Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Nine

The Bronze.

In so many years, the scene before him had not changed; never truly changed. With as often as it was fumigated, renovated, and remodeled, the atmosphere inevitably stayed the same. The crowd had aged and added younger faces, but they danced to the same music, laughed loudly at the same bad jokes, endured the same come-ons and put-downs as every generation before them. The place had seen more action than likely any one location in Sunnydale, and rightfully so. Where else would a demon find such a lively crowd of unsuspecting victims?

One would assume the populace would wise up as the years passed.

They were standing side-by-side on the balcony, eyes mirroring each other's as if they had been born to stand and observe. The long ends of the upper level were occupied by necking lovers, as was the norm. A respective crowd danced to the music of the visiting band, vivacious and full of life.

William snickered. A room full of happy meals with legs, and he felt not the slightest desire to nab himself a midnight snack. That might have been the chip, but he didn't think so. Even after so many years, it was bizarre not to crave human from a live source. He bought it, sure, and drank without hindrance. But not to crave destruction; that was something that would take years to overcome.

"Lead singer's cute," he said, indicating the visiting band with a nod. "Looks a bit like you. Who are they?"

"The Annoying Pedestrians," Willow replied, her face reddening at the slightest suggestion of a compliment. "They play here a lot. Really popular."

The corners of his mouth tugged in a bittersweet smile, registering her self-consciousness before turning back to the crowd. It was hard to estimate how many things had happened here. Buffy dancing before Sweet, almost burning to a cinder until he rescued her. Outside they had shared a passionate kiss - the first of their destructive rapport. The occurrence in itself had been so singular up to that point. He recalled his thoughts with painful articulation. It was the first kiss out of desire: not a spell gone wonky conjured up by Red, not gratitude for saving her sister. No - because she had wanted him, truly wanted him. Strong and without repression.

William shuddered. Ripper was right, of course. The relationship had damaged them both; leaving him with scars even an eternity could not heal.

A hand grasped his arm and pulled him to the present. He glanced to Willow, her eyes alight, pointing excitedly to a table in the foyer. "There!" she cried gleefully. "I was right!"

His gaze followed her direction, and his entire body went numb. For the first time in three years, he saw her. The music slowed, blossoming discussion subsiding to long withering drones, even the people making their way across the dance floor alternated to a sluggish pace. And it was just her. Sitting there in all her flawed perfection. Sitting there. Glowing. She looked so... good. Words filled his throat, racing mind composing a hundred verses of poetry that would never know paper. She was lovely: so much stronger than he remembered her. William forced himself to release a breath, and smiled. Good - she needed to be strong. That year had been their worst. Buffy, but not Buffy: the girl - woman - he loved no matter.

However, on further inspection, he noticed a burden set beneath her eyes. Nothing of heavy consequence, but he could tell her thoughts were of him. Considering. Conspiring. His duster complimented her in a way he could not have appreciated before. It was there; it was all there. His Buffy - not plagued by the past. At peace.
Not yours, an inner voice forewarned. She was never yours.

William frowned, flushed and exhausted, needing air like never before. "Oh Red," he murmured, surprised when she heard him.

"What?"

"She's... she's just..." Adoration filled him whole, for the first time swallowing the stronger side of him that ached with reminders of constant sorrow. "Cor, she's so beautiful."

No sooner had the words left his lips did the scene change. William watched, fascinated, as her face dropped, heavy with distaste, eying the tall, darker form coming into view. It took all of him to hold back a snicker. Angel was like all other demons, though he would be the last to admit it. As always, his eyes were full and brooding, body language precise and movements diminutive. He had before been called an enigma - a person thoroughly impossible to read. The storm behind his gaze was an aggressive one; battling centuries' worth torment, the massive wrongdoings by a hand that mimicked his, and yet was not. However, the grand-sire was not so ambiguous to his childe. Without needing to inquire for confirmation, or even place other possibilities on the table, he knew that their past conversation had concerned him, and that Angel's words were less than encouraging. It didn't surprise him; didn't anger him; didn't concern him, really, in any fashion. It was Angel, and such behavior was expected. Such bias judgment on things he claimed to understand. Things he wished he understood.

