¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Don’t pretend you’re sorry, I know you’re not
You know you’ve got the power, to make me weak inside
And you leave me breathless, but it’s okay
‘cause you are my survival, now hear me say
I can’t imagine a life without your love
And even forever don’t seem like long enough
‘Cause every time I breathe I take you in
and my heart beats again
Baby, I can’t help it
you keep me drowning in your love
And every time I try to rise above
I’m swept away by love
Baby, I can’t help it
You keep me drowning in your love
Maybe I’m a drifter, and maybe not
‘cause I have known the safety, of floating freely in your arms
-Drowning, Backstreet Boys-
¤
Lesson the Thirtieth
¤
“There is barely any time,” Ophelia stated. “Theodore will grow...”
“Do not worry about him,” Maeve’s voice interrupted the other and soon enough the vampiress herself came into the room through a doorway partially concealed by the bookcase. “I have sent Jacob to stall him for a little while.”
“What is going on here?” Spike spoke up.
“Ophelia led us,” Buffy replied and he gave her a look, which had her elaborate: “She told me where to go... in here,” she said the last two words with one finger to her head and he raised his eyebrows.
“Not many can withstand the power of Clara; not many can shield their mind from her once she is set on gaining access,” Ophelia said, “but this girl did. It made me certain that it would work the other way around. That she would be able to give access to those she welcomed.”
“You were right,” Maeve cut in with a small smile at the vampiress. “I am sorry to have doubted you.”
Ophelia shook her head that there was no need and then she looked at Buffy.
“You will forgive me all the pinches and sour faces, will you not?” she asked and the Slayer smirked.
“Did you know about this?” Spike asked her and Buffy shook her head.
“Not a clue,” she assured.
“Sit,” Maeve bid them, taking a chair for herself and once they were all seated she looked from one to the next before she said:
“Clara is not as omnipotent as she believes... A conflict is tearing our dynasty apart, and that conflict is the approaching war. I do not wish it to take place for several reasons; neither does a large group of others – some of whom are quite powerful would it come to an actual confrontation of our ruler and a division of the clan. Clara suspects something of such nature, and so she is willing to do anything to force this war into play... She has been the head of our race for four millennia, and she has often led our people exceedingly well; but times are changing for her, where many would rather it stood still. She sees us taking over the earth, but I believe we were never meant to.”
“This is rich,” Spike muttered and Buffy gave him a shove with one elbow to shut up. “I’m not bloody saying I disagree,” he said, looking at the Slayer and then at Maeve. “I enjoy the world as it is. But how the bloody hell do you suppose we can stop her? I’ve never seen anything like her in all my years.”
“Son, you are a toddler in this company,” Ophelia remarked and he raised his eyebrows high, which had Buffy smile.
“Alright, enough,” she said. “Are you saying,” she turned to Maeve, “that there could be a riot?”
“No,” Maeve shook her head. “Civil war. I would rather the battles took place below ground than above it, however; and so I would have nothing to oppose to that.”
“But... why?” Buffy asked.
“It is a long while since I was human,” Maeve answered, a touch of melancholy drawing over her features. “But I know of slavery, of death and of decay and I would not wish it upon those people who are undeserving of it.” She paused, then added: “I am so very sorry for your kinswomen.”
Buffy swallowed before looking away.
“She’s keeping them alive, isn’t she?” she murmured and Maeve didn’t need to answer the question as Buffy already knew the truth of it. “Why doesn’t she just kill them?” she grumbled, Spike’s hand slipping into one of hers and she smiled a little, directing her gaze in his, which was soft and warm and she wished she could snuggle into it and stay there.
“So what do we do?” Spike asked, looking at Maeve who was observing them in silence before she replied:
“Clara seeks the full support of three different people other than herself – her advisor, Mathias; her right hand, Gabriella; and the head of her royal guard, Patrick. I do not believe she needs their approval as much as she enjoys getting it, and so it is my opinion that she will most surely be wanting a big finish for the negotiations.”
Buffy furrowed her brow, quizzical.
“What better way to start a war,” Ophelia was the one to fill in, “than to kill the opponent’s general?”
¤¤¤
Buffy and Spike met Theodore in the doorway of the tavern, Spike carrying a half-finished bottle of AB positive. Theodore looked at them one at a time.
“We need to return to the castle if you are to prepare for the festivities,” he then said, turning sharply and beginning to walk ahead of them.
Buffy gave Spike a relieved look, but he didn’t really return it and she tried to look encouraging, but he shook his head; his jaw harshly outlined as he was gritting his teeth. She wished she could calm him, but didn’t know what to say.
Spike’s head was refusing to give the thought of losing her up for hope that he wouldn’t. He had seen what the princess was capable of, and now... God, he would give anything to stop this. Anything. But in the end any attempt would be fruitless, he realized this. She wouldn’t go out without a fight, but in three nights’ time it was a fact. The ‘negotiations’ would have reached their final stage and...
He wanted to hold her to him, wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but forcefully brought the impulse to a screeching halt in his chest, having it rest as a throbbing pain to the left of his heart as he understood he may never get the chance to be close to her again.
“Buffy...” he said silently, making her meet his eyes.
She couldn’t make out the range of emotion resting in his two blues, but in a way his gaze frightened her with all its truthfulness.
“Will you come see me before the ball?” she asked and he hesitated, then nodded.
¤¤¤
He knocked on the door and heard a muffled “come in” and so he stepped inside, closing it behind him and entering the large parlor of the suite. To his left lay the door to the bedroom and to his right the one leading into a smaller library. He was a little surprised at the brightness of the colors. He had thought it rather funny when he first arrived at the castle that the deeper colors that were part of the decoration, could all be found in his own apartment in good old L.A.
He braced himself for what he was about to talk with Buffy about.
She came through the doorway of the bedroom dressed in a gown made of the same deep burgundy red as she had worn the night prior, only this was lower in the cut of the back, revealing more bare skin and leaving her shoulders bare. It was snug over her waist and hips to fall in heavy waves of fabric behind her. Her hair was put up in a loose constellation, its golden locks tumbling down between her shoulder blades.
He stood flabbergasted.
She was carrying the necklace of rubies and diamonds in both hands, coming up to him without noticing how he was staring and handing him the precious ornament before turning around and holding her hair up.
“Would you?” she asked and he closed his gaping mouth before unclasping the necklace and delicately placing it around her slender neck.
Fastening it he took a step back and she let go of her hair before turning to face him.
“You’re a vision,” he said as she seemed to be waiting for his praise and she smiled.
“You’re a tease,” she quipped and he cocked an eyebrow as she observed him for a moment. “A handsome tease; but a tease none the less,” she added.
“I’d ‘ve thought you’d be laughing at me,” he stated. “These clothes are pretty...”
“You wear them,” she interrupted him. “They don’t wear you. Literally. I can see why every female down there always stare their eyes out of their sockets whenever...” she trailed off, self-conscious at what she had just disclosed.
“They do, huh?” he asked, smirking.
She smiled back.
“Don’t let it get to your head now,” she then warned.
“Listen, there’s something I have to talk to you about,” he said and she furrowed her brow.
He brought out a pen and a few sheets of paper. He had already written something on the first one and when he handed it to her she got the oddest feeling of it being something terrible.
“What’s going on?” she asked at his suddenly drawn face and he glanced away from her.
She brought the sheet up and began to read.
‘That morning when we first walked through the orchard, I was brought to Clara before you were. She told me some things that I’ve tried to get out of my head, about my bloodline and the ties it has to this place, but I can’t seem to forget about it. It’s like the demon is stronger down here, Buffy. And it’s trying to take over. I wanted you to know.’
She frowned, fastening her eyes in his and seeing the shame and self-blame resting there. She had an empathy she knew she really couldn’t feel blow through her and she reached up a hand, gently placing it against his cheek. He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, opening them again . “I thought I’d be stronger...”
“No,” she shook her head. “You are,” she added, removing her hand. “What ties?” she then asked and he grabbed the pen, both of them walking up to a table and Spike beginning to write.
‘Clara made Ethan who made Eliza who made Aaron who made Angelica who made the Master. So, you see, we’re all connected to the princess and to this place and I can feel it. It bloody scares me, hate to admit it. How powerful I feel when I’m here just because the demon does.’
Buffy read the paragraph quickly, then drew a short breath.
“Right,” she murmured.
“Do you trust me?” he asked silently and her gaze found his the next instant.
“Always,” she said.
¤¤¤
Maeve hooked an earring in her earlobe. She had decided to wear white, wishing to start clean and anew now that she had spoken to the Slayer. It was the beginning of the end, Maeve knew this. What always had been would soon be no more. In some ways it made her saddened to think of what greatness would be lost. Their society, their dynasty, would most likely wither away without a great leader – and she had to admonish the fact of there hardly being a greater leader than Clara. But the old could not give way for the new, not in this instance, and if the Holy City itself would have to fall, then so be it.
“Eve.”
Maeve stiffened at the sound of the voice, then clenched her jaws together and turned to face Gabriella, standing only a few feet away from her. The black-haired smiled tryingly, but Maeve looked away.
“You should not be here,” she murmured.
“I had to see you,” Gabriella replied.
“I do not wish to see YOU,” Maeve got out, her eyes filling with chilled tears. “Leave.”
“There is something that I wish to tell you, and then I shall go, if you will it,” the other said. Maeve stayed quiet, waiting. “He did not suffer,” Gabriella stated. “He did not put up a fight, even. I believe perhaps he was relieved to be free of it all. He could not return home honorably...”
“He did not consider this his home, and do not pretend to not know that!” Maeve exclaimed, turning her angered gaze in the others. “It was long since I saw him, Abby; and I wished not to see him again because I knew he was happier out of this place. He never belonged here.”
“Then why did you turn him into a creature he grew to harbor such hatred for?” Gabriella demanded bitterly. “Had you not dealt him the bite...”
“I know. But I cared for him too much to let him go.”
“All the more selfish of you, then,” Gabriella remarked.
“I was selfish,” Maeve admitted. “I carried nothing but selfishness and disdain for everything around me for so long... and it was through your brother that I learned...”
“He has not been my brother for centuries,” Gabriella cut in, tone stale. “Not since he turned his back on me. Left me.”
“That is not what happened,” Maeve shook her head. “You chose to stay behind!”
“He left,” Gabriella repeated. “He promised me we would be together eternally, that nothing would break us apart if I only consented to receiving his deadly kiss... He lied.”
“The only one who has lied to you is Clara,” Maeve shot and Gabriella’s eyes widened before she smirked.
“You can be sure she will hear of this treachery,” she stated and in the next moment she had disappeared.
Maeve closed her eyes briefly, her tears choked back by the hands of restraint and the blows of anger still raging in her chest. Clara was to blame. For all of it.
¤¤¤
There was anticipation swirling around in the air this night. Buffy could feel it oozing off of every vampire in the great hall. The majority of the males were tonight wearing black tuxedos, while the ladies seemed to have chosen different shades of purple as their main color. There were a few who broke off by wearing green, red or blue. The only one wearing white was Maeve, who breezed into the hall as though she owned it.
Buffy watched the vampiress walk up to the princess, seated on her throne, and bow humbly before her; two-faced and an academy award winning actress at that, or so Buffy thought. She wondered why she felt as though she could so utterly put her faith in a being she barely knew anything of, but then Maeve turned and directed her steps toward the Slayer and the latter immediately felt less abandoned in a sea of billowing skirts.
That’s why, she thought.
She was taken aback by how quickly a bond had created itself between her and the vampiress, though. She felt as though she had known her for a much longer time than a few days. Perhaps it was knowing that Maeve was so completely on her side, that she was fighting a good fight where there shouldn’t be cause for one. She was unlike any vampire Buffy had ever met.
The Slayer knew that she was fascinated by the place she was in, by the race she was in the midst of, by its customs and its Holy City – a fascination increased by what Spike had disclosed earlier in the evening. That she had learned how the very first vampire was created had been slightly overwhelming, but to stand on the path between war or civil war was tumultuous.
She had no idea what was to come next, but she knew it needed to happen soon or Maeve’s dark warning of what should occur in less than two nights may get the chance to come true.
