Part 11

Brothers


On the third floor of the hotel, a suite had been converted in a training
room, complete with mats on the floor, a couple of punching bags, weapons
on the walls, all of it very much like the Magic Box’s back room.
Steven had requested it from his father, and of course the Poof had been
happy to oblige. From what Spike knew, father and son trained together sometimes, but there was no doubt in his mind whom Steven liked best to practice with.

For once, they weren’t sparring barehanded, but using heavy swords,
wrapped in layers of thick leather to avoid accidents. No need to draw
blood for simple practice. The vampire and the not-completely-human
kid were both wielding the swords with practiced ease. It was Steven’s
favorite weapon - apart from his hands - and Spike was proud of having
taught him to use it so well.

As they slowly circled each other, taking a brief pause in the cycle
of attacks and feints they had been going through for a few minutes, Spike
couldn’t help thinking of other training sessions they had shared.
Usually they were quiet as they sparred, the only words uttered being warnings or advice from Spike. But when Steven decided to talk, the conversations could take surprising turns.


* * * * *


“Spike? Can I… ask you something?”

Punch. Duck. Kick. Jump.

“Go ahead, kid. But don’t let your guard down.”

Still fighting, Steven apparently tried to find the right words to
start. Spike just concentrated on avoiding the hits and returning
them. Finally, the seventeen-year-old took a deep breath and decided, never breaking the fight.

“How do you tell a girl that… you kinda… love her?”

Punch. Contact. Stunned vampire on the floor, looking
up at a sheepish young man.

“Uh, maybe we shouldn’t fight and talk at the same time?” he suggested
hesitantly.

Spike blinked several times before taking the outstretched hand that
was offered to him. Instead of getting to his feet, he used the leverage to pull Steven down.

“Never let your guard down,” he stated calmly. “And why ask
me, anyway? Ask your bleeding father, that’s his job.”

Steven leaned back to lie on the floor, hands locked behind his head.

“It’s just not easy to talk to him about some stuff.”

“I thought you two were doing better?”

Trying to sound as unconcerned as possible, Spike studied the kid
on the floor, who just shrugged, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“We’re OK,” he said at last. “But for some things it’s easier
to talk with you.”

Spike didn’t answer immediately, and Steven took the opportunity
to add a little more.

“Also… it makes more sense, because you know her better than he does.”

Spike chuckled lightly. There was no need to ask who was ‘her’.

“How did you tell Buffy?” Steven insisted as Spike was giving no
clue that he was going to answer.

The question sobered the vampire instantly. He lay back on
the floor beside Steven; eyes squeezed shut, a self deprecating smile flirting
with his lips.

“You don’t want to follow my example, kid. Believe me on that
one.”

“Why not? She loves you, too, so whatever you said must have
worked.”

This time, Spike couldn’t help laughing out loud, though it sounded
oddly sad to his own ears.

“It didn’t work…quite the contrary, actually.”

“What happened?”

Spike hesitated before deciding to answer. He had never lied
to the kid, he wasn’t about to start now.

“I chained her to a wall and threatened to give her to Drusilla if
she didn’t give me a chance. After that, it took a Hell Goddess poking
her fingers inside my chest to make her begin to tolerate me again.”

And, he finished mentally, the kiss it earned me was worth the
torture a hundred times.

Steven knew about Glory and Dawn’s origins, so he didn’t comment
on that. But another detail had caught his attention.

“Who is Drusilla? It’s not the first time I’ve heard that name
but no one ever told me who that is.”

Spike cursed silently to himself at the slip. Talking about
his ex wasn’t exactly on his list of top ten things to do with Steven,
especially considering the history she had with the kid’s father.
But, as earlier, Spike didn’t want to lie to the boy, and avoiding the
topic completely was just the same as lying. Maybe a light version
of the truth…

“Drusilla is a vampire. She was my… the one I loved.
Before Buffy.”

There. All true, but nothing gruesome or compromising for Angel. Nothing that would prompt the damn Poof to give Spike an angry phone call if he heard about it. Apparently, it was enough for Steven, because he dropped the subject and asked again:

“So how do I tell Dawn?”

“Tell her what, exactly?”

Spike got to his feet and walked to the couch where his duster lay.
From the corner of his eye, he looked at the door leading to the shop as
he searched his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter.

“You know what,” the kid said, annoyed. “How do I tell her
I love her?”

He jumped to his feet too, looking puzzled by Spike’s smirk.
The kid still hadn’t noticed the young woman who was standing by the door,
which proved just how distracted he was.

“I think you just told her,” Spike said as he walked to the back door.

Before he got out into the alley, he turned toward the two now-crimson
teenagers who were staring at each other.

“I’ll be just outside and the door is wide open,” he pointed out
sternly. “So don’t get any ideas.”


* * * * *


“Bloody hell!”

The familiar curse escaped Spike’s lips as the kid managed to break
through his defenses and hit him across the ribs. Had the swords
not been bundled in leather, he would have had a very nasty wound.
As it was, Spike was sure it would bruise.

“Your mind wasn’t on the fight,” Steven said with a small grin, repeating
words that he had heard many times.

“You’re right,” Spike admitted. “I was thinking about Dawn.”

As he said the name softly, the vampire feinted to the left, before
shifting to the right. Usually, Steven saw through that kind of move
immediately and could defeat it. But the simple mention of the girl
had made him lose his concentration, as Spike had hoped. His sword
was now on the floor, while the tip of Spike’s was pressing against the
hollow of his throat.

“Now, who isn’t paying attention, kid?”

Steven only smiled good-naturedly and raised his hands, admitting his
defeat. Spike lowered his weapon and picked up the kid’s from the
floor, returning them both to their places on the wall.

He knew he should stop thinking of Steven as of a kid - just like he
knew his Bit wasn’t a baby anymore - but he just couldn’t help it.
And Steven had never complained about the nickname anyway. Though he wouldn’t let anyone else call him ‘kid’.

Lost in his thoughts, Spike shook his head. As difficult as it
was, he would need to get used to the idea that the two teenagers were
not children any longer. Hell, a few more months and they wouldn’t
even be teenagers either!


* * * * *


It was Steven’s last day in Sunnyhell before returning to LA and,
as usual, he was spending his morning sparring with Spike at the Magic
Box while Dawn was at school. Becoming the best fighter possible
seemed to be an obsession for the young man, and Spike didn’t mind being
the one to help him. Quite the contrary. He actually enjoyed
teaching the kid all that a hundred years of fights and brawls all around
the world had taught him.

For the time being, they were taking a break, Steven gulping down
water while Spike drank some warm blood.

“She kissed me again,” the kid said suddenly, sending Spike into
fits of coughing.

The vampire made a noncommittal noise. He really, really didn’t
want to hear about that. Denial land was such a nice place to dwell
in. His Nibblet was just a baby, there was no way…

“What should I do… after kissing?” Steven asked, as quiet as he was
hesitant. “I mean… it was really nice and all but I… I wanted more. And I think she expected more, too. So what do I do?”

Spike glared at the blushing kid, both for what he was asking and
for asking it to him.

“Unless you want me to break both your arms, you do absolutely nothing.”

Steven gave a start at the growled threat and his eyes finally left
the floor to find Spike’s.

“You know I would never hurt her.”

Silent for a moment, Spike considered the young man in front of him
carefully. He truly was as innocent as a child. More so, maybe. He might know all there was to know about killing demons, but on some other subjects he was completely clueless. A pity for him, but all the better as far as Spike was concerned. That was why the vampire was almost surprised to hear himself ask:

“Either of your fathers ever told you how babies come to be?”

Holtz was still a subject better avoided, but Spike was annoyed and
didn’t care at that moment.

“Both just said… that vampires can’t have kids, and that I was a
miracle, and that Darla dusted herself so that I could live.”

‘Darla’… Spike had never heard Steven call her ‘my mother’.
Just like he very rarely referred to Angel as ‘my father’.

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly a good example. Ask Peaches
when you get home. He should remember a thing or two.”

Spike winced at hearing his own words. Maybe Angel wasn’t the
best teacher for this kind of things. Spike remembered all too well
some of Angelus’ lessons. Of course, and thankfully for him, Steven
was Angel’s son, and not Angelus’ Childe.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Again, the question came completely out of the blue, and left Spike
speechless.

“I mean, I’ve heard you talk about him for a year now, and he talks
a little about you sometimes too. He said once that he loves you
like a son. Do you love him like a father?”

To give himself time to conceal his shock, Spike busied himself with
his thermos bottle of blood. It was one thing to suspect that Angel
thought of him as his son. It was still quite another to know he
had actually admitted it. And his feelings for the Poof were not
something he liked to think about.

“It’s not that simple,” he said at last, very quietly.

“You said the same thing when I asked you if you hated him.”

“Probably because both things are true.”

There was a short silence, and then Steven declared almost too softly
even for vampire ears:

“I don’t hate him anymore.”

“That’s good,” Spike replied absently. “He had done nothing
to deserve your hatred.”

His gaze caught Steven’s who was watching him with curiosity.

“What did he do to deserve yours?”

“Don’t you ever tire of asking questions?” Spike asked, more harshly
than he meant to.

Feeling restless, the vampire jumped to his feet and approached the
punching bag. The first few hits were weak, but soon he had found
a comfortable rhythm. Steven moved behind the bag, holding it in
place. He said nothing, but Spike knew he was hurt.

