Sang et Ivoire
By Holly
Chapter Eleven
She kicked him to the wall - fiercely, bluntly. Her insides were screaming with wretched betrayal, her inner will struggling at the reflection of self-recognition cradling his horrified features. Instant remorse. Recognition. The worst sort of recognition. No, no...she couldn't look at his face. Her body was trembling now, trembling with hurt, hand clutching her robe to her chest. She knew her eyes were cold-dead, as cold she as had felt since returning.
She opened her mouth to speak, to send those harsh words into the void. To satisfy any lingering thought that redemption lived in this house. However, her voice never came. Dry hisses scratched at her throat, but looking at those eyes, she couldn't find it within herself to speak. The situation presented itself beyond words. She was simply hurt. Hurt that he would ever take it this far. Hurt that after all that had passed, he had it in him to do something so...
Words fueled her once again, face flushing angrily with reason. But she never got the chance to speak. Spike was torn from the wall in a whirl of sudden force, face pounded into the bathroom tile without ceremony. Again and again, he was thrashed about. The attacker was shrouded in shadows, but she thought she could see...she thought she could see...
It was him. Spike. Spike attacking himself. Spike, growling with such outraged possession it sent small ripples of cold across her skin. Spike coming to rescue her from himself. She watched dumbly as he hit himself - his victim sitting there in the stillness of remorse, accepting each blow, eyes dull with self-loathing and regret.
She had the vague conception that even as he sent himself down this path of self-abuse, her words would still hurt him more than he ever could. And yet, her lips remained sealed and she watched.
With every punch Spike gave the personification of himself, he screamed with fury, "I won't let you hurt her, you bloody ponce! I won't let you hurt her again! You're nothing! Evil! You monster! You disgusting evil wanker! Die and leave her alone!"
The scene began to change. When she blinked, she found herself standing in the mansion. The old mansion. A mirrored fight ensued in the middle of the room, before Acathla could awake. Angel was nowhere in sight. No, she was wielding the sword, all right, but a different vampire was staged at the opposing end. The fight was a mimic of actuality. For so long, her dreams had ventured here - for other reasons, of course, but she couldn't ignore the sense of déjà vu. If someone had told her this had happened differently, she would not believe it. All she knew was a very evil and guiltless vampire was her nemesis, and she had to kill him. Kill him before he killed her.
Or worse.
At last, she got the better of him. Spike was strong, of course, and her triumph was likely more accredited to chance than talent. With sinking defeat, he fell to his knees. Buffy drew the sword back, inwardly insisting that she was justified and that things would return to normal if she could just finish it. Finish it now.
A last act of love. Shoulders relaxing in acceptance of defeat, Spike looked up to her, eyes filled with warmth, love, and regret. So much regret. She heaved a sigh as her vision clouded with tears.
"Make me what I was." The words left him with assurance and faith, believing she had all the power in the world.
Forgiveness? Was that what he sought? Buffy excreted a breath and lowered her sword. A moment's hesitation before she helped him to his feet. And there they stood, looking at each other with anger and remorse, love and confusion, hatred and penance. If life was a roller coaster, she had permanent seating at the very front. The embodiment of everything she hated and everything she was, standing there...waiting for her to kill him. Waiting, just waiting...
Then she couldn't stand it anymore. With violent insistence, Buffy leapt at him, hungry mouth demanding his. Initially soft, their kiss grew with intensity as she bounded across remaining borders. A flash and walls came crashing down. She tasted him thoroughly - wholly. Lips, tongue, and teeth. He was flavored like a fine wine, coursing through her, milking those parts that had been left to sort out the world of never-ending confusion. She demanded more than he could give - not that he didn't try. His fervor was never put to the challenge. Nothing could ever be enough.
New words charged her voice. She wanted to say, 'I love you' but it wasn't needed. Somehow, inevitably, he always understood. And she would never be ready for that. She could think it, sure, but she would never be ready.
It hurt.