And I’m not ready to go, she thought, looking over at where Spike was standing holding court with four vampiress’ eagerly taking in his words.
The Slayer smirked to herself, thinking of the last conversation they had had. Suddenly his gaze gingerly met hers and she felt a bucket of ice water spilling into her stomach, making her wince silently at the unexpected emotion, though it was quite pleasant. She smiled a little and he returned it. Her feet wanted to walk over there, cling to his arm and show those beings exactly who he belonged with...
She sighed.
Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps it was best what had happened after all, that they had been forced to separate. Maybe he would have ended up ripping her heart out. She only wished she didn’t miss him so much. It was so hard keeping up appearances when all she wanted to do...
“It seems to the keener eye that you might be bored in this company,” Maeve’s voice broke through her thoughts and Buffy smiled at the vampiress, having stopped at her side.
“Not at all,” she shook her head. “How could I be?” she added and Maeve smiled back, looking out on the crowd. “The princess does enjoy her dancing, doesn’t she?” Buffy asked and Maeve’s smile broadened.
“Indeed,” she nodded. “Though these few nights are different than any other.”
“Right,” Buffy sighed. “Of course,” she added, muttering.
A dark-haired vampire came up to them, bowing his head to Maeve and then looking at Buffy.
“Might I have this dance?” he asked, reaching her one hand and she blinked, then snapped herself out of it and nodded, placing her hand in his and letting him lead her out onto the dance floor.
Maeve looked at them, her eyes following them as they began to move with the rest of the swelling crowd. She could sense Theodore long before he was taking the vacant spot at her side.
“I wish to speak with you,” he murmured.
“So speak,” she replied, turning her head to him. She noted the seriousness in his expression and sighed. “Later,” she said. “Come to my suite,” she added and she could detect the tracing of a smile on his mouth before he bowed and disappeared into the crowd.
She disliked the empathy she held for him, feeling it to be spit in the face of Isaiah’s memory, but Theodore had been right when he said that she had known him far too long to simply let their friendship die. Somehow... there must be a way for them to make peace, for her to let go of the resentment. Theodore had always been loyal his ruler, and she felt she couldn’t hold that against him. He was naïve, sometimes. Not willing to look beyond the pebble in front of his sole to see all those other which created the road on which he was walking.
On the other side of the hall Spike excused himself to his admirers and nonchalantly walked up to the opened doors leading into the orchard. He drew an unnecessary breath of the chilly air and let it clear his head.
“Is it too much for you?” Gabriella asked to his right and he leaned against the castle wall before turning his head to her. She smiled. “I would think you something of a catch above ground,” she added, inching closer, leaned against the wall as well.
“But not below?” he smirked and her smile widened as she stopped next to him.
“I don’t want to feed your ego too much,” she stated, placing a hand on his chest. “It’s bad for the... stamina.”
He cocked an eyebrow, then brushed her hand away before pushing away from the wall and taking a few steps into the snow.
“What’s the purpose of these games?” he asked. “Really? What does your princess want with me?”
“Ah, what does Clara want...” Gabriella nodded slowly, still smiling. “You have her blue eyes, you know. Same as me. Same as most of us who are pure blooded. There are only a few in every bloodline who have the same traits as her. You dye your hair, but if you didn’t it would be dark as night, would it not?” Gabriella giggled at the expression on his face. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“What... what are you saying?” he murmured and she approached him again, stopping close to him as she nearly whispered:
“You belong here. You know it. You’ve known since the first moment your eyes caught the sight of the Holy City’s twinkling lights. You are one of her closest children, don’t you understand? Your power would be multiplied by the hundreds. You would learn and see things you could not even imagine. Your crest hangs in there, on the wall... but your true tie to this place is through her. And she loves you, William... Join us. Join us and you will never feel lonely again.”
“Stop!” he exclaimed, pushing her away from him and she regained her balance in the next instant, a smirk placing itself on her mouth.
“As you wish,” she said, turning and walking in through the doors.
He stared after her, then shook himself out of it and headed inside as well. He needed to see Buffy. Right now. Just see her.
Three loud bangs, like metal against stone, interrupted his pursuit and he halted, turning to look at the platform of the throne. Clara was standing, bidding for silence. It didn’t take long for the murmurs to settle and all eyes to be on her.
“Friends!” she called out over the crowd. “Guests,” she added. “I bid those of you invited to accompany me to the dining room. The rest of you, please, carry on with the carousing until I return!”
The crowd cheered and the music started playing again.
A hand was placed on Spike’s arm and he turned his gaze into Buffy’s, feeling the gratefulness fill him at the sight of her. She looked at him, growing questioning at his countenance, and then he smiled slightly, having her return it as they walked with the others headed to the dining room. He moved his arm and had his hand touch hers lightly, making her furrow her brow, but when he merely shook his head she let it slide, running her thumb over his fingers and then they both let go as they entered their designated goal.
It was a smaller room than that which they had occupied on their first night of sharing a meal with the Ancients, but it was still larger than the whole of Buffy’s old house at Revello Drive.
Buffy and Spike were placed opposite each other, three chairs down from the head of the table at which the princess regally took her seat. There was the usual chatter and Buffy tried hard not to look at Spike, but couldn’t help it since his eyes seemed to be constantly searching her face. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She wanted to ask him what had happened that had gotten him so tense, but knew she couldn’t. She offered him another smile and he smiled back.
“I have just now offered a kinsman of mine to join my court,” Clara’s voice suddenly rang through the prattle, and it quickly died away.
Buffy felt herself now stare at Spike, who shook his head barely noticeably that he in no way had accepted this offer. Buffy hadn’t thought he would, of course; but the fact that it had been made was enough to throw her for a loop.
“Though he harbors a fault which would have to be rectified – was he to consent – I had great hope that he would come to his senses and see that at my side is the only place he belongs,” the princess once more spoke up, her tone filled with dislike. “However, he has declined,” she added and everyone glanced at Spike as though he was from another planet all together.
Clara rose from her chair and slowly walked the short distance to Spike’s chair, over whose shoulder she then leaned and said:
“You have made a grave mistake.” She looked up at Buffy, then shook her head. “For her?” the princess asked. “You actually believe she will grant you the harbor you so desperately seek from her? Don’t!” she burst out when he made an attempt to reply. “Do not even begin to deny it. Your love for this woman is like a cloud of smoke around you!”
She straightened her back and Spike couldn’t decide whether he should dare look at Buffy or keep his gaze as far away from hers as possible. Buffy felt dazed. Had she just heard what she thought she had?
“It fills my nostrils and makes me feel ill!” Clara continued, looking down the table and receiving agreeing nods from many of the vampires. She turned her eyes on the Slayer once more. “He believes you can save him from what he is. He believes that your hand will guide him if he suffers shipwreck in the very bosom of his existence.” The princess glared at Spike. “You are a fool for loving a creature such as her. And it makes me a fool for thinking that you would see the real seam of things, that you would recognize the only thread which holds your pathetic life in place – me. Your love has got you blinded and if I could I swear to you, I would pry it out of you with my bare hands. But as fate would have it...”
She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned from them all.
“I feel strange tonight,” she murmured. “I shall not eat.” Gesturing to Patrick, the vampire came up to her and gently let her support herself against him. “Carry on,” she instructed her guests.
Patrick lead her out of the room and the moment they were out of view the vampires began talking in silent mumbles of what had just taken place, of the audacity of the ‘souled’, of the impossibility of it being the kind of love Clara seemed to have spoken of. Buffy stared at her plate, at once filled with a bubbling joy, and in the next chilled to the bone. The only person who could validate the truth of the princess’ statements was sitting before her, not more than ten feet away, and all she had to do was raise her gaze and rest them on his face and she knew that she would know. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
The fact that she wasn’t looking at him was getting to him more than anything. He needed to know what she was thinking. He had to know what she was feeling, now that she knew exactly how he felt. If she said there was even the smallest chance of her someday reciprocating his emotions, then he would wait for her. He didn’t care for how long... And then the thought occurred to him that this might be one of the last nights they saw each other, and suddenly the urgency of the situation became all the more clear to him.
She rose, still not looking at him, and though she walked calmly through the room and out through the door at the other end, he could see that she was running away. He didn’t wait long until he got up as well, and as he followed in the Slayer’s footsteps a hush settled over the assembled which sent a shiver down his back.
It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was finding her, forcing her to look into his eyes. If he could only get her to do that, then he would know how she felt. He knew he would know.
He followed her scent up the stairs and down a few hallways until he reached a door standing ajar. Candlelight was falling through the slit and as he pushed the door open, Buffy had just blown out the match in her hand. She put it on the table hosting the slender candlestick before she turned to face him.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Don’t wanna close the door
Don’t wanna give up on it
Don’t wanna fight no more
We’ll find a way around it
Where’s the love we had
We can make it last
Tell me what I gotta be
Tell me what you wanna do
‘Cause I can’t live my life
The way you want me to
You know I can’t go on
Living like we do
Do I have to cry for you
Do I gotta stand
In the cold dark night, till the morning lights
Do I have to say
That I won’t let you get away
-Do I Have to Cry for You, Nick Carter-
¤
Lesson the Thirty-First
¤
The dynamic trio arrived outside Tilla’s apartment three hours after they left the square. They had decided to get something to eat in between, but it seemed blood was harder to peddle in France and nearly every butcher they went to said they never kept it after the slaughter. Cordelia had been fine with leaving it at that, telling Angel she was sure they could find some juicy steak somewhere with his name on it, but Willow had not – she had said Angel needed his strength and that pig’s blood was the richest in all nutritional components. So, they had hunted a demon friendly butcher down and Angel had gotten his dinner.
It was close to eleven p.m., but the city was still bursting with life. Snow was scarce, but the cold in the air made Cordelia tighten her scarf a little around her neck to keep it out. They got out of the cab and crossed the street to the apartment building in which the Seer had lived.
“Do you think any of her stuff is still there?” Cordelia asked and Angel shook his head.
“No, but we need to find out where they shipped it,” he replied.
“What about her sister?” Cordelia asked as Willow pressed the buzzer of the landlady.
“She left England a month ago,” the Wicca replied. “Field work. She can’t be reached.”
“’Allo?” a raspy voice came through from the other end of the buzzer.
“Yes, hello,” Willow said.
“No anglais!” the woman stated.
Angel switched places with Willow and began to explain their business in fluent French.
“Wow,” Willow commended once he had finished and was writing down the address of the moving company which had taken care of Tilla’s things.
“I second that,” Cordelia nodded. “I had no idea you spoke the language.”
“Stick around me long enough and I’m sure I’ll teach you a thing or two,” he smirked and she gave him a push just as Willow drew a sudden breath.
“What?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know,” Willow murmured, her eyes fixed on something on the other side of the street. “I could have sworn I saw...”
“What?” Cordelia pressed, but Willow merely broke from them and raced across the street, accompanied by screeching tires and angry honking in protest from the traffic. “What’s gotten into her?” Cordelia asked Angel, who shook his head and got ready to follow the redhead.
¤¤¤
Buffy looked at the vampire before her with something not too far from dread in her heart. He stood in front of her with everything he felt for her written in his eyes and she read it with a soul jiving to the exact same rhythm, wanting the exact same things. She was filled up with the incredible truth of his love still being there in all its force, and she was surprised with herself for not having seen it before.
But how could she have? She had been too busy worrying that it was gone, and what that would mean.
But... it wasn’t.
Every time she thought it, she had to suppress the smile needing to tare over her lips. She couldn’t let it show.
So, here he finally had her gaze locked in his, and he couldn’t decipher it. He couldn’t make all the shades of it out and have it create a whole for him to lose himself in... or turn away from. The one thing he sensed on her was deeply rooted fear of something he didn’t understand. Then she looked away and he felt a layer of led slowly enclose his heart at the sight of it.
“Something wrong?” he asked, jaw strained.
She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly. Grabbing on to the edge of the table hosting the candle she tried to force her legs from giving way to her weight, struggled to keep her breathing controlled and her heart from racing in her chest. Her skin was beginning to shine from the cold sweat she was suffering and she felt faint.
She couldn’t do this...
