DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles has learned more about the plans Maria has, while
Holly’s blood has knocked Buffy unconscious, leaving Spike frantically tending
her…
*************
It wasn’t until Spike’s stomach growled that it dawned on him that he hadn’t given Holly a second thought since planting himself at Buffy’s side. She hadn’t said a word, either, holding true to her promise to behave while he did what he had to, so when he finally rose from the floor, his knees stiff from being bent for so long, he wasn’t surprised to see that she was no longer in the room.
Stepping silently to the open bedroom door, Spike peered into the darkness to see the huddled form curled into the pillows on the bed. Night had settled, and the cold light that filtered through the windowpanes only served to shadow Holly’s face. She was awake, watching him, but the only way for Spike to be certain what was happening in that small head of hers was to vamp out and use his demon’s senses to probe the shadows. He couldn’t do that. He’d scared the little one enough that day.
She’d sneaked in under his radar. Once upon a time, Spike would’ve gloried in his ability to frighten the child. In fact, he’d been fairly miffed when she’d first arrived that she hadn’t immediately run away from him, screaming in terror. Now, though, that same thought made his stomach churn. She wasn’t so bad, for a little mite, and the fact that she trusted him so implicitly was surprisingly soothing. It had been a long time since anyone had needed or wanted him so, not since before healing Dru. He’d missed it.
“Missed dinner,” he said nonchalantly. Folding his arms, he leaned against the door jamb. “Way I figure, we should just go straight to the dessert.”
He felt the jump in her heartrate at the mention of the sweets, but otherwise, Holly didn’t move. “Is Buffy OK?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“She’s holdin’ her own.”
Which was the truth. While she had yet to wake up, the symptoms that had been prevalent from the contact with Holly’s blood had halted, the bluing in her hands fading slightly, her pulse slowing even less. It gave Spike hope that he’d caught the toxin in time, but he knew that the longer she stayed unconscious, the more likely it would be he would lose her.
“Are you still mad at me?”
A small sniffle punctuated her question, and Spike sighed. “’Course not, pidge,” he replied quietly. “It’s not hardly your fault what your blood does, now is it?”
“I don’t want Buffy to die.”
“Me neither.” With just a few long strides, he closed the distance between himself and the bed, sitting on the edge to gaze down at her. This close, he could see the silvery tracks left on her cheeks from where she’d been crying, and though they were dry now, Spike was certain that it would take little provocation to get the child going again.
“You feelin’ up to talkin’ to me about it yet?” he asked gently. He needed answers, and the fact that Holly had already intimated she’d seen this before was all that was necessary for him to go digging for them. The answers had to be locked up in that tiny skull of hers; he just had to find the right key to getting them out.
“Are you going to yell again?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You’re scary when you yell.”
His lips twitched. “Fangs don’t get you but a raised voice will. You are one weird child, moptop.”
She was silent, but slowly, her body unfolded itself. Reaching out a tremulous hand, Holly never stopped staring into Spike’s eyes as she touched his arm, then shifted to pour herself onto his lap. “Please don’t hate me,” she said, her voice muffled from where she buried her face in his shirt.
Automatically, Spike’s hand came up to caress the disheveled hair, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Don’t be daft,” he chided. “As long as you don’t get all stroppy again, you and me are goin’ to be just fine.” Just Buffy we’ve got to worry about.
“Can I have hot chocolate?”
Simple request. Not so simple child.
“Sure, pidge,” Spike said, rising to his feet. “Let’s go get ourselves sorted.”
*************
Forty-five minutes and three bowls of chocolate pudding later, Spike and Holly sat opposite each other at the table, each with their own cup resting in front of them. If a stranger were to observe, they would never have guessed that the child had had such a traumatic afternoon. Her chocolate-framed mouth was puckered up to blow across the top of her mug, cooling the hot cocoa that steamed inside, and her eyes were clear for the first time in hours.
“Feelin’ better?” Spike asked. He’d been biding his time, softening the girl up for his questions, and, in his experience, nothing loosened tongues faster than Joyce’s hot chocolate recipe.
Holly nodded. “It’s hot,” she said unnecessarily. She blew some more, causing faint ripples across the fluid’s surface.
“Take it slow then,” he instructed. “No reason to burn yourself if you don’t need to.” Carefully, he took a sip of his blood, eyes narrowed in assessment. What would be the best approach? He couldn’t afford to scare her again or she’d clam up. But he didn’t have the luxury of time on his side, either.
“Bet Doyle didn’t get you hot chocolate when you were on your way here.” Spike fought for casual, leaning back in his seat and propping his boots up on the table. “That was a long trip, I remember him sayin’.”
She nodded. “And cold.”
“Was it cold where you came from?” He had to zero in. Inch by inch. Question by question. Paint the picture of Holly’s existence so that he could best help Buffy.
“Not inside.”
“What was that like?”
“Dark.”
This was going to be like pulling teeth. In the not so fun way.
She surprised him by elaborating.
“The dark made it safe. So nobody could go poof.”
Spike perked up at that. “Why would anybody go poof?” he asked warily.
“’Cause sunlight can kill you,” she answered simply.
He was silent while she sipped at her drink. It wasn’t a universal you she had used in that declaration. Spike was nearly convinced that she’d been directing that you specifically at him. Meaning vamps. How could she live among vampires?
It would explain a lot, though, if she had. Why she wasn’t startled by Spike’s gameface. Why it took so much to scare her, as if she’d already seen the end of the world and was ready to face even more.
It just didn’t make sense.
“Did you see a lot of ‘em?” It was a risky question; the supposition could be completely wrong. He just had a gut feeling it wasn’t. “Vamps, I mean.”
“Some.” The first sense of hesitation curbed her reply, and she was suddenly not meeting Spike’s eyes. “Can I have more pudding?”
“Think you’ve had enough, pidge.”
“Please?”
Rolling his eyes, Spike reached behind him and grabbed the bowl from the counter. Before he pushed it in front of her, though, he took his feet off the table, narrowing his eyes as he deliberately hardened his demeanor.
“You know it doesn’t make a difference any more, don’t you?” he asked. “What happened to you before…none of it means bugger all in here. It’s OK to talk about it.”
“But…I wasn’t s’posed to see.”
Spike grinned. “Snuck out to take a gander, did you? That’s my girl.”
When he pushed the bowl across to her, Holly relaxed back into her prior contentment, picking up the spoon resting in the pudding to start eating it again. “They were always fighting,” she said between bites. “They were loud.”
“Who were they fighting? Each other?” He imagined a pseudo, all-vamp Bloodsport, which, while it sounded like fun, didn’t make a lick of sense when thinking it was where Holly was kept. But her next words dashed that image to the ground.
“No. They always fought the other girls. The ones like Buffy.”
And then it clicked, and the picture it drew was just a tad more repellent than the gladiator scenario he’d originally envisioned.
It was Bloodsport, all right.
Vamps versus Slayers.
Except there were only the two, which meant they were Slayer wannabes instead.
That’s what it had to be, some sort of training ground for potential Chosen Ones. Brought together by the Council of Wankers in a contained environment to give their girls some firsthand experience without having to set them loose on the field. It didn’t surprise him. After seeing firsthand what the American government had organized, imagining a board of Englishmen who’d been in the demon business a hell of a lot longer doing something equally organized seemed completely reasonable.
Spike’s eyes narrowed as he watched Holly attack the rest of the pudding. That’s what she’d meant by others. She’d seen potential Slayers die from being exposed to her blood. That’s why she was so frightened for Buffy. But why put a child so deadly in such close proximity to those she could hurt?
It explained why she’d be wanted by someone with less than well-intentioned plans. If it didn’t directly affect Buffy, Spike would almost be impressed with the idea of harnessing such a weapon. It sounded like something he would’ve tried himself, back in the day.
“These people who watched you…they sound like me?”
A flash of confusion crossed her face, but then Holly nodded. “And Buffy. Both of you.”
An international effort, then. Didn’t necessarily preclude the Council from being involved.
“Ever hear of someone called a Watcher, moptop?” Her blank look was the only answer he needed, and Spike lapsed into another silence as he mulled over what he’d learned.
It was a gentle tug on his shirt’s hem that broke him from it. Glancing down, Spike saw Holly’s upturned face, the chocolate staining her mouth. “You can’t still be hungry,” he commented.
“Did you talk to Santa?” she asked. Her eyes were saucers, luminous in the orange-red ambience of the room, and they startled Spike with their solemnity.
“Told you I did.”
“Did he tell you I wasn’t bad?”
“He left you prezzies, didn’t he?”
“But…my blood is bad.”
Spike’s head tilted. “Oh, pidge, your blood’s just a small part of you. Told you, none of this is your fault. You gotta get that through your head.”
“It hurt Buffy.”
