Book Two. Chapter 22. Tender looks becoming habit.


At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.
Plato

Love is something eternal, the aspect may change, but not the essence.
Vincent van Gogh

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
David Viscott

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act I, sc. I


There was something interesting that happened to females when infants were introduced. Even females that had never expressed an interest or desire or any other concern about children became enamored with infants. The tinier the better it appeared. Giles was fascinated by the entire process. Buffy was constantly holding the boy, Dawn was usually eager to play with him, Tara was downright motherly and, lo and behold, even the former vengeance demon Anya was reduced to googly eyes and sotto voce behavior. It thoroughly mystified him.

And while he could admit that the baby was kind of cute and appealing, he didn’t see the need to get all starry-eyed over his presence. What was interesting and perhaps of some importance, at least in his opinion, was the boy’s development. He reacted differently when certain people were around, and it appeared his sense of smell was acute, because whenever he smelled his bottle, he howled piercingly, until the bottle was put in his mouth. It was a wonder Spike hadn’t purchased earplugs to block out the sound. And it wasn’t crying. It was howling.

Like he was doing at the moment. Anya was in the kitchen, fixing his bottle, while Giles tried to calm the infant. It was proving unsuccessful. Connor was wriggling in his grasp, howling his displeasure to everything in the general vicinity, including dogs. Giles almost wondered if there was more than vampiric blood shared between Dawn and Connor, because the pitch in each of their shrieks had to be identical.

He was fumbling, awkwardly holding the baby up to his chest, trying to rub his back and pat him at the same time, while trying not to crumble to his knees because of the damage to his eardrums when Anya finally came back into the living room. “Giles. What are you doing?”

“Apparently nothing. Is that bottle done?” The frustration in his voice was evident and he unceremoniously thrust the baby at her. “Here. You take him.”

Anya cocked her head to the side, taking the baby and giving him the bottle all in the same motion, talking to the boy, making insane noises, but her words were directed at him. “Silly Poppa Rupie. . .he doesn’t know how to take care of hungry little babies. . . such a silly old man.”

Giles huffed a bit, when his brain registered what she was saying. “Really, must you?” He took off his glassed, peering at her intently. “I’m not old. Nor am I Poppa anything.”

Anya laughed. It was such a happy sound, one that she hadn’t made in quite some time, and it made him smile in return. She’d been so quiet lately, quite unlike her usual self, and it pleased him now to see her in a better frame of mind. “Giles. You need to lighten up and smile more. Makes you look younger.”

His retort of “well laughter suits you much better than brooding does,” was out of his mouth before he could censor it, and the look on his face made tears well up in Anya’s eyes.

“I haven’t had much reason to smile lately. I just don’t understand.” She looked away from him and he laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. He remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. “If you love someone you shouldn’t say mean things. And tell them to be quiet all the time, right?”

“And your relationship shouldn’t be something to hide either.” She looked up into his eyes, trying to find some enlightenment there. “Am I thinking wrongly? These emotions. . sometimes I just don’t understand.”

He was beginning to, understand that is. So he told her. “I think you aren’t wrong. In fact, you’re quite right in believing that being in love shouldn’t be hidden. Its something to celebrate.”

“I used to think so. But now I’m not so sure. I think love hurts too much.” Anya sat down on the couch in a huff, jarring the baby a bit.

“Perhaps you’ve just gone about this all wrong.” He stood in front of her watching her closely.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Anya flushed and looked away from him.

Rupert smiled slowly. “Because I’m just now realizing that you’re an amazingly attractive woman.”

Her gaze snapped up to his and he thought the blush blooming across her face was terribly attractive and distracting. “You are?”

“Yes. I am.” He smiled crookedly at her and sat down on the couch beside her, reaching for the remote. "Shall we watch some television?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Realizing belatedly that Angelus’ minions were deliberately herding him away from Buffy, Spike tried repeatedly to break through and get back to her. His worry for her was uppermost in his mind and even with his superior strength, he couldn’t break through the number of minions blocking his way. It was only when he realized they weren’t fighting him that he actually stopped.

The hum just beneath his skin had become a near shout and Spike whirled around thinking it was some new threat that was causing it. Should have fucking known. Expected it so, why didn’t I recognize it? She was cradled, ironically enough, in the outstretched arms of a winged marble angel. Cradled? She’s bloody lounging there like the bleeding Queen of Sheba.

The sight of Drusilla, ivory skin clad in scarlet and black lace, against a backdrop of pure white marble, normally would have moved him. Would have had him aching to be buried inside her, surrounded by crimson blood. Now, looking at her posed, he felt none of the old pull, none of the old attraction. No pulsing need to join with her. Just a naggingly real fear that something had happened to Buffy. He scrambled mentally, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this situation.

Playing for time, Spike paced in front of Drusilla. He waited for long moments, wondering what she was up to and why she would plan something like this. And as usual, she didn’t disappoint. “Hullo Spike.”

“Dru” was all he said, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Are you cross with me?” She pouted and where once it would have had him running to smooth things over or on his knees making it up to her, Spike just rocked back on his heels.

“Oh you are. . . . whatever for? Can’t be because I left you William, after all you left me first. Taken by sunshine.”

He remembered the first time she’d said that to him, a very long time ago, long before they’d ever decided to come to Sunnydale. He’d scoffed at her then, completely dismissing her. But he had been taken by sunshine. Call her that all the time. ‘S what she is. My sunshine.

Before he could say anything, Dru slithered away from the statue, flicking her fingers at the minions, dismissing them.

“Why did you come Dru?” He swung his arms wide. “Why bother? For him?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. In the days and weeks following his escape from the Initiative labs, he’d tried everything to get some help – his distress sending reverberations through the bloodlines – yet none had responded, not even her. Instead he’d been forced to seek shelter and asylum from the Slayer. It had been the right thing, but his sire should have cared. “I needed you then and you ignored me. He calls once and you drop everything?”

“Miss Edith said you were already lost.” Drusilla tried placating him, but Spike was beyond caring.

“Fuck that soddin’ doll, Dru.” He looked at her, eyes hard and unfeeling, his nostrils flaring. “For once in your life, Drusilla, just tell me the truth, in plain English.”

“The truth? The truth is a whisper on the wind, a ray of light in the dark. The truth is not for the likes of us.” She was shaking her head, swaying a bit. “The truth already knows you, William. Sunshine and baby flowers. Precious little strawberries.”

Buggering fuck. “Drusilla you are mad as a hatter.” He flung out an arm, gesturing wildly, pointing her eastward. Spike stepped closer, until he was within touching distance. “He will be dust Dru. Leave now while you still can.”

She snapped at him, then giggled. “So brave and gallant, my knight, always protecting his lady fair.”

Spike rolled his eyes, loudly growling his aggravation. “Not yours Dru. Not for a long time.”

Drusilla curled into him, her hands on the duster’s collar. “Always mine Spike.”

He pushed her away, hard enough to make her stumble to her knees. “No Dru. Not then and not now.” He loomed over her, about to say something else when his attention was pulled away. That mouth-watering scent filling his senses was enough to tell him that his Buffy was on her way, he didn’t need her pounding hearbeat to know how close she was.

“Spike?” There was a quavering tone to her simple question, but he heard the tension clearly. Right then, she’s already seen Dru. How’re you gonna fix this one, eh, mate?

“Sunshine?” It took her half a dozen steps to reach his side, but as soon as she was in striking distance he hauled her closer, his eyes roaming over her, checking for obvious injuries. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The hurt and fear were clearly audible in her tone and Spike knew it was because of the vampire behind him. She must have seen enough to misunderstand, or worse heard Dru’s last comment. He wasn’t hers. Had never really been hers, even when they’d been together. Spike stared down into Buffy’s eyes, his hands holding her shoulders so that she couldn’t possibly turn away from him. At first she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t return his gaze, but he shook her just a tiny bit and she finally looked up at him.

