The First Slayer paid no more attention to this comment than she had to his other rants, cajolery, and diatribes and continued to stare into the distance, intent on something only she could see. Certainly, nothing was visible to him. It was a particularly dull desert, not even a scorpion for company, just the woman as silent and unmoving as the rock where she sat.
Spike sighed. He prided himself on being able to get some sort of response out of anyone, even if it was only a punch to the head, but this one seemed immune to his charms. Of course, his previous experience with her indicated that she could kill him without any particular effort, so perhaps it was just as well.
No, sod that. He wasn’t going to be afraid of or impressed by her or anyone else. He was the Big Bad, and he had his rocks back, and everyone could just get out of his way.
“Don’t know why I should be surprised,” he said, leaning back against a rock of his own and casting his gaze indolently toward the sky. “You’re no different from any other Slayer, aside from a rather odd fashion sense. Bunch of holier-than-thou bitches, the lot of you. Especially the current one.”
Although he sensed movement, he refused to look. “Never mind what a fellow does to help out,” Spike continued, forcing himself to remain relaxed. “It’s all ‘You’re an evil thing, stay out of my life.’ When she’s not climbing me like a tree, that is.”
He lowered his gaze with a theatrical sigh and found dark eyes fastened on him instead of the air.
That’s got it. Don’t like things being said about your girl, do you?
“You might want to have a word with her,” he said kindly. “Got a few issues, hasn’t she? Problem with the whole gratitude concept? I mean, I helped out her friend when there was no real reason to, not to mention all I did for the Little Bit, and she’s not even willing to lend a hand. Then, there’s you. You know what I’ve done for her, and here you’re all set to finish me off….”
His words died away as an image appeared between them. Rack and Amy stood in the outer room of Rack’s place, Rack’s eyes were closed, his hands outstretched, obviously searching for something. As Spike watched, the warlock’s eyes opened, and his usual calm was shattered by something like frustration and even fear.
“Anything?” Amy asked.
“He’s gone. I can’t sense him anywhere.”
The girl shuddered. “That’s impossible. What could be powerful enough to hide him from you?”
What indeed?
The image faded, and he looked once again into the First Slayer’s impassive expression.
“Sorry about that, Love,” he said with what he hoped was a winning smile. “Bit of a misunderstanding. Didn’t realize you were on my side.”
“I’m not,” she answered calmly. “You are nothing to me except that you are under her protection.”
A new image appeared, that of Buffy standing at the training room weapons cabinet. Her sword was slung at her back, and she was stowing smaller weapons into various portions of her clothing, obviously preparing for battle. A tremor went through Spike. She wore the white blouse he had last seen the night she was restored to him, but the frailty that had been in her face then was replaced by determination, and the hands that had trembled and bled were strong and steady. She was coming for him, after all, meaning she would face Rack, against who all her weapons would be useless.
“You’ve got to help her,” he said urgently. “She can’t best the warlock that way.” The First Slayer didn’t move, and he grabbed her arm angrily. “Come on, she’s your daughter or your sister or whatever. Don’t you care?”
She looked down at his hand but didn’t pull away. “All of my daughters are beloved. The power is hers if she will take it.”
As if she heard, Buffy’s head lifted and she stared straight into the eyes of the First Slayer. The woman immediately shook off Spike’s hand and uncoiled from the rock, moving forward until she was only a few feet from Buffy’s image.
Wind ruffled Spike’s hair, and he felt a chill as he watched Buffy’s long brown strands lift and stir in the same breeze. It was obvious that she could see the First Slayer, and Spike stayed to the side, sensing that this wasn’t a moment to interrupt.
Buffy drew herself up, face grave and composed and in a clear, formal voice, unlike her usual tones, said, “I am the Slayer. I am the Chosen One. I am the daughter of Sineya. I claim the power.”
“Slayer,” the other responded. “What right do you have to this power?”
“The right of blood.”
“Again I ask. Chosen One. What right do you have to this power?”
“I face an evil that must be stopped.”
“And a last time. Daugher of Sineya. What right do you have to this power?”
Buffy blinked, snapping out of whatever trance or spell she’d been under, her resolute expression replaced by one of confusion. She didn’t seem to have a set answer for the last question and paused as if struggling with herself. She looked aside, then down at her hands, chewing her lip. Then, with a sigh, she faced the First Slayer again and said, “I must save one that I love.”
There was a roaring in his ears like a hurricane, the universe spun and twisted, and Spike thought he was going to pass out.
She said it. Oh, my God.
Too many emotions to name swept through him. Joy, terror, triumph, panic, lust, and love, mixed together in one overwhelming mass. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off, fall to his knees and vow eternal devotion, and run away and hide all at the same time. Spike barely noticed as the flame passed from Sineya to Buffy, sweeping fire around his Slayer that left her untouched except for an orange light in her eyes.