He couldn’t very well deny it, not when Holly knew all too well the effects it had, but giving her the affirmation just made her face crumple again.
“I wish my blood was back in me,” she whispered. “I’m never getting hurted again.” She looked up before he could respond. “Can we get it out of Buffy? Maybe then she won’t die.”
Shaking his head, Spike pulled her onto his lap, rocking her against him as she buried her face in his chest again. “What happened to the others?” he murmured. He deliberately kept up the soothing rhythm to keep her at ease. The last thing he needed right now was another hysterical fit. “Did you ever see them?”
“Their skin got all funny. And blue.”
“Funny how?”
“It got wrinkly and cracked. Like the muffins Buffy forgot in the oven today.”
Spike stopped. Though there was definite shading to the Slayer’s skin, it was still perfectly smooth and soft, no evidence of the symptom Holly was describing anywhere in sight. “How long did it take in the others?” he asked. “To die, I mean. Was it as long as it’s been for Buffy?”
Pulling away, she looked up at him and shook her head. “They were all faster. It was scary.”
Swifter responses to the poison. Symptoms Buffy wasn’t exhibiting. Maybe the Slayer was going to shake this after all. The others had only been fledgling slayers; they didn’t have the same constitution Buffy did.
Hope flared bright in Spike’s chest as he squeezed Holly close, but he swallowed to keep it from taking root too deeply. He would just have to continue a constant vigil; he would ensure Buffy survived this if it killed him.
*************
It took all of Joyce’s willpower not to look over at the demon still strapped to the chair in the corner, but at least it wasn’t making those godawful screeching sounds from Doyle’s torment. She could hear the telltale drip of what she assumed was both its blood and its…venom? Icky, gooey, slimy sweat? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She was just glad she didn’t have to watch any more.
After heaving the demon into the back of her car---and she didn’t even want to consider what the cleaning bill for that would be, or how she was ever going to get the smell out of the upholstery---Doyle had instructed her to drive a few miles down the highway before pulling in at the gas station that was closed for the holiday. He’d broken into the garage with veritable ease, and proceeded to secure the demon before stepping out to summon his ghost partners in crime. Joyce had only watched as the three argued about his idea, the women vehemently against the notion of more violence while Doyle attempted convincing them that it was their only remaining option.
They had eventually caved, but none of them were willing to let Joyce leave, fear that she would still go off in search of Buffy tempering their assertions. They had, however, agreed to keep her company while Doyle got to work. It was just too bad that his work was loud and stinky.
“Well?” Jenny asked, as Doyle stood in front of them wiping his hands on a spare towel he’d found lying on a nearby toolbox.
“Remind me never to suggest torturing an Ijua for information again,” he said. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t suppose we could go back to the hotel and talk about this? I could really use a shower.”
“What did he tell you?” Jenny pressed. “Do we know where Maria is? Are we going to be able to get to her before she manages to find Holly this time?”
“Yes and no. Yes, I know where she is, but no, we won’t be able to get to her. She’s got herself guarded against the mystical. She’s not exactly stupid, our Maria.”
“Well, I guess that’s that, then.” Jenny sighed. “She won’t leave the shielding of her magic until she’s certain she can get to Holly, and we can’t get through it to stop her. So much for that idea.”
Joyce just watched in amazement as the trio turned away to tend to the unconscious demon. “So…that’s it?” she asked. “All this time, and all this work, and you’re just giving up?”
“There’s nothing we can do, Joyce,” Doyle said.
“Maybe there’s nothing you can do,” she replied. “But the last time I checked, I was just a good old-fashioned human who happens to be the mother of the Slayer. Is that normal enough to get past this…mystical shielding this woman has?”
The ghosts looked at each other before turning back to Joyce. “You’re kidding, right?” Jenny queried. “You know we can’t let you get involved.”
“I know that you won’t let me go to Buffy to help,” she shot back. “But you’re stuck with me until you let me do something. I’m already involved, in case you hadn’t noticed. Why not put me to use?”
“Because it’s dangerous.” The soft-spoken third of the group spoke up for the first time since Doyle’s announcement. “Maria’s an incredibly powerful witch. For whatever reason, she wanted you dead. Sending you in would be a sacrifice without benefit. It’s unthinkable.”
“Then I suggest you start thinking again.” Joyce folded her arms across her chest. “If you thought I was stubborn before, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
*************
The knock at her door was almost too faint to be heard. Setting aside the maps she had been examining, Maria lifted her head to call out the permission for entrance.
“You asked to see me?” Silas said, poking his head through the crack in the door. His eyes were jumpy, darting from her, to the striking clock on her wall, back to Maria, and then over his shoulder, as if he expected someone to approach him from that direction.
“Come in,” she repeated, and gesticulated toward the door he left ajar. “Please close that.” She waited until they were sealed inside, and Silas had narrowed the distance between them by a few steps. There was no way she could not notice the slight sheen to his forehead, nor the way he found it so difficult to meet her eyes. Vaguely, she wondered when it was Silas had grown so frightened of her.
“How are you?” she asked. “Have you had a nice holiday?”
She needed to set him at ease before she could even consider broaching her request. In his current state, he would bluster and sputter, and, without a doubt, fail the instant he came into contact with the others. That would never do.
“It was lovely, thank you.” Silas’ response was automatic, his hands twisting in front of him. “I hadn’t thought to have so many treats from home. It has been…a long time.”
“I’m glad. I hate to think that you would be cheated of such a little thing. Your dedication to your tasks has been overwhelming.”
He bloomed under the praise, exhaling loudly as he finally sank into the chair opposite her. Maria was lying, of course. Silas was good at what he was doing, but his output was greatly put to shame by Rupert Giles. It wasn’t just for his skills that she’d selected him, though. With his resounding guilt about killing his Slayer---regardless of whether or not she would’ve died anyway---she knew he would be entirely too easy to manipulate into doing her bidding.
It was the primary reason all three of the Watchers had been chosen.
Rupert Giles, fired from his post because he’d broken one of the Council’s vows of secrecy in betraying the truth of the Cruciamentum to his Slayer.
Paul McCallister, headboy at the Academy until his romantic entanglement with a Potential had resulted in the slaughter of a dozen fellow students, the direct result of abandoning his post for a clandestine rendezvous.
And Silas Geen. Whose Slayer lived recklessly in one of the most virulent countries in the world. Whose Slayer contracted HIV, and who, under confidential order from Quentin Travers himself, was forced to kill her before the disease could. Whose guilt from having done so compelled him to quit the Council in disgrace, and haunted him to this day.
The same man who was so desperately seeking redemption for what he felt was the ultimate betrayal, and was convinced he was going to find it under Maria’s direction.
A fool.
“I’ve called you here for a reason, Silas,” Maria said softly. He was instantly at attention again, leaning forward to hear what she had to say. “You’ll notice Paul and Rupert are not present. That’s because you’re the only one I think I can trust.”
He seemed shocked by such a blunt admission, and finally nodded. “Thank you,” Silas said. “I just…I want…”
She smiled. “I know. It’s what we all want.” She feigned distress. “Well, I believe it’s what you and I want.” Quickly, she outlined her request, ignoring the blanching of the Watcher’s features. Even when it took a moment afterward for him to agree to it, she remained resolute.
One could never have enough precautions. If Rupert failed to respond to the threat on Joyce Summers, she wanted to be the first to know about it.
This time, the power would be hers.
To be continued in Chapter 32: God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen…
-----
32. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
Though her bedtime had long come and gone, Holly was showing no signs of being ready to sleep. For the last half hour, she hadn't stopped moving, running circles around the table, crawling underneath it, standing on one chair and then hopping to the next, and Spike was beginning to suspect the chocolate pudding plan had backfired on him in ways he hadn't envisioned. He didn't correct her, though, because frankly, it was going to take a hell of a lot more effort to stop her than to just watch and make sure she didn't bump into anything and decide oozing lethal fluids all over the joint. Instead, Spike decided to be a bit more proactive and set to his next attempt in helping Buffy fight the toxin.
One thing Holly had said kept coming back to him. Though he knew it wouldn't do any good at this juncture to try removing the poison from Buffy's system---with the amount of time that had elapsed, there was no way Spike could guarantee that her blood hadn't already commuted the contagion---he rather liked the idea of sweating some of the malignancy from her flesh. Like a fever before the advent of aspirin. There was nothing like a good old-fashioned cleansing when it came to purification of the body.
Plus, it gave him a really good excuse to lay his hands on her. He was fairly certain she wouldn't have protested anyway, but it was hard to see such a gorgeous creature, even unconscious, and not want to touch her in some way.
Quickly, he had the bathroom full of steam, the bath raging as hot as he could get it, almost every container from the kitchen scattered about with boiled water heating the air. Holly watched him curiously as he worked, but never said a word, not even when he carried Buffy from the couch and set her on the towel he'd stretched out on the middle of the bathroom floor. She just poked her head in through the open door until Spike's terse, "The bloody steam stays in here a sight longer if you leave it closed, pidge," prompted her to slam it shut again.