The emotion in his eyes humbled her. And yet there was still that tiny seed of doubt lingering in her mind. This was, after all, Drusilla she had found him with. Had it been Harmony, Buffy wouldn’t have felt it at all. But it wasn’t Harmony. Drusilla was the one constant in his life. And when she was gone. . . would it be Drusilla that he’d run too?

Drusilla was singing softly, swaying in time to a beat only she heard, her voice a bare whisper in the wind, and yet Spike felt no desire to turn away from the woman in his arms. His eyes bore into hers, midnight blue into forest green and he knew, oh yeah, nothin’ was worth losing her over. Not a bleedin’ thing on earth.

Without taking his eyes from Buffy’s Spike said to Drusilla, “go back to where you came from, princess. There’s nothin’ here for you.”

She couldn’t smile at him. Couldn’t make her face change expression. The only thing she could do was let the tears that had been held off by sheer force of will, well up in her eyes.

Sparing neither a glance nor another word for the vampire behind them, Spike moved closer to Buffy and kissed her forehead. Breathing out against her skin, he said, “c’mon kitten, let’s go home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn was spying again. She stopped at the top of the stairs, straining her ears for any sound from the two adults downstairs, but she couldn’t hear anything. It was driving her crazy, not knowing what the heck was happening in her own house. And this was crazy, whatever it was between Anya and Giles. Well, not in the sense that it was icky, coz it kinda wasn’t. But more crazy because Xander was gonna lose his mind when he found out about it. And really, Giles should know better than this, coz he’s like old. And hey, it was way better than Giles and Joyce getting together. Dawn suppressed a giggle when she realized that had been one of the couples she had thought might have been her real parents. Nope. Sooo glad it wasn’t Giles and Joyce.

Once she’d found out the truth, it made complete and total sense to her. She’d never questioned it, about Buffy and Spike, never even thought to question it. It just made sense. In the hellmouthy, nothing really makes sense sort of way. There were some couples that just made sense to her and some that . . . she couldn’t see. Like Tara and Willow made sense in the same way that Willow and Oz had made sense. In a really weird way, Oz and Tara made sense too, but not in the smoochies kind of way. They sort of just fit together.

Like Buffy and Spike. If there were ever two people who fit together better than those two, Dawn had never seen them. Even though they’d only been together since Buffy came back, it felt like forever. Felt like they belonged to each other. It was so different from when Riley was here. He constantly belittled everything, without even realizing it. He dismissed her friends as useless, even while he tried to be a part of them, and he treated her and Joyce like they weren’t real. Dawn wrinkled up her nose. But hey, Riley was way better than Angel. At least Riley had just treated her like a stupid kid. Angel had treated her like a cross between a meal and an alien. Even knowing that those memories were fake didn’t do anything to making them any better.

Her ears pricked up and Dawn heard movement downstairs. Giles murmured something, then it sounded like he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Taking the chance that he had, Dawn got up from her seat on the floor and made her way noisily down the steps.

Anya was changing Connor, after the chow hound had downed another full bottle and looked up when Dawn stopped at the doorway. “Hello Dawn.”

“Hey.” In preparation and as a cool cover, she had a full laundry basket in hand, using her chin, Dawn indicated the laundry. “I’m just gonna head down to the basement and you know, do some wash.”

“Okay. That’s a productive thing to be doing.” Anya nodded her head, then went back to her task.

“I’ll just do that then.” Dawn sauntered away, intent on her next target. Giles was in the kitchen, fiddling with the teakettle and obviously searching for something for them to snack on. “There’s cookies in the jar.”

He stood up so quickly that he nearly whacked his head on the cabinet, but managed to miss it by less than inches. “Dawn. You really shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“Right. Coz I was being all stealthy.” She rolled her eyes and pretended insolence. She shrugged. “Anyway. There’s sweet stuff in there. Plus I think Spike has some chocolate hidden somewhere.”

“No. I was just looking for some biscuits.” Giles folded his arms across his chest, contemplating the teenager in front of him. He started to say something, then thought better of it. Judging by the look on his face, Dawn had an idea of what it was, and she decided to stop that idea from blooming into full fledged research.

“I don’t want to talk about it. About Buffy and Spike. Okay?” She moved toward the basement door, then looked at him over her shoulder. “I just wanted to know who I am. Who I really belonged too. It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“All right Dawn. I won’t bring it up unless you want to talk about it.” He understood her need to discover who she was, and who she was part of; it made perfect sense.

His easy agreement seemed to soothe her nerves, because she smiled at him and he was forcibly reminded just who her parents were when the smile ended in a slight smirk. “Thanks Giles.”

She was gone in a swirl of long dark hair, the sound of her feet thudding down the stairs countered by the light tap of Anya’s heels on the kitchen floor. Pausing to wash her hands at the sink, she turned to face him. “Connor’s asleep.”

“Oh good.” Giles suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and he was relieved when the kettle whistled. “I fixed us some tea.”

“Are you nervous?” Anya studied him carefully, her eyes watching his every move.

“I am.” He fiddled with the kettle, filling the teapot and placing it slowly back on the burner.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” She smiled brightly at him. “I don’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Its not just you.” Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Giles stopped fiddling and looked directly at Anya. “Its me also. I’ve . . . I’ve developed. . . that is . . . “ oh buck up you git. “You are a beautiful and attractive and intelligent woman Anya. And you deserve much better than Xander Harris could ever give you.”

There. He’d said it. But he wasn’t prepared for her reaction at all, because when Anya burst into tears, Rupert Giles was at a complete loss. On the other side of the basement door, Dawn was silently screaming at him, give her a hug, c’mon Giles, just do it. Somehow, in the cosmic way of things on the hellmouth, he must have heard her, because Giles took two steps toward her and then folded her into his arms.

Peeking one eye through the partially opened door, Dawn pumped her fist once in the air, then with a huge grin, jumped down the entire flight of steps.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were quiet the whole way home, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, neither one of them willing to share at the moment. Spike had a feeling he knew what was bothering her, but he wasn’t really sure he wanted to start this discussion anywhere but inside the safety of their own home.

For Buffy, seeing Drusilla had dredged up lots of memories and emotions she didn’t want to face. Not for a very long time. Drusilla had the love of both Angel and Spike and she feared that she would never, ever be able to compete with that, to carve out a place for herself. She’d known, deep down inside, in some way that Angel was more in love with her image than the real deal, but she wasn’t always so sure about Spike. Not that she doubted he loved her, but. . . sometimes the doubt about how long and how deeply would creep in. He’d been with Drusilla for over a hundred years. That was, in itself, an incredible feat. How could she hope to measure up to that? She wasn’t even going to have twenty more years with Spike. And that hurt. Because right now she wanted a. . . lifetime. A real lifetime. She wanted to be able to see Dawn grow up and have kids; hell, she wanted to see Connor grow up. But she wasn’t going to get that. And Spike would have a really long time to forget about her. A really, really long time.

Trudging in the back door, they missed the hurried movements and guilty expressions on the faces of the other two adults, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Giles and Anya bid them a hasty goodnight, slipping out the front door within moments of their arrival, barely imparting that Dawn was downstairs doing laundry and Connor was asleep in the living room.

Spike went to the basement door, telling Dawn they were home then locking up, while Buffy silently collected the infant and drifted up the stairs with him. Normally, since they were home so very early, Spike would have settled himself in front of the television and watched some movies or something, but tonight he didn’t even look at the television. He locked all the doors, left a light on for Tara and followed Buffy up the stairs.

She was just putting Connor in his crib when he walked in the doorway, and he stopped to watch her for a long moment. He knew she was upset about Drusilla, knew it was bothering her but he suddenly couldn’t think of a way to get her to open up. The only light in their room was from the small bedside table lamp and he thought, while watching her, that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Figuring he might as well tell her that, Spike quietly murmured as he closed the door behind him, “you know she can’t hold a candle to you. You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

For once, he must have said the right thing, because she swung round to face him, her hands on the sides of the crib, her heart in her eyes.

