Tango
Part FiveBuffy had every intention of breaking up with Roscoe Valenti.
She pulled on her clothes, wolfed down some breakfast and headed for his apartment. But as soon as she was standing on the threshold facing him, she began to weaken. And as soon as he touched her cheek, all of her resolve evaporated.
"Buffy?" the hottie purred. "This is an unexpected and delightful surprise. Please, come in."
"Yes," Buffy's libido whispered, "come in! Come again! Come often! Oh, come on…why are we still standing in the hallway?"
"I…that is…Will…uhm…Willow," the Slayer babbled. She stumbled back, fighting against the swift current of her hormonal surge. "…is…she's a witch and she's…uhm…waiting…in the car. I just wanted to tell you…uh…something…uhm…about
our date…later."
Roscoe frowned at the flustered young woman.
"You seem flushed," he said. "Are you sure you're okay? You wouldn't like to lie down for a minute? I was just about to take a shower but I can go tell Willow you're unwell and then you are welcome to curl up on the couch or maybe use the bathroom to refresh yourself." He stepped into the hall as if to usher her inside and Buffy squeaked, retreating along the passageway.
She held up a hand, dropping down the first two steps on the stairs as she said, "No, not now…can't…much as I would love to do you…I mean…do that…I have to go…to school…cause there's a test…of Big time Evil and…I really don't have time for
naked showers…I'll see you tonight…okay…bye!"
Buffy turned and pelted down the stairs in panicked flight. She didn't slow until she was a good three blocks away. As she stood panting at the corner of Main and Ventura, visions of Roscoe in the shower merged in her mind with her memory of Spike, holding and stroking himself. The resemblance was uncanny. Different hair, not a vampire…but still…in her fantasy, Rocko was remarkably similar in face and form to Buffy's undead admirer.
Desire prickled under Buffy's skin as she recalled the way Spike had moaned out her name in the shower. No one else had ever said her name with such soft devotion, so it pulsated with need and love. It had made her feel like a precious thing, fragile and powerful at the same time. It made her feel protected, like a treasured possession. Buffy wanted to hear Spike call out to
her like that again. She wanted to hold him in her arms and hear him speak her name.
“This is insane,” Buffy grumbled, aloud. “There is nothing wrong with Roscoe. He’s smart, rich, handsome and totally normal and I am breaking up with him because of Spike. First Riley and now this. How many great guys is that peroxided pest going to cost me? 'Use the bathroom' my ass," she groused. "Why can’t he just plot my downfall like a proper vampire?”
But her words rang false. This wasn’t Spike's fault. Or not completely, anyway. There was something about Roscoe that tweaked at her Slayer senses. Something demon-y. And it made Spike look like the guy you take home to mother. Buffy knew her emotional imbalance was a good enough reason to investigate further. She headed for the Magic Box with a renewed sense of purpose.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Damnable energy crisis,” Giles growled, as the Magic Box lights flickered but failed to come back. “Rolling black outs. How do they expect us to conduct business or do research under these barbaric conditions?”
“Yeah, those power company executives have no respect for the Slaying trade,” Buffy remarked. "But, this time, I think someone hit a pole 'cause the phone's out, too." She placed the receiver back in its cradle and stared at it for a minute, thinking about her duty to the world and to her sister. Sighing, she turned back to the group. Spike was with Dawn; so Dawn was safe.
“Luckily, we have lots of candles,” Xander said, cheerfully. Striking a match, he started lighting up the inventory. “So no need to curse the darkness. Willow, Tara…break out the decorative sconces.”
“Not the unicorn candle, Sweetie,” Anya called, as she locked up the cash drawer. “It’s $10.95. Use the standard 8 inch tapers…in green." She came out from behind the counter and closed on the group circle, confiding, "The green never sells. It is puzzling. Red, Black, Blue…love, death, vengence…all selling well…but nobody seems interested in money spells." She shrugged and then asked, perkily, "Who's hungry? I am going to walk down to the Deli for some sandwiches while we still have sunlight.”
“Thanks, An,” Buffy said with a warm smile. Xander’s fiancée was really trying to fit in. "Turkey on rye, lots of veggies, no mayo."
"Not really hungry," Tara said. "Giles?"