Then her Slayer side took over, filled her legs with iron and made her will into one of stone which could surely overcome this slight hiccup of him being vulnerable before her. If she had to crush him, that was how it had to be. What she couldn’t do, not ever down here, was show any sign of an Achilles' heel, any trace of dependency on another being – least of all him. She knew it with everything in her.
She looked at him once more, and he was taken aback by the stale mask on her face. He hadn’t seen it on her in a very long time.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asked.
She clenched her jaws together, her will beginning to break down into sand at the expression in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I thought you were over it... otherwise I never would’ve...” She trailed off, then added: “I thought you’d moved on.”
“Right,” he nodded, his eyes slowly growing colder and she couldn’t stand it. “And why would you think that?”
“Well...” she said, “you didn’t exactly rush to the phone when you’d been brought back, did you? I just assumed that it was ‘cause you’d realized the best thing for the both of us was to move forward instead of going back the whole time.”
“Right, and for you to move forward you just fell into the lap of whatever bloody demon came along first, didn’t you?!” he growled. “The Immortal, of all demons to throw in my sodding face...”
“What?” she interrupted, the rising surprise on her made him do a double take as he focused on her face.
“Think I didn’t know about that?” he muttered. “I was in Rome, convinced you were in actual danger when all along you were... Bloody hell, Buffy, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking at all, for once... But then, surprise, I had to get a grip again and I killed him. He tried to sell me to a Crotach demon for a pound-full of Siamese kittens.”
Spike stared at her, almost feeling his mouth twitching for a smile at her cold indifference to the experience, her near boredom at the statement, in fact. But then he remembered what had brought it on, and the smile went away even before it had begun to show. He knew he hadn’t really answered her previous question, either. He drew a small breath.
“I didn’t contact you ‘cause I didn’t wanna ruin the way... No, that’s not exactly true, is it?” he more or less asked himself. “It was, but then...” His eyes were back in hers as he began: “I didn’t contact you ‘cause I didn’t...” He paused again, then shook his head, looking away from her as he finished: “... didn’t dare to believe you’d actually want me to.”
She wanted to respond to that comment, wanted to tell him what a complete dope he was and always had been when it came to her and her feelings. She wanted to shake him and... She huffed, wearing the smidgeon of a smile when he turned his eyes back on her.
“For once you did the right thing,” she remarked and he cocked an eyebrow, watching her for a long moment before he said:
“You told me you loved me.”
Her eyes widened just a fraction, but it was enough for him. He took a step forward and when she took a small one back it spurred him on even further.
“Are you telling me you were lying?”
“Are you telling me you believed it?” she shot.
“Buffy,” he said, trying to think of what to say next and then finding it as he added: “You can’t blame me for not believing in it.”
“Can’t I?” she asked, biting her tongue at the slip and as she could see how he seemed to be gaining ground on her, his confidence obviously rising with every new sentence. She quickly continued: “And that’s not even the point. You see, I’VE moved on from that year.”
“You’re lying,” he stated, stopping before her and she barely dared to look up and have her gaze in his.
“No, Spike,” she replied, her eyes softening slightly before a streak of guilt came into them. “I’m not,” she added. “And I need you to know that I didn’t mean to use you... like this! I mean... God, I can’t believe you still...”
She looked away from him and he felt the heaviness of his heart retrieve its force.
Was she telling him the truth?
“No,” he murmured.
She moved away from him, to the side of the table where she plucked at the lace of the tablecloth.
“No,” he repeated, realizing how high his hope and growing belief that she did love him had been able to reach.
The disappointment was stifling. The anger with himself which came with it: unrelenting.
“What have all these bleeding months been about?! Friendship?!” he exclaimed. “You kissed me! You let me back into your bed! You bloody well know that you never would’ve done it if you didn’t...”
“I can’t deny I wanted you!” she retorted. “I can’t say that my desire was ever... But it was just passion, Spike. Just like it always was just passion. I thought you knew that. If I’d thought for a moment that you weren’t humming the same tune...”
“Humming the what?!” he yelled and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Why are you so mad? Think back and tell me if I ever gave you any reason to believe that I was in love with you.” He stared at her and she kept her gaze in his, coolly. “Did I?” she added. “The thing that made the sex even better was that now... I respect you, Spike. I care about you. But... I can’t love you. Don’t you see that? It was never about the soul, it was never about your history – it’s about you and me together – forever? I am sorry, I truly am – but it’d never work. I honestly thought you’d realized that too. That all you wanted...”
“Enough,” he mumbled, taking a step away from her. “That’s enough.”
“Spike...” she tried, her heart being three seconds from ripping in two, but he pulled away further, shaking his head.
“I’m going now,” he said, hesitating for another moment before he turned and left the room.
She watched him go and once his steps had quieted she let the tears rise in her eyes. They ran over and proceeded to draw their patters carefully on her cheeks as her hands grabbed fistfuls of the lace before her.
¤¤¤
“Willow!” Cordelia called as the other had reached the opposite sidewalk and was headed for an alley between two buildings. “Wait up!”
“It’s okay,” Angel said, taking her hand as they ran across the street.
Cordelia glanced at his hold, then smiled; though he didn’t pick up on it as they reached the other side and continued in the footsteps of the Wicca.
They rounded the corner behind which she had disappeared and almost bumped into her as she had stopped. She was looking keenly in front of her, her concentration deep and Cordelia furrowed her brow questioningly.
“’Could’ve sworn you saw’ what?” she then asked, receiving a slight tug from Angel – who had yet to let go of his grip.
She raised her eyebrows as a ‘sorry!’ and then took a small step closer to him as he seemed content to merely watch the redhead. Suddenly there was a silent rustle from somewhere further down the alley, and Angel tensed as he turned his gaze toward where Willow was focusing. She began to move forward, the other two following.
“Get ready,” she said in a low voice and Angel was just about to ask her what she meant when a figure darted out from between two large dumpsters, about to attack Cordelia.
He was on it in the next instant, vamping out in the pure process of moving at above average speed, and grabbing the assailant by its long locks, wrapping an arm around its shoulders to secure his hold he pulled its head back to reveal its face. Vampiress. Pissed off as hell, that was for sure. Her yellow eyes gleamed with irritation and pure defiance as she glared at Willow.
Willow shook her head a little, though she had an ironic smile on as she said:
“Hello, Tilla.”
¤¤¤
“You had no right to do what you just did,” Maeve stated and Clara gave her a warning-filled glance.
“Hold your tongue, daughter,” she replied. “Or I will be forced to hold it for you.”
“I will speak my mind, and you will hear it,” Maeve retorted, her gaze hard with rage. “What you just did was low. It was to the detriment of the one whose affections you seem set on seeking and do you actually suppose to gain them now, after this? He is devastated, and she...”
“All in due time. First we clip the wings, and then we see how well the bird adjusts to its new surroundings.”
“You are insane. He is not meant to be trapped in this place. He is not your little pet for you to play with as you choose!”
“As Isaiah wasn’t?” the princess shot and there was just so much to keep Maeve from slapping her. “I believe this sheds light on a long-time lingering question of mine,” Clara nodded. “I am not inclined now, nor have I ever been, to go against my own wishes. And I WISH an addition to our house.”
“I am telling you it will only bring ruin!”
“No,” Clara shook her head, “you are wrong. It will bring tidings more glorious than you can even imagine, and I shall rule with my bloodline finally completed.”
Maeve’s eyes widened.
“What?” she asked and Clara smiled condescendingly.
“We are entering the final stages of an era,” she answered. “And is it as I hope, and that you have yet to fully choose sides, then let me advice you to choose carefully. It will undoubtedly have crucial consequences.”
“Yes,” Maeve mumbled as she tried to digest this sudden news, “crucial consequences,” she then added before she bowed her head briefly and turned around, exiting the princess’ chambers quickly and quietly.
She walked through the hallways swiftly, arriving at her suite and putting her hand on the knob of the door just as Theodore came up at her side. She turned her head to him, and he paused at the fatigued look in her eyes. For the first time since he’d known her she seemed as breakable as crystal.
‘Not now,’ her voice said in his mind and he watched her as she slipped inside, about to close the door when he pushed it open and caught her gaze with his.
‘I need to speak with you.’
‘And I need to rest, and have all these stirrings calm. I am certain you can hear them whirling around.’
He gave her a look and she sighed, exhausted and defeated. Stepping out of the way she continued into her bedroom and he hesitated, then followed. She was removing her jewelry. They glittered in the dim light of the fireplace and the candles burning in their candelabras. For a moment he was caught in the seldom seen beauty of the diamonds exquisite purity, then he blinked and looked at her hands as they slowly moved to pull out the sparkling ornaments crowning her hairdo. Tresses followed, gently falling down to her shoulder and he found himself staring at the curve of her neck, the milky white of her skin.
Clearing his throat he shut the thought out, smiling tryingly as she looked at him. She observed him with an expression he couldn’t make out, then a trace of a smile was on her mouth as well.
Seeing him standing there reminded her of a night a very long time ago, when they had gotten ready for a masked ball and he had snuck inside her room to get a peak at what she was going as – since she had refused to tell him no matter how he pleaded with her. He had stood before her then, just as he did now, with a tentative smile on, awaiting her reaction at his presence. She had laughed then, and granted him what he sought; disclosing that she was going dressed in peacock feathers and with a half-moon mask made of silver.
He had laughed with her, showing her that he had a mask to imitate the sun, made of gold.
They had been friends then. They had told each other everything. Had known each other’s every secret. And she had been so sure that they would always stay that way. She had been so wrong.
The pain it caused her to think it made her turn away from him again.
Theodore felt a sudden swell of irritation with her in his breast and it made him begin the speech which he had come there to deliver.
“I escorted the souled and the slayer into the center earlier. It was quite an interesting outing, in many aspects.”
“Was it?” she wondered, beginning to undo the buttons at the back of her gown with so harsh movements she almost ripped them off.
“It was,” he confirmed. “We strolled passed a few shops... They even visited the Orchard. Not for very long, of course... Sam would not have a sapien in there for longer than twenty blinks, I am sure. However, when they came out I noticed something.”
“Would you mind... helping me?” she asked, giving her quest to reach to last few buttons up and resting her hands on the low make-up table standing before her.
She didn’t look at him. He hesitated before moving forward, stopping just behind her and gently pushing the buttons through their loops. She closed her eyes, seeking the strength to get him out of there without having to listen to what he had “noticed”. She had the faintest idea of what it was, and already it was too much.
“Your scent,” he said silently, his voice a low purr just behind her ear and for a fluty second a pleasant shudder ran over her shoulders.
She braced herself, opened her eyes and turned her head to him with an oblivious smile.
“It is mine...” she murmured with a shrug, moving away from him and walking up to turn down her bed.
“And yours alone,” he stated and she bit her jaws together before she met his eyes again. “Would you mind telling me what it was doing at the Orchard? Was it just a lucky coincidence that you happened to be there at the exact same time as...”
“Theo, please. I beg of you, let it go.”
He watched her face, and then a flash of rage came over him as he took a step forward.
“If Clara finds out about this she will have your head for it!” he hissed. “Have you gone mad? What are you trying to do?”
“Something that must be done.”
“No,” he said. “It must not be done by you!”
“Then by who?” she retorted.
“Do you think you are immune to her rage, Maeve? Being her childe does not grant you eternal pardon. And this...! She will murder you as easily as snapping a twig!”
“Things have got to change,” Maeve replied calmly. “War with the world is not the answer, has never been the answer. I could not live with it, and...”
“Do not tell me any more,” he raised his hands.
Then he was suddenly before her, taking her hands in his and holding her eyes as he said:
“If you do not walk away from this I cannot stand by you.”
She pulled her hands out of his and took a step back.
“Nor would I want you to,” she stated and he looked at her with an ache spreading through him which was grander than anything he had ever felt before.
He stepped closer and pulled her to him, burying his nose in her soft locks and holding her tightly for the very first time. Her hands were cautiously placed on his shoulders, her eyes shut as she relaxed into him. The next moment the sensation was gone, and so was he. She was alone.
¤¤¤
Spike had no idea where he was going; he only knew that he needed to get out of the castle. Now he was getting lost among the winding streets of the city, and he didn’t mind one bit. In the back of his head he was searching for The Blue Orchard, for something to numb the pain.
