Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he’s dragged to the Hellmouth when he’d rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 6
There was dreaminess involved. Much with the dreamy that Buffy couldn’t wipe off her face, no matter how much she didn’t try.
“You should have seen it, Will. Sure, Angel wasn’t really much of a threat.” She paused and contemplated. “At least, I hadn’t thought so till he went all ridgy and fangy with the vampness. But anyway, where was I?”
“Drooling over the Spike kissage,” Willow gushed and then giggled. She was so envious of Buffy. The souled vampire had seemed so very different to what Willow would have expected a vampire to be like, if she’d ever known they existed. And she didn’t think it was even because of his soul, though that was a situation that definitely bore research requirements. And while she was happy her new friend had found love—or what was turning into the possibility of love—so soon after moving to Sunnydale, Willow couldn’t help the little pulsing jealousy that made her want to change places and be the one to have felt that closeness with someone. If she was honest, she even wished a little that it could have been with Spike.
It was hard to be too resentful though when she watched Buffy melt at the mere mention of the vampire.
“It’s so weird, Will. I mean, Angel has sort of been helping me out, you know, with giving me those cryptic clues about hellmouth badness, and his eyes looked so sad and he seemed to want to help, even if he was a little creepy. You’d think HE was the one with the soul, not Spike.” Buffy snacked thoughtfully on her apple and completely missed the shift in Willow’s comfort.
The redhead looked alarmed at that. “Do you think that’s possible? Two vampires with souls?”
“Pshyeah, so not. I mean, come on, Willow. Don’t tell Spike I said this, but don’t you think the idea of a vampire with a soul is totally lame? And to have it forced on you because you don’t have discerning taste in the people menu? Nope, I think it would be much more romantic to fight against the odds of your nature. To know that you were reborn into evil and yet fell in love with a beautiful girl and turned your back on it all, just so you could be with her forever.” Buffy fell neatly back into the dreamy land she’d been in earlier, her mind’s eye seeing a soulless Spike riding up on his swift black stead, sweeping her up into his arms and prodding the beast to gallop them away to safety.
“B-but wouldn’t that be kind of dangerous? In a Romeo and Juliet kind of way?” Willow asked with a slightly nervous tickle in her voice.
“Huh?”
A crease deepened between the redhead’s brows as she thought over the scenario. She could see the romance, just like Buffy said, but she could also see the danger, not least the possibility of herself being eaten on the vampire’s journey to redemption. The vision of Jesse on a gurney, looking too pale mixed with the reality of knowing how close he could have come to being dead—or worse, turned—kept Willow feeling a little on the skittish side when it came to considering soulless vampires and how much control they might even have over their demons. What Buffy thought was romantic might not even be possible. Those vamps they’d run into the other night certainly seemed to have nothing on their mind but draining Jesse. And her. Willow still had nightmares just imagining the reality of becoming lunch—or well, dinner was probably closer to the mark.
“Can soulless demons actually have enough free will to choose to be good?” Willow thought it was a good question, one that she was going to be thinking about the answer to alot. Not that it was relevant to anything, but she was nothing if not inquisitive and an overachiever. Still, she didn’t like that look of uncertainty and fear that clouded the Slayer’s eyes.
“I don’t know, Will. I guess not. They’re evil, right? So, I guess without a soul they have no reason to feel guilty about killing innocent people.”
Buffy looked so dejected, so unhappy that Willow wondered if she even realised that the existence of such an anomaly didn’t even apply to her.
“Buffy, Spike has a soul, so you don’t need to worry about it. Makes you wonder, though.” She’d dived into the philosophical and Willow felt the familiar excitement that came with learning new things and thinking about worlds of possibilities.
Buffy’s relief at being reminded that Spike was already restrained and fighting on the good side warmed Willow’s heart. She would have hated to be the one to make Buffy question herself—consider the validity and propriety of falling for a vampire, whether he was bound with a soul or not.
“Wonder about what?” Buffy had jumped from being worried right into intellectual interest. She nibbled again at her apple while Willow put her thoughts out on the air, knowing that Buffy’s attention span might not last. “Is everyone just born with a soul? I mean, do we all have a soul to lose? And if we do, how do some humans lose it. That could explain why some humans are beyond evil, right? There’s serial killers, rapists, Snyder.”
Buffy choked between a laugh and a chunk of apple in her throat. “Good one, Will. Not so sure we can lose our souls while we’re still human, but I guess the reverse makes my job a little less clear cut. If humans can go bad and act evil, what’s to stop vamps from trying to be good? And how can I dust them knowing they could have potential?”
Willow didn’t even have to think. A crisis of faith and conscience in her job could get Buffy really really dead and that was something Willow would prevent at all costs if she could. “If their snackin’, then you’re slayin’. No time to put labels on them when you have lives to save. I think it’s safe to assume that most vamps are out to put major holes in the population. Sure, there might be the odd vamp who wants something better. Maybe even one who falls for the beautiful girl and turns his whole existence around for love, but I don’t think you’ll find him in the graveyard, Buffy.”
Buffy nodded, feeling the expected confidence in Willow’s conclusions and recognising her need to eradicate evil from the world as something more than just her duty. It was something she needed. She never wanted to ever see another person she knew in a hospital bed—not if they were put there because she was being slack or Miss Avoidy Slayer. And if they ever made it to the morgue—well, that would only be because she’d gotten there first.
