Chapter 37
“The fountains mingle with the river/And the rivers with the ocean,/The winds of Heaven mix for ever/With a sweet emotion;/Nothing in the world is single,/All things by a law divine/In one spirit meet and mingle—/Why not I with thine?/See the mountains kiss high Heaven/And the waves clasp one another;/No sister-flower would be forgiven/If it disdained its brother;/And the sunlight clasps the earth,/And the moonbeams kiss the sea—/What are all these kissings worth/If thou kiss not me?” ~Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Love’s Philosophy”
“Mmm, Spike—we have to go.”
“I know.” His fingers didn’t slow, and Buffy breathed out a heavy sigh, melting bonelessly under his touch.
“We have the meeting.” Buffy knew she didn’t sound convincing. She didn’t want to leave either.
His fingers bore down just a little harder. “One more minute,” he cajoled.
“Then it’ll be another five,” she responded, echoing exactly what Spike had been saying for the last fifteen minutes. Not that she wanted him to stop. She didn’t. Buffy let out a little gasp as Spike found the last knot behind her shoulder blade and pressed, the pain startling her before it was released, leaving behind a very relaxed Slayer.
Buffy sighed in relief. “Thank you.”
Spike wiped the massage oil off of his hands with a towel. “Any time, luv.” Buffy had come over to finalize their plans for the evening and had made a comment about her neck being stiff. Before she knew it, Spike had gotten out the massage oil. The telephone call about the emergency meeting had come right in the middle of the Slayer’s massage, but Spike had insisted on finishing before they left saying that she should be relaxed for their big night.
“Maybe you’ll let me return the favor tonight,” she suggested, pulling her shirt over her head. When Spike looked pained, turning away to look for something, Buffy put a hand on his arm. “I don’t care about the scars, Spike.”
He wouldn’t look at her. It wasn’t that he was self-conscious about his appearance—hardly. It was simply that the way he looked, the scars that marked him, had never mattered to anyone before. Anyone except for him, at least.
Buffy traced the scar that ran through his eyebrow. “So where did this one come from?”
“Where else?” Spike replied. “It was right before the gypsies caught up with us again.” He was quiet a moment. “He had a knife and I got in the way.”
“I think it’s kind of cool.” Buffy pressed her lips to the scar, to his opposite cheek where the faintest of lines could be seen, to his lips. “Is it tonight yet?” she whispered.
“No, and if we don’t get moving, Rupert will see to it that we don’t make it ’til then,” Spike said ruefully, cupping her face with his hand. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, and that was a rarity for him. Spike wanted to tell her what she had done for him—what this place had done. He felt like a new man.
Spike had always lived hard and lived for the moment. He liked his work, and he liked living the good life when he could.
But what he had forgotten was how it felt to love another person—and he’d never really known what it meant to have someone love you back. Spike hadn’t felt this good since Drusilla had first turned him—before he’d turned his mother and tainted his new life, before Angelus had taken his girl away from him, before all of that.
Buffy turned her head to kiss the palm of his hand. “Let’s go before Giles sends out a search party.”
~~~~~
Xander wasn’t sure quite what to think. There was a part of him that delighted in the fact that Cordelia had finally joined the world of the working class. The other part of him, the part of him he actually liked, could see just how difficult this probably was for her.
It would be like Willow losing her smarts, or Buffy losing her strength, or him losing his sense of humor. What do you do when you lose something that makes you, you?
“Bloody hell,” Spike murmured as they played the tape through again. “Haven’t seen a hellhound in a long time.”
“You’ve seen them before?” Willow asked.
Spike nodded absently, watching as the hellhound tore into the boy trying on a tuxedo. “Yeah, guy I knew kept them as guard dogs.”
“What happened?” Willow focused on Spike rather than on the TV, not wanting to see the attack again. Buffy was doing the same thing.
Spike shrugged. “Killed them and killed him.”
“The hellhounds were bred for the Machash Wars,” Giles said. “They’re killing machines, feeding on the brains of their enemies.”
“They are particularly vicious,” Wesley agreed. “It’s imperative that we find whoever is controlling this beast and stop it.”
“What I don’t understand is why that thing has such good taste,” Cordelia commented. “It chucked Xander and went right for the guy in the tux.”
Spike frowned. “She’s right. It was right on top of Harris.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Cordelia said. “It doesn’t make any sense that something that ugly would know good clothes. Look at the suit. It’s got really clean lines.”
Wesley cleared his throat. “If we could stay on topic, please.” He looked at Cordelia. “What were you doing in the shop?”