His fingers danced over Buffy's clothing, stripping her with relative ease. "And no reason for you to bitch at me when you wake up," he commented to the sleeping Slayer as he tossed her top onto the growing pile. "Didn't pop a single button."
Her heartbeat was stronger than it had been, a slowing tympani that made him want to shout for joy. Quickly, he glanced down at her hands. Though there was still a tinge to them, they were the same color as if she'd just gone outside without her gloves for a few minutes. Almost natural.
"Knew you could do it," Spike said gleefully. "Nothin' can take my Slayer down. Not even a touch of bloodspawn out there." Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin already slick with the perspiration that was being drawn from her body. "You just rest up," he murmured. "I've gotta---."
A loud crash echoed from the outer room, followed quickly by the whispering of tiny running feet and a slammed door.
Spike sighed. "Gotta go see what the moptop did this time," he said, straightening. He cocked his head as he looked down at her, waggling a knowing finger. "Don't think I don't know you did all this just to get out of the babysitting gig. And don't think I'm not goin' to remember after you're back up to snuff. I plan on takin' full advantage of any and all guilt you might acquire 'bout me playin' Mary Poppins while you're out for the count."
Though he half-expected a sly rejoinder to come from her as he closed the door behind him, Spike was quickly diverted from the business of Buffy to the Christmas tree that now leaned askew against the window. A smattering of ornaments dotted the floor, and there was already a small fire blazing near the hearth where a swag that had been adorning the sill had fallen to the floor and been lit by a rogue spark.
"Holly!" Spike roared, as he jumped forward to the fireplace. Vaguely, he heard a muffled whimper from the bedroom, but it was soon drowned out by his boots stomping out the flames, his feet kicking the other loose ornaments beyond the fire's reach. "Holly!" he repeated. "Get your ass out here, or so help me if I have to come get you, you'll be drained before you can say 'Merry Fuckin' Christmas'!"
He heard the door creak open, but waited until the last of the fire on the floor was out before twisting to look back. Holly stood in the doorway, eyes wide. No longer was she wearing her clothes, however; in an effort to obviously gain bonus points against her accident, she had stripped down and put her nightgown on.
Inside out.
"What the hell happened here?" Spike demanded. He pointed at the tree. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that soddin' thing to stay up? Not to mention gettin' pricked to hell and back, and not in the fun way, either."
"You're yelling," she said in a small voice.
"Bloody right I am. I'm right brassed off with you. All I asked was for you to mind yourself while I sorted Buffy out, and you almost managed to burn the bleedin' house down."
"I'm sorry."
"As you should be. Are you tryin' to get us all killed? Not exactly flame-retardant here, you know. You could've had a big pile of ash watchin' after you if that little bonfire had got itself any bigger."
"I'm sorry."
"Bet you are, missy." His lips thinned. "When Buffy wakes up, you're goin' to be the one to tell her you wrecked some of her deck the halls glory. No way am I takin' the blame for you on this one."
Her eyes darted to the bathroom before returning to Spike's face with a guileless earnestness. "Did you make her better?"
"What? No, I'm just tryin'---." He stopped, head tilting as he raised a finger to point at her. "Distracting me from what you did isn't goin' to work. Who do you think invented that little trick? Now. What're we goin' to do about this?"
"About what?"
"This." Spike waved at the lopsided tree.
"Fix it?"
He had to ball his hands into fists at his side in order not to explode any worse than he had. "I know we're goin' to fix it," he replied through gritted teeth. "What I meant was---."
The now too-familiar of something crashing floated from outside the cabin, alerting Spike's senses and causing Holly to shrink back into the darkness of the bedroom.
"It wasn't me! It wasn't me!" she cried out.
"Sshhh," Spike said. When the cabin was silent, he pricked his ears, straining to hear what else might be on the other side of the front door.
And heard the unmistakable sound of voices.
Three, to be exact.
Bollocks.
Darting across the room, Spike had his hand clamped over Holly's mouth before she could cry out, scooping her under his arm and heading for the ladder. "Stay up here," he instructed as he set her down in the loft.
Her eyes glowed from the reflected firelight. "I don't do down," she whispered.
"Right," he said with a half-smile. "Be right back."
Sauna interruptus, Spike thought as he let himself back into the bathroom. As quickly as he could, he gathered Buffy into his arms and went back to the ladder. Sorry it couldn't be longer, luv.
Holly just watched as the vampire settled Buffy onto his bed, drawing the blankets up over her and gently brushing the hair off her face. "Are you going to get the bad men outside?" she said.
"Yeah." He was halfway down the ladder when he realized the child had yet to move from the spot he'd placed her, stock-still as if her feet had been riveted to the floor. Behind him, he could hear the voices getting louder, but the fear that was shining in Holly's face made him hesitate.
"Need you to do something, pidge," Spike said conspiratorially. "I need you to keep an eye on Buffy, all right? Make sure she's all cozy-like while I tend to business outside. Can you do that for me?"
She nodded, and then bit her lip. "Will that make it all better?" she asked.
"Huh?" There were footsteps on the porch now; he had to get outside and stop whoever it was before they made it inside. Even if they were vampires, the fact that Spike had crossed the threshold without an invite meant they could, too; it was up to him to ensure these wankers didn't get anywhere near either of his girls.
And he wasn't even going to consider the possibility that the intruders might be human.
"Will I still be in trouble?"
He rolled his eyes. "Don't make a noise 'til I come back up here, and we'll see."
-----
With one of Buffy's short daggers tucked into his boot and a stake in his pocket, Spike slithered through one of the windows in the back of the cabin, falling to the ground he'd cleared the previous night with a barely audible crunch. Other than the vestiges that remained from his tryst with Buffy in the clearing, there were no scents of human in the air, nor was there the familiar pulse of heartbeats. Their visitors were demon. It was the best news he'd had since Buffy'd fallen unconscious.
With his usual feline grace, Spike crept around the side of the house, ears straining to catch the conversation that was happening in the front. The snippets he heard were mildly encouraging.
"You knock."
"No, you knock."
"You do it. I knocked last time."
"When I knock, I get a fangful of nothing, if memory serves. I'm not getting gypped again."
Two vampires, arguing between them. Thank god they hadn't tried the door yet.
Spike's senses stretched to try and suss out the location of their comrade. He was certain he'd discerned three voices, but only two of them were talking. He couldn't afford to be surprised when he made his attack.
"The blood's already flowing in there," the first one whined. "Can't you smell it?"
"Which is why---."
"Will you two just shut up?"
There it was. The third. A woman.
Spike smiled.
He couldn't have picked a better way to vent his frustration from the past six hours. Well, it would've been nice if it was Angel who was soon to be on the other end of his fist, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
"If you two don't stop your bickering, I'm going to throw you back into the invisible wall and hold you there until you fry, do you understand?" the woman barked. Silence. "Now, we have to be smart about this. Norris, you knock. Nick, you hide over here with me."
"Me? How come I have to knock?" The first man he'd heard, though now the unmistakable whinge in his voice made him sound ten years younger.
"Because you don't look like chopped liver from trying to headbutt your way past that electrical wall," she replied.
Spike had to stifle his chuckle. Stupid gits. Obviously, they'd wandered through the barrier and couldn't get out again. Just a few demons looking for a meal. Too bad they weren't going to find it here.
Inch by inch, he neared the corner of the cabin, and peered around to see a pock-faced young man shuffling around on the porch. The distinct gleam of two sets of gold eyes glowed between the trees, and Spike visually measured the distance separating him from them. Thirty or so yards. Close enough for him to get to, but it would leave the front door unprotected, and if the prat decided to test the boundaries...
"Nobody's answering," the vampire on the porch called over his shoulder.
"Idiot," Spike heard the woman mutter. He grinned. He knew the feeling of being surrounded by imbeciles.
The other male emerged from the darkness. Without the canopy of the trees to hide him from the moonlight, Spike could see the vicious burns that left his forehead and left side of his face in savage, crimson furrows. Even without them, though, he still wouldn't have been remotely on the pretty side, a bulbous nose and tiny eyes giving him the appearance of a young WC Fields. It was going to be fun to rough him up even more.
"Let's just break it down," Nick said.
The woman sighed before stepping out to join him. She was old enough to be their mother, and with a sudden clarity, Spike realized that she actually was. A little vampire family stranded for the holidays. It was almost funny.
"How many times do we have to go over this?" she said. She hit Nick on the back of the head, eliciting a frustrated growl from the younger demon. "Norris, get down here. You two are just lucky it's the middle of the night and whoever's inside is too drunk on their asses from their Christmas celebrations to hear you out here."
