Chapter 39: Time Will Come and Take My Love Away
He could tell that the witch was more than a little unsettled about his behavior, but short of telling her to fuck off, Spike didn’t give a bloody rat’s ass what she thought about how he was acting. See how she liked having her noodle scrambled around with the double-edged equivalent of a magical blender and then maybe they’d talk. Until then, he was planning on just doing whatever the hell he wanted until the chaos that was his brain calmed down.
Something wasn’t quite right and it was more than having a shitload of memories about being with Buffy that he’d never had before. Those were the easy part. Those made a warped kind of sense. A delicious, halcyon, ruthless kind of sense.
What didn’t make sense was the conflict his demon was in. Oh, it was still there, all right, and pissed as hell at being played around with like he had been. He didn’t know for sure who it was who’d stripped him of his memories, but he had a clue, and if he didn’t know she had to be years gone dead, Spike would put her in a grave again for all her messing about with things that were none of her concern. He didn’t care for her lectures the first time around, and he didn’t care for her so-called solution the second time. What was worse, was William’s whisper at the base of consciousness, who told her to do it?, because the first name that popped into Spike’s skull was Buffy’s and somehow, the thought that she’d want to steal the memory of their time together from him after all her so-called declarations made him sick to his stomach.
No.
Couldn’t have been Buffy.
Buffy loved him.
And then the whispered correction from the Victorian voice that was suddenly in much more prominence…
…Buffy loved me.
Like he’d been scalded, Spike’s hand jerked back from where he had been outlining her shape in the air. That was the trouble. William was lurking about like a bad seed, so long ago absent that his demon had forgotten what it was like to have him about, and now…now it didn’t know what to do with him. It was different than those first few months after he’d been turned. Then, he’d been so green, plucked before he was ready to ripen under Dru’s and Angelus’ tutelage. William had been eager for the attention, desperate for the mentor he thought Angelus to be, because the attention they lavished on him had been exhilarating, so really, not that different than he’d been as human. It was just his hunger that had changed.
But time had driven the softness of William away, forced him to erect the façade that would make the days and nights palatable, easier to pretend so it was harder to get hurt until the pretending was all the time and he forgot that it was all just a game, all just a fakery, designed to protect that small cowering poet within who just wanted to be wanted.
Like Buffy had.
It had to have been the magic that brought him back, Spike decided. Shucking the cloak that had hidden the truth for over a century, it had released William in such a way that he wasn’t entirely certain who it was wearing his skin anymore. He still felt like Spike. He still thought like Spike. He still had Spike’s drives and desires. Damn it all, he was Spike.
But Spike was also William.
Because with the memories back, and seeing the man he had been before—well, it had to be Rose, now didn’t it? Nobody else in that damn scenario had the power or inclination to do it—they had been taken away, he recognized a core that he’d never seen before. He saw the beginning of a man who had the power to be strong on his own. Because the love of an amazing woman had shown him how.
“I’m ready.”
Even uttered so softly, the two words could’ve been a salvo for as much of an effect they had on Spike. He lurched awkwardly back into the chair, driving even more distance between him and Buffy though each inch further from the skin he ached to touch—Is she warmer than I remember? Is she as soft?—made him tighten and sting.
“Sorry,” he muttered when Willow jumped just as sharply, and then kicked the William part of him for the automatic apology.
“Are…are you sure you’re up to this? You’re not looking so spiffy either, you know.”
He wanted to throttle the worry out of her throat. “Just don’t bollocks it up ‘cause you’re off the beam from the other,” Spike said. “Don’t be fussed about me. I can mind my own.”
Willow looked very much like she still wanted to argue with him, but the glare he leveled at her made her drop her eyes to the paper in her hand. “This one’s a li-little different than the other spell,” she said. “More…touchy-feely.”
“Does that mean you get to do the touchy, or I get to do the feely?” He accompanied it with his best leer, though truly, his heart wasn’t in it. All he wanted was to get Buffy back. The pair of them needed to have a talk before he combusted from confusion.