“You are you know.” Seeing the denial on her face, Spike forestalled any vocalized refutation by closing the distance and repeating himself. “Trust me, kitten, she can’t compete with you at all.”

“Really?” Her voice was small and flooded with disbelief.

“Really.” He was standing close to her, nearly chest to chest, his hands resting on hers, his gaze focused intently on her. “Yeah. Really.”

Her eyes drifted closed and Buffy drew in a deep breath. His scent surrounded her, pulling her in and she swayed closer to him, just a little, but it was all the invitation he needed. Swinging up into his arms, Spike moved toward their bed, his words low and gruff against her ear. “If I have to prove it all night, I will.”

Arms around his neck, she nuzzled against the duster, wanting really to feel his skin. She must have made some noise, because he shifted her higher and her mouth sucked on a bit of his skin. He stopped in his tracks, inches from the bed, every nerve in him pulled taut. “Oh god, kitten. Don’t. . . not now.. . jus’ gimme a . . . “

His words ended in a growl when she nipped at the spot just under his ear. Spike couldn’t think, just wanted to feel her under his hands, responding to his touch. His brain was screaming at him to slow it down, but his body wasn’t listening. He moved his hands to grip her by the waist, rubbing his thumbs in circles on her skin. “Love you so much. . . so bloody much.”

Spike kissed her then, his mouth hungry and needy on hers, nipping at her lip, tongue curling against hers. She broke away, pushing the duster off his shoulders. “Spike. . . “

The momentary break gave him clarity. There were some things he needed to say to her, things she needed to understand. “Buffy. . . love, look at me.

He shrugged off the duster, tossing it on the chair behind him, stilling her almost frantic hands. “Hey, sunshine, listen to me. . . “ he caught the fear and tears in her eyes and he knew he had to speak before they got lost in each other. “Kitten, lemme hold you a moment. I want you to understand something.”

She nodded against his chest after burying her face against him, inhaling deeply. “I did love her.” He felt her stiffen in his embrace, but he knew he had to finish this. “I said did. .. . but it wasn’t anywhere near the way I feel about you. She freed me from being nothing, gave me enough to set me free of who I was. But she . . . much as I loved her, I wasn’t first in her heart. Not then. Probl’ly not ever.” Spike knew he was about to lay himself bare for her, but he didn’t care any more. He loved her, every inch, from her shampoo commercial hair to her incredibly powerful little feet; and it was time he made her understand what that meant.

“Dru was my way out. But you kitten, you . . . “ he smiled at her, a real genuine smile and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are everything. You make me feel things I’ve never felt, never thought I wanted to feel. You make me want things I told myself I couldn’t have anymore. I love you an’ I will never stop lovin’ you. Not if I live forever.”

Buffy pulled away from his chest, looking back up at him, tears sliding down her face. “I’ll love you even if you never love me back, kitten. I can’t help it. Don’t want to. Told you once I was drownin’, I meant it.”

Her hands slid beneath his shirt, curving up around his sleek back. She could feel the tension in him, feel that he was nervous about all this and Buffy just couldn’t fight it any longer. “I don’t want to lose you Spike. Not for any reason.”

“You’re not gonna sweetheart.” Inhaling deeply, Spike took one last gamble, and prepared himself for the rejection. “I . . . Buffy. . . “ he had to clear his throat, because the emotion was clogging it and he couldn’t force the words past his tongue, couldn’t even get them to form. . . but then a memory of another time he’d asked her something similar crossed his brain, and Spike grinned internally. Maybe. . . “I love you kitten. An’ I’m askin’ you to hear me out, before you say anythin’.”

Buffy smiled at him, then settled down on the bed, pulling him up after her. Her head hit the pillow and she waited patiently. He hovered over her, held away from her body by the strength of his arms, his face inscrutable. “The bond Dru an’ I shared was only Sire and Childe. . . nothin’ more. She wouldn’t . . . didn’t want to make it anythin’ deeper. An’ after a while I stopped thinkin’ about it.” Spike paused when she started to speak, saying, “Shush. I asked you to wait, yeah? Right then.”

“Stopped wantin’ anything deeper with her. With you, though, its different. All I want is more . . . somethin’ deeper. Something permanent. I want you with me . . no, not turnin’ . . . never that. But, kitten, I want . . . I’m askin’. . . : He slumped a little, his forehead resting against hers, unable to force the question out. Christ, why was this easier hopped up on magics than now? Coz now, you git, it means more.

“Spike?” Her arms were around him and he nearly couldn’t think anymore. “What are you saying?”

He blew out the breath he didn’t need to hold and ruffled her hair in the process. “I’m sayin’, Buffy, that I love you more than anythin’ else and that I want to make this permanent.”

Buffy brought a hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to lift away from her forehead and look at her. “What are you asking me Spike?”

“Stubborn bint. Gonna make me spell it out for you?” He rolled over then, getting himself into a sitting position against the headboard, then pulled her over onto his lap. “All right then. Not gettin’ down on bended knee, already did that.” Taking a deep breath and not looking away from her, Spike finally spoke. “Guess I should have planned this out better, but . . . Buffy?”

Her smile was soft and full of love, something he never expected to see. “Spike? Would it help if you already knew the answer?”

Without thinking, the words shot out of his mouth, “bloody right it would. Never thought askin’ you to be mine would be this hard.”

Her giggle lit up the room and he realized belatedly what he’d just done. “Oh bollocks.” Spike watched her, then just finally said what he’d been thinking all along. “Wanna make you mine, kitten, want you to be my Mate. That means forever. Always. No matter what happens. We’d belong to each other.”

Book Two, chapter 23. An ever fixed mark.

For you and for me the highest moment,
the keenest joy,
is not when our minds dominate but when we lose our minds.
Anais Nin, Feb. 1932 from Henry and June

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Sonnet CXVI




Her smile faded a bit when she heard him say forever. “Spike, I don’t have forever.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her still. “We don’t know that. Gonna have as long as I can give you, an’ even then it doesn’t matter. I’ll love you for the whole five minutes I have after you’re gone.”

Buffy’s brow wrinkled as she said, “five minutes? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Coz, sweetheart, I’m not living if you aren’t. Not going through that again. Chances are no one’ll be stupid enough to try an’ bring you back a third time.” He held on, his fingers almost digging into her muscles, willing her to understand what he was saying. “I couldn’t. . . not even for Lil Bit.”

“Oh. You . . . love me that much?” Her small hand reached up to run down his angular cheek, her eyes on his.

“Yeah. Been tryin’ to say that.” His hold on her eased a bit, letting her relax in his arms. “So?”

“So. . . you are asking me to . . . asking if I want us to belong to each other?” She was stunned, in a way. He was – the few times she’d paid attention when Giles was going over claims and mating, she understood that it was unbreakable, that it was powerful and that it was forever, more binding that any ring or legal documents could ever be – asking her to take a monumental step in their relationship.

It had only been a few months. . . since her return, since they’d become a couple. Was she ready for this? This was a huge commitment, bigger than anything she’d thought. She and Spike had sort of just drifted into this relationship, bypassing the dating thing she’d done with Riley. Unfair comparison Buffy, Spike is completely different from Riley. . . and stop thinking about him. Pushing him out of her mind, Buffy focused on Spike. He was pretty much everything she ever wanted but didn’t know; everything she needed and hadn’t realized. So what if it was only months. . . she had the sudden feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if it was only days.

Buffy was silent for so long that Spike braced himself for the rejection he believed was coming. He looked away from her, his jaw clenched and body poised to get up and leave her alone, because he didn’t think he could sleep next to her if she refused him. She opened her mouth and Spike’s every muscle tensed.

“You want me to be yours. You want to be mine. That’s what you’re asking me, right?”
She wished he would look at her, because this was just so hard to say, so terrifying to admit.

