Ancient shades
by Kur

Author: Kur <kurhux@yahoo.com.ar>
Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me but to Joss
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike & Buffy
Spoilers: Season 3
Summary: Set during Season 3, Buffy and Spike are figuring out their
relationship, while the Mayor gets a Big Bad ally.
Thanks: To Melissa, best beta ever. See, I haven't changed one single
word. Thanks, thanks, thanks!!!!!  

 

The tall trees were wrapped in a white glow. A round, full moon shone
high on the sky patching the forest glade with silver spots. A bonfire
crackled and roared in the middle of it, the noise never lessening the
last whimpers of those who hung from the tallest and solitary oak that
stand in the valley. Their limbs moved spasmodically as if they were
marionettes, their strings yanked now and then by a tired hand.

A man stood by the fire. Orange and red drawings danced on the dark
velvet surface of his long gown. The crown on his head gleamed with
flashes of gold. Three big horns pointed at the moon and then to the
flames every time he swirled around them. Finally he stopped and turned
round, facing the other two men that had been kneeling in the shadows
of the distant bushes. One of his long twisted fingers commanded them
to come nearer. As one of them approached, the glazed, white eyes of
the wizard glimmered with moon rays. His left hand stretched out. A
casket appeared on his palm. Silver and ivory patterns embellished its
ebony frame.

"The Vessel of Thorns". His voice rumbled in his throat. A deep dark
cavern. "Use it well."

The man's hands shook a little, thrilled at the simple touch of the
little chest. When he opened the lid a soft greenish glow wavered at
its core. A crystal, red flask twinkled on the black satin. The colour
of blood. The colour of life. A sinister smile flashed for a second on
his thin lips. He finally raised his head and nodded.

Five naked people appeared from behind the trees. They cut the ropes of
the suspended bodies and threw all of them to the fire. The flames grew
to the sky, welcoming the offering with a howl and a satisfied, shrieking
yell. 
 

CHAPTER 1

"Joyce, stay away from him! Please, invite me in! Please!"

Joyce was horrified. That man standing at the doorstep. She had never
been able to bear him. There was something in him that emanated
invisible as a rush of foul air. He was so different from the gentle
Englishman sitting at the island. She had never had a civilized
conversation with that dark man who was yelling at her from the
threshold as that she had been having with the blonde well-educated
man. Of course he'd done certain wild things. She even remembered
hitting him with a shovel but every young fellow got a little wild
nowadays and she wasn't going to blame him for being in a rock band.
She herself kept in mind those days in which she went a bit out of
control back in her time so. She wished her daughter had chosen him
instead. Hadn't he helped her after all? Not to mention he was really
handsome. And by the way he had talked about his fianc‚e. He certainly
had a good, caring heart.

"You get out of this house or I'll stake you myself!" She yelled at
Angel.

Spike was truly amused. Watching his grandsire's desperate intents was
more than he'd ever expected. He couldn't but jump behind Joyce's back,
making funny faces. Laughing in secret. He had never seen Angel so out
of control, so.rejected. Rejected... The word tasted like manna in his
mouth. Like a mouthful of Slayer's blood. Speaking of whom. Buffy's
hand pushed him hard and he didn't even fight back. He lay there,
sprawled on the wooden surface of the kitchen counter while her eyes
took in the picture. Two cups still steaming and a bowl of...
marshmallows! She sighed and shook her head. Why on earth was he there
again?

Angel's gaze jumped from the disgust painted all over Joyce's features
to the tiny hand of Buffy resting flatly on Spike's chest till finally
it stopped on his wicked, shining smirk.

"Buffy, let me in! He's even more dangerous when he's drunk!" he shouted.

"It's not necessary". After the plea in her mother's eyes, she decided
it'd be better not to give an invitation.

Spike's smirk could have set the kitchen on fire. Joyce finally shook
the fear aside and nearly ran to the door just to slam it on Angel's face.

"Buffy, why don't you just sit dear? I'll put the kettle again and you
can have a cup with us."

"Mom, I think." Her ass crashed on the stool at the mockery in the blue
gaze. She hadn't realized her hand was still pressed against his stomach.
"And you're here with my mother because.?, she hissed.

"Your mother is an extraordinary, lovely lady", he said with a radiating
smile. Joyce blushed like a teen and put the cups on the counter. Buffy
squinted, full of doubts. Was this payback? A delayed revenge? She couldn't
but sip the hot cocoa, astounded by the way her mother chatted with him.
She was so obviously relaxed. She was enjoying it! Enjoying talking to
a serial killer! Of course nothing like that had merely passed through
Joyce's mind. Buffy had noticed that her mother tended to put aside that
spooky idea of vampires, demons and "the slayer" as if she were discarding
rotten apples. And Spike! What was he playing at? All polite and refined
as if he were some Victorian gentleman. Wait, bad choice of words. But
he wasn't anymore! 'I've never seen her that comfortable with Angel.
It's not that we ever had any talking-over-hot cocoa meeting. But...
hey, she was terrified of him!'

"Okay, time to talk?" She almost broke down the cup. Her gaze was made
of green marble. "Outside would be great."

"Oh, Buffy. I don't think so. - Joyce shot nervous looks at the back door,
- he might be. you know.there?"

Buffy frowned and spread her hands. The palms faced the ceiling. "What?" 

"Maybe you mother is jumpy 'cause your little bum-boy?" Spike whispered
with a chuckle. "Don't worry Joyce. I'll go out first. See if the bastard
is still around."

Buffy couldn't believe it. Relief washed over Joyce's face as a cleansing
tide. She was about to shout about how evil that horrid bleached monster
was when her mother's next words hit her better than a Fryarl demon.

"Why don't you tell him to stay for dinner? He knows everything about 19th.
Century art. You didn't tell me he was an expert."

"Expert? Expert?!!! He's only playing with you!!! He's a bloodsucker expert,
that's what he is!!!" Words rammed through her brain. Joyce's smile stopped
them to flow from her lips.

"I don't think he'll stay." That. Stupidest line ever. Her mother could
be the most insistent person in the galaxy. She knew damned well.

"Ask him anyway." Of course, and that meant don't come back without him.
Shit.

 

When she stepped on the porch, Buffy's face was the colour of a red flag
screaming danger. He was sitting on the bonnet of his DeSoto. A big black
crow on a big black perch. His feet were dangling in the air and a grin
swinging along with them.

"I thought you were drunk."

"Oh, and that was your mind talking by itself or laughing boy words?"

Buffy sighed feeling her fists begging to hit his face. She swallowed
as hard as she could. "Where are my friends?" Her eyes were tiny slots.
He had the nerve to look clueless. "They are missing, you are here."

He curled his lips, his tongue licking his teeth. "Okay, you've busted
me. You don't need to worry, love. They're fine. At the factory actually.
Those kids needed a time to be alone. Want a ride?" he offered jumping
from the car and opening the door for her.

Buffy grimaced in disbelief. What was he talking about? Saying stupid
things and seeing ghosts where. Wait a minute. What was he implying?
Xander and Willow? She nearly laughed out loud. Loony vamp. As if she
wouldn't have known. She dismissed his senseless words while fidgeting
on the seat. The corner of her treacherous left eye kept jumping at
his profile every time it had a chance.

Spike suddenly pulled up. The Magic Shop. Yellow police tapes across
the door. She couldn't move even after he got out of the car and kicked
the shop door opened. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Why are we here?"  Being alone with him had not to be that disturbing.
She had a knot in her stomach. And there was something really wrong
with her cheeks. Maybe it was the chocolate. Too hot.

"Oh, I'm looking for something." He dismissed her doubts with a swirl
of a wrist. The black polish nails shimmered under the street lamp.