How long they remained like that, she didn't know. It couldn't have been very long. In the thralls of their kiss, Spike's head suddenly drew back and his eyes flashed, a tattered screaming escaping his lips. With blunt force, he tore from her arms, falling to Acathla's feet as tremors overtook him. It only lasted a minute-then he was back. Blinking. Steady. Looking at her.
"Buffy?"
Those eyes. Those eyes! What-
There was no time to consider. Spike was gone the next instant, a pile of dust collecting at her feet. Buffy could summon no reaction at first. She looked down, mouth forming a line of indifference, eyes as wide as saucers. Nothing, then a horrendous uprising seized her lungs. Climbing up her legs, her insides, tearing, rasping until release at the mouth. The scream was loud and grasped a life of its own. Desperately, she collapsed to her knees; hands clawing at what was left of him, as though her authority alone could piece him back together.
A shadow fell over her and silenced her tears. It wasn't reaction or reflex-rather a tight grasp on her throat, preventing any further release of ineffectual grief. How could she cry for someone she had told with such ardor that she didn't love? That she hated? Demon. Demon. Demon. Evil. Remorseless. Mocking.
The tears kept coming. She couldn't stop them. When Buffy finally looked up, she found herself in the presence of the Master. The Master...not quite as she remembered him, but there was no denying his distinctiveness. That smile. That look of pure glee. With a swift motion of his hand, he lured her to her feet-power blazing and influential. She was overwhelmed with a tug of familiarity. Dracula had done this to her years ago. Waved her over, possessed her with his eyes, his sensuality. The Master was not nearly as nice to look at, and yet his power over her was a mocking reflection of what transgression had taken place.
He kicked at the dust beneath his feet, grasping her arm with fierce possessiveness. Her hair was drawn from her neck, his chuckle rumbling against her back. "Vae, puto deus fio," his dead voice sneered. Then his fangs were bared and sinking into her. Sucking her. Draining her.
Then there was Spike. Standing before her, bare-chested, eyes panicked and arms outstretched. Buffy's eyes widened as she shuffled, feeling still bits of dust collect around her feet. He was different. So different. Bruises aligned his arms and shoulders from his fight - that fight with himself.
"Make me what I was," he said. Then he was gone. And she fell to the ground, cold, dead, and swirling into a whirlpool of blackness.
*~*~*
The clock was flashing a persistent 3:56AM when she found the courage to open her eyes.
Of course, the room was vacant. She had long ago deciphered the shadows on the wall from devilish fiends of malicious intent, but Slayer dreams always shook her stability. They had been getting worse over the past few weeks, and though she couldn't say that night's was the most awful, it definitely ranked up there in the top five.
With intent stillness, Buffy sat up, clutching herself tightly. The room was the same as always, and yet it felt different. Tainted. She knew Willow had brought Spike up here during their heart-to-heart that evening, and even as he was hours away, she could still feel him near. Perhaps it was the after-wear of seeing his visibly shaken demeanor at Giles's. It was aggravating - this feeling without him being near.
It was her third awakening and this time, she swore she would not look out the window. He wasn't there. He hadn't been there when she checked before, and he wouldn't be there now.
But she felt him. It wasn't enough that her sensory went into overdrive when she was patrolling, but her modified Spike-tingly had been kicking her in the gut all evening, even without him lurking within convenient proximity. He was in town, and that was enough for her senses.
Coldness flushed over her with sudden insistence, shoving her sensory aside. Buffy shivered and instinctively reached for the duster she kept near her bed, flinging it over her shoulders and coddling within its protective embrace. They had not spoken directly that evening, but Spike gave his share of forthright insight, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There were other evils in the mix now, and worrying about him was the least of her troubles.
A Master was rising.
With as often as she repeated that to herself, it didn't seem right. The affect did little more than expand the sense of deadness growing inward. A Master was rising. A Master stronger than the one that had killed her. A Master that would stop at nothing until she was dead. Or suffering. Or both.
