A/N This was written for the new twisted_spuffy
community on Live Journal. It's a stretch, but how else do you get
Spike into season one?
Please, read and enjoy.
"He is suffering."
"He was meant to."
"But he has had enough."
"He deserves more."
"But he loves—"
"That was his crime. He changed destiny—"
"And can we not change it back?"
Silence.
"Bring him forth."
The endless Nowhere was silent, but the activity burst through a tunnel
of energy so frenetic that Spike almost tossed his cookies. It was just
typical. He was having a good day—his numb lips almost approaching a
smile when that last demon he'd been wailing on fell over and its head
rolled off the roof. He'd almost entered a state of melancholy, and
after a hundred years of being the Power's bitch, it was looking like a
good place to settle. Maybe even buy a house; get a watch dog like that
slimy bugger on The Lost Boys.
The landing felt a lot like he'd had his head split in half and like
the agony of a long gone chip reacting to him bombing a substantially
sized building. He screamed, the familiar pain intolerable as he tried
to first cradle his head in his hands and then counteract the internal
pain with external blows with his own fists. It was five minutes before
he could see the colours beyond his own eyes. Even then when he all was
set and clear, he wished he hadn't opened his eyes on the Greek
aristocratic garb of the Oracles of the universe.
Spike groaned and dropped to his knees, feeling the weariness of a
century of being summonsed to a job the Powers felt could not go ahead
without him on side. A hundred years of trying to be worthy of the one
he'd lost—the one who'd left him long ago in a world of eternal pain
and misery.
"D-day again I take it," he gasped through chapped lips. The pain dried
him out, sapping all his energy as he succumbed to the lure of the
floor. The trip never got any easier. Being collected for these little
tête-à-têtes was just a bit much for Spike. These
were Powers that had
the world at their feet. Couldn't they send a bloody fax?
"You are required, Vampire."
His chuckle was filled with wry amusement.
"A hundred years of head-splitting agony and I think I picked up on
that message. So what part of the world has gone all to fuck now?"
Healing was kicking in and Spike slowly made it to his feet, refusing
to look at the serenely calm duo that thought they needed to have him
face to face before they dished his assignments out.
"We grow weary of your complaints. You are to receive permanence in the
world. Your destiny is to be renewed."
The duality of their voice in his head really didn't do anything for
his throbbing pain, and the cryptic messages really got on his nerves.
"What the hell does that mean? My destiny? Bloody cancelled that out,
didn't I? Met the girl, got the soul, gave up evil. How much more of my
arse do you lot want?" The anger he always pushed way down inside
himself was bubbling too close to the surface now. The existence he had
embraced after losing Buffy in the Hellmouth so long ago was one of an
emotional vacuum.
"We are not requiring any of your body parts. There is a girl that
needs your skill and devotion. We will send you to exist in her world
until your second time to come."
Shock and horror took hold. Face drained, a ball of dread bounced and
settled in his gut. A girl. They wanted to send him to a girl. He was
up on Power short-hand. They wanted him to go and be saviour to a
slayer. Just the suggestion sucked out all the goodwill he may have
felt for these endless beings. It carved him in stone and flooded him
with terror.
No more slayers.
It had been his only request when he'd agreed to become their
interdimensional champion. He'd travel anywhere, kill anything, do all
manner of good—as long as they left his path empty of slayers. A
century past and they'd kept their word.
"No." It was just a single word, standing alone against the power of
almighty, but it held so much grief that it would make even the most
evil blink on encountering it. Still, it moved them not at all.
"You have been chosen."
He flinched at THAT word and dropped to his knees, arms boneless at his
sides.
"I can't do it. You can't make me go to one. I hate them. I'll kill
her," he threatened spontaneously, helplessly. "So help me, throw me
into the pits of hell instead but if you make me face a slayer I'll
kill the bloody bitch as soon as look at her."
"You will be what you were destined to be. A chosen champion of war.
You must face your grief and move on."
The finality struck him hard and before he'd finished shouting his
hatred he was being catapulted through the passage again, his head
echoing his angry plea for clemency. Fury whipped through his body as
he was sucked through time, through places both his and not for him.
His skin tightened, his eyes ached and his teeth chattered, and through
it all, right up until he bumped into reality and hit a table hard, his
heart and head continued to scream 'NO'.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It somehow didn't even hurt to watch.
Feeling her life slipping away, Buffy didn't feel the sense of doom she
thought she would at the end of her life. She had faith in Giles—he
with the spell book and the totally revolting mixture of magical
reversal potion. Just because she couldn't move her limbs and her body
was on fire, Giles was with the pot and it was all of the good.
He proved it minutes later. Cool and calm under pressure, he showed how
it was no biggie to reverse numerous spells while the original caster
was trying to hack down the science room door with an axe. Buffy almost
felt bemused.
"Corsheth and Gilail! The gate is closed! Receive the dark! Release the
unworthy! Take of mine energy and be sated!" Giles beseeched a little
comically before he plunged his hands into the bubbling mixture.
Buffy wondered if maybe her leaning toward amusement had something to
do with shock. Perhaps she was so scared that she was reacting
inappropriately and finding the whole situation farcical. Whatever, the
thing worked and she couldn't fault that. Felt a little strength flow
back into her body even as Amy's mom tried to slice her way into the
room.
And so not before time.
As superpowers were again hers, she looked up to find Amy holding an
axe over her, a look of displacement battling with her shock. The
gratitude for Giles was going to be hug-worthy once she got away from
this freaky situation. Especially when he recovered from being all with
the unconscious. Buffy jumped up from the table and took great joy in
being able to pop up behind the formerly possessed Amy to offer her
protection against Catherine the Great—except stealing her daughter's
youth? Not so great in Buffy's book. It was hard enough being sixteen
the first time around and not even the hope of being a high school
cheerleader was enough to make her crave the idea of doing it twice.