He waited until the third were together on the ground before making his move.
"And who's that tap, tap, tappin' at my front door?" Spike drawled. He sauntered forward, thumb hooked through his beltloop, affecting his best cock of the walk attitude. It had been months since he'd been able to strut as if he owned the place, and this far from Sunnydale, there was little chance that knowledge about his chipped status would get in his way from preening as the superior vampire he was. He was going to have his fight, and he was going to have some fun, too, getting a measure of demon respect that was his long delinquent due. Maybe there really was a Santa Claus.
The two males bristled, chests puffing in a vain attempt to show their superiority. But it was the narrow-eyed assessment of the mother that Spike truly cared about. She was obviously the boss here; if she saw him as a true threat, half his work was done.
"This isn't your place," Norris accused.
Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" He leapt to the rail and walked the length of the porch like a tightrope before stopping to lounge against the post at the stairs. "What makes you say that?"
"Because there's humans inside," Nick said.
"You smell the blood, don't you?" Spike questioned. "You think that's just an accident?" As if to make his point, he let his tongue snake over the edge of his teeth before making a smacking sound with his lips. "Let's just say, it was a very merry Christmas this year."
The men exchanged a glance. "You're lying," Norris said.
With an exaggerated sigh, Spike hopped down from his perch and stepped to the front door. "Shouldn't argue with your elders," he said. Silently praying that Holly was sticking to her promise to behave in silence this time, he opened the door and crossed the threshold. Stopping just inside, he turned and leaned against the jamb, an indolent smirk highlighting the amusement in his eyes. "Too bad we didn't make a wager on it. Could've used a few bob when I got back to civilization."
The trio of vampires stiffened, closing their ranks instinctively. "I know they don't look like much," the female said, "but Nick and Norris here were state champion wrestlers before they were turned."
"Someone's read just a bit too much Hammett, I think," Spike drawled. Behind him, he could hear the faint tread of footsteps, but didn't dare look back to see what was going on. Instead, he stepped back outside, pulling the door closed. "You really think the Wonderless Twins here can take me?"
"Maybe not," she replied. Her face shifted, her fangs extending. "But the three of us might just stand a shot."
Spike met them halfway, launching forward with his coat flaring out behind to take the two men down into the snowbank. As the three bodies rolled with snarls and growls, and Spike felt the comforting crunch of bones within his grip when he grabbed the nearest wrist and twisted, a sense of peace pervaded his bones.
Taking his pent-up frustration on a trio determined to steal his little corner of the world was the best medicine he could've prescribed himself. The only thing that could've made it better would've been to have Buffy at his side.
-----
She blinked. It didn't take Willow's superior deductive reasoning to figure out she was back in Spike's bed. She just wasn't sure how she got there. The last thing Buffy remembered was trying to hold Holly still, waiting for Spike to bring over the first aid kit so that she could stop the bleeding on the girl's leg. Her hands had started feeling extremely cold, and the next thing she knew, the room was spinning around her.
Did I black out?
It was the only explanation, but she had no idea why. She did know that her hands currently felt like they weighed about thirty pounds each, and they were still chilly while the rest of her seemed to have been dipped into boiling water. Why was she so wet?
She stirred beneath the blanket, and then froze.
Naked, too. Or nearly so.
That could only be because of Spike.
"Spike?" she called out. Struggling to prop herself on her elbows, the sudden rush of feet filled the loft space, and she fell back onto the mattress just as Holly's head appeared at her side.
"Buffy!" the child squeaked excitedly, and then instantly shrank, glancing back at the ladder fearfully as her lips pressed together.
"What's wrong?" she asked. Focusing her will on the simple act of lifting her arm, she frowned when Holly visibly pulled away from her touch. "Where's Spike?"
"Outside." She was whispering now, cupping her hand around her mouth to direct the sound.
"Can you go get him? I want to know what's going on."
Holly shook her head. "I don't---."
"---do down," Buffy finished. She closed her eyes and sighed, suddenly exhausted. "Right. I forgot."
With the room vanished from her sight, her other senses seemed to sharpen, and Buffy could hear the faint din of shouts and bangs filtering through the thick walls. It sounded like a fight. What had happened while she was in unconscious?
"Are you better?"
Holly's whisper was louder with her eyes shut, and Buffy nodded, though the effort it took made her head feel like it was going to fall off her neck. "What happened?" When she was greeted with silence, she opened her lids to see the girl staring at her in fear. "Why are you upset?"
"I hurt you." The tiny confession could hardly be heard, but the pain behind it screamed. "I'm sorry."
"You..." And then she remembered the blood trickling through her fingers, how the funny feelings in her body hadn't started until after she'd come into contact with it. At least she knew why someone would be after the little girl now. In the way of weapons, that one was a doozy.
"It's OK," Buffy said. "See?" She gathered the remainder of her strength and rolled onto her side to face Holly, beads of sweat popping out onto her brow. "I'm doing better already."
Wide eyes swept over the bed before returning to Buffy's face. "You're not mad?"
"No, of course not." For the first time, she noticed the seams on the child's nightgown on the outside of her garment, the tag poking out at her nape. "Spike dressed you, didn't he?"
The front door opened and shut, the heavy stomp of Spike's tread preceding a charged shout of excitement from his lungs. "Holly!" he bellowed, and then his step was on the ladder, his bleached head appearing over the floor's edge just a split second before he leapt to the upper level.
His duster was coated in ash, a dark smear highlighting the angularity of his right cheekbone. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, and the knuckles on his left hand were red from abrasions, but in spite of his less than ideal presentation, Spike's eyes glittered with a satisfied bliss, the energy still coiled in his limbs driving him to bounce on the balls of his feet.
He froze when he saw Buffy staring at him, but it lasted only a second before he was at her side, his hands cupping her face as he took possession of her lips in a hungry kiss, driving her to respond though she knew the strength she was expending should've been reserved for something more vital like healing.
"Knew you could bloody well beat it," he said when he pulled away. He shot Holly a look of smug satisfaction. "Maybe now you'll start believing me, won't you, moptop? Ol' Spike knows his Slayer better than anyone. Don't you ever believe any different."
The custodial command of his tone sent a surge of heat through Buffy's veins, but she kept a calm exterior as her gaze swept over his disheveled appearance. "What have you been doing?" Buffy asked. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"Feel fuckin' fantastic." Ignoring Holly's widened eyes at his cursing, he leapt back to his feet, shrugging out of his coat to let it fall to the floor before heading for the dresser. "Had a few vamps stumble through our little electric fence, but took care of them right quick. Best fight I've had since those walrus guys took a swipe at us."
"How many is a few?"
"What's that?" His head was ducked, his hands busy pawing through his clothes. When Buffy repeated her question, Spike just shrugged. "Oh, five, maybe six. Lost count after the first two." With a clean tee and jeans dangling from his hand, he was back for another kiss, leaving her breathless when he finally broke away.
"No goin' back to sleep," he ordered as he headed for the ladder. "I'm just goin' to wash up and when I'm done, I'll put the little one to bed proper. Then, you and me..." His eyes raked over her bare shoulders, the corner of his mouth lifting. "...are goin' to have a little chat."
And with a wicked grin, he disappeared down the ladder.
-----
Though the hour was late, Giles was still awake, scribbling at his notes with a ravenous attention that hadn't been present in his work since researching the truth behind the Mayor's ascension the previous year. His pen scratched along the paper, and when he'd filled as much of it as he could, the Watcher turned it over to begin writing on the other side, playing with the words he'd concretely translated while rearranging those that were less firm.
He had to be quick. Silas had poked his head in earlier and asked to speak with him and Paul in private before retiring, on a matter that was "of the utmost importance." There'd been an excited gleam in the florid face, and Giles had agreed, more out of curiosity about what could've caused such a reaction in the other man than eagerness to share any of his findings. There had been little camaraderie between the trio since the argument about Maria's book, so the fact that Silas was so keen to collaborate again was most definitely odd.
When the knock came, Giles shoved the notes from Paul's discoveries into his desk drawer before calling out for the arrivals to come in. Silas entered first, with Paul directly on his heels, and they closed the door behind them as if privacy was their primary concern. Under his arm, Silas had a stack of books, and he set them down on the corner of the desk when he approached.
"Have you found the daughter?" Giles asked. There was no need for niceties. He had no interest in being this man's friend; any Watcher who could arbitrarily kill his Slayer wasn't worthy of his respect.
"Better." Silas pulled a thin volume from the middle of the stack, and slid it across the surface. "I've found proof of what Maria is actually planning."
With a frown, Giles glanced at the book's spine and noticed the green ribbon marking a center page. Opening the text, he only began skimming the contents when his eyes narrowed, his chin lifting to stare at the other man.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded.