“’M sorry, kid,” he muttered between punches. “Some memories are
just not meant to be shared.”

“That’s OK, I understand.”

Spike almost laughed at that. No, he didn’t, couldn’t understand. If he did, he would be running away and having nothing to do with him or Angel, either one, ever again.

As he pummeled the innocent bag, Spike’s thoughts ran over old -
and not so old - memories. So much, Angel and Angelus had been to
him. Sire, first and foremost, but not only that. Abuser.
Friend. Punisher. Master. Traitor. Lover.
Rival. Father.

He delivered a last, much harder blow, and Steven let out a little
grunt as the bag slammed him. He gave the kid a lopsided grin.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “He is like my father.”

Among many other things.

“So we’re like brothers!” Steven exclaimed with a bright smile.

The vampire gave a short laugh.

“’Took you long enough to figure that out!”

Spike remembered having had the exact same thought the first time
he had met the kid, in this very room. Had it only been one year
before? He sometimes felt like he had known him all his life.

He went back to sit on the couch, grabbing his blood container again,
aware that Steven was following him. The kid sat on the floor, a
few feet in front of the couch, legs drawn up and arms around them.

“A brother would explain to me,” he said solemnly, taking Spike by
surprise yet again.

“Explain what to you?” Spike asked warily, expecting Steven to ask
again about his relationship with Angel.

“Explain… you know… what to do after kisses?”

For a few seconds, Spike could only give his newfound brother a blank
stare. So, that was what this whole family talk had been about.
The kid had just been trying to soften him up so that the vampire would
feel compelled to answer his question. The most surprising thing
was that it was working, and Spike was almost ready to comply.

“Next time,” he said with a low growl. “Next time you come
to Sunnyhell, I will explain to you. But no practice, mind.
Dawn is a baby and you’re not putting your hands on her. Got that?”

He could see Steven’s hesitation before he answered, and was practically
sure it was about the Dawn being a baby part, not about the rest.

“OK,” he said at last. “Next time.”

Steven had a little smile, somewhere between hopeful and satisfied,
and Spike had the sudden urge to bang his own head against the wall.
Repeatedly. How in hell had he let the kid manipulate him so?
It wasn’t his role to talk about the birds and the bees. Especially
when he knew perfectly well the bird was his Bit.


* * * * *


“Hand to hand?” Steven asked enthusiastically.

Spike only nodded, thinking back to the conversation that had followed
his promise. Steven hadn’t come back to Sunnydale for four months
after that, and Spike had hoped he would have forgotten about their deal. Of course, no such luck. It had taken a few beers for Spike to start talking, but he wasn’t drunk as he explained to a wide-eyed Steven the art of lovemaking. He had wanted his explanation to be short and clinical, yet before he knew it he was talking about love, tenderness, and how to make a lady feel beautiful and special. From Steven’s reaction, that was exactly what he had wanted to hear about. After that little talk, though, for the rest of his stay the boy hadn’t been
able to look at Dawn without blushing brightly. It was at that time that
Spike had started to keep a closer eye on them, which annoyed Dawn to no
end and amused Buffy just as much. Steven himself had never complained about it.

As Spike reflected on the unexpected duties that came with being an
older brother to a teenage boy, said boy was launching a flurry of attacks
on him, using both hands and feet. Spike could defend while giving
the fight only half his attention, but he wouldn’t win like that.
And he did intend to win, if for no other reason than that his Slayer had
said she would spar with the winner.

Emptying his mind of anything that wasn’t his opponent, the vampire
started returning the blows and attacking, instead of just defending.
He managed at last to send the kid to the floor, and was about to boast
shamelessly when an obviously very angry Angel burst through the door. The older vampire strode to Spike, stopping very close and glaring at him through golden eyes.

“What kind of sick game are you playing, Childe?” he roared.

The part of Spike that remembered Angelus anger and punishments wanted
to crawl and beg forgiveness for whatever it was that had angered his Sire. But, as he had so often told Steven, Angel was not Angelus. He knew he could defeat Angel if it came to that. Also, the kid was just behind him, his Childe and love was a few steps behind Angel, and he would be ashes before he let either of them see him as weak. And for God’s sake, he was a Master in his own right, not a simple fledgling anymore!

So he did nothing save calmly return Angel’s stare.

Part 12

Questions


Angel was in his office, trying with little success to put some order in his papers, when Buffy joined him. She sat in a chair just opposite
him but didn’t say a word. He was a bit surprised by her presence,
since she always managed to avoid being alone with him when he brought
Steven to Sunnydale or came back for him. For a few minutes, he continued his efforts to clear his desk, and she just watched him silently. Finally, he gave up, making a mental note to ask Fred to take care of the filing.

“I didn’t hear any shouts,” he said blandly, “so I take it she’s still alive?”

Buffy gave a start at his words, and he realized that she had been lost
in her own world.

“What…? Uh, yes, she’s alive.”

As she talked, she frowned a little and shook her head slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…she was right, the Council wants her dead.
They didn’t tell me to kill her, but it’s what they expect me to do.”

“But you’re not going to.”

Despite the conviction he put in his words, Angel wasn’t so sure about
Faith’s safety. After all, Buffy had once been ready to kill the
other Slayer. For him. It was almost painful to remember how
much she had loved him then.

“Of course I’m not going to. I’m the Slayer, not a killer.”

By the way she looked at him, Angel could tell she had noticed his hesitation. Once again, they just studied each other in silence. Why did things always have to be so awkward between them?

When she had refused to come with him to LA and broken their relationship,
he had told her he would always love her. Three years later, it was
still true. Seeing her with him hurt, even if Angel didn’t
allow the emotions to come to the surface. He had no doubt that William loved her. But a little voice kept whispering to him that Spike was using her to get back at Angelus for taking Drusilla. The voice only
grew louder when Spike put on a show as he had earlier, pointing out in
ways that were anything but subtle that Buffy was his. Just like
he flaunted, though perhaps without even realizing it, the special bond
between him and Steven.

To himself, if to no one else, Angel could admit it. He was jealous
of his wayward Childe. Painfully so, for he had perfect relationships
with the two people Angel loved most.


* * * * *


The silence was becoming more than awkward, and Buffy desperately tried
to find a conversation topic. She had come to Angel because she had
a question for him, but now she wasn’t sure anymore that he was the best
person to answer.

“Any news from Cordelia?”

She almost kicked herself as Angel’s face reflected a sudden flash of pain.

“No, nothing,” he answered quietly.

He didn’t add anything, but Steven had mentioned more than once that
his father was still on the hunt for the girl who had disappeared without
trace three years before.

Again, Buffy searched for a new topic. The words came to her lips
before she could stop them. Instantly, she knew it was a bad idea
to tell Angel. She had told Spike she wanted to forget, and indeed
it was the truth, yet at the same time the hurt of being lied to was still
too fresh.

“Spike attacked people,” she blurted out. “Some bad guys.
He just took some blood, without killing.”

The only sign that Angel gave that he had heard was the twitch of an
eyebrow. And a hint of gold flakes in his eyes.

“Why are you telling me, Buffy?”

Good question. Why was she? Oh yes. Background check. She forced herself to look at Angel as she asked, thinking that his body language might give away as much as his words.

“You’ve known him far longer than I have,” she said slowly. “Did
he ever lie to you? Or hide things from you?”

It took a few seconds before he gave her an answer. His hands
were spread out on the desk, pressed down so hard that they were slightly
shaking. The gold in his eyes was increasing, though she couldn’t
understand how what she was saying could be angering him.

“He didn’t dare. Most of the time. He learned the hard way
that very little was worth risking…Angelus’ anger.”

He had been about to say ‘my anger’, she was sure of it, and she wondered
how close to the surface Angelus lurked. For some reason, it seemed
that the barrier was thinner when Angel’s thoughts were on his Childe.

“He didn’t tell you he was hunting,” Angel said flatly, a statement
rather than a question.

He paused for just a second, his eyes narrowing slightly, and added:

“What else did he lie about?”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat under Angel’s unwavering stare. It was unnerving how perceptive he could be sometimes, especially compared to how blind he could be at other moments.

“He didn’t lie,” she said uneasily. “It’s more something he never
explained to me.”

So, finally, she was back to her first question. Almost funny
how she had arrived there, though.

“What does it mean for a vampire to…claim a Mate?” she asked, hesitating
a little.


* * * * *


Angel couldn’t help but stare at her as Buffy asked the most incongruous
question he had ever heard. And that she asked him, of all people,
made it painful beyond belief. He forced his voice to be impassive
as he asked:

“Didn’t he explain to you when he claimed you?”

He noticed that she was biting her lower lip. She was nervous.
And maybe even slightly afraid. But why? She certainly wasn’t
afraid of him. She couldn’t be. She knew she had no reason
to fear him.

“That’s the other thing,” she said slowly, “how exactly do you claim
someone? Or how do you know you’ve been claimed?”

He had to grind his teeth together not to let out a growl as he understood. Spike hadn’t claimed her. He had sired her, had been living with her for years, but had not even deemed it necessary to claim her and be claimed by her. Fool.

“Angel…calm down…there’s no reason for you to be angry.”