"Uhm…yes, I'm buying and let's see," Giles mused. He absently fished his wallet out of his jeans, removing two twenties and handing the cash to the ex-demon, as he ordered, “I'll have a Greek salad, a diet soda and three of those little brownies with the cream cheese filling…Oh, and ask Song Lee if he has any Halva in yet. I know he was expecting a shipment and I was so hoping it would…"
Buffy raised an eyebrow at her former watcher, causing Giles' train of thought to derail. He sputtered for a moment and then drew himself up, defensively, saying, "Well…I have been out of town."
"Yeah, Buffy," Xander grinned. "Cut Giles a break, those brownie things are to die for." The carpenter sidled up to Anya, snuggled into her hair and said, "You know what I want, honey." He paused to smirk before adding, "And you know what to get me for dinner, too. And if I know Willow she'll have what I'm having." He noticed the others staring at him and gave a little embarrassed laugh, "'having'…in the deli sense…not the sexy suggestiveness sense of 'having'…because I…mmmm…
Anya kissed Xander, effectively, stifling his mindless chatter. Tara rolled her eyes. A small smile played over her lips as she exchanged a glance with Willow.
"Returning to topic," Buffy prompted, tapping a stack of books. "My new and possibly demonic main squeeze?"
“Yes, yes, of course," Giles said. He adjusted his glasses and studied the bookshelves. As he took a number of books down and passed them to Willow and Tara, he kept up a running commentary, "Shape-shifting demons, as such, are quite common in this dimension. For example, there’s the Gormeeani, the Belltourus and the Mur K'lukiri…but judging by your rather graphic description of the effect of this particular entity’s touch on your bodily functions. The inexplicable and nearly uncontrollable… urges. I would say what we are dealing with, in this instance, is an Incubus.”
“Oooooo!” Willow breathed, with obvious enthusiasm, “I’m all over it!” Tara shot her a look of hurt confusion and the redhead quickly amended, “But only not literally…just…in a researching sense.”
“Incubus?” Buffy asked, with a quizzical lift of her brow. “I'm guessing…some kind of dreaded math demon…similar to the Calculus?”
“Incubus or Incubi,” Giles explained, with exaggerated patience, after only briefly staring in a pained fashion at the ceiling, “are an ancient species of soul hunter. Or, more precisely, the male of the species. The females are called Succubae or, singularly, Succubus. They feed on the life forces of other beings. Assuming an irresistibly seductive or familiar form to gain access to their victims. Once the victim is lulled into a false sense of security, the demon attacks. Few survive the creature's assault which by all accounts is quite powerful.”
“Spike,” Buffy thought, “Both seductive and familiar”
But not irresistible she reminded herself. She could resist Spike just fine, thank you very much. In fact, resisting Spike was something Buffy did regularly, like a hobby. She could do it in her sleep. Which meant that there must be more to this Incubus thing than looking like Spike.
“Uhm, excuse me,” Buffy said, coming out of her reverie and raising one hand for everyone’s attention. “I was definitely under some kind of spell. I could feel myself go all squishy, like I lost my will to Slay.”
“It says here,” Tara said reading from her candlelit text, “'…the touch of the Incubi contains a compound which induces a state of relaxed euphoria. The compound is similar in molecular structure to chemicals released in the brain during…hhmm…oh, boy…”
“What?” Buffy asked.
“Sex,” Willow answered. She had leaned across Tara to finish reading the passage. “It’s all about sex. That’s how the Incubus feeds, Buffy. It takes on this familiar and irresistible form and then it entices its victims into having sex and…ZAP!”
"Zap?" Xander inquired.
"It turns all shapeless and tentacle-y," Willow said. She waved at the text her lover was holding. "Look, there's a picture." Tara turned the book around so they could all see the ink-drawn image of an incubus sucking the life from some maiden of old.
"Holy jellyfish, Batman," Xander commented. "Or UN-holy."
“And you all think Roscoe looks like Spike?” Buffy asked the suddenly subdued Scoobies. She was hoping someone would deny it but the other’s simply nodded at her.