He thought the sex had changed things, but that was nothing compared to what had just happened. She had said she loved him, had claimed some sort of power because of him.
It was real now, not some sort of desperate grasping, not something that she would deny later, but real, which meant things were required of him in return. He had failed Buffy before, not protected Dawn as he’d sworn, caused the Slayer’s death. If he did it again after she said she loved him…
Someone wasn’t worthy and Spike knew who it was.
No, see, I’m an evil thing, remember, so you really shouldn’t do this because of me.
A light tap on his cheek returned him to the present and he looked into a face that was no longer expressionless, that in fact, was rather amused.
“You have that which you sought,” she said mildly.
“Yeah. Right. I, uh…. Hey, wait just a minute,” Spike said, seizing with relief onto a sudden realization as something to think about other than Buffy’s earth-shattering revelation. “What are you so bloody happy about? You told her to kill me before.”
One eyebrow lifted. “I told her that killing you would end her pain, and it would have done so. The choice was hers.”
Her mouth quirked as she watched him chew on that one.
“Then you didn’t want her to kill me,” Spike said slowly and with dawning horror. “It was some sort of test.”
“The end of pain is not the quest of the Slayer,” Sineya said. “It gives her strength, purpose. Buffy is the best of them, as strong and shining as the sun. She has been the only one to risk so much, to offer her heart again and again despite the suffering she has known. To choose the fire and embrace it. As she has chosen you.”
Now, he really wanted to run. He was a vampire, damn it, who had stupidly developed a crush on the Slayer, not some representation of the Slayer’s fire. Not someone who would have to be more than he had been.
Hey, I’m a superhero too.
Oh, God no. Please no.
Sineya barked a laugh. “We must all become accustomed to new ideas.” She became serious, and her voice took on the weight of ritual. “You are free to return. Where shall you go?”
Spike stared at her, understanding that she would send him wherever he wished. He could return to his old haunts, his old existence. Probably he could bully Warren into fixing or removing the chip and really return to what he was, even find Dru if he wanted. It would be easy. It would be smart. He knew his Slayer and didn’t fool himself for an instant that Buffy’s declaration meant everything was all right between them.
I must save one that I love.
Really, there wasn’t a question.
The fear didn’t go away entirely, but it retreated enough that Spike could say steadily, “Put me with her.”
A tiny nod that might have indicated approval. “Done.”
The world turned white and black again, and he was on the starlit streets of Sunnydale, where nothing would ever be the same.
In the end, she took everyone along. Normally, Buffy wouldn’t have dreamed of such a thing, would have sent Dawn, at least, somewhere safe. In her current state, however, no one could protect her sister better than she could. She could feel her friends’ gazes touching her as they walked, she slightly in the lead, the others forming a pack with Dawn in the middle. Both Tara and Anya carried materials for casting spells, and Xander had the largest axe he could carry.
Buffy knew they were a little afraid of what had happened to her, Dawn especially after her experience with Willow being changed by exposure to magic. She wasn’t entirely sure she had a grip on everything either. Sineya had passed something on to her, but she didn’t really know what it was or how it worked.
It wasn’t like before when they had done the enjoining spell. Then, she had felt swept up by the power and carried along helplessly, only mildly in control. Now, Buffy felt...like herself. REALLY like herself. The power wasn’t anything that was being done to her, it was part of her, part of what she was. She was achingly conscious of the air on her skin, the pressure of the sidewalk under her feet, the motion of her hair against her back, the knowledge that Spike was somewhere close by in the night. Ever since they had stood outside the Magic Box, and she had focused on him, his presence had been like magnetic North tugging at some sort of internal compass.
Buffy stopped and looked back at the others. “We’re almost there. Be ready.”
They nodded back at her, tightening their grips on weapons magic items. Dawn gave her a nervous smile.
“It’s ok, Dawnie,” Buffy reassured her sister. “I’m still me. I can just do a few more things. And by the way, after tonight, your disappearing act is history.”
As she had hoped, the teenager relaxed slightly. “Great. My sister the bloodhound.”
The plan was simple. When they found the hideout, Anya, Willow, Xander, and Dawn would remain outside. Anya could do simple spells, and if necessary, Willow would defend Dawn with magic. Xander could deal with things that needed to be hit. Buffy and Tara would enter the hideout, and Tara would drag Spike out while Buffy took on Rack.
In. Kill Rack. Out. Now if only Spike wasn’t hurt. It would really suck if she’d gone through all this and admitted to herself and Sineya that she loved him only to have him fall into dust. Buffy set her jaw. This wasn’t the time to think about that. Stick to the plan, which boiled down to rescuing Spike and kicking Rack’s ass. Other stuff would have to wait for later.
They had to be right on top of the hideout. She could sense Spike everywhere. It must be around that next corner
“Tara, you’re with me,” she whispered. “Everybody else stay back.”