Her voice was hesitating again, and the scent coming from her was clear
now. She was afraid, and he realized why at last. He was angry,
angrier than he had been in a long time, as it seemed only Spike could
make him, and it was almost a struggle to keep the human mask in place. She would have needed to be blind not to notice.

The two things he had just heard, Spike hunting humans and not having
the decency to claim the woman he said he loved, had just added themselves
to the long repressed jealousy he had already been brooding on. Finally having an excuse to let it flare up - no one could treat Buffy that
way - Angel embraced the fury he had been shutting out for too long.

He got to his feet and strode out of the room, aware that Buffy was
following and talking to him, but unable to hear her words. His Childe
had explanations to give. And a beating to receive if his explanations
were not convincing enough.

It took him only a minute to reach the training room. He burst
in, scowling, and Spike turned to face him. The sight of Steven on
the floor, the faintest trace of blood staining the corner of his mouth,
only added to his ire.

“What kind of sick game are you playing, Childe?” he thundered.

Less than a foot away from him, Spike just stared at him, no emotion
showing on his face save for gold seeping into the blue of his eyes.
Always so defiant, his Childe had been, until Angelus had taught him manners. But that painfully learned respect had disappeared when Angel had been cursed with a soul. The only thing that stopped the older vampire from immediately showing Spike that insolence to his Sire was still dangerous was the presence, just behind him, of Steven.

Part 13

Confrontations


Fuck. They’re going to fight.

Buffy watched the two vampires stare down at each other. The tension
between them was so thick that she almost expected electricity to sparkle
around them. Somehow, something in her discussion with Angel had
made him completely snap, and she couldn’t understand what it was that
had upset him so.

She reached out to Angel, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention. Bad move. He immediately shrugged her hand off, and a muscle started twitching in Spike’s jaw, proof enough that he had noticed her gesture and didn’t like it.

“Do you even love her? Or is it just a game for you?”

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise and turned completely gold at Angel’s
growl.

“How dare you…” he started.

“You lie to her! You go hunting behind her back! And you
never even claimed her!”

For the tiniest second, Spike’s eyes flickered to Buffy, and she shuddered
at the cold look he gave her. His attention was quickly back on Angel. Both men’s fists were tightly closed, and it was a wonder that they weren’t trading blows yet.

Buffy managed to catch Steven’s eyes, and motioned for him to grab Spike. He nodded briefly and caught the blonde’s elbow, pulling him a few feet back, while Buffy was doing the same thing with Angel. Surprisingly, they both allowed themselves to be dragged back, though their eyes stayed locked.

“One, I do not lie,” Spike said coldly. “Two, that’s between the
Slayer and me. And three…”

There was the slightest pause in his voice, then he asked suddenly:

“Did you ever tell her you claimed her?”

Though she couldn’t see his face, Buffy noticed that Angel flinched
at the question.

“I didn’t do it consciously,” he defended himself. “And the claim
was broken when she died anyway.”

Buffy wanted to say something, get them to explain to her what in hell
they were talking about, what was a claim and when Angel had claimed her
and why it mattered anyway if it was broken and what did that had to do
with Spike claiming - or not claiming - her. But before she could
formulate her question, Spike let out a cold laugh, his eyes still gleaming
gold.

“But you never told her. And you ask me to explain my actions?
Just mind your own fucking business, Angelus.”

Abruptly, Spike moved. Not toward Angel, not for a fight, but
to the chair on which his duster was draped. He slipped it on before
taking out his cigarettes and lighting one. Only then did he stride
toward the door, pausing for a second by Buffy’s side, his eyes fixed straight
ahead and away from her. His voice was very low, quivering with anger,
and if the other two persons in the room hadn’t had more than excellent
hearing they might not have heard.

“You said it was forgotten and forgiven, Slayer. So who is lying now?”

With that, he was gone. And Buffy could only stare at the place where
he had disappeared, not entirely sure of exactly what had happened, but
certain she had made a colossal mistake by talking to Angel. She
came back to the present when Steven walked in front of her.

“Where are you going?” Angel asked him warily.

The boy stopped for a second, shrugging as he glanced at his father.

“Just going to make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“Stay here.”

“No.”

“Steven! Come back!”

Angel’s shout remained unanswered as his son left the same way Spike
had gone. Buffy turned to him, slightly relieved that the anger in
his eyes had disappeared, replaced by unmistakable pain. Maybe she
had screwed up by talking to him, but he had made things worse by rushing
to confront Spike without even explaining to her. She considered
him coldly, crossing her arms instinctively below her breast.

“So, maybe now you’ll tell me what a claim is?”


* * * * *


“A vampire claiming a Mate…’s a little like humans getting married.”

Spike peered down into his glass, surprised at finding it empty, and
motioned for the waitress to come by.

“Bring me the bottle, ducks,” he said with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

He gave a quick glance at the boy sitting on the other side of the table. Maybe scotch was a bit too much for him; he had barely touched his glass. But it wasn’t half as fun to get drunk alone.

“Bring a couple of beers, too.”

The brunette eyed Steven, undoubtedly trying to guess his age, but said
nothing and only nodded as Spike dropped bills on her tray. She walked away, and it was a measure of Spike’s irritation that he didn’t even pay attention to the curves barely covered by her short skirt. He returned his gaze to Steven, while reaching for the boy’s still full glass.

“Why do you want to know anyway?” he said morosely. “You’re not
a vamp. You can’t claim Dawn.”

He had been surprised when the kid sat down with him only seconds after
he had entered the bar. He had known, dimly, that someone was following him, but had thought it was Angel.

“I’m just trying to understand what went on back there,” Steven said softly.

That was an interesting question, indeed. Why in hell had the
bloody Poof been so ticked off? What exactly had Buffy been telling
him? And why had she told him about the hunt, she was the one who
had said they should forget about it.

The waitress came back with the drinks, and Spike pushed a beer toward
the kid.

“What went on is that your bleedin’ father put his nose in business
that is not his.”

He drained the glass and put it back down on the table with a loud ‘clang’
before filling it again. He spared a quick glance at the label of
the bottle, wincing at the cheap brand, before deciding it didn’t matter.

“If he…claimed Buffy as you said he did, doesn’t that make her his business?”

As he finished his question, Steven took a tentative swig from his bottle,
and Spike couldn’t help grinning at the look that crossed his face.

“It tastes better when you’ve had two or three,” he said with a smirk,
raising his glass for a toast. “And he admitted the claim was broken,
so she’s not his business. Not any more.”

The bar was very loud, crowded, and filled with a heavy smoke haze,
but Spike had ‘liberated’ a table in a relatively quiet corner. It
was always comforting what a flash of fangs could do.

“So why didn’t you claim her?” Steven asked, eyebrows stuck on a puzzled
frown.

“’Cause I didn’t know his claim was broken,” Spike said blankly.
“And because I already have a Mate.”

Surprise ran through the boy’s eyes, and a hint of disapproval, though
it didn’t pierce in his voice as he asked:

“Who? And why? If you love Buffy…”

“I do love her,” Spike growled. “Don’t start rambling like your
father. Dru was my Mate long before I ever met Buffy. The Slayer wasn’t even born when I claimed her!”

The boy took a long swallow, and Spike was almost surprised to notice
he had emptied his beer bottle already. Of course, the vampire was
himself on his fourth glass of scotch. Or was it fifth?

“Dru is Drusilla?”

Spike nodded.

“Yes. Drusilla. She chose me, you know? She was going
to turn me, and then Angelus stopped her. He took one look at me,
and decided he would turn me instead. Make me his. Big happy
family, we were. Dru, me, Angelus and Darla. Sometimes, at
least, a fucking happy family. Sometimes it was just hell, but hey,
vampires, that’s what we do. Then he ran off with his bloody soul. And the bitch left us too. So it was just me an’ Dru. For almost a century, just the two of us. Bleedin’ good time, we had. Though she would moan about her lost Daddy sometimes. I learned to hate him then, just as much as I missed him. Took me seventy-seven years to convince her to let me claim her. And to claim me too.”

Steven’s eyes grew wide as Spike talked, and the vampire realized that
it was the first time he had ever told the boy so much in one session about
Angelus. Too much, probably. And hadn’t he called the boy’s
mother a bitch too? Hell, who cared…

“So then,” he continued his rant, leaning toward Steven as if confiding
a secret, “we come to Sunnyhell, me and my Princess, and guess who’s there? Soulboy. It didn’t take long for him to lose it, and Angelus was back. Back in Dru’s bed. So much for me being her Mate and all. And then she left me. Twice. For bleedin’ inferior demons. Came back to me in the end, when her Daddy hurt her, but it was too late by then. I didn’t care anymore. All I wanted was Buffy.”

Somehow, as Spike talked, Steven had finished his second beer, and the
bottle of scotch had been mysteriously emptied. Spike caught the
waitress’ attention again, and threw some more bills on her tray.

“Spike,” the boy said quietly after the brunette had come back with
more refreshments, “why did you call him Angelus? You always said
they’re two different people.”

Spike frowned as he filled his glass once more. He had been really
pissed off if he had let that name slip in front of Steven.

“They are different,” he replied, hesitating a little. “But sometimes,
it seems that Angelus is just below the surface. “Never seen him
do that with you, though. The bastard only comes out for me, I think.”

