finally, she
came to a clearing. Where the sight that greeted her utterly baffled her. “What
the—“
Spike was standing to his knees in the smelly and bubbling swamp
mud, and in the middle of the marsh, apparently drowning, was… she. It was her,
Buffy, swaying her arms, and calling out for help, in her voice. She was
watching herself drown.
Spike saw it too. And he believed it. He didn’t
know how, or what, or understand it at all. All he knew was that his love was
lying in the swamp and she was drowning. And he would get her out of there. So
he advanced, further into the mess, while he felt the long waterplants of the
swamp’s depths grab at his ankles and pull him down like arms and hundreds of
eager fingers.
As Spike stepped forward, deeper into the swamp, Buffy
snapped out of her amazement. “Spike, NO!” she screamed. The vampire whirled
around. Upon seeing the Slayer, a bewildered look crossed his face. “What the
fuck!” She heard him say, as he again turned towards the Buffy lying in the
marsh. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the swamp, struggling to keep her
head above the muddy water.
Spike turned back to the girl by the
waterside. “I have to help her!”
Buffy ran towards the edge of the swamp
and tried to reach him. “It’s not real. Spike, listen to me. It’s not real, it’s
not me. They’re trying to get you to drown.”
“How do I know that? How do
I know she’s the one that’s not real? You’re trying to trick me, make me lose
her! I know it!” Spike again stepped deeper into the swamp, confusion ruling his
expression.
“Shit!” Buffy thought. “How do I convince
him?”
“Spike,” she began. “Remember what you said tonight? And what I
said? I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I said. Believe me, it’s me, Buffy. That’s
not me.” She pointed at the girl in the swamp, and Spike turned around again.
There was something weird about the Buffy in the swamp now. She seemed to
change, the form of her head was distorting, growing…
“Bloody hell!”
Spike cursed. “You’re right.” He turned and tried to move towards the shore, but
the thousand slimey plant fingers held him back. “Fuck,” he muttered as he
struggled against their strength. He almost slipped, but Buffy reached out and
grabbed his hand. Pulling as hard as she could, she managed to bring him back
onto dry land. As they turned around to face the marsh, they saw the drowning
and distorting Buffy sink under water. Spike was breathing raggedly. “Oh god. Oh
god I thought that was you. It wasn’t, right? Tell me it wasn’t…”
But
before Buffy could tell him anything, the bubbling mud in the swamp stirred, and
out rose a creature that looked like it was made of the swamp itself. Stinking
dead plants drooped from its head and into its three small eyes, and its body
was covered in mud and dirt. The hands were tentacles like the waterplants that
Spike had felt pull him down. Both Buffy and he scrambled to their legs
immediately as the monster moved towards them.
“I was to have him,” the
thing spoke in a strangely sweet female voice. “He was mine. I was to have him
and you took him from me. You’ll pay for this.”
“I don’t think so,” Buffy
said as the demon crawled onto the land. “He was never yours to begin with, miss
slime ball.”
“Damn right.” Spike added, taking a fighting
stance.
The creature stretched out into its full length, and towered
above the pair. Buffy did not wait for its to make its first move, but jump
kicked it straight in its head. It did not have a whole lot effect, but it made
the thing stop. Surprised, the voice said, “Strong. Who are you?”
“I’m
the Slayer,” Buffy quipped. “And you’re dead.”
“We’ll have to see about
that,” the demon replied. “You can’t be the Slayer. The Slayer…” the creature
paused and a dozen of its tentacles swept through the air, making a circular
form. In it appeared the image of a young girl, fighting in a frame of darkness
and decay. “The Slayer is hunting the battlefields of France.”
“That’s
her,” Spike whispered to Buffy, both staring at the picture of the fighting girl
in the air.
“She knows how to kick ass,” Buffy remarked, appreciating the
girl’s fighting skills.
The swamp demon moved again and the image
dissolved, but not before, in a flash, it had filled up with the picture of a
man’s face. It was an ugly, young but somewhat wrinkled face, and for some
reason it made Buffy shiver. She knew that man…
The demon had seen it,
too. “Meet your destiny,” the thing hissed. Buffy had no time to contemplate
these words, nor to ponder the face she had seen in that split second before the
vision had disappeared. The swamp monster grabbed the Slayer’s wrist and
proceeded to drag her towards its dark and slimey lair. Within a second, Spike
was on the thing’s back, kicking and punching it. “You,” – punch – “made,” –
kick – “me,” – another punch – “believe,” – punch – “she was drowning!” This
last part of his sentence was followed by a whole set of kicks and blows. It
felt great taking out all his aggression and worries on the swamp demon, Spike
thought as he fought. Meanwhile Buffy had pulled herself loose and was now
putting up a good fight as well. She wished she had a weapon of some kind, as it
would make it easier chopping off the demon’s gross tentacles, but then again,
she was doing a pretty good job as things were. Although the demon was strong,
the vampire and the Slayer together eventually got the better of it. After a
final jump kick from Buffy, the creature slumped halfway back into the swamp,
and died. Unfortunately, it did not disappear or crumble into a slimey heap or
anything similar small and compact. It just lay there.
“Looks like that
one won’t be tricking anymore people into taking a swamp bath,” Spike remarked.
“Bloody disgusting thing.”
At the same time, the two fighters turned away
from the dead demon and faced each other. Hiding her relief as best as she
could, Buffy still couldn’t keep herself from hugging the vampire. “Don’t ever
do that again,” she sighed.
“Do what?” he wanted to ask, but instead he
kept quiet as she snuggled against him. If silence was what kept her in his
arms, then silent he would be. He would not try to tell her of his love for her
again; not, at least, until she was ready to hear it.