She glided forward, her sword whispering from its sheath, the witch immediately behind her. Whipping around the corner in full predator mode, she almost impaled Spike as he hurried down the sidewalk.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted, leaping back as she pulled her attack up sharply. “Watch where you point that thing, Slayer!”
“Spike?” Confused, Buffy brought her sword back to her side. “What are you doing here? How did you get away?”
“From Rack?” Spike shrugged. “He’s not so tough.” His gaze went past Buffy and she looked over her shoulder to see that Tara had beckoned the other Scoobies forward to stand in a suspicious group. His lip curled. “What, were you all coming to rescue me? That’s sweet. Warms the cockles of my heart.”
Buffy eyed the vampire narrowly. On the surface, he was his usual snide self but something was off. Spike seemed nervous, shifting slightly from one foot to the other, his eyes meeting hers for a heat-filled instant, then sliding away.
Of course, her reaction to him could be screwing up her perceptions. The fact that he was ok made her almost dizzy with happiness. She wished that they were alone, so that she could...
Could what? Go to him? Touch him? Kiss that sneering mouth? Hear the mockery in that drawling voice? The very thought sent a wave of panic through her. She might have admitted to herself that she loved him, might have said it to the First Slayer, but telling Spike was an entirely different story.
Besides, Buffy realized with relief, there were other things she had to do right now.
“Tara,” she said briskly. “Is there a spell on him?”
“I don’t think so,” Tara answered, squinting at the vampire. “I can’t see any real difference in his aura.”
Spike glared. “If I want my aura read, I’ll ask. Otherwise, keep your eyes to yourself.” He sent a lascivious grin toward the startled witch. “Unless you can’t help taking a peek, Pet.”
Ok, he’s definitely making it easier to not throw myself at him.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Buffy said. “We have to know if Rack did magic on you. He could be tracking you or controlling you or something.”
“Well, he isn’t. I don’t know why the big pouf has you so spooked anyhow.” Irritably, Spike pulled cigarettes from his duster pocket and lit up.
“If he’s so nothing, why didn’t you just take him out?” Xander asked. “Why bother rescuing Tara?”
“There’s a good question,” Spike snorted through a cloud of smoke. “Couldn’t have been because I anticipated gratitude, now could it? I’ve learned my lesson about that.”
“Thank you, Spike,” Tara said hastily. “I was going to say it anyway as soon as I was sure you weren’t under a spell.”
Spike made some sort of acknowledging growl, and Xander shook his head. “I’m still not hearing why you didn’t finish this guy off.”
“Harris, the day I feel called on to account to you….”
“Enough!” Buffy said loudly. “Spike, thank you for getting Tara out, ok? We all appreciate it. It’s…it’s good that you got out too, because yes, rescuing you was part of the plan. But even though you both got away, I’m still going for Rack. He’s shown he’s a threat. Do you know where his place is?”
“No,” Spike said sullenly. “I’ve been out for a bit. I’m sure he’s moved.”
“All right. I’ll find him.” She took a deep breath, stilled herself inwardly. She’d never seen Rack, but she knew things about him.
Warlock. Place that moved. People-controlling amulet. Wanted Willow….there. Something that combined a sense of cold and a bad smell touched her. Despite her revulsion, she focused on it.
“Got him,” she said, opening her eyes again. “I can follow…oh. Oh, God.”
The image or sense or whatever it was twisted beneath her, fed back on itself along the link she’d established for tracking. Seized her in a grasp like iron.
You don’t have to work so hard for it, Slayer. I’m happy to help.
“Buffy!”
She could hear her friends shouting her name, saw Spike leaping towards her, and Tara’s hands lifting, but they were both moving in slow motion. She knew they wouldn’t be in time.
And they weren’t.
One moment, she was standing on the sidewalk. The next, she was whipping through the darkness, scenes spinning by too fast for her to focus on them, although for a second, she thought a hot desert wind whipped her hair. Then, she was in a dingy paneled room, looking at Amy and a man with a bad eye who was probably Rack.
She didn’t waste time wondering how in hell he’d pulled it off, or how she was going to get out of this, or what her friends would do. Her sword was already in her hand, and Buffy spun, the blade an extension of her arm, aimed directly for the warlock’s heart. There was a flash and crackle of light and the tip bounced away from Rack’s shield, but he looked surprised for an instant before breaking into a broad grin.
“I thought Strawberry had power,” he breathed. “What I couldn’t do with someone like you.”
“Everybody keeps trying to sell me on the forces of evil,” she snapped. “You’re as bad as the aluminum siding people. When are you going to take me off your call list?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Amy’s fingers start to wriggle, and in one movement, a throwing star was buried in the wall next to the former rat’s head.
“Amy,” she said conversationally. “Don’t start with me. I’m already pretty pissed off over what you did to Tara, and you really shouldn't make it worse. Speaking of Tara, I hear Willow’s looking for you. She's not happy either.”
Amy froze, her eyes moving from Buffy to Rack and back again. Without another word, she bolted out of the door, across a second paneled room, and through another door.