He couldn’t help smirking at that, and Steven watched him with curiosity
for a moment, before saying:

“You enjoy it. You like to have Angelus in front of you instead
of Angel.”

The vampire shrugged. Why deny it?

“’M used to Angelus. He’s my Sire. Can deal with him.
Angel, I don’t really know. Bloody Poof.”

“Tell me about Angelus. And about Darla.”

A warning buzzed on in Spike’s head. The kid had never asked something like that before; he usually avoided talking about his parents. But he sounded dead serious right now, he really wanted to know. This could be very, very dangerous. Angel didn’t want his son to hear the old stories, at all; he had been clear about that. But then again, who cared about what the Poof thought?

“What d’you wanna know, kid?”

Steven looked very gravely at him and took a long swallow from his new
bottle.

“Everything.”

Part 14

Auld Lang Syne


Steven was feeling slightly nauseous, and he wasn’t sure if it was an
effect of the alcohol or of Spike’s words. He had asked the vampire
to tell him everything, and had no doubt that he had been given exactly
that. Everything. A detailed description of what life - or
rather, unlife - with Angelus, Darla and Drusilla was like. Though
he had been more interested in hearing about his parents than about Dru.

It had taken a large number of alcoholic beverages for Spike to get
through his narration, and for Steven to be able to listen to it.
It had taken quite a few hours, too. Sunrise was close, and they
were returning to the Hyperion, both a little unstable on their legs, both
probably drunker than they appeared.

It was the first time that Steven had drunk so much. Angel had
let him taste wine, a few times, on special occasions, but never more than
a glass. He felt a strange mix of sensations, aware that his senses
were affected but curiously not worried about it, a little amused by how
difficult it was to walk straight, amazed by how clear his thoughts were.
Everything seemed limpid; it was as if he had been offered all the answers
to all the questions he had not even known he wanted to ask.

As he walked over an uneven bit of sidewalk, he stumbled, and would
have found himself sprawled on the ground if not for Spike’s hand suddenly
gripping his shoulder.

“’S not fair,” he complained. “How come you drank more than me
and you can still walk straight?”

The blonde gave him his trademark smirk.

“I didn’t drink more than you,” he said mischievously, “I drank a
lot more than you!”

It sounded so funny they both chuckled, and then resumed making their
way toward the hotel.

Steven knew that all he had learned in the last few hours should have
horrified him. Surely, he should have been running away from Spike,
if not out right staking him. But that clear mind of his also knew
that it was in all the past, that whatever Spike had done before, he was
now a different person. And so was Angel.

At last they arrived home. They stumbled inside, both giggling
at a joke Spike had been telling, both freezing at the sight that greeted
them. Angel. Rising from the round sofa in the lobby.
Looking very, very, VERY pissed off.

“Looks like we’re in trouble, kid,” Spike said in a mock whisper, grinning
like a mad man.

“Yep,” Steven agreed, “daddy’s mad. Think he’s gonna punish us?”

“He won’t touch you,” the vampire assured him, still grinning.
“But I pro’bly won’t be that lucky.”

As they talked, Angel approached, fists clenched tight and eyes completely
gold as he glared at both of them. That was new. Steven couldn’t recall one single time when this fiery gaze had been directed at him.

“You two reek of alcohol,” the older man spat. “What did you do,
bathe in it?”

Spike laughed. “No, daddy,” he said slowly, “we drank it.
Though it was bad booze. ‘Should take the kid to Ireland and let him try
some good Guinness.”

At that, he turned toward Steven, asking him almost thoughtfully:

“What d’ya think, kid? Feel like a little trip to the green land
of your ancestors?”

Steven nodded, grinning as brightly as Spike was. “You coming, too?”

“Nah, it’s more of a father-son thing. ‘Sides, some bad memories
there. The Leprechauns always made Dru crazier than…”

“Shut up!”

Both Steven and Spike jumped at the bellowed order. For a second,
Steven had forgotten that his father was standing right there in front
of them. He looked even more furious, if that was possible, and Steven got one of these clear flashes as to what had caused the outburst.

“It’s OK dad,” he said offhandedly. “I know about Dru. And
her craziness. And why she was crazy.”

Angel’s eyes widened almost comically, and shifted from Steven back
to Spike. A fist flew, followed by a loud noise as the blonde vampire
crashed into the door behind him. Steven half turned to him, just to make
sure he was alright, and was reassured by the smirk gracing the now split
and bloody lips of his brother.

“’Told you daddy would be mad that I talked too much,” he said as he
returned Steven’s gaze, completely ignoring Angel who was coming closer.

“I’m going to kill you this time!” the older vampire growled.

Before he could execute his threat, Steven placed a firm hand on his
arm. It stopped Angel instantly, and brought back the eyes of fire
to Steven.

“If you kill him because he told me,” the teenager enunciated slowly,
“then you’ll have to kill me too, because I asked him to.”

Angel flinched visibly, and a little brown appeared within the gold.

“What did he tell you, exactly?” he asked in a quiet, almost hesitant voice.

Steven and Spike answered in perfect synchronization.

“Everything.”

“Everything?” Angel repeated as he swallowed with difficulty.

“From the night you made me to the night you were cursed,” Spike completed, and suddenly he didn’t sound inebriated at all.

Gold flared once more in Angel’s eyes, and Steven tightened his hold
on his arm before he could think about hurting Spike again.

“I had to know, dad,” he said with difficulty, the words struggling
to get out all at once. “I needed to know exactly who you were back
then. What you did. I couldn’t keep wondering all my life what
it was that you didn’t want me to know.”

Angel shook his head slowly. All the fire was gone from his eyes,
replaced with unshed tears. He looked pained by Steven’s words, as
well as a little afraid, and the teenager thought he knew what his father
was afraid of.

“It wasn’t me,” Angel mumbled. “Angelus…”

His voice trailed as Steven’s lips curved into a smile. Not a
stupid grin as before, just a warm, true smile. He squeezed Angel’s
arm, an awkward gesture that he hoped was soothing.

“I know, dad.”

Slowly, hesitantly, a smile crept up on Angel’s face, a little uncertain,
as if he had just realized that Steven kept calling him ‘dad’, and didn’t
dare believe his words.

“You’re not…upset?” he asked tentatively.

Steven shook his head. “To tell the truth,” he admitted, “I imagined
much worse that what you actually did. So it’s kind of a relief to
know at last.”

A bit shyly, Steven crossed the distance that separated him for his father.


* * * * *


Leaning against the door, Spike was absently running his tongue on his
bloody lips as he watched father and son embrace. The kid had been
imagining worse of Angel than what Spike had told him? Wow.
Impressive. For the imagination alone, there was no doubt whose son
he was.

As the hug continued, Spike started to get annoyed. The Poof could
turn into Angelus with him all he wanted, it was much better as far as
he was concerned than the all too mushy Angel that Steven had to deal with. And there they went. Both crying now. At least the kid had an excuse, drunk as he was. He decided it was time to bring a stop to the sappy scene in front of him.

“Peaches,” Spike said loudly, “where is my room?”

They separated at last, and Angel ran a hand over his son’s hair.
His eyes turned to Spike again, and all the anger was gone. So, maybe telling the kid what he wanted to know hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. At times, Spike had hesitated, uncertain on whether to mention a few things. In the end, he had just told the story completely, with all its details, even the ones he used to think he would rather die than let anyone know about. The alcohol had helped to let all of it out, but, thanks to vampire constitution and Angel’s oh so tender gesture, he was mostly sober now. Though the hangover already lurked and promised to be dreadful.

Angel gave him directions to his room, telling him also that Buffy had
waited for most of the night for him, before giving up an hour before and
going to bed. Although the question was burning his lips, Spike didn’t
ask what they had discussed for that long. If Buffy had talked more
about him with Angel, Spike wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Thinking of Buffy brought back painful thoughts and questions.
She had told - no, complained - to Angel about his hunt, mere hours after
telling Spike he was forgiven. She had discussed with the older vampire about being claimed, and Spike was certain Angel wouldn’t have talked about that particular subject first. Where had she learned about Mates? Why hadn’t she mentioned it to Spike? As he reached their room, he froze with his hand on the doorknob. He remembered, all too clearly, how she had refused him their bed just the night before. This time, he was the one who had reasons to be upset. He let go of the door and walked to the next room. The bed wasn’t made, but that wasn’t a problem. He shrugged out of his duster, took off his boots, and let himself fall on the bare mattress. Alone, again. Eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, again. Unable to sleep, again.

Part 15

Whispers


Buffy had been lying in bed for an hour when she felt the familiar tingling
sensation down her spine. A vampire was close. Not just any
vampire. Her vampire. Her Sire. Her love. She couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was back. Not that she had doubted he would be; she wondered if anything at all could ever be enough to drive him away from her completely. But she had been worried. He had gone out angry, and was quite capable of picking a fight for the sheer pleasure of violence. Moreover, Steven was with him, and she liked the kid too much to want anything to happen to him either. And Spike seemed to forget at times that he was a human teenager, not a vamp.

The doorknob made a little sound and she sat up in the bed, waiting
for Spike to enter. But the door did not open. The latch clicked
again. Faint footfalls. Going away. Not far, just to
the room next door it seemed. But the simple fact that he hadn’t
joined her was as painful as a knife sinking into her unbeating heart.