Not when there were things like college boys to be had!
That thought put a smile on Buffy's face. Sure, she'd missed out on
cheerleading but, provided she made it out of school alive, she had
bigger things to look forward to. Learning to drive, boys, college,
dancing...so much to live for. So when Catherine looked to be about to
put another hex on her, she was very grateful for the strange yell of
'Noooo' that came out of nowhere and distracted the witch just long
enough for Buffy to kick a pole out of the way and harness the
narcissistic powers of the mighty mirror. The elder Madison screeched
in fear, her words jagging back at her in bolts of evil and she was
gone in a snap, leaving behind a moaning bundle amidst a splintered lab
table and a confused bunch of recently arrived Scoobies.
Buffy started as a head of frighteningly white hair popped up, a streak
of innovating and surprising curses flowing from his mouth as he swiped
a streak of blood from the back of his head. He swayed to his feet, his
gaze a little dazed as he took in his surroundings, and then finally he
settled on HER.
Without knowing who he was, Buffy could feel the moment he laid eyes on
her and clarity pushed its way into his brain. All the air seemed to be
sucked out of the room, the actions of her friends became so much
background noise and her heart began to pound an erratic rhythm.
"Hey," she said for lack of anything more coherent to say to the
stunning hottie that fell out of nowhere to smash the very table she'd
been dying on earlier. And wasn't that lucky or she could have been all
squished Buffy—and nobody would have liked that to clean up.
He didn't answer her in the same awed way. His eyes were filled with
horror and Buffy started to wonder if her recent near-death experience
had done something to her make-up—or at the very least left her a
little off-colour.
"Buffy?"
His eyes seemed watery but he just stared at her disbelievingly, a
shake of denial setting up a good swing. He stumbled backwards and
nearly landed flat on his ass as the decimated table tangled with his
boots.
A brow furrowed as Buffy tried to remember if she'd seen this guy
before, thus explaining how he could possibly know her name. There was
nothing and she knew she'd remember a meeting with this guy. He seemed
to shake as she came closer, and he actually put up a hand as if to
fend her off.
"Yes," she confirmed slowly. "I am Buffy. And you would be?" She felt
like saying it in one of those stupid voices that parodied talking to
an immigrant or an idiot. If anything, he seemed to become more afraid.
He took the opportunity to throw cautious glances around the room,
slowing on now recovered Giles and her friends before shooting back to
hit her with one more powerful zap of blue and then he was bolting for
the door, his body a streak of black leather and white hair. He barely
missed Willow as he powered through the door and disappeared down the
corridor.
Buffy was left with her mouth hanging open.
"Well, that was, um, interesting."
He could so say that again, thought Buffy as she continued to look at
the doorway through which she'd last seen the unlikely stud. It was all
Buffy could do to stay in tune with what went on around her. Questions
flowed to her tongue and she had no mystery man to shoot them at. She
wanted answers. He appeared out of nowhere, through a rip in time or a
portal, she was none the wiser. She needed answers and needed them like
yesterday. And if that just meant she'd have to locate said hottie,
then so be it. This WAS the Hellmouth and she couldn't let a mystical
anomaly like that just go by without any degree of investigation. She'd
be a slayer letting the side down, sitting down on the job. Being all
lazy butt, which she so was not. Well, not about Hellmouthy business
anyway. Even if she was still new to this whole protector of the
innocent gig.
Buffy sidestepped a determined Xander—determined about what she had no
clue, only that whatever it was, she had no time for it. She had a
mission, a sacred one at that, and she had to find this guy. Who knew
what he could be up to?
Thank God Buffy was just the girl to find out.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He knew what cruelty was. Hell, he'd lived and thrived within the act
for nigh on a century. But he'd handed over that evil rap, donned his
white hat when Buffy had come into his life and knocked him on his
arse. All it had really taken was a right hook to his schnoz and he was
starry-eyed. She had a powerful wallop, she did, and what bloke could
resist a chit that revelled as much in the violence and purpose of
destiny as he himself did?
He was a weak man, but not this time. This time he'd come out of this
fucked up notion of a Power's joke and he'd still have his balls
attached—and completely the right way round, too.
He'd choked. He could admit that. When he'd seen her, he'd almost
caved, was ready to forget that his Buffy was dead and grab hold of
this one and never let her go. But the young perkiness reminded him
just in time and he'd collected himself before he truly committed a
crime of wankerish proportions and embrace her to sob in her hair.
He'd just have to avoid her until the great interfering sods had sent
him back to his own time—to his own world where he could make a
difference. This was why he'd never wanted to set eyes on a slayer ever
again. He'd been used to putting down rising friction for so long he'd
almost forgotten who he was, but during that time he was passed back
and forth through a time tear, and in the back of his mind he'd feared
coming across her again. Feared it and yet never prepared for it.
And wasn't he paying the price for it now.
It hadn't been a reasonable expectation, though. Why would he ever
think it a possibility of crossing her path? She'd existed long ago,
and where he was jettisoned back to now was a time so far back and
unneeding of his interference that he was left floundering as to what
the Power's real purpose actually was. What was it they'd said? He was
a champion. So why the bugger had they sent him here of all places? The
poof was already about and even though Buffy could have done without
the Brow of Least Resistance, she didn't die from living these events.
Spike's interference could truly bollocks things up. Just what the hell
were they playing at?
And why were they using him as the King in this little game of chess?
He had no desire to remain the last on the board, wanted to not even
exist again here. There was already a Spike in this time, one that was
taking care of his sire before he had ever heard of a slayer named
'Buffy'.