It was a quiet, contemplative walk back inside.
The library was filled with new soldiers to the cause. Xander sat at the research table, swapping jokes with a newly flushed Jesse while Giles flicked through some ancient tome in the background.
“Ah, yes, Buffy and Willow. I assume lunch was satisfying.” Giles ducked back into his book, not waiting for an answer to the inane question and so missed the girl’s conspiratorial amusement.
“Sure, Giles. It was a veritable feast and we had waiters and hey, even the merry ole Queen of England pulled up a square of turf to eat with us.” Buffy watched Willow, an expecting smile tilting her lips and then broadening as Giles betrayed his preoccupation.
“Really? That’s quite wonderful. Now, about this Angel you met on patrol last night—”
“So, Jesse, all up and about. How’s all that blood pumping through your body?” Buffy rushed out, somehow feeling guilty yet not sure if he knew about what actually happened to him or if Xander had tried to keep him in the dark so as to not make himself look like a nutcase.
“It’s the strangest thing, you know? I mean, I leave with this really hot girl, and wham…in the hospital with a chunk out of my neck. It’s like some kind of corny Anne Rice novel. If I wasn’t so sure I was hallucinating, I’d say that gorgeous blonde was a vampire. Freaky I know, but the accident must have caused me to hit my head or something. Stranger things haven’t happened, right?” he joked, smiling around the table at his friends as Giles coughed in the background. It brought Jesse’s attention to the strange group and he leaned over to Xander, his eyes watching everything warily. “Hey man,” he whispered. “What’s with the hanging around with the school librarian and making with the friendly? Did something happen while I was laid up?”
Xander giggled nervously, checking between the girls and Giles before he abruptly pushed his chair back with a screech. “You have no idea,” he grinned before leading the way out of the place. Jesse shrugged at Buffy and Willow and followed.
The sudden silence echoed in their absence until Giles stepped forward and nervously approached Buffy with anxiety inspired hand wringing. “I do apologise, Buffy. I had no idea that it was your intention to not confide everything in this boy. I just assumed—well, we have all learned it is dangerous to assume, so I will keep my peace until you advise differently.”
“No biggie. There was no harm done. Jesse’s got some serious denial in his life, though.” Buffy found it kind of amusing. She didn’t mind if he knew her secret, but as much as it was Xander and Willow’s choice to start accepting the darker side of life as real and to support her, it was their right to decide if their friend should know too. She’d already been a bad slayer and let the cat out of the bag. She didn’t want anymore responsibility, though she wondered how smart it was to let him continue his oblivious life while living on the Hellmouth. Without the knowledge and the tools to adapt to the danger, he may not live for much longer. She’d managed to save him once—or rather, Spike had—but she didn’t relish the opportunity of doing it again. She’d rather he made like a Star Trek guy and live long and prosper.
It was something she was beginning to accept she could never do.
“We’ll tell him soon,” Willow confirmed, somehow reading Buffy’s mind. If not then the frown on her face had extra special revealing powers.
Buffy nodded, but still there was something niggling at her, and even though it was daylight, she couldn’t help but feel whatever it was, it was too late.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Jesse stood and watched the blonde. Last night he’d gotten lucky and was able to walk by her side right out of there. Last night he’d looked cool to all those Sunnydale High sceptics that had expected him to finish school a virgin. He’d held his head high, strolled out confident and excited. Almost cocky. And then it had ended—he wasn’t quite sure how. Or rather, he believed he knew how, just thought he had to be insane for it to be so.
Tonight she was back—but probably couldn’t bear to look his way again. If what he remembered happening was true—and despite Xander’s weird story about a pack of wild dogs knocking him over and almost mauling his neck till he was bled to death, he really believed it was—then he’d shown himself to be a loser. Whatever purpose she’d chosen him to fulfil, he’d failed. He’d bailed by knowing a pretty scary girl with superpowers and some bleached blond stranger that bounced out of nowhere. He’d been saved and the beauty that had smiled his way, had tasted his blood, wouldn’t want to look at him again.
There was something locked far away inside that tried to argue that his way of thinking could very well get him dead, but that seductive thrill he’d felt at having sharp teeth slice through his soft skin like a heated knife through butter kept it weak and heading toward silent. She was dangerous. He couldn’t deny it—and yet that precarious link she held between life and death thrilled him beyond anything he’d ever been able to grasp.
So it was that he was pulled forward and across a crowded dance floor to be once again within her grasp, despite his heart pounding the warning that she didn’t want him—would only kill him, and without biting him at that.
Her eyes shone when she looked up and saw him. Recognition made something flare to life—anger at being made to look foolish, disappointment to find she’d wasted time on the likes of him, or eagerness to once again sip from his neck—but though he saw it, he could never put a name to it. He just wasn’t that clued into women, into people, and so whatever truths he could have discerned from her gaze became something unreachable for the likes of him.
Her smile was enticing, cheeky as a perfectly manicured set of nails came out to lightly scratch down his neck—scraping while she stared in fascination at the bandage that covered her bite. Suddenly he felt aflame, didn’t want the cover as the puncture marks flared to life and sought contact with their creator. The heat grew bolder, sharper and became so piercingly deep that he almost lost his breath. Sweat broke out on his skin as her hand wandered down over his chest. Last night had been all about appearances. Tonight was all about the pain, and he felt disturbed for craving more. Her hand caught at his and her fingers twined around his stiff digits, the tug on his hand a little more brutal than he would have expected from such a girl if he hadn’t known what she was.