He had been a fool! To begin to believe that it had been real, any of it. Or rather – real in the sense he wanted it to be. She did care for him, it was obvious... but she didn’t... He felt like screaming, but contented himself to ramming a fist into the thick and hard clay wall of a three-story building. Closing his eyes he leaned against it before sliding down to sit slumped, arms on either knee and tears beckoning to be let out – only the canals for them were still too dry to travel.
He didn’t know what to do.
Everything was colored meaningless and see-through.
He had lost her.
He looked at his blooded knuckles and the memory of when she had been brought back came to him so clearly it was as though he was standing in his crypt the night she came there – for no particular reason, it had seemed then. Now, he knew why she had come. She had sought refuge from a world gone dead to her... A world where everything hurt, everything scratched... It had been a prelude to how deeply her need for release was about to go... where she would crawl under his sheets and let him... love her, though she refused to see it... just to have some form of escape.
He smirked.
Why had she turned to him now? Had it simply been that she had missed him? Because she had told him that she had. Had it been a simple rerun of the classics, a mere slip down memory lane?
He remembered her face, the glow about her as she rested in his arms.
No.
He got to his feet again, beginning to walk once more.
No, there was something missing to this equation she had presented him with. She had said she couldn’t see them together forever... But running through the passed few months in his head...
Her sitting in Giles’ parlor, at the table, where she had spoken about being happy, about how it mostly just disappeared and... about how most probably doubted that it had ever been there in the first place. The nightmares... her eyes soft in his when he had comforted her after waking her up... “I need a lot of things,” she had said. The late night phone calls... her outburst... “I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours distantly convinced that I lost you again, you moron! Think a thirty second phone call could ever make that better?!” she had exclaimed. And then that kiss... and the flirting that lead up to it. He wasn’t daft, they had been dancing around each other in a manner they never had before and he knew it. And then, lying beside him in his bed, she had asked him to kiss her again and he had complied and everything had seemed to be falling into place between them. He had felt it so strongly. It had been real and undeniable.
But she had ended it.
He felt the sudden understanding hit him like a wrecking ball.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
I’m lying here on the floor where you left me
I think I took too much
I’m crying here on the floor
What have you done
I think I’ll get outta here
Where I can run
Just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear
You’re just like a pill
Instead of making me better
You keep making me ill
-Middle of Nowhere, Pink-
¤
Lesson the Thirty-Second
¤
Buffy had a pounding headache when she woke up the following day... or she supposed it was evening. Time was a very screwed up concept down here, she had deduced; and it seemed as though the race she was dealing with went on some sort of innate sense of “when” to do things. She sat up with effort and for a moment she felt as though she was trapped in a dream she had just been dreaming, that the grandeur surrounding her was nothing but the figment of her own over-ambitious imagination and that any minute the sound of Dawn’s voice calling her name would make it all disintegrate into thin air...
But Buffy knew that wasn’t going to happen. She realized it in the very next moment, when she remembered that she had been crying so hard last night without making a noise that she could only conclude had lead to her head feeling like it was stuffed with something not quite warm or fuzzy.
She crawled off the bed and walked up to the full length mirror standing in one of the corners. She stared at her reflection. Calling it a mess was a rather huge understatement. The look on Spike’s face the night prior came before her eyes and suddenly they were welling up with fresh tears.
She drew a hard breath and fought them back, straightening her posture and watching as her face drew itself into a constrained mask of indifference.
There you go, she thought, forcing a smile. There you go.
Ophelia came in not much later with breakfast – eatable – and with the helping hands when it came to dressing and hair-doing. They kept quiet, only exchanged understanding glances now and then, Buffy wearing the bravest of her brave faces and feeling as though she was ready to stand before Clara again. Once they were done Buffy let Ophelia lead her to Clara’s chambers, though she knew the way by now.
The doors opened and Buffy clenched her jaws together as she entered, Ophelia repeating what she had done previously with a humble bow and a silent leaving of the room. Clara was standing with a floor to ceiling painting as a backdrop. It was of a landscape, imbedded in blue-gray stillness, stretching meadows and in the distance a forest shooting its tops toward the large silvery moon. It was nothing short of magnificent.
Clara smiled in phony welcome, not receiving a return from the Slayer.
“Should we start?” Buffy asked; the urge to kick the vampiress’ ass – or at least try – was nearly getting the better of her.
“By all means,” Clara nodded, gesturing for the Slayer to take a seat and herself coming up to sit in the same armchair as she had been in the previous night. “I hear Theo took you out into the city.”
“That he did,” Buffy confirmed.
“And what did you think of it?”
“Comfy-cozy all around.”
Clara watched her for a few seconds before she smirked.
“Theodore informed me that you and the souled visited the Blue Orchard... Samuel is not one to easily let outsiders be served... yet you managed to. How is that?” she wondered.
“Must be my impeccable charm and one-of-a-kind sense of wit,” Buffy replied sarcastically, the growing disdain in her gaze not one the princess could miss.
“Interesting,” the latter said slowly. “I’ve noticed neither.”
Buffy gave her a look, then turned her eyes away from the royalty in an attempt to get her rising annoyance under control. The anger was kept back, but the irritation with the overly confidant being before her was but a few instants away from taking over.
“I want to tell you why you shouldn’t seek war on my kind,” Buffy murmured, eyes back in the others and Clara looked mildly intrigued. “It’s not the place for you – above ground. You must’ve been pretty content to live down here, if you stayed for all this time. This is where you belong. No sun, no...”
“You are going to have to do a lot better than that,” Clara interrupted, shifting her position slightly and then focusing her attention on Buffy once again.
Buffy gritted her teeth.
“It’s wrong,” she grumbled. “It’s wrong to kill a whole race simply because you want what they have.”
“Well, that IS the art of war, my dear,” Clara replied dryly, then added: “And what is to say I wish to kill them?”
A flash of her chained comrades came to the Slayer and she rose. Clara mirrored her movement in the very same second, another small smile playing on her fine lips as she noted the warrior before her taking heed of the fact that the princess was, for better or worse, the stronger party.
“I know what these ‘negotiations’ are for,” Buffy said, voice strained as she really felt like shouting and breaking something, since she couldn’t take her frustration out on the one standing before her. “They’re for show, aren’t they? Just enough to give the impression that you’re upholding whatever lame-ass code of honor you THINGS have seen fit to create for yourselves. There’s no way you’re gonna let me interfere with something you’ve been ‘waiting’ so long for! You want this war so badly I can feel it creeping under my skin and I’m here only to tell you this – you won’t get it. I’m gonna stop it.”
Clara didn’t say anything for a short while, observing the Slayer’s stern face before her own split into an amused grin. Her blue eyes twinkled with wickedness and then she laughed.
“You?” she asked. “And what army?”
Buffy cocked an eyebrow, refusing to stand down she glared into the gaze of her opponent.
“Very original,” she remarked and Clara’s smile merely broadened slightly.
“It was nothing but a genuine question,” she replied. “And whatever you may think – whoever you believe to be able to gain over to ‘your’ side – let me tell you THIS... you will not. YOU came here for show, my darling. I almost respect you for standing up so fiercely for what you think is right... but this dynasty is falling apart, and it is time to move it to a new location. It is time to regroup, find new strength.” She looked over at the painting and a sudden longing came into her entire stance as she said: “See the moon... the ocean... Feel the grass...”
“So then you take a vacation where no Ancient has ever gone before! You don’t...” Buffy began, Clara’s cool fingers gripping her throat in the following moment and cutting the sentence short.
“Do not presume to tell me what to do,” the princess hissed, vamping out and having Buffy stare into her now glowing eyes.
She let her grip go with a slight push which made the Slayer take an involuntary step back.
“Why am I here?” Buffy demanded and Clara smiled again.
She reached out a hand and gently stroked the Slayer’s cheek.
“There is no need to worry,” Clara said softly. “It will all be alright.” Suddenly the stroke turned into a hard slap and Buffy blinked with the surprise. “Mind me,” the vampiress added. “Understand that you are a guest in my realm – and never the other way around, then it will all be alright. Now go. Get ready for tonight’s ball.”
“Yeah...” Buffy said slowly before walking passed the princess to the door.
Clara watched it close and smirked to herself.
“Yeah,” she silently imitated the Slayer.
¤¤¤
Buffy left the princess’ chambers, walking down the hallway and stopping only to gather up her skirts, getting ready to climb the stairs and looking up just to feel everything come to a painful stop as her gaze landed in Spike’s two blues, him coming down towards her with Theodore not far behind. The bleached blonde passed her close enough to brush his arm against hers, his eyes leaving hers and she felt the sting from that small gesture as though it was prickling her all over her body. Her gaze followed him as he proceeded down the hallway, waiting to see if he was to see Clara, but he walked passed the door of her room. Buffy hesitated, fighting back the urge to go after him, and then she turned to the stairs and began climbing them.
‘You seem unhappy,’ Ophelia pointed out a few hours later, lacing up the gown Buffy was in. The latter was getting more and more used to having another’s voice inside her head, and didn’t even blink at the sound of the maid’s. And neither did she reply to the vampiress’ statement, merely stared blankly into the mirror before which she stood. ‘Watch yourself,’ Ophelia said, tying the lace in a pretty bow and then straightening out the gown’s heavy train of silk. ‘Your defenses are slipping,’ she added as she came around to face the other.
“Why am I always wearing this color as of late?” Buffy asked, changing the subject as she slipped her hands over the smooth fabric of her clothing.
“To enhance the beauty of the Rising Sun,” Ophelia replied. Buffy cocked an eyebrow. “The necklace you’re wearing,” the maid elaborated.
“Right. Of course. Why not?” Buffy muttered, Ophelia observing her for a moment.
‘Did you sleep at all?’ she inquired and Buffy grumbled.
“Does it matter?” she sighed. “Does anything really matter?”
Ophelia stared at her, taken aback. Then she moved too quickly for Buffy to have time to perceive before she grabbed the Slayer’s wrists and forced her to look into the vampiress’ eyes. They were so brown they were bordering on black, but there wasn’t a malevolent shade in them whatsoever.
‘I know what happened last night,’ she said and Buffy tried to tare loose, but couldn’t move even an inch. ‘I also know you were lying yourself blue in the face, weren’t you?’ Ophelia added and Buffy relaxed slightly, nodding a little and fighting the tears threatening to rise. ‘I understand why you did it, but now you have to honor your decision and be strong. Things are reaching their boiling point, Buffy. You need to keep your sight on what DOES matter – and that is tomorrow. That we have one. Perhaps then you will get a chance to tell him the truth.’
‘I’m afraid it won’t change anything now,’ Buffy replied silently. ‘What’s to say he doesn’t join Clara?’
Ophelia merely smiled meaningfully at that, letting the Slayer go, and suddenly the latter felt very stupid. She thought of Spike, of his blue eyes carrying one of those warm gazes that seemed able to melt whatever ice she put up for protection, and she saw the impossibility of him trading his soul to the very devil herself. No, he wouldn’t. There was no way.
‘Walk into the ballroom tall,’ Ophelia encouraged. ‘Clara does not own you.’
‘I tried to make a mental list of what to say to her. What to argue with, you know,’ Buffy said. ‘But when I met with her earlier she just discarded it... like it was air or something else she doesn’t need. I hate her. I’ve never hated anyone or anything this intensely. It’s frightening.’
Ophelia was silent for a short while, correcting the Slayer’s hairdo and fussing with her gloves, making sure they were fitting as they should; then she simply said:
‘Maeve will be here shortly,’ before she curtseyed and left the suite.
Buffy touched the necklace gracing right above her collarbones.
“The Rising Sun...”
“Quite remarkable, is it not?” Maeve asked behind her and Buffy glanced at the spot in the mirror where the vampiress’ reflection should have been, but of course wasn’t.
“Quite,” she agreed with a smile.
“Would you rather stay in your room tonight?” the vampiress asked, a streak of concern in her gaze which made Buffy raise her eyebrows, then she understood that the other knew about last night.
They all knew.
Of course.
“Why would I wanna do that?” the Slayer asked with another smile. “I’m fit and ready to rumble.”
“You are?” Maeve inquired skeptically. Buffy held her gaze, then gave a small nod. “Fine then.”