Willy's fine establishment was as much of a dive now as it was to be in
later years, yet Spike felt himself strangely at home. Wherever there
was booze, he could take up a seat and wallow. It was misfortune that
got him here, plain and simple. Misfortune that stuck him straight back
in the path of bulldozer Buffy and Spike truly didn't think his heart
was up to the challenge of repeating their complicated association.
He always ran the risk of reliving the pain every time he over imbibed.
The booze always forced him into a front row seat of his brain as the
events of the Hellmouth and Buffy's final death played out to the
shattering end. He'd missed the initial blow, hadn't seen the sword
break through her skin and slice her insides fatally, but he'd seen the
aftermath, and as then the tears of sorrow and futility clogged his
throat.
"Buffy," he whispered into his glass, silent tears falling despite the
evil nature of his fellow bar patrons.
It had almost broken him to lose her.
He'd had to cut short the clean-up, only letting the amulet partially
burn his insides out as he ripped it from his throat just as the whole
Hellmouth began to rumble and tilt ominously. He'd tossed the gaudy
film star replica aside, all the Turok Han perished and no obstacle
stood in his way as he bent down to retrieve Buffy's body.
He'd started a chain reaction, though. He'd barely made it out in time
for Faith to throw a blanket over his head and he made it to the bus
only slightly singed but completely broken. He couldn't let her death
be alone. Couldn't let her body be consumed by a hungry mouth of hell
as the town toppled and collapsed in on itself. The bus they escaped in
made it to the city limits, Spike grasping and sobbing over the still
body of his slayer and wondering what cosmic practical joke was at work
to take her this time. Now that they'd almost reached the possibility
of an understanding.
He loved her, and despite the warmth they'd shared those last nights
before fighting the First, he'd never been brave enough to say the
words again. Too afraid she would lie to him and say she felt it too.
Too afraid she'd mean it.
So she'd closed her eyes on the world without even knowing if she'd
saved it. He was sure she knew it where she was and this time he was
certain she would stay where she belonged, and Heaven was at last ready
for her to return. It was nothing but arrogance that he'd want her to
know at the last that he still loved her. She cared for him—he'd felt
that. But his love wasn't the thing she needed to cling to on her
journey to the other world. Dawn. She'd be thinking of her sister and
her friends and he only hoped that at the last she could believe he was
one of those to her.
At the last.
He didn't want to be back here again. Not back to this place that had
killed her three times and left her struggling to fulfill her destiny
while trying to just be a girl. He didn't want to feel the pain all
over again. He didn't want to love her again—not when he knew of the
losses and the struggle to be close enough to her to make a difference.
By the time he felt her presence behind him he'd almost anaesthetised
himself from the shock of seeing her again. Seeing her with alcohol
rushing through his system was all the comfort he needed to think of
this as just another dream. Another in the sequence of nights when he'd
saved her from death only to face the challenge of life again and
again. At least then she had time to embrace it, had time to cherish it
before the time came to say goodbye.
He wasn't so good with goodbyes, and yet this time he didn't want to
even venture a hello. Pity that Buffy Summers wasn't the type to
respect a vamp and his binge drinking. Nor was she one to stand back
when there was a supernatural mystery to unravel.
Rolling his eyes, Spike gave in and twisted around on his barstool. And
lost the ability to breathe—outstanding luck that he didn't need to or
he'd be hyperventilating at the bint's feet.
She was completely different to how he remembered. The head tilt to the
side as she contemplated him was the same, yet the sparkle of humour
and flirty interest was as far removed as the North Pole was from the
South. She was still carefree, happy for the most part if he could read
her interest right, and that very fact had him teetering on the edge of
his seat.
And yet, seeing her stoked the embers of his agony and he felt close to
weeping in front of her. His body trembled as she licked her lips in
readiness to speak.
"You're sitting in a demon bar. Is there something you think I should
know?" She grinned and Spike almost broke at how trusting and open she
was to possibilities this time. Maybe if he—
No. He wasn't doing this to himself or her.
"Name's Spike." He could tell her that much, could tell her everything.
Didn't mean he had to see her again. "I'm a vampire with a soul.
Believe you're familiar with that concept." He couldn't hold back the
smirk. Oh yeah, he had no idea when he was, though he knew enough of
Buffy's history to know she met the poof too close to when she'd blown
into this town.
"No way! Get. Out!" She bounced onto the stool beside his and looked at
him with overly enthusiastic interest, a huge grin taking over her
face. "Don't know any vampires, actually. Especially not ones with
souls."
That surprised him, but obviously he'd been shipped back further than
the the big revelation of the Forehead wonder. He ignored it, amazed
that she sat even after his blurted introduction, but the smile was
almost his undoing. So beautiful. So bright and free of heartache. She
was fresh and he'd been mired in centuries of misery. He just didn't
know what those barmy Oracles to those higher up had thought they were
doing by sending him to her.
A sense of calm spread throughout his mind and body as she just sat
there watching him, gently chewing on her lip as she seemed to find
something thoroughly mesmerizing in his eyes. And he smiled, couldn't
hold back the gush of feeling that here was his Buffy, throbbing with
life, and she'd never looked more stunning. Or so young and innocent.
"So, that's one hell of a trick you souled guys have come up with." She
didn't look away, moved closer so that her knees were resting against
his wobbly ones and her elbow propped on the bar.
His spark of confusion spread to his eyes and he scratched his head as
the smile wavered on his lips. "What's that, pet?" He studiously
ignored their touching limbs, not wanting to combust on the spot.
