Title: WELCOME WITH A KISS
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Answer to Lisa's “after Showtime” challenge, sort of (because I think
Spike's gotta rest up). Part 1 - part 2 follows shortly. (Buffy's got more lines
than Hamlet in this part - good thing it isn't really a script!)
Setting: Spike comes home
Welcome With a Kiss
* * * *
Part 1.
By the time they reached Xander, waiting in the SUV with the engine running,
Spike could barely stand.
“Just hold on,” Buffy urged. “Let’s get you in the car.”
She opened the back door and pushed him inside, clambering up after him.
“Let’s go,” she told Xander. As he stepped on the gas and they pulled away from
the cavern exit, Spike slowly collapsed sideways, and Buffy pulled him across
her lap, her arms around his shoulders. But he was still conscious, and Buffy
blinked back tears as he gazed steadily up at her with a heart-rending
expression of wonder – though, of course, she could only see it in the one eye
that wasn’t swollen shut. With his last bit of strength, he reached up to touch
her cheek with bruised fingers. His lips moved, and she bent her head to catch
his words.
”I knew you’d come,” he whispered. “I saw you coming for me a hundred times. I
knew sometime it would be true.”
“And you were right,” Buffy said. “Shhh. We’re almost home now.”
He closed his eyes (or, eye) then, and relaxed against her. Buffy could feel her
own heartbeat, strong and even, thudding against his cheek, and hoped he was
aware enough to take comfort from it, too. She heard Xander let out a gusty sigh
from the front seat.
“What?” she said.
“Whenever I get my car detailed, they’ve always gotta clean bloodstains off the
upholstery,” he complained. “Somebody’s gonna notice, one of these days, and my
insurance will skyrocket. I’m just sayin’.”
“Yet another peril of the Hellmouth,” Buffy replied.
* * * *
Buffy and Xander carried Spike in the back door, and through to the living room.
The others all stood away, their faces stamped with varying degrees of fear,
concern, revulsion, and pity. They laid him down on the sofa, and she covered
his bloody, naked torso with a chenille throw. Xander stood irresolutely beside
her for a moment, and then stepped back.
Buffy’s eyes never left Spike’s countenance. They might have been the only two
people in the world.
“Buffy?” he said, in a thread of a voice.
“Shhh. It’s okay. We’re home.”
“Home…”
Her throat closed, suspending her voice for a moment. A memory flashed into her
mind of his silver head bent tiredly over a smoking cross, and his plaintive
plea for rest, that night he’d revealed his restored soul to her.
“You can rest now, Spike,” she finally got out.
“Rest…”
“For a little while,” she added, in a whisper.
* * * *
“She’s going to get us all killed!” Rona hissed.
“I don’t understand bringing him here, after everything they said he’s done,”
Chloe added, in a furious whisper.
The teen slayers-to-be stood in a group in the front hall, their heads together,
arguing about the latest development.
“She must know what she’s doing,” Kennedy said, keeping her voice down. Not that
she wasn’t uneasy, herself, but the slayer – THE Slayer – had been right about
everything, so far. And Willow trusted her completely – that had to count for a
lot. She went on, “The way Buffy does things might be unorthodox, but it gets
the job done. We saw that with our own eyes…”
“But he’s a VAMPIRE!” Molly wailed. “Right in the same house with us! I don’t
think I want to stay here anymore!”
They all jumped guiltily when Buffy’s voice sounded right next to them. Kennedy
looked up and saw the Slayer standing there, arms folded across her chest, her
expression determined.
“Girls?” she said. “I’d like to see you all in the dining room.” Then she looked
around. “And everyone else, too, please.”
* * * *
“All right,” Buffy said, standing behind the chair at the head of the table. The
girls watched her with wide eyes. “Lesson the second. We’re going to talk about
Spike.”
“We’re not safe with him here!” Chloe said wildly. “None of us!”
“Why not?” Buffy asked, her eyes intent.
“He’s a VAMPIRE!” Rona exclaimed. “We’re supposed to KILL vampires, not run a
nursing home for them!”