Willow, noticing Buffy’s dejected look, prevaricated, “Well…I mean…he looks like a HUMAN Spike. Like if Spike…had a job and a wardrobe and was a successful member of society and not…you know…dead and evil and all.”
“Why human?” Xander asked, steepling his fingers as if on the verge of great insight. “Why not vampire Spike?”
“Hello?” Buffy exclaimed, waving her hand in front of the carpenter’s face like he couldn’t see her. She noticed the blank stare he and the other Scoobies were giving her and snorted angrily. “I hope we all understand that the Buffy train no longer stops at that station,” she clarified, pointedly, as she swept her deadly gaze around the table. The others continued to look clueless. With a puff of impatience, she spelled it out for them, “Vampires plus sex equals…any answer but Buffy!”
“Oh, OH,” Willow chimed, in sudden understanding. Using her ‘let’s not rile the Slayer’ voice, she continued, “Yes, oh, YES…Of course, we all know THAT! We know you have no interest in Spiiii…that is in any vampire at all…in THAT way.”
“Right,” Buffy nodded, but her tone was less than emphatic as her traitorous mind once again conjured up the feel of Spike stretched out along her body. She got a tiny thrill at the recollection of his weight pinning her to the bed. Desperate to redirect her thoughts, she turned on Giles. She pointed one finger at him, chastising, “You know I blame you for this. If you had just let me date a few normal guys in High School I bet none of this would be happening.”
“See here, Buffy,” Giles returned, fiercely, as he glared over the top of a huge leather bound volume of Yalasik’s guide to Demonic Shape Shifters, “let’s not lose track of the issue at hand. If this creature is planning to…” the Watcher
faltered, “…that is if it intends to…uhm…”
“I believe the phrase you're searching for,” Xander inserted, gleefully, “is ‘Bang the Buffy Gong’”.
"Oh, God," Buffy groaned, in mortification, lowering her forehead to the tabletop and covering her blush with both arms.
“Yes, thank you, Xander,” Giles growled, turning his glare on the carpenter. “But I am fairly certain that was NOT the phrase I had in mind.”
The older man's face softened as he addressed the Slayer again.
“This is quite serious, Buffy," he said, gently. “If you are this Demon’s…target, you could be in terrible danger. You have already admitted you are powerless against its…well…for lack of a better term…thrall.”
“So,” Buffy sighed, raising her head off of the table, “What do we do? If I can’t get close enough to touch it then how do I kill it?”
“Why don’t you just avoid it?” Xander asked. “Stay away. Don’t let it touch you, cancel any dates…you know, play hard to get?”
“That might save me,” Buffy said, doubtfully, “but not the next victim.”
“And it could always take on another form,” Willow explained. “Once it knows Buffy is onto it.”
Nodding in agreement, Tara continued her lover's thought, "It could become anyone. Any of us. Buffy wouldn’t know who her enemy was until it was too late.”
“According to Yasalik’s,” Giles added, reading from the book, “'The Incubus can only be killed by its intended victim and then only by using one of the four elemental forces.'”
“And again? In English…” Xander quipped.
“The Elemental Forces,” Tara supplied, her fingers fluttering. “You know…Air, Earth, Water or Fire.”
“So,” Buffy summed up, “Only I can kill it and I can drown it or burn it or bury it or…what? Blow it to death?”
Xander opened his mouth to say something caught the steely glint in Giles’ eye and converted his saucy reply into a hasty cough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn knocked, lightly, on the door to Buffy’s room. There was no response. She knocked again harder and waited to no avail. Closing her eyes, she eased into the bedroom.
“Spike?” she peeped, nervously. The vampire might not even be in the room for all the sound there was in answer to her call. She tried again, “SPIKE?”
Fear of seeing her sister's new boyfriend naked kept Dawn’s eyes closed as she fumbled her way over to stand next to the bed. She reached out tentatively, jumping when her fingers touched cold flesh. With heart-stopping suddenness, a hand gripped her wrist hard and yanked her off her feet. Dawn let out a single shriek of surprise and pain as she flopped face down on Spike’s chest.
“Bit?” Spike exclaimed, releasing her instantly. “What the hell do you mean sneaking up on me like that?”