“What?” Cordelia’s eyes went wide. “Um, I—”
“What else?” Xander asked, interrupting. Maybe Cordelia had deserved to get knocked down a peg or two, but that didn’t mean that anyone else had to know about it. He knew how badly she wanted to keep her new status a secret. “Burning a hole through daddy’s credit card.”
“Pause the tape,” Oz said, leaning forward.
Wesley hit the pause button, and Oz pointed at the figure on the screen. He was standing by the store window with a black device. “I think we found our hellraiser.”
It took some searching, but Oz finally identified the boy in the tape as Tucker Wells.
“Let me guess,” Wesley said dryly. “He was quiet, kept to himself, but always seemed like a nice young man.”
“He didn’t seem the murderous type anyway,” Oz replied. “Something must have happened to him.”
“Hey! I got into Tucker’s email account,” Willow announced excitedly. “Listen to this email he sent to another kid. ‘Those Sunnydale High lemmings don’t know what awaits them. Their big night will be their last night.'”
Giles summarized. “So we have a threat against students on their big night, hellhounds trained to attack people in formal wear…” He trailed off, realizing where that was leading.
“Oh, are we catching up now?” Cordelia asked snidely.
Oz sighed. “As usual, Sunnydale knows how to put the special in special occasion.”
Buffy laughed bitterly. “Why am I even surprised?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Spike warned her. When everybody turned to stare at him, the vampire nearly snarled. “I did not spend good money to rent a bloody suit and get tickets to have my girl cheated out of her big night by some maladjusted git.”
Buffy straightened. “Spike’s right. We’re going to have a prom, and it’s going to be perfect. Wesley, go by Tucker’s house. I doubt he’ll be there, but it won’t hurt to check.”
Wesley hesitated, then nodded. “Safety in numbers might be—”
“You can take Cordelia,” Buffy said.
“Right, that should be fine,” Wesley replied, knowing that he wasn’t going to get much else in the way of concessions from her.
“Oz, you said you know this kid that Tucker emailed?” When Oz nodded, she went on. “See if you and Willow can’t track him down.”
“What about the magic shop?” Spike asked. “Might as well check to see who’s been buying supplies to raise hellhounds recently.”
“I can go,” Xander volunteered, thinking that the dress shop was near by. Maybe he could do something to make up for what he’d done to Cordelia. Just a little.
Buffy nodded. “Good.” She glanced over at Spike. “You up for checking out the meat packing plant?”
“You thinking what I’m thinking, Pinky?”
She laughed. “I think it’s time we see who’s in the market for brains.”
~~~~~
The guy at the meat packing plant was helpful enough, giving her the address Tucker had his brains delivered to without a lot of questions. As soon as they got the address, Spike called the library. “I’m sorry, Spike, but we’ve found nothing on our end.”
“We’ve got an address,” Spike replied. “The Slayer and I will check it out and meet you lot at the dance. Best not to wait on us.”
“Are you sure?” Giles asked. “Perhaps—”
“You lot have a good time and keep the dance floor warm for us. We’ll take care of it.” Spike smiled at Buffy. “Between the two of us, we should have this wrapped up in no time.”
“Are they going?” Buffy asked as soon as Spike got off the phone.
Spike shrugged. “Giles said he’d pass along the message. There’s not much they can do without the information we have, so it makes sense for them to enjoy themselves.”
“Thank you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What for?”
“For making this a really good night, hellhounds and all.”
He shook his head. “Let’s just get this taken care of. You can thank me when we’re dancing.”
~~~~~
It was surprisingly easy to deal with Tucker and his dogs. Buffy and Spike arrived just as he released the first hound, and Spike dealt with the beast while the Slayer tackled Tucker. After killing all the demons, Spike dropped Buffy off at her house before driving home to grab a quick shower and change into his tux.
By the time he arrived at Buffy’s house, the prom was just starting, which meant that they wouldn’t miss much, even if they were fashionably late.
Joyce answered the door when he knocked. “Spike, you look very nice.”
“I clean up pretty well,” he replied modestly.
Joyce merely raised an eyebrow, although she thought “pretty well” was something of an understatement. If she didn’t miss her guess, Buffy was going to be with the best looking guy there, and she couldn’t help but be happy for her daughter. Joyce was thankful that Buffy was going to get at least one normal high school experience.
She met his eyes. “I won’t wait up.”
“Probably best,” he agreed. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Joyce knew that he wasn’t just referring to that night, and she appreciated the promise. Oddly enough, it seemed that a vampire might be her daughter’s best hope for survival. “I know you will.”
Spike’s gaze went right past Joyce to a point beyond her shoulder, and she turned to see Buffy coming down the stairs. The Slayer had put her speed to good use, and she couldn’t have looked better if she’d spent hours on her appearance.