“Okay.” Buffy leaned forward, her arms braced on the back of the chair. “Let’s
start at the beginning. What IS a vampire? Who knows?”
“Well… it’s a demon. In the body of a human. And it still looks like a human,
but it’s not,” Kennedy offered.
“That’s right. And how does the demon get there? If a vampire bit you, what
would happen?”
“You – you’d die… and you…” Molly’s voice trailed off.
“You become a vampire when someone kills you,” Buffy said firmly. Who taught
these girls, anyway? Their watchers must have been pretty lax. When she was
their age, she knew a lot more about – well, okay. Maybe not. But she learned
fast. And that’s what they needed to do.
“You are murdered, and the soul that every person is born with is torn from your
body. You die, and you’re buried, and you rise again. You become stronger than
you ever imagined, and fast, and deadly – but more importantly, you’re freed
from all those painful human feelings, like love, and responsibility, and guilt.
You live for yourself, and yourself alone. No one has any claim on you. You can
prey on humanity, indulge any violent, ugly whim, commit any atrocity, without a
single pang of remorse. The world is pretty much your oyster, as a matter of
fact. Nothing can stop you. Except for us, in this room.” The girls sat back in
their chairs, looking rather impressed with themselves, for a moment.
“That’s what happened to Spike, over a hundred years ago…” Buffy continued.
Andrew, who was standing a little apart from the others, raised a diffident
hand. “It was a hundred and twenty-three, actually,” he said. Buffy stared at
him, her face severe. He hunched a shoulder, suddenly ill at ease. “What? I
looked it up.”
Buffy cleared her throat. “As I was saying, Spike was turned over a hundred
years ago. But there was something strange about him from the first – wasn’t
there, Giles?”
“Well…” Giles seemed reluctant to commit himself. “In a manner of speaking.”
“He was bad, all right. He was probably one of the worst – though not quite THE
worst, as some of us here can tell you. But there was one odd thing about him.
And it was something that allowed us to defeat him again and again.’
‘He DIDN’T live only for himself. He WASN’T free from human feelings. He could
love.’
‘That went against all the rules, all the reference books, as Giles can tell
you. But Spike’s always been different, and over time, he saved me, saved my
friends, over and over again.”
“But he also tried to kill us a lot,” Xander interrupted. “Lest we forget.”
“But that’s what vampires are supposed to do, Xander. They’re not supposed to
save the world, though, like Spike did, and you know it. Eventually he – he
decided he had to change, to become a better man. Literally. So he fought for,
and won, the restoration of his soul.”
There was a gasp from one or two of the girls. The others just looked confused.
“You mean – he did it on purpose?” Kennedy exclaimed. “It’s not, like, a curse,
or something?”
“That’s right.”
“But – but how? I don’t understand. How can an evil demon decide to be good?”
Buffy was beginning to like this girl. A lot.
“There is no explanation,” she answered. “The watchers never heard of such a
thing, and neither has the demon world.” She drew a deep breath, and let it out
slowly. “It’s a kind of miracle, I think.”
She saw her friends watching her, disquiet etched on their faces. Giles stood
apart, his hands shoved in his pockets, his head bent in thought. Xander’s eyes
were dark and troubled; he didn’t wholly believe her explanation, she knew. He
didn’t want to believe it. But she believed it, passionately, and she wanted
these girls to understand - for a variety of reasons.
“And right at that point – when Spike was most vulnerable,” Buffy continued,
“when his conscience returned, and the knowledge of what he’d done over a
century came crashing down on him – that’s when the First struck, and took
control of him. Brainwashed him. Made him do what he most dreaded and loathed –
made him kill.’
“That’s important. Remember it. Because that’s what It does – it probes for your
weak points, your guilt, your pain, your insecurities, and that’s where it
attacks you. It doesn’t just want to defeat us – it wants to cause maximum
suffering and misery when It does it. It wants to make us hate ourselves, and
each other; it wants to rob us of all hope.’
‘And that’s why you need to know about Spike. That’s why he’s here. Because his
whole existence is a beacon of hope, for everyone.”
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.”
George Gordon, Lord Byron
Part 2.
