Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Eighteen

First attempt unsuccessful. Second attempt aggravating. The hastily constructed barricade held well against single blows, but the force of an angry vampire could not be denied long. Within minutes, the crypt door flung open violently, motion charged with angst. It was ardent and unmistakable; the signal to warn whatever resided inside that company had arrived. There was no stirring of acknowledgement - the two occupants far and away in deep, resounding slumber. When no one answered the call, three figures pushed through the entry, peering forward with lingering trepidation.

"They're in here," Angel decided almost instantly. There was no way he could know based solely on visual verification. The crypt was dark, lacking in windows, and the nonexistent light from behind did little to help. For the first time since leaving earlier that evening, he regretted not bringing a flashlight. His words, however, were the only confirmation his colleagues required. Without awaiting invitation, Willow and Giles piled inward, squinting through the darkness.

"Here," the Watcher offered, striking a match. "There should be something to your right...an oil lamp or-"

"Found it." No sooner had he spoken did the crypt illuminate, revealing the absentee Slayer and bleached vampire yards behind its warmth. They were perched on a sarcophagus, sleeping peacefully in one another's embrace. Buffy had claimed William more or less as her personal pillow, mostly draped over him and secured there by a protective arm across the small of her back. They looked serene together - enjoying the quiet even through the subconscious.

"Aww," Willow appreciatively cooed. "How cute!" She turned to jab Giles with her elbow. "And you were all worried. I told you he'd look after her."

"Excuse me, I believe it was you that awoke me at three this morning in hysterics because you had not yet heard from her." The Watcher indicated the sleeping pair with a nod, face indistinguishable, but it he looked mostly pleased, if not relieved. "I-I figured she and William were together. He wouldn't let her get too far away." The soaring relief flying behind his eyes contradicted his words, and he cleared his throat disdainfully. "Besides, I am the Watcher. I am allowed to be concerned."

"What? And as the best friend, I don't have that luxury? Well fine, Mr. Antsy Pants. And for the record, I believe you are the former Watcher."

Neither looked to Angel.

As if sensing their presence, William's eyes opened. It was not a prolonged awakening; once stirred, he was as alert as one could hope. He fought a yawn, attempted to stretch and realized that he was fastened securely in place by most of the dozing Slayer. A smile flickered across his lips, and he ran a hand through her hair before thinking to turn to the audience stationed in the middle of the crypt. He reflected no surprise at their attendance, rather regarded them with a sleepy nod. "Mornin' all." He turned and lightly tapped Buffy on the shoulder. "Rise 'n shine, luv. We've got company."

"Do you have any conceivable idea what time it is?" Angel demanded with dry irritation as the Slayer began to awake.

"Quarter after 'I don't give a bloody crap'? No clock in 'ere, mate. But I'm getting some rumblies in the stomach region."

The other vampire would have replied had the woman lying across William's chest not finally sat up, yawned, and realized she was on display. A sweeping look of recollection claimed her features, but the best she could offer was an impish grin. "Hey guys," she said sleepily. "When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago," Giles replied. The air of discomfort didn't lift until Buffy pulled back the sheet to reveal they were still fully clothed. "We were concerned."

"Some of us were," Willow agreed. "Others thought you two were just fine."

The Slayer blinked. "Worried? Wait...what time is it?"

"Close to 6:30," Angel replied.

"No wonder I'm so tired."

However, William had caught his grandsire's fiery gaze - the one that wasn't as much angry as relieved, not as much hurt as discomfited. And without seeking the obvious, he understood. "I think he means at night, pet."

Her eyes widened. "No way. Really?"

"Yeah, we didn't know where you were," Willow retorted, glancing briefly to Giles. "Then Angel dropped by and told us what happened last night. Are you two all right?"

Buffy nodded, throwing her legs over the side of the sarcophagus. "Yeah. I got a little cut up, but no big. Same old same old. I must've been sleepier than I thought." It was then she paused, that moment that remaining slumber wore off and left with it all the memories of the day before. Something powerful took command of her, and she glanced sharply to William with newfound enlightenment. It was a look impossible for bystanders to read.

And all at once, the atmosphere was uncomfortable - tight and confining. Buffy tore her eyes away, looking to Willow with new insistence. "Is it all right to leave now?" There was desperation in her tone that might have been mistaken for a need of fresh air had she not immediately darted a glance in the blond vampire's direction and looked away when she saw he was studying her. It was direct counterpoint to the moment of tenderness they had seemingly interrupted. New sheepishness mingled. Something had obviously passed during the night hours.