“Yeah. ‘S what I’m askin’.” Her finger traced over his lips, and he unconsciously kissed the tip.

“Then maybe you wanna look at me when you get your answer.” Her words were a bare whisper between them.

Spike glanced down, prepared to look away quickly when he saw denial and was instead trapped by the love he found swimming in her eyes. Her hands pulled his forward, linking their fingers together. She opened her mouth, to say it, when her answer got caught in her throat and all she could do was nod her head in a yes. “Is that a yes, kitten? Coz I need to hear it.”

His voice was as quiet as hers had been and she finally managed to get it out. “Yes. That was a yes.”

The rumbling in his chest vibrated through her and Buffy melted into his arms. “Love you kitten, I do. Always.”

“Me too Spike.” She leaned closer into him and he could feel every inch of her against him and that was no longer enough. He needed to feel her around him, letting him sink into her depths.

Seemed like they both had had enough of talking, because the same instant his hands snaked beneath her shirt, hers wormed their way under his tee shirt lifting it up so that she could feel his skin. When they were both naked from the waist up, Spike leaned forward, reverently kissed both her nipples and then latched onto one of them. His hands caressed her and Buffy held him to her, her fingers smoothing up and down his sleek back, then resting in his curls.

His lips traced a path across her breasts, finding her other nipple. One hand wrapped around her, settling into the small of her back while his thumb made lazy circles over her puckered nipple.

She was melting, falling into him, wanting more when he moved, lifting her away from his mouth and hands. Buffy whined his name and Spike grinned a little, growling, “kitten, wanna be inside you, but this isn’t gonna work with clothes on.”

Standing her up, Spike popped the buttons on her pants, sliding them down to her feet in the same motion. One hand trailed up her inner thighs, parting her legs. His low rumbles of pleasure went right through her and he could sense the shift in her.

“C’mere.” he growled out as he pulled her closer. Buffy drifted toward him, gasping a little as two fingers slid up into her warmth. All her attention was focused on his fingers, the sensation of him gliding in and out of her, his thumb pressing on her clit. She wavered on her feet, her knees buckling at bit, forcing her to hold onto his shoulders.

One handed Spike somehow managed to get his boots undone and was working on getting them off his feet, trying to work the buttons on his jeans at the same time. Buffy broke free of the haze of want surrounding her to realize that he was struggling to get naked. Her small hands slid down his torso, cupping his ass under the denim. He stood, his fingers trailing wetly up and around her breasts. Buffy’s hand traced up his hipbone, over the hard planes of his shoulder and chest, finally resting on his face, her thumb tracing patterns over his lips. A soft smile bloomed across her features and one word slipped from her.

It was all the signal he needed. She’d done it. Said she wanted it and now. . . “Yeah, kitten. Yours.”

He closed the small distance between them, his erection hard against her belly, his arms reaching out to hold her close. They met each other in the distance between, lips melting together, tongues clashing. His hands were under her ass, lifting her up and Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist. “Need to feel you kitten. . . need you.”

Spike laid them down on the bed, his cock teasing at her entrance. “Now Spike, please.” She panted into his mouth, begging him to take her.

Shifting his hips, Spike pushed up and in, kissing her deeply at the same time. Buffy opened herself, guiding him in, her breath hitching when he finally slid in all the way. A tiny grunt of pained pleasure was forced from her and she whispered softly, “oh. You . . fill me.”

“Buffy. . . “ he was thrusting hard, angling deep, his forehead resting on hers. “Love you. Love you. . . . love you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she dug her fingers into his back, holding on. “Spike. . . Spike. . . “

Hard and fast he pounded into her, unable to slow down, thrusting out of control. His hips were pistoning into her and Buffy was writhing beneath him, holding on, her legs against him and Spike was going to. . . his balls were tight and hard and he knew she was close because she was frantically moving in time and his fangs were itching to taste her and he reared back, lifting her with him and he licked a path across her throat once and struck.

Buffy shrieked once as her first orgasm hit, then clamped her own teeth down on his neck and Spike was lost.

Her blood was on his tongue, inside him and he could feel her. . . every part of her, knew when her tears stopped then started again. His hips stilled, their gasping panting breaths filling the air, her tears pooling in the hollow of his shoulder and Spike felt his own tears welling up. He licked his marks closed, savoring the feel of her everywhere on him, her coppery sweet taste in his mouth.

Spike looked into her eyes, both wet with tears, his hands cupping her head, whispering softly, “mine.” He inhaled deeply, breathing out, “always. Forever. Mine. Till everything fades away an’ there’s nothing left.”

Buffy’s smile wavered a bit, fresh tears falling again. “Yes. Yours.”

His lips were gently on hers, then he whispered, “your turn.”

Her smile broke through the tears and she asked, “this means you can’t ever leave me, right?”

“Means I won’t. . . but yeah.” He waited, wondering what she was about to do.

Her arms circled round his head and she gave a good imitation of his growl, saying, “mine. . . mine. . . mine.”

Spike laughed then from sheer relief, then said back to her, “yours. Always. F’rever.”

Buffy’s head dropped down onto his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. They were both quiet, neither one wanting to break the silence, Connor shifted in his crib, let loose a soft howl, then stilled again.

It seemed to break the silence between them and Buffy kissed the broken skin on his neck, feeling him shudder. His movement caused ripples through her and Buffy shifted a bit on his lap. “I’m not gonna get all fangy, am I?”

Spike laughed again, this one hard enough to forcefully remind her they were still intimately joined. “No. Though no one’s ever claimed and mated a slayer before. According to Rupert they were only potentials. Don’t rightly know what this is gonna do.”

“Spike?” There was a strange note in her voice.

“Yeah?” He leaned back a bit to look down at her.

“Can you never ever mention Giles again when we’re. . . . “

His laughter rumbled through both of them and he fell back, bringing her with him. She landed hard, and his hips bucked up, flexing in reaction. Instantly his expression changed and Spike reached up to cup her breasts. “That’s it kitten, need you again.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had practically run from the house, barely taking time to say good night to the two blonds and give them an update on the whereabouts of the two children. Giles didn’t question them on how patrol went, eager for once to escape the scrutiny of the normally too perceptive vampire. But Spike hadn’t noticed anything amiss, hadn’t picked up on the awkward atmosphere between himself and Anya, which was a blessing in and of itself.

He was quiet on the drive to the apartment she shared with Xander, unsure of what to say or how to broach any subject. Giles had come to appreciate much about the ex-demon, including her wit and drive, and he was beginning to suspect that he might harbor more than friendly or co-worker affection for the girl. But there was the very real complication of her current romantic partner. Until she gave him some indication that they were no longer a couple, Giles had to operate under the assumption they were. And he wasn’t a poacher. He’d wait until she was free; If she ever decided to cut the boy loose.

But until then, he wasn’t going to make a move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn heard them come in, heard Spike’s voice from the top of the stairs telling her they were home, then the slam of the front door indicating Giles and Anya had left quickly. Anya was strange, but she was cool, and since life was pretty good, Dawn wanted everyone to be happy.

Finishing up her laundry, Dawn headed for the living room, fully expecting to find Spike settled and already channel surfing. Instead the room was dark, only one light on and he was nowhere to be found. That was a surprise, because it was barely midnight and he rarely went to bed this early. Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn flipped on the television, curled up on the couch and prepared to watch bad late-night shows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was draped over him, one leg curled over his hips, his cock still nestled in her depths and she was snoring lightly. Spike was wide awake though, his thoughts on the girl in his arms, one hand making idle circles on her bare back. He couldn’t sleep. Almost didn’t want to. He was listening to the sounds of Buffy’s and Connor’s breathing and heartbeats, his mind on what he and Buffy had just done.