“Before we leave... there’s something I need to ask you,” Buffy stated.
“Yes?”
‘I need to know about the group of Ancients that are opposing Clara,’ the Slayer replied, focusing her thoughts on reaching only Maeve and the vampiress smiled a small smile.
‘You are a natural telekinetic,’ she commended.
‘Not likely,’ Buffy shook her head, serious as she added: ‘Will you tell me?’
‘I will,’ Maeve assured. ‘After the ball. Please, evoke patience for another few hours and then you will know everything I know.’
Buffy didn’t enjoy the prospect of yet another encounter with the enemy, having the enemy carrying all the aces, but she nodded her consent and Maeve smiled another smile before gesturing for the door.
¤¤¤
“Gentle night,” Clara whispered. “Lead me to possession of that which I need. When all else fail I am at your mercy. I believed it would be easy... How do I find the answer?”
She opened her eyes and smirked with a mouth wearing its fangs as she reached out a hand and placed it against the smooth surface of the mirror before her. The lack of reflection in it made her smirk widen, and suddenly she giggled.
“But of course...” she breathed.
¤¤¤
In an abandoned corner shop on a street which carried no name a small group of beings had gathered in the calm of the city which followed the top layer of their society attending the ball at the castle. Candles were lit everywhere. The small room was bathed in their glow. Its large shop windows were covered with old newspapers stuck to the panes, in the middle of the dust covered floor boards stood a round table, battered by the poker games it had hosted; the glasses slammed into it; and the lovers quarrels which had resulted in harsh poundings with clenched fist or open palm on it. Placed upon it now was a torn map, hand painted lines showed the city, its streets, the castle, the large wall and the closest surrounding terrain outside it.
“This is where we should best produce an attack,” a vampire called Dogh stated, pointing to a spot on the map not far from the castle orchard.
“Nay,” another, named Rev shook his head. “I still vote for us using our inside men to start a riot within the castle itself. Preferably in her highness’ bedchamber.”
There were low huffs of recognition from the others, then a tall vampire rose from where he had been sitting across the room and came up to join the others at the table. His name was Matthew.
“What does Maeve say of all this?” he asked and five pairs of eyes were directed at him. “She is one of you, why isn’t she here?”
“She is preoccupied, boy,” Dogh snarled. “Dancing,” he added, and his fellows snickered until Matthew slammed his hand in the table and had them shut up.
“I was under the impression she leads you,” he then said, glancing around at all of them and as they all looked rather sheepish he cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t she one of your more valuable resources ‘within the castle itself’?” he added meaningfully, turning around and flipping his cape right, before he walked towards the door. “Be ware she doesn’t sniff treachery in the air... I fear heads will roll.”
“She proposes gathering our forces and then declaring civil war!” Dogh called after the other as he pushed the door open and Matthew paused, looking back at them as Dogh finished: “In my mind that is the dealings of a mad woman who does not fear...”
“Fear!” Matthew interrupted him, standing towering over the other in the next instant. “Fear has nothing to do with this. Maeve shall lead you to victory, unless you would rather declare folly your ally and with scattered power try to break down the very essence of our people!”
Dogh began to stutter a reply, but Matthew shook his head for him to keep silent.
“You must trust her,” he implored. “The old ways are about to die... if you do not.”
The five vampires bowed their heads in reverence and Rev folded the map together. Matthew nodded slightly, walking back up to the door.
“Where are you headed?” Rev asked.
“Dancing,” Matthew replied just before the door closed behind him.
¤¤¤
“Tell me where the page is,” Willow demanded and Tilla smirked a fanged smirk before she spat out some of the blood collecting in her mouth from the powerful attacks of the Wicca. “If you think you know pain, you’d better think again,” Willow warned, looming over the other. “I have resources to deal you a greater share than you could even imagine possible without even your pinky finger’s nail turning into ashes.”
“I’m sorry if I don’t shudder with fright,” Tilla retorted. “I’m sure you’d be surprised how much torture a vampire can actually endure. One of the grand peaks of the gig. That and the night vision! That is REALLY underestimated, by the way, and so much neater than...”
“Tell me where the page is,” Willow interrupted, her gaze nearly literally black as she could feel the darker side of her powers poking around for more of a show-and-tell than it had been permitted so far. “You will die – slowly – if you don’t tell me.”
“I will die – slower – if I do tell you. And since I’m actually enjoying your show I think I’ll take die-at-the-hands-of-witch,” Tilla replied.
“You weren’t a vampire when we came to see you...” Willow mused silently, studying the drawn lines of the vampiress’ face, the prettiness in her dark eyes matching her dark curls, and she remembered how those eyes had reflected such fear all through the redhead’s and Slayer’s questioning of what she knew about the dragon... “They were here,” Willow murmured.
Tilla cocked an eyebrow, the wickedness in her smile now increasing and Willow stalked up to her with a hand grasping the other’s throat in a tight grip.
“They were here, weren’t they?” she demanded.
“Willow...” Angel tried, having stayed in the background for the duration of the interrogation and now feeling it might be the right time to step in between.
But the Wicca didn’t even flinch at the sound of her own name – her gaze now hard in the vampiress’ as she said:
“That’s why you were so scared. They were here.”
“No,” Tilla replied.
“Yes, they were! And they turned you. Did they make you lie?! Did you lie for them? Did they scare you into doing that? Did you lead us to the book? Did they plant it there? Has this ALL been a wild goose chase?! Answer me!”
“No!” Tilla stated, her own eyes glittering with glee and suddenly she laughed. “Poor, pathetic mortal!” she shook her head. “You have no idea what’s to come. They’re going to drain you over and over and I’m going to join them. Don’t think you can stop this. It’s the inevitable fate of this world. It is Nostradamus’ predicted end of days, it is the Bible’s said Armageddon, it is the ultimate kiss of death for all those who don’t believe in the truth of creation.”
Willow let her go; disgusted as she took a step back.
“And what’s the truth?”
“That it’s always about the blood,” Tilla answered. “Of blood you were born, of blood you shall always be. It’s the driving force of absolutely everything.”
“Not vegetarians,” Cordelia pointed out.
Tilla growled at her, baring her teeth, but Cordelia merely gave her a bored look and shook her head.
“Scary, scary – old!” she said, leaning against the wall. “Just kill her, Will. She’s just gonna keep this ranting up all night anyways. We need to get a move on, don’t we? Time aticking and all that?”
Willow observed Tilla for a second, and then she asked:
“You ready to do the talking?”
Tilla sighed.
“What do you want to know – really? I didn’t lie to you about the book,” she said, pausing and looking at Angel and then Cordelia before fastening her gaze back in Willow’s as she added: “I only lied about the dragon.”
Willow hit her over the mouth and Angel moved forward to pull the outraged Wicca back.
“My friends are down there because of you!” she screamed at the vampiress, who raised her eyebrows. “Buffy’s... down there...”
Willow turned around, concealing her rising tears and grabbing onto Angel’s arm to steady herself.
“What if we won’t get there in time,” she whispered and Angel shook his head, glaring at Tilla.
“I’ll kill her myself,” he stated. “We’ll wait for the sunrise,” he added. “It’s the most unworthy way for a vampire to die.”
Tilla stared at him, then shrugged it off with another smile, sitting back on the chair she was on.
“Without me you won’t find what you’re searching for,” she stated, self-assured.
“Wrong,” Angel replied. “We always find what we’re searching for... even if it’s on the verge of too late.”
Tilla rolled her eyes at him and he turned away from her to walk after Willow as she left his side and headed for the door. Cordelia followed. They stepped outside and Willow leaned against the wall as she faced the other two.
“You okay?” Cordelia asked and Willow shook her head mechanically from side to side.
“It feels like this is it. It feels like she’s slipping away... Like she’s already gone. It’s petrifying losing hope, you know?” she murmured and Angel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.
“Stop that,” he murmured and she closed her eyes.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whimpered, putting her hands before her face as the tears rose again. “Nobody knows what we should do.”
“Sunrise,” Angel said. “I promise you we’ll have the page in our hands at the latest tomorrow night.”
“At the latest... exactly,” Willow grumbled and Cordelia put an arm around her gently.
“Sunrise,” Angel repeated.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Please, don’t say “I love you”
Those words touch me much too deeply
And they make my core tremble
Don’t think you realize the effect you have over me
And please, don’t look at me like that
It just makes me
Want to make you near me
Always
And when you look in my eyes
Please know my heart is in your hands
It’s nothing that I understand
But in your arms you have complete power over me
So be gentle if you please
‘Cause your hands are in my hair
But my heart is in your teeth
And it makes me
Want to make you near me
Always
Wanna be near you
Always
-Near You, Always; Jewel-
¤
Lesson the Thirty-Third
¤
Buffy nearly wanted to grab onto Maeve’s arm as they began to near the entrance to the great hall. Music was playing. Voices were talking, laughing. The power of their hatred for her always bore into her with a sensation that wound itself around her very core, and though she was strong, it was difficult to deal with it. Her own hatred was beginning to reach their depths as well, and it did scare her. She had felt a lot of overtaking emotions in her lifetime. She had been in many situations where she had been forced to face sides to her that she probably would have chosen not to, had she been given a chance, and other sides which had served to enrich the understanding she had of herself.
The darkness she felt every time she laid eyes on Clara went beyond the reaches of comprehension. It was a tearing, clawing, painful need to cause nothing but damage. To rip to shreds, to destroy completely. And beside this hate was a knee-bending fear. A fear the Slayer knew she had never known before. It was a crazed layer over her sight, it made her want to cease to exist if it meant that she didn’t have to make any more decisions dealing with power, life and death. She wanted to be Buffy, and nothing else. Oblivious. The scare she had been under with Glory, with the First, had been so different. It had been a Sunnydale based, her-friends-and-sister-were-with-her, we’ve-done-this-before sort of scare. Where anything could happen, and yet... the thought of failure had always been prevailed over by the never ending knowledge that good conquers evil. Every time.
This time...?
If nothing was done soon... it was all for nothing, and Buffy knew it. Clara was too mighty, she had too much supremacy. It was hard for the Slayer to admit, but much of her fear stemmed from the very naked fact that she would never be able to defeat Clara with her own two hands. There was no way. And to think that every last Ancient in the room she was now about to enter held that power in the palm of their hand, that they could thrust it at her any time they wished, that was a knee-bending thought indeed.
However, the Slayer straightened her posture and entered the hall with all the confidence in the world.
It seemed the mere sight of her had stopped making all action come to a halt. There were glances of dislike thrown her way, of course. She could hear her name whispered around her, as well as her official title. It sounded like the vampires spat the words between them, as though they were unwilling to let them linger too long on their tongue, fearing scorch marks, no doubt.
She could also hear the dead language spoken, and she wished heatedly that she could still understand it so she could listen in on the conversations.
She looked around, but saw no sign of Spike.
She felt ill every time she thought of what she had said to him. She felt sick to her stomach at the memory of his expression. She only wanted him to hold her and whisper that everything, every last single thing, was going to be all right. That he was there.
She blinked away the thoughts and drew a small breath.
“Milady,” there was a voice behind them and both Maeve and Buffy turned around, eyes locking on a blonde vampire bowing nearly to the floor with an elegance Buffy had scarcely seen.
He straightened his back with a warm smile and Maeve’s eyes widened with happiness.
“Matthew!” she exclaimed, throwing herself around his neck and hugging him hard.
Many heads turned their way, noses wrinkling in discontentment with the scene, but Buffy had to smile.
“Hello, little sister,” Matthew said, kissing Maeve on the cheek as she let him go.
“I cannot believe you are actually here!” she shook her head and he smirked.
“Need me to pinch you?” he asked teasingly and she shunned away from his hand with a laugh before she turned to Buffy. “Matthew, this is Miss Buffy Summers – Buffy; Matthew.”
Buffy reached out a hand and Matthew shook it, he squinted as he observed her for a second, then his eyes grew.
“You weren’t exaggerating, were you?” he asked, eyes on Maeve, and she smiled a little.
“Do I ever exaggerate?” she retorted.
“I do recall...”
“Let us not get into such trivialities,” she stopped him and he smirked again.
“Pleasure,” he said to Buffy.