She giggled and it was the most melodic sound he'd ever heard. "That
whole 'ZAP' thing where you appear from nowhere and smash the science
lab. It's pretty nifty. That disappearing thing when you see me, say my
name like I was a ghost and then bolt was pretty interesting too. I'm
thinking the Hellmouth just got all hellmouthy and forgot to tell me
about it."
She didn't seem mad. She seemed more than a little amused and Spike
felt himself slipping a little more. He had to stop this. He couldn't
allow the closeness this time. He had no idea if he was here to for
good, even though those canny bastards said he was to stay until his
second death. He figured that meant he could cling to Buffy till he was
dust. He just couldn't decide if he wanted to.
"Buffy, you really don't want to know what that was all about." He
rubbed a hand over tired eyes, wanting more than anything to just lay
down for his final rest.
"See, right there! How do you know my name?" She leaned forward, eager
to hear a story that could shock her off her seat and onto the sticky
barroom floor with barely any time for adjustment.
And so, in a perverse need to see her as rattled as he was, he told her.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
There was absolutely no reason for her to believe him. No reason at
all. As long as she ignored the mountain of facts he knew about her and
the life she led in this not so sleepy little town. He knew the names
of all her family—which on reflection wasn't so big a deal considering
how small it actually was. But he knew of her whole experience as a
slayer and it was enough to make her gasp.
So yeah, even though she had no reason to believe, had no reason to put
so much trust in a supposed souled vampire's story, the pain and
sadness in his voice and eyes went a long way to convince her. The way
he watched her as if long starved and then would shake and shiver
during certain parts of his tale.
Going that extra step and taking his story as truth only opened a door
she'd rather slam shut. She was only beginning this ride in Sunnydale,
and he had the proof and the knowledge of how long exactly she would
last. Knew the devils that would finally take her out of this world. He
didn't tell her everything—she could see that by the subtle way he'd
look away at certain points. She could tell that he'd loved her future
self, and that thought made her more feverish than sickened like she
should have been. A vampire loving a slayer. Unusual, but by no means
did it lack in the romanticism of the gesture. And seeing him so easy
on the eyes, she could well imagine how she'd have fallen for a guy
like him.
His barked laugh when she'd said as much was a little confronting.
Suddenly she thought that maybe future Buffy wasn't as tuned into
reality as she was now. But then that made no sense at all.
"Look. We made that truce, right? I let you into my house, introed you
to my mom. It's obvious I trusted you—" She was cut off by another
burst of laughter, one that was as far from any sentiment of happiness
than she'd ever witnessed in a person.
"I'm the last bloody vamp on earth you trusted, pet. That was a crisis
situation. You only let me in because you were smart enough to know you
needed my help, and I was smart enough to offer it. No, that was long
before any feelings developed, and you were never going to trust me
that quick."
Buffy frowned. She knew herself and she really didn't think she'd allow
a dangerous vampire into her home if she thought he'd be harmful to her
own mother. She might have taken chances on her own, but she must have
seen something worthy in Spike even then. Otherwise, the whole event
didn't make sense to her.
She thought a moment, and then her eyes lit up at another flaw in his
tale.
"You said when you got that thingy in your head and you couldn't feed
from people anymore that you risked going to Giles's for help. Forgive
me if I'm being presumptuous, but I'm guessing that you were hoping I'd
be there and help you even if Giles wouldn't. Right?"
He looked embarrassed to her eager eyes, but nodded nonetheless.
She positively beamed. "See, you trusted me to do the right thing by
you. And I trusted that you were telling the truth, ergo, I must have
cared."
He almost fell off his chair with a jerk of hilarity. "Oh, that one's
priceless. You cared alright. You cared that I might have information
about something the almighty Slayer didn't. You wanted to taunt me,
tease me with your glorious neck, drive me out of my bleeding mind with
all the white hat crap. Care about old Spike? Not so much, luv."
Buffy's eyes narrowed and she felt an ache in her jaw from grinding her
teeth. If she didn't know better she would start to think that she'd
been duped into the thinking he felt things for her that she hadn't had
any trouble processing. Fortunately for him, he wore every emotion on
his sleeve and the naked terror just looking at her cost him was enough
to make her continue this insane little fight.
"Okay, so let's get really serious. That spell you said my friend
Willow did—and let me just say I'm taking a lot on your word right now
that she's as powerful and undisciplined as you say. Because
discipline? They rubbed out the word in the dictionary and put Willow
right there instead. But that spell. We were engaged?"
He nodded again, hesitantly, worriedly.
"Why?"
He blinked, his open mouth remaining wordless for long seconds before
he stopped gawking at her. "Why what?"
Buffy wiggled closer, her knee not just bumping against him but
gradually sliding between his. The heat factor climbed dramatically and
Buffy could do nothing to fight the flush that touching him caused to
spread over her face. Still, her eyes continued to sparkle.
"Why did you ask me to marry you?" Voice husky, seductive, Buffy nearly
crowed with success as Spike gulped and quickly dragged his leather
coat around him in protection.
"Because I loved you, you deranged bint. Why else does a bloke ask a
girl to be his intended? Wasn't because I wanted to sit at home and
carve your stakes up for you."
"Uhuh!" Buffy shouted, almost leaping into his lap. "You loved me, and
I said yes, so I obviously loved you. Point!"
"Are you off your bird? It was a spell wanting us engaged. Of course we
loved each other. We were as close to being the other's worst nightmare
come to life. No fairytale ending there without a spell on the fritz to
make it happen."
She could feel the gleam of satisfaction that she had him now. He
couldn't deny her this one. "You don't have to be in love to be
engaged, you know. If Willow didn't wish us in love, then we must have
already felt it."
Spike looked at her, recognised her smugness and felt a little sad at
having to stomp the confidence out. "Buffy, would you marry for any
reason other than love?"