It was the single most important moment of his existence. He had no words to explain to Buffy what it meant to him, how important her acceptance and yes, he could admit it now, her love meant. Buffy shifted, her mouth brushing against his skin in an unconscious kiss, and he fought off a shiver. Spike ran his hand over her from hip to shoulder, watching her as the skin of her back almost rose to meet his touch. She was gold and sunshine, her whole existence warming him, everything about her . . . There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. Wasn’t anything . . . he’d go out and slay demons for her every night, protect those she loved – anything she wanted. Emotions clogged in his throat, choking him, and Spike felt a sudden need to look at her face, to look into her eyes and tell her what he was feeling.

Rolling over gently, Spike rearranged their bodies and limbs so that he was laying over her; his arms going round her head, his hands ghosting through her hair. He studied her face in the dark, the only light now from a candle he’d lit much earlier, that was beginning to gutter, casting wavering shadows over her features. “I love you. So much. “

He’d slipped from her warmth during the shift and he wanted back in; wanted to stay inside her forever, become part. . . they were a piece of each other, half of a whole that had been broken for so long. Spike didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of soulmates, but he understood that there was more in heaven and earth that defied description. They defied description. He also didn’t believe in fate or destiny, life and unlife had thrown him too many curves to believe any longer, but he knew there was life after death, hell he was unliving proof of that. . . but the other kind of life after death; finding a piece of heaven when you least deserved it or least expected it. He’d found it, here, in her arms. With her. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should still believe in destiny. . . .

He sat up a bit, looking down at the still sleeping woman beneath him. Of their own volition, his hands stroked over her every curve, feather light and reverent. His eyes drank in her appearance. That this. . . was granted to him, when he’d least deserved any being’s kindness humbled him, altered him in ways that he might never begin to fathom, made him more than what he was, more than the failed poet, more than the violent demon. . .

Following his fingers, Spike laid gentle kisses in a path from her belly to her breasts, unaware of the tears that pooled in his eyes. She’d been gone. Taken from him, from all of them. He’d never thought to see her again. Her light had gone out, extinguished too soon, in fight to preserve everything she loved. And he’d wept. Mourned her loss. Flung his tears and anger at the heavens, raging at a universe that had taken the one beautiful thing in his life, leaving him bereft. Empty.

His love was a fierce feral beast inside him, raging against what had been torn away, unable to truly wreak the havoc he’d wanted too when she was gone.

He’d raged, using the only things he had, fists and fangs, destroying the only things he could – his own kind. And his one fervent prayer – the only one he could ever remember saying for a very, very long time – his only request of the universe, had been granted.

Never had he wanted it granted in the way it had been, would have preferred to let her be in peace, but that wasn’t to be. She’d been given back to a world that didn’t appreciate her, didn’t know what it had in her – and to him.

She was back, flesh and blood and warm. . . oh god, warm beneath him, breathing, living. But she was broken. Broken by her journey back, broken by the heartache that had gone before; by life and heartbreak. And yet, she’d begun the inevitable process of healing. Starting with him. Buffy had wanted him, needed him – took strength from him.

And now here he was. With her. In their bed, their house.

Spike felt the pull of the poet he once strove to be raging through him, urging him to put pen to paper and compose something, anything to convey to her the breadth and depth of his emotions. Tamping down that urge, instead, he let his body worship hers, his lips reverently tracing every part of her, his words, meager as they were, a benediction, a plea, all whispered in gratitude for what they had now. “Love you, Buffy. So much.”

Kisses interspersed with words flowed from him, washing over the still form of his mate, his entire being focused on her. “Always. Forever.”

So intent upon her was he, yet still he missed the signs, missed the wakening and missed the tears falling silently at his hushed words of adoration; until warm hands reached to cup his cheek, tracing their own patterns on his alabaster skin.

She didn’t speak, listening instead to his deep rumbling tomes wash over her. Lines long forgotten from an old Scottish poem he barely remembered his grandfather reciting to his grandmother flashed into his head and he used it to tell her what he was feeling.

“You are the star in my every night.” His lips trailed across her belly, his hands caressing her gently.

“You are the brightness of every morning.” Spike licked and suckled at her nipples. “You are the face of my sun.”

His mouth licked a path upwards, toward her mouth. He caught the look in her eyes and all words, all thoughts fled. “‘m yours. All I ever was, ever will be. . . love you so much.”

Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. “Spike.” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think of anything to say that would compare to his words. So she showed him.

Her lips sought his, her hands slid across his sleek muscles, her body that called to his.

Following his earlier actions, Buffy laid soft kisses over his shoulders, tiny little teasing things, designed to drive him mad.

“Kitten. . . need you . . . need inside.” Suiting action to word, Spike nestled between legs, his cock bumping against her clit. “C’mon love, lemme in.”

Buffy shifted, opening herself, tilting her hips so that the head of his cock was wedged tightly just inside her. Spike was panting, his breath washing over her while Buffy was desperately trying to gain control. “Spike. . . love me.”

“Oh god.” And as he slid inside, the control he’d been relying on deserted him. “Fuck.”

His hips thrust hard into her, his hands clenching around hers, and there was nothing but the feel of her around him, the liquid heat enveloping him. . . the silky slide of her. . . Surrounding him, bathing him in her warmth. He groaned, unable to think, unable to be any. . . every nerve was on fire.

Buffy clung to him, her hips moving with his, her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring them together. He was hard and solid, filling her, his cock bumping against her and all she could do was gasp and whimper.

He could feel the pressure building, gaining in intensity and speed, his thrusting increasing in speed, his balls tightening painfully and he was gasping out her name, breathing into her mouth, aching for her and he felt the fluttering, the spasming, the tightening of her pussy around his cock and Spike was lost. His orgasm rose up, engulfing both of them, breaking like a wave within her, shattering his world and reforming it into something new.




 

Book Two. Chapter 24. Hope is a waking dream.

What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton, Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1

There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.
Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House

And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,
out of which springs hope and consolation.
Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life




She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs. Everything was normal. Well, as normal as their lives were.

That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumpies or fangs. Nope. Nothing there.

Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines. She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, but that was only a matter of time.

He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics. Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”

Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough, goldilocks.” His eyes held a spark of mischief. “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think its gonna happen.”

‘Why not?” She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird that was. “Um not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, um, not so nice, but how come?”

Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him. The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy. He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him. There was something about her that was different, newer. . . .

“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”

“No?” She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.

“Not bloody likely.” He ran a finger over her lips. “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way. . . warm and . . . “ he nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose. “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine. Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”

Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her. “Delicious?” His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass. “Me?”

“Fuck yeah.” His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue. “Yeah, richer, stronger. Fuller. . . .” Spike sniffed her again, this time not with the intent of seduction. Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.

Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply. He’d smelled something like this before. . . Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes. He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.

“Spike, what are you doing?” His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts. ‘Spike? What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor. Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.

“Christmas is less than a week away. Do you know what you’re gonna get him?” Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.

“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.” Dawn scrunched up her face. “But I gotta get Buffy’s too, and something for Giles. I’m done with everyone after that.”

Janice sighed, grousing. “You suck. I haven’t even started. Not fair. How come you’re nearly done?”

“Spike gave me money over the weekend. Figured I might as well get it done. It was easy shopping for him.”

“Yeah? Whadidya get him?” Janice was curious.

Dawn snickered. “I got him music. The essential Clash and um. . The Buzzcocks.”

“Cool.” Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her then sat down. “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”

A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him. “Sure. I can do that.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Everything was cold. She was cold. Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away. Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken. Her once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly. Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry and every nerve ending was dulled and aching. Her left wrist was sore. There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved. Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.

Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the bed she was tied to. But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling. She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.

There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up; no way of remembering what had gone on before. She was nothing. There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood. Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. . . was it days? I don’t remember.

Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. . . Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone. She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.

I’m gonna survive this. Gonna. . .not going to let this kill me. Not going let either of them kill me. A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.

Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant. Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail. The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound. There was no hiding.

Not even her mind would go away. . . . leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.

She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captors arrival. Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh. Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.

Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.

Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes. She stilled, knowing something was different. . . . he was different right now.

Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat. No . . . no . . .no . . no. . . not this. Not now. . . she wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a god that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul; for a moment of compassion that would never come.

Rough calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrunk away from him. Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands. Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.

The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth. No no no. . . her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her. .

Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale. The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant. It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer. He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea. Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting. His guard had been up, his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue. So that was one avenue of chip removal that he refused to pursue further.

According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs. Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.

She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe. Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets. Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos. But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days; which just increased Wesley’s distraction.

The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact, the last surgeon on their list, refusing to remove the chip. They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.

“Do we have a way of contacting the Initiative?” Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.

Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him. “I believe Buffy knows how to. I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”

Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them. Might as well be tonight.”

Rupert grimaced. “Happy bloody Christmas.”

“Indeed. I take it this will not be received happily.”

“Not likely.” Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall. Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, but she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed. Doesn’t matter any now. Don’t care. Need to see her. To feel her. She’s mine. My girl.

The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering and going about their day. Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know. Placing a hand up, Willow muttered “mute” and all the noise receded.

“Hello Tara.” Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.

“Willow. How are you?” Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group. Realizing it wasn’t natural Tara stared at Willow, then said, “release them Willow or this discussion will never get started.”

Chastised, Willow complied. “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”

“What’s there to talk about? You’ve changed, Willow – you aren’t the same girl I fell in love with. And I’m not the same either.” Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.

“I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right. I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.” Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.

“I suppose that’s an admission, but really Willow, its not enough.” Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, and there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.

“What would be enough?” Willow was at a loss.

Tara was shaking her head. “Until you figure that out Willow, I can’t be around you.” Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit. “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”

With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “you hurt a lot of people, those same people that care. You need to figure out what’s more important.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery. Daytime sex with Spike was the best she decided. Didn’t matter really what time of day, but there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.

She was flat on her back, Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively. He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was. This was so comfy. . . Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank. She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.

His low voice rumbled out of him, “wha’s wrong?”

She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure kitten?” His voice was so sleepy. I love that sound.

“Ahuh. Pretty positive.” She hugged him closer. “Nothing’s wrong here.”

“Mmmm.” He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.

“Spike? What do you want for Christmas?” Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.

“Nothin’. Already got more than I hoped for. Don’t need anythin’.” She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.

“Not about what you need, silly. Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.” She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.

“Sunshine. Got all that. Got everythin’ I want right here.” He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.

“C’mon Spike, there has to be something you really want.” Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking. . .

Spike lifted up to look down at her. “Buffy. Isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.“ He paused, his eyes intent up on her. “Wha?”

There was a look he’d never seen before on her – hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes. “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”

Oh, she’s got something on her mind. “All right, what is it?”

She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now. “Never mind. I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”

“You sure?” Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again. “C’mon sunshine, tell me.”

“Nope. Its gonna be a surprise.” Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her. Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.

“Hey.” His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.

“Hey.” He could see she was upset, but knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out. His patience was rewarded not moments later.

“Ran into Willow just now. I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t. I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.

“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it. What she did.” Tara sighed, smiling sadly. “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”

“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.” Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.

“I guess. Its just hard watching it.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.

“Always is.” He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hours later, when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.

Just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them. Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them. He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt. He never voiced it, but Buffy knew he was thinking of two things, her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them. So she didn’t balk – much.

They were heading out when Giles stopped them. “Buffy? Can you wait a moment? I’ve got some news.”

“What’s up?” Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail. Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.

“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada. I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here. I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.” He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again. “We could use a normal surgeon.”

The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret. Their silent communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.

It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them. “How long have you and Spike been mated?”

Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “how? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking. Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “about three weeks ago.” Then she giggled and said, ‘okay it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”

“Ah.” Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense. “And you kept this to yourselves because?”

“Its private, Watcher. Not somethin’ for the masses.” He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set. Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, but Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive. Giles had expected something like this – been waiting for it actually and wasn’t really all that surprised.

“Have you noticed any changes?” He couldn’t help asking. Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive. Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.

“We can sorta talk to each other.” Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “okay, Spike can talk. I’m still working on the verbal. But I can do pictures and emotions. Go me!”

“Spike, is that normal?” Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at the other Englishman’s answer.

“Dunno. Never done this before.” Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.

“Never done this? Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?” He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads. Well that was bloody news. He’d thought for sure the two had been mated. “But the Watcher’s Diaries state that.”

Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.

“Should know by now Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate. Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.” Spike stepped closer to Buffy. “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”

Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “indeed. The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”

“Not sure I trust them at all.” Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “no reason to. Haven’t done right by you at all.”

She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair. His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation. “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”

“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.” Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.

Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation. “Fine. Call them. ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”

He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation. “C’mon, if you’re still comin’. Night’s still young.”

And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings. It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented. Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.

Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed. Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whomever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.

Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.

There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.

Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf. His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’ last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.

Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment. Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows. A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought. Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.

The vampire hadn’t expected this – hadn’t remembered this about the human at all – had imagined this one would be less of a challenge. But he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.

The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake. Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, but he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.

Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further. But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.

Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his finger’s into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh. Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.

Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.



 

Book Two, chapter 25. Eye of the Hurricane.


Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane
Walt Whitman, To the Man-of-War-Bird

Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: It had to be!’
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’
Thomas Hardy, And There Was a Great Calm


The view from the hill looks bleak from where I stand
The waters are come in unto my soul
I can’t cry no more my eyes are bone dry sore
There’s a river of tears flowing down to the sea

I’m a desolate soul on a desolate shore
Destined to walk alone
Into the crucifix night
The storm of a cross
I live to love again and again
All my life

Oh eye of the hurricane
I walk away in the wind and the rain
Into the eye of the hurricane
Face to face
The Alarm, Eye of the Hurricane, 1990




“Look, I’m not chipper and cheery about this either. So not wanting to trust the Initiative, but Spike, it has to come out.”

They’d been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, not really fighting, as far as Wesley could tell, although there were moments when it was abundantly clear that Spike was not happy about using the Initiative. Wesley, thanks to some late night sharing over pints, had the background on the situation, probably even more than Giles had. Because Spike had been more forthcoming than usual that night, Wesley also knew what had transpired between Buffy and her former boyfriend.

And while Spike couldn’t remember specifically if Riley had been present during some of the more twisted “experiments” Wesley suspected Riley Finn had tested the vampire’s strength more than once. So his sympathies weren’t even in doubt in this situation. He didn’t want to subject Spike to more abuse at the hands of the military. Which was why he opened his mouth when there was a lull between verbal sparring matches.

“I’d like to be there to ensure nothing untoward happens.”

Both blondes looked at him, one confused and the other, it appeared, more than relieved someone else picked up on his apprehension and distrust.

“Why?” Spike sighed. Sometimes his woman was a bit too slow on the uptake.

Wesley’s answer was quick. “Because, like Spike, I don’t believe that the Initiative would just willingly let him go once they have him again.” Taking a deep breath and sharing a look over her head with his fellow ex-patriot, Wesley finished with, “nor do I trust that your former companion won’t seek some sort of revenge while Spike is incapacitated.”

The two Englishmen shared another look. Wesley’s support meant more than Spike was willing to admit and he was reassured by the idea that someone other than Buffy was going to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings. And not just someone. Spike had a healthy respect for Wesley that was more the beginnings of real friendship than anything else.

Buffy was about to speak when three cell phones simultaneously chirped.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara was in the library of UC Sunnydale, studying for her last final, head immersed in abnormal psychology and oblivious to anything else, when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, making it jump across the table.

Jumping a little herself, Tara grabbed her bag, and reached inside for the buzzing phone. Looking down at the voice mail message, Tara quickly packed up her things and with a quickly murmured “sorry” to her study group, she got up and left the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giles was just settling down to read, after putting Connor down, when his cell phone rang. Fumbling for it, he heard Dawn’s door open, then the quick patter of her feet, and the thud of them hitting the stairs.