"The only blood available here you just got it so." She barely believed
her ears. He'd killed the lady who owned the shop and she, THE SLAYER,
was just casual about it. She should have staked him right there.

His amused eyes travelled along her shape. His head tilted to the side.
"I've always wondered. You liked being a toff, didn't you? I mean, you
acted so differently. As a woman, I could say."

She just stared at him. Her clenched fist didn't even rise. Odd.
Odder was the painful twitch in her guts.

"You know, that night in the carriage. that ponce had a huge hard-on
for you baby." His left hand climbed down his body to affirm his words.

Finally her fist connected with his nose. "You're disgusting."

His smile never left his face as he wiped out the blood of one nostril
and walked into the shop. "You don't know how much. Anyway, - he went
on as he picked one jar after another from the shelves. He looked at
each one thoroughly, as if his speech was written in the labels, -
Peaches is back I see. What? All love and birds singing again?"

"We are friends." Why in hell she was explaining anything to him? Why
on earth she had picked that lame, pathetic excuse? She certainly had
become brainless. Maybe he hadn't only eaten the shop lady but cast
a spell on the slayer as the cherry on the cake.

Spike shook a finger as if he was admonishing a little kid. "You'll
never be friends. You simply can't. What is there between you? Are
you shagging him?" His eyes looked at her from above a green flask.
They were like a laser beam, cutting her flesh to reach her most
inner thoughts. "And please don't tell me it's love. You don't know
what love is."

Buffy squeezed her fingers around a candle leaving her fingerprints
on the wax. "And you do know.?"

" 'Course I do, - he left the jar and sat on the counter, lighting
a cigarette. "Love is blood, you see. Blood screaming inside you to
work its will. And if there's something remotely screaming inside
you... well, I'm deaf as a corpse."

"You ARE a corpse." She stated with glimmering, sharp eyes.

Spike chuckled. "But bloody handsome, ah? Okay, let's go."

"I thought you needed.."

"Time. But I think it's enough for that friend of yours to make his
move. I don't trust him, though. That whelp is as smart as a rat. No,
wait. Rats are smart!"

"Craziness is catching, isn't it?" Her jaws were so tight she'd have
probably cracked nuts till Christmas.

"Yeah, like brooding it seems. Come on, pet. Smile a little. It suits
you." His big hand wafted on to her cheek as a cold breeze. Only a
moment. She fought back the strong urge to close her eyes and give in
to the sensation. "Ooops."

"What? What?" Her heart had skipped one beat when his palm drew away.

"I think we're in trouble." He rolled her to face the gang of vampires
staring at them. "Hello Lenny."

"Don't tell me - Buffy stepped backward into the shop - friends of
yours. I so dislike you!"

"Oh, come on love - he closed the door behind him throwing a bookcase
against it - this is going to be fun! You certainly need some. You
know, frowns and tears aren't good for your skin. Others things are
good too but this is not the time to point them out, I guess."

"They are too many." She sighed at the sight of the door been forced by
four furious vamps. They jumped over the bookcase seeking Spike's
shape. "Oh, shit. I hate you! And what the hell are you laughing at?"

She detested that particular quality of him. How could he be laughing
his guts out in a middle of a fight? They were only two, for Christ's
sake! That gang was up to nine. Even ten. And she had no weapons, and.
Irresponsible creature! Both! And now she was channelling Giles. If one
of those vamps had the remote chance of hurting her, that bleached head
would hang from her ceiling till the day she died! As a punch bag. She
ducked behind the counter searching for some useful weapon. Nothing
around. Only a chair. that would suit! She broke it in halves, sending
a splintered leg flying towards Spike's hand. "And I would have aimed
to his damned dead heart!" Two vampires launched at her and she kicked
the rolling ladder sending them to the ground. Her makeshift stake
plundered into their hearts.

Spike was really enjoying this. How could he ever think he wasn't going
to get that fun again? Yes, Dru'd left him. Granted. But. he shove a
sliver of a violet jar into the vamp's eye, truth was that he'd have
fought back her stupid words. "Being soft." But there was that blighter
Lenny to prove her wrong. The fat demon first punch connected straight
with his nose. Too tired of that too. And her other words. He back
kicked the stupid minion behind him and whacked Lenny's face. They were
true as well. It wasn't that he had told Dru anything. He didn't need
too. She could smell it. See it. Taste it. He grabbed onto the vamp's
jacket pulling him around. But she was seeing something from another
time. Another century. >From when he was a pathetic human. Lenny's face
crashed against the table.

Buffy hit one of the demons that had cornered her against the counter
while she kicked the other's balls. "I should have stayed at home. Or
maybe I should have left him with my mother having. I'm mad." She
yanked one of the vampires' head bashing it against the glass of the
counter. "There's no other explanation. How could I leave him, no less,
with MY MOTHER?!" The other one kicked her back. She stumbled but made
a sweep kick that made him fall just onto the stake she was holding. "I
can't trust him. I can't trust him. I can't trust him. One hundred
times written on my mind's board." The front window collapsed.

Spike was made of a unique and self-proud smile. It lit his face like a
theatre spot. "There! See if I'm soft." He wiped the dust of his hands
as he watched Buffy fighting. His golden warrior. The massive blast of
the window made him duck. Sounded as a storm roaring inside the walls.
Six vampires charged at him. This wasn't Lenny's payback. Definitely.
Something more was going on here. He crouched down at Buffy's command.
Flying jars passed above his head as glittering crystal bubbles. Holy
water. Smart. He flinched when a few drops fell onto his hands and his
left eyebrow. But nothing could erase his grin. The pitiable army ran
away like feeble rabbits. He stood up, turning his head around to look
at Buffy from above a shoulder. "See, I told you it's going to be fun.
A decent spot of violence. A brilliant bash. If you don't count the
lack of beer."

"If you want to keep that heart of yours intact, let's get out of here.
Now." Buffy went out of the shop with her chin nearly pointing at the
sky. Her back was as stiff as if she was using a corset again. She
didn't allow her left eye to move from the windscreen just once. She
knew how to control herself, damn it. She had had strength of mind. She
still had. Will power. That one which had helped her to survive in
another city, far away of all the people she loved. That one that had
stopped her tears each and every night when she managed to fall asleep
tired enough not to have disturbing dreams. Dreams of blue eyes and
blue silk. Dreams of cold lips and cold streets. That one that had put
a gag against her mouth every time Willow questions had stepped on
dangerous ground.  That same one that had rooted her feet to the ground
despite the crazy urge to run away when Angel appeared out of the blue
to kneel in front of her and hugged her waist. Yes, she had willpower.
It didn't matter how strong his charm was. 'Cause, after all, it was
all it was. Charm, a past attraction for a man that had been dead for
over a century. A clueless fascination for a demon that fit in all the
hated and prohibited files. No reasonable justification for it.

The factory was as empty and creepy as a forgotten tomb. Which it was.
Even her dreams had been buried in it.

"Somebody has been here." Spike stated, raising his head to the air,
sniffing like a wild animal would do. "I smell blood." Oh, hell! Wrong
choice of words. "You know. I guess they have escaped. Which is more
than I expected from them. Well, not Red. She's a smart bint." Talk,
talk, and remove that killing gaze from her green eyes.

"You better pray for them to be okay." Buffy pointed a shaking finger
to his figure before she turned round and left. Too many things to
face. Too many memories and the pain in her heart for past choices,
past nightmares. He was the worst. Tantalizing her with his mere
presence, which sent her mind to sink into a miasma of painful and not
allowed thoughts.