She pressed her lips thin and placed her hand flat on his chest. When the words came, Spike almost ripped it off for the shock of déjà vu that overcame him—
—She wasn’t opening it. Instead, she was muttering under her breath—Latin, from the few words he could catch, or a derivative thereof—and her fingers never stopped their exploration of the soft leather. By the time he’d regained his wits enough to clear his throat, the old woman was already looking up at him, her hand extended as she proffered the book—
—and then it was done, and Willow was looking up at him with those cow eyes that had almost been his undoing when he’d taken her for that love spell for Dru the previous year, and the spot on his chest where she’d been touching was now enflamed from the heat of the magic.
“That it?” he croaked. “That the best you can throw at me?”
“That’s it,” she confirmed.
“So…now what?” The magic had done nothing to provoke Buffy to move, and Spike rose to hover again at her side. “I’m here and she’s not awake. Why isn’t she awake, Red?”
“She has to drink the tea in the time period she’s in. Hopefully, she’s figured that part out.”
“And I’m s’posed to…what? Stand here and look all manly?”
“I think it’s a…proximity thing. She used to sleep with your journal under her pillow.” Willow blushed when he glanced back at her, his only response a single raised eyebrow. “Not that you’ll fit under her pillow, of course.”
He just shook his head, turning back to look down at Buffy. A tentative hand reached out to touch her shoulder, but when she failed to react, it slid up to the sweaty crook of her neck.
The charge was immediate, cementing each memory into a golden mosaic that made him want to take her into his arms and never let her go. Before he could think otherwise, his grip slid beneath her neck, his other arm sliding under her legs, and he was repositioning her on the other side of the mattress, sliding into the balmy indentation she’d left behind.
“What’re you…? I don’t think Buffy’s going to like this when she wakes up,” Willow said.
“But she’ll be up, won’t she?” Spike retorted. Inhaling, his eyes fluttered closed at the ambrosia that assaulted his senses, curling his arm around her waist to pull her gently against him. The trembling started as soon as she nestled into the bend of his body, poised as perfectly as she’d been so many years before in the bed he’d always believed to be only his. It was too much, the reality of Buffy too close to the figments that had heretofore been but sublime specters tormenting him with their hints of something more, and he buried her face in the cloud of hair as he fought to regain control of his muscles.
“Spike—,” Willow tried again.
“Sod off, Red,” he growled. The moisture that threatened to leak from between his shut eyelids burned, and he swallowed as if that would steady his racing skin. “Get used to the chair,” he added. “Until Buffy wakes up, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
*************
The blinding flash made William stumble to his knees, his bowed head almost colliding with the earth as the strength seemed to be sapped from his very bones. He hadn’t seen where it might’ve come from, but the burn that made his skin sizzle didn’t feel natural, instead a phantom crawl that dulled his remaining senses. Beyond the realm of his touch, nothing else felt…real.
“Buffy…” he murmured. Where had she gone? One moment, she’d been helping him get back to the house, supporting his weight against her slight frame, and the next…
A flash of white glimmered at the corner of his eye, and slowly, William turned his head to see what it might be. He had to blink more than once to rid himself of the blurriness in his vision, and then gasped when the white took on the shape of Buffy’s unconscious body.
She was coiled into the grass, fallen from whatever shock had hit him, and there was a fresh cut across her forehead where she’d struck her head in her collapse. Blood dripped to mat her hair, and he couldn’t help but wonder how it was that none of the vampires that had been surrounding them had yet to take advantage of the situation.
“Buffy,” he said again, and crawled to her side. Sharp stones in the grass cut into his palms and knees, but he was oblivious to them as he pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t do this to me, love. I need you. Please, wake up.”
Daubing at her cut with his handkerchief, William glanced up when he heard the rushing of fabric and saw Rose hurry past to crouch over Richard’s body just feet away. He wasn’t unconscious, but the blood that dripped from his neck was in stark contrast to the deathly paleness of his cheeks, and William was certain with more than a touch of queasiness that the Watcher was not long for this world.