“Giles? Did your phone go off?” Seeing the item in his hands, Dawn held up a hand, “don’t bother. Its Oz. Something’s wrong, because he didn’t finish the message.”

“Yes I see that.” Giles checked his own, just in case, then snapped his head up. “Go upstairs and check Connor. I’ll get everything ready.”

“What do you mean everything?” Dawn watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

“If he’s hurt, he’ll need transport to hospital. I’m going to get the car. See to the baby please.” Giles grabbed his coat, motioning Dawn toward the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be safer if Connor and I stayed here?” She faced Giles from the stairs where she’d started ascending.

He thought for a moment, weighing the options. There was no way of knowing until they found out where he was, what the situation was. “Perhaps waiting might be best. Do you know where he was going to be tonight?”

Dawn shrugged. “Nope.”

“Right then. We’ll wait. Dawn, check on the baby anyway.” Giles motioned her toward the second floor, then shrugged out of his jacket.

Placated that he wasn’t going to rush out, Dawn headed up the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moving quickly from the library, Tara hit automatic dialer and got Spike on the first ring.

“What do you know Glinda?” His voice was steady, no hint of anything going on other than him waiting for her phone call.

“He’s rehearsing.” Was her first statement.

“Where?” He motioned his companions to silence.

“Not far from the college, one of the old converted warehouses on the end of Main Street.”

“Which one?” He moved closer to Buffy, letting her listen in.

“Not sure. Never been to rehearsal with him.” Tara was using her intuition, letting her feet guide her in the right direction. “I’d do a locator, but it would take too long.”

“All right. I’ll head over there with Buffy, an’ send Oxford for the wheels.” Clicking off the phone, Spike indicated to Buffy and Wesley what Tara hadn’t said. “We need to go now. Got a hunch dogboy could use a hand.” Pointing to himself and Buffy, he said, “we can get there faster without you.”

“I’d best go for the car then, in case we need to get him to Sunnydale Memorial. I’ll call Dr. Thomas, let him know we might be coming in.” Wesley headed off toward the cemetery’s entrance, Buffy and Spike just behind him.

“Oxford. Watch your back.” And with that the two blonds took off, running full out toward the warehouse district.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara closed her eyes after ending the phone call, inhaling deeply and centering herself. She was worried about Oz, knowing the quiet man wasn’t the type to jump and send messages that weren’t false alarms. He was more likely to downplay any danger.

Once she achieved a sense of calm, Tara thought to herself . . and realized how incredibly vulnerable she was in the nearly deserted area between the college and the warehouse district. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Tara immediately cast the sunlight spell, sending the ball of sunshine up and over her head. There. That will keep me safe for now.

Reaching out her senses, Tara started off toward her left, following her intuition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike, on the other hand, was using his knowledge of two things, the musical underground and his sense of smell. Not quite on a level with a werewolf’s, Spike’s heightened sense was enough to lead him unerringly to the rehearsal building, once he had a general location.

Buffy was running alongside him, holding back because she was relying on his sense of smell, and she stole a glance over at him, noting he’d slipped into game face and was sporting a grimace.

“Angelus was here.” He ground out as they skidded to a halt outside a boxy-type former factory with a sliding metal door. Taking note of the light rapidly approaching from their right, Spike slipped out of game face. “Glinda’s here, pet.”

Buffy swung her head to look and ran down the alleyway to meet her.

Spike had slipped inside before they returned, leaving the door partially opened. The interior lights were on, illuminating a plain hallway running parallel to the door, with perpendicular hallways and doors leading away from the front. Spike was nowhere to be seen and not willing to speak out loud in case Angelus was still in the building, Buffy held a hand out to stop Tara and silently called out to Spike.

His voice sounded in her head, “to your left, kitten, third hallway halfway down.”

Motioning Tara to come with her, Buffy followed his instructions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was a shambles. Destroyed amps and ripped cabinets littered the floor, electronic cables and speaker wires hanging from the ceiling. Sparks flickered here and there and Spike grimaced when he passed a destroyed Stratocaster and the remains of Oz’ bass. Stepping over the debris on the floor, he gingerly made his way methodically through the room.

A low pain-filled groan caught his attention and Spike picked his way over to it. Oz was on the floor, blood pooling beneath his injured leg, half morphed between wolf and man. Knowing he could smell his presence, Spike kneeled down, talking quietly. “All right mate, its jus’ Spike. Girls are on their way. Gonna get you to hospital.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Slayer, need to get Oxford here.”

Turning his attention back to the werewolf beside him, Spike asked, “where else you hurt?”

Oz turned his eyes to Spike, growling softly and trying to get the words out, but could only gasp, “ribs . . .leg. . . . jaw.”

“Right then. Don’t talk.” Spike leaned over, checking the wound on his left leg. Grabbing Oz’ ripped shirt, Spike tied off the wound, slowing the bleeding.

Buffy and Tara were behind him, leaning over his shoulder, surveying the damage to Oz. Placing her hand on Spike’s shoulder, Buffy said, “Wesley’s almost here. He called Dr. Thomas, they’re waiting for us to get there.”

Tara knelt down on the other side, her hand on Oz’ injured jaw. “Relax. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Lifting her eyes to Spike, Tara asked, “can you lift him without jarring his ribs?”

Obviously the girls had heard their conversation, and Spike nodded. “Can try. Should be okay.” Looking down at Oz, Spike queried, “you ready?”

“Yeah.” Oz barely nodded, but Spike was already lifting him up, trying not to jostle him overly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley pulled up in Joyce’s Jeep, the back seat already down and a blanket on the floor. He was waiting at the back when the four of them emerged from the warehouse. At first glance Oz looked nearly dead, but on a second look, he was alert and responsive. Spike carried him easily, the girls trailing behind him. Buffy jumped up into the back of the Jeep and Spike passed his burden off, then hopped up in beside her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, when Spike crawled into bed beside her, Buffy rolled right into his arms, nuzzling against his bare skin. “How is he?”

“All right.” Wrapping his arms around her, Spike whispered, “well, he will be once he’s asleep.”

She had gone to bed before him, inexplicably tired, leaving the three Englishmen to sit up with Tara while she watched over Oz. Dr. Thomas had patched him up, setting his jaw, wiring it closed, then wrapped his ribs and sent him home after stitching up his leg. By mutual agreement and despite his aunt’s protests otherwise, they’d brought Oz back to Revello Drive.

It was nearing daybreak when Spike came up to bed and Buffy hadn’t slept well or deeply, tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite the fatigue that was weighing down her muscles. Connor too, had spent a fitful night and he was back in his own bed after spending a few hours in with Buffy.

“Go back to sleep, kitten.” Spike ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip, raising gooseflesh in his wake.

“Don’t wanna sleep.” She nibbled at the hollow of his shoulder, her hands holding onto him. “Spike?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky, his hands making idle patterns on her skin.

“Hold me please?” She sounded like such a little girl, like she had months ago when she’d first come back, that it shook him out of his lethargy.

“You okay sunshine?” Angling down to look at her, Spike saw the fear she was doing her best to hide. “What’s this then?”

“Dunno. Just thinking about when you got hurt, I guess.” She shrugged, hiding her eyes from him.

Spike licked his marks, his tongue raspy against her soft skin. “Don’t need to be worryin’ ‘bout me, ‘m fine an’ once this bloody chip is gone we’ll be fine.”

He heard her sniffles then felt the soft wash of a few tears that slid down her cheek. Spike wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted this reaction from her, but it wasn’t something he’d expected. Rolling her onto her back, Spike hiked up the flimsy slip of lace she was wearing, his hands strong and firm around her hips. Nudging his way between her hips, Spike slid inside her warm depths.

Silken heat surrounding him, Spike thrust slowly in, then pulled out a bit. Buffy whimpered at his retreat, her hands holding onto his ass, forcing him back in. “Love you, kitten. . . I do.”

