29. Power
Buffy took the chains off of her
bed and stuck
them in the farthest corner of her closet, out of sight completely. She
was well aware that she would be taking them out again that night --
floor or bed, either way she still planned on keeping Spike chained up
at night -- not because she thought he would actually hurt her, but
because she knew that if her friends found out he was free, there would
be hell to pay.
*It's just because I have no choice,* she told herself firmly. *No
other reason. Certainly not because he's so attractive and sexy and the
thought of him chained to my bed and at my mercy is just so freakin'
hot that I wanna just...*
"Thinking of me?" Spike's self-satisfied voice broke into her runaway
thoguhts, and she turned to face him, her face flaming at the knowing
smirk on those full, perfect lips.
Caught again.
"Has any girl ever told you that the whole smelling her thing really
icked her out?" she asked him, irritable with her embarrassment.
"Actually...no," he informed her, rising from where he sat on the edge
of her bed to move toward her in a way that was both predatory and
seductive. His voice was softened slightly as he reached a hand to
stroke back a stray lock of golden hair, lowering his mouth to hover
inches above hers as he spoke, low and enticing, "Heightened senses are
usually not a cause for complaint, love."
God, she wanted him...desperately...*now*. When he leaned down to kiss
her, she accepted it hungrily, intensely, pulling him closer for a few
moments. But finally, she pulled away, pushing him gently back.
"We can't," she said breathlessly. "Not right now. I have to go..."
"Go where?" he demanded, and those enticing lips formed just the
slightest pout...and for a moment, she had no earthly idea *where* she
had to go.
"Um...I..." Suddenly she remembered. "Dawn! I have to take Dawn away
from Sunnydale today."
She and her Watcher had discussed it the night before, during the
planning session that Spike had mostly tuned out, too focused on the
witch shooting him death glares to pay much attention. They had decided
that, just in case Faith managed to pull off her scheme, and they ended
up fighting an incredibly powerful, psychotic vampire/Slayer, it would
be better if Dawn was somewhere safer than Sunnydale.
At this point, anywhere was safer than Sunnydale.
Buffy knew where her father lived, just outside of LA, though he had
not returned any of her phone calls, and she and Giles intended to
drive up that day, and leave him no choice but to take in his youngest
daughter -- just for a few days, Buffy reassured herself -- until Faith
was no longer a threat.
Dawn had not even argued -- a fact which worried Buffy terribly. She
knew beyond all doubt that her little sister hated the idea of staying
with their father, who had had little to do with either of them since
their parents had divorced.
Buffy hated the idea, too. But she knew that it was better than Dawn's
being hurt in what would certainly be a fierce and dangerous battle. It
would not be fun, but they could deal with the separation for a few
days.
Buffy felt reasonably safe leaving Spike alone for the day while she
and Giles went on the trip. Willow and Xander were both already at
work, and she did not think that Faith would know yet that Spike was
here -- so there was little chance of her coming home to find a big
Spike-shaped pile of dust.
Which, to her own surprise, was her main fear. It was unspoken but
understood between them, in the wake of the drastic turn that their
relationship had just taken, that Spike would not try to hurt her
friends. Of course, she knew better than to think that, if backed into
a corner, the vampire would not defend himself; and her friends had
shown a strong tendency toward wanting to hurt Spike.
All things considered, she was glad that he would be at home *alone*.
The only better arrangement would have been for him to go with her and
Giles; but that was prevented by Spike's "sun allergy", as Buffy wanted
to get back from LA before dark. She did not feel comfortable leaving
the Hellmouth -- or her friends -- undefended after dark.
"I wish I could go with you," Spike said, and the sincerity, the open
affection in his voice, touched her heart.
The whirlwind events of the past night and morning, though unexpected
by either of them, had served to birth a fledgling trust between them.
Each knew instinctively that the other would not hurt them, although it
was in their very nature to destroy each other.
Somehow they just knew that what they had found, in such an unlikely
place, was a kindred spirit, someone who could truly understand the
ghosts of guilt and lost loves that haunted them -- and not hate or
condemn them for the failures they tormented themselves with.
Buffy felt a warm feeling of affection as she looked into those clear,
expressive blue eyes. "I know you do," she said apologetically. "But we
can't wait until dark. We have to get her out of here as soon as
possible. But it's a three hour drive, and it's ten now, so I should
still be back before everyone gets home."