"Yeah, I'd say it's all right to leave," Angel offered. "We didn't run into any trouble on the way here."

"Hate to burst your bubble, but I was leaving whether or not you gave me the go." Buffy smirked at him and flexed impressively. "Slayer strength. Where is everyone?"

"Dawn's with Xander and Anya." Willow looked impish for a minute. "She just got back from Brazil. You know...vengeancy stuff and all. Oh! But Dawnie aced her English exam. Very cool."

William arched a brow. "Oh, so that's where Demon Girl has been. I was wonderin'-"

"It was just last night," the Witch corrected with a shrug. "Anya doesn't really hang out with us that much anymore, but Giles thought she should help because of the...you know...the thing."

The platinum vampire chuckled dryly. "Just don't let 'er help Little Bit with history," he cautioned. "Old professors don't fancy the history that really happened."

An odd look of complacency beset Angel's face, and he grinned his concurrence. "It's called a cover-up for a reason."

"All right, can we get out of here?" Buffy stepped forward with recharged haste. "This place is starting to give me the willies. And I'm sure Dawn and Xander don't want to miss the explanation about how President Lincoln was in fact a Mahayle demon or whatever." Without awaiting agreement, she flung Spike's duster over her shoulders and paraded out the door, followed wearily by four.

Willow leaned into Giles and whispered, "What's a Mahayle demon?"

There was a fond smile on his face. "A Buffyism. I haven't the faintest."

*~*~*

A manifestly concerned Xander threw open the door and tackled Buffy in the most powerful bear hug she had ever experienced. "Oh thank God!" he cried. "We were so worried!"

Bewildered, the Slayer reassuringly pat his back, looking to Willow for help. "I've been getting that a lot. Glad to see you, too. You know, I don't know why everyone's wigging out. I was with Spike the entire time."

"Yeah. Precisely why I'm wigging out." His eyes darkened when he caught sight of the three men following her. "Oh. Great. Speak of the Evil Undead..."

"Oh sod off, you bloody ponce," William growled, pushing passed the Slayer and into the basement. Another invitation that had yet to be revoked, but the surprise and emotional release failed to strike with any impact. "She was safer with me than she ever woulda been here." He snickered and looked around, his expression softening. "Must say the decorating's improved."

Harris heaved an exaggerated breath and pivoted hotly to Buffy. "Remind me again why he's here?"

"So you finally stop saying 'I told you so'," she retorted. "It gets old. I was fine. I just...got really tired when we got back to the crypt." Demonstratively, she flexed still-sore muscles. "Needed a place to rest. Besides, it was Angel's idea."

By then, everyone had crowded uncomfortably in the basement. Dawn was dozing on the couch - Anya coming down the stairs and stopping shortly when she saw the population had multiplied. "Oh good," she drawled disingenuously. "Everyone's here."

William squinted at her, though he really could reflect no surprise. The demon's ever-changing hair color was currently bight red - punkish though with odd style. She snickered when she saw him. "And I do mean everyone."

"Evenin' luv," he returned, though with disinterest. It would take Harris a while to accept his altered nature, and he didn't particularly want to relive all the reasons the ponce hated him so much.

It didn't take long. The next instant, Anya's eyes widened and she rushed down the staircase, staring at him in awe.

"My God!" she exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. "That's amazing!"

"What?"

Willow chuckled and placed a hand on his arm. "Spike, you might wanna...you have a little soul showing...right..." She thwapped his chest lightly, "about there."

The Slayer stood aside, regarding the private moment the two enjoyed with growing jealousy. Despite everything, it was clear the Witch shared something with William that she would never be able to touch. An understanding-a need for concrete forgiveness. There was love there. Love that would never amount to anything beyond a shoulder to cry on and someone to share ideals. Love that many didn't get to experience. Love that didn't hurt him to accept.

It would be hard for him to stay away from love like that. A part of her thrived with hope that similarly shared no likelihood. With everything they had confessed in the past forty-eight hours, there was no way he could will it so.

"So everyone here knows, then," Anya decided, moving grudgingly. "Well, that makes it no fun."

The Watcher was attempting to push through the doorway, Angel standing aside. Behind him, the sky was uncannily dark. Further signs of an awakening Buffy did not want to consider. "Ummm, Will?"