She waited for a few minutes, hoping that he would change his mind and
come back to her. Yet she knew him enough to realize he wouldn’t.
She frowned slightly to herself. She recognized this message.
The previous night she had asked him to sleep elsewhere because she was
upset with his actions. He had now chosen another bed, because he was upset with hers. And it was her turn to go to him and apologize.

She now understood what she had done wrong. The relations between
Spike and his Sire had been mostly friendly for the last few years, but
Angel was more than his Sire. He was also the ex of Spike’s girlfriend. Buffy was aware of that slight sense of insecurity the blonde vampire had. It was what made him parade his relationship with Buffy in front of Angel every time he could. It was obvious where that attitude came from. Drusilla choosing Angelus over him had wounded Spike more deeply than he would ever admit. And Buffy confiding to Angel things that should have remained between her and Spike had undoubtedly reopened old wounds.

She could admit that talking - to anyone - about what she had wanted
to forget had been a bad idea. She also understood now that discussing claims and Mates with her ex-boyfriend hadn’t been the smartest move either, but she hadn’t known, couldn’t have known that at the time. She should have asked Anya as soon as she mentioned it. The ex-demon had assumed they were Mates, and from Angel’s explanations, Buffy now understood why. He had also told her about claiming her, when the poison had made him too delirious to realize what he was doing, told her the claim had been broken when she had died. What he hadn’t voiced but that she was guessing was that he still saw her as his Mate. It explained all too well his reactions for everything that concerned her relationship with Spike.

Mates. Something like spouses, Angel had said. The promise
of love, monogamy, respect, help. Except that where humans could
divorce and forget their vows, only the final death of a vampire could
break that claim. She would have loved hearing Spike explain all
this with his own words. She wished she had found the nerve to ask
him in the car on their way to LA. But she had been a little anxious,
wondering what other thing he had been hiding from her. Asking Angel
had seemed a good idea. Retrospectively, he was probably the worst
person to answer.

Her only excuse was that the confusion of discovering his lie had just
been amplified by the confusion at being expected by the Council to kill
Faith. She still didn’t know what she was going to do about that,
and she would need to make a decision soon. But first things first. She had some serious groveling to do, and the less time she let Spike brood over it, the better for both of them.

Buffy rose from her bed, wearing only one of Spike’s shirts, and wrapped
herself in a blanket before tiptoeing out of the room. She hesitated
a little about knocking, and finally just entered, as quietly as she could. Light was filtering through the thin curtains from the street, and she could discern him on the bed. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge
in any way that he knew she was there, but he was not asleep, she could
see that his eyes were open.

Still silent, she approached the bed and slipped in next to him, covering
them both with the blanket she had brought. He shifted a little then,
moving so that her head was cradled against his shoulder, his hand lying
at her waist. Snuggling against him, she recognized at last the scent
that was mixed with his. Alcohol. If she could smell it this
strongly on him, he had either drunk a lot or spilled a whole bottle on
himself. And he was far from being that clumsy. A bad habit
of his, the worst actually, to drink too much when he didn't want to think
about something.

“Are you drunk?” she asked in a whisper.

“Not any more.”

By the tone of his voice, he sounded like he wished he still were.

“Was Steven with you? Did he get drunk, too?”

“Yes. Both questions.”

“Are you deliberately trying to make his father so mad that he’ll
stake you?”

He stiffened at her slightly irritated question and didn’t answer immediately. Then she realized her mistake and cursed herself silently. Mentioning Angel probably wasn’t the best way to make up with Spike.

“No, I’m not trying to make him mad,” he hissed at last. “Are
you trying to make me mad? ‘Cause if you are, keep talking about the Poof, it’s working very well so far.”

There was bitterness in his voice, and Buffy instinctively rolled to
her side to hold him closer to her body, her head resting on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I
was just confused and I wasn’t sure whether I could talk to you about it.”

His hand moved from her waist to her back, stroking lightly and playing
with strands of her hair in a familiar manner.

“Why not, pet? You can talk to me about anything.”

“So can you. And yet you didn’t tell me about hunting. And
you didn’t tell me about claims.”

To soften the implied accusation, Buffy ran her fingers against his
chest, unbuttoning his shirt as she did so, until her hand could slide
on him in a gentle caress.

“I had my reasons,” he said softly, slightly hesitant.

“I understand.”

She raised her head from him, just long enough to push the fabric of
his shirt aside and rest her cheek against bare skin.

“You thought I was already claimed,” Buffy continued softly, her fingers
never ceasing their exploration of the well-known territory that was his
body. “So you didn’t want to tell me about something we couldn’t
share. But I am not claimed. And I want us to be Mates.”

The last words were even less than a whisper. Is she had understood
Angel’s explanations correctly, what she had just said was about the same
as asking Spike to marry her. She had never expected to be the one
to propose, but that was the best apology she could ever come up with. His hand stilled on her back.

“I would like that very much, luv,” he said very quietly.

Smiling, she pressed her lips to his skin, kissing her way up toward
his face.

“But it’s not possible.”

She froze at his words, her mouth hovering over his, her hand immobile
on the waistband of his jeans. Despite the darkness, he seemed to
guess in her eyes the question she couldn’t voice, and answered it slowly,
as if the words were painful.

“I already have a Mate, Buffy. I can’t claim you, even if there’s
nothing in the world I want more.”

She was about to ask who when she realized it was a stupid question.
Who had Spike loved enough to want as a Mate? Who had he lived with for almost a century? Who had he taken care of all that time?

She tucked her head under his chin, fighting with all her might the
tears that were brimming in her eyes.

“But she left you,” she pleaded quietly.

“It doesn’t matter, luv. A claim is only broken by death.
And as long as it stands, no other claim can be made. That’s just
the way it works.”

His hand had resumed its soothing stroking, but Buffy could tell from
his voice that he needed comforting as much as she did, so she returned
the soft caresses, touching his perfect skin with a touch as light as a
butterfly’s wing.

“When did you see her last?” she asked, still whispering. “Maybe…maybe she’s dead.”

“She’s not dead, luv. I would know it if she was. And you
were there when I saw her last.”

It took a second to Buffy to remember when that was. Then she
saw him in her mind, heard his declaration, and heard the hateful words
she had given him as a reply. He had proposed to stake Dru for her,
and then had threatened to feed her to the insane vampiress, but in the
end they had all walked out of the crypt alive, or undead as the case may
be. A question rose in her mind. Would he be willing to stake
Dru if that was the only way for them to be Mates? She was about
to ask, then changed her mind. Dru wasn’t there, so it wasn’t an
option anyway. And if it came to that, she was the Slayer and it
was her responsibility to turn the lunatic to ashes. Not because
of Spike, but because she owed it to Kendra.

In the meantime, she didn’t need to be his Mate to love him with all
her body and soul.

Rolling on top of him, she pressed her lips to his, just a simple, chaste
kiss, before declaring fiercely:

“You are mine. Claim or no claim. Mine and no one else’s.”

His arms tightened around her.

“Yours,” he agreed. “As you are mine.”

Her mouth came back to his and this time the kiss was anything but chaste.



*****************

Part 16

Hers


The kiss was rough, demanding, tongues battling in a playful fight, lips pressed together hard enough to bruise. Buffy was holding Spike’s
head between her hands, while his fingers were sliding down her back and
under the shirt she wore. She felt him smile against her lips as his hands discovered and roamed over her bare ass.

Reluctantly pulling her face away from his, she sat up astride him, first caressing his chest softly, and then dragging her nails on it, though not hard enough to draw blood. He hissed a little, and his hips rose, pressing his jeans clad hardness against her flesh.

Moving down, Buffy unbuttoned and unzipped the offending garment before
peeling it off his body while he was shrugging out of his shirt. Then his hands reached up to hers, but she swatted them away.

“My game,” she simply said.

More light was coming in from outside, the sun having risen already, and she could clearly see his little smile as he nodded. He laid back down, arms crossed behind his head, an eyebrow arched expectantly. The pose was way too arrogant, and Buffy smiled to herself. Just for that look, he would be begging before she was half done with him.

Scooting up between his legs, she bent down and placed wet kisses along
his left thigh. Ignoring the quivering hardness that was trying to
catch her attention, she moved to the right thigh, covering it not with kisses but with tiny licks. He shifted a little then, and she placed a hand on each leg, stilling him, as she gave him a severe look.

“The more you move around, the more time it will take.”

She noticed with satisfaction that the smug look had been wiped from his face, replaced by raw need. It was so nice to know that she could
create that much desire with just a few touches.

Bringing her attention back to his legs, she was startled by a slight smell of blood. Looking closely, she realized that she had held him down so tightly that her nails had broken his skin, bringing forth little blood crescents. With long licks, she cleaned the tiny wounds, enjoying
the taste of him, however faint it was. He was keeping perfectly
still under her ministrations, and as she glanced up she could see that his eyes were unblinkingly focused on her and that he was biting his bottom lip.

Keeping the eye contact, she brought her lips just to his shaft, yet still not touching, and blew lightly over it. He quivered a little, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

“Buffy…”

She touched the tip of her tongue to him, following a protruding vein
upward, then asked, teasing:

“Yes, love? You want something?”

“You.”

She flicked her tongue against the tip of his cock, enjoying the little
twitch that followed.