“Me too. . . “ she stared up into his eyes, smiling a little when he licked the tears from her skin, letting small wisps of laughter escape when his fingers tickled her sides. “Spike, stop. C’mon.”

Grinning down at her, he surged up inside her, hitting the spot that made her breathing hitch and gasp. The pressure built slowly, murmured words mixed with drugging kisses, her legs wrapped around him, holding him there. . . “oh. . . “

Rolling through them the orgasm grew until they were both gasping for air, cool lips soothing the raging heat of her body. “Spike . . . oh god. . . “

“Stay with me love . . . come with me. . . “ his hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into tender skin, his forehead resting on hers. “Need you . . . always. . . fuck. . . oh god. . . “ he groaned into her mouth, breathing with her.

“Now. . . tha’s it . . . fuckin’ . . . “ Buffy whimpered, tightened around him, her entire body convulsing, contracting, arching up into his. Spike ground into her, pumping hard, gasping out her name, exploding in her depths.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angelus limped his way back to the mansion, battered and bleeding from his battle with the werewolf. Well that had been a surprise. Not a pleasant one either. He didn’t remember if he’d ever heard about the boy being a werewolf.

Drusilla was waiting for him, lounging against the fireplace, her latest pet bound at her feet, both women naked and waiting for him. “What happened Dearest? Did the nasty doggie get you?”

He slumped against the wall, blood congealing down his chest and throat, thick and clotted. “Dru. . . “

His raspy voice was harsh, the sounds alone enough to hurt. “Come here Daddy, I’ve got what you need.”

Tugging on the chain that held the girl in place, Drusilla stood up and closed in on Angel. “Poor Daddy. . . all battered and torn.”

“Shall I clean you?” Suiting action to words, Drusilla dipped her head and licked a path through the clotted mess at Angel’s neck. “Mmmmmm lovely messy.”

The girl at her feet whimpered, drawing their attention. Angel growled, his need for fresh blood overriding his need to have Drusilla writhing beneath him. Pulling on the leash in Drusilla’s hand, Angel brought the girl to her feet. Grinning, yet reeling from the blood loss and pain, Angel fell on the girl’s neck, his fangs sliding easily into her jugular.

Nearly draining the girl dry, Angel let her drop from his hold, stepped over her slumped form, then, with Drusilla trailing behind him, Angel strode from the room.

Bypassing the bathroom, Angel walked into his bedroom. Looking at the girl tied up in his bed, the big vampire smiled, his grin stretching across his features and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “hello Cordy. Miss me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Connor woke her not long after Spike had fallen asleep, his cool body wrapped around hers protectively. Spike was so very . . touchy feely, affectionate even. He was spoiling her rotten, if she thought about it for a minute. Every time he went out, he came back with something, even if it was just something she liked to eat. Come to think of it, it was mostly chocolate he brought home, even on poker nights. And he brought home something for the other girls too, at least once a week.

Lifting Connor up from his crib before his cries could escalate into earsplitting howls for his bottle, Buffy made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still fairly early, barely seven thirty in the morning, well, early if most of the household were nocturnal, which it was. Dawn had gotten up on time and left for school, as her note and lack of presence indicated and Tara was still downstairs, watching over Oz. Wesley and Giles must have gone back to the apartment they were sharing, although as she peeked out the back door, she spied Wesley sleeping on the lawn furniture, so Giles must still be around.

It took bare minutes to fill and warm Connor’s bottle and the entire time she kept up a running monologue to the attentive infant. He really was a cute baby, thankfully looking more like his mother than his father. Buffy wondered what on earth she might have been thinking with that. . . . Angel was not really a gorgeous man, not that looks were everything but . . . he wasn’t bad looking either. And yet, in a comparison between the vampires she’d loved, Angel came out a way distant second. The vampire sleeping upstairs was far and away the better man and not just looks wise.

Before she jumped, before Glory, life, at least hers, had been bathed in absolutes – colors of black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, sometimes charged with red. Since returning – since she’d been ripped from heaven, life had been. . . all about shadings, nuances – everything in the in-between. The grey. Nothing was absolute anymore, nothing carved in stone. . . well, there was one constant, one thing she could rely on and trust that it wasn’t going to disappear. . . to fade in the harsh light of day or disappear under the glow of perfect happiness.

Buffy brushed a kiss over Connor’s forehead, words tumbling unchecked from her lips, unaware and uncaring that she’d garnered an audience. “Yup. Your real daddy is a jerk, you know, just a big old dumb jerk. Can’t love without a soul, kinda makes you wonder what he was like when his heart beat. But we’re not gonna think about him, nope. Nahuh. Coz he’s just not worth it.” Another kiss dropped down on his head and Buffy swore he smiled at her around the nipple.

“Oh, but your new daddy. . . . I guess the real one . . .” Buffy’s voice faltered for a moment, then went on, “he’s different. Crazy, but different. Don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do. . . . he didn’t leave when I was gone . . stayed to take care of our Dawnie. And he doesn’t need a soul to do good things. How come he doesn’t? I think . . . dunno what to think sometimes. . . . he just . . he takes my breath away. He loves me so much. . . he loves all of us so much, even you.”

Connor’s hand reached up toward her mouth, his fingers pulling and touching her and Buffy automatically kissed each one of the tiny digits. “Promise you won’t tell anyone? It’s a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

In the back of her mind, Buffy knew how ridiculous it looked, carrying on a conversation with a two month old infant, but she didn’t care. Lifting him higher, Buffy whispered her secret against his skin, too low for anyone else to hear, even the vampire watching her from the shadows of the hallway.

“See why you had to promise? That’s my good boy. I knew I could trust you.” A watery giggle escaped from her when Connor looked up at her and smiled. “Oh you did. . . you smiled at Buffy. Yes you did. C’mon give mommy Buffy another one, c’mon Connor boy, you can, yes you can.” Her voice lost its serious tone, lilting with almost laughter.

To Spike’s ears and eyes, Buffy looked happier than he’d seen her in a very long time. Completely alone with the baby, she dropped the defenses she always carried, the worries and cares of just being the Chosen One.

The tiny nightshirt she wore over the minuscule nightgown did nothing to decrease his need for her, in fact, it just served to whet his appetite, but he was content to just watch her, to listen to her with their surrogate son.

Didn’t matter how Connor came into their lives, he was theirs. They’d both claimed him it seemed, if going by her statements to the baby were any indication. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes intent upon the two in the kitchen. She wasn’t even aware of his presence, her every sense focused on the baby in her arms. He’d never have pegged her as the maternal type, but thinking about it, it made a weird sort of sense. What set her apart from the other slayers he’d known was the depth of her heart – her love – her capacity for it.

She might’ve feared, just after her mother had died that she was losing her heart, but the truth was, it wasn’t that she couldn’t love, it was that she was afraid to love. Buffy loved with everything she had and when it wasn’t reciprocated fully she was hurt in equal measure. He was brought back from his musings by the sound of her light laugh and her words.

“There’s daddy Spike’s big boy. You burp like a champ.” She giggled again and the sound was pure sunshine.

He must’ve moved or made some sort of sound, because she became aware of him, standing there watching the two of them. Turning around to look at him, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. Spike was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, black jeans riding decadently low on his hips, the buttons only half done, arms crossed over bare chest, eyes sleepy and curls wild and disheveled, tousled from his short sleep. And all that is mine. . . . gah.

She gasped for air, her eyes drinking in his form. “How . . . how long have you been watching me?”

“Woke up missing you.” Was all he said as he pushed away from the wall.

Buffy met him halfway, drawn to him by the love in his bottomless blue eyes. His hands flexed around her hips, his breath washing over her. His voice, when he spoke, was husky, raising gooseflesh and sending her every nerve into overdrive. “Come back to bed with me, sunshine.”

Without waiting for her response, Spike lifted them both up into his arms, heading back upstairs.

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