It was wrong, he knew that, yet as she led him to the door, pausing to lick purposefully, seductively on the unmarked side of his neck, he couldn’t recall anything else feeling so right.
And so he was drawn out and back into the night.
Darla was changing her plan. As soon as the boy had entered the building, as soon as she felt his stare on her body, she knew that an opportunity had been too ripely offered to be refused.
He didn’t even have to be pursued, his eyes settling on her and making quick work across the room to be once again in front of her. His gaze was riveted on her legs and she grinned. The short skirt got them every time. Her lips formed a smile of satisfaction and the promising venture made her happy. Things were looking up, and if she played her hand as lightly as possible, she could use this one to all sorts of gain.
“Hey,” Jesse greeted, trying for casual as he leaned against a pillar. Bodies were sweating from dancing fun all around him, the music pounding a rhythm so hard and loud he could barely concentrate, and yet his heart thumping in fascinated terror played louder than it all. His adopted cool slipped a fraction as amber flickered in her eyes and he stood spellbound waiting. She didn’t keep him long, her hand curling around his and dragging him behind her into the dark that surrounded the club.
Her fingers were cold. He remembered it from the night before, but now he knew the cause. His heart seemed to jump a few beats before attempting to jam them back in between and making him almost faint with understanding. And against it all, his dick twitched. When had he ever cared about living? It was a given when he woke that each day he would draw breath and just be. This night had caused him to choose, and he wavered between desire and sense, his masculinity and need winning out.
It was a compulsion, though. This craving to be with her, to let her do to him whatever she was made for; turned for. He felt like she was there for him and him alone—to make him into something special. To teach him ways that had been denied to him by being sixteen and a loser. By being friends with nerds and geeks.
Darla turned to look at him, walking backwards while she still held his hand to guide. She was grinning, her smile sly and knowing. The tinkle of her voice was so girlish, so sexy and addictive. “I lost you last night. Not letting you get away again.”
In his head it was the death knell and he felt the zip of tragedy all the way to his toes. His body was numb, his eyes scared but sure, and his hand began squeezing hers in acceptance.
“No chance of that,” he told her, his voice only a little shaky. “I don’t plan on going anywhere that you aren’t.”
And then she kissed him, a brush of the lips so soft he thought he was dreaming and his frightening introduction to creatures of the night really had been in his hallucinations.
A flash of the yellow eyes and fangs was all it took for him to believe.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He was drunk. Fall-off-your-barstool pissed as a parrot, and giggling like one too. Spike kept tapping the bar, growling at any barkeep that refused to refill his glass for free. Waiting for something to kick him in the arse and shove him back into the dark cave of his former life before he woke up and realised the monumental cock up he’d caused by simply opening his mouth. It seemed bullshit always flowed with a rapid current. Always with the bloody foot insertion. After a century he’d thought he’d grown out of the habit. He was proven wrong far too often.
A sharp sting at the base of his neck told him she’d arrived and his head hit the bar with a beer nut shattering accuracy. He groaned, the alcohol fuzzing his brain nowhere near enough for him to ignore that he was caught. He’d bloody kissed her, let his lips touch hers and know the sweetness of her innocence. He was completely buggered and he knew it. But that didn’t have to mean he liked it.
He was almost tempted to go outside, lead her out by the nose, and off some poor sod right in bloody front of her. If that didn’t get the trouble fixed, nothing could. Several things prevented that course of action, though. One, he’d bleeding well die admitting it out loud, but…he liked kissing her. She didn’t have too much experience, and that naivety alone made him drown in her. She treated him as special. Girls don’t go kissing blokes just for the hell of it. Not as a rule. Nor do the blokes kiss them back when they don’t care.
He cared. And wasn’t that the rub. She’d ripped the evilness right out of his body and left him flapping around all soulfulwithoutasoul, trashing his existence and all the comfort of a lifestyle he’d known for a hundred years—and he cared. It was almost too much for him to handle—driving him to drink rather than the next sunrise. But it wasn’t all.
Angelus. His presence around the girl spoke of badness that Spike wasn’t so comfortable with. He knew how the guy operated, and though he still hadn’t worked out exactly what the drama queen was doing getting so close to a potential stake to the heart, his being around was enough to make Spike falter. He couldn’t let Buffy succumb to the sleazy charm of his elder. He couldn’t let Angelus win—whatever the prize was he sought. The pompous arse had taken everything from Spike at one time or another. He’d zeroed in on what was precious and he seized it with a malicious grin. Every. Fucking. Time. Well, no more. The Slayer would need Spike by her side, at her back and anywhere else he deemed necessary to protect her. He just couldn’t help the panic that need instilled.
She was at his shoulder before he could swallow another shot. That annoyed him. Spike felt desperate to be wasted, having much faith in his ability to make sense of his world when he was three sheets to the wind. Her hand on his back as she fell into the barstool beside him and he was stone cold sober. Well, that tore it. He’d have to give her a piece of his mind. He’d have to assert his position and put her in her pl—
He couldn’t think when she was kissing him. Silky soft lips brushed his in a tenderness of affection he’d never really experienced before. A small hand seemed to tangle with his, Spike spinning in his chair to better face her and allowing him to tug her closer. And then the hesitant point of her tongue slipped passed his lips and Spike felt the heat explode through his body like scorching magma.