“Good help is so hard to find these days,” Buffy sighed sympathetically.
“She wasn’t good help,” Rack shrugged. “I find if you want something done right, you have do it yourself.”
With that, a bolt of energy shot out of his hands directly at her heart.
Buffy’s normal reaction would have been to dodge, but something instinctively held her still. As the energy approached, white fire leaped from her body, engulfing and destroying Rack’s weapon as if it had never been.
“It’s funny,” she said, trying to mask her own surprise at what she had done. “I’ve found the same thing.”
“You would have,” the warlock said. His fingers touched the amulet at his neck. “Since you always end up alone. But I have to wonder why you’re trying so hard to stop me, when you know you want to die again. Go back to that quiet place where nobody knows what you are. Die now, and they’ll all think you’re a hero instead of one of the monsters.”
“I hate to tell you this,” she said, beginning to circle Rack. “But you’re timing’s off. Even a couple of weeks ago, that line might have worked, but I’m feeling better these days.”
“Really?” he answered with interest, moving with her. His hands turned the amulet, and despair washed over Buffy. She was alone, and would never be otherwise. Her friends had dragged her out of heaven and brought her back wrong. Giles was gone, and the only one she could talk to was Spike.
She shook her head hard, shook the feelings away. “Give me a break. Like I’m not used to dealing when I’m miserable. I was suicidal for an entire summer, once. And you know what? I could still go to hell and kick ass.”
There was noise outside. Buffy could hear the voices of her friends and the crashing as they began to attack the door to the inner room where she and Rack stood.
“Your friends have come,” he said. “But would they if they knew what you are? What you’ve become? Someone who has violent sex with soulless vampires? Someone who loves one?”
A chill went through Buffy as Rack touched a core of real fear regarding the gang’s reaction when and if they found out what had happened between she and Spike. Hell, she was afraid of it and what it might mean. Not so much the one-time occurrence. Everyonemade mistakes. You could get past those. But that she loved him? Loved SPIKE? When her relationships with people who were good, like Angel and Riley, hadn’t worked?
In that moment of fear and doubt, Rack struck. Power poured from his amulet, surrounding her, even as the door burst inward and the others, led by Spike, poured into the room.
“Come to me, Slayer,” Rack crooned.
With wooden, jerky movements, Buffy started forward.
Focus. You’re not going to find her if you panic.
Spike moved through the streets, every sense extended, the others trailing behind him. He knew Tara was searching too, and thought that Willow was at least open to the sensation of Rack’s place.
“Buffy’ll be all right,” Dawn said half-firmly, half-questioningly. “She can beat up anything, and now, she’s got all that new…stuff. We’ll probably run into her any minute, now, coming back from Slaying this guy.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Tara said comfortingly.
“Shouldn’t go back to where you were?” Xander asked. “Work back from there?”
“It isn’t like that,” Spike said briefly. “It fades out one place and into another. There’s not some sort of trail you can follow.”
He tried to take comfort in what Dawn had said since he knew, better than the others, that the Slayer could take care of herself and that she had new powers. Except she hadn’t trained with them, Rack wasn’t what he’d call a light-weight, and she couldn’t use her normal method of dealing with bad guys, namely punching them out.
What if the warlock attacked her mind? That was where she was vulnerable at the moment, her mind and her heart. The memory hit him of her dancing herself to death, the sorrow that rode almost constantly in the back of her eyes. If he could just find her, safe, he would, he would...
He would be a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch like he’d been earlier tonight. Part of his brain had watched in bemused horror as he sneered and jeered and lied. It wasn’t his anticipated reaction to hearing Buffy say she loved him, which had involved a lot more kissing. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated his primary emotion on hearing her declaration to be stark terror either, but that was what had happened. Meeting her on the sidewalk, fresh from his encounter with the First Slayer and the vision of Buffy claiming her power, his two options had been poetry-spouting idiot or Big Bad, and he’d gone with the second for safety’s sake. He had worn his heart on his sleeve for too long, suffered too much in his love for the Slayer to feel secure in starting in with the roses and candlelight. Not that he’d do that if she said it to him. That sort of thing wasn’t him anymore, or if it was, it was a part that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Doesn’t mean I won’t help her out though.
But to do that, he had to find Rack’s, which returned Spike to his current problem of not knowing where to look.
Running feet brought them all up short. Spike’s fangs descended, as Xander shoved Dawn behind him, with Willow and Anya flanking her. Tara took a step forward.
Amy charged out of an alley and skidded to a halt as she saw them, her eyes going huge.
“Uh, hi, guys,” she stammered. “Small world isn’t…”
Her hand flashed in a spell-casting gesture, but before she had a chance to complete whatever it was, Willow shot past Spike with a sound somewhere between a shriek and a howl and dived on the other witch, sending them both sprawling to the ground. By the time the others got there, she had one hand hooked in Amy’s hair and was using the other one to emphasize a statement she was making as tears ran down her face.