 

Buffy couldn't believe it. He had been right after all. How could she
be so ignorant to her own friends' feelings? Maybe she'd been too much
wrapped in her own emotions, in her own entangled maze. Sometimes she
just wanted to tell Angel the truth. There's nothing between us. There
hasn't been for a long, long time. But she wasn't prepared. She wasn't
prepared to confess to everybody what a liar she was. How many things
she had kept in a little box along with a necklace and a pair of
glasses. Her confused eyes faced the fa‡ade of Angel's mansion. Another
of those horrible maggots squirmed beneath her skin.

"Hey, I was wondering when you were coming." Angel stood up and began
to walk towards her. Something made him stop. Her gaze, her distant
stance. Reminded him of.

"I'm not coming back. Spike told me."

"Spike? Spike told you.?" His eyebrows were a black bridge over his
wrinkled forehead. When had she started to listen to that fiend?

"We're not friends. We never were. Lovers? Maybe once. And I can fool
Giles, I can fool my friends but I can't fool myself. Or Spike for some
reason." She whispered the last words as though she was accepting it
just to herself.

Angel's mouth was a thin line of disgust. "Spike?" It seemed he could
only repeat that name. "What does he have to do with this?" And with
all that happened in the past year, he would have liked to add.

Buffy shook her head and shrugged. "He made me think."

"Oh, made you think." A mockery rang in his voice. "So tell me why I've
this feeling there's something you haven't told me. Since those days, I
mean. More than a truce you did?"

"What are you talking about?" Maybe he knew. Maybe he had seen her in
that alley. But that was impossible! He would have said. The accusation
in his eyes finally made her understand. "Of course not!"

"Well, trying eagerly to please a killer. Makes me wonder."

"I'm not trying to please anybody! Maybe only myself! For the first
time in. ever!"

"What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing!"

"So please tell me, how it comes that you have never killed him? Not
even today after seeing him alone with your own mother?"

No answer for that. Well, not an answer she was going to share with him
anyway. "I'm leaving now." Buffy left without looking back. For some
strange reason she felt full of fresh air. Relieved. It hadn't been the
best way to set things straight but it'd do for that moment. Stupid
bleached vampire had served for some purpose after all. And she hadn't
even needed to ask him for dinner.

"Buffy, is that you honey? Hurry up, dear. Dinner is almost ready!"
Joyce hadn't lost that teen's cheerful spirit from the early night. She
would. As soon as she told her. "Wash your hands and join us in the
kitchen!"

"Us? Us? Oh, crap!" 

 

tbc...

CHAPTER 2     

 

"So tell me Allan, - Mayor Wilkins' fingers tapped rhythmically on the
glossy wood of the desk, - how things went with our welcoming
committee?" His hand rose in the air as if he'd wanted to slap an
invisible fly. "Wrong, of course. That loose cannon is still here."

"Well, I don't think so." Allan coughed a little. His eyes examined his
left shoe. "Spike's left town. Nobody has seen him again."

"But before he did... if that's remotely true, he'd a certain dinner
with a certain little girl, hadn't he?" The Mayor voice was full of
smoothness. He hadn't chuckled once. It wasn't that Allan missed that
particular sound. In fact he hated it so much that his knuckles cracked
trying to hold the strong urge to strangle him. This softness was
scaring.

"Yes. We checked that. Only the Slayer and her mother. And the vampire,
of course."

"Of course." Wilkins agreed and a grin appeared in his lips when he
started to get to his feet. Allan flinched a little. "A dinner for
three. I wonder if they had a good time... Is this butcher or blood
delivery man a friend of ours?"

Allan was so busy trying to stay in the same spot of the carpet that he
almost lost the change in topics. After blinking for several times he
managed to sputter an entangled "absolutely".

"Then, what about seeing he hires a new delivery boy? Or a new shop
assistant or however you want to call it? Let's say... you." Allan's
eyes were flying balloons when the Mayor's hands hold his shoulders.
"This task must be performed in the most perfect way. We can't leave
this important matter in trash hands. You do understand that, don't
you?" He nodded along with his assistant. "Good, good."

After opening a safety box, the Mayor put a little chest on the desk.
"Now, here, my rare and extraordinary treasure." He talked to the red
flask as if it had become an odd, miniature fairy. "Only one drop. This
must be used carefully. Patiently."

"One in each blood bag?" Allan didn't dare to touch the tiny bottle.

"One drop per day." The words were marked as hit by a stick. "Three is
a magical number. Life is so special. Full of surprises. I like
surprises. Well, surprising others, I mean. Go now. In three days we'll
have the best surprise ever."

 
 
Buffy sat on the couch at the student lounge feeling a little nervous.
Cordelia was talking to her friends just in front of them. Xander was
really jumpy. And guilty. She understood perfectly well that particular
feeling. She'd been feeling guilty for so long... If it hadn't been for
one particular annoying bleached creature, her friends would be
perfectly happy. Okay, that was a lie. They would probably have screwed
things up not matter what. Teen hormones talked better than any
rational brain. She knew... nothing about it! "I have no teen hormones
for anybody! No hormones at all!" She shouted to herself while
listening to Cordelia going back to her former self.  At least, if she
knew Willow well, her friend would certainly do that grovelling thing
she had claimed to get Oz back. Buffy crossed her fingers looking at
them going down the hall.

 

Angel jumped from his bed. He was so thirsty... Those blood bags didn't
seem to be enough. They always left him wanting more. More than pig
blood... More than an empty bed. More fun. He had known so well how to
get some fun... In his dreams he found what he needed. He shook his
head. They weren't dreams but nightmares. From the past. He couldn't
possibly missed that part of him... He entered into the main room,
pulling a T-shirt on his chest. He'd ask for help. Find out why...

"Who are you?" He stopped at the sight of two men standing at the door.
Another one, taller, wearing a grey suit appeared behind them.

"Trouble sleeping?" The Mayor crossed the room and sat on a chair. He
carried a black casket in his hands. "Let's introduce ourselves
properly. Of course you're Angel. Former Scourge of Europe, Angelus,
blah, blah, blah... I'm Mayor Wilkins, the one who owns, sorry, rules
this city."

Angel sat down on one side of the fireplace. Strange images danced in
his mind. One stronger than the rest. His fangs sinking in that
disgusting man's neck. "What do you want?"

"The easiest question first! That's not funny... It's not what I want;
it's what it's meant to be. Do you really think you came back 'cause
somebody up there took pity on you?" Wilkins shook his head and smiled.
"Sorry to disappoint you but I, well... let's say I've connections...
You ought to have them if you want to achieve a superior goal."

"What are you talking about?" Angel's voice raised in anger. He hadn't
felt this angry for quite a time. A century.

"I'm talking about your destiny. These dreams you've had... haven't
they taught you anything? They have showed you the glory. That one you
once achieved."

"That wasn't glory. That was... hideous. An abomination. I was an
abomination."

"But you enjoyed it, didn't you? We all have to perform certain... how
could I call them... bad? things to attain magnificence and splendour.
It's sad but it's how the world works. You know what they say... even
roses have their thorns."

He opened the silver and ebony lid. The green glow grew and surrounded
him as a toxic fog. Soon the wicked, greenish light lighted the whole
room. It glittered and pulsated for several minutes till it disappeared
with a thunderclap.
 
 

Buffy woke up with a gasp. Her heartbeat was a drum pounding against
her ribs. After coming from Faith's hotel room she had taken a bath and
lay down on her bed just to rest a little. That Christmas dinner was
going to be one for which she'd need all her strength. Or her patience.
She'd fallen asleep, though. She tried to put the bedside lamp on but
her hand hit the small box she always kept there sending it to the
floor. Trembling, she got down the bed and opened the shutters. A
white, cold moonlight leaded her way to the switch. She knelt down and
carefully picked up the scattered things, placing them again in the
little box. She crouched there, cuddling it against her chest, fighting
the strong begging of her eyes. Spill these hot tears that are burning
us.