“April…” Richard whispered, and scrabbled along his wife’s skirts to try and sit up. “Where’s…April…?”
“Ssshhh…” Rose murmured. Pulling him close, she cradled his head, brushing back the hair that fell limply across his brow. “She’s gone. It’s over.”
“Over?” Both men looked to the spot where the vampire had last been, and saw instead dancing glints as the cold moonlight captured the pile of crystal that rested in her place.
“I used my binding spell,” Rose explained. “It’s contained her. For now.”
“So she’s not actually dead?”
William could hear the disappointment in her voice when she confirmed April’s status for Richard. “It’s over,” she repeated. “We can rest now.”
April wasn’t the only one missing, William noticed. Now that he was looking, he could see the scattering of dust throughout the lawn, one or two additional crystal figures nearer where she had been, with the only vampires remaining scrambling for the road and the carriage that awaited there. April’s lover stood in shock at the door, but with a single glance from the humans, he too was running in fear, disappearing like shadows into the night.
“Not…yet…” Richard managed. Pulling from her hold, he struggled to his knees, meeting William’s eyes before letting his gaze fall to Buffy. “You must…get them out of here,” he said to his wife. “The Council…they’ll be arriving soon. And Buffy…she will need medical attention, I think.”
“What of you?” she demanded. “You’re hurt. You need—.”
“My job is not done here. You must do this. William and his…family deserve some peace.” He looked again to the younger man. “I am honoring our original agreement, William. My colleagues will never know of your involvement in this…this.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’m not leaving you here on your own, Richard. I didn’t do this so—.” Her voice was growing strident, and William noted that he’d never seen her approaching such hysteria. It was as if she saw something coming that she was desperately trying to avoid.
“Someone has to see them home safely, my dear,” Richard interrupted. “I need you to do this. I have to ensure that nothing happens to…her.”
Her face fell, and for a moment, William felt a profound sense of sorrow for the seer. As much as they loved each other, April would always come between the Rhodes-Fanshaws. There was something about loving a Slayer—whether as a mentor, a father, a friend, or a lover—that rendered it difficult for those on the outside to break through. He wondered if Rose was even aware of it.
“I will go fetch William’s mother,” she said softly, rising to her feet. She was carefully avoiding looking at where the crystal-bound April was lying on the ground, focusing instead on the wan visage of her husband. “Because that is your wish, not because I’m pleased that you’ve asked.”
He stayed silent, watching her turn and walk stiffly back into the house. “You may not like me very much right now,” he said when the two men were alone, “but I would like to make a request of you, William.”
“Yes?”
“Protect them. Both of them. I may not…approve of your relationship with Buffy, but I can’t deny it, either. She and my Rose are cut from the same cloth, and I fear it shall be their undoing.”
He nodded. “They are both a little…headstrong, aren’t they?”
Richard’s chuckle started a series of coughs, death rattles that echoed in the brisk night air. “That, they are,” he agreed when breath returned. He gestured toward the carriage. “Get your family home. You’ve had a long and wearying day. You deserve the opportunity to rest.”
From somewhere deep within, William gathered his last remaining reserves of strength and rose to his feet, Buffy still unconscious as he gathered her into his arms. He’d gone several yards toward the coach when he stopped, looking back at the Watcher gravely. “And you?” he asked. “Do you not deserve to rest as well?”
“When my job is done.” Richard sighed, his gaze on the crystal. “When my job is done.”
*************
The moment his mother fell asleep in the swaying carriage, William bundled Buffy back into his arms, smoothing back the golden hair so that he could better see the delicate line of her cheek in the moonlight that streamed in through the window. More blood marred her skin, but when he tried to locate his handkerchief to better clean it off, he realized he’d left it back in the grass.
“She will be fine,” Rose assured him. “She’s strong, and they’re just superficial wounds.”