"The same place young Paul found the other book," came the reply. Casting a surreptitious eye toward the corners of the room, he leaned in to explain in hushed tones how Maria had sent for him earlier, how, during the course of their meeting, she had had to take a call, during which time he'd seen the book and slipped it into the stack he'd walked into Giles' room with. "She never noticed," Silas finished gleefully. "And when I had the opportunity to look it over, I went directly to Paul to tell him what I'd found."
The Watcher in question was nodding vehemently. "I told Silas to wait until we knew she was retired before speaking with you," he said. "This corroborates the other translations."
It did indeed. In fact, it outlined the ritual quite clearly, explaining how it needed to be conducted before the eve of the fourth, whatever that meant, that the Seers were responsible for protecting the child from the intervention of the Warriors, and that if started, the only way to stop the transfer was to kill the spellcaster.
"This would suggest she has been mostly upfront with us," Giles mused.
"I believe the only reason she hasn't told us about the specifics of the ritual," Silas said eagerly, "is that she fears we would then kill her daughter. She's merely interested in protecting Holly's life. She doesn't want to see her die."
"Which she knows we would do if it meant preserving the Slayer line," Paul added.
"Yes."
It made sense. In a twisted, manipulative way, it made perfect sense.
That didn't mean Giles liked it, though.
"Thank you," he said, meeting Silas' gaze with more warmth toward the man than he'd felt since first meeting him. "This was valuable information for us to get. I appreciate the lengths you've gone to."
"It was my pleasure." His broad smile slightly faded. "I understand we've had a bit of a...tenuous working relationship, Rupert, but I hope you can see now that I truly believe we're on the same side. We must be united in our search for Holly. It's the only way for us to save your Slayer."
"Agreed." Standing, Giles offered his hand in truce. "I owe you my apologies, Geen."
Silas seemed to still be glowing from the affirmation when he and Paul left the room, but Giles' mood didn't lift with their departure.
He wanted to believe that anyone who would arbitrarily threaten an innocent woman like Joyce Summers only had their own best interests at heart, and that those interests were likely detrimental to the masses. He didn't want to be wrong about this.
The books told him he was.
To be continued in Chapter 33: I Ain't Been Nuttin' But Bad...
DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike has defeated some wandering vampires and returned to
the house to find Buffy awake…
*************
Prior to going up to the loft, he'd been savoring the idea of a long, hot shower. Dusting the mom vamp after she'd taken a swipe at his forehead with his own knife---and that was one part of the story Buffy was never going to hear---had left Spike hungry for the pounding rhythm of red-hot water against his skin, the sensations of it scalding him into submission and driving away the worst of the energy that now raced throughout his veins. He'd give himself a good wank, too; he was hard as a rock and the release would do him good.
That had been before he'd seen his Slayer awake in his bed, her eyes flickering with emotion he couldn't recognize but most importantly, open and alert.
Now, he just wanted to get under the spray, get himself cleaned as quickly as possible, and get back to the supple flesh stretched out between his sheets. Hungers had a way of transferring when given fresh opportunity, and god, Buffy was as fresh as they came.
He was still going to jerk off, though. Just to take the edge off.
Leaving the bathroom in complete disarray when he was done, Spike bounded up the ladder, pulling himself over the top rung to see Buffy still awake, Holly sitting on the end of the bed with her legs hidden beneath her nightgown. "Time for little ones to be goin' to bed," he announced loudly.
"Fix her clothes first," Buffy requested.
"Right." With little fuss, Spike scooped the child up and set her on the floor, whipping her nightclothes over her head in a single, liquid motion before inverting it and sliding it back on.
"Arms."
He had to refrain from rolling his eyes, but quickly did as Buffy asked, curling Holly into his arms and heading for the ladder when he was done. "Be right back."
"Don't I have to tell Buffy?" Holly whispered in his ear.
"Tell me what?"
This time, he did roll his eyes. "Nothin'," Spike said. To the child, he whispered back, "You're killin' the mood here, pidge."
"But you said---."
"Forget what I said."
"What happened, Spike?"
Even if she wasn't up to par, there was no mistaking the commanding tone of Buffy's voice. With a put-upon sigh, Spike turned around and shook his head. "It's really nothin'," he said. "Just a little accident with the tree."
"I knocked it over," Holly volunteered. "When Spike was making you all steamy."
"In the bath," he hastened to add. "Steam in the bath. Was just tryin' a bit of spa therapy to try and help you out."
Buffy's lips quirked. "Well, that explains why I'm naked and wet."
The image her words elicited in his head made Spike's cock harden even more inside his jeans, and he bit down on his tongue to keep from dropping the kid right there. "Can I take her down now?" he asked. "These are details I can give you in our…chat, remember?"
He grinned when he saw the Slayer swallow, her heart returning to its pace post-poisoning. This wasn't an effect of any kind of toxin, though. He was damn well certain this was all him.
She gave him no arguments, and before Holly could open her mouth again, Spike slithered down the ladder, toting the child into the bedroom with curt speed. "Not a peep," he said and dropped her onto the mattress. "Me and Buffy have some talkin' to do, and I don't fancy any interruptions, is that understood?"
Holly clambered to the head of the bed and slid beneath the blankets. "You got rid of the bad guys?" she asked as he walked back to the doorway.
"Yeah. All dust."
"And Buffy's going to be better?"
He stopped at that, glancing back to see the expectation in her wide-open face. "Yeah," he replied, his voice softer. "She's a strong one. Doyle wouldn't have trusted you with her if she wasn't. Now, good night, moptop."
"Good night, Spike."
He was halfway out the door when her voice floated up to him again.
"Merry Christmas."
*************
She was fighting sleep. Her hands still felt leaden, and her shoulders were weary from what little exertion she'd made in speaking with Holly, but Buffy was determined to stay awake. She knew Spike's very not-so-subtle references to chats meant he wanted sex, but she wanted something else. She wanted answers.
His head appeared over the top rung much slower than it had disappeared, and she felt the familiar pull in the pit of her stomach as Spike's darkened eyes fixed on her through his lashes. "Threatened the little one with dismemberment if she interrupts us," he drawled. "'Course, it'll have to be you who does the slicing. My disciplining her would be a spot easier if she wasn't soddin' human."
He didn't stop as he spoke, reaching the end of the bed and dropping his knuckles to the mattress to continue his journey toward her. "Know what a sight you are, luv?" he growled. The bed bowed beneath his weight, his body all sinew and feline grace as he crawled up her length. "Think seein' you all perky again is the best bloody Christmas gift I could've asked for."
His head dropped at the last, his mouth suckling at the exposed upper curve of her breast. Buffy gasped at the unexpected force of his mouth, her nipples hardening to rasp against her bra. "Awake doesn't mean perky, Spike," she managed to get out.
"Perky enough for me." His hand came up to join his mouth, palming the soft swell before pushing the scrap of lace out of his way. "Don't do that again," he murmured into her skin, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index finger.
"Do what?"
Spike's denim-clad thigh rubbed roughly against Buffy's inner thigh, pressing into the growing wetness between her legs. "Scare me into thinkin' you're checkin' out," he said. His teeth nipped along her collarbone, and though she had squeezed her eyes shut at the overwhelming sensations that he was creating in her flesh, Buffy opened them again to stare up at him.
"You told Holly you knew I was going to be OK," she said.
The faintest of questions in her voice prompted Spike to lift his head. "Yeah, well, I lied," he replied. "Evil, remember?"
"Was it that bad?" She'd seen the faint discoloration in her hands. What other symptoms had she exhibited that could freak Spike out so badly?
"Could've been worse," he admitted. Settling himself on his side, he coiled his body around hers while he reached for one of her hands. "Got you cleaned up as fast as I could, but pidge said the others all died from it. Wasn't sure how much was necessary to get into your system before it was too late to pull you back."
"Others?" Her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Other Slayers?"
"Near as I can figure, they were just baby Slayers, waitin' to get all chosen-like." Briefly, he told her about his conversation with Holly, complete with his own extrapolations of some of her more cryptic statements. "Explains why that Maria bird is gunning for the little one," he finished. "Hell, if I'd known there was something out there as simple as a kid's blood that would take down Slayers…" He didn't finish the thought, his eyes catching the hardening of Buffy's mouth, and Spike laced his fingers through hers to tug her closer to him.
"Just glad you're stronger than those others," he said softly. He ducked his head to brush his lips over hers, pressing the leg he'd thrown over her into her pelvis. Chuckling at the moan she couldn't contain, Spike deepened the kiss, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling at it between his teeth.
She didn't even have the strength left to push him away, though really, the more he kissed her like that, the less she wanted him to go anywhere. Instead, Buffy pulled back further into her pillow, breaking the seal of their mouths and forcing him to look at her again.
"I might be strong enough to fight the poison," she said, "but that's all on the inside. I can't---."
"You don't have to," Spike cut in. "I've got enough punch right now for the both of us."