“If you ever,” ... punch ... “Go near Tara again,” ...slap... “Or anybody else I love,” ...smack ... “I’ll kill you!”
It sounded reasonable to Spike. He wouldn’t have a problem with her killing Amy immediately, and would, in fact, be willing to lend a hand if he could figure out a way to do so without the chip firing, except that at the moment the witch had other uses.
“Will,” he said calmly. “She can help us find Rack’s.”
“I know,” Willow grunted. “That’s why I’m being careful.” She slammed Amy’s head into the sidewalk almost, but not quite, hard enough to knock the woman unconscious.
“Willow, stop!” Tara cried, grabbing the red-head’s shoulders and pulling her away. Willow let herself be pulled and faced her lover miserably, the tears still flowing.
“I’m sorry,” she wailed. “I’m so sorry, Tara. About everything.”
“Shh.” the other said gently, brushing the tears from Willow’s cheek. “I forgive you. We’ll talk, ok? But right now, we have to find Buffy.”
“And you’re going to help, aren’t you?” Spike said coolly as Amy staggered to her feet. He moved closer and dropped his voice. “Or do I find an errand for Tara and the Little Bit and turn Will loose on you again?”
“Rack’s back that way,” Amy said instantly, pointing behind her.
“There’s a good girl,” he said approvingly, seizing her arm just above the elbow. “You can walk along with us for a bit, just to make sure we don’t take any wrong turns, hmm?”
He nodded to Willow who moved into Amy’s range of vision to make sure Amy didn’t pull anything. Tara stayed by Willow to make sure Willow didn’t start beating on Amy again, and they headed in the new direction.
After another block, he could sense Rack’s place himself, the sense of evil and corruption clear. He shoved his captive toward Willow, but with a burst of energy, Amy tore free and ran back the way they’d come. Tara and Willow both spun, but all desire for revenge had been scared out of the other witch, and she never slowed until she was out of sight.
There was no more time to waste. Spike plunged forward, feeling the air tingle as it split around him.
The waiting room was still empty of Rack’s usual clientele and Spike strode forward to the door at the back. His sharp hearing caught the sound of Rack’s voice, which hopefully meant Buffy was still conscious, and he wrenched with all of his strength at the doorknob. It turned slightly, then sprang back to the locked position.
Growling, he backed a few feet and launched at the door, afraid to have magic tried in Rack’s place. Gods knew what countermeasures he had up. After a few tries, there was a tap on his shoulder, and Xander held out a floor lamp.
“Try that,” he offered.
Spike nodded and rammed the lamp against the knob. The impromptu battering ram served, and after several blows the door crashed open just as a reddish light shot from the amulet at Rack’s throat and engulfed Buffy.
“Come to me, Slayer,” Rack said softly.
Buffy started towards him, moving slowly, reluctantly, but as if she couldn’t help herself. Spike grabbed for her and crashed against some sort of barrier that sprang up between them.
“Buffy!” he shouted, adding his voice to the cries of her friends. “Stop!”
She was trying, sweat breaking out along her forehead as she struggled against the warlock’s hold, but inexorably she staggered forward.
“Let her go!” Willow shouted. “I’m here! I’m the one you want!”
Tara was silent, eyes focused on the barrier, obviously trying to use magic to lower it.
“Damn it, Slayer, fight him!” Spike roared. “She said you were the best of them. Don’t tell me you’re so weak and helpless that some pillock can take you down.”
She shook her head from side to side, her breath harsh and ragged, still stumbling forward.
Rack smiled. “You fight so hard for her,” he said softly without looking away from Buffy’s slowly advancing form. “And you don’t even know what she’s capable of.”
Between one halting step and the next, Buffy’s back leg bent and propelled her forward in a sw eeping leap that carried her the rest of the way to Rack. Before he could react, her hand closed around his amulet.
“Neither do you,” she said calmly, and white fire exploded from her fist.
Rack began to scream, struggling wildly against Buffy’s hold and striking out at her, but the Slayer didn’t even bother to dodge, only tightening her hold on the amulet.
There was an audible ‘pop’ and the warlock sagged away from Buffy, his eyes rolling back as he went to the floor, the broken chain of his amulet dangling from her grasp. His body was still for a moment, then the flesh began to fall away from his bones, pooling on the floor in a grayish mass and she jumped back with a cry of disgust. Both flesh and bone began to smoke and soon there was nothing left of Rack but a stain on the cheap linoleum floor.
“Wow,” Anya said into the resulting silence. “He was all amulet and no cattle, wasn’t he?”
Back outside, Spike watched dourly as friends and family clustered around the Slayer, leaving him on the fringes as always. Only Anya stood slightly apart as well, smiling down at the magic items she had looted, or as she put it, rescued from Rack’s.
“Did you want other evil warlocks getting hold of them?” she had asked reasonably.