Like how I could be good when he's such a bloody prat when he's bad, William reflected bitterly, pausing, and shrugging in concession. 'Course, I'm no Mother Theresa myself, but by gum, I did try. Isn't trying worth anything anymore?

Conversation did not resume immediately. Angel slid Buffy a drink that she tapped her fingernails against but didn't sample. Another grin threatened to tackle his lips, the words that's my girl forming effortlessly. He flinched and bid himself back a step.

Not yours. Not anyone's. But really, really not yours.

Ah, they were talking now. William squinted and peered closer. One did not have to be within earshot to catalog her aversion. Buffy's features were always animate when she talked, whatever the conversation might entail. If she were discussing horned snails with a professor, then by golly, it would be the most fascinating venue of her day. The same with her anger and frustration; he had seen enough of that to spot it coming weeks in advance. Her eyes were screaming as her body rolled in momentary repugnance, Angel too enthralled with his own fuming disapproval to really take notice. However, it was not so much an argument as a heated discussion. Their voices never raised, and neither truly lost their patience. William watched her mouth form his name more than once.

Drawing back, he sighed and nudged at Willow. "They're fighting about me." It wasn't a question - rather an astute observation.

"I'd say that's a good guess," she agreed. "Angel was so thrown when Dawn came in and told everyone you were back. Things have been kinda awkward since he came back to town, anyway. Adding you to the mix took the cake."

"Awkward? Why awkward?"

Willow shrugged. "Buffy just doesn't see him the way she used to. It's creepy. They're not even really friends. Or talking buddies. Or any kind of buddy. I know it's been years, but I'm so used to seeing them all over each other." She turned red when he shot a pained look her way, ducking away from his scrutiny and mumbling, "Hard to get used to something else when he leaves town, yah know."

When William withdrew his gaze and looked back to the unfolding scene, Angel had pulled away from the mix, returning to the bar. It didn't appear he would be joining her anytime soon, and judging by the expression coloring her face, there was nothing she would like better. She reached to take a drink before remembering who brought it to her and pushing herself away from the table in disgust. The vampire grinned tightly to himself, not out of pride as much as the pleasure of watching her rawest emotions unfold. There was something about her at the brink of utter frustration that was unreservedly exquisite.

Buffy had only taken a few steps away when she stopped suddenly - awkwardly, a frown creasing her brow. It was a moment of instant recognition. He knew that look all too well. A slayer at her best always sensed a vampire nearby, and he knew she had finely tuned the tinglies to pinpoint specific demons. If he stayed much longer, he would be cornered. Something told him whatever rift had settled between Buffy and Peaches was capable of being placed on hold if a more trying matter arose. Though even as his better senses commanded him to leave, he watched her beats longer, willing her to see him, wanting despite the dryness of his throat. Never had he thought the night would bring together such a forage of conflicting emotions. Now that he was this close, he understood it would be impossible not to stray himself further, even if she wished it so.

Chances were he would never see her again.

With pained restraint, he pulled back. "She knows I'm here, luv." Willow looked at him strangely without voicing her confusion. "Slayer thing - strongest around vamps she knows. I better get my ass out of 'ere. Things could get hairy, specially with Peaches lurkin' about."

"Yeah," she agreed. "You did what I wanted, anyway. You saw her. Feel better?"

He grinned tightly. "Lots, actually. Never thought it possible, but I do. Thanks for draggin' me along, pet." With that, he withdrew from the edge of the balcony, missing the slayer's eyes as she completed her stationary scan. That wasn't all. If she didn't find a target by looking, the hunt would infinitely resume on foot. "For the best. Not sure how loopy things are going to get 'round 'ere once we 'ave our heart-to-heart. It'll go one way or the other. There is no in between with me and Buffy." His gaze caught hers and she offered a small smile but no reply. "Promised Ripper I'd check in to be sure I'm still all not-staked and dusty."

"All right." Without warning, Red grabbed him and pulled him in for the third tight embrace of the evening. "Hugging good," she whispered. "Thanks for coming."

Hugging also becoming an odd second nature. It didn't bother him; he squeezed his arms around her. Hugging relaxing. Hugging reassuring. "Not a problem, luv. Can't ever resist a girl in red." He tugged playfully at her hair, a somewhat humorless chuckle rumbling through his body.