He nodded, but his eyes never left Buffy’s face. He stayed silent even when the coach reached the Freston home, carrying the young woman into the house and leaving Rose to guide Anne.
“Go rest,” the seer instructed gently once they’d crossed the threshold. “I will see to the staff and your son.” There was so much she had yet to do this evening, and not one part of it filled her with joy. Leaving Richard behind had been the hardest thing she had ever done, for she knew, without having the vision to confirm it, that if she did so, it would be the last time she would see him alive. That meant she had little time to accomplish what needed to be done. Richard was her tie to the past; once he was dead, the magic that bound her to him would be broken, and she would be hurtled back into a future she wouldn’t recognize. Such was the price she knew she would pay for trying to mend events of the past.
“Have a pot of Mr. Freston’s special tea sent up to Miss Summers’ room,” she instructed the young maid who was hovering in the background.
“Yes, ma’am. And the Master, too?”
Rose hesitated on the bottom step. “No,” she finally said. “He won’t be needing any.”
Her tread was heavy as she climbed the stairs. Anne’s door was already closed, but William stood in Buffy’s open one, a lean hand on the jamb keeping him steady as he gazed inside.
“She’s waking,” he said softly as Rose approached. “You were right. She’ll be fine.”
She set a gentle hand on his arm. “You need to rest, William. You have injuries of your own and Buffy would not want you to tax yourself unnecessarily.”
“I wish…” he started, and then broke off, an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. He didn’t have to say it; she knew what it was he wanted. “Will you tell her I’ll see her in the morning?” he asked instead.
“Of course,” Rose lied, and smiled for as long as he remained in the hall, only letting it slip away when she was alone again. If Buffy’s assessment of her friend had been correct, the Slayer would not be around in the morning. It was just as well. Rose was gambling that the forget spell she would need to set in place would not be made awkward by a young woman’s unexplained presence in the Freston home. Buffy would not be pleased if she discovered the truth about what Rose was going to do.
The Slayer was mumbling when Rose entered the room, tossing on the bed as if she was in the throes of a dream. Quickly, the seer hurried to her side, perching on the edge of the mattress to press the young woman back down into the pillow. “Ssshhhh…” she soothed. It seemed that soothing was all she was doing this evening.
Buffy’s eyes fluttered open, but they were dark with an unexpected fervor. “Where’s William?” she asked. “Is he all right? Tell me he’s all right. I didn’t do all this for him not to be all right.”
“He’s fine. He’s resting. Relax.”
She exhaled heavily. “Good. He’s got enough bad stuff coming up. He doesn’t need this on top of it.”
Her words made Rose stiffen. “What’s that?”
Immediately, Buffy knew she’d said too much. “Nothing,” she replied, letting her eyes fall closed again. “It’s nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing, and Rose knew it. There were terrible things in store for William’s future, things both Buffy and her Watcher knew about, and she was desperately trying to make his young life better while she could. For a long moment, she contemplated trying to prise the truth from the Slayer, but in the end, decided better of it. She did not have time for unnecessary dalliances.
Even those that might make this easier for them.
When the maid came in with the tea, Buffy was almost asleep again, only half-aware when Rose held the cup up to her lips. As the young woman fell back against the pillow, already lost in the slumber of the magic, a weight lifted from the seer’s shoulders. That was one thing done. Now, she just had the other.
The spell was nearly complete when she finally hesitated. Around her, the Freston household was slipping into what remained of the night, to wake in the morning knowing nothing of a certain Slayer’s arrival. Buffy would hopefully be gone, and life would continue as before for everyone else.
But William…
Anne’s words from earlier came back to haunt Rose.
“Does he have to forget everything?”
Everything was so…definitive. It wasn’t feasible that he be left to remember anything that might affect the future, but…
Not everything had to be remembered to be appreciated.
He had found Buffy in his dreams. Perhaps Rose could let him keep memories of her there. Allow his subconscious a peace even when his waking world may be chaotic. Dreams did not have to be remembered; they were often not. So, really, Rose would be doing no harm by allowing him this one gift.