Spike stepped to the foot of the stairs, holding out his hand for her like a true gentleman. Buffy took his hand, amazed that the suave man standing in front of her was the same guy as the punk she’d met when he first got to town. Spike looked incredible, his tuxedo perfect, his hair elegantly mussed—and he was hers.
“You look amazing,” he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips in an old-fashioned gesture that made her knees go weak.
She smiled at him. “You too. Really amazing.”
“Shall we?”
Buffy paused to kiss her mom goodnight, and then she allowed Spike to escort her to the car. “This is so weird,” she said as they were driving to the school.
“That’s not something a guy likes to hear on a date,” Spike said.
Buffy shook her head. “No, not you. Going to prom without having to worry about hellhounds or vampires or demons. Just being—”
“Buffy? Instead of the Slayer?”
As usual, Spike knew what she was feeling almost before she did. “Yeah. That.”
“I’ve told you before, luv, this is new for me,” Spike said softly. “I don’t know how to do this because I never got the chance to try.” He paused, glancing over at her as he cut the engine on the Mustang. “But I want to make this work. I’m a long-haul sort of guy.”
“I know, and I’m glad for it.”
They walked inside the school hand in hand, meeting up with Giles just inside the door. “How did it go?”
“Good,” Buffy said. “It’s all taken care of.”
“You hungry, Buffy?” Spike asked nodding towards the food table.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s okay. The food they have at these things is never great.”
“It’s not too bad tonight,” Giles said.
“I’ll get you a plate,” Spike said, disappearing into the crowd, leaving Buffy to look after him fondly.
Giles didn’t need his glasses to see the glow on her face. “You look lovely tonight, Buffy.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “You look pretty dapper yourself.”
Giles straightened his collar self-consciously. “Yes, well, chaperones are supposed to blend, the better to spy on the students. At least, that’s what Snyder assures me of.”
“You should have asked Mom to come tonight,” Buffy said quietly. “I’ll bet she would have been your date.”
He cleared his throat. “I had no desire to make you uncomfortable.”
“Well, I’m not saying I’d be jumping up and down for joy, but—” Buffy took a deep breath, well aware that she was about to blow her image as an oblivious teen. “She’s been happier with you around.”
“I’m glad,” Giles replied, pausing. “I didn’t want…”
“I know. You didn’t. It’s good.”
Spike appeared just then, juggling two plates and a glass of punch for Buffy, and doing a much better job of it than most of the other guys attempting the same feat. “Here you are.”
“I didn’t realize you were hungry.”
Spike just gave her a look. “It’s about blending in, pet. A little trick I’ve picked up over the years.”
The impending squabble was cut off by the arrival of Willow and Oz. “Buffy!” Willow beamed at her. “You look amazing!”
“Ditto,” she replied. “Hey, Oz.”
“How’d things go?” he asked.
“Just fine.” Spike took a tentative bite out of some hors d’ouevre he didn’t recognize and then popped the rest into his mouth. “Got there just in time.”
“Have we missed anything?” Buffy asked.
“The lines for the punch,” Willow replied. “That’s pretty much it. You guys were a lot faster than we thought you’d be.”
“We’re speedy,” Buffy agreed. She put down her plate and cup as a slow song came up. “Let’s dance.”
Spike wasn’t given a chance to protest as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.
“Oz?”
He could take a hint. Oz didn’t waste any time leading Willow out onto the dance floor. Giles watched the two couples for a moment before joining Wesley over at the punch table. “How did everything turn out?” Wesley asked.
“Quite well, it sounds like.” Giles kept his eyes on his young charges. They had all matured quite a bit over the last year or two.
“Spike is quite amazing, isn’t he?” Wesley asked.
Giles glanced at him sharply. “Pardon me?”
Wesley realized how that might sound. “For a vampire, I meant.” He hesitated and then confessed, “I’ve been doing some reading, you know. I wasn’t allowed—it wasn’t something I had time for at the Academy. I thought he was nothing more than a myth.”
“Hmm,” was Giles noncommittal reply. “Spike is much more interesting in the flesh.”
“How much of it is true?”
“I suppose you will have to ask him.” Giles looked across the room to see Cordelia entering, looking just as lovely as ever. She paused as passed Xander, saying something to him that Giles couldn’t quite catch. The boy just nodded. It was the most civilized exchange that Giles had seen for months.
Wesley had seen Cordelia at the same time, and he immediately started to fidget. He knew it was terribly improper to even be looking in her direction, but he couldn’t help but think that one dance wouldn’t be so bad.
Before Wesley could ask the older Watcher what he thought, another student asked Cordelia to dance. In spite of arriving without a date, it looked like her dance card would still be full.