"Wasn't 'sneaking'," Dawn corrected, as she tried to get off of him and out of the bed without opening her eyes or using her hands. She wiggled, ineffectually, about as she muttered, "I knocked and shouted and everything…oof…it was like trying to wake the dead."
"Funny," Spike returned. He watched the girl flail around on top of him like a fish out of water. Periodically, he was forced to shift the more vulnerable parts of his anatomy away from her indescriminate elbows and knees. Finally, tiring of the game, he placed both hands on androgynous sections of the teen's torso and gave her a sharp shove toward upright. "Did you come in here to practice your comedy act, then?"
“No,” Dawn said, finding her feet abruptly on the floor, "It's Buffy!" She scrambled away, stumbling blindly across the room, as she explained, “She hasn’t come home and it’s getting dark and the lights are out again and the phone is dead and....”
“Buffy can take care of herself, Niblet,” Spike sighed. "You know that." Peering at the girl in the half-light, he noticed her eyes were still squeezed shut and had to ask, “Why you got your eyes closed?”
“I…uhm…I thought you might be naked or something.”
“Did you, now?” the vampire chuckled, softly. And then he conceded, soberly, “Well, I am. But, you might have noticed, during our recent dance…I have a blanket over me. Nothing to see here.”
“Oh,” Dawn said, recalling the fuzzy barrier. After a moment, she, cautiously, opened one eye. Spike smirked at her. He was totally covered, right up to his armpits. Dawn noticed he was in Buffy’s spot under the blanket. She felt surprisingly childish and inexplicably defensive, "Well, it's just that, you were naked before…when I came home. I saw you and Buffy in bed together. All snuggly. She said nothing happened…?”
Dawn let the question hang in the air but Spike refused to take the bait.
"If that’s what she said,” he shrugged, before reaching for a cigarette. Dawn raised a clearly skeptical eyebrow at him as she took in the crumpled pack of unfiltered regulars, lighter and ashtray on Buffy’s night stand. Spike regarded her coolly. He pulled a Camel from the pack with his teeth and tossed the rest of the cigarettes back onto the table before taking up his lighter.
“Yeah, okay,” Dawn, finally, conceded, half-heartedly. She glanced toward the darkening window, “but then she went to see that Roscoe guy.”
“She went to see Roscoe?” Spike asked, sitting up, quickly. The blanket spilled to his waist but he made no effort to retrieve it. Dawn's innocence was the last thing on his mind. He felt sick at heart. Plucking the unlit fag from his mouth, he probed the wound. "She went to him…today?”
“This morning,” Dawn confirmed, with a nod. “And she hasn’t come home and it’s getting dark. And Willow said he might be a demon or a warlock or something. Spike, what if he got mad when she broke up with him and cast a spell or…?”
“Right, well! I guess that answers the question doesn't it?” Spike was muttering, bitterly, even as Dawn rushed out her worries. "Far as Buffy is concerned, nothing happened last night…nothing at all…" He wasn't listening to his young friend and then he tuned in, sharply, “'When she…', what? Niblet, what was she going to do again?”
“She was going to break up with Rosoce,” Dawn repeated. She scowled, “Weren't you listening? Right before she left this morning, Buffy told me she was going straight to his place to tell him it was over.”
“Over,” Spike sighed. He sank back unto the bed, feeling positively rejuvenated. He lit his cigarette with a dramatic little flourish and dragged the nicotine into his lungs, releasing it slowly before he continued, “And did she happen to say why she was breaking up with old Roscoe, today of all days?”
“No,” Dawn snorted, in total exasperation, “but I thought it might have something to do with the two of you in bed together. 'Cause Buffy was all,” the young woman dropped into a mockingly breathless, sex-kitten character and placed one hand over her heart as she quoted her sister, “'Shhh, don’t wake Spike’.”
“You have a dirty mind, Bit,” Spike accused, pointing at her with two fingers and his cigarette. He suppressed his smile, with some difficulty, as he admonished, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Now hop on out of here so I can get dressed.”
“Are you going to find Buffy?” Dawn asked, as she scampered for the door.
“What do you think?” Spike replied, with a grin.
Dawn grinned back. She felt the weight of fear and worry lift off her chest. Spike wouldn't let Buffy die again. He would find her and help her and then everything would be okay.
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