Spike sighed in resignation and nodded his acceptance, his eyes down,
his fingers leaving her hair to trace down her cheek as he looked back
up at her and spoke in a voice full of tenderness, though his eyes were
laughing wickedly. "And I was so in the mood to shag you senseless."
"You would have done that in the car?" she gasped, her eyes wide with
mock horror. "With *Giles* driving?"
"He already heard the bloody soundtrack, love. Maybe he'd like to see
the movie, yeah?" he teased her.
"Eww, Spike," she replied darkly, but she was trying hard to hide a
smile. He leaned down to kiss her again, and she kissed him back,
tenderly, parting finally from him to gaze up into his eyes again.
"God, that was stupid!" she remarked with a laugh, shaking her head at
the memory of what had taken place less than an hour ago.
"Yeah," he chuckled, eagerly claiming her mouth again, kissing her
deeply until she broke away, gasping for breath.
She rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathing deeply,
before meeting his eyes again. She paused for a moment before
admitting, "But, God, that was *hot*!"
He smiled at her observance for a moment, before repeating more
enthusiastically, "Yeah," and kissing her one last time to send her on
her way -- and make her want to come home sooner.
The afternoon passed in peaceful solitude for Spike, enjoying the quiet
contentment of feeling truly safe for the first time in nearly a year.
He had spent the past months, ever since Drusilla's death, looking over
his shoulder, constantly expecting to be taken by surprise and punished
for the treachery he had chosen to engage in.
Now, it felt good to finally have the secret out in the open, to be at
a distance from the unpredictable, ever-present danger that Faith had
been in his life.
Of course, he knew that if Buffy's friends had been home, he would not
have been able to feel such a sense of safety. He wasn't so sure about
Xander; the whelp seemed to go along with whatever Buffy said,
generally. The witch on the other hand -- there was a dangerous
darkness hidden under that sweet, unassuming exterior, a bitter well of
hatred and vengeance waiting to be poured out -- and at the moment it
was all directed at him.
But for the moment, the large, comfortable house was empty except for
him, and he wanted nothing more than to rest and *not* think about the
many people who still wanted to see him dead.
At least Buffy was no longer one of them, he thought optimistically,
with a sort of softness falling over him as he sat down on the sofa,
thinking of her. He turned on the television and flipped carelessly
through the channles, but all he saw was Buffy's face. Surprisingly
trust-filled emerald eyes gazing into his own -- trembling lips, red
and swollen with kisses -- that perfect golden skin that was as
flawless as the sunlight that had colored it.
He only hoped Buffy's glow would not consume him as quickly as that
sunlight.
Already he knew that he would never hurt her, would not hurt her
friends or her Watcher, because *that* would hurt her. if he was truly
honest with himself, he knew that he could fall in love with this
amazing, tender, powerful woman -- if he let himself.
He thought back on their conversation of the night before, about moving
on and loving again after losing your first love. Suddenly, a vision
from his dreams, of Drusilla's dark, hurt-filled eyes, accusing him of
his betrayal, flashed into his mind.
With a weary sigh, he laid his head back against the sofa, suddenly
feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. He realized that he had
really gotten very little rest the night before, what with the bloody
mind-blowing sex with Buffy, followed by the terrible nightmares, and
long intense conversation, followed by *more* bloody mind-blowing sex
with Buffy.
And that was the last thought that went through his mind before he fell
into a deep but troubled sleep, plagued by yet another revised version
of the nightmares that haunted him.
This time, he was the one who stormed into the room in a violent fury,
intent on killing his bound lover, whose face kept shifting from Dru's
to Buffy's and back again. he was seized by painful indecision, unsure
what to do, why he was even there. Then, the chained beauty's face
stopped changing, and was simply Buffy, gazing up at him
imploringly...trustingly.
Suddenly, his dark princess was behind him, her haunting, musical voice
a seductive whisper in his ear, "Kill her, my Spike! Kill her for
princess!"