She never got so close as to touch his body. The need to have that contact was akin to maddening, Spike’s body buzzing in desperation. Though he could scent her unease and he held himself back as much as an experienced soulless demon could. This soul thing was becoming ridiculous, knowing beyond doubt that this mess would never have been created if he hadn’t been inspired to spin webs of deceit.
Pushing him to his limits, Spike almost groaned when she stepped back, though the happy smile on her face left him stunned.
“Hey,” she greeted, and Spike focused uneasily on the luscious green of her eyes and the healthy warmth of her skin.
What the fuck was he doing? Kissing the Slayer? Wanting more than her young body should be giving? He was out of his bleeding mind, make no mistake. Which completely explained why his hand lifted and brushed a stray hair off her face.
“Hey yourself,” he agreed huskily, wanting to badly get back into either the kissing or the drinking, He’d be buggered if he knew at this stage which he wanted more.
Buffy looked at their hands still clasped together and felt giddiness wash over her. The music was pumping, life thrummed through the building, and she was with a really gorgeous vamp. One that she was falling hard for. It was a night made for fun and her friends were eager to see him again. Wanting to hear his side of the story in regards to Angel and going down to The Master’s mystical prison. But first, she needed time for her—for them—and did her best to peel him from his stool and lead him out to the dance floor.
He looked confused once they stood in the centre of the throng of sweating dancing teens, almost as if he hadn’t noticed her making him walk away from the bar. But once she’d wrapped her arms around his neck, placed her head against his non-vibrating chest, he melted into her and let the music envelop them. She was an addictive and persuasive bint and Spike was finding once his hands were on her, he couldn’t let her go.
He couldn’t have buggered things up more if he’d tried.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He’d woken up in her bed, her naked body curled around strangled sheets with her back to him. She was pristine but he was covered in bite marks and blood. His stare focused on the ceiling, admiring the brave experiment of a darker canvas against the relief of paler walls. It was nice. Sort of calming.
And then his lungs forced him to breathe.
Jesse couldn’t work out if he was disappointed, though that would be pretty selfish considering all that he’d gained throughout the night. Or more accurately, what he’d lost. Blood wasn’t even the half of it—not if his own birthday suit and sticky cock was to tally up. He was too exhausted to smile—too shattered to decide if he wanted to smile. All he could tell right now was that he had left that loser club of geeky virgins and that he wasn’t dead.
Oh, and that vampires, and possibly other creatures that go bump in the night, were totally freakin’ real.
Darla moaned and rolled onto her back, giving him a luscious view of her breasts. He felt crippled in hunger, realising too late that now he’d tasted her—that she’d taken blood from him—he needed much more to satisfy his urges.
Her greeting wasn’t all it could be.
“Oh, it’s you.” Her cold calculating eyes fell to the stir of his cock, licking her lips as she moved to straddle him. He felt more afraid as she slipped his stiffness into her body than he had when she’d vamped and struck at his neck. The bite had quenched some thirst he had to be drunk. To renew that link that was created the first time she’d sipped from him. Her eagerness to taste him wasn’t as desperate as he wished, but when he was in the throes of ecstasy with his blood leaking away from his neck, he didn’t much care, as long as she didn’t stop. As long as she fed his new addiction and allowed him sanity through provision.
He’d never felt anything so moist and tight around his cock before. Not even when he’d tried the age old apple pie routine. Nothing could match this sensation and Jesse rejoiced in his courage. Without it he may have been cast aside and never brought back here. Never felt the joy of being screwed within an inch of his life while she snuck blood from naughtier places.
All up, though, she was fearsome. She growled at him for pumping too slow, her claws slashed at him for coming too fast. And she bit him for just not knowing.
She terrified him and made him shake. But every little dig, every little cut told him his choice had been wise. Told him he’d found life by risking becoming dead.
And Darla just smiled.
It was wrong. No matter which way he twisted around the events that had dumped him on his ass, he couldn’t make it look anything but horribly hideously wrong. But then, any occasion that had Spike dragging around its edges was enough to tip it toward bad right from the start.
He didn’t have a clue what had happened. One minute he was paving his way into the Slayer’s life—into Buffy’s life—looking eagerly down the track of his redemption, when along came Spike with a cock and bull story that just happened to be his own existence. Well, as confused as he was, Angel had had enough. It wasn’t fair—he was the one with the soul. He was the one who had allowed himself to fall so low through his certainty of damnation and guilt. Why did Spike get to walk in and claim everything Angel had been moving toward, all with a smile on his face and a fake soul in his flashy corpse?
Well, it stopped now. Stopped before the bleached pain-in-the-ass managed to snack on Buffy and bring an apocalypse down about their heads. As if there wasn’t enough to be worried about with The Master trying to retrieve power and importance, now Spike had to come and complicate things even more. And again, Buffy. How had he managed to get to her, anyway?
He frowned, his brain tossing around the animosity and irritation he felt toward his grandchilde, focusing on how perplexed and frustrated he was that his plan had been interfered with. He had no choice but to get back on track, to reclaim his story from Spike and then spit in the ingrate’s dust.