He could feel the rapid increase of her heartbeat and her frown had a
tinge of sadness attached that he wished he could remove, even though
he didn't want to stay beyond this night. Rehashing the long distant
past was wearing him out, exhausting him too much.
"No," she answered, finally beginning to get it.
"Neither would I. I'm a romantic bloke, Buffy. I love. It's what I do.
I don't love wisely, but I love deeply. Willow wishing us to be
married—wasn't going to happen for any reason other than love."
She actually answered him with a sniffle and a painful jab to his arm.
"Would you stop fighting me on this? I know I'm right."
"Buffy, there's no point you looking for something that isn't there. I
lost you more than once—and no, not going into the particulars—and how
I felt about you, or how you felt about me, wouldn't have been even in
your top five thoughts before you left us all behind." He looked down
at the bar, feeling beyond miserable as he reached for another snifter
of Jack.
Buffy felt herself repress a growl of frustration, stiffening her spine
as she stared at his dejected posture. Okay, she meant business. There
was no way that this hunk hadn't occupied many of her lusty thoughts in
the future. And no way would she have been so callous with the emotions
of someone who loved her—especially one who loved her so thoroughly.
"Okay, so what about that hellgod? You said I left my mother and
my...sister? With you, because I knew you would protect them." The idea
of a mystical key-shaped sister still threw her, but for the sake of
this mission she'd roll with it.
Spike raised shimmering eyes, grief at their reiterating of events he'd
held tight in his heart for over a hundred years obviously beginning to
take a toll. Buffy felt like stamping her foot and shouting 'good',
knowing one thing above all else that when you grieved, it was best to
be upfront. Who could get over any kind of pain when you hid from it?
"You knew I was the only one strong enough to protect them if the bitch
came calling. Not long after that it was obvious all I was to her was a
speedbump. I was convenient, Buffy. A resource you had an inkling you
could count on. You didn't come to me because you felt anything close
to what I felt for you. Face it, pet. You don't know your future self.
An' why should you? Lots of bloody awful things happened to shape you
that way—made me last on your list of annoyances. There's no shame in
what went on. You became who you needed to be to be a hero and a
survivor. No shame at all." He turned glumly back to his alcoholic
crutch, grasping his glass tightly and hoping that she would have had
enough and just move on.
He obviously had forgotten more about Buffy than he'd thought.
Buffy's lips thinned in irritation. She so did too know herself and
what she was capable of. Although the way he was acting she could
certainly believe he bugged the living crap out of her—in a good way.
Because as pessimistic as he was being, who could deny how adorable his
pouty bottom lip was? Who could look into those crystal clear eyes and
not be swept away on a wave of affection? Who could listen to him talk
and not want to jump his bones and have him share hours of sexy
conversation?
"Now listen up, Blondie. When did you get all scaredy vamp? Are you
more depressed that you lost me without me saying I loved you and
meaning it, or that you know I loved you and you can't deal with me
being gone? 'Cause gotta say, new opportunities here and you're blowing
them off. I can FEEL there is something there. Do you want to work out
what it could be, or do you want to wallow in your—" she waved her hand
toward his shot glass in an obvious lack of adequate adjectives before
letting her hand settle innocently on his resting on his knee.
She couldn't hold back the gasp when Spike stared at her straight, a
slow stream of tears making tracks down his cheeks.
"What I want, is to go back and have you forget you ever met me. Go on
living your life. Let things flow how they were meant to and let me get
back to missing her the way I was supposed to. It's my curse, you know.
May not lose my soul like Peaches, but I get where he was coming from
with the eternal torment. I need this."
She shrugged off his confusing fruity comments and went straight to
irritated. "What, my memory? Instead of me?" Fury struck her fast and
Buffy found herself striking out and slapping his cheek. "Didn't you
say you got that shiny soul for me? I demand consumer's rights. My
gift, I get to say what I want to do with it. And I want to prove it."
"You can't! You're bloody barmy." He felt like he was losing it. As
much as this was Buffy, she was different. She wasn't punishing him for
loving her, wasn't fighting him for daring to.
"Oh yeah? Watch me." Mad didn't even begin to describe how she was
feeling. Buffy dragged her hands from him and climbed swiftly onto the
barstool, staring furiously at the ceiling marked with something she
didn't want to hazard a guess at while residing in a demon
establishment. "Hey, PTB's, get somebody's ass down here who can give
us some answers."
When she jumped back to the floor and braved a look at the obviously
incensed vamp, she could well believe he wanted to throttle her.
"What the bleeding hell do you think you're pulling? They aren't going
to just pop a messenger on down to answer your trivial que—"
"Hey, kid," piped up a voice from over her shoulder and Buffy spun on
her heel to smile widely at the little guy with the hat.
"Hey," she greeted enthusiastically. "I'm Buffy, your current Chosen
One."
"Whistler," he replied. "Your current ass representing the Powers That
Don't Know Any Better."
"And I'm guessing you know Spike:Dumbstruck," she grinned.
"Know of," he confirmed. "He's being a little more stubborn than usual."
"Stubborn," Spike spluttered, finally regaining control of his mouth
even though he'd totally lost it of the situation. "I'll have you know—"
"Easy, buddy," Whistler warned while holding his hands up defensively.
"I'm just the messenger and here ONLY because you're completely mucking
up the situation."
"I'm mucking it up? Oh that's rich. You buggers have done nothing but
tear my life to shreds. I said—more than once if I'm not mistakin'—that
I wouldn't tolerate being sent to fight alongside a slayer. Not only
have you bastards ignored my wishes in that respect, you send me to THE
slayer most likely to make me go bald. I mean, do you want me to put
myself out of my misery? There's a nice rosy sunrise poking out of the
sky soon enough."