Downstairs, sneaking as an intruder, she dialled Giles' number with one
trembling finger while she fought against the sleeves of a long coat.

"I... I need to talkthing that'd ever happen again, so why bother? The
greater surprise had been how good it felt to talk. Freely. As she had
never done before. Oblivious to the hate or the judging or the
accusatory looks. She could have spoken till the next apocalypse and
maybe even during and after it. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit...Why
had she chose Giles for the hearing ears? A father figure...? That one
she missed so much? Possible. Or had something to do with the British
thing? Yes, sure. 'Cause some other British guy would hear her
prattling about that particular subject...

"Hello cutie."

And now she was listening to him. She had wanted to hear that deep
voice so badly that now she was listening to it in a daydream. That was
over the top. She had simply put a halt to her continuous fantasies.
Her head turned round despite her own volition. There he was. Either a
ghost or a very ghastly joke.

"What are you doing here? Again?" The better way to hide her jumping
heartbeat. By mistreating him. Hope he didn't listen to it running like
a cheetah in an opened savannah. She glared at him wondering if he
could read minds or tell the future. Coincidences exist? She couldn't
tell.

Spike sneered widely. "Well, love. It's Christmas. Thought I'd have a
decent dinner, a decent chat and maybe a decent present." His eyebrows
arched seductively.

Buffy breathed out a long, fuming sigh. "I can't deal with you right
now. She started to walk again. "I'm... in a hurry."

Spike wasn't a guy you could leave behind. Not that she really wanted
to... but this thing she had to do... Soon he was by her side. "Going
to see Peaches?"

"No. Well, yes. And I don't have to give you, no less, any kind of
explanation." And that was a hell of a truth. Besides, why did she keep
on doing that? Every time he showed around she had that tendency of
confessing, better said, explaining her next movements. She certainly
had to stop being such an idiot.

"I'm tagging along."

"No!"

"Well, you know, I can walk wherever I want. This is a free country and
all that crap. 'Sides, I really like this soap opera. Want to see the
next episode."

Buffy's pace could have won a medal at the Olympics. She knew she
wasn't going to lose him in one corner. But at least she'd make him
sweat. Okay, vampires didn't sweat. Well, in any case his muscles would
suffer a bit.

She didn't call Angel but walked straight into the mansion. It was
quiet and cold as outer space.  Spinning around, she scowled at Spike
when he picked up an empty glass from the mantelpiece. "I told you to
wait outside. Or leave. Better the second choice." She doubted a second
at the stiffness in his body. His blue eyes were only black slots.

"He's not here. Something..."

"Don't tell me. You can smell it." She patted his shoulder. "Good dog.
Remind me to buy you a bone."

He growled. A sound that made her bite her lower lip just not to laugh.
There wasn't anything funny in his next words, though. "Traces of
magic. It's still in the air."

She followed him as he stepped out in the atrium and climbed the steps
that lead up. Maybe it'd be a good idea to have a hound dog to find the
way. All she might need was a gun and she'd be ready for an action
movie. He climbed up the hill, pushing the bushes aside till he
stopped. Angel was standing three metres ahead staring at the
magnificent view of the whole town at his feet.

Buffy ran, avoiding the sudden Spike-statue and the hand that almost
ripped her arm out from its socket.  She took only four steps.

"Angel..." She whispered, swallowing the horrible sensation that had
her guts twisted in a fistful of fire.

"Stay away from him, pet." Spike managed to say after sniffing the air
several times to check the possible mistake. There wasn't any. The
scent was too familiar. Nervously familiar.

"What? Why?" Something inside her knew the answer. It was like a
noxious fizz, expanding and contracting. Wicked, purple bubbles crashed
against the nape of her neck, frizzing her hair with fear.

"He's not Angel anymore."
 

tbc...

CHAPTER 3

 
Buffy never knew how she was standing in the porch of her own house
when all she could still see was the top of a hill and a sinister,
fangy grin as a bizarre moon. Her bones were so chilled that they
rattled under her skin as a tambourine played by a naked Eskimo. A
heavy thing was dangling from her shoulders. Leather. A leather coat.
Spike's coat. She looked at him but all she saw was a distant tiny
figure. As though she was looking at something from the wrong side of
a telescope. And what was he doing? Fighting the door? Forcing the lo...

"I've got the keys." Her tongue felt as if she had been eating gritty
bread. Rough and gluey. Spike didn't look better though. Was it her
imagination or he looked a little pastier? Ashy, grey in fact.

"I've got them since you couldn't find the lock..." No smirk flashed
with his words. Suddenly his hands were squeezing her shoulders. She was
about to take a few steps back. "Okay, now. Your mom's coming towards
the door. Let me do the talking, okay? Don't want to frighten her right
now, do we love? It's Christmas. At least for her..." He pushed her in
front of the door. 

"Oh, my God!" Joyce nearly yanked the door opened and grabbed Buffy's
arms. When the clock had stroke twelve bells she'd been more than
angry. But when it hit one, one thirty and her daughter never showed
up she'd just freaked out. "What happened to you? Are you okay? Faith
left. She was a bit upset and... Well, this is a surprise!" She declared
noticing the black figure standing a few steps away.

"Hi, Joyce! Bet it is, ah? Thought, you know, pass by, have a toast.
My fault we've run late. Wanted to buy you a present. Should have taken
Buffy's word. Everything is closed." Spike hadn't used his gentle, soft
smile as much as he had done in the few past months. Made his face hurt
a little. Made him wanted to grunt. Didn't know why he bothered that
much. Well, in fact he did. He liked the lady. He hadn't lied about
that.

"Oh, you shouldn't have worried! Good thing you remember us! Please,
come in, you two. We can have a late Christmas dinner, I guess." That
was a true smile. Warm and bright. Lit her all over. Made him wonder
why in hell her daughter hadn't inherited a little bit of it.

Buffy was in autopilot. The shock had been so striking. How was it
possible? She crumpled up on the sofa as if somebody had shot her.

"No, no, no, pet. If I've to slap you I will. Extra bonus it'll be.
Couldn't you just restrain yourself, ah?" His gaze was stormy and there
was something in the blue depths that look like an implicit accusation.
As though she was looking to Giles. Her lower lip trembled. "No tears,
either. Your mother will have her dinner and her smiles and presents
and you're going to be extra happy here. And then, we'll talk."

That was a threat. A threat! And she couldn't even react. "I'm going to
the bathroom."

"Five minutes, Slayer. Don't make me go for you."

Bloody hell! He's really pissed off! After all he'd done to help her,
that little minx had to shag the sodding ponce again. What was she
thinking of? He knew what it had taken for Angelus to appear the first
time. That blighter had opened his huge gob and swanked about it as
much as he could. It'd been fun at that time. If he didn't count the
slight pinch in his guts, which could always be a consequence of having
been in a wheelchair for months. Now...he hadn't felt this angry since...
he didn't remember. These feelings he had for her were so different of
anything he had felt before. He hadn't erased her image from his mind
even by dying. Literally. It was carved in the roots of his lost soul.
Printed in his dead flesh like a casing tattoo. No logical explanation
for it. It wasn't that he was a thoughtful bloke but he needed to put
a label to those emotions, tired of being caught staring at a wall with
a fag butt burning his fingers.

He had come back not to give anybody time for anything. He was seeking
his own time. Time to be near her, to check if Dru'd been right. "All
covered by her..." Were those the words? More or less. It was something
deep. Not guilt for whatever he might feel guilty about. Guilt was a
long forgotten concept. A notion he'd left for humans with all their
miseries and their little stuff. He wasn't the type who wandered about
beating his own chest. What was done, was done and to hell with it. She
was the guilty gremlin here.