Though a part of him screamed out in horror at the idea, he lunged
forward and rammed the stake in his hand through the heart of the
blonde angel before him, who exploded not in a cloud of dust, but in a
million glistening shards of sunlight, singing his flesh where they
fell on him -- and melting away the false face of his love behind him,
revealing the cruel face of his enemy, laughing in heartless triumph at
the success of her deception.
The quiet sound of the television in the background had lulled him to
sleep, and it was the sudden silence that yanked him from the dream,
with a startled jump, to see Willow standing back up straight after
turning it off.
He stared at her, a little dazed, as reality drifted back to him.
Willow gave him a small, false smile. "Bad dream?" she asked, the
forced sympathy in her voice making it appear that it would have
pleased her if he had said yes.
He did not. He shook his head. "No," he lied. "You just scared me, is
all."
"I scared you?" she repeated, that unsettling smile still in place, and
the pleased tone of her voice was a little frightening in itself.
"No," he objected again quickly. "*Startled* me," he amended, pausing
before adding pointedly, "You *don't* scare me, Red."
She stared at him, her expression not changing, for a long moment
before she said quietly, matter-of-factly, "I should."
Despite the way his stomach dropped at the calmly spoken words, Spike
kept his expression unconcerned, suddenly wondering what time it was,
and if Buffy was home yet.
"5:30. She's been home since before I got here." Willow spoke quietly,
an odd light in her green eyes.
Spike's eyes widened in disbelief, and he unconsciously raised a hand
to his head, as if trying to protect the private knowledge there. When
he realized he was doing it, he quickly lowered his hand, swallowing
hard, staring at her hard, sobered.
"Like I said...you should be scared," Willow smirked.
Spike suddenly wanted desperately to be absolutely anywhere but here,
with Willow. Trying to appear unaffected by her demonstration of power,
he stood up. "Yeah. Over a little parlor trick," he said sarcastically.
"Sorry, not buying. Is Buffy upstairs?" he asked her dismissively as he
moved to walk past her toward the stairs.
The last thing he noticed was the odd little flick of Willow's wrist,
just before he found himself slammed forcefully back down onto the
couch. He tried to rise, but found his arms pinned to the seat as if by
a heavy weight, completely immobile.
"Yes, she is," Willow answered his question without missing a beat or
raising her voice. She smiled. "And you're down here. And we're
talking."
"No, we bloody well are not!" he declared in a slightly trembling
voice, struggling uselessly against the unseen force that held him
down. He tried to quell his rising panic, but felt his fear getting
stronger as Willow watched him impassively.
"Let me go, Red!" he demanded in as threatening a voice as he could
muster. "*Now*!" Looking toward the stairs, he called out, "Bu..."
Before the word could leave his mouth, Willow had somehow silenced it,
with a mere wave of her hand. His mouth was moving, he was speaking,
but no sound left his lips. He was amazed -- and terrified -- at the
power he had not known that the girl possessed. Uselessly he tried
again to rise, to call out for Buffy's help, to no avail.
Willow shrugged, obviously pleased with herself, and stepped slowly
closer to him. "Well -- *I'm* talking," she amended as she reached him,
her eyes dark and mesmerizing, with a glint of some dark power in their
shining depths, captivating him so that he could not look away. "And
you're paying attention," she went on softly, leaning in even closer,
her eyebrows raised, her lips pursed with suppressed laughter as she
added, teasingly, "Think you can handle that one on your own, or should
I help?"
He felt a cold chill of fear at the thought of what she might feel
necessary to hold his attention, and shook his head rapidly,
immediately ceasing his futile efforts to move and speak. The timid
little girl of a year ago now held the power, and he had no choice but
to submit.
She smiled in satisfaction. "Good," she said quietly, that same calm in
her voice that was so chilling to him. "That's better. Now, I've got
some things I wanna get off my chest. That okay with you?"
He nodded slowly, his wide eyes never leaving hers, and swallowed hard,
his mouth dry with fear.
Willow was silent for a moment before her smile faded and she stated
simply, "You killed the man I loved."
Spike automatically opened his mouth for a pleading explanation that he
knew she would be able to hear, despite his forced silence, but
stopped, flinching, when she raised a soft hand to brush lightly over
his lips, leaving a small shock of pain where they touched.
"Shhh," she ordered softly. "Don't interrupt me. That's rude."
He fell silent again with a small nod, waiting for her to go on and
pass her judgment, withholding his chance to give his defense.