Whistler chuckled and turned conspiratorially to Buffy. "Bit of a drama
queen, ain't he?"
"Oh God, yes," Buffy agreed, releasing pent up breath in relief. She
sat back on her stool, relaxed and ready to hear her beliefs confirmed.
"So, Whistler, I was hoping you could help a girl out and prove that
I'm right and I so totally know myself, despite what Mr. Oblivious
thinks."
Spike snorted, glared at the pair of them, and turned seamlessly back
to his bottle.
"Bloody irritating, argumentative woman." He threw back a very hefty
shot of Jack.
"Look, buddy, you're screwing up your slayer's final wish," Whistler
confided with a sad smile and a nervous look at the current slayer
sitting so close to him.
Spike froze with another shot on its way to his lips; he remained
turned away, stubbornly refusing to let any of them see his pain. One
century later and it hadn't dimmed at all, some days feeling sharper
and more devastating than the first.
"An' what's that then? What was Buffy's final wish?" He could barely
speak, the words forced out on a near whisper as he waited. He felt the
shutdown of his body begin, the rejection of knowledge that would
either relieve his pain or renew it with harsher consequences.
Whistler looked around the bar, pointedly staring at various demons who
were paying far too much attention to the newcomer who had arrived not
using the usual door, but appeared out of thin air. Not that apparating
wasn't possible, but it didn't happen too often.
"I guess you chumps forgot you were in the den of evil. You don't have
to worry about the walls having ears here. There are ears hanging out
all over the place." He bent over and picked up something from the
floor, chuckling at an appendage attached to a long membranous tube. A
not so gentle tug received an inhumane squawk from across the room and
the rapid retraction of the ear in Whistler's hand. He wiped his palm
and fingers on his trousers, his face screwed up in disgust, while
Buffy watched on and turning an alarming shade of green.
"What say we hit the street, find us a more secure location to reveal
what's going on?"
Spike eyed the messenger suspiciously, but had little choice if he
stayed than to remain wallowing at his bad treatment as Buffy jumped to
her feet and led the way out. Dread made his steps stilted, and seeing
the sights of Sunnydale did nothing for him but make him break out in a
clammy sweat. He felt like he was on his way to the end, that Buffy's
last words, her final wishes would be too much for him to take. For the
moment he'd completely forgotten that she was here, just in front of
him, so like the girl he'd known and loved that he wanted to collapse
to his knees and weep for her to forgive him. Tell him she forgave him
for letting her die again. The amulet should have worked faster, should
have taken him instead of leaving her at the mercy of hundreds of evil
Turok Han.
Their walk was in silence, Spike so deep in thought that he hadn't even
noticed they'd stopped and only looked up in time to prevent himself
from plowing into Buffy hard and knocking her to the ground. She smiled
at him, and he was struck with the thought that she saw him. Really saw
him in a way he wasn't sure his future Buffy ever had.
Whistler stood as the two blondes took hesitant seats on the park bench
they'd come to, a quick glance around confirming the lack of
eavesdroppers for the moment. He crooked his head and looked at the
girl as she was before he'd sicced Angel onto her.
"You wouldn't remember, of course, but you've lived this life before,"
he began to a totally rapt Buffy sitting forward so as to not miss a
vital word. "You died—more than once, as Spike told you by not telling
you." He chuckled as he touched his hat and winked at a bemused Buffy.
"Thing is, you weren't meant to. Well, you're human, so of course you
were meant to eventually, but you forgot to do something before you bit
the big one this time."
Buffy, for someone who was hearing about her eventual death, looked
almost excited.
"Ooh ooh, can I guess? Let me guess."
"Nah," Whistler denied. "You'll spoil the surprise."
"You spoke to Buffy?" The words were laden with grief and two sets of
concerned eyes turned his way. Buffy made to put an arm around his back
but he stiffened and she dropped back without ever touching him.
"Yeah," Whistler admitted, feeling the glumness for the first time
since appearing in front of the pair. "She was kind of conflicted, you
know?"
It was no surprise to see the return of Spike's tears. No matter the
time passing or the experiences that took him away from that
destructive memory, his grief had failed to wane. It was an opportunity
that the Powers had thought would reward their current champion with
that which he most desired, as well as honouring a final wish from the
Slayer that had given them her all—three times over.
"Did she know?"
The question knocked Whistler from his reverie, and an indulgent smile
spread across his lips. Oh boy, this vamp never clued up. Either his
soul took away his ability to read people, or he was intentionally
misreading emotions to protect himself. "Yeah, she knew, and she
believed you, and she regretted in her last minutes not telling you
exactly how she felt and what you meant to her—both personally and as
her champion. She loved you, so much that leaving you broke her heart
and forced the Power's to listen to her for about eighteen hours
non-stop." The memory of when she'd argued and used obscenely insulting
names to bring about this miracle was still something that randomly
gave him the giggles when he recalled them.
Spike felt the sting of being torn. One hundred years he'd fought in
their name. He'd left her body in the hands of her sister and friends
and wandered the world looking for his final death. It had come about
in a long drawn out service to The Powers That Be. One hundred years of
being good, of being righteous and hearty in defending the innocent and
the world. One hundred years and they'd not once told him that she'd
left behind something after she'd passed. Fuck, he wished they'd
transport him back through the hellevator so he could rip their
celestial heads off.
"None of that, or they'll reconsider and have an angry slayer tearing
them new ones. Now, do we want to hear or not? 'Cause I can stay here
and watch the baby routine for approximately another ten minutes before
I'm required elsewhere. Your choice."