In the wake of how she was losing Richard, and everything that she held dear, it was the least that she could do.
*************
Waking surprised her.
After such a long and tiring battle, Buffy expected to wake up sore and stiff, with muscles dying for a long massage from someone named Sven. Instead, she was stiff, but except for the faint sting of the cut on her arm and some spot on her forehead, she felt remarkably OK, like she was just getting up from a really, really, really long nap.
That didn’t mean she wanted to get up, though, and she kept her eyes closed as she tugged the arm around her midsection closer. “Mmmmm,” she murmured, burrowing deeper against the familiar shape behind her. “Why are you so cold? Pull the blanket up or something.”
She didn’t remember getting back to the Freston house. Well, to be honest, she didn’t really remember very much once the flash thingy went off in the yard with the vampires, but they must’ve done all right because here she was, safe in bed, and William was right there with—.
Maybe it was the scent that pulled her from the remainder of her sleep. The fresh linen scent of William’s bed was gone, replaced with a musty smokiness that smelled too much like the worst of London. Had they spent the night at the house that imprisoned Giles and Anne instead of returning home?
Her eyes blinked open.
A plain, dark wall stared back at her.
Not the Freston house, then.
At least she knew William was all right.
She glanced down at the arm that held her so tightly, in the bend of his body that she fit so well.
And froze when she saw the chipped black nail polish.
Chapter 40: The Fools of Time
He hadn’t expected to fall asleep.
How could he? His brain was a miasma of memories and feelings that should’ve been reserved for Dru, not for the woman he’d tried to destroy for so many years.
But his body knew. His body remembered.
It trusted this place, with her in his arms, even if the bed wasn’t the one they’d shared, and even if the time wasn’t exactly right.
It betrayed him in favor of sleep.
…And dreamt.
*************
“May we not spar tonight?” She was watching him, a small inquisitive smile on her lips that erased a portion of the worry from her eyes, prompting William to take her hand and start leading her down the path. “I find myself more in the mood for a…gentler game this evening.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Parcheesi or checkers?” she teased. “Although, you know, Giles taught me a killer king me move once. You don’t want to mess with my jumping.”
“I believe I’ve been privy to that jumping—.” Laughing, he ducked away from her playful slap to his shoulder, his step quickening to pull her closer to the pond’s shores. “Come. There’s something I wish to show you.”
He didn’t look behind as she followed him along, but even if he had, William knew what he would see. The gentle curve of her leg exposed by her white skirts. The bright sparkle in her eyes as she took in anything and everything with that capacious gaze. The smattering of freckles across her nose that made him want to kiss each and every single one. Buffy often complained—good-naturedly, of course—that she wasn’t going to have any skin left if he kept kissing and licking her the way he frequently did, but he didn’t care. There would never be a dream when he didn’t delight in her taste, of her mouth, of her fingertips, of that delicious hollow at the base of her neck. Odd, really, how he’d never considered himself so orally fixated before meeting Buffy. She seemed to bring out the animal in him.
Releasing his hold on her when they reached the edge of the water, William kicked off his shoes, tugged impatiently at his socks, and then pulled her down to sit at his side. Without saying a word, he took her small foot in hand, slipping off first one sandal and tossing it to the grass behind them before doing the same with the other, all the while ignoring Buffy’s curious gaze.
“What’s this all about?” she finally asked.
“It’s about getting your feet wet,” he replied with a half-smile. “Come here.” Spreading his legs, he helped her settle between them, and then nudged hers down into the water so that both sets of feet trailed beneath its crystalline surface.
“I thought you said you had something to show me.”
“I do.” He pointed across the pond, at the low-hanging sun leaving glistening kaleidoscopes in the gentle ripples. “Look.”
After several seconds of silence, where the only thing that breathed or moved in the park’s harborage was the pair of solitary lovers, Buffy said, “OK, I must be really blind tonight or something because I’ve got nothing here. What exactly am I supposed to be seeing?”