Now, she marched up to Xander and poked him in the arm. “We need to lock these away,” she announced. “There are people and creatures who will feel Rack’s death, and they’ll be here soon.”
“You’re right,” Buffy said. “It’s time to call it a night. Dawn still has homework to finish.”
“What? We just fought a major nasty!”
“If I had to fight nasties and go to school the next day, so do you.”
Willow darted a glance at Tara then away. “C’mon, Dawnie. Let’s show that Trig who’s boss.”
“I used to be pretty good at Trig,” Tara said softly. “Mind if I tag along?”
“Yeah, sure,” Willow breathed as a huge grin broke across Dawn’s face. “I mean no! No not at all. Tag. Please.”
“You guys go on,” Buffy said. “I want to make sure everything’s ok around here.”
They went their separate ways, toward the shop and Revello Drive, and Spike was left alone with Buffy.
He meant to say...something nice, something about being glad she was safe...but what came out of his mouth as she turned to face him was, “Time for me to receive my inspirational speech, Slayer? Something about fighting the good fight? Or did you have an insult or two to get in before calling it an evening? Want to go a couple of rounds?”
“No,” Buffy said mildly enough. “I wanted to ask who said I was the best, and what was I the best of?”
Bloody hell.
Panic emptied his mind and he stared at her. She folded her arms across her chest and stared back.
“I’m amazed, Spike,” Buffy finally said sweetly. “It’s not that hard a question, is it? If it is, I’ll have to ask it a lot. It’s sort of peaceful having you shut up sometimes.”
Annoyance served to kick-start both brain and mouth.
“Trying to spare your feelings, Love,” he said blandly. “I didn’t think you’d care to have the others know I met your First Slayer.”
From her startled look, he could tell she hadn’t been expecting that.
“The First Slayer?” she asked. “When did you meet her? How did you meet her?”
Spike smiled, enjoying her confusion. “I’ll admit I wasn’t entirely honest about how I got away from Rack.” He shrugged casually. “She gave me a hand. I think she fancies me a bit.”
He saw Buffy’s throat move as she swallowed. “Where did she take you?”
Spike could see the tension flowing into her. His own nervousness was increasing as they danced closer to the truth. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin, letting aggressiveness come to his aid. “Some desert or other.”
“How long?” she said hoarsely.
All at once, he was tired of the game, tired of catering to her fear, tired of the whole situation. “Long enough, Pet. I saw you gain the extra power, and yes, I heard what you said. ‘I must save one that I love’. You told the First Slayer that you loved me.”
She was pressed back against the wall of Rack’s now-visible hideout, teeth clenched and hands balled into fists, as taut as a suspension wire, as wary and ready to fight as a cornered cat.
Spike stalked to within a few feet of her and glared down into her eyes. “And the world didn’t end did it? I didn’t laugh at you, or start killing your friends, or pack my bags. Didn’t do any of the things you’re so terrified of.”
“You don’t…You don’t understand,” Buffy said shakily.
“Understand what?” he snorted. “What you’ve been through? That your heart’s been broken? That you’re afraid to trust again? Yes, actually, I do. I was here for most of it. I know what’s been done to you. Hell, I know what I’ve done to you. I know how sad you are, a little lost girl like I said, for all your power. I want more than anything else in the world to help, but you won’t let me. The only way I can even touch you is if we’re in a fight. And I won’t beg you.”
He searched her face for a moment, looking for some sign of softening, but she remained braced away from him.
“Fine,” he said softly. “You didn’t say it to me, after all, did you, Slayer? You’ve still got denial room left.” He turned, and started away. “See you around.”
Buffy watched him walk away, feeling anguish well up inside. Words twisted in her throat, fought the habit of her silence, and at last, something found a way out.
“I am doing the best I can.”
Spike stopped and turned back to face her, his expression neutral, and suddenly she was angry. Furiously, blindingly angry.
“This is what it is,” she snarled, moving towards him. “This is all I’ve got. All I am. If it isn’t enough for you or for Giles or Riley or Angel or any of the rest, then I am just sorry.”
“Buffy…,” Spike began, but she overrode him.
“You said you wanted to help, and you did for a while after I came back. You were the only one that didn’t need me to be cheerful or perky, didn’t need me to take care of them, didn’t want anything from me. I could talk….”
Her voice broke and she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold the sob in. Spike started towards her, but she waved him off with a gesture sharp enough to bring him to a hesitant halt.
With a deep breath, she continued. “I could talk to you. But then there was the singing spell, and I found out it was all a lie. You did want something after all, and if I couldn’t give it to you, I could stay away.”
Her voice cracked again, remembering the overwhelming sorrow she’d felt on hearing the lines he sang to her.
“No,” he said flatly. “That’s not how it was, or not altogether. Yes, I was getting tired of the way things were. You’d come ‘round for help, which was fine when you were first back, but later, when you were stronger, did you ever come just to be friendly, ever just to talk? Ever make it clear to the others that I was one of the group?”