"But that won't be any fun for you if I can't…you know…"
He chuckled. "First of all, you and me need to have a bit of discussion about this inability of yours to say the actual words, pet. It might work around the little one, but between you and me, there's no need for you to go all delicate. Big Bad Spike can take a few naughty words, and I've got a feelin', you just might like hearing them as well." He put his hand over her mouth when it opened to protest. "And second, if you think for a minute that I don't get off on you goin' all a-quiver because of what me, my hands, and my tongue are doin' to you, then you haven't sussed me out as well as you think you have, understand?"
She could only nod. Her skin was tingling at the hidden promise in his words, even in the deadened area of her hands, and her throat was dry from the anticipation of what might be coming.
"In fact," he continued, "this might be a good time to get some educating out of the way. Seems to me, talkin' isn't takin' too much of your strength. Am I right?"
Another nod of her head.
"And so long as you don't scream, the little one shouldn't be all the wiser to what's what up here, which satisfies that agreement you're so determined to stick to." Moving his hand away, Spike rolled away and off the bed, hopping to his feet. "I fancy this'll be just as good as what I had in mind," he said, grabbing the hem of his tee and pulling it over his head.
"What?" She couldn't help but ask. The fact that not only hadn't her protestations put him off the sex he seemed determined to have, but had fuelled him even further was both curious and mildly alarming.
OK. And arousing. How could he know that?
"Gettin' you to narrate what I'm about to do," Spike explained. His hands paused at the buttons of his jeans, his eyes glittering in the orange glow cast by the fire from below. "Let's start with an anatomy lesson, shall we?"
Buffy's eyes widened as he slowly began to undo his jeans, the length of his hard cock poking free of the denim long before he'd reached the last button. "I…I can't…" she sputtered, and then swallowed hard when he stepped out of them, kicking the jeans behind him and out of his way so that his erection sprang free.
"Yes, you can," Spike said. "I don't think there's anything you can't do, pet. You just have to set your mind to it. And this…" He was back on the bed, kneeling beside her so that his cock beckoned just inches away from her face. "…is just the beginning."
There was enough residual power in her arm for her to pull away when he took her hand, but Buffy was too transfixed with the desire to touch Spike to stop him from curling her fingers around his erection. He didn't let go, just molded his fingers around hers to guide her movements, all the while locking her in his gaze.
"You see what you do to me?" he rumbled as her palm brushed against the wetness collecting on the tip of his cock. "All I have to do is think about you for a second, and I'm hard. Hell, I smell your bloody shampoo in the air, and it's enough for me to start wanting to bury myself between your thighs. You're in my blood, Buffy. Nothin' I do seems to shake you outta me, and now…" He lifted her hand away from his arousal, up to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her open palm.
He never finished the thought. With her hand trapped in his, one simple kiss to her palm turned into an intimate caress of her fingers, and Buffy squirmed as each swipe across her skin sent an electrical bolt straight to her soaking pussy. "That's…that's not…what I thought…you wanted to be talking about," she panted.
"Oh?" Spike asked, but he didn't abandon her fingers, instead sucking them, one by one, into the warm recesses of his mouth.
"You made it sound like…like…you wanted me to use…you know, dirty talk."
His reply was a bite into the fleshy part of her palm. "Dirty talk's a part of it, pet. But what's most important is that you're not afraid to voice what you want. How you feel." He trailed a path down to her wrist, along the underside of her arm, nibbling at the tender skin of her inner elbow. "Lesson the first. Tell me what you're feelin'."
Each nerve in her skin was throbbing in response to his oral attention, the dulling that had taken control of her hands abating with every bite, every lick, every suck. She didn't think it was possible for her to answer his question with much coherence, and so said the first thing that came to her head.
"Wet."
She felt him smile against her skin.
"Maybe graduating to the dirty talk won't be so difficult after all," Spike drawled. Leaning across her body, he braced his weight on his fist as he uncoiled his body along her length again. "Always knew there was a naughty girl inside that uptight exterior."
Buffy pretended to pout. "I'm not uptight."
"Not any more. I'm takin' full credit for that little transformation, thank you very much."
"It's not all about you, Spike."
"Oh? So your ever-so-eloquent 'you know' is just to charm me out of my pants?" He rolled his hips against hers, his cock grinding against her, the fabric of her panties brushing tantalizingly across her clit. "Got a news bulletin for you, luv. Those pants are long gone."
She moaned when he captured her mouth with his again, sucking down her breath as his tongue demanded entrance. How she wished she had the energy to grab on to the wiry muscles of his back, to lift her legs and wrap them around his pelvis and feel the steel length of his cock sink deep into her soaking cleft. Instead, she had to settle for the deliberate stroking of his hands as they molded over her curves, the brutal hunger of his kiss as he took what he'd wanted since first spying her awake. It left her panting and willing to do just about anything he asked if he would only continue.
"So…" he whispered when he broke away. His forehead rested against hers, as if his head was too heavy for him to lift, and Buffy found herself dizzy from the absence of his mouth. "…in regards to this wet feeling you're testifying to…"
She gasped when his hand slipped between their torsos and tore the outer seams of her underwear, leaving her open and exposed and waiting for him to touch. Any second now, she would feel his fingers delve between her folds, stroking with that expert touch until she was desperate to feel him inside her, and then he would find her clit, and start the want all over again, building and building until her explosive release was inevitable. He had taken her to that brink before, pushed her over with merciless passion. She merely had to wait for him to take her in hand and start the ineludible climb.
It never came.
Buffy's eyes shot open to see Spike watching her intently through his lashes, his nostrils flaring from the exacting control he was maintaining over his body. "You stopped," she said breathlessly. "Why did you stop?"
"Lesson the second. Tell me what you want."
If she'd had the strength, she would've thrown him off and straddled his lean hips, taking him in deep with full force and ridden him until he was screaming for his own release. But she didn't, and if she was going to find any cessation of the fire he'd started burning inside her flesh, Buffy knew what she had to do.
"I want…" She swallowed. What exactly did she want?
His cheek brushed against hers as he nuzzled at her neck. "You can do it, luv," Spike murmured. "Just tell me. Nothin' you can do or say's goin' to make a whit of difference 'bout how I feel about you. There's nothin' for you to be afraid of."
"Touch me."
"Where? Here?" His hand left where it had been hovering at her hip to whisper along the curve of her waist.
Buffy giggled from the unexpected tickling. "No."
"Then…here?"
Fingertips followed the line of her lower ribs, stopping at her sternum to stroke her stomach in maddening precision.
"No."
The touching stopped, and Spike's eyes returned to her field of vision, dancing with amusement. "Need to be a tad more specific then, pet," he said. "I could play hit or miss all night."
Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He was actually going to make her say the words. Not that she didn't think the words but verbalizing them was an entirely different matter. "Touch my…my…pussy," Buffy finally whispered, and ducked her gaze away from his. "Please…"
"Well, since you asked so nicely…" And then his hand was back on her hip, sliding across her pelvis to brush away the last scrap of her underwear, his fingers slipping into her wetness with the familiarity he'd gained over the past few days. "Is this what you wanted?"
Eyes fluttering shut, Buffy sank into the sensations his touch was eliciting, a maelstrom of color and light that left her body pounding and throbbing for more. "Yes," she hissed, and moaned when his mouth returned to her breast, this time sucking her nipple hard against the roof before catching the tip between his teeth. "Harder," she whispered, gasping when he obeyed. And then… "Fuck me, Spike. Please…I want…just fuck me."
Though his hand never stopped, she felt his head and shoulders pull away, and opened her eyelids to see him gazing down at her in concern. "I wasn't goin' to go that far," Spike said. "You're still recovering. I was just…you don't have to do that for me."
Buffy shook her head. "I'm asking for me. This is what I want. That's what your little lesson was all about, right? And I don't have a problem with you taking control." She smiled, memories of the previous night in front of the fireplace flooding her head. "I don't always have to be on top, you know."
The slow cant of his smile mirrored hers, and the worry that had hardened his features dissipated. "Guess I can do that then," he said. Grabbing her wrist, he lifted her arm to help her wrap it around his shoulder, drawing him in closer to her torso, the hardened tips of her nipples tickling across his bare chest. "Think makin' love to you is turning into my favorite pastime."
Briefly, her mind registered the shift in terminology, but the implications were lost when Spike's fingers disappeared, to be replaced by the probing tip of his cock. With the unhurried hunger of a man for whom time didn't matter, Spike pressed forward, stretching her with every inch he sank. The hand she could barely command felt the muscles in his back flex as he fought with such desperation to take it slowly, and she voiced the question before she could think not to.
"How?" Buffy whispered.
It didn't break his rhythm, as excruciatingly slow as it was, but he did break away from where he'd been suckling at her neck to gaze down at her. "How what?" he asked.