“Matthew?” Theodore’s voice sounded and Buffy could feel Maeve stiffening. “By the Seal, it is you.”
“Theo,” Matthew smiled, reaching out a hand and grasping Theodore’s lower arm as the other did the same.
“Was the journey to the outer realms successful?”
“A new treaty was drawn with the Lorik tribe and the Duwing’s as well,” Matthew nodded. “And I have something for you,” he added with a wink.
Theodore blinked as they let go and then his eyes wandered to Maeve, who met his gaze. He stared at her, suddenly drawn into the subtle wrinkles by her eyes, which had been put there by her insistent smile... a very human trait, he had always thought. He clenched his jaws together and looked away from her.
“It is good to have you back,” he stated, hesitating before he excused himself and left them.
Buffy watched him go, then looked at Maeve, who was discretely doing the same.
Spike entered the great hall ten minutes later, dressed in a new grey outfit and not sure on how he was feeling. He looked around, but before he could spot Buffy, Patrick came and told him that Clara wished for him to join her. He followed the other vampire reluctantly. Coming up to stand before the throne Patrick walked off to the side and Clara’s piercing eyes fastened in Spike’s. She wore a slight smile, one that he recognized well by now.
“The air is durable this evening, is it not?” she asked and he cocked an eyebrow. When he didn’t answer she smirked. “It is stale... always stale. It has never been used, you see. But now... it has been set in motion. Around and around... It strokes my cheeks.”
“You’re bleeding freaking me out sounding like an old friend of mine,” he muttered and she smiled.
“Drusilla,” she whispered. “Wonderfully enlightened.”
“Terribly insane, would probably be a more accurate assertion,” he remarked.
“Ignorance,” Clara said. “I never would have thought that as one of your attributes, William. Drusilla chose you because you were everything but that, did she not? She knew you would understand her, would be dependant on her, would love her... And you did... until...” She trialed off, her gaze going to something behind his back and he didn’t even have to turn around to know that Buffy was there.
“Your love for her is an abomination,” Clara stated in a low voice. “Wipe it out. Leave it behind. Stop its crippling of you.”
He smirked. She rose, her long skirts rustling comfortably as she walked up to him. Dark purple silk. A black gem in a beautiful silver setting around her neck. She stopped before him, reaching out a hand and placing it on his chest.
“Let me get rid of it,” she said silently. “You will bathe in glory far exceeding anything you’ve ever imagined. The Scourge... it was a fine beginning. This is where it ends. This is where you can rest, my William. This is where you belong.”
“I won’t listen to you,” he stated, feeling a wave of nausea pour into him as she removed her hand with a hiss.
“You will. Your demon will not stay quiet for much longer. It will roar. And if you try to stop it... it will eat you up from inside.”
“Now, why do you go and spoil the surprise like that?” he asked derisively, but she merely turned from him and walked back up to the throne, sitting down she signed for him to leave and he did, disappearing into the crowd.
He beat back the admittance to there being any truth in Clara’s warning. He had the demon under control. He wasn’t a two-part being. He was a whole, and his mind wouldn’t suddenly flip on him and have him turn his back on everything he believed in.
He was so preoccupied by his thoughts that he didn’t watch where he was going, and suddenly he wasn’t bumping into strangers anymore – he bumped into Buffy.
He thought his pulse would jump start as her surprised gaze met his, her head tilted back, her hair tied back from her neck and he stared at her. Her tanned shoulders, her smooth skin, her slender fingers. She was the definition of beauty. The only truth he needed. He almost reached up a hand and placed it on her cheek, but snapped out of it brutally and took a step back. Her eyes were pained for just a flash of a moment and then she clenched her jaws together. He kept backing away and then turned, leaving.
Buffy stared after him. Her heart was just beginning to slow down. He looked like he needed her, like something had happened. She thought it over for a moment, then made up her mind to go after him when a hand placed itself on her shoulder.
“Dance?” Matthew asked and she hesitated, then nodded, putting her hand on his arm and having him lead her out on the dance floor.
They joined the others swirling around. The music being allowed to fill every last one of them, lead them, enchant them into a daze which was almost sensual.
Buffy smiled at her partner, but couldn’t help but keep a slight suspicion in her observation of him.
“What are you, exactly?” she asked and he raised his eyebrows quizzically. “I mean, some sort of... tradineer? Making treaties and whatnot?”
“You talk funny,” he said and it was her turn to raise her eyebrows.
“I was merely asking,” she muttered and he smiled again.
It was the same as Maeve’s. Open, warm, trustworthy.
Thrall, Buffy thought to herself. It’s a thrall. I’m under a thrall again. Damn, I thought I broke their ability to do this with the whole Dracula incident, but no. That would be too simple, wouldn’t it?
“Are you really Maeve’s brother?” she changed the subject and Matthew laughed.
“No, ‘little sister’ is my pet name for her,” he replied.
“Oh. I’m familiar with those, actually. I have someone who... HAD someone who...” she trialed off, suddenly feeling blank straight through and Matthew noticed the change as though she had written it out with a black marker on her forehead.
“Should I dip you?” he asked.
“What?” she asked back, bringing herself into the present.
“You know, shake things up. Keep you from drifting,” he replied and she smiled a small smile.
“You talk funny too,” she then said. “For being one of this lot,” she added. “Less stiff-y.”
“I take that as a compliment,” he stated. “And it helps spending a lot of time out of here, and with demons who frequent the surface.”
“Right. And why is it you spend a lot of time out of here again?”
“You really dislike not knowing everything, don’t you?” he wondered and she smirked.
“Only a little.”
Gabriella snaked her way through the crowd toward her goal; who was standing to the side of the dance floor, watching the swelling motion of the dancers. She glanced in the direction he was looking, then leaned her body against his as she said:
“Jealousy becomes you.”
Spike didn’t react, but pushed her off of him with the arm she was pressed against.
“See how well she gets along with your kind? What’s to say she wouldn’t want you to be one of us? What’s to say she wouldn’t love you? She wants the darkness, William... she craves it. You know it as well as I do. You would be powerful. You would have power over her. She would come to you like the bee to a cube of sugar... She would be yours, completely...”
The slow whisper of the vampiress was stroking his mind as he watched Buffy dance, seemingly relaxed in the unknown vampire’s arms. Then Spike moved forward. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he knew he couldn’t be the sideliner any longer. He tapped the vampire on the shoulder and he turned to him with a questioning look. But Spike didn’t meet it, his gaze was on the Slayer and she met it with eyes widening just a tad.
Matthew moved aside with a slight bow as Spike took over. Buffy felt her heart in her throat, beating excruciatingly slow as he stepped into her and placed one hand at the small of her back. Their chests connecting lightly as their free hands found each other, her other on his shoulder and her eyes not out of his. He easily led her into the waltz playing, but she wasn’t even thinking about her feet moving.
His hold was demanding, was telling her that no matter what she said, she belonged to him. She was his. Just as he was hers. That no matter what she said he would love her. Need her. Crave her presence, nearness. Want her as he always had. She was getting dizzy and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the dance, or the relentlessness in his gaze, the firmness of his hand on her back.
She drew a small breath, feeling how his chest moved against hers, how his body easily fitted with her own.
‘You think we’re dancing?’
‘That’s all we’ve ever done...’
She smiled suddenly, and he felt his gaze grow warmer. Watching her face light up like that, it was the best part of every day. It faded slowly, another expression taking its place and he felt his own longing begin to mix with the one so swiftly occurring in her every last motion.
He leaned closer, sliding his nose from her temple and to her cheek, her face leaning into the touch as she closed her eyes.
Then the music stopped, and they let each other go rather abruptly. They stared at each other.
Buffy wanted to say something. Spike having to hear it.
She smiled a small smile, shaking her head as a meek apology before she turned and made her way off the dance floor. He was about to follow when a hand slipped into his and he turned around to face Clara.
“Dance with me, William,” she said, stepping closer to him.
Buffy looked up just as Clara moved into Spike. The Slayer slowed her hasted walk and paused to watch as the dance floor was slightly cleared for the princess. The music started. Slow strings, then the cello... it was beautiful; calm, centered; knowing nothing of the disturbance rifling through the onlooker’s heart. She realized she was holding her breath, and let it out softly as Spike began to lead the vampiress over the dance floor. His gaze rested in the blue of the other, he seemed transfixed.
Buffy felt a wind of common jealousy gust through her, but stifled it in the next moment. She was scared those around her would catch a whiff of it in the air... Yet, the scene was like a tower building itself to imprison her. It felt as though the only beings in the room were her, Clara and Spike, and she drew a short breath to steady herself. She felt trapped, felt as though Clara was toying with the bleached blonde ... She remembered what he had written... What he feared in himself.
And there’s nothing I can do to help him, she thought, the anguish suddenly rising within her and she stared at him for another moment before she turned and made her way out of the room.
She walked through the entrance hall and then stopped, considering. Finally she made up her mind, took to the right and entered a small doorway, which lead into a narrow hallway. It took her finally to a high door and she pushed it open, stepping out into the orchard.
The white crystals covering the ground glittered their enchantment as the Slayer wrapped her arms around her against the cold and ventured onto one of the paths. She followed it without direction, feeling like the only thing filling her head was a numbing nothing. She closed her eyes.
‘What is your worry?’ Maeve’s voice asked, and Buffy opened her eyes again as she stopped walking, the vampiress standing a few feet away, a cape over her shoulders though she really didn’t need it.
‘Everything feels so distant,’ the Slayer murmured. ‘The world... The future... A part of me just wants to forget about all of it.’ She glanced toward the castle and sighed. ‘Why is he so important to her?’ she asked and Maeve looked at her for a long time before she replied:
‘Let me tell you a story.’
They sat down on a bench nearby and Maeve eyed Buffy for a second before she pulled off her cape and wrapped it around the blonde’s shoulders. Buffy felt the warmth begin to grow back into her chilled limbs and gave the vampiress a grateful smile.
‘What’s the story?’ she inquired, curious, and Maeve returned the smile.
‘It is more a legend...’ she replied, seemingly thoughtful before she continued: ‘In our oldest book it is written “When the consecrated ground admits you, when the light yields to the darkness, the earth shall be yours to inhabit.” It is part of a text which Clara has seen fit to interpret as the guide to our new world – your world. She proclaimed many years ago that we were not meant to stay down here forever... She sees William as the embodiment of “the consecrated ground” admitting her. She has been told of him walking into churches, of him stalking cemeteries... There are many vampires above ground now, more than you know of, Buffy. The clans are scattered, but would they be joined once more, there would be no stopping them. Clara...’
‘I know,’ Buffy interrupted silently. ‘She has the drive to unite them. Cue creepy, dramatic back-ground music.’
‘It is more than that...’ Maeve said. ‘And it has to do with William.’
‘What?’ Buffy pressed.
‘Further into the scripture it says “The first bloodline shall rule all others when it is completed. When the tide turns it shall bring with it a gift, and this gift shall be in the form of a champion.” In every descending bloodline there are a few precious ones that are irreversibly linked with the vampire who birthed that line, but Clara’s bloodline is different from those of her descendants. Their lines are signified by someone they have turned, turning another, which in their turn, turns another... Clara’s bloodline is signified by her own bite. Only those she chooses will be part of it. However, she is where all the lines tie up, and in every last bloodline there are chosen ones that will inherit her traits; her poignant charm, her intellect, but making it the more obvious is the fact that they are always dark haired, and blue-eyed...’
Buffy’s eyes widened.
Spike.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
I am a little bit of loneliness
A little bit of disregard
Hand full of complaints
But I can’t help if everyone can see these scars
I am what I want you to want
What I want you to feel
But it’s like no matter what I do
I can’t convince you
To just believe this is real
So I let go, watching you
Turn your back like you always do
Face away and pretend that I’m not
But I’ll be here, ‘cause you’re all that I’ve got
I can’t feel
The way I did before
Don’t turn your back on me
I won’t be ignored
Time won’t heal
This damage anymore
Don’t turn your back on me
I won’t be ignored
No, hear me out now
You’re gonna listen to me
Like it or not
-Faint, Linkin Park-
¤
Lesson the Thirty-Fourth
¤
Buffy stared at the other for another moment.