The first nemesis she confronted was the Master. The first true challenge. So much had happened since then. Every year had presented its face of indestructible evil, and every year seemed to get progressively worse. Save the last three, when the challenge was minimal due to this uprising manifestation. And yet, with all she had faced, with every foe that crossed her path, despite the increasing amount of difficulty to survive, the Master held the epitome of her fears. Her first. Her first defeat. Her first apocalypse. Her first death. And now, one more menacing than the one before him would come to take his place, and though Giles was hesitant to say, she was certain the text indicated the death of the slayer. It always did.
Did this mean a repeat of the beginning? Would there be another Anointed One? Another Harvest? Or would that be for the next slayer to handle?
She wondered if she had lived so long because she had killed the Master. And now for what? Was it all in vain?
"I don't want to die," she whispered to the darkness. Such an admission. Die once and you get a second chance. Die twice and your friends drag you kicking and screaming out of Heaven. Die three times...was there a place in the world for a girl with as many lives as she? The sensation itself was overwhelming. She didn't know if she could do it again.
Buffy did not fear death, but she certainly did not crave it. It was difficult, reflecting this threat with such indifference. Cold was the night, and she did not know what to feel.
Except that Spike was in town, and she had promised herself she would see him today. Somehow, knowing that overshadowed everything of significance with its looming tangibility. Three years and she would see him. It didn't feel that long. It felt like an eternity - it felt like seconds. It felt she had died a thousand times. It felt it had been yesterday. Emotions welled and confused. How would she act around him?
She almost wished he had never left. In retrospect, it was probably for the best. Her feelings had been so one-sided after she had time to analyze herself, and acknowledging her partial fault hadn't been the highlight of the year. Had Spike still been there, lingering about, she likely would have staked him out of spite. But he hadn't been there. If he only he had. At least then she would know what to say to him. All sense of prose vacated her body without rite. The gap between them was broad and awkward. Even working together, as Giles - despite his words - so obviously intended, might not quench the discomfiture blazing in the place resentment had once occupied. A long-term silence, fixed with hard-to-answer questions and harder-to-hear answers. With as much as she had prodded Giles the night before, he never came close to revealing why he had placed such implicit faith in Spike's goodwill. Nothing beyond what she had overheard. That he was there as a favor, and it was to protect her.
Protect her from the Master.
What honestly could Spike do that she couldn't? After all, she was the Slayer. Who said she needed protecting? Buffy growled lightly to herself, flipping onto her stomach without removing the duster and drawing a pillow close to her chest. The clock now read 3:58. Her body was tired but she could not will her mind to rest.
Not with the looming promise of further nightmares.
Not with another Master rising.
Not with Spike in town.
Not with these inner churnings that wouldn't leave her alone.
Sleep had no place in this house.
*~*~*
That evening at the Magic Box was even more confined than the previous night. It wasn't an arranged meeting; everyone sort of flocked there instinctually when something big was poking over the horizon. The air gave way to new tensions. No one had said much, save Willow and the Watcher, who spoke in private while cautiously tossing her weary glances. Xander stood behind the register as he had the night before, obviously irritated. Her sister was next to him, keening, as though emphasizing her compliance with the opinion he had so actively voiced when the peroxide vampire was implicated. Willow, finished with her chat with Giles, shot her a suspiciously knowing glance before turning her attention to Angel. Angel. She had not spoken with him since their spat at the Bronze. He also was conspicuously silent, catching her eye every now and then, though not saying a word.
Not twenty-four hours had passed and she could detect a significant weight marking the air. For a minute, Buffy wished Anya still partook in these wearisome get-togethers. At least she knew how to keep the conversation rolling.
The air of secrecy had intensified. Without a word being said, she felt like she was the lone participant standing on the edge of a great discovery, and everyone else was invited to partake. A definite mood swing had overpowered Angel, to be sure. When he entered the Magic Box, she had expected him to immediately leap into the righteousness of his logic. However, he looked at her with solemn indifference, as though suddenly he had reason to be as confused as she was. Then, with apathy, he shook his head and retreated to the back of the store, speaking only once in response to Willow's greeting.