“You have me,” she said quietly. “I am yours. Isn’t it enough?”

Another lap, longer this time, along the whole length of him, caused a quiet groan.

“Please…”

That didn’t take long, she thought smugly as she took hold of him and
wrapped her lips around the hard flesh. For a few minutes, she alternated between suckling and nibbling with blunt teeth, until his tightly shut
eyes and low growl told her he was close. Fast enough so that he
didn’t have time to protest, she moved up so that she was straddling him,
and guided him inside her as she lowered her body to his.

His eyes opened then, a luminous blue, the exact shade of their sky at home, and she told herself she could have drowned in them. A sudden
thought came to her, quickly shoved aside for later. She remained
still on him, placing both hands on his chest when he tried to move his
hips. Very deliberately, she clamped her inner muscles on him, as
tightly as she could, observing his face as she did so. At the first
squeeze, he bit down on his bottom lip, so hard that it started bleeding. At the second, he cried out her name as he spilled himself in her.

She would never tire of that look on his face right after the wave took him, pleasure and awe, gratitude and wonderment, love and lust, all mixed
together in an image that was purely and uniquely him.

Leaning down on him for a second, she licked his bleeding lip tenderly,
murmuring just one word against his skin.

“Mine.”

She then returned to her seated position, and, slowly, deliberately,
began rocking her hips. She couldn’t suppress a wicked grin as she
felt him harden again. The first round had been for him. This one
would be theirs.



* * * * *


It was almost noon already, or so Spike’s internal clock told him.
At some point during the morning, they had sneaked out of the room he had
chosen and returned to the one next door, which had more adequate window
coverings. So, in spite of the late hour, the bedroom was a warm
semi-darkness.

Spike’s head was throbbing with a nasty hangover, but he was barely aware of it, concentrating as he was on the random patterns his Slayer was drawing on his chest with a delicate finger. She was cuddled against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder. He was playing with a strand of her hair, curling it around his fingers absently. They had been lying like this for about an hour, and despite the headache he felt so good that he was actually purring softly. The only shadow to his contentment was that Buffy was not purring with him, which meant that she was preoccupied by something. He had an idea of what this something was, but he wanted to know for sure.

“What are you thinking about, luv?” he asked softly.

She let out a little sigh. “Faith.”

He couldn’t help frowning at her answer, which was not what he had expected,
and then chuckled lightly.

“Should I be insulted that you’re lying naked against me and thinking of someone else?” he teased. “Or should I suggest that we invite her to join us?”

The finger on his chest pressed harder, leaving a red trail against
his so pale skin.

“You’re mine and I don’t share,” she said sternly.

He winced inwardly as she said this. Whether she wanted it or not, she was sharing him. Wherever Dru was, whatever - or whoever - she was doing, she still had a part of Spike with her. Buffy was sharing, she had always been, but the difference was that now she was aware of it. However wonderful the past several hours had been, he understood what had been going on. She was proving, to him as well as to herself, that, Mates or not, they belonged to each other.

“Yours, luv,” he said quietly, turning his head to press a kiss to her hair.

He was quiet for a few seconds, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what about the bint?”

She moved against him, one leg thrown over his body, her face in the
crook of his neck, and her voice was muffled when she answered.

“The Council wants her dead. They want me to kill her.”

Spike could see all too well where her thoughts were heading.

“But you’re not going to, are you, luv?”

“Everybody asks me that,” she replied, annoyed. “Of course I won’t
kill her. She’s human. She’s a bloody bitch and the less I
see her, the better I feel, but she’s still fucking human.”

It was so rare to hear his Slayer swear that Spike couldn’t help laughing
quietly.

“It’s not funny,” she protested. “You know the Council will come
after us if I don’t do it.”

He ran a hand over her hair, caressing lightly, soothingly.

“Even if they do, pet, they’re just a band of wankers. We can
take them.”

“A band of human wankers, if I may remind you.”

Always, they were back to that. Humans, too fragile and precious to be touched or hurt, whatever the reason, no matter how twisted they were.

“If it comes to that,” he suggested, though he hated the idea, “we can
run away. Hide. Travel. And they would never find us.”

That would mean leaving behind the Bit, their friends, their home, everything
they had, but if she refused violence against all humans, it might become
their only choice.

“There’s another way,” she said at last, hesitantly.

She half rose, leaning on her elbow, her hazel eyes looking straight
at his, almost too seriously.

“Would you kill Faith for me?”

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise as his mouth fell open. He had
promised not to hurt a human unless she agreed to it, but he had never
expected her to actually ask him to kill someone. Her face was grim
and he could tell she wasn’t happy about what she was asking him.
But the simple fact that she had actually asked was enough to tell him
how desperate she was feeling. He tightened his hold on her, trying
to convey his certainty that everything would be fine and that she had
nothing to worry about.

“Anything you want, luv.”

Part 17

Part 18

The Plan


Sitting on a pile of mats on the floor, Buffy was watching intently something she’d never seen. Something legendary in the demon world.
Spike and a Slayer fighting.

Earlier, Sire and Childe had been training with Steven, the boy having insisted despite his still painful hangover. It had been quickly evident that he risked getting hurt if they kept on, so they had managed to convince him to give up for the day. Why the kid loved to spar so much, Buffy had no idea. She liked it herself, certainly, but not to the point of begging for it, especially when she wasn’t feeling well. And, of course, her training sessions with Steven were quite different from her sessions with Spike, which she definitely preferred. With the first, it was business. Fights, pure and simple, to practice new moves or teach them to the kid. With her Sire, it was…a dance. There was just no other word for it. She had denied it when he had first voiced it, years back, but even then, it was true. The reason why they had never killed each other, despite the numerous opportunities they had had, was simply that they had never fought. Always, they had danced. And Buffy couldn’t help feeling an immense satisfaction as she watched Spike and Faith. With her, he was not dancing. He was fighting, just like he did with Steven.

The brunette had appeared in the training room just as Steven was leaving
it. She had said something about needing to keep in shape if she was to escape the Council’s killers. After a quick glance toward Buffy, Spike had literally pounced on Faith, which she obviously had not been expecting, and placed one arm around her neck, his other hand pressed flat against her temple.

“If I wanted you dead,” he had said, a boasting whisper in the immobilized
girl’s ear, “your neck would be broken by now.”

With that, he had pushed Faith away from him with that insufferable grin on his face. The brunette had turned to him, angry and obviously ready to show him what she could do. That had been half an hour before. They had been trading blows continuously since.

Buffy knew both of them enough to realize that neither was fighting to their full potential. Spike rarely did, except when she was his opponent. But Faith…? Was she hiding her strength or had years in jail eroded her fighting skills? Strangely, too, they fought without the usual sarcastic chatter she knew both used to unnerve opponents.

Since neither was giving the maximum, they were mostly evenly matched, and neither was gaining a clear advantage. Buffy was finally getting tired of the show, and as they paused, each poised for attack and observing
their adversary, she cleared her voice and said:

“How about taking a break now? Faith and I need to talk.”

Faith didn’t break the stance until Spike did. Buffy could hear her heartbeat, very fast, but gradually returning to an almost normal rhythm. Almost, but not quite.

“You’ve made your decision about the Council and me?” she asked warily.

The still slightly too rapid heartbeat and the tone of her voice were enough for Buffy to realize that Faith was nervous. The brunette didn’t know what to expect, and it seemed that she feared the worse. As well she might. However, she appeared not to want to show her nervousness. She sat down on the floor, ignoring Spike who was still
standing a few feet from her, and started doing stretching exercises, all the while looking at Buffy as she waited for her to answer.

“Yes,” the blonde Slayer said at last. “I have reached a decision. Not an easy one, but the only solution I can think of to both your problem and ours.”

Faith didn’t say a word, though she seemed to tense a little, and Buffy heard her heart start to race again.

“As long as the Council doesn’t have a new Slayer to play with,” Buffy continued, “they will be after you and after me, as well, for not taking care of you. And you know the only way for a Slayer to be called is for you to die.”

Faith froze at the words, her gaze quickly going from Buffy to Spike.
She expected an attack, and she expected it from him. Spike only
smirked as he seemed to realize that too, not moving an inch, still towering
over Faith.

“If I wanted you dead,” he repeated his earlier statement, “your neck would be broken by now.”

That didn’t seem to reassure Faith at all, as she got to her feet and slowly moved away from both blondes.

“Just because you have to die doesn’t mean you have to stay dead,” Buffy
said quietly, a small smile flitting across her lips.

Faith stopped backing away then, and again her eyes traveled between Buffy and Spike. This time however, she let out a short, cold laugh.

“Maybe you enjoy being a vamp, Buff, but I’m not letting either of you turn me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise at the fierce declaration. Not because Faith had thought of a solution different from hers, one she would have never considered. Rather, she was surprised because Faith had just revealed she knew Buffy was a vampire, while nothing in her behavior had shown that so far.

“When did you figure it out?” Buffy asked, surprised by how inexpressive her voice was.

Faith shrugged. “Since you came to my room. Before that, with blondie and Angel around, I suspected but I wasn’t sure.”

Buffy nodded, a bit troubled by the admission. Faith knew, and yet she acted as if nothing had changed. Did it make no difference to her?

“As I said,” the brunette continued, “I don’t care if that’s your trip. But it’s not mine.”