‘Spike...?’ she then began, trailing off as the thought seemed so out of reach.
Maeve gave a small nod as response, and Buffy saw flickering dots before her eyes before she drew a breath and leaned forward.
“Why is it like this every time?” she murmured. “Am I not supposed to...?”
She let the sentence hang unfinished in the air as she regained her self-control. Straightening her back she looked at the vampiress, who seemed sympathetic.
“What does it mean?” Buffy asked silently.
‘Even I do not know Clara’s mind,’ Maeve replied. ‘I could not tell you what she’s planning.’
“What’s your tie to her?” Buffy wondered and Maeve paused.
‘I was the first human she turned,’ she then replied softly and Buffy’s eyes widened slightly.
Maeve smiled a gentle smile at the Slayer’s stunned expression, and then she turned her head as there was the sound of approaching footsteps down the path. Buffy looked up when they suddenly quieted and her gaze met Spike’s. She swallowed. Turning her head back to where Maeve had been seated, she realized the spot was empty. Buffy looked at her hands for a moment and then stood, pulling the cape around her to keep it from slipping off her shoulders; her eyes once more meeting his.
Why had he come?
He stared at her, desperately seeking the answer to that very question.
“The princess wanted me to find Maeve...” he began, trailing off at the slowly hardening expression on the Slayer’s face.
“Running errands?” she asked pointedly and he frowned.
“No... I used it as an excuse,” he stated and she raised her eyebrows. “Buffy...” he mumbled and she met his gaze before she shook her head and turned from him, walking down the path in the opposite direction. “Don’t walk away from me,” he said, and even though his voice was lowered she heard it as though he was standing right behind her.
“What’s the use?” she asked, stopping and turning to him again. “What’s the use, really? I’m just... hurting you. I can’t pretend that everything’s...”
“What?” he interrupted. “That everything’s what, Slayer? Like it was? It isn’t... is it?”
She eyed him for a long moment, his countenance rocking something deep down within her and in the next instant she was clasped by a breathtaking revelation, its clarity stinging her mind. She swirled around and walked away from him as quickly as she could, saying:
“Leave me alone. I mean it. There’s no point to this.”
He watched her go, then moved the way he had come and slipped back into the great hall.
He could still feel her in his arms, could still see the look on her face, and there was no doubt in his mind.
‘So go,’ a sigh encouraged in his head and when he looked up his eyes met Clara’s across the hall. She wore a faint smile. ‘Go,’ her voice repeated. ‘Take what it is you want.’
He smiled a small smile in return, gazed out over the crowded room, and then followed the push which took him to the entrance hall and further to the staircases taking him up to a, for the evening, quiet and abandoned floor.
¤¤¤
Buffy closed her door behind her, proceeding into her bedroom.
She didn’t know anything. She didn’t know how to feel or think or what to say or how to act... She didn’t know what the right or wrong decision was anymore. She felt so confused, and now so very frightened. She shut her eyes when she heard her door softly close. She hadn’t even reacted to it being opened. It could only be one person...
She drew an unsteady breath, swallowing, trying to straighten out her messed up mind. Her heart... it was bursting through her throat...
She eased her eyes open and had her gaze in the full-length mirror before her. It showed an empty room behind her, and yet she could feel his presence as though his fingers were stroking themselves through her hair, as though his mouth was softly whispering her name.
Slowly she finally turned around to face him.
She had run away from him... but she wondered if she hadn’t sought refuge here because she knew he wouldn’t let her get very far... and here they would be alone. Her heart kept beating its violence within her, but she ignored it. His eyes told her so much, but instead of scaring her, it now soothed her. The hint of a smile was born on her mouth.
He saw it, but couldn’t return it.
What he wanted... was her.
But... he couldn’t take her... No. Not take. Not ever again, not by force ever again. He needed... Needed...
His voice was lowered when he spoke at last, his eyes unyielding in hers as he said:
“Tell me you love me.”
There was a stone somewhere inside of her and for a dragged out second it weighed heavier than ever before, and then it suddenly lifted until it was completely gone and her smile grew just a little as her gaze was warm in his.
“I love you,” she stated softly. “You know I do...” she added slowly.
He had a vortex of relief fill his chest. Of course he had known it. He had known it so strongly that there hadn’t been any reason for him to doubt it for even the splinter of a moment. He had understood her intentions, had seen the truth of them, and had known that she was protecting them both, and him in particular. Yes, he had known that she loved him. But to see her face... the expression in her eyes as she finally got it in her head that the pretending was over, that they couldn’t do it anymore, that whatever was meant to happen would, no matter if they were chained together or if they were miles apart; the way she was looking at him... it made him ache.
“Come here,” he murmured and she hesitated for a split second before she moved up to him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck as his moved around her waist, pressing her to him as his mouth found hers greedily. A small whimper escaped her at his crushing grip and prodding tongue, but her own desire, suppressed for years it felt, was already in flames within her and she could do nothing but reciprocate his every motion.
Their hands were hungry, everywhere at once. His fingers grasped the back of her dress and tore it open, the fragile fabric giving way for his strength as though made of cobweb. Buffy bit her lower lip in anticipation as he without ceremony pulled the dress off her shoulders and had it slip to the floor. He grabbed her, burying his face against her throat and kissing her neck as her hands found their way into his hair, her breathing erratic as she wanted his clothes off of him.
She was trembling all over, but she got his jacket off, hurriedly tearing his shirt open and pulling away from him to let her fingers trace his muscular torso, her gaze in his so heavy with wanting that it made him feel like he was about to break into pieces.
He slid his hands into her thick, blonde locks and kissed her deeply as her fingers pushed the shirt off his shoulders and further down his arms, making him straighten them out as she got the shirt off him. She was still in her white cotton under dress, it hung loosely on her slim body and his hands moved to begin to pull it up, having its hem rest at her waist as he pressed her against the foot of the bed, going down on his knees.
She gasped, leaning her head back as his tongue found her center, her hands grasping the foot of the bed as she leaned against it. She was moaning, her body growing rigid as the budding orgasm bloomed and pulsated through her. She looked down at him as he pulled back to look up at her, he merely smirked at the soft red tone of her cheeks. Placing a kiss on her hip he let his nose trace her stomach. He pulled the remaining garment she was wearing over her head and discarded it over one shoulder before stepping into her again. The after math was still evident in her eyes and he could feel his erection stiffen further just as her hand found it. His mouth fell open and it was her turn to smirk before she caught his lower lip between her own and sucked it into her mouth, her tongue soon finding its way between his teeth and he met it in a deep kiss.
She pulled her hand out of his pants and yanked them open, the button flying to land somewhere obscure as the pants were done away with.
He moved her to one of the posts of the bed and grabbed her thighs; lifting her and having her wrap her legs around his waist. She was panting now, between kisses and groans, his fingers everywhere good and his scent all over her. He entered her so roughly it made her moan loudly and as he hit the right spots with perfect aim she gasped again, not able to kiss him as she was afraid she’d faint if she didn’t get enough air. It didn’t take long for him to produce another incredible explosion within her and she clenched her jaws rapture.
He listened to her, loved hearing every last sound that she made. She brought her head forward and opened her eyes, resting them in his; and then the latter turned yellow as he vamped out. She blinked, looking at his changed appearance for a dragged out moment, taking it in before slipping one thumb over his cheek and then kissing him harshly, still meeting his thrusts as the feel of his fangs scraped her tongue. She felt she was close again and deepened the kiss even further, moaning as the wave of pleasure overcame her once more.
He moved them around the bed, turning around and sitting at the edge of the mattress and she pulled back, him going back to his human face as she put her hands on his knees and leaned back slightly to ride him. It was his turn to close his eyes, his own moaning growing as he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it back this time. The orgasm filled him and drained him at the same time, Buffy’s arms sliding around his neck as she moved closer to him, her lips against his temple and then her cheek against his.
Her hips were still moving, slowly, slowly, and he knew that they were far from done. This had gone on for hours during their brief affair in Sunnydale... They hadn’t even rolled away from each other, merely taken a short minute to regain strength and enjoy the afterglow of the pleasure they had just experienced, and then...
He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck and she drew a breath right before his tongue connected with her skin. She felt him get hard again, the throb inside her starting all over as well, as his coolness slid over her heat.
He moved them so that she was on her back, sliding his chest against hers as he placed himself on top of her. Her hands were on his waist, her legs spread wide and her eyes closed as she kept mumbling her approval of what he was doing to her. He got her arms over her head, his hands tracing them until they reached hers and he entwined their fingers in a stale desperation for something to cling to as his gaze met hers. They kept eye contact as their ignited bodies grinded in perfect rhythm. She moved her head up and caught his lips with hers, kissing him as her fingers held on tightly to his and he groaned as they climaxed together again.
They ended the kiss, their movements once more slowing and he rested his forehead to the spot between her breasts, her hands letting his go and slipping into his hair. She was in a haze of ecstasy mingled with the final happiness of knowing that he knew her emotions. The struggle she had dealt with for months had finally been lifted of one crushing burden. Her guard was down, her only thought of him and of how incredible he always made her feel. She thought of their long nights of passion in Sunnydale, in his crypt, in his bed, and she remembered how every time he had seemed to teach her something new of the power he possessed over her body and over every single sense it entailed. Now she smiled and then felt a light sting when he scraped his teeth against the skin of her right breast and it broke under their sharpness.
A wave of blinding wanting crashed through her and she drew a breath, her hands turning into fists in his short strands as she was painfully aware of how good he felt inside of her. His tongue lapped the blood gently, the wound closing almost the moment it was created and he felt barely aware of what he had done. Only the taste overflowed and suddenly he remembered the one drop of her blood he had ever had filling his senses before, when they had sparred in London... The thought of their fight got him hard again and he brought his head up and his mouth to hers as they began to move slowly, her hips meeting his thrusts.
He dropped the vampire face, pulled her with him as he sat up and then he slid out of her, flipped her over and grabbed her waist, entering her from behind and having her grab the covers with both hands as he now began to thrust himself deep into her. Both of their eyes closed, both of them groaning silently.
After a while of this overpowering pleasure Buffy straightened her back, having it connect with his chest and reaching an arm up to move it behind her and into his short bleached strands. His hands grabbed her breasts, massaging them lightly as she kissed his neck and then he moved one hand up to push her hair away from her throat. He could hear the rushing sound of her blood in his ears, the thumping of her heart; he could smell her arousal as well as that coppery scent which had for so long guided his existence. It flowed, right beneath her skin, crimson and with an inviting hush in every last beat. He vamped out again, bringing his face closer to her jugular and resting his lips against it as his movements of lovemaking slowed down. She had stopped kissing him, her breath now tickling his right earlobe as she rested her head on his shoulder.
He moved his left hand to her stomach, his right hand to her chin and made her turn her head slightly to give him a better angle. He licked his lips, his whole being filled up with the thought of tasting her just one more time...
He parted his lips and gently scratched one fang against her skin. She trembled in his hold, her arms going around to place themselves on his hips as she pushed herself harder against him. A drop of blood was slowly forming where his mouth was and he couldn’t wait for long until he pressed his tongue to the spot.
At the moment he did Buffy had a slowly building orgasm erupt within her and she clenched her jaws together before she had to relax into it and draw a breath instead. She was still panting, softly... pressing herself to him. Wanting him to do it again. Whatever it was he had done, he needed to do it again.
The wound closed as easily as its predecessor. Spike pulled back slightly, looking at it. It barely showed. He licked his lips again, running his nose along her cheekbone and to her jaw line, kissing her throat as he felt suddenly torn. He couldn’t remember why he should.
He glanced at her neck and made the decision. Putting his mouth back where it had been he softly made a deeper cut and gently lapped at it. It was nothing short of amazing, the high he got. It was powerful, the life force he was tapping into. It fled through him like a bat before the coming dawn, pulling red rays of light into every pore of him. He felt alive, like his heart was beating wildly within him, like he loved her.
He realized it was her he was feeling. Her love for him. It was her he was feeding from. And in a jerk he pulled away from her and pushed her away from him.