"You were so wired. I saw you. But now, and this…" She gasped when his pubic bone ground into her clit, his balls brushing against her ass for the longest moment before he began to slide out again. "You're holding back," she went on, "and I don't get…how you can."
"Easy. Can't hurt you."
"Pounding isn't hurting."
"Is that what you want?"
"What?"
"For me to pound into you. For you to feel bruised and exhausted from feeling me plough into that sweet little quim of yours. Is that what you want?"
She had thought so. When he'd begun touching her, and the desire had swelled to proportions Buffy was beginning to recognize as her typical Spike want threshold, she'd thought all she wanted was to forget about recuperating and lose herself in the frenzy of fucking him.
But now, with each delectable glide just as savory as the last, that feeling of being full and stretching to accommodate him and knowing that he was trembling with every bit of the same too muchness that she was…Buffy thought differently.
"This is what I want," she said. "I just…I love the way you feel. How…full you make me feel. Like…like…this is the way it's meant to be."
He kissed her at that, his mouth honeyed and warm, and she clung to him with all the strength she could muster. "Could keep this up all night," Spike murmured when their lips parted. "Take it nice and slow, and make it last." His head tilted, his eyes black and solemn as he seemed to weigh his next words. "The way it's meant to be."
A jolt of…something…shot through Buffy's chest. "I changed my mind," she said, and brushed her mouth across his. "That's what I want."
Promise of Frost
by Eurydice
DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Silas has gone to Giles and Paul with evidence of why Maria
has been holding back on them, Joyce seems to think she has an alternative to
helping out Buffy, and Buffy is beginning to recuperate after coming into
contact with Holly's blood...
-----
34. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree
When she woke, it was with the full consciousness that came from getting just the right amount of sleep, her eyes opening of their own accord, her mind already fully alert and prepared to face the day. Buffy's body, however, was of a different inclination, and she groaned out loud as her muscles screamed in protest against her efforts to sit up.
Before she could get herself upright, a bleached head appeared at the top rung, his bright gaze sweeping over her in quick assessment before hopping up the rest of the way. "Lucky you've got a good excuse for bein' a lazybones this morning," Spike said. "And even luckier I'm in a good enough mood not to give you hell for it. Must've been that amazing shag I had last night."
The bed slanted when he perched on the edge, and Buffy tumbled against him, his arms lifting her effortlessly into his lap before she could stop him. "What time is it?" she asked.
"Not sure on the specifics," he said, but his gaze wasn't on her face when he answered. Instead, Spike was fixated by the sight of her bare breasts, the hand he didn't have keeping her in place on his legs rising to stroke the dusky pink of her nipple. "After lunch is the best I can tell you."
She automatically stiffened, her eyes widening as Buffy struggled to get to her feet. "And you let me sleep all day?"
The steel curl of his arm around her back kept her rooted as he finally looked into her face. "I let you get the rest you need," Spike corrected. "We were up 'til the crack of dawn, if you care to remember, and the last thing you said to me before drifting off was that now your legs didn't work, either. Thought I was doin' you a favor."
It was impossible not to hear the hurt behind the sharp tone of his voice, and Buffy forced herself to relax back into his grip. He had been true to his word, making love to her well into the night, bringing her to orgasm over and over and over again while he only came two or three times himself. When she'd succumbed to his repeated demands to guide him in what she wanted, whispered like velvet steel into her ear as he held her trembling body firmly against his chest, she'd responded with a torrent of words that shocked her but made Spike smile.
And comply.
Oh, boy, had he complied.
"How's Holly doing?" she asked, changing the subject. "No more fatal tree accidents today?"
"Been good as gold." His attention was back at her breast, tracing around the hardened aureola with a single finger.
"How did you punish her for what happened?"
"Didn't."
"What? Why not?"
"'Cause as soon as I punish her, she's goin' to think everything's fine and dandy and probably get into mischief again. This way, she stays on her best behavior on the hopes she doesn't get whatever penance she ought. So, are your tits always this sensitive, or do you just want me that much?"
She gasped at his question, both for as much as he'd actually said out loud and for the nonchalant curiosity in his voice. "Ego, much?" Buffy said, slapping his hand away. She didn't have a lot, but what motor control she did command was more than enough to protect what little sense of modesty she had left. It wasn't much. It was hard to be too modest around Spike after having begged him to bite her clit just a few hours earlier.
He ignored her protestations, and settled her back onto the mattress so that he could stand up. "You up to joining us downstairs?" he asked, crossing to the dresser. "Thought you could be my extra set of eyes while I fix the tree back up. Make sure it's not crooked or anything."
"We're keeping it?"
"Yeah, why not?" Pulling out one of his tees, he tossed it to her, leaning against the bureau as he watched her slip it over her head.
"Maybe because Christmas is over?"
"Technically, it's Boxing Day. So, the holiday's not over just yet, luv."
"You never did tell me what Boxing Day actually is."
"And you never told me how you got that little scar on the inside of your thigh, so I guess that makes us even, huh?"
There was no mistaking his gleeful smirk, a testament to the uncharacteristic good mood that he'd been in ever since dusting the vamps the previous night. Some of it she understood; the sex had been amazing and not even Spike could escape the effects of the afterglow. What confused Buffy was this residual humor around her, the contrast of friendly gibes with an unceasing awareness of her wellbeing. Plus, it was more than obvious he was getting attached to Holly, in spite of his assertions to the contrary. Add it all up, and Buffy was left wishing she hadn't skipped as many math classes in high school as she had.
"I need pants if I'm going down," she finally said.
Spike shook his head. "Only need pants if you actually get off the couch," he countered. "Which you're not."
Before she could react, he was back at her side, scooping her into his arms with the blanket wrapped around her body. He only went a few steps, though, before he was stopped, the comforter's edge still tucked beneath the mattress, and he gave it a quick yank to free it from its moorings.
He pulled too hard, and Buffy frowned as a soft thud hit the floor at the same time the blanket came loose. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to the small leather-bound book that now rested amid the dust motes beneath his bed.
For a second, she felt him stiffen, but by the time she'd shifted to look at Spike, his face was unreadable, his shoulders shrugging.
"Just a bit of bedtime reading," he said and carried her away from it, leaving it lying there abandoned without any further thought. "Nothin' important."
She immediately forgot about the book when he jumped, the sudden drop to the floor below making her stomach surge in revolt, and Buffy scrabbled to tighten her hold on Spike's shoulders as the vertigo made the room swim around her. "I think I need to eat something," she said as he headed for the couch.
His mouth quirked. "Should've said something 'bout that before we came down then," he joked.
He settled her in the corner of the sofa, tucking the blanket around her before heading for the kitchen. On the floor beside the crooked tree, Holly sat with Baby, rocking her in the cradle Spike had made, but her eyes were locked on Buffy as she sang nonsense under her breath.
"How's your leg feel?" Buffy asked.
"OK."
A scrap of material hanging over the side of the cradle caught her eye, and she followed the trail to where it disappeared under the towel Holly was using for a blanket. "What's that?" she quizzed, pointing to the fabric.
Picking up the doll, Holly lifted its dress to reveal the scrap tied around its leg. "Baby has a boo boo."
"Say that five times fast," she heard Spike mutter behind her.
"Can I see?" Buffy held out her hand, but the child hesitated, her eyes falling.
"It's all right, pidge. I got you all bundled up tight when I changed your plasters, so there's no need for you to be worried 'bout leaking over the Slayer, OK?"
Spike's assurance was enough to make Holly nod in understanding, and she carefully edged close enough to Buffy to hand over the doll. "She's sleeping," she offered, and withdrew her hand before their fingers could make contact.
"What happened to her?"
"She fell out of bed."
"I've done that. That hurts." And then... "You know I'm going to be fine, right? I know you were scared, but I don't want you to be when it's not necessary. I'll bet I'm back on my feet before you go to sleep tonight."
Holly's eyes were solemn as she took back her doll, tucking it into the cradle as she seemed to contemplate Buffy's words. "I don't want you to die," she said. She picked up the ball from her nearby skittles set and began rolling it between her palms, doing everything she could to stay apart from the conversation the Slayer was determined to have.
"And I'm not going to," Buffy reassured her. "But even if something happens to me, like I get hurt again, Spike will---."
"No!" With a vicious throw of the toy, Holly sent a surge of ornaments crashing to the floor, startling both adults. "Nobody dies! No more! No more!"
Her tiny fists were pounding against the decorations that tumbled beneath the tree, her body writhing in the throes of her tantrum. In a flash, Spike was there, picking her up and trying to pin her still as she kicked and thrashed against him.
"Bloody hell!" he shouted when her ankle connected with his groin. Instinctively, he threw her at the couch, shouting out in pain again when his chip fired. "Knew I should've tied you to the bloody bed!"