Spike chewed and swallowed the roast beef as if it were Buffy's damned
heart. Images of her full breasts pushed up by a corset mingled with
the same full naked breasts being touched and nibbled by Angel. Her
breath, her gasps, her moans... Those lips he'd tasted briefly... Sweet
and warm. He'd felt her strength flowing inside him and then retreating
like a powerful tide.

And now there was Angelus... His own demon was crawling inside him; its
claws painfully scratching his ribs. "Mark her, mark her", it chanted
in his ears, mixing its grunts with Joyce's chat. "She'll be saved,
she'll be family." It was a woozy experience. The casual conversation;
the polite, gentle and educated conversation with light and decency and
the whispered chitchat with darkness and sordidness... 

That feeling of property... It wasn't even that. Chinese had this
concept... If you save somebody's life then... she belongs to you for all
eternity. He wanted her to belong to him. Not like a car or his duster.
He wanted to belong to her as well. Care, protect. Love. Bloody word
that destroyed every thread of evil in him...



Spike had threatened her. Spike had given her orders. Spike was
scowling at her from the other side of the table as if he were her
father and she were nothing but a naughty, mischievous girl. For the
first time in her life she really, really experienced the vast
difference of age between herself and those...demons. Demons... She
swallowed a glass of wine, then another. Nothing ease the awful guilt
wickedly fixed in her heart. As though she had done something wrong...
.As though she had betrayed somebody. Him. But she hadn't! She'd even
left Angel... The wine choked her as the shock from the first impression
started to recede and images leapt to her mind.

"He's not Angel anymore." As Spike's words sank into her mind, she had
started to move back from Angel. Not too quickly, though. Angelus had
grinned. A wide, flashing, depraved grin that had filled her with a
primal fear. The faces of all she loved passed like a rushing movie
in front of her eyes. As if she was travelling in the fastest subway.
Speedy photos, one after the other in a long, never-ending tunnel.
So frozen she was that she hadn't been aware of the hand that with
incredible haste, clamped on her wrist, dragging her to his hideous
mouth. Spike had saved her. Again.

On the top of that hill two demons had fought with the rage of a
century fuelling their blows. Grunts and groans mixed with insults and
snarls, and the flash of fangs sinking into any spot of flesh they
could reach. Like wolves, like rabid dogs fighting for their lives. She
had only watched. For a long moment she hadn't sensed even her own
skin. Miss Calendar's face was all she had in mind. And it was that
face that shook off her fear. She took out the stake she always carried
in her boot and jumped forward. Like a box referee trying to separate
two opponents in a grudge fight. Only that she had a weapon. The stake
sank in Angelus' shoulder with such a disgusting easiness... A bar of
old, rancid butter would have offered more difficulty. Last thing she
remembered was the puking. Bent over as if her stomach would soon
climbed along her throat to run away.

"I should call Giles..." His gaze nailed her to the chair.

"Bet Rupert is sleeping right now. After three kettles of tea. Not
exactly the party bloke, is he? 'Sides your mom here wants you to open
your presents. And I want some nog." Spike'd sounded as if she would
find a well-deserved torturing device inside the boxes. Or a demon to
squeeze her guts. Why was he so angry? Why? Probably 'cause she'd
spoilt his pummelling-my-grandsire present. Jerk. Buffy gulped her
fourth glass and jumped from her chair. The world had become a dizzy
place... His fingers clutched her elbow and guided her to the lighted
tree. Hundreds... did she really hang hundreds? of red little lights
twinkled their welcoming eyes.

"There's nothing for you, I'm afraid. If I had known..." Joyce
handed him a glass.

Spike shrugged; a bit astounded by the apology in her voice. Nobody
had ever apologized to him for not having a present at Christmas.
Nobody had ever apologized to him. Period. And about the presents...
Maybe his mother? No, they'd always had presents. But that was history.
Old, buried. This was stupid. This dinner and the gathering and this
pansy wish of family stuff... Buffy's hysterical giggles stopped his
intention of grabbing his duster and stomping away.

The stupid bint was laughing her butt off, holding the angel that
had fallen from the top of the tree. She was crushing it in her
hands while tears ran along her face.

"Oh, dear, give it to me! Buffy! What's wrong with you honey?
You're going to break it!" Joyce finally managed to pull the poor
ornament from her daughter's claws.

"Break it! He is... he's going to k..." She never finished her sentence.
A terribly pissed off vampire stated something about not letting
girlies get near the booze since they'd obviously couldn't handle it
and dragged her all the way to the kitchen and under the cold flood
of water of the sink tap.

Joyce's taken aback by his rude manners. She was about to protest
when Buffy spun around and punched his nose, making him bleed. She
sighed, not completely horrified. Her daughter had...well, she had
always had serious behaviour problems. Maybe she could ease the
violent phase by making some coffee...

Buffy sat on the stool swinging her feet, her hands under her butt,
glaring at him. She couldn't but made funny faces at his idiot
attempt of helping her mother. She imitated his smiles and words
as if she'd turned into a soaking, drenched mime. She didn't need
any coffee. She was perfect. Perfectly angry, that was it. At him.
For being nice. He'd no right of being nice. Not now. No when all
she wanted was somebody to punch till next year. She'd have phoned
Willow instead of paying attention to his threatening looks. But
Willow was with Oz... Her eyes went wide when she reminded that.
Well, at least one of them would get laid without finding a monster
the next day. Wait... what if Oz...? No. Those things only happened
to her. Fucking or not apparently. Where was her mother going now?
A kiss? A smile and a kiss? She was going to bed! She was going to
leave her alone with this crazy fiend! 

"You certainly are a barmy cow, aren't you?" Spike growled as soon
as he heard Joyce reaching the first floor. "Making that sodding
scene in front of your..." He stared at his chest in awe as the
hot dark liquid wetted his T-shirt. He was about to step forward
just to erase that satisfied smile of her lips when she jumped from
the stool onto the kitchen counter, ran to the opposite side and
grabbed a wooden spoon from a white jar.

Spike tried to yank it from her but she was faster and punched his
jaw. His fist connected with her temple. Buffy stumbled back but
didn't give him time to take any advantage. She kicked his belly
hard enough to send him against the fridge. The improvised stake
stopped on his chest.

"Guess I'm not that drunk after all. Thanks for the shower. What if
I use this? Like my Christmas present." His gaze was devastating.
More intense thanks to the black eyeliner. A cold blue fire was
smouldering inside its depths. Buffy felt it smothering her little
by little. "What? You're not smiling anymore. Am I giving you the
willies, Willie?"

"First of all, if I'd be mad enough to use that puff name again, -
flashes of his grandsire crossed his mind, - it'd never be Willie.
It's William, pet. You know that. And you're giving me nish." Her
flushed face was so near... The wet strands of golden hair framed
it as if it were the most extraordinary portrait. Her wicked smile,
which she'd tried to intimidate him with, was nothing but the most
feminine and seductive thing. Made his urge of protecting her grew
to colossal proportions. His demon agreed with a resounding growl.
Her upper body was leaning against his, the wet green silk blouse
doing nothing to hide her breasts. Her nipples pushed against his
soaked T. The image exploded inside him. "I'll give you something,
though. Your present, honey."

His left arm tangled around her waist, driving her closer while his
right hand held the nape of her neck like an iron grip. His head
was an arrow; she was incapable to react. The spoon fell to the
floor with a deaf thump as the first wave of pain rushed across
her skin. It felt as if a batch of nurses were injecting thousands
of hot needles on the same spot.

He took his time. Didn't guzzle but slake his thundering thirst of her
with excruciating slowness. As if he'd fallen in some sort of trance,
his tongue lapped leisurely, running up and down the little wounds,
then drawing circles around the lacerated flesh. His eyes were half
closed and a little hazed. Two slits of a coming sunrise.