He was at a loss how to do it. Buffy was obviously already half enamoured with the hyperactive idiot. It wasn’t like Angel was so blind he missed the dismissive glance she’d sent his way as she was half dragged out of the crypt. He’d built up the legend of this Slayer in his head so high that to see her gullible and trusting of a soulless vampire was a little too much for him to cope with. He didn’t quite know how to protect her from the mess she’d gotten herself into. His only real option was to expose Spike for the lying, despicable fraud he was.
Angel wouldn’t even consider the possibility that Spike could have a soul. He’d struggled with the pain and anguish being forced into a conscience entailed, and he’d spent a hundred years paying the price of a century and a half of evil depravity. He was unique and no way was Spike going to come along and steal his truth, his life, and his girl.
No way in hell.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was the fifth day in a row that Jesse had turned up all but stoned. His skin was a waxen shade of sick, he shook, and his eyes were twitchy and unfocused. He’d become almost completely uncommunicative—even catatonic on occasions—and Willow, Xander and Buffy were just about freaked right out of their minds.
Xander tried to draw him out with jokes, failing miserably when the smiles Jesse rewarded them with were sly and sinister. Willow’s attempts were with books, and his monosyllabic responses were enough to almost drive her round the bend. Buffy tried activity, hoping that if he came running with her, he’d either pick up the pace or collapse at her feet, thus making medical intervention necessary. He never showed up.
The big secret was still very much that: a big secret. Xander was jittery every time it looked like he needed to say something about the evil predators of the night, but chickened out before the words could escape his throat. The three teens shared worried looks, wondering why Jesse now turned to life altering drugs when he’d just survived an experience many didn’t get to come back from. Buffy tried to stay out of much of it, sitting and doing little more than adding her silent worries about the mental state of her new friend to the pot. They were at a loss of what to do, his paleness and decreasing health frightening Willow into finally reporting it to Giles during one of their secret Jesseless meetings.
“He’s pale and unresponsive, you say? Perhaps he is iron deficient after the attack and it has kept his energy reserves low. Also, it is possible that such a brush with death, no matter how confusing the actual brush might have been, would do something by way of frightening the poor boy into questioning his mortality.”
Buffy considered. The first thing she had done when she noticed his pallor was check his neck. Other than the healing first bite, there was nothing there to indicate that he’d been the victim once more of an unexplainable attack. So, lack of iron could work. He had lost a lot of blood so it really was possible.
It was his lack of friendly banter and Xander-like sucky humour that really told her there was something wrong.
“Even if he’s just tired, he wouldn’t have a complete personality change. And he watches us. When he thinks we won’t notice, he stares at each of us.” Buffy stopped and shuddered, wrapping her arms around her suddenly cold self. “It’s kinda like he’s taking notes.”
Giles dismissed their concerns with little interest, much preferring to go on to discuss any leads Buffy may have retrieved in regards the Master and his possible plans for escaping the Hellmouth.
There were none. “Sorry, Giles. Every vamp we come across is much more into the fighty and fangy than the talky. But next time I’ll let one get extra special close just so I can try and get him to tell me something The Master would dust him for as soon as he got home.” Her sarcasm was obviously lost on the Watcher as he mumbled about time and the lack of it remaining to sort it all out.
The frustration Giles felt was obvious as he twisted his glasses and shelved a book. “I can’t abide all this waiting. Something disastrous is about to happen and we have absolutely no idea what it could be.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
The man was a stranger to most, so his unexpected entrance made three of the library’s occupants gasp. He stood in the back of the room, lurking in the shadows of the stacks as he had the undivided attention of four sets of eyes. They stared transfixed…
Until Buffy rolled hers eyes and huffily introduced him. “What are you doing here, Angel?” Her voice betrayed boredom, her expression too relaxed for a slayer around a vampire. Yet he took it as a good sign, believing she thought him safe and not the vicious monster Spike had treated him as inside the mausoleum. It was just more proof that the moron was going to go down, as soon as Angel managed to clear up the misunderstandings.
Still, it was a formidable audience. He cleared his throat and slowly made his way down the stairs, a book jammed under one arm. “I came to warn you.” He brandished the ancient title with a flourish to Giles. “The Pergumum Codex. I thought it might be useful.”
The researcher in Giles rejoiced at such a treasure, his hands smoothing the cover down respectfully. “Wherever did you get this? I thought it lost for good as it was last seen in the fifteenth century.” The Watcher didn’t even look up, allowing his hands to touch such essential and old information before his eyes could unravel the truth of the tales.
“Who cares where he got it, Giles? The issue right now is, why is there a vampire in our school trying to help me. I was kinda under the impression the handy dandy slayer’s guide was all about the killing of the evil undead. Spike, I can understand the not dusting, what with the soul and all. But you, you’re another story.”
Giles grew white with alarm, taking an urgent step closer to Buffy as the truth of their interloper was revealed. He rather thought she could have dropped that little gem a bit sooner.
A squeak of impatience was intriguing to them all, however, as the one called Angel almost stomped his foot before sitting dejectedly in a chair at the research table.
“Look, you’ve got it all wrong. I have no idea how Spike made you fall for it, but you’ve got the wrong souled vampire. As in, I am, he’s not.”
Buffy laughed, the sound happy and carefree before seguing seamlessly into pissed off.