The little messenger quickly darted behind a giggling slayer as Spike
growled and then bared his fangs for the first time in front of this
Buffy. She stared at him in amazement, transfixed by his visage as she
reached a finger out to trace his lips.
"I've never been this close to a vamp before, well, not without staking
them anyway." Her voice trembled and Spike stared in wonder, surprised
at the lack of her fear. While they stood locked in each other's gaze,
Spike's human face melting back without one noticeable change in how
Buffy viewed him, he caught his breath.
Whistler hated to break into the moment, but he wasn't kidding about
the time limit. He had a disappointed vamp with soul that he had to
find another mission for. This one obviously wasn't going to work out.
"Buffy wanted the chance to really show you how she felt."
Both blondes swung to stare at him when his words interrupted their
perusal of each other. Good, attention grabbed, now he had to get the
message out and be on his merry way. As much of a romantic as he was,
no way did he want to be around when these two got with the fireworks.
"Seemed the Slayer knew herself better than you think." He saw the
self-satisfied smirk of Buffy as she reached over and tried to casually
take Spike's hand, could see her hope and uncertainty ease as the
tortured vamp allowed the hold and squeezed her hand reassuringly. "She
thought you both deserved a second chance—without the baggage that took
her so long to admit to herself how she felt. Stay away from Angel,
kid. Hazardous to your health."
The emotional turmoil of a century seemed to roll off him all at once,
leaving Spike sagging with a relief he never thought he would feel
again. He fell back into the support of the bench and let his face fall
into his hands. Buffy loved him. At the end, she knew and she loved him
back. Great hulking sobs, held back for too many years to count, almost
broke him in half. All the grief and the loss surged through and out of
him in waves of cleansing tears.
This time Buffy didn't allow him to intimidate her. She sat next to
him, her arm draped across his shoulders as she snuggled him against
her chest, his head resting in the crook of her neck. His hand snaked
around her waist and he held her tightly, leaving Buffy to wonder just
how the bizarre had become her excuse for a day.
It was a long time before he could look up, but when he did it was like
he was seeing a totally new world. Buffy's concerned face was mere
inches away, and her green eyes were the same. The emotion, the
knowledge was there and he couldn't fight himself and his need anymore.
God, he loved her with every breath he didn't need but couldn't stop
taking. He loved her with every pulse of blood his body missed in
death. There was nothing else, no one else and he'd been all shades of
a fool to think he could walk away when he knew Buffy was alive
somewhere.
Maybe the little git was right. Maybe he could take this opportunity
and make things right. Maybe he could allow Buffy the time and the
chance to see him for who he'd become from inspiration of her alone.
And then she kissed him.
Epilogue
Buffy had never been so nervous in all her life. She felt like biting
her nails to the quick, but that would so destroy her fancy manicure
she'd invested in for this very special night.
Despite the watershed moment, it had taken Spike a long time to let her
get close. That first kiss had tasted like honey on her lips—and it had
had to tide her over for months.
Her boyfriend was a puritan, it seemed. Long innocent dates leading
slowly into hand-holding. It was enough to drive her crazy, but she
never fully eradicated Spike's fear until some time had passed and
their tentative relationship began to blossom.
Tonight she was ready to force the issue. There was only so much
distance a girl could take before she started to suspect her very hot
boyfriend didn't want her. If his eyes weren't filled with awe every
time he looked her way she'd be very suspicious. As it was, he made her
melt every time he spoke to her, touched her hand, flattened her hair.
The kisses, once she'd finally gained them back, were to die for.
Totally droolworthy. But he always held her back. While she wanted to
feel the hardness of his body as she leaned in and supped from his
lips, he'd hold her apart. While passion transferred from his heart to
her lips, he struggled to keep things cool.
Well, no more. She was putting her slayer foot down and stopping this
evadeyness. She understood why he was holding back, she really did. She
just couldn't be patient about it anymore. So she sucked in her
previous future life with him. She'd more than made up for it now, and
six months was long enough to wait for him to see that.
Her mom was out of town for days on business. It had presented just the
opportunity that Buffy needed, allowed a flexibility in her plans that
was about to finally come to fruition. Spike was so going to be hers by
the end of the night—or she'd die trying.
She'd gone to considerable effort, dressing prettily in shades of pink
and purple. She knew he loved red and black, but she thought the colour
of passion thing was done to death. She wanted him to know she wasn't
an evil seductress out to kill. She wanted to be a girl, on a date with
her guy and ending it with an offer he would be so dusty if he refused.
A knock at the door and Buffy was pounding down the stairs, her heart
thumping hard and her blood rushing through her body in giddy
excitement. She opened the door too fast and it smacked up against the
wall. Suppressing the cringe and mentally locating the tin of fixy
stuff for the wall, she turned to her guest and flashed him an ecstatic
smile.
He blinked.
Spike was obviously confused as he stood at the door, looking her up
and down before darting a quick look over his shoulder—almost as if he
were suspecting someone else to come bounding along.
"Goin' somewhere?" he asked as casually as he could while dealing with
a sinking of his insides.
"Nope. Just staying in. A girl can dress up to sit on her own couch if
she wants to. And I want to. So get your ass in here and get with the
movies while I make popcorn."
Her forwardness shocked him. Not in that he'd never seen it before. So
long ago the tryst that had seen her in his arms, wild and flushed, had
been preempted by many instances of Bossy Buffy. This incarnation of
her took longer to rev up, and it seemed that finally she'd approached
the end of her patience with him.
Spike sighed as he stepped into the house, hanging his coat on the rack
by the door and strutting, hands in pockets, to the sofa. He flopped
down like a rag doll, eying off the stack of movies on the coffee table.