Her back arched against the firm muscles of his forearm. Two of his
fingers fondled the soft spot behind one of her ears. Her hips moved
forward, pressing against his erection. She was falling, falling,
swirling in the most erotic whirlpool. Every pore in her skin opened
like a wild flower under the rain. Her knees were giving away. Not
'cause the lost of blood. Her bones had melted into a hot liquid.
Nog and wine combined with his scent. Suddenly his back was no
longer leant against the fridge. Hers had crashed against the edge
of the counter. An echoing thump. She didn't care. Couldn't. Hadn't
time to think about the sharp pain in her waist. She only had nerves
in her neck, between her legs, on the tips of her fingers running
wildly through his hair.

Spike let one of his hands slide down one shoulder, searching for one
of those moulds pressed against his chest. His thumb circled the hard
nipple; his fingers traced its roundness. His arm abandoned her waist
to travel down further. Those thighs of her... Powerful and lethal.
Warm and inviting under the silk skirt. He pulled it upwards as if
he was about to raise the curtain for the most splendid stage. One
of his fingers delved under her thong, outlining each side of it
while his swollen and hot lips looked for her mouth.

His tongue had a metallic, strange flavour. Her own blood. She moaned
inside his mouth. Her hands dived under his black T-shirt hunting for
his skin. His shoulder blades. Solid and graceful. His spine. Full of
little steps her fingers could ascend along to reach the hard support
of his shoulders. She climbed on his body as a perfumed ivy twining
around a marble column. So many times she'd fantasized with this...
Not the biting. Or maybe there was something of it in the dark,
unvisited corridors of her soul. Fantasies about his ravenous mouth
on hers, his teeth nibbling her lips, then her shoulders as the green
blouse glided down. Her breasts exposed to his tongue... being sketched
and recreated with each lick. She'd dreamt of his hands... Cupping her
slim ass till she barely sat on the edge of the counter. His body
sneaked between her legs and her calves closed the doors of his prison,
locked on the back of his muscled thighs.

That awful and unforgettable night she'd lost her teen dreams... So tight
she had closed her eyes, knowing the exact way in which his hands would
have felt... Fervent caresses reserved for the most precious gift. Not
a fragile one but a craved one. A century to build this desire. Sipping
in even the ultimate corner of her flesh, tasting the sensual flavour
of her ardent, blushing skin, proving their bonding had no limits. And
if it had, she was sure they would be able to break them to reveal new
nameless places.

Spike rubbed against her stomach, getting immobile when her small hands
unfasten his jeans and slipped inside the rough fabric. His demon face
twisted and fluctuated as her fingers traced the smooth skin of his groin,
the soft length of his raging cock. Any thread of self-control seemed to
evaporate as her tongue circled each of his fangs. All covered in her...
More than that. Wrapped, enveloped in hot wires that pierced his dead
nerve-endings bringing them to life. Ten blazing half-moons sank on
his ass-cheeks. He complied with their demand, twisting his hips a little
just to set himself at her entrance.

Buffy gasped, choking down an anxious cry. Needed him so desperately.
Needed him to fill that void that had grown inside her for more than
a year. Her teeth bit hard on one of his nipples. 'Please, please.
I want you. I've wanted you since you crowned me a Queen. Crown me
now. Erase that mistaken night that didn't have your blue eyes to
light my desire. Mould me in a new shape. Yours.' She begged in silence
while her panties disappeared and he slid inside of her with one single
thrust.  

His back arched painfully; his head bent back as a certainty dawned
on him. Dru'd been right. She'd seen it. Seen the deep connection that
lay dormant beneath the hate. She'd forced him to accept it in her
own twisted way. By ditching him. He started to move, slowly at first,
matching her hips, her path. His mouth was attached to one nipple,
sucking it, licking it. One of his sharp incisors cut a tiny gash
when her hands drew him closer. He couldn't but lap the seeping drops.
Ambrosia.

Buffy's eyes were fixed on that spot. Two round forms pushed up by his
hands, the tip of his tongue tainted in red, painting them with strange
patterns... Her hips danced to it while she drank in the whole picture.
Her breath was stuck in her throat. She just wanted to squeeze him so
tight that she'd probably snap him in two. She outlined his cheekbones,
the ridges of his forehead. Her demon. Strange thought that sent
shivers of forbidden pleasure through her body. His hands were vessels
sailing across the delighted curves of her thighs, of her ass, helping
her to match his now faster thrusts. She clutched to his neck, plunging
in the blue ponds of his eyes. At first, she'd have thought the bright
lights of the kitchen would make her feel ashamed. Would stop her from
showing herself to him, as she really wanted to do. Now she welcomed
them as they illuminated him in a dashing glow, hiding nothing,
allowing her to be fully conscious of the man that was making her feel
a woman for the first time. Yes, the first time. As it should have
been.

"This... this what's screaming inside me..." Nothing he might dream of
could have prepared him for this intoxicating surprise. The voice in
his blood blended with her moans in an overwhelming chorus singing one
word. Love. It didn't scare him, though. He didn't feel the rushing
need to shove her aside and run away till next sunrise. He was dying
again; his knees were buckling by the force of his desire. His hands
were filled with strands of golden hair, of scorching skin, sweaty and
slippery under his touch. He knew he was murmuring incomprehensible
things and didn't care. Only her lips, only her mouth, her neck. The
sizzling fingertips sank in his shoulders; her glazed over eyes traced
lines of fire on his face. Her breath was a zephyr confessing secrets.
Secrets that matched his. "Love you..." He whispered in a gnawing way.
Never expected to hear an echo. It reverberated through all the
hallways of his being taking his last thread of strength away.
He couldn't help falling to the floor, dragging her with him.

His entire being was drifting. He slowed his pace, drowning in the
sensation. Connected as never before. Now he'd accepted it, love was
wrapping him in a choking embrace. Gold sparkled behind his half-closed
eyelids. Buffy rolled him over, straddling him, thrusting deeper, her
hands in both sides of his face. "My demon, my beautiful, gorgeous
demon", she whispered over and over. Her movements grew faster, deeper.
He couldn't but match her body. Mine, mine, mine. Here. In this life.
Beyond. Past. Future. A growl started to rise in her chest. She moved
to an incredible speed. Her tongue plundered deeply in his mouth.
Rising her head, her eyes fixed on the yellow ones for a long moment
till her head flew ahead, straight to his neck, biting it with a
triumphal grunt. An earth-shattering orgasm rushed through her while
his back curved in an impossible arc and his fangs sank on her
shoulder, only sipping once before he spurted his being deep in her
womb.

They stayed still for a moment, enjoying the serenity that bathe their
exhilarated breathes till he pushed her up gently.

"Hey, I was comfy!" And that was an intriguing truth. As if this hadn't
been her second... no second, first time ever. How could she be so at
ease? Acting as they had done this for ages, relaxed and undeniably
satisfied...

"Yeah, but the tiles are cold." He smiled; one of those slow and
sensual smiles that made her heart reeled like a hurricane.

"You don't feel the cold." She snugged closer against his chest. Best
mattress ever... 

"'Sides your mom'll probably come down here to check if we're still
alive. Sort of speak. She's not deaf, you know. Let's go to the
sofa..." His smirk was so indecently convincing... She ran towards the
living room in a cloud of muffled giggles and disarrayed clothes and
let him trapped her under his weight on the velvet surface.

Buffy seized his face and planted a resonant kiss on his lips. "If
you're so worry about my mother, then I think you'd go and try to find
my panties..."

He tossed back. "This one, you mean?" A tiny piece of green fabric
appeared between his long fingers. He waved it far away from her
stretched arm. "I think I'll keep it. For lonely days..."