“You don’t get to go around telling lies about my boyfriend.” She ignored the gasps of surprise around her. Just because she hadn’t told Spike she thought he was her boyfriend, didn’t make it any less so. There had been kissage, and hand-holding. It put them on a step above friends and Buffy was more than happy to call it as she wanted it.
“I’m not lying—”
“Shut up. You say you have a soul, and sure, you’ve been kind of helpful in a really not kind of way. You may have given me the hints, but it’s Spike that’s been by my side with the actual action behind the information. He’s the one that’s been watching my back and helping me with the hands on fighting. So, how can you seriously sit there and tell me he hasn’t got a soul?”
A flash of her conversation with Willow made Buffy stop—though to all it appeared she was finished anyway. While Angel sat spluttering, Buffy became lost in thought. How could she prove either way if one of them was lying? She really didn’t think Spike was. He’d been around her for long enough now for her to have known if he had some sinister motivation for getting close to her. And if he did have some kind of plan—how did he intend to carry it out while he was kissing and dancing with her?
“Spike is nothing but a vicious murdering monster. He has no soul. He’s been killing as recently as last week—” he stalled at Buffy’s look of thunder, his own certainty dwindling a little without concrete proof. “—I’m willing to bet,” he fudged, standing back up and straightening until his height had Buffy dwarfed.
She wasn’t having any of his intimidation tactics. She kicked him hard in the knee and smirked at his look of agony before pushing his now slumped form back into his chair.
“I’ve seen Spike drink blood from a cup. If he was feeding I’d know. So good try, but no biscuit.”
Giles, Willow and Xander looked at her askance. Buffy shrugged before explaining; “I heard it on a show once. It sounded much cooler when someone else said it though.”
“Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but Spike is dangerous. If you don’t start working that out soon you’ll be dead.” Angel cringed at the look of black fury that passed over and settled on Buffy’s face, realising that standing back up might have been a bit presumptuous on his part and quickly slumping back into the chair.
“Okay,” she said at last, said through gritted teeth and an urge for decapitation. “Just say what you’re telling us is true and Spike doesn’t have a soul. Why would he be doing this? Why would he be working with me to fight evil and The Master?”
The obvious answer was just on the tip of his tongue, but Angel felt the possibility of a pop to his nose could be very high if he dared suggest Spike was planning to kill her. And then the reality of it struck him. Spike didn’t do plans—not well at any rate. Spike screwed them up on a fairly predictable basis. So if he’d entered this lie with the purpose to off the Slayer, he would have broken down now and attacked her. The alternative possibilities made Angel feel nauseous so he ignored them as best he could.
“I don’t know.” He couldn’t do or say anything more to stop him looking as stupid as he already did. “I just know he is a soulless demon and if you aren’t careful something bad will happen.”
Buffy seemed satisfied with his answer, her rigid stance relaxing slightly as she turned her back on him and looked at her friends. Some kind of decision was reached and she turned back to their unwelcome visitor, studying him with the same degree of seriousness she often contemplated the demon goo on her designer shoes. “Look, I promise I won’t take any risks. I’ll stay on guard around him, but in my honest opinion, you’re wrong. And from where I’m standing, actions speak louder than words, and Spike’s actions so far shout so loud he’s made me deaf. Think about it.”
And she stared at him so hard that he felt uncomfortable and left.
“It’s been so cold, Spike. Princess was worried. Why have you been hiding in the sun?” Her voice tinkled inside the crypt he’d made home, sharp eyes assessing shrewdly the benefits of his seeming defection from both his family and his partner. Nothing of what she saw made sense and instead of instigating a petulant tantrum, Dru dissolved into insecure whimpers and fell seamlessly to the floor.
Looking up, insanity nudged a smile to her lips as the tears made her cheeks glisten in the muted moonlight. “You’ve seen the light, my love.” And she giggled, losing the sense of herself as she ghosted the sign of faith against the cross of her torso. “It’s just so funny. Daddy’s laughing at you. My Spike lies, but Daddy has the real prize. Naughty Slayer doesn’t believe. Her time will come.”
He’d spent a good decade thinking about why he’d been saddled with Dru. What bloody great crime against the world and creation he’d carried out to have met her in that dark alley so long ago. Surely it couldn’t be that he’d pissed off the Big Guy for being so pathetic a wanker as to strive to be a poet. Of course, he’d actually known he was pretty bad at it. Awful in fact. Didn’t make it a crime against humanity—just one against good taste. Those that chose to mock and drown him in cruelty were far more deserving of punishment—and that’s when he’d found he’d answered one question. Maybe becoming the undead was its own reward. He’d had to think so or become as mad as Dru.
When he’d first seen her, he hadn’t recognised her darkness for what it was. Even now, Dru didn’t look like the great evil he knew her to be. Didn’t appear to be the one who whispered truths as she tore with force at a bloke’s devotion and love. She’d suck a man dry, all while having him so oblivious to her true nature that when the shock of it came—when the great rising terror of a manipulating Angelus came and usurped his destiny—it left him seething and tired.
And ultimately, that’s what he was now. He saw her histrionics on his crypt floor, listened to her confused ramblings with so little care that it left him shocked and reeling. But so very very tired.
His time with Dru was long gone. He realised that now. With Angelus in town, it was an opportunity that he’d refused to consider—not while he’d thought the death of the Slayer was his next goal to achieve. How royally that plan fucked him over should really have come as no surprise. He was getting used to being fucked over by ideas far too grand for execution. And Buffy was a very pretty shaped spanner to throw into his mess of a works. He was beginning to think that if he couldn’t kill her, he had nothing left but to love her.