Approximately forty hours later, the potential slayers gathered in the basement
to train. The room had been equipped with weapons, targets, athletic gear such
as the punching bag and pommel horse rescued from the Magic Box, and an
assortment of mats. Kennedy offered to give crossbow lessons, and Xander had put
together a kind of scarecrow made from old, paint-stained sweats, stuffed with
rags, tied to a makeshift stand, with a big, red “x” painted on its chest. Three
or four girls lined up for target practice; two more juggled with stakes.
Several others had arrived since the night of Spike’s rescue, and they rummaged
through Buffy’s weapons chest, chattering as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
One of the new girls, a slim Korean-American named Maxine, whirled a sword above
her head, laughing.
“This is the weapon for me!” she exclaimed. “It’s way cooler than a ratty old
stake, any day – yeowwww!” She shrieked as an unseen hand snatched the sword
from hers, but instinctively stood stock still when its point hovered near her
throat. There was a moment of mass panic, and not a few screams, as the other
girls fled to huddle together near Kennedy, still holding her crossbow.
Spike stood before them, sword in hand.
“Afternoon, ladies,” he drawled. His face was still rainbow-hued, but the
swelling over his eye had gone down. He wore jeans and a shirt, both black, and
not a platinum hair was out of place. Dropping the sword point, he gestured for
Maxine to join the other girls. As she scrambled across the room, he folded his
arms and contemplated them. What he saw didn’t seem to impress him.
“S-S-Spike?” Rona choked out. “You were hurt – you couldn’t even move…”
He gave her a lazy smile. “One thing you should learn about vampires, pet,” he
said. “We heal fast.”
“How did you get down those stairs?” Kennedy demanded. “We didn’t hear
anything.”
“That’s what you should expect to hear when a vampire stalks you,” he replied.
“You’d better learn that, too.”
He set the sword in a corner, and stood for a few moments with his hands on his
hips, regarding the frightened group of girls with some gravity.
“Right,” he said, finally. “Lesson the third it is, then. Somebody stake me.”
“W-What?” Maxine asked.
“Come on. You adorable moppets are all wanna-be slayers, aren’t you? So slay.”
“But you – you could…”
“I won’t bleeding hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Come on. I won’t
move a step. Do your worst.”
“We c-c-can’t – we’re not really…”
Suddenly Kennedy swung her crossbow up, and fired. The bolt whizzed through the
air – and sailed harmlessly through the spot where Spike’s chest had been.
“Quite a good shot, love,” he said, rising from a crouch. Indeed, he hadn’t
moved a step – his feet were still in exactly the same position as before. “But
vamps are fast, too. And, in general, they’re not going to stand still and wait
for you to dust ‘em.”
Deliberately, Spike began to prowl from one side of the improvised training room
to the other, and as he paced, he lectured.
“A vamp is NOT just a human with funny teeth. He is not going to be distracted
by your witty repartee or your fashion sense…”
As he spoke, Molly rushed him, axe upraised; Spike easily disarmed her and
flipped her back to the others –
“He is strong, and he is motivated…”
With that, Maxine dashed forward, stake in hand, to find herself instantly
propelled backward again on her backside –
“He sees, hears, and senses more than you can imagine…”
Chloe was spun sideways, her sword clattering on the floor –
“He only wants one thing. He wants to kill you…”
One by one, the potential slayers dashed at Spike, and one by one, they were
neutralized and tossed aside almost negligently. Finally, he halted and faced
the breathless girls piled on the floor, folding his arms across his chest.
“Right, then. Now you’ve got an idea what you’re up against. You lot need work,
I can see that.”
“Are you going to train us?” Kennedy asked.
“That’s right, love. It’s your worst nightmare come true – a real, live vampire,
just waiting to trounce the daylights out of each and every one of you. So pull
yourselves together, watch Inu-Yasha, or whatever sweet sixteens are into
nowadays, and have a good night’s kip. We start tomorrow.”
Silent and subdued, the girls clambered to their feet, put their weapons away,
and trailed toward the stairs.
“Oh, and ladies – don’t swan in here and think I’m going to go easy on you
‘cause you’re all cute and winsome. This is serious business. So be prepared to
work your curvaceous little bums off.”