"You're a disgusting fiend!" Buffy slapped his chest and laughed loud
wriggling under him, playfully avoiding his mouth. He stopped the hunt
of her lips when her forehead wrinkled. A serious gloominess clouded
her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Spike sat on the couch running a hand along his muddled hair. "I wanted
to check..." He stood up looking for his duster. His jeans hung about
his waist. He didn't pay attention to it. He went back to the sofa,
lightning a cigarette. "I'd this dream... A crazy one. Thought I was...
you know, channelling Dru or something. Had to see you."

Buffy skidded up his knees. "I'll pretend I haven't heard one certain
name..." She grimaced. "I'd a mad dream as well. You were there. You
and me and..."

"Angelus." The name sounded as a bitter spit. The muscles in his arms
became rigid.

"Yeah, and that made me think that something had happened to him." She
noticed the way his lips faded in a thin, revolted line. "I didn't do
anything... I mean... I know why you kept on scowling at me all night.
You thought... You don't need to deny it. Took me some time to figure
it out but..."

"I know. I..."

"Please don't tell me you could smell it!" She bit his neck when he
nodded harshly. "Anyway, I think I should tell everybody. They must be
aware. It's the only way I can protect them. Besides, I have to find
out why... Where are you going?" She asked, bemused when he jumped to
his feet to arrange his clothes and put on his duster.

"Look for a place to crash. Dawn is just there and I'm not in the mood
of becoming a sodding crisp. It's better this way love, - he hugged her
tightly, rising her from the couch. Her feet dangled in the air as if
she were a doll, - don't want your mother to freak out. And you need
your beauty sleep to face your friendly dragons." His mouth captured
her lips in a hungry kiss. Her legs draped around his waist and she
rubbed against him in urgent circular motions. He broke the kiss with
a grunt rumbling in his throat.

"Got to go." He stumbled backwards, unlocking himself from the jail
of her thighs. Had to avert his eyes not to look at her swollen lips,
at the tip of her tongue licking them. Impish, provocative. He almost
dropped hypnotized by its movement. By the mesmerizing glint of her
eyes. By the way the first violet rays of the approaching sunrise
played in her sleek hair. He shook his head to get rid of the
sensation. A lethargic doze was creeping on him, closing his eyes,
slackening the strength in his limbs... Day light was so near...

"You look like a loony clown..." She whispered, dabbing the black
eyeliner under his eyes with a trembling finger. "Go now. I know you
have to." She walked him to the door and never left the sight of him
till he disappear under the street, at the nearer sewer entrance like
a black, enormous elf.

tbc...



CHAPTER 4

 

Buffy stretched on her bed like a golden cat. She felt so relaxed... As
if something had pinched her butt, her eyes grew wider and she jumped
from her bed running to the bathroom. How could she be so peaceful when
The Owner of Hell was unleashed in the streets? How could she possibly
fall asleep till... Didn't know what time it was. Opening the taps she
ran back to her bedroom. Three in the afternoon! Oh, God, she had
certainly lost her mind. Too much alcohol. Made her oversleep. Made her
fall on that bed as though she'd been knocked out by... Her eyes met
her own reflection on the mirror. That creature couldn't be she. Those
heavy sleepy eyes surrounded by traces of make-up, gleaming with a
strange, fulfilled glow... Her tongue glided over her lips. Swollen and
a little redder with a half smile curving their corners as if they were
sharing her little secret... Her hair was a mess. Or a nest, better
said. Golden strands as yellow straw gathered aimlessly on the same
spot. Her head. A purple bruise... a huge hickey on her neck. No. That
was the...

"Oh, my God! I'm completely mad! He bit me! He bit me twice!!!" She
shouted when her eyes fell to her breasts finding another little scar.
"How on earth I'd let him? How on earth I could enjoy it that much!!!
The wine... that made it. The wine and the shock and... I'm a twisted
thing. I can't miss him. I can't trust him!" She kept on while rinsing
her skin with a sponge. "I can't feel I'm a new girl by only... He made
me feel so good... Loved..." The sponge stopped on her stomach as
frozen by a beaming gun. "No... I probably imagined it. I've imagined
too many things lately when it comes to his annoying being. But he said
it... Said... he loved me! He can't love me!" The sponge began to rub
the same spot over and over again. Her belly bottom seemed to have
developed a strange rabid syndrome. "He can't! I can't! Can't feel so
happy! I've never felt this happy! Hangover. A serious case of post-
wine-nog-Spikeness." She poured so much shampoo on her hair that it
looked as she was wearing a white turban.

 "What if he goes all grrr and starts killing people? What am I
saying??? He goes grrr all the time. And he kills people!!! Okay, he's
not Ang... He's not a monster." She spitted the hot water along with
the shampoo spume. "Well, he is a monster but not THAT monster. I know
him... My mom likes him... My mom can't be that mistaken... She will
kill me!" She stopped in front of the mirror again, wrapped in an
oversize blue towel. "As soon as she knows... 'Cause... I can hide the
bits and the hickeys and the whole lot but sure as hell I can hide this
face. This... well-shagged face!!!" She hit the foggy surface.

"And I bit him!!! I remembered it pretty well. Made me feel so
powerful..." Clothes flew out of her wardrobe and piled on the floor.
"I'm a shrink case. I... I said it too!!!" The black turtle neck
sweater stopped on her face. Mumbling noises came from beneath it. "No,
I didn't. Didn't, didn't, didn't. No, no, no!!! I don't love him! I
can't! I'm confused, that's all. I'm stuck in that stupid past with
that stupid man who is dead and was in love with somebody else and...
I've to stop this. Tell him it was a mistake... don't matter how much
it hurts... But after... - she put on a pair of black boots, - when all
this is over. I've more urgent things to deal with. My mom now and
Giles later. Have to find out what happened... And have to avoid him,
at least when we have no company around. Yes, that's it. Better, I'm so
much better." She tied her hair in a ponytail. "But first... I'm
starving!!!"

She was about to run to the kitchen but aimed for the phone instead.

"Giles? Yes... I did it." Her eyes were fixed on the crystal vase
filled with fresh flowers. "You won't like... I want you to come to my
house. No, - the world had minimized to a land of yellow roses, - I'm
not leaving my mom out of this. Not this time. Yes, an hour. Can you
call the guys? I've got something really urgent to do." She crashed the
phone on its cradle. "MOM!!!"

Joyce emerged from the dining room, sipping from a mug, which said "I'm
a work of art" in black thin letters. She was carrying a book in one
hand. Her middle finger disappeared in between two pages.

"Who brought these?" It didn't matter how hard she tried to subdue her
fear and sound casual. Her heart was stuck in her stomach.

"The boy from the flower store, who else?"

"I mean, who sent them?" And please, don't tell me they came in a black
box...

"Oh, - Joyce dug in her pocket. Her soft smile never left his face, -
here" She handed Buffy a card. A neat, old-fashioned handwriting sailed
on its white satin surface. "The sweet pea confused me a little at
first but then I remembered this wonderful book and... What?" She
finally asked when her eyes jumped from the bunch of roses back to her
daughter's face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, Spike. Doesn't he have a different name?" She walked back to the
kitchen, followed by an agitated Buffy. "'Cause frankly, I don't feel
too comfortable with that..."

"MOM!!! HE IS A VAMPIRE!!!" If the whole neighbourhood weren't aware of
that fact now, they'd probably die ignorant to everything.

Joyce whirled her waist to look at Buffy as if she had just arrived
from Pluto. "Of course he is. Either that or he's got the most serious
case of sun allergy of the whole medical history. Besides, he wouldn't
know the fantastic meaning of flowers unless he weren't at least one
hundred years or more. That was a Victorian skill, did you know that?"