"No, I mean coming back." She smiled against his shoulder, constricting her grasp on him in the unspoken need for further comfort. What was it that was so... nice about this? It occurred to him that with all the help he could have given her when she came back from London, tired and filled with remorse, she could have helped him just as easily. Whatever had to be done was always simpler when you weren't alone, and with as surprisingly supportive as Giles had been in the heart of all this drama, there wasn't anything like going through something with someone. "You're late, but at least you're here. Don't run off like that again."

William's lips tugged in a sad smile. "Can't promise you that," he said. "Going back to the old country an' all, once the wackiness is over. But I'll let you know how to reach me. It's tough, Red. I know. I understand that."

With a sniffle, she pulled away, heaving a breath of dry release. "Yeah," she agreed. "You're the only one who does."

*~*~*

Five minutes between upstairs and the ground floor. Buffy saw her immediately and grinned. A genuine grin. Willow was happy to see those. Their conversations of the recent didn't initiate too many genuine grins. It was difficult being the best friend who knew everything but couldn't say a word, or even pretend like she knew what was going on behind the scenes. A sigh heaved through her body. If she wasn't consoling one bleeding soul, it would be another.

The Slayer's features were still wrought with colorful dissatisfaction. By the relaxing of her shoulders, Willow could tell the tinglies had passed. Spike was wisely far and away, delaying the inevitable as long as he could. It was understandable. With all that had passed, following three years' silence would be difficult.

How much easier things would have been if he had simply come back.

Without passing a greeting, Buffy stormed over to her, eyes dark and cloudy. "Big prick," she growled, nodding to the place Angel sat watching her. "God. Will he ever understand that when he leaves someone's life, he loses all right to a say in what happens in it?"

"He's protective, Buf. Always is." Willow's eyes followed her direction but didn't linger long. Her thoughts of Angel were unchanged in the years they had known each other. No more juicy 'what-happened's itched her curiosity. The conversations between the two formers were now a matter of delicate privacy, often eliciting some sort of wan, unsettled frustration. A sense of caring but being so aggravated that they cared that it was better to pretend the other didn't exist. "Did you tell him? About Spike?"

Buffy scowled and rolled her eyes. "Tell is such a strong word. Forced into talking was more like it. When, exactly, did my personal life become a world-class show and tell? Especially in the past sense? God. I said some things I probably shouldn't have, but garrr... he makes things so difficult!" Willow nodded sympathetically. "He wouldn't even try to understand."

"Well... he does know Spike better than anyone," she replied slowly. When she was challenged with fully perked eyebrows, her voice dropped. "Or thinks he does." Silence threatened them. Odd that silence could ever be an issue when they were surrounded by so much noise.

Needling voices pinpricked the back of her neck, pressuring her into confession.

That was all it took. Suddenly, she couldn't hold back. "He's here, Buffy." The words required little time to settle. Willow's eyes widened at the hope that flickered behind her friend's gaze. "Or he was. When he saw that you could feel him here, he left."

"You found him?"

The Witch grinned self-consciously. "It wasn't too hard. He was outside your house - not evil or anything, not even thinking about going in. I think he wanted to see you. Not talk, just see you. Physically. Make sure you were all right and all."

There was a nod of empty understanding, contrasting the variety of conflict sprouting behind Buffy's eyes, so intensely vibrant that Willow nearly flinched. She hadn't been lying when she told Spike she could feel him a mile away. She had - she felt him still - she just hadn't realized it was him until seeing his eyes. Standing beside her friend now, it was nearly impossible to decode whose soul was screaming the most.

"You talked to him?" Buffy whispered. It was impossible to hear her above the music. With a nod, Willow seized her arm and pulled her into a corner. Not too much of an improvement, but some.

"A lot," she replied at last. "He just left. We spent most of the evening together."

"How... how was he?"

A breath caught in her throat before the truth could escape. Which side did she tell? The part where the distressed vampire had clung to her in the midst of his grief? How he begged her not to make him go inside? How she had discovered the poetry book was indeed verses composed at his hand? How she had shared her own grief and been comforted in the arms of the one man she shouldn't trust? How now her feelings on the matter were almost as confounding as the star-crossed lovers that she was, too, wobbly on the ground she stood on?