“The sun. Have you not seen how closely it clings to the horizon? I think it’s going to set.”
“And?”
His arm curled around her waist to hold her closer. It pronounced the scent of her hair even more firmly, and William inhaled its aroma before continuing with his explanation. “The sun never sets here, Buffy,” he said gently. “How long have we been meeting like this? Granted, these are only dreams, and you’re only a figment—.”
“I’ve told you to stop saying things like that. Real, remember? As real as we can get.”
“Real, yes.” Though he knew it wasn’t. Within the framework of his nocturnal encounters with her, William was more than aware that this wasn’t the same as their first meetings. In the beginning, it had seemed so, their sporadic rendezvous infrequent enough for him not to notice the similarities. But when one encounter was repeated, almost verbatim, he’d realized it was just a construct of his imagination. A glorious and wonderful construct, but a construct nonetheless.
But tonight had been different from the start. He’d arrived at an empty park, where for every previous time, Buffy had been waiting for him. Not always in the same place, but invariably, always there.
Tonight, he’d had to wait for her, and while he waited, he tooled with the inks that he’d found near their bench, dashing off a quick verse in hopes of sharing it with her when she arrived. He’d been trying to come up with a word that rhymed with Elysium when he’d glanced up and noticed the sun, glowing with a soft twilight gleam rather than its usual noonday brilliance. What it meant, he had no idea, but the change had overwhelmed him into quiescence until Buffy had arrived, and now, he was hoping that perhaps she might have some insight as to its propitiousness.
“Maybe it has something to do with what’s going on when we’re awake,” she mused. Her weight against his chest was like the warmest of blankets, and he sighed in satisfaction when she let one of her hands drop to his thigh. “Maybe we’re sleeping during the day so it’s nighttime here.”
“Maybe,” William said. The explanation was too simple to assuage his slight debate, but he was failing to come up with his own answers and was willing to settle for hers.
“Everything’s OK, right? Things aren’t too stressy for you?”
She asked this quite a bit when they met, and always, William gave her the same positive response. Tonight, though, it felt somehow…wrong to fob off his usual assurances, and instead, he hugged her just a bit tighter to his body.
“Things are…changing,” he said softly. “I am…not sure how they are going to affect me.”
Buffy twisted in his embrace to look at him. “Changing good, or changing bad? Because you know, if it’s changing bad in a physical way, I can always come around and beat it up until it’s good again.”
He smiled at her small joke, and bent to brush a kiss over her lips. “Changing different,” he said. “Whether it’s good or bad remains to be seen.”
Her steady gaze drank him in, sucking him down with an effortlessness that still managed to astonish William. “You’ll be fine,” she finally said. “I’m sticking with the good will always triumph over evil motif on this one. You’ll come through this with flying colors.”
And if I’m the one who’s evil this time?”
Buffy shook her head. “Not possible.”
“Ah, but anything is possible, my love.” His hand cradled her cheek. “Aren’t we proof enough of that?”
She said nothing, but instead kissed him again, a ticklish delight that only spurred him to want more, before settling back again in his arms. As the silence returned to join them in their contemplations of the horizon, William decided that she was right this time in choosing not to continue the conversation. There would be time enough for debate in future encounters.
For now…he merely wished to enjoy the view.
*************
Spike wasn’t sure what woke him up, but the sense of pervasive peace that had suffused his limbs during his rest evaporated the moment he felt the tension in Buffy’s body.
She hadn’t moved from the position they’d obviously slept in for the course of the night, but she was completely rigid against him, her every muscle screaming with raucous conflict. It almost sounded as if she was even holding her breath, and Spike slowly eased his grip on her abdomen as if that might somehow let the air back into her lungs.
“Spike?” he heard her whisper. The single word was almost drowned out by the drumming of her heartbeat in his ears. It wasn’t excitement that tinged his name with red when she uttered it; there were no other signs in her body that she was aroused in any way.