In one priceless minute, both William and Willow turned to answer him, voices mingling as one. "Yes?" They paused to regard each other before mirth inevitably emerged the victor. The vampire's laugh was deep and authentic - not the half-crazed, half-ego drawn tenor of previous days. Similarly, the Witch was relaxed and unwound. A picture of her prior to the stress she went through with Tara. Willow as she had been and still was, deep inside.

As they attempted to overcome their humor, Xander turned wide-eyed to Buffy. "Am I the only one who found that disturbing?"

Giles was still in freeze-frame, waiting the two to return attention to him. "-iam," he clarified. "William, Angel and I are adjourning to the public library for some research. Care to join us?"

To see those ocean blue eyes light up at the prospect of willful study was perhaps one of the more surprising characteristics he had yet revealed. Even more so than the discovery of his poetry book. Spike had always had a respect for words - it was foreseeable that he might one day write them down; if the telly broke or he was stuck in a room for several hours with nothing but counting cracks on the ceiling as the alternative. William needed no such condition to react with delight. "Bloody right!" he agreed enthusiastically, moving forward until Buffy placed a hand on his forearm.

"Don't go," she asked softly. "Just tonight. I'm sure..."

The vampire paused, his face falling, new emotion rendering him vulnerable and exposed. And just like that, the previously lifted tension spread across the room again - ardent and manifest. "Luv, I-"

"Never mind, Will," Giles decided for him, striding toward the door alongside Angel. "Three's a crowd."

In that, William realized what had happened and swore under his breath, tearing away from the Slayer and stalking over to join them. "Yeah, but I'm the usual half of the original two."

"All the more reason to take the blasted night off," the Watcher retorted. "You had a busy night last night, from the sound of it, and deserve a break. So have at it. We'll see you all in the morning." And that was that. They were out of sight, and beyond reach before another word could be expressed.

Exasperated, William wheeled back to Buffy. Rare irritation flashed behind his eyes, and she understood. She had used her hold over him to her advantage, and while it was too late to retract her feelings on the matter, such acknowledgement still made her edgy. Neither wanted to know the true reason of motivation. It was too painful. "Listen, luv," he growled. "I know-"

The invention came quickly - an excuse, a reason, a method to her madness. Valid in so many ways, but an excuse nonetheless. A reason to want him near her. She stepped forward apologetically. "My dream." It was amazing how rapidly his frustration diminished. "I know you promised me, but..."

He saw, of course, but the weight behind her eyes did him in. With a sigh, he sealed the space between them, taking her in his arms - innocent and soothing. How they neared so quickly, she didn't know. And it didn't matter. All she cared about was the calming feel of his shoulder under her head, wiping all sense of anxiety away at the smallest touch.

He was trembling against her, and she understood. There, in front of her friends, she was allowing him to hold her, stroke her hair with selfless tenderness. Before the eyes of God and everyone.

Xander twitched. "I am never going to get this." His words coaxed them apart, and he took back a step, hands coming up in emphatic neutrality. "And I don't want to. You know my opinion but obviously don't care. No matter what happens as a result of your boinking the undead, you never seem to-"

"Xander. Chill." Buffy grudgingly put a few feet between her and the vampire, exhaling deeply. "Sp...Will and I are not-"

"And that's another thing." He pointed at the Witch. "She's Will. He's Spike. Don't need anymore weird twilight-zone worthy moments tonight."

"No, she's Red," William replied, flashing her a grin. "Listen, mate, I really don't give a bloody rip if you like me or not. Kind of expected it, actually, given everything I've done these past nine years. Know you 'ave a hard time accepting things. Well, accept this. I 'ave a soul. 'S not an excuse, an' I don't try to make it one. I didn't come 'ere lookin' for forgiveness. Didn't want to come 'ere at all. So get off my back, all right? For reasons beyond me, the lady wants me 'ere, so I'll stay until she asks me to leave."

A voice from behind stole whatever Xander was going to say off his lips. "Buffy? Spike? When did you guys get here?" Dawn sat up tiredly and rubbed her eyes.

"A few minutes ago," the Slayer replied, relieved for the distraction. "Hey, I hear big yay for a certain sister of mine acing her English exam?"

The younger Summers brightened and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah! In the bag, baby!" She grinned proudly and nodded at the vengeance demon. "And Anya's been helping me with history. Hey! Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was actually a Mahayle demon?"

Willow and William blinked slowly and looked to Buffy, wide-eyed.

"What?" she balked. "Just a lucky guess."