Buffy looked away, her mind acknowledging the truth of his words even as the pain and anger and fear roiled within her.
“I wasn’t the only one hiding things,” Spike said softly. “You wanted more from me than talk. Only difference was that after the singing, I didn’t want to hide from the truth any more, and you did. You’ve always known I loved you. You were willing enough to use it when it was...convenient...but when it wasn’t, it was me who could stay away.”
Maybe he was right. She was so tired that she didn’t know anymore, couldn’t remember what had motivated her decisions.
“Then I’m sorry,” Buffy said wearily. “There was so much going on, with Glory and Dawn and mom dying and me dying and the rest of it that I used anything I could reach. I had to. I was drowning, and the world would have drowned with me. If it helps, I’m glad you were there for me to grab onto.”
She passed him, then stopped and turned. “You want me to tell you I love you, Spike? Fine. I love you.” She paused, but beyond a jerk as if she’d struck him, he didn’t react, and she laughed bitterly. “You see? Nothing changed. I’m still Buffy. I’m still scared of how I feel about you and about what’s going to happen. I’m still not that much fun to be around, and I’m no doubt still a bitch.”
Buffy turned away again but she only made it a couple of steps before arms went around her waist and shoulders and she was held tightly.
“Everything changed,” Spike breathed in her ear. “Everything.”
She struggled weakly, but he only tightened his grip.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Neither am I, not now that you’ve said it. You’re out of luck with that one, Slayer. Take a stake to be rid of me now.”
She started to tremble violently. “It doesn’t matter,” she said through chattering teeth. “Saying I love you doesn’t matter. Things go wrong. Stuff gets in the way. And then it hurts so much.”
Lips brushed over her hair, pressed softly against her temple.
“Shh. It’s the only thing that matters. All the rest can be sorted out.”
He continued to hold her, wrapping the folds of his coat tightly around her shivering body and cradling her against him, and slowly, incrementally, Buffy relaxed in his embrace. Tiredness swept over her again, but it was a nice sort of tiredness, the type that might actually lead to sleep.
“I wish I could believe you,” she whispered at last. “About everything else working out.”
“So you should. I’m much more clever than you, Summers.”
“Hey!”
Spike laughed as she banged her head back against his shoulder, and she smiled, the familiar sniping somehow calming.
“We’re going to have to move,” she added drowsily. “The sun will come up sometime.”
“Yeah.”
Something about Spike’s voice made Buffy crane her neck around until she could see his face. He looked distracted, staring over her head, and she could feel him pulling backwards away from her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She sighed. “I’m the one who doesn’t talk, remember? What?”
“Bloody hell. I’m not used to doing this sort of thing without a fistfight to warm up with.” He finally met her gaze. “Where were you planning to go?”
Buffy’s mouth opened, then closed again, as the question and its ramifications settled in. They could split up, of course, she going home and Spike returning to his crypt. That would be the sensible thing to do. Other...stuff...could be dealt with later.
On the other hand, Dawn should be safe, under the supervision of Willow, and she was willing to bet, Tara. If any of the three even knew she wasn’t there, Buffy would be surprised. Plus, the sensation of Spike’s arms around her was better than anything she could remember feeling in a long time.
She looked up at Spike, remembering the way she’d felt when she heard Rack had him, remembering the pressure of his body against hers, the taste of his kiss, his ability to make her laugh when she had thought laughter dead to her forever.
Then, consideringly, she wriggled around in his arms until she faced him and reached up to punch him, very lightly, on the nose.
“That help?”
As Buffy had noted in the past, Spike could read her better than anybody else, see through her facades, not be taken in by the lies she told both herself and others. It had been infuriating. But it made the times she could actually take him by surprise all the sweeter. He stared down at her, absolutely amazed, looking as if she’d clipped him with a two-by-four. Buffy forced herself to keep a cool expression, swallowing a desire to laugh.
“I guess we could go to your place,” she said nonchalantly.
She shrugged free and began to saunter off, but again only got a couple of steps before Spike caught her around the waist again, spun, and shoved her up against the wall of Rack’s hideout. His mouth descended on hers as he leaned into her.
“You little wretch,” he said against her lips. “Here I was being all sensitive....”
“And I enjoyed it,” she reassured him, between kisses of her own. “But it’s not really us, is it? Long-term wise?”
“I suppose not.” He seized the top button of her blouse, then stopped. “No. We’re not going to do this here.” He caught her hand, pulled her after him. “Come on.”
Fortunately, Sunnydale was a small town, and nothing was very far away from anything else. They reached the cemetery and Spike’s crypt in record time, not even running into anything that required Slaying along the way.
There was still time for nervousness to slide back into Buffy’s mind, however. The facts of the situation - Spike being a vampire, the results of her other relationships, the undoubted disapproval of those she cared about, what it meant about herself as a person – running through her. By the time they were in his crypt with the door shut, the fear nearly had her in its grasp again.