There was one thing she couldn't do: lie. Spike hadn't been just fine; though she happily admitted that his mood had improved drastically as the night ensued. Smiling slightly, Willow drew in a breath, piecing together words out of thin air. "He was... different. Really different. So different, I-" No souly, remember? That's his job.

"Like Giles said?"

"Oh Buffy, you wouldn't believe it." Her voice dropped. "I took him into the house."

"You what?!"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please." Willow took hold of the lapels of Spike's old duster and gave a good demonstrative tug. "You can't fool me, Missy. And... it wasn't like he wanted to. I kinda forced him."

Buffy blinked, pulling away and absently caressing the leather, as though she had nearly ruined the face. "You forced him?"

"Just a little. He was so... I'd never seen him like that." By golly, I coulda sworn he was sporting a new fancy SOUL. Geez, Buffy. And all this time, I thought I was dense. "The things he said. You know - normal Spike things only different. Like-" Like a souly guy with a soul. "Like... it was eating him up. I had to take him inside to show him you didn't hate him enough to revoke his invitation." Her voice dropped. "I also showed him your poetry book."

"Will!" The Slayer's tone was coated the venom. "I don't want him getting the wrong idea. You know how Spike can be. I mean, sure, I've missed him. Big whup. Too much has happened for me to just-"

"What exactly is the wrong idea?" the Witch retorted. "That every time he's mentioned, you go off into BuffyLand and don't bother sending a postcard? That every time you smell cigarette smoke, you get a look in your eyes that's all 'Oooh... I wonder if that's him!' followed by immediate disappointment when you understand he's not coming back? Or, or - how about the time you nearly flipped when you left that ratty old duster at Xander's and thought he'd recognize it and burn it if I didn't keep it safe for you until you could get it back. That every time you read his poetry book, you hafta leave the room before you burst into tears? Or are you still telling yourself that you don't give a rip because he's too evil for words and you're too Buffy-esque to stop and smell the cigarettes, because honestly, I'm a little fuzzy on your definition of 'the wrong idea.' Seems to me like what I did was feeding him the right idea of what's been going through your head these past years."

There was nothing for a long minute. When she did speak, her voice was small and disbelieving. "Wha... what do you mean... his poetry book? He-"

"What it sounds like. We're dummies, Buffy." Willow adorned her renowned resolved face, the one that never lied or took no for an answer. "Every word... he was so... he couldn't believe that you owned it. He said it was all about you."

Tears clouded the Slayer's vision and she choked back a sob, turning away quickly. Willow allowed her a few seconds before sighing and conceding to comfort. Everyone was getting their share of the huggies tonight.

"God!" Buffy finally cried. "What am I supposed to do? Things are so... messed up. I was so... terrible to him. And... not... how am I supposed to look at him? With everything that happened... How can he-"

"No one said it was going to be easy," Willow retorted. "In fact, he said himself that chances are, things are going to get pretty crappy. I don't think he's expecting anything. Hell, I know he's not. You would, too, had you seen him. But there's nothing wrong with forgiving him. You'll both feel better if you do."

"That's just it." Buffy's voice was barely above a whisper. "I have. I forgave him a long time ago. Well, maybe not a long time ago. It took a while. I had to grow up, Will. I had to realize what I was doing was wrong, and that if you provoke a demon the wrong way, he'll go all demony. That much was my fault. I give. But the rest... things are complicated beyond that. Forgiveness isn't the answer here. Forgiveness doesn't equal trust. It's just an act. It doesn't change anything." She sniffed audibly. "But I've missed him so much! How is that? He's evil, Will. Angel's right about that. No matter what happens or what changes, he's just... evil. He tries and I never admitted it, but, GOD! Why are things so messed up? I missed something evil, something that tried to hurt me... something I hurt... Something that caused more hurt than love." The words but that was my fault were written plainly across her face even if she never spoke them. "Between the hurt and the... hurt... I don't know what I missed."

Willow heaved a breath. "What do you want to say to him?"

"I'm sorry." She spoke so bluntly it startled them both. "But... as far as everything else... I don't know. He hurt me too! I'm so..."

"Settle with the apologies for now," she said simply. "I don't think he'll accept that he's forgiven, anyway. And after that..."

"After that, it becomes a matter of him forgiving me," Buffy concluded, eyes going distant. "But no smoochies."

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