She landed on the mattress on her stomach, quickly turning around and looking up at him, her chest still heaving with the unbelievable sensations he’d instilled in her. At the look in her eyes he forgot about the worry, about the sudden regret, and could feel nothing but the need to be joined with her again. This astonishing, sizzling being that made him feel so completely laid bare, like his soul was reaching out for hers.
He crawled up, her legs parting again and a small smile on her mouth as he hovered on strong, tight arms, his face just above hers. She touched his cheek, then his torso as he again let it connect with hers, his lips finding hers in a kiss which needed no deepening, their tongues already playing a rough game. She rolled him over, straddling him and having him inside her the next moment.
“Buffy...” he murmured and she smiled again, closing her eyes as her hands trailed up his chest.
He grabbed her wrists and turned her over on her back once more, pinning her down and having her smirk, gaze again in his. She was wet and tight and in love with him and soon he came in a low moan of sheer delight. Brushing a few of her blonde strands from her face he kissed her deeply and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He brought his own underneath her and lifted her as he rose from the bed, smashing her, back first, into the wall beside the bed and having a painting fall to the floor with a crash.
She giggled, her mouth finding his again. His abandoned the kiss to move down to her chest, his tongue eagerly licking her tender nipples and having her breathing become even more irregular. He moved inside her, sending streams of heat through her and she was groaning again. Sweat was glistening on her, it tasted salty in his mouth. He vamped out, bringing his head to be able to look at her and she opened her eyes, the shadow of a smile on her mouth and a sudden wicked gleam in her gaze.
“Deeper,” she whispered and for a moment he was disoriented, but then he moved his hips harder against hers just as she bucked her back against the wall and she let out her pleasure unabashed before clinging to him.
Her hands stroked his hair, his neck, his back and she pulled back to join their lips, her tongue playing with his to then trace his fangs with soft moans rising out of her throat. She licked his lips and then pulled back to rest her eyes in his.
“Deeper,” she then repeated, her gaze filled with a slight terror and yet the ultimate excitement behind it.
He stared at her, feeling somewhat dizzy and out of his body. She tilted her head a little to the side and his eyes landed on her exposed neck. He stared at it, remembering how her blood had tasted, how it had coursed through him as though it was a part of him... He closed his eyes and moved his head forward, parting his lips and grabbing a tighter hold on her just before he let his fangs bite through her skin.
She gasped once more, then moaned, her hands in his hair as she felt the slowness of the draining begin. With every mouthful he took she had the same ignited surge of bliss run through her. She had never felt anything like it. It took her over. Her thighs were around his waist in a nearly crushing grip, her mouth open as she drew short, unsteady gasps.
Her blood was nectar, sweet and rare. It graced his tongue with a caress of velvet and continued down his throat with the softness of red silk. He felt stronger but weaker at the same time. He didn’t notice when they slid down the wall to sit in a heap still with her back leaned against it, but he did notice how relaxed she was getting in his arms, how her thighs were loosening their grip.
A flash of a memory brought him out of the slight psychosis and had him tear his lips from her flesh with a gasp of surprise, going back into human appearance in the same moment.
“Oh, God... Buffy?” he murmured, putting a hand up by her face, her eyes still closed. “Buffy?” he repeated, feeling panic swiftly rise within him.
What had he done?!
He hesitated, then slapped her over the cheek and she drew a slow breath, opening her eyes and rather bewildered meeting his. He reached out an arm and pulled down the top cover from the bed, moving it to wrap it around her shoulders and having it fall around his waist.
They sat like that for a short while as she had trouble focusing and then he simply brought one arm in under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her and carrying her to the bed. The cover slipped to the floor, but he pulled back the top sheet on the bed and placed her on the mattress before lying down beside her, pulling the sheet on them as she nestled her face against his throat.
“I’m really tired,” she mumbled and he closed his eyes to keep the tears from rising.
“Then you should sleep, yeah?” he said.
“Spike?”
“What, love?”
“You’ll be here when I wake up, won’t you?” she asked and he smiled a little, kissing her atop her head softly.
“Promise,” he murmured.
¤¤¤
She was in the oracle’s house. She walked around in the living room, which looked like a garden. It had grass for floor, a few twisted tree trunks for sofas and all over the walls grew stretching vines filled with flowers. They smelled of spring.
“Intikhar dorh,” the oracle said and Buffy nodded. “Sithir dorh,” the old woman added and pressed her hand to Buffy’s chest.
Buffy nodded again, then smiled.
“Always,” she then replied before she kissed the woman on the cheek and walked out of the room and into her old bedroom at Revello Drive.
She picked up Mister Gordo and sat down on her bed. Soon the door of one of her wardrobes slid open and Spike stepped through it, wearing his vamp face and smirking as he stalked up to her. She looked up at him where he stood before her and then she cocked an eyebrow.
“You never scared me, you know?” she pointed out and he cocked an eyebrow as well, a fag suddenly between his lips and she wrinkled her nose. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in here,” she pointed out. “You might wake her.”
“What, she all of a sudden smoke intolerant?” he asked as she rose and she gave him a look as she walked up to her window and opened it up, sticking her head out she looked down into the garden where the white clad form of a woman was lying on the grass. “It never bothered her before,” Spike’s voice added behind the Slayer just as she called out:
“Are you okay down there, Dru?”
The vampiress opened her eyes just as she vamped out and her dark hair flowed over her shoulders as she smiled a fanged smile, looking up at Buffy.
“I would like some cake,” she replied. “Without the wood in it this time,” she added thoughtfully, almost to herself.
Buffy smiled at her, pulled her head back inside and turned to Spike with an irritated glare.
“I told you ten times! Stakes in her cake makes her unhappy. It’s not very nice of you, is it?”
He rolled his eyes at her.
“I’m sorry, then,” he muttered.
“You apologize to HER,” Buffy reprimanded. “And...” she added, stepping into him and putting her arms around his waist, grabbing the two stakes he had tucked at the small of his back and bringing them out to wiggle them meaningfully in front of him. “I told you – you can’t run with these. One of these days you’re gonna get seriously hurt.”
“Fine, you go tell dingo boy to stop throwing them at me and I’ll leave ‘em the bleeding hell alone,” he huffed and she raised her eyebrows as he left the room.
She turned her head to the corner of the room where a dog was tied with a rope to one of the legs of her bedside table.
“Now, Dingo, boy,” she said, reproachfully, “what did I say about throwing stakes at daddy?”
“He tried to bite me!” the dog replied and she smiled.
“Stop that. He wouldn’t try to harm a helpless dog.”
“He eats kittens!” the dog nearly barked and she put her hands at her hips.
“Stop that!” she repeated. “It’s been a long while since he ate kittens, and he always snapped their neck first.”
“That’s what you think,” the dog muttered and she furrowed her brow.
“What?” she demanded.
“He bit YOU, didn’t he?” the dog asked. “Well, look!” it added with a nod to her mirror and she hesitated before she slowly turned to it.
She woke with a sharp breath and sat up, her heart racing in her chest. She looked around the room and in the next second the memories caught up with her. She remembered... everything. Her eyes widened as she carefully placed a hand against the left side of her throat. It was a little sore, and she knew it would be that way for at least two more days, while the bite healed.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry,” Spike’s voice came from her left and she turned her head to him where he sat by the side of the bed in a chair, wearing his pants, though they were loose around the waist since the button had flown into oblivion.
He looked like he had been crying. His eyes were slightly red, his hair stood at all ends. She shook her head a little, sliding off the bed and walking up to him in all her naked glory. He didn’t meet her gaze, couldn’t do it, it seemed. She sunk down on his lap, putting her arms around his neck and pulling her legs up to get as close to him as she could. There was another moment and then he gently put his arms around her as well.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, but he shook his head.
“You have to...” he began.
“No,” she stopped him.
It didn’t matter what he was going to say. That she should leave the room. That she should never see him again. That she should stay as far away from him as possible. That she should stake him. All of them were a no. There was no way.
“I love you,” she said and his hold on her tightened. “Hey,” she said, forcing him to rest his eyes in hers before she slowly repeated. “I love you.” He stared at her and she smiled. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s not your fault. We were both... out of our heads, I think. I...” She paused, observing him, then finished: “I wanted you to.”
“But...”
“No,” she said again. “None of that.”
She pulled back, meeting his gaze.
“I’m so sorry for all of these ups and downs we’ve had to go through, mostly ‘cause of me. Those are done with now. You love me,” she said, the sudden happiness in her gaze soothed the last of his unease and he felt his own begin to take form around his heart. “I was so scared that you didn’t,” she added and he smirked, kissing her on the mouth.
“There’s never been anyone else, love. Thought you knew,” he murmured and she closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder.
“I should’ve,” she mumbled. “I really should’ve...”
“All of that’s in the past now,” he said softly.
She smiled.
“Everything up until this moment,” she agreed, and he glanced at the two healing puncture wounds at the side of her throat when she again raised her head to have her eyes in his.
She made him meet her gaze again, her smile still on.
“Everything,” she repeated and he smiled a little back before they joined their lips in a deep kiss.
So it was real then. All of it. Her in his arms. It was true. It was unbelievable, but all he had to do was stroke his thumb slightly over her naked skin and he had to let his brain register that it wasn’t a fantasy, it wasn’t an illusion created by fluty dreams or ten bottles of bad liquor. She was his. His Slayer.
Buffy felt as though she could fly. Like she could take on anything. She had scarcely felt this happy and she couldn’t have killed the smile even if she had wanted to attempt such a masochistic deed. And she meant what she had said, their past was long gone. It was of little to no consequence.
She rested her eyes in his.
“Not everything,” he then disagreed. “Not the first time I ever laid eyes on you.”
“Not the first time I kicked your ass,” she filled in.
“Watch it,” he said and she smiled.
“Well?” she then encouraged and he tilted his head a little to the side.
“Not the moment I realized I truly loved you,” he stated, her eyes growing tender.
“Not the moment you convinced me that you did,” she said and he cocked an eyebrow.
“When was that?”
“When you told me why you did,” she answered and he smiled a small smile at that.
“Not the first time we kissed.”
“And would that moment be with me wearing your ring on my finger, or tied to the rising music and the rising... music?” she teased, having him put on a mock-shocked expression.
“Miss Summers!”
“To think, I could’ve been Mrs. the Bloody.”
“Kingsley,” he corrected and she smirked.
“Mrs. William Kingsley,” she tried it out loud, then sighed with a dreamy expression on. “Mrs. Buffy Kingsley.” She made a face, then laughed. “Needs a little getting used to.”
“Hey,” he pouted and she kissed him again.
“In the best way of the getting used EVER,” she assured and he stared at her, then his face split in a grin and it was his turn to kiss her.
“I did mean our first kiss WITHOUT a spell,” he said.
“Or a robot playing me,” she nodded innocently and he closed his eyes, shaking his head at himself.
“You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are you?” he grumbled and she giggled.
“No,” she then confirmed.
“But it lead up to another moment I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world,” he stated.
She grew serious as she eyed him, then she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. When she pulled back he smiled another small smile, looking almost timid.
“You never failed to protect Dawn,” Buffy stated and when he was about to open his mouth to protest she shook her head, and silenced him. “Not ever,” she emphasized.
“It’s strange to think it, Slayer... That we’ve both mourned each other,” he mumbled, stroking his fingertips through her blonde locks and she watched his face for the longest while before she nodded, curdling into his embrace and putting her forehead to his throat as she closed her eyes.
“I just wanna stay here with you,” she murmured. “Can I do that?”
“’S your room,” he said and she smiled again.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he answered silently.
“I know,” she whispered, her arms tightening their hold around his neck.
“Buffy...”
“I don’t want to deal with any of it right now,” she said, her fingers slipping into his hair and he closed his eyes as well. “Not just yet.”
“We’re not in Sunnydale anymore, love,” he remarked.
“Technically...” she began, trailing off when she heard him chuckle and she smiled too. “Let’s just stay really quiet and pretend we’re somewhere safe,” she added and he felt the very genuine tug her request held.
“Alright,” he then agreed.
He stayed really quiet for the coming minute, but then he had to very quietly ask the question:
“Does it hurt?”
She was falling asleep, he could feel it, but her eyelashes stroked the delicate skin of his throat as her eyes opened, and then closed again.
“No,” she answered. “Not at all.”