He saw it, as he saw so many things about her, and took her face between his hands. “You think you’re the only one scared, here?” he asked. “You think being rescued by the First Slayer isn’t a big step for a vampire?”
“You’re scared?” she asked, surprised, her hands covering his. “What happened to the re-rocked Big Bad?”
“Rocks or not, I’m sodding terrified,” Spike told her, honesty bare in his voice. “It was different to begin with. Bit of lust, bit of longing. Something to write bad poetry about, get maudlin drunk over. Whoever thought it’d get this far? Now, I’m all tied up with destiny and Slayers and saving the world and such.”
“Oh.” She reached out and touched his hair, ran her fingers along his cheekbone. “You get used to the whole destiny thing. It stops being a big deal.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Buffy moved in to kiss him, and felt his mouth twist into a grin.
“I knew playing the sympathy card would work. Now, now,” Spike added chidingly as she swept a leg around his and dumped him none too gently on the floor. “I’m just trying to help. The First Slayer tells me that pain gives you strength.”
“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t referring to pain in the ass,” Buffy said dryly, then yelped as he yanked her to the floor and rolled her underneath him, his mouth covering hers.
“No,” Spike said at last, pulling away. “We are only a few feet from a bed, and we are bloody well going to get there.”
He stood, drawing Buffy up with him, then, still kissing her, his hands coursing over her blouse, he backed her deeper into the crypt.
“There’s no really romantic way to deal with the ladder,” he explained, halting at the hole in the floor. “So down you go.”
She snorted and scrambled down. It was pitch black at the bottom and she had to listen for his descent, her night vision not adequate to pierce this level of darkness.
“Were you just not expecting to get any when you put this in, or what?” she asked as his boots touched the floor.
There was a moment of silence broken only by the strike of a match. When he faced her, a candle in his hand, Spike’s expression was bleak. “No, I wasn’t. It was put in after you...after...the tower.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was playing the sympathy card again, but his eyes told her that he wasn’t, and she took the candle from him, setting it on a small table. Then, she put her arms around him silently. His embrace was tender, almost delicate, his head bowed against hers.
Buffy turned, kissed the side of his neck. “I’m here, now.”
“So you are.”
His arm slid down under her knees and he lifted her, carrying her the few strides to the bed. He stood for a moment after he laid her down, looking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe that she was there. She reached up and took his hand, tugging gently, and he joined her on the bed.
Their first time had been fueled by anger and desperation, a driving need for completion. This was different, the passion no less intense, but not as fierce, allowing them to focus on and savor every touch. Clothes were removed slowly, not torn away, each piece of bared flesh given its due consideration.
Spike unbuttoned her blouse from the bottom up, kissing her stomach slowly and spending so much time running teeth and tongue over her ribs that her nipples were rock hard and she was writhing by the time he unfastened her bra. Even then, he focused on the curves and the valley between, holding her hands down to prevent her from moving him where she wanted. When his lips finally closed around one nipple, Buffy cried out sharply, her hips jerking in a minor orgasm.
Later, she paid him back with interest, using her own strength to keep him still while she nibbled his hipbones and inner thighs and callously ignored his moans and his straining erection. At last, with lightening speed, she took as much as she could into her mouth and sucked once, hard, and his resultant buck almost sent her off the bed.
And always more kisses. Long and slow and wet or quick and biting, their mouths met and parted and met again, saying more than either ever could with words.
Spike entered her when neither one of them could stand it anymore. Buffy had already climaxed more than once from the pressure of his hands and his extremely talented mouth, but she still shuddered in pleasure as he slid into her and she tightened around him. He pushed up on his elbows, looking into her face, and she moved her arms up under his shoulders and around his back.
“Buffy,” he whispered almost helplessly and she leaned up and kissed him again, silently mouthing his name against his lips.
They moved together in perfect rhythm as if they’d always done so, long slow strokes that became faster and harder as the pressure built to unbearable levels and at last exploded. Spike arched, gasping, and she surged up against him, pressing herself to his body everywhere that she could reach.
Then she cried out in shock as fire erupted from her skin, blazing from her everywhere, engulfing both herself and Spike. There was no pain or burning: the flames just swept over them, blazing white and every color of the rainbow all at the same time. It filled her heart and her soul, leaving no room for pain or sadness or fear. It stopped after a moment, and they collapsed back against the pillows, clutching each other.
“Are you planning on doing that every time from now on?” Spike asked politely when it became clear that the fireworks had stopped.
“I didn’t plan on doing it then,” she pointed out. “I think it might have been a one-time deal. Part of that destiny thing. Are you ok?”
“I’m fine.” Spike shifted to lie beside her, an arm under her head. “Too bad in a way, if it was.” He cracked a grin. “Makes having a smoke a bit redundant.”