Xander wandered up to the two of them shortly thereafter with Anya on his arm. “Giles! Wesley! How’s it going?”
Giles couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Xander sounded downright desperate to get a break from his date. Then again, that’s what he got for taking an ex-vengeance demon to the prom. “Just fine.” He smiled at Anya. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked politely.
“It isn’t very exciting,” she replied. “And I’ve had better food, but it’s not too bad.”
“How’s that for an enthusiastic response?” Xander mumbled. A fast song came up, and he thought that maybe now would be a really good time to cut off the conversation. “Excuse us.”
There were only a few more songs before the DJ cut the music and the MC for the evening walked up to the stage. “What’s this then?” Spike asked Buffy in a whisper.
“They give out awards to the senior class,” she replied. “I think Xander’s hoping to get Class Clown.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “What? They pick names out of a hat?”
Buffy suppressed a smile. “No, the class votes. It’s a thing.”
Spike pulled her back against him, and Buffy leaned against his chest, her hands gripping his where they rested on her stomach. It had been an absolutely perfect evening, and it could only get better as far as Buffy was concerned. They would wait for the prizes to be given out, maybe dance another song or two, and then slip quietly away.
To do the thing they’d both been looking forward to for a while.
She was so lost in her thoughts of anticipation that it took Spike’s hands on her shoulders to pull her out of it. “Buffy, look.”
The eyes of the student body seemed to turn to her at just that moment, and she could sense Spike fading back into the shadows. Jonathan was on the stage now, looking uncomfortable in his role as announcer. “We have another award to give out. It’s the first year for this one. I guess there were a lot of write-in votes. Anyway, the committee asked me to read this. ‘We’re not good friends. Most of us never found the time to get to know you, but that doesn’t mean we haven’t noticed you. We don’t talk about it much, but it’s no secret that Sunnydale High isn’t really like other high schools. A lot of weird stuff happens here.’”
Buffy turned her head as she heard various students in the crowd call out strange things they had seen, like zombies and hyena people. Whoever called out Snyder’s name got a few laughs. She wasn’t quite sure what they were all getting at, and her stomach was churning as she tried to anticipate what was coming next.
Jonathan waited for the crowd to quiet, and then he continued. “But, whenever there was a problem or something creepy happened, you seemed to show up and stop it. Most of the people here have been saved by you, or helped by you at one time or another. We’re proud to say that the Class of ’99 has the lowest mortality rate of any graduating class in Sunnydale history.” He paused to allow for applause. “And we know at least part of that is because of you. So the senior class offers its thanks, and gives you, uh, this.”
Someone off-stage handed him a miniature, multi-colored umbrella with a plaque attached to its handle. “It’s from all of us,” Jonathan said. “And it says here, ‘Buffy Summers, Class Protector.’”
The Slayer wasn’t sure that it was the best moment of her life, but it was close. To hear the applause from her peers, the cheers—to know that they had noticed her efforts—it felt good. No one wanted to be taken for granted, and Buffy knew now that she hadn’t been.
As she walked up to the stage and took her prize, Buffy was aware that this might be the only time that her work as the Slayer was acknowledged, but that was okay. She had this moment, and a little something to remember it by.
Not to mention the fact that she’d gotten her perfect prom.
Buffy looked out into the crowd, and her eyes found Spike. She had no doubt that her night was about to get even better.
~~~~~
Buffy and Spike didn’t stick around for long after that. They danced a little longer, snickered over Wesley’s stuttered request for a dance with Cordelia, and then they said their goodnights.
The drive back to Spike’s place was short, and made in silence. Buffy could feel the quick flutter of anticipation in her belly. She was nervous, not knowing what it would be like this time. Would it be different? Better? What if she didn’t do it right? What if Spike was disappointed?
As though sensing her rising anxiety, Spike reached over and laced his fingers through hers. He could feel her racing pulse, and he squeezed her hand. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I want to,” she replied, sounding more certain than she felt.
Spike gave her a long look. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you, right? You trust me?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “With my life.”
“Then we’re good.” Still playing the role of gentleman, Spike went around the car to open her door for her. They maintained contact as they entered the house. Spike locked the door, and Buffy trailed behind him to his bedroom.
When that door was closed, Spike turned to her, and his eyes were so hungry for her, that Buffy felt all her fears melt away. He wanted her; she wanted him.
Maybe this time it really would be that easy.
They didn’t speak. Words seemed somehow superfluous to the moment. There would be time enough to discuss the dance, and her prize, and what they felt for each other.
Instead, there were only the hurried movements of their fingers on buttons and zippers, the slow exploration of the other’s body, the soft whispers of skin on skin. There was nothing but each other and the moment, and that was enough.