His eyes fell on Dru once more, panicking a little as her green eyes watered and settled upon him sadly.
“You promised me you’d kill her, Spike. Why can’t you kill her?”
Her expectations infuriated him. For over a hundred years she’d been forcing him to live for her, keeping him at her beck and bloody call, and one look at a blonde beauty had him scattering his devotions. He felt like he’d grown more than a measure since crossing over into Hellmouth territory. Like he’d grown beyond Dru and the life he’d led since his turning. Like he needed more and meeting Buffy showed him a way of having it.
Looking at Dru hurt now. She would always need something he didn’t have—something she’d found to limitless depths in the wanker that, no matter how many years went by, he could never thoroughly leave behind. Cruelty—something the trace of William within him couldn’t bear yet the one thing Angelus had in abundance. Thrived upon. And here, in this godforsaken mouth of Hell, she could have it to her heart’s content. He’d be relieved to never have them around him again.
That’s what he’d found in this most unlikely place—what he’d found in the acceptance in Buffy’s eyes, as much as he tried to reject and ignore it. A chance to start over. He just didn’t know if he had the courage to take it. Saying yes to Buffy might put him on a new path—but it was a real wrench to let go of everything he’d had. As lacking as he may suddenly find that to be.
“You should know why, pet. Always could read me better than I could myself.” He chanced a look and sure enough she was tearful, yet not choked with grief. Dru wasn’t one to rally behind the laws of being Sire. She was too barmy to even know there were any. So letting Spike go was relatively easy—losing him from the throb of evil seemed to cut much deeper.
Her eyes glittered with anger, the tears evaporating before he’d barely had time to register their existence.
“Princess doesn’t like when one of the party leaves before he’s been excused.”
And wasn’t that the rub. He hadn’t asked if he could leave her, had made the decision without her input after leaving her for a week at the mercy of Darla and The Great Ponce himself. Not that he guessed there’d been much mercy—not if the healing lashes on her neck and arms were a true indication. She didn’t seem resentful of his actions, though. More irritated that he hadn’t sought the ancient out alongside her. Well, too bloody bad. He’d brought her here on her demand. If she didn’t like that she’d lost him for good, it was her own bleeding fault.
“Sorry, Dru. But just this once you forgot to serve the bloody tea. Now I think it’s time you got back to mum, pet. She’ll be wondering where you got off to.”
She hissed at him. Him, who’d been by her side since he’d been enslaved to her mystery. “You’ve lost yourself, William. Telling lies to the Slayer, making her believe in you. What will Daddy think when he finds out you’ve tampered with the Gypsy vengeance and started to wear his face?”
There was no doubt the first part of her speech had him cringing—he just knew claiming to have a soul would bugger things up good and proper. But he was on an out-of-control spin now, needing to cling to the excuse that kept him by Buffy’s side. The deprivation of her favour would hurt more than he’d ever thought possible in regards to a slayer—in regards to his food.
“Yeah, I lied. What of it?” His stubborn stance was blown all to hell as his door was kicked forcefully off its hinges and laid to rest halfway to the back wall.
A vision of slayer betrayal stood in the moonlit opening, tears coursing down her cheeks and deep breaths struggling to make it into her lungs. Spike registered the twist in his gut as pain, just as his whole world was thrown into chaos.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She really didn’t want to think about what Angel had told them, but Buffy couldn’t tear the doubt from her mind. Not when it was her life that could be affected. The lives of her friends. But no matter which way she turned it around, Spike had given her no reason to have doubts. No reason to trust this Angel guy over him. There was no test that she could administer to measure the existence of a soul. All she had to judge was the word of a slimy guy and the deeds of both.
So far, Spike was so far in front he was lapping the other.
Thinking of Spike made her smile. Since that night she’d found him at the Bronze, they’d spent every night together patrolling. Being near him made her senses almost explode on overload and her craving for him was increasing with every glance he sent her way. She was more than a little attracted to him—it would surprise her to find someone who wasn’t—but if she were really truthful, she could admit that what she was feeling about him had an intensity that left her starry-eyed and breathless. She’d passed the crush stage, learned as much about him as she could while he was as tight-lipped about his past as he could be—not that it had bothered her at the time. She’d felt the gentleness of his embrace when he comforted her after nearly being taken down by a pack of vamps—the Master’s lackeys eager to take her to him. She’d felt the cool sensation against her buzzing palm, her skin so sensitised she was almost bouncing along at his side. And she’d felt his kisses—so molten with natural magic that Buffy wasn’t so with the remembering of her own name. So yes, she’d drifted through the stages of romantic interest until she’d stumbled awkwardly into love, and she was so blessed by it that she couldn’t tear the smile from her lips.
She had no clue if he felt the same, though the looks of longing when they pulled away from each other made her heart beat harder for the hope that he did. He never talked about his feelings, didn’t press her to share her own, but each time he brushed his fist against her arm in a move so tender it nearly made her drool, she knew. Knew herself if not him. Knew that if she lost Spike to the lies Angel insisted he was telling, it would surpass hurt. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about—even if it did compromise the life of her friends and family. Even if it endangered her own.