Spike maintained his inflexible pose until the door to the kitchen shut behind
the last girl. Then, with a gasp, he staggered backward until his back hit the
pommel horse. Slowly, gripping its sides, he lowered himself to the floor, and
sat breathing deeply for a few minutes, until he heard Buffy’s footsteps on the
stairs. He looked up expectantly.
* * * *
“Hi, there,” Buffy said, leaning over the banister. “How are you holding up?”
To her eyes, Spike looked exhausted. He seemed so small, huddled there against
the legs of the pommel horse. A wry smile twisted her lips. He’d never looked
small to her before he got his soul. On the other hand, it seemed he was big
enough to scare the bejesus out of the girls, which was all to the good.
He answered her inquiry with a grin, saying, “Fine, long as I don’t actually
have to walk anywhere. Or stand upright. Be right as rain in no time.”
I bet, she thought. She moved toward him, down the remaining steps. “Those were
some pretty thoughtful teenagers I just passed upstairs.”
“Think I was too hard on ‘em?” he asked.
She sat on the floor beside him. “Nope,” she answered. “They needed a reality
check. Anyway, they’ll get over it as soon as they’ve scarfed down the dozen
pizzas and about twenty gallons of soda Xander just brought over.”
“Resilient.”
“Boy, I’ll say. Was I ever that perky?”
“You were. I remember.” He gave her a particularly charming smile that warmed
his blue eyes and lit his whole face. She looked at him in wonder; she had never
seen him look like that before. There seemed to be no resentment, no anger, and
no snarkiness in him at all. Then he added, “I used to particularly hate that
about you.”
Well, maybe some snarkiness remained.
“And you were all threats and blatant innuendos and swoopy black coat. Those
were the good old days.” Buffy laughed, and Spike laughed with her. Then she
caught her breath. We shared a joke, she thought. That’s never happened before,
either. “God, we sound like old marrieds,” she said. “I guess we’ve been through
enough.”
“I should say.” There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t awkward. They both
had so much to say that it was difficult to know where to begin. All at once,
they spoke at the same time.
“Buffy…”
“Spike…”
“No, you first,” he said, sounding almost shy.
She took his hand between both of hers, and looked down at it, tracing the cuts
and bruises that marred the back with one finger.
“I just want to say thank you,” she said softly.
“That’s what I was going to say - thanks for the rescue, and all.”
“No – I don’t mean that. Not for any one thing.” She looked up at him. “For
everything. For becoming what you are.”
“All because of you, Buffy.”
“I know.” She couldn’t control her voice enough to speak above a whisper. “That
makes me so proud. So, thank you.”
He didn’t seem able to find words to answer her, but his expressive features
spoke for him. Savoring the moment of stillness, Buffy let her shoulders relax,
and leaned back with a sigh. One bare light bulb lit the basement, and tranquil
shadows crept toward them across the floor. She heard faint sounds from the
kitchen of the girls chattering, probably bickering over pizza, and Xander’s
voice raised in what was, no doubt, a fruitless protest of some kind. Buffy
stole a glance at Spike, and saw that his head was tilted back to rest against
the horse, and his eyes were closed. The sharp lines and angles of his face
seemed to have smoothed out. He’d probably fall asleep in a minute, if he hadn’t
already. All of a sudden, Buffy had to struggle to keep her heavy eyelids from
dropping, too.
Well, this was one for the books. Giles would never believe it. Slayer and
vampire, napping together in perfect trust and harmony, hand in hand, like
little children. Buffy couldn’t remember feeling so peaceful, despite the
inevitable disaster looming right around the corner. In truth, she felt
restored, somehow, and strengthened, with Spike at her side. She felt as though
an emptiness within that she’d hardly been aware of had been filled.
She felt like she, too, had come home.
END
- - - - - - - - - - - -
“But him the maids of Paradise
Impatient to their halls invite,
And the dark Heaven of Houris' eyes
On him shall glance for ever bright;
They come---their kerchiefs green they wave,
And welcome with a kiss the brave!”
George Gordon, Lord Byron