"What'll it be first, pet? Girly flick? Bit of horror?" He looked up
for her answer and nearly bolted upright at her ravenous look before
she pounced and lodged herself in his lap. Her skirt fluttered to rest
around their legs, Spike trying to get a hold on her waist to thrust
her back when her hands grabbed his head and she glared before slapping
his lips with a kiss designed to be explicit in intent.
Though it lacked the previous belt down of his first time with Buffy,
it seemed to carry the weight of that violence in her kiss alone. The
relief at being forced through his uncertainties seemed to be enough,
and the hands that had held her tight to force distance, now carried a
different force—one in order to support her decision and held her
firmly against his rising body parts. He'd hoped the evidence of his
need for her would be enough to frighten her back, make her realise she
was too young or just not ready. But it spurred her on and he groaned
as hot, sodden panties allowed her to mould around his denim clad
erection.
"Buffy," he gasped once he tore his lips away, She was panting as her
glazed eyes remained fixed on his lips, and he almost went up in pure
flame as she leaned forward again and began to slowly lick each lip
with her perfect tongue. "Sweetheart, you don't really want to do this."
She pulled back just enough to glare at him, then grasped his hand and
gave it a path under her loose top to close around a lusciously rounded
breast while she attacked his throat with kisses and sensuous bites.
"Do not tell me what I want," she moaned into his ear, her tongue
flicking inside to taste the shell while her hands wandered and finally
tugged his shirt up enough to whip it over his head. "I'm showing you
what I want. Go with it."
As his hands touched her gently, she slowed down and lost some of the
urgency she'd begun the mission with. She felt the coolness on her back
as he inched her top up. Pulling back, Buffy sucked in a breath at the
look of love she saw so clearly on his face, and raised her arms to
lose the first of her clothing. She settled back into him once she was
bare from the waist, feeling the heat of her body scorch him as her
nipples scraped over his chest.
She'd never felt anything so delicious in her life. She'd been doing
some reading, done some research into this losing of her virginity. The
common thing in Harlequins and the stories she overheard in the locker
room was that it was meant to take place in a bed, with her lying
supine and receptive. Right now, that objective seemed wrong.
Her body moved, almost without her willing it. She relished the feel of
his hands on her back while breasts aching for touch alternated between
smashing up against his tepid skin, or tickling him with her hard
nipples as they sweetly drew circles on his flesh.
Buffy's mouth reclaimed his as her hands touched him; sought him. She
felt the hardness of him pushing into her throbbing cleft and couldn't
stop the motion of her lower body as she rubbed back and forth over
him, craving to feel the reality of appendage rather than the roughness
of denim.
Spike groaned as she released the top button, then she 'eeped' as her
skirt was whipped up her body and tossed to the floor. Naked bar for
panties, she squirmed even more, proud he was seeing her body and dying
for more of his touch. Showing no nervousness or restraint, Buffy
nudged the zipper down and moaned throatily as his erection fell into
her hands.
"Off," she demanded, almost growling when he didn't wiggle out of them
fast enough. Bare pulsing cock was now so close to being inside her she
could hardly stand it and Buffy almost cried in her demand again.
"Off," she ordered and before she could breathe, before she could
submit to the powerful rush of desire that stampeded through her veins,
he'd torn her panties and she spread her lips around the length of him.
Spike's head fell back on the couch as Buffy rubbed heat and juice
around him, his hands tightly clasped to her hips as he allowed her to
drive this as hard and fast as she wanted to. When she lifted slightly
and his trajectory changed, stretching so subtly the virgin lips of her
pussy, he almost came with a shout. She didn't heed his warnings to be
slow, obviously couldn't stop as her blood thundered through her body
and almost deafened him. She slid down on him, hot molten walls
expanding and taking him in, Buffy vocalizing with moans and small pain
filled whimpers until she'd taken him all the way in. Until he'd rested
against her cervix and she lay sobbing in his arms.
"Oh God, so good," she whispered against his lips, her body moving on
impulse as she deflected the sharp and sudden pain with a building
crescendo of sensation.
Spike could feel the prickle of her skin, could feel his own body
temperature rise in familiar reaction to what she gave him. Hope. Such
tremendous hope that he'd never lost in relation to Buffy. No matter
how many times she had kicked him down, or climbed onto his cock to
fuck him senseless, he'd always clinged to hope. And in this beautiful
moment, it had come to fruition.
Muscles clamped hard around him, pulsing him to an excruciating rhythm.
It hurt not to come, hurt to hold onto the passion that made him want
to scream and pound into her for all he was worth. Buffy slid up and
down, slathering him in wet, hot juice as the slow shudders of her body
told him she was close. Resistance was impossible and Spike bent her
back, feeling the slight change in position emphasise his place in her
pussy as lips latched onto her nipple. She cried out as he sucked hard,
his hands moving her hips so she bounced him in and out. Muscular
tightenings were the final message and she was screaming his name,
pulling his hair as her body jerked and spasmed helplessly around him.
He was free then, free to slam her quivering and still reacting body up
and down his cock, relishing the sensation even as it hurt him
immensely. God, the joy and the agony of being full to bursting as he
felt his ejaculate surge in his balls and rush up his cock to finally
explode with enough force to have him sweating and shouting her name.
Jerk after jerk had him coming in ribbons, the pain of letting himself
finally jet in her exhausting.
Breath rattled in his chest as he came down from the high and finally
opened his eyes. Buffy was grinning, her face slick with sweat and her
body shaking in satisfaction. She collapsed against his chest and he
knew it hadn't been a mistake. The time was right and now she knew how
thoroughly besotted he was.
His mouth opened to reveal himself fully, but she beat him, bit his
lip, and beat him.
"I love you." She looked deep into his eyes, her sincerity deep in her
exhaustion.
He was finally home.