"So what's the plan for tonight?" Dawn jumped up excitedly. "Do we get to Bronze-it in celebration of the coolness of me and my stunning academics?"

"No," the vampire replied sternly. "We can't afford to...does no one remember what I said last night?"

"I'm still in phase one: trying to break that habit of daydreaming when you talk." Xander snickered. "Not working so well."

Dawn slumped and pouted at William, though he remained unmoved. "Has anyone told you what a party-pooper you've become since you got your soul?" She wisely ignored the looks of blunt shock she received in affect, sighing and reaching for her backpack. "I guess we could watch Streetcar Named Desire, then. Lousy play I have to read. My Gestapo English teacher wants an essay in by tomorrow. Just to keep the students in line."

The Slayer arched a cynical eyebrow and smiled sweetly. "So why aren't you reading? Though they've made stunning advances, technology simply hasn't come up with a visual book. I doubt watching the flick counts."

Another pout. Dawn frowned. "It was Xander's idea. And please! Like you were the model student. The assignment's bogus, anyway. Besides, ya'll have any other suggestions?"

"If you're going to watch a boring movie, I'm going home," Anya announced, moving for the door before awaiting a reply. "Think about doing that for your history essay, Dawn. But stay clear of mating rituals. You don't want to be near a Mahayle orgasm." Everyone stared at her blankly. "Have a great night!"

"Did anyone else just go to a bad place?" Xander asked when he found words, consequentially comforted by a series of nods.

Willow bit her lip in frustration. "I still wanna know what a Mahayle demon is!"

Dawn didn't react - she had located the film from the recesses of her backpack. "So," she said, holding it up. "Streetcar, anyone?"

Revisiting a reading requirement from the climactic senior year was the last thing on anyone's priority list, but the night was desperately lacking in things to do. Reluctant acceptance stingily followed. Xander nodded as he snatched the video away. "Why not?" he drawled, popping it into the VCR. "Who would rather be Bronzing it when we have a good healthy helping of Southern hospitality?"

Buffy plopped down on the sofa, wiggling over enough room for William to join her. It was second nature already, just as comforting as the arm he draped over her shoulder, drawing her closer to his chest. If anyone thought to question the sudden chumminess between them, they wisely refrained.

"I don't remember what this play's about," the Slayer admitted sheepishly.

"That's because you decided you had no third block senior year," Willow observed, earning a sharp glare. "What? It's the truth!"

"Let's not credit any of that to world saveage," she returned with a snicker. "Forget the Mayor and Faith were having a hay-day plotting the big darkness."

Dawn gasped in mock horror. "You let that get in the way of Tennessee Williams? Shame on you!"

The Slayer poked her tongue out at her sister and sighed contentedly against William's protective embrace. Wisely, they ignored the uncomfortable shifting of Xander, who looked more confused than offended.

As the opening credits started, he leaned into Willow and whispered, "They're not...together, are they? Now that he has a soul?"

The Witch shrugged. "Dunno. And honestly, I don't care. When was the last time you saw Buffy that relaxed? And Spike...he doesn't look ready to stake himself. The only thing I'm worried about is what they're going to do when this is all over and Giles is ready to take him home." She sighed. "As long as neither of them get hurt, it's all right by me."

"Yeah," Harris complied, only half paying attention. "What are the chances of that?"

"Slim to none, but he deserves it." At the inevitable oncoming rebuttal, Willow turned to him sternly and frowned. "He deserves it. Now lay off. Vivien Leigh's about to debut."

The movie ensued without much attention from the spectators, save Dawn who jotted down conclusive notes following every scene. Conversation blossomed, despite the girl's attempts to keep everyone quiet. Every now and then, Willow would brighten in recognition and persuade everyone to pay attention for a few minutes before remembering that literature was not a dominant concentration in the company she shared. Only William remained constantly considerate and very interested in what she had to say. Someone whose passion for books rivaled her own.

When the movie neared the climax, the Witch drew in a gasping breath and froze. "Oh God!" she cried. "We should turn it off. Turn it off! Now now now now..."

But it was too late. On screen, Marlon Brando was grinning maliciously at Vivien Leigh, drawing in a look of brutal pleasure at her horror of reflection. Then he was nearing her, intentions all too clear, and the room stilled with sudden mortification. Buffy went rigid and the few breaths emanating from her companion ceased completely. The grip on her shoulder tightened then was released, and a possessed William rose to his feet, quivering with unkempt rage.