"And you don't care?" Buffy was truly stunned. "Well, picture me
confused here! You hate Angel!" She grabbed the mug Joyce offered,
never leaving the threshold and watching in horror when her mother sat
at the kitchen island. She swallowed the hot coffee and it burnt her
tongue. She didn't even notice it.

"That's completely different." Her mother's back was a rigid line.
"There's something horrible in him. Maybe his eyes..." Her fingernails,
pink and glossy, tapped on the book cover. The Victorian language of
flowers on gild letters. "Or the fact that he never smiles. Have you
noticed that? No, probably not. You're so blind about him..."

"Blind?" Buffy dared to take two steps into the kitchen. "I am blind?
Well, you aren't the... What's that?" She pointed at a small bouquet
that adorned an empty marmalade jar. Beautiful daffodils trimmed with
fern and white heather wrapped in a lace doily and tied with a dark red
satin. It was the most elegant and loveliest little bunch of flowers
she had ever seen.

"Yours." Joyce hid a wide grin when Buffy leapt to the island.

"Give me that book!"

 

In spite of the soporific state in which he had fallen into, Spike had
only slept one hour. Another of those weird dreams had woken him up.
Nothing as crazy and startling as the previous one, though. He was
walking with his mother along the Kew Gardens. Not as William but as
Spike. His true self. Or at least the only one that mattered to him.
She wasn't in the least terrified by his appearance. On the contrary,
she really seemed to be enjoying his natter on a certain golden girl. A
pleasant, peaceful dream. Not a thing he'd never admit in a loud voice,
having sissy dreams about his old lady. He spent five minutes staring
at the opposite filthy wall of the sewer till he realized he was doing
exactly the kind of thing he'd forbidden him to do. Storming along the
narrow, damp corridors he found himself opening a little back entrance
to the local mall. A quick stroll wouldn't hurt. Kept his noggin out of
stupid thoughts. 'Sides the chicks were worth the twitch in his eyes
due to the bright lights.

A little shop window caught his gaze. Victorian flowers. How silly of
these modern people to have this wish of past things. His heavy boots
stopped at the shining glass and a variety of smells and perfumes
attacked his nostrils. A forgotten portion of the dream leapt to his
mind. He was no longer in the Gardens but in some London street with
his cousin Lawrence, who was giving him his advice on which would be
the appropriated Tussie- Mussie to win Cecily's affections. Lawrence,
at his twenty-one, had been a specialist on the ridiculous hidden
meaning of flowers. Odd thing was that Lawrence never knew about
Cecily. He had been killed in a brawl near the Tower Bridge in a
dreadful, dirty inn he, in no way, could have gone to. At least not the
Lawrence they all knew.

Spike found himself picking two bunches of flowers and paying for them.
It didn't count he had nicked the notes three days ago at Willie's.
He'd have bought something useful, like two bottles of Jack or some
fags. Not even... He'd have skanked those things as well and kept his
dough instead of buying some poxy prezzies. Such a prick... He was
really screwed...

 

The house had never been so silent. If it hadn't been for the crumps
that fell from the half-eaten biscuit Xander was holding on his still
hand, she could have sworn that time had stopped. Like in those movies
where people got frozen by some alien invaders. Willow and Oz were
sitting on the sofa and Buffy had a brief moment to feel glad for her
friend. In no way she was going to think about their non-to-sure-
future. She had beaten Angel once; she could do it again.

She stood motionless beside the armchair in which her mother was
sitting. Her hand was on her shoulder as if by touching her she'd get
some serenity to deal with this noiseless bomb she'd just thrown above
all their heads.

Giles finished his tea and put the cup on the coffee table. Slowly,
quietly. As though there was nothing wrong and they were having a tea
gathering at the next country club. Buffy knew that was a bet she
wouldn't have lost. He'd be the first to speak. "Something magical did
it, you said. How are you so sure?"

"Well, it was in the air..." Why did he always have to aim for the
worst spot? She had just wanted to tell them the news without extra
details. It was impossible. Five pairs of eyes pierced her with the
same unspoken, puzzled question. Buffy inhaled. "Okay, Spike was there
with me. He actually... sniffed it." There. Her fingers pressed Joyce's
shoulders unconsciously.

"Spike?!" Xander shrieked and bounced on the armchair. Another won bet.
"Are we talking about the same guy that had wanted to kill you
thousands of times? Not to mention that he kidnapped us?"

Her fist snugged against her chest. "Yes, and that's not the topic
here."

"Not the topic!" Xander's eyes travelled across the other's faces.
"Well, what's the topic then? That we've got TWO freaks out there to be
worried about?"

"Only one. If Spike hadn't been there I wouldn't be talking to you but
tasting your neck. He... saved me."

"Saved you from what? Angelus? He didn't want another fiend to win the
big prize?"

"If you let me explain..."

Some people's lives were so simple... She had nearly dropped that
stupid and out-of-the-way dream of being an ordinary girl. She was a
chosen one, after all. Had to have some benefits... Not the regular
pushing, the unvarying doubts, the constant explanations... Maybe some
support, maybe some faith in one, just one of her decisions...

Xander was out of control. Perhaps it was the lack of other's
reactions. They were as cartoon faces, only their eyes moved to jump
from his red face to her pale one as if they were watching a tennis
match.

"Explain what? That once again you're going to put all of us in danger
for your twisted ideas of one, no! make them two now, favourite vamps?!"

"ENOUGH!" Even Joyce was taken aback by Giles' roaring. "She is right.
I don't think..." There was a long pause. Buffy could almost see the
gears in his brain adjusting to whatever he was going to say. Seemed a
hard task, though. Something he wouldn't have ever done if she hadn't
been who she was. "I must admit that I wouldn't be here if it hadn't
been for him. I mean, for the truce he did with you." His eyes had a
tender spark she had never seen. Her eyes watered. "Besides, if this
situation is due to black magic, I think we should waste our energy in
research rather than fighting each other."

Xander scowled at him and snorted. "Yes, and in the meantime we can
wait in a comfy chair and wait for..."

Joyce stood up so quickly that Buffy lost her balance. "Haven't she
proved, enough times, that she's worth your trust, Xander?" That was a
really angry voice. Soft and controlled. Buffy had always admired that
peculiarity in her mother. How did she manage? No shouts, no screaming
around. Xander sat down again, looking like a beaten puppy. Amazing.
"If she says we can trust Spike, I will. In fact, it makes me feel a
little more relieved to know there's somebody out there who helps her
instead of putting a spoke in her wheel."

"I think she's right." Oz gave her one of his sweet and supportive
looks. She smiled a little before finding herself enfolded in Willow's
arms.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy. This must be so awful to you! Have to deal with
all this again. I won't, and I'm totally promising here, put anything
in your wheel! Hey, I'll help pushing it if I've to! Even if I get all
muddy!"

"I guess it's enough if we don't go out alone. Stick together. Whatever
we have to do we can go with someone else. And Giles is right. We have
to investigate this. See if we can find what did it. 'Cause that will
lead us to who did it. Who could possibly want Angelus back?"

Well, that had been tough. Friendly dragons he had said. Accurate. She
did understand their feelings. The fear, the anger, the pain. She
understood too much lately. Pitiful thing was she couldn't apply it to
certain aspects of her life. Not to those which came to a bleached sexy
vampire who had her awake night after night, staring at her window,
waiting for the bell to ring or the door to be yanked or some thread of
his British voice chatting with her mother downstairs. Nothing. In two
weeks. Daffodils were now a wilted bunch she had placed with extreme
carefulness inside the D of The Victorian language of flowers. Maybe it
was better. Gave her time to think. After all, she'd labelled it as a
mistake. Something she shouldn't have done. Perhaps he'd realized about
the same thing. She knew of heart scars. They healed. Time healed
everything. But if this, whatever was they had together, had taken a
century... This wound would take a millennium.

 

tbc...
 

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