A ten-minute interval passed before Giles broke the silence.
"I have discussed things with Buffy," he announced, speaking only to her though his words were directed to everyone else. "My...arrival was hasty in a discovery I made with..." He paused, as though willing himself to remember, "Spike a few days ago." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Xander's gaze brighten with fiery intensity, though she knew he would not act on his rage. With as much as he hated Spike, he kept his word to her with a thousand times the impact.
The look in the Watcher's eyes flashed as he sensed the tension searing at the reminder of his unlikely companion, and it initiated an added emphasis on his irritated nerves. "With his help...no, that's not right...Spike contacted the Council and convinced them to send me the volumes of books I mentioned yesterday. Through our research, we discovered that..." He sighed and removed his glasses. "A new Master will be arising very soon. One more powerful than the last. It has only happened once before...the Master that Buffy killed almost ten years ago was the second of his order. He was summoned a decade after the one preceding him was slain. And so it is prophesized to continue. A Master is killed, and ten years later, another will arise, and kill the Slayer responsible, should she still be living. And he will live until killed by another Slayer...and the cycle begins again." The room was so still; one would assume it was filled with the unliving. Buffy had heard this the night before, of course, but it made her shiver just the same. "The books decreed it would only happen three times. I don't know if that means the Order of the Masters will be destroyed with the coming of the next Slayer to defeat him, or if the..." The words 'world would end' were tangible, but they had faced too many apocalypses to need the threat voiced by now. "All I know is, soon, very soon, this Master will arise. And Buffy will be his target."
A long beat of reflective silence settled over the room. Heavy, thick, and pendulous. Buffy's eyes were fixed on her clasped hands. There was nothing she could say - nothing to drive the coldness away.
Finally, Xander cleared his throat. "So, all of this just slipped your mind last night?"
"I wanted to tell Buffy alone before I told any of you." Giles glanced to her, then to Angel, who had been there the first time when she was informed she would die at the Master's hand. "But everyone was more concerned with my travel companion and his intentions. That...and I was hesitant. I admit it. I saw how it affected Buffy the first time, and even with everything we have faced..." A lengthy pause. "I spoke with Spike at length last night, and he made me see beyond my selfish withdrawal."
"Yeah, speak of the devil, if he's so good now, why isn't he here?" Xander maneuvered from behind the register and prowled toward the Watcher. "Especially if he has his big friends to protect him? Doesn't seem too noble to me. Coward is more the word that springs to mind."
"Xander," Willow berated softly, eliciting a sharp glance from Angel. Suddenly, they seemed to parallel the same understanding. "Hush. That won't do any good."
"Well, neither will he unless he gets his priorities straight." Angrily, he wheeled back to Giles. "You said he was here to help. All right. I can deal with that. Sounds like we'll need it. But I don't see him helping. Is he here? No. All he's doing is starting fights. We're better off without the distraction."
"No," Willow retorted firmly. "You're starting fights. Spike's not doing anything. He's not here. What has he done to you since he's been back? Nothing. Or anything to Buffy, for that matter. He doesn't want to be here anymore than you want him here. Why would he come around, anyway? With the welcoming you're itching to give him, I'd stay away, too."
The accumulation of conflicted surprise clouding Xander's eyes was moving. He regarded his best friend as though he had never seen her before. "When did you suddenly start taking his side?"
Buffy heaved a sigh and kept her gaze trained on her hands.
"When I saw him last night." Willow looked sharply to the Watcher, who mirrored her admission with no surprise. Rather, there was appreciative gratitude behind his eyes. He was no longer treading enemy terrain. "Giles was right. He's changed, and he's here to help us. And if any one of you know-it-alls decides to go test your testosterone and do what you think is heroic, I'll...I'll...well, I don't know, but it won't be nice." There was a quiver at the end of her tone. The threat made so unconsciously several years before wouldn't have meant anything, but now everything was different. Everyone walked on eggshells around Rosenberg.