A shadow of the control he had spent so long mastering. The fighting glimmer as he struggled to contain himself, losing inexorably, trembling with sudden force. Flashes sparked behind his eyes: dangerous and consuming. And at last the dynamite cracked, and he forfeited every strain of his soundness to the growing fire within. "God!" he spat, shaken in balance by unstoppable tremors. "You're sick! Bloody ponce! Right evil bastard!" With vehemence, he let out a sob and kicked the television. The on-screen insinuation of rape had already passed, not revealing much but enough. William had not calmed. With every kick, he lost more reserve, not caring that the picture was starting to crack and fuzz. Not caring about anything - hardly aware that he was being watched dumbly by people too shocked to move. "Evil!" Kick. "Disgusting!" Kick. "Sadistic bastard!"

He was yanked aside by a visibly frightened Buffy before he could destroy the television completely. Their eyes met and he read the fear behind hers, the fear and remorse initiated by every fiber of his existence. And without a word, he burst into tears, sinking to his knees and wrapping his arms around her legs. He pulled her to him tightly, uncaring, uncontrolled. "I'm so sorry!" he sobbed. "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

Buffy was overwhelmed, frozen in time. The astonished, blank faces of her friends mended as one. There was only her and William. Nothing beyond the sobbing vampire latched onto her, crying a thousand muffled apologies, though no amount of pardon would ever make things better.

She felt she would kill Xander if he dared make a mocking of this, but the expression on his face suggested anything but ridicule.

When at last he began to clam, Buffy tugged William to his feet. He had vamped out in the midst of grief, cold, wet ridges against her face, even as she attempted to wipe his tears away. The body quivering against hers was moments from collapse, breathing ragged breaths and leaning dependently against her.

The image was more than she could stand, and with fervor, she took hold of his chin and coaxed his eyes to hers. He had to see. He had to see there was no hate, no anger, nothing but swelling emotion just waiting to combust from her chest. Their mouths fused together at the same time, irrevocably drawn beyond control, the need to feel apologies, to taste the power of forgiveness. Long, hot, desperate kisses - fueled by the promise of absolution. Clemency. William moaned into her, for the first time not holding back, clutching on her shoulders as though something threatened to drive her away from him. His incisors scraped at her lips - fangs first then blunt teeth as he reeled the demon inward. And the tears wouldn't stop coming.

Finally she pulled away, gasping deeply even as he latched onto her - not pushing her aside with further reprimands of why they couldn't, why they could never. Instead, he held her resolutely to him, burying his face in her neck and drawing in her scent. He was firm against her, despite the shivers commanding his body. Cautiously, his mouth challenged her, tasting fevered flesh with his tongue as she held him solid against her. From her throat to her collarbone, drawing as much of her between his lips as possible. "I'm sorry," he whispered miserably. "Oh God, Buffy, I'm so sorry."

"I know," she gasped. "It's all right. It's all right." Diplomatically, she took his face in her hands and leveled his eyes with hers. "I love you."

He balked instantly and once again began to struggle, though his efforts could not be classified as even remotely half-hearted. "You don't," he objected sternly. "No. No matter what. I'm not-"

Buffy grumbled in aggravation and tugged his head closer. "Will you ever just...open your eyes and look at me? I love you, William. Trust, me I don't want to...but, you make it so hard. So hard not to." She stomped her foot, joining him in his tears, knowing she had to stop before she hurt them both beyond words. And yet she couldn't. Those eyes demanded compensation. He needed to hear the truth. The whole truth. No matter how it hurt. "God! I hate this! With as much as I try...I tell myself, I repeat everything that I said to...everything that you did, everything that I did...and it doesn't work! It kills me, but I love you. All components of you. Man and demon alike." Tears were clouding his vision again, his lips quivering in that oh-so-tempting way. "I love you," she repeated, and she sealed her words with another kiss. Tender this time - soft and passionate. When she pulled away, there was reverence behind his eyes, passing with neutral understanding. And at last, she had what she wanted. A smile. A sigh. A burning trail of lingering forgiveness. Of accepted exoneration.

The smile remained even as tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he pulled her close again, clutching her against his chest. There they stood indeterminately, unaware of their surroundings, that they were still in Xander's basement. That three pairs of eyes were studying them in growing bewilderment. And amazingly, no one said a word.

Xander looked to Willow and mouthed helplessly, "You up for The Matrix?"

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