As far as she was concerned, he had none.
"You killed him. And you deserve to die," she said matter-of-factly.
"The only reason you are alive is because Buffy thinks she needs you.
And if she's right -- and I kill you now, and Faith wins," she paused,
shaking her head slightly, her lips a firm line of resignation, before
she looked back at him with a sad smile, "...well, I couldn't live with
that. So...you live. For now," she stated, her voice soft and solemn.
"But the moment that Buffy *doesn't* need you -- the first clue I get
that you're not being straight with us," she warned him, a menacing
glare breaking into an infinitely more frightening smile of
anticipation as she explained in a secretive tone, "I've got *lots* of
little 'parlor tricks' up my sleeve, Spike!"
She was quiet for a moment, moving in closer, her face only inches from
his now. "You ever wonder what it feels like to be dusted, Spike? Oh, I
know you must all the time," she waved her hand at his puzzled frown,
smiling when he flinched at the this time innocent flick of her wrist.
"But I mean, *really*, what it *feels* like -- like *moment by moment*."
Her wide eyes held his, fascinated and terrified by the child-like
excitement he saw there as she talked about her ideas, and he knew that
she genuinely had the power to carry them out.
"I've always wanted to see a staking, like, in slow motion," she
confided, her voice lowered to barely above a whisper.
"One...tiny...frame...at a time."
His breath was coming fast and hard now, his fear intensified by the
fact that it made no sound. She could do anything she wanted to him at
that moment, and he could not resist her, or even cry out for help. he
watched in helpless horror as she slowly brought her hand to rest
lightly over his heart, her touch gentle, but so deadly.
"I could make it happen, Spike," she assured him, though he already had
no doubt of that. "Imagine...the exact moment when the stake pierces
your skin...and each instant as it bores slowly deeper and deeper..."
He could feel the heat of her hand on his cool skin, and he imagined
that her touch was burning him. He shook his head slowly, closing his
eyes, unable to hold back the silent whisper, "Please...please..."
Only in his nightmares had Faith ever been able to reduce him to
pleading, but Willow in this moment was infinitely more frightening
than Faith had ever been.
"Shut up." For the first time in the whole encounter, her voice was
hard, threatening, reminding him of how much she hated him, how little
pity she would show him, and he immediately obeyed.
Willow's voice immediately returned to the soft, almost gentle cadence
she had used before. "Then – in the moment when it pierces your heart –
you'd feel the heat flow out from there through every...single...cell of
your body...literally burning you...to *death*. One...moment...at...a...time."
Now he knew that he was not imagining the intense heat that radiated
from her hand through his chest, now aching under her touch.
She lifted her hand away suddenly, leaving the burning sensation just
as strong, her hand poised in the air, a beat away from carrying out
her threat. "Do you want to feel that, Spike?" she asked him, deadly
serious.
"No," he whispered, soundlessly, shaking his head, his eyes focused on
her hand in frozen terror. "No."
"If you do anything to hurt Buffy...or any of us...if I think you're lying
about anything – you will, Spike. Is there any doubt in your mind about
how serious I am?"
He shook his head, his eyes wide and riveted to her hand.
"Watch closely," she whispered, with a sly smile, and suddenly waved
her hand emphatically in front of his eyes.
He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, expecting the searing pain to
begin...but instead, he felt the invisible weight lift from his body, and
heard the ragged, shallow sound of his own rapid breathing.
At that moment, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Willow
smiled at him, putting a finger to her lips before turning to meet
Buffy, on her way down.
"Hey, Will, I thought I heard you come in." Buffy's voice was cheerful.
"Yeah," Willow returned her friend's smile, seeming in a better mood
than usual. "I'm going upstairs to do some more studying on ways to
stop Faith."
"Okay," Buffy chirped, slipping past her and toward Spike, her smile
fading into concern at the look on his face. "What happened? What's
wrong?" she asked him, starting toward him, forgetful of the fact that
she was not supposed to care.
Beyond her, behind her back, Willow paused on the stairs, her back to
both of them...waiting, with a soft smile on her lips.
"Nothing, pet...just a...a dream," Spike managed to get out in a voice that
sounded somewhat normal, after a long pause. "Just a dream."