Buffy had the sudden impulse to tell her that, no, it wasn’t something she particularly liked, just a necessity to keep existing. But she didn’t say anything. It was none of Faith’s business, and Spike probably wouldn’t be happy about hearing it.

“Turning you isn’t the plan. It’s a bit too…definitive. All we need is for your heart to stop beating for an instant, nothing more.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Faith asked with a surprisingly calm voice after a few seconds of silence.

“My idea was to drown you, then resuscitate you with CPR. But if you have a better…”

“Are you insane?!”

Angel strode in the room, eyes wide and horrified. For once, he seemed more surprised than angry. A pleasant change… Buffy
was about to tell him to mind his own business and, by Spike’s look, he was ready to say the same thing. But Faith beat them both. She faced Angel, looking more serious than Buffy had ever seen her, a hand
raised in a calming gesture.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, Angel, and I got to the same conclusion as Buffy. The only way I’ll get free of the Council is when they think I’m dead. And the only proof they will accept is a new Slayer being called.”

“You’re talking about your own death!” Angel protested. “There must be another way!”

Ignoring him, Faith returned her attention to Buffy, who was finally rising from the floor.

“Drowned… Isn’t that how you died?”

Buffy nodded. “The first time, yes.”

“So,” Faith said with a half grin, crossing her arms under her breast, “you want me to die like you did. Very touching. But tell me one thing. How do I know for sure that you’ll really revive me?”

It was Spike who answered, his voice a mix of arrogance and impatience.

“Have you forgotten already I could have killed you earlier? Why would we go through all this trouble if we just wanted to kill you? There are faster ways than drowning, more satisfying for vampires too.”

At that, he smiled maliciously and ran the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, and Buffy thought she saw Faith shiver.

“I can’t believe you’re both OK with that!” Angel said heatedly, looking from Buffy to Faith and dismissing Spike in the process. “And anyway, you forgot one little thing. Vampires don’t breathe. Who would revive Faith?”

Doubt flashed across both Slayers’ faces, neither having thought of that detail. Spike, however, laughed out loud at his Sire’s remark, causing him as well as the women to look at him with varying degrees of annoyance or puzzlement. He fished out his cigarettes and lighter from the breast pocket of his shirt and lit one ostentatiously, making a show of taking a deep drag before blowing the smoke in Angel’s direction.

“No need to breath, Peaches,” he said with amusement. “Just need to inhale and exhale. Like with smoking. And how do you figure
you talk, if no air passes through you? How about all these sighs, gasps, pants, all these little reflexes that never go away even if we don’t need air?”

He was addressing Angel, but Buffy saw him glance at Faith as he talked, and realized his speech was for her, too. If she didn’t trust them, the plan could be so much more difficult. Thankfully, the brunette seemed reassured by the demonstration. Angel, however, did not relent.

“This is still the most stupid idea I’ve ever heard. And as long as you’re all my guests I won’t let you do it.”

Faith snorted. “Like I want to die in your bathtub anyway. I appreciate your concern, Soulboy, but really, it’s not your decision to make. It’s mine. And as crazy as it sounds, it also sounds like it can work.”

A smile slowly bloomed on Buffy’s lips. If anyone had ever told her that one day she and Faith would agree on something, she would have laughed hard enough to cry.

“So,” she asked with a grin, “when and where do you want to die?”

Part 19

Salted Water


His Slayer had asked for a date and a place. The other Slayer had answered that she wanted to die that same night, in the Pacific Ocean.
Which was just fine as far as Spike was concerned. The sooner they
were done with all this nonsense, the sooner they could head back to Sunnyhell. Away from the brooding poof. Said Poof kept trying to talk Faith out of it while she was packing. She had decided that, if she was going to die, then her new life was starting right away, so she was moving out of the Hyperion, and apparently out of LA. It didn’t take long for her to fill her one and only duffel bag, and she was ready. She
pressed her lips to Angel’s before leaving, and muttered something about
paying her debts someday, before following Spike and Buffy out to the car,
never looking back. As he drove away, Spike glanced back at his Sire
in front of the hotel, looking at them through an expressionless mask.
Things might be interesting when they returned to the Hyperion afterward to pick up Steven, who had asked to come back to Sunnyhell with them for a few days.

They were all silent as they drove toward the ocean. They needed a secluded spot, away from any potential witnesses, and had to search for a while before they found it. The extra mileage also helped to be sure that no one, Watcher spies included, was following them. At last, Spike found the perfect place, a small beach, barely visible from the slightly muddy road that led to it. Still silent, the three of them climbed down a steep ravine to reach soft sand that gleamed silver in the light of the half moon. The ocean was tranquil, almost flat with not a whisper of wind. The scent in the air reminded Spike of the last time he had seen the ocean, three years before. The last time, also, he had killed a Slayer.

It was another Slayer he had to deal with this night, since Buffy didn’t feel capable of being the instrument of Faith’s death. Technically, the water would be, but it was very unlikely she would consciously drown herself, hence the need for someone to ‘help’ her. He watched with a puzzled frown as Faith shed her shoes, jeans and t-shirt, until she was clad in just her black underwear. She looked at him and Buffy then, unconcerned by her lack of clothing, her grin emphasized by the soft light from the moon.

“Relax, B,” she said, almost laughing. “Not trying to seduce your boyfriend. I just don’t see the point in getting all my clothes wet.”

With that, she turned her back to them and walked straight into the low surf, plunging into the still water when it reached her thighs. Spike and Buffy watched her swim for a moment, both silent. The girl was going to die, but she apparently wasn’t traumatized by the idea. After a couple of minutes, Spike followed her example and removed his clothes, keeping only his jeans on. Turning to Buffy, he noticed that she seemed very apprehensive, as if she was the one who was about to drown. Trying to reassure her, he gave her a smile, a hug, and a kiss on the forehead, before approaching the water. He remained by the edge, where the waves barely touched his toes, waiting for Faith to decide she had had enough frolicking for the night. The water seemed almost warm to him, but then it didn’t mean much, considering that his flesh was the same temperature as the air around him.

After a few more minutes of swimming, Faith seemed to notice at last that he was waiting for her. She came back toward the beach, until she was standing with water up to her waist, just a few yards from Spike.

“So how do we do this?” she asked quietly, and for the first time she sounded hesitant.

Spike started walking toward her, slowly, indifferent to his jeans becoming
soaked.

“I suppose it would be easier for you if you’re unconscious,” he said grimly.

His words almost surprised him. Since when did he care about making
it easier for his prey? Except…she wasn’t an ordinary victim. This wasn’t an ordinary kill.

“OK. So how do I get unconscious, then?”

Silent, he approached her, until he was standing only a step away. The same beginnings of fear he had heard in her voice were showing on her
face too, and for a moment he faltered and thought about just walking away,
the Council of Wankers be damned. He might have done just that, if
it had been just his life being threatened by the bloody idiots. But he couldn’t leave his Slayer exposed to danger just because a girl looked at him through fear filled eyes.

“Turn your back to me,” he told her, his voice cold as ice.

Shivering, she obeyed, moving unhurriedly in the water, her body rigid in anticipation, her arms wrapped around herself. Immediately, he stepped toward her, snaking his arm around her neck as he had earlier. This time, however, his grip was tighter, and his free hand was pushing her head forward, gently but firmly. She panicked then, letting out a small cry as her fingers clutched at him, her nails scratching the bare skin of his arms. After a few seconds of struggle, she went limp. He held her just an instant longer, then let her slide, face down, into the water. He grabbed one of her wrists, holding it so that he could feel her pulse, while his other hand pressed against her neck with the
same purpose. Both touches were unnecessary, since he could hear her heartbeat, but he wanted to feel exactly when she died. No reason
to leave her in the water one second longer than necessary.

As he felt and heard her heart slowly giving up, memories came to his mind, powerful, and, strangely enough, painful.

His first Slayer. She was still a child, maybe fifteen. He could almost feel the pain again as her holy water doused blade had caught his eyebrow. But suddenly, her black braid was becoming blonde, her eyes were turning hazel, and when he tore into her neck, it was Buffy he was holding roughly against his body.

The second one. A woman, that time, not a child. He didn’t know if she had been called late or if she had just lived longer than Slayers
usually did. He was on her, his hands already twisting her head to break her neck, when her ebony skin became suddenly golden, as if tanned
by the Californian sun, her blonde hair spread around her head like its rays, and again it was Buffy he killed.

The third one. Buffy herself. Even now, knowing that she was his Childe and loved him, it still hurt like hell to think of that moment were he had heard her heart beat for the last time.

And now, the fourth one. At the second her heart stopped, his eyes played a trick on him, and her black curls were suddenly shimmering gold under the moon. Choking on the cry that was rising in his throat, he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the beach.


* * * * *


In the faint light of the night sky, Spike and Faith were two shadows standing in the calm water. Then they moved, and only one shadow was left for Buffy to watch, a shadow whose skin and hair were almost gleaming white. Watch was all she could do. She was frozen in place,
knowing that she was witnessing someone’s death, yet thankfully too far away to see exactly what was happening.