Before she could scramble away, Holly was wrapped in Buffy's arms, her hysterical crying straining what little strength the Slayer had managed to regain. She fought to hold the child, though, rocking her into her body with as much reassuring calm as she'd witnessed Joyce exhibit over the years, all the while murmuring anything that she thought might help.
Her eyes met Spike's over the top of Holly's head. Please, she thought, and prayed that, this time, he'd pull one of those mind-reading tricks he excelled at and listen to her. This is so not me. Help me do this. I need you. Please.
Slowly, the tension dissipated from his body, his mouth softening as he regarded the two females on the couch. Without saying a word, he sat down on the couch and reached out to awkwardly pat the child's back.
"Didn't mean to yell, pidge," he soothed, though there was still a slight rasp to his voice. "But we told you, Buffy's goin' to be just fine. You gotta trust us."
"That's...that's...what they...all say," Holly said between choking sobs.
"They?" Buffy kept her voice as low as possible, in order not to add to the alarm. "Who's they?"
When no answer came, Spike tried, "Are these the blokes who were watching you before? Is that who you're talking about?"
Still no response. Only the wracking tears.
"It doesn't matter what happened to you before," Buffy said. "What matters is that you've got me and Spike on your side now, and you know what? We hate to lose. In fact, Spike hates to lose so much, he has a tendency to cheat to make sure he wins---."
"Hey!"
"---so there's no reason to think that anything bad is going to happen, OK? Not with us to look after you."
The sobs were starting to subside, and Holly wiped her face on the edge of Buffy's blanket before looking up at her. "I don't want to hurt anybody any more," she whispered.
"You're not going to," Buffy promised, though in the back of her mind, she wondered how she could make a vow like that.
"C'mon, moptop," Spike said. Gently peeling her away, he stood with her in his arms. "Think it might be best if you have a bit of kip."
"I'm not sleepy," she argued, and then her jaws stretched into an impossibly wide yawn.
"Wanna try that one again?" He shifted her in his grip. "Let's go."
"Baby, Baby," she cried out, struggling to reach for the doll on the floor when he started to walk away.
Spike sighed. "And Baby, too," he said and plucked it from the cradle.
Falling exhaustedly back into the corner, Buffy watched as he carried Holly into the bedroom, the child resting her cheek on his shoulder and already half asleep before he reached the door. He'd told her about the details of the girl's past, but seeing the distraught reaction firsthand, combining it with the stories Holly had shared during their playdate outside, painted a picture so bleak that Buffy's heart was breaking. Maybe it was because she was still weakened from recovery, but the desire to find whoever could possibly want to hurt Holly and kick their respective asses into another dimension swelled inside her.
Too bad she'd been out of it during Spike's fight the previous night. She was going far too long without a good slay.
-----
The little one was out cold before he could lay her down, and Spike hurriedly covered her up so that he could get back to Buffy. He probably should've put the chit down for a nap earlier, but Buffy had surprised him by waking up sooner than he'd expected.
Pulling the door closed behind him, Spike softened at the sight that greeted him from the couch. She'd curled into the corner, golden hair splaying over the armrest, her lashes dark against her cheeks as she rested from Holly's outburst. Her color was undoubtedly better; he'd noticed, too, that the bluing was gone from her hands, though she still lacked the bulk of her strength. A few more hours of rest and Buffy would likely be back to her usual self, all verve and vinegar and ready to take the piss out of him again.
Just the way he liked her.
"Sorry 'bout that," he said, sauntering forward to perch himself on the opposite end of the couch. His good humor had lessened with the inadvertent attack on his person, but just looking at Buffy was enough to start restoring it again.
Her eyes flitted open. "What're you apologizing for?" she said. "I'm the one who set her off."
"Little one's knackered. That's why she's on a hair trigger. Doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Still..." Her gaze was contemplative, though her mind seemed to no longer be with him. "Do you think Holly's mom could've been a potential Slayer? You said it sounded like she was living with a bunch of them. Like a training camp of some sort, right?"
It was a possibility he hadn't considered. "Pidge did say her mum died because of her job. Would make sense if she was slaying."
"And then the Council just kept a close eye on her after her mom was killed. Because she was a threat to them." She chewed at her lip, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. "She said...she told me you two talked a lot. About moms and stuff."
Spike stiffened. "Yeah," he said slowly. This wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss with Buffy. She'd never respect him if she found out what a poof he'd been as a human, and losing what ground he'd gained over the past few days wasn't acceptable. "I was just tryin' to get the little one to open up. Try to find out why someone would be after her."
"She said your mom was dead."
"Well, considering it's been a century since I was turned, I'd be surprised if she wasn't, pet."
He knew where this was going. As he watched the internal debate rage behind Buffy's eyes, Spike fervently wished that she'd just drop it. It couldn't end in anything good and the last thing he wanted was to wreck the gossamer tapestry that was being woven between them.
"Will a sandwich do?" he asked, launching from his seat to head for the kitchen. That was it. Change the subject. Distract her from what he really didn't want her to---.
"Did you kill her?"
---ask.
Fuck.
He kept his back to her, busying himself with the bread and lunchmeat. "Does it matter?" he said. His throat was tight. "It was a long time ago."
"That means yes, doesn't it?"
Of course it meant bloody yes. But there wasn't a fucking chance in hell she'd understand. So he did the only thing he could. He kept his mouth shut.
"Spike---."
"You want butter on this?"
"On a sandwich? Ew, no. Spike---."
"How about a bit of fruit, then? Pidge won't touch the oranges, so---."
"You're avoiding the subject."
He shot her a quick look and put as much venom into his voice as he could. "Took you this long to suss that out, luv? Good thing you've got the looks to make a spot of sense redundant then."
The silence that ensued sliced as cleanly into Spike as his knife did through the bread. Any second now, he expected Buffy to revert to form and lash out at him, using words as her weapon of choice since her fists were temporarily out of commission. It was only fair. He'd done just that thing in order to get her to shut up.
The wavery sound of her exhalation was a soft sigh in the too-close air. Just bloody get it over with, he thought, suddenly weary. Knew all this was too good to be true, anyway.
"Holly told me what you said to her." Her voice was low, her pitch even. "That your mom was sick."
Bugger.
He was going to strangle the brat as soon as she woke up from her soddin' nap. Obviously, that was the only way to keep the kid from talking so much.
"Were you telling her the truth?" Buffy asked. "Or was it just to try and gain sympathy points so that she'd open up?"
He knew he should lie. He knew he should just claim to be nefarious in word and deed and let the consequences be damned.
But when he turned back to face Buffy, when he saw the soft compassion in the solemnity of her eyes, Spike's resolve crumbled.
Against the backdrop of the skewed Christmas tree, with the sunlight filtering through the curtains and merging with the warm glow of the fireplace, she didn't look like the Slayer waiting for an excuse to stake him. She looked like the woman who rolled over when she thought he was asleep in order to hold him tighter. Tentative to trust what was right before her eyes, but bold enough to try.
A woman who cared. For him. Who'd known the truth all along and hadn't let it stop her from taking the risk of going for more.
How could he lie to her now?
"I thought I could make it better." He didn't meet her eyes, not even when he handed Buffy the plate. "I just didn't want her to hurt any more."
Spike was relieved when she didn't try to detain him, retreating back to the kitchen with the feel of her gaze heavy on his back. He had rinsed off the knife and put the food away before she spoke up again.
"Are you still going to fix the tree?" Buffy asked. The look of incredulity on his face must've been plain when he glanced back at her because she added, "You said you were going to do it. And I'm all ready to be the official Christmas tree inspector whenever you're ready to go to work."
She was just going to drop it. Ammunition to use against him, to call him evil and remind him that he was still a demon, and Buffy was just tossing it aside with the carefree abandon of someone who didn't care.
Or rather, with the abandon of someone who did.
A slow smile creased Spike's face.
"It'll be a tad bare," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crossed to the fir in question. "Pidge broke more than a few ornaments with that last tantrum of hers."
"It can be our Charlie Brown Christmas tree then," she replied. "Those are better anyway."
Impulsively, Spike pivoted on his heel and bent to his knee in front of Buffy, cupping his hands around her face to pull her into a hard, swift kiss.
Her eyes were glittering when he broke away, her swollen mouth curving into a small smile. "What was that for?" she breathed.
"Just realized I hadn't kissed this bloody amazing woman since she woke up in my bed," he said, straightening. "Just doin' my best to right a wrong, but don't you dare tell anyone I said that."
Behind him, Buffy giggled. "You're weird, Spike," she said, but there was an affection in her tone that left his chest warm.
Bloody amazing was an understatement.
If he wasn't careful, he could very well do more than care about her.
And maybe...
Maybe he didn't want to be careful around Buffy.
Not any more.
To be continued in Chapter 35: A World Outside Your Window...