Despite motivation, it seemed to do the trick. Xander's face softened and he stepped back, hands coming up in a sign of neutrality. "Right, Will," he whispered. "I already told Buffy I wouldn't...do anything."
The Slayer's head shot upward, catching Willow's eye. Tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks, and she sniffed and turned away. Her heart tore in two. Though she had never said it, Buffy knew her friend had needed something more than the sanctuary they had offered when she returned from London. She needed someone who had been there with her, holding her hand. Understanding. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the conversation she had with Spike dealt with that comprehension. Beforehand, Willow's reaction to the vampire weighed heavily on the look Buffy portrayed. That had all ended the night before, and it was painfully clear why.
"I still don't see why everyone is suddenly warming up to him," Xander said honestly, aggravation in his tone, but controlled. "I mean...what happened? This time yesterday, Buffy was crying her heart out and Willow...you didn't seem to...and Giles! You never explained...Dawn, help me!"
"It doesn't seem so hard to understand to me," her sister retorted. Confliction warred her tone but didn't man her words. Loyalty was the overpowering emotion. "Spike's a killer and a rapist and he doesn't deserve to live."
Willow's eyes flared painfully, but she didn't say anything.
Something stirred in the back. Angel. Buffy closed her eyes and swallowed a groan. With everything that was developing, the last she needed was another endless debate on the thorough badness of demons.
However, his words surprised her with frankness and consideration. He didn't seem anymore convinced, just contemplative and confused. Perhaps hurt. Hurt because of her? No, not anymore. She knew that voice well. His tenor suggested self-disgust and aberration. "You heard Willow," he said softly, commanding everyone's attention with stunning detachment. A complete one eighty from his vocalized opinion the previous day. Buffy had to blink, her gaze finally broken from her hands as she wheeled slowly in her chair and stared at him. He didn't respond to the stunned reaction he was receiving. "And you've heard Giles. The way I see it, we have plenty more to worry about than Spike's return to town. He'll come around when he knows he's welcome. Having him here now, discussing these things, would just be distracting - especially with the hostility."
That was it. Something had happened. Something big. Willow's altered opinion and sudden bestowment of unabridged benevolence was confusing but acceptable. After all, she had felt evil before and was still in the process of healing. But Angel. Angel! With everything he had scolded her about at the Bronze, the patronizing sneer of a man who had been there, who claimed nothing - not even love - could alter the demeanor of a remorseless demon, such a change of esteem could not be obtained unless...
Buffy jumped to her feet and pivoted violently to face him. "Did you see Spike last night?" she demanded.
Angel returned her gaze sharply before casting his eyes downward. "I did," he admitted. "He was coming by your house to tell you something, and I...we-"
There was a sharp gasp from behind. Buffy wheeled again, too fast for Willow to smother her recognition. The same response from Giles. A secret shared by three.
Dawn and Xander alone looked confused, their manifest judgment not wavering.
And no one was talking.
"All right!" she finally exploded. "I'm getting tired of this. Someone better tell me what the hell is going on, now! Giles shows up and admits he and Spike have been best friends since he went back to London. Willow runs into him last night and now they're buddies. Angel...Angel, you fed me so much bullshit about things you couldn't possibly understand, and now you...what's going on?!"
"Ask him!" Willow returned sharply. "What, that's what you said you were going to do! Find him, Buffy. Find him and ask him. It should be obvious. It was to all of us!"
"What was obvious?" It was true first tremor she had heard in Dawn's voice.
"That's for your sister to find out," she replied, eyes not leaving the Slayer's. "Go on, then. Find him. Talk to him. Ask him. You owe him that much."
"Wait a sec." Xander stormed forward. "She doesn't owe him-"
A sense of passiveness overwhelmed her, and Buffy heaved a sigh. With accented impartiality, she stepped forward and placed a calming hand on her friend's shoulder, smoldering his anger. "She's right, Xan. I do need to talk to him." She tightened the duster around her, watching Angel's eyes blaze in momentary acknowledgment. "And I'm going right now."