She wished there had been another way. She had thought about it from every angle, but it was the only idea she had had. As much as she abhorred causing someone’s death, it was necessary to save Faith in the end. She was only grateful that Spike was willing to help. She would never have been able to do it herself. She had expected him to comment on the fact that one day she asked him not to bite anyone, and the next requested that he killed someone for her. All he had said was that it wasn’t really killing her, since they planed on reviving her immediately. She knew that had been an attempt to silence her doubts, and she was thankful for it.

Time slowed, and it seemed that Spike was immobile in the midst of the slow waves for hours instead of mere minutes. At last he moved, and
Buffy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. When he turned back toward the beach, he was carrying a limp body in his arms.
As if in slow motion, he came out of the water, and gently laid the girl down in the sand, kneeling by her side, brushing the matted hair from her face. Buffy was startled, when his head raised toward her, to see that his eyes were completely gold, his face a mask of inexpressive marble.

“She’s yours, Slayer,” he said in a strangely hoarse voice.

Swallowing the heavy lump that had formed in her throat, Buffy shrugged out of her duster and let it fall carelessly to the sand before kneeling by the body, just opposite Spike. She saw her hands carefully tilt back the girl’s head, then start pressing on her chest. She heard her voice count out loud. She was conscious of forcing air into her mouth. But it all seemed like someone else was trying to revive the girl, not her. Yes they were her hands, her mouth, her memories of CPR training. And still she felt like she was observing from afar, and was not an active participant to the scene. She was almost oblivious to Spike’s eyes on the girl and on her. All she was aware of, painfully so, was the body lying in the sand, whose heart stubbornly refused to start beating again. She started doubting then, and reality crashed down on her. The hands on the girl’s wet and now clammy flesh were hers again. The lungs that burnt from being used more in the last few minutes than in the last few years were hers again. The eyes that had started to sting and fill with unwanted tears were hers again. The voice that was urgently calling for her former enemy to fight and wake up was hers again.

Tears rolled down the brunette’s cheeks, but they were being shed by Buffy. Faith wasn’t hearing. Faith wasn’t breathing. Faith just lay there, dead, her eyes open and staring up at the softly moonlit sky she could no longer see.



*******************************

Part 20

Five by five?


Spike had been staring so hard at the still features of the girl on the sand in front of him, burning into his mind that it was not Buffy he had killed again, that it took him a moment to realize that his Slayer had given up. She had been trying to revive the girl for a few minutes that had seemed like hours, talking to her, pressing ever harder on her chest, even slapping her at one point. Now she was just sobbing, mumbling over and over again that she was sorry.

An immense rage took hold of him, and he couldn’t prevent his demon face coming forward. She was not supposed to die, and she would not! With a cry that sounded almost like a roar, he started the resuscitation moves again. He had, of course, never been trained to do CPR, but years of watching soap operas seemed to prove useful at last. After a minute or so, Buffy’s sobs stopped and she joined his efforts, doing the heart massage as he continued to breathe for the dead Slayer, careful not to let his fangs scrape her lips.

Two vampires trying to bring a Slayer back to life. What was the world coming to? The irony of the situation was just incommensurable. He, the Slayer of Slayers, who had taken the lives of three - no, four now - of them, was now doing his best to revive the last one. If he hadn’t been so busy, he didn’t know whether he would have laughed or wept.

And at last…

Beat.

So faint!

Another one.

Slightly stronger.

The girl convulsed and expelled the water from her lungs in a gasping
rush. One of them helped her to roll to her side and Spike had no
idea whether it was him or Buffy. All he could think of was how marvelous the music filling his ears was, almost obliterating his other senses. Heartbeats. Breathing. And then her voice, rasping, pain-filled, but alive.

“Fuck! That hurts! What the hell did you do to me…?”

Spike couldn’t help it then. He let himself fall back in the sand, and he laughed. Hard. And cried. Just as hard. Though if anyone had asked him why, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.


* * * * *


“You’re sure you’re OK?” Buffy asked for what seemed like the hundredth
time.

“I’m five by five, B,” Faith answered, a little impatient.

To tell the truth, she was freezing, her whole chest hurt, she was almost
certain one of her ribs, if not more, was broken, her hair was full of sand and itchy, and Buffy’s concern was annoying her so much that she felt the beginnings of a headache. But other than that, she was just fine
for someone who had just been drowned and resuscitated.

They had thought of bringing a towel along, and she dried herself as well as she could, before putting on her dry and warm clothes. She felt like she could have eaten a five course meal, yet a simple cup of very hot coffee would have been heaven.

As Buffy continued to fuss over her, the other vamp was just sitting on a rock by the end of the small beach, chain-smoking and staring out at the ocean. He was in full vamp face, and that had been the first thing she had seen when she regained consciousness. Strangely, that had not scared her. He hadn’t said a word, just laughed hysterically for a while before putting his shirt and leather duster back on and walking away, his boots in his hands.

“Where do you want us to drive you to?” Buffy asked suddenly, tearing Faith’s attention and eyes away from the creature who had taken her life
before giving it back to her.

Seeing Buffy’s still red and puffy eyes was a shock again. Had the blonde really cried because she was afraid Faith was dead for good?

“I’m not going with you,” she said quietly. “My new life starts right here, right now. You two can just leave and I’ll find my own way back to the civilization.”

Buffy shook her head, frowning.

“We’re not leaving you here alone,” she protested. “You almost died…”

“I did die,” Faith interrupted. “That was the whole point, wasn’t
it? And now I’m just fine, what with Slayer strength and all. So you and blondie just go, you’re done here.”

Buffy’s mouth opened, probably for more protests and then closed again
without a word. She looked at Faith for a long moment, then, finally,
gave her a hesitant smile.

“In your bag… there’s some money. A little from Angel, a little from us. It’s not much, but it might help you. In the beginning at least.”

Faith’s jaw tightened and she forced herself to smile. It was a good thing she wouldn’t be seeing Buffy again, because a few more days and she might have begun to like her. Just a little.

“Thanks,” was all she could say.

Suddenly, surprisingly, Buffy hugged her. For a second, Faith
was frozen and then she hugged her back tentatively.

“Good luck,” the blonde whispered, before pulling away and walking toward
her boyfriend.

Faith watched them climb back to their car and then they were gone and
she was alone in the middle of nowhere. Spreading the towel on the
sand, she sat down on it, arms around her legs and chin resting on her
knees. As she watched the moon slowly plunge into the ocean where
her old life had ended, she began thinking about where she would start
her new one.


* * * * *


Buffy was a little uncomfortable leaving Faith alone on that beach so
far away from everything, even if she had few doubts that the girl could
take care of herself. It was just that after getting so close to
killing her definitively, she felt somewhat responsible for her, almost
like she felt about Dawn. Which was ridiculous, of course.

Spike hadn’t said a word since Faith had started breathing again, and
even now as he drove them back toward LA he was quiet. And still
in game face. His fiery eyes were locked straight ahead, on the patch
of road visible through the scrapped paint. His hands were gripping
the wheel tightly. His jaw was set firmly, almost angrily.
Yet the most disturbing of all was that he was shaking, so imperceptibly
that it had taken a while for Buffy to notice it.

For a long moment, she respected his silence, not sure what was the
problem and how to solve it. In the end, she just had to know.

“Spike, stop the car please,” she requested.

He gave her a quick glance but did not say a word and parked the car
on the side of the road. When they had stopped, Buffy freed herself
from her seatbelt and climbed on his lap, one knee on each side of his
legs, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He raised a scared
eyebrow questioningly and his arms encircled her waist, but still he was
silent.

“You’re shaking,” Buffy said quietly, half question, half statement.

Spike shrugged, his lips curving in his trademark smirk. “Just
cold, pet. Bloody jeans are drenched.”

Buffy frowned at this answer. He was a vampire, and so was she. Did he really expect her to believe he felt the cold? But she didn’t voice her surprise. Her fingers traveled up to his face, tracing softly the ridges of his demon face. His eyes closed then, and she could see his concentration as his human mask came forward. When his eyelids fluttered open, they revealed dark blue irises, so dark they
seemed black.

“Tell me,” she whispered, still stroking his cheek lightly.

One of his hands came up to her face, gently tucking a strand of hair
behind her ear before caressing her as she was caressing him. His
mouth opened slightly and then closed again on a self-deprecating smile.

“There’s nothing to tell, luv,” he said as he shook his head.

“Liar.”

He watched her for an instant, hesitating, then said. “And a bad
liar at that, I know.”

“Tell me. Please. What’s wrong?”

His arm around her tightened, bringing her closer to him, and he pressed
his face against her neck.

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

She felt him change against her skin, and without further warning his
fangs tore into her skin. She let out a small cry, partly in surprise,
partly in pain at the uncharacteristically hard bite. For a few seconds,
he remained still, his fangs still in her flesh, not drawing out any blood. At last, he pulled out, yet still didn’t drink from her, instead gently lapping at the twin punctures. The quiet whisper he let out then
sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m sorry.”

“Spike…love…talk to me.”

His face nuzzled her neck again, but he didn’t answer. Buffy was
confused. She had no idea what could be troubling him so, why he hadn’t
taken any blood after biting her, what he was sorry about. She only
knew the man she loved was clinging to her like a frightened child to his
mother. But he had no reason to be frightened, had he? And
whatever was wrong, it didn’t look like he was going to tell her.
All she could do was hold him, whisper sweet comforting nothings, and hope
it would be enough.

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