Giles had argued that the stupid prophecy book was such a great gift to them that she should believe Angel’s motives for wanting to help. Should accept he was ensouled and be willing to listen to his story. Only problem was, she already believed he had a soul. She’d looked up the history of Angelus—well, honestly, she’d only read a paragraph or two before her stomach objected to more. What the account had told her was that Angelus had not been the one giving her hints about badness around the Hellmouth. In his own mysterious way, he’d been trying to help. Not terribly efficiently, but she guessed it must be kind of hard to try and slip into a world of humans if you were feeling guilt for destroying so many of them.
That thought stopped Buffy cold, and a sudden chill of foreboding spread through her body right as she came to a stop at the door of Spike’s crypt. It was propped open slightly, a sliver of air existing between the door and its frame. Enough to warn her of another presence as she was about to enter and make out with her hot new boyfriend.
It was a woman’s voice—one that she’d never heard before. Belonging to someone she no doubt had never heard of before. And she knew Spike well, judging by the intimacy of her tone, the hurt as she accused him of something.
“Yeah, I lied. What of it?”
Spike’s reluctant admission slammed into her with all the force of a building collapse and Buffy felt the horror sink down to her toes. What did he mean he lied? Had he been sneaking around with her behind someone else’s back? Was Buffy suddenly cast in the role of ‘other woman’ when she was only sixteen? Oh God, what was he lying about and why was he doing it? Without knowing what lay behind the claim she was falling apart, the pain driving into her heart like a lethally sharpened stake
She’d put so much trust in him—hadn’t even considered he might be lying about any part of himself. It never even occurred to her to wonder how such a specimen of salty goodness was available in the first place. She’d just gone with it, decided she wanted him and went about showing him that he wanted her back. Learning you may have made a monumental mistake was a little hard to take. Learning it in the presence of another woman? Intolerable.
Buffy felt sick at the rushing swell of anger and disappointment that swept away all commonsense as she planted her boot flat against the door and sent it crashing inward. Spike’s surprise and dread filtered through her already quaking sense of supposed understanding, yet it was the malicious glee she caught in the woman’s eyes before she attacked that Buffy deemed more important. Without thinking, by trusting her heart before her head, she’d barged into the lair of two vampires. Ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a problem, her usual confidence in her abilities allowing that most double-act vamps she came across would be dusty remains before they could share an ounce of their stupidity. This time, she could sense the power from both of them, Spike’s almost heightened by his company, and Buffy at last realised her mistake.
Hands were around her throat and strangling her before Buffy could even call his name. Darkness beckoned as she tried to kick, tried to claw her way free. All the while the bitch was cackling like she thought Buffy’s imminent death was funny and Spike stood shocked to the spot. Buffy saw it and didn’t adjust her beliefs to the look of horror on his face, the fear that that reached out and met her own.
Not until Buffy was gasping did the pressure cease, only to leave her screaming as fangs sunk through tissue and sucked greedily at her blood. Buffy cried as her foolishness slammed into her and her mistakes flashed behind her eyes. Then it was over, blood leaking from her neck and weakness threatening to keep her collapsed on her knees. Partially in shock, she met furious midnight eyes feeding on terror and shrunk as he poured all his fear and anger into damaging punches that hit a too responsive Dru.
The woman Buffy didn’t know—the one she hated and now feared with a very healthy does of reality—collapsed into a sobbing bundle of olden styled velvet. Everything about her was blood red—the out of fashion gothic styled dress, the murder in her eyes, Buffy’s plasma that dripped from her fangs. And now she acted helpless against Spike’s anger, remaining on the floor as she rubbed her face and whimpered about duty.
It was too much, Buffy cringing as Spike dragged the woman into the air, throwing her across his crypt and rushing back as she slid down the stone. The evil laughter was back, her eyes stripped of artifice as she maliciously entered the fight. Fists and fangs slashed through flesh and air, leaving Buffy scared and confused. She stood slowly, pushing her spirit and determination to support her legs, forcing one final look to confirm the preoccupation of both vampires as she painfully sidled out the door.
Spike had not stopped the movement of his kicks and fists until Dru lay bloodied and whimpering on the floor. He’d never felt such fear, such gut-clenching terror that he was going to lose the very thing he needed to keep him alive. Buffy. The image of his former’s fangs hidden within the Slayer’s throat had been enough to budge him from his catatonia, desperation to save Buffy—to really watch her back—spurring him to finally force Dru from her. Dru had taken him over completely during his past, but this encroaching on his territory—whether to kill or love a slayer was still the debate—it fuelled an intolerance he wasn’t aware he had. No one could beat him, take away his purpose and so he had saved the girl. Didn’t want her hurt anymore than he wanted to come to this hellhole in the first place.
Whatever had Dru worried about the situation now was not his problem. He’d beaten her into submission for the first time ever and amidst it all wondered if this was what he should have done if he’d really wanted her to be his all those long years past. Whatever he could have done, should have done, was long ago and he had his future now to protect.
It was time he surrender his stranglehold on his evil persona, allow himself to recognise there was so much more than killing and feeding. No matter how evil he was, how consumed he was by the demon within, there was always love. He’d never had it in Dru, but he knew he could with Buffy. Knew that he half did already.
He would not let her die, and especially not on the end of Dru’s viciousness.
By the time the violence had stopped, Buffy had long disappeared into the night.
Submit a Review!