No, he was entirely too familiar with the emotion now wracking her into unexpected submission, though it was one he had never before associated with Buffy, and, oddly enough, not one that gave him any pleasure now.
It was fear.
“Home sweet home,” he said quietly.
The words had the opposite effect than he’d wanted. With Slayer speed, Buffy bolted from the bed, stumbling just a mite as her legs grew accustomed to usage again, and whirled to see him lying on the bed, her eyes flickering from the indentations her body had left in the pillow and mattress before jumping back up to his face.
Neither said a word.
What did she see? he wondered. Did she see the fanciful William from when they’d first met? Or did she see the predator who’d stalked her around the dance floor that first night at the Bronze?
He knew what he saw. And though a part of him hated the weakness, and the sense of betrayal about Drusilla, Spike couldn’t help but revel in the satisfaction in seeing Buffy so strong. Alive.
Here.
His mouth opened to speak, but he was pre-empted by a rustle from behind him, and he shifted to see Willow sitting up in the chair she’d been sleeping in. The look of delight on her face clamped his lips shut, and he retreated to a comfortable distance when the redhead jumped and ran around the edge of the bed to snatch her best friend up in a hug.
“You’re back, you’re back,” she was babbling. “You have no idea how good it is to see you not sleeping.” Willow held the Slayer at arms’ length and waggled a disapproving finger in her face. “No more tea for you, young lady.”
Spike caught the glance Buffy shot him before putting on a bright smile for her friend. “No more tea,” she agreed. She looked around, noticing the room’s contents for the first time, and the smile was immediately replaced by a frown. “Where are we?”
“Such a long story—.”
“And my cue to bugger off,” Spike cut in.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he was halfway up when she spoke.
“What? You’re just…leaving?”
Hope lanced through him as he turned to see Buffy waiting for his answer. “Done my job, haven’t I?” he said carefully. “Brought you back all safe and sound to the bosom of your loved ones.”
He had no idea how she was going to respond. All he knew was that Red’s show and tell had sounded like too much for him, driving him to try and escape. He didn’t want her party to what he and Buffy needed to discuss. It was going to be hard enough trying to sort it out with just the two of them, let alone tossing in a meddlesome best friend he’d spent the better part of his acquaintance terrorizing. He couldn’t afford to have that boat rocked any more than it already would be.
When Willow leaned in to whisper in Buffy’s ear, though, Spike couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes. Still a vampire here, he wanted to scold her. Still can hear every word you’re bloody saying.
But as he stood there waiting, he saw the change come over the Slayer’s face as Willow’s he doesn’t remember anything sank in. There was no denying the disappointment that flickered in those green depths, but at the same time, her relief could’ve been a two-by-four upside his head with as obvious as it was.
And it hurt a helluva lot more than if it had gone straight through his heart.
“I thought you might be interested in a deal,” Buffy finally said to Spike, chin lifted high.
Willow’s wrinkled brow confusion was nothing compared to his own, but he’d had a century of practicing disinterest to cover himself up better. “Already had my deal,” Spike said leisurely. “I’m sure Red’ll will fill you in once you’ve seen the back of me.” He reached for his coat, and sure enough, Buffy’s voice was a better tether than any thrall Drusilla could’ve done on a best day.
“Guess you’re finally strong enough to just walk away whenever it makes you happy,” she said. “And here I thought being afraid didn’t hold you back.”
The room felt like it was spinning around him as he slowly turned his head to stare at her, and when he met her gaze, Spike realized he’d just failed her little test of him.
“Because I’m not lost anymore,” he’d said. “No matter what happens, no matter where the next bend in our paths takes us, you’ve shown me that fear doesn’t have to hold me back. That I have it in me to forge onward, even if hindrances may try to prevent me from doing so. This is your true gift, Buffy. You make those who love you stronger.”
She’d wanted to find out for herself if he didn’t remember, or maybe, just how much he did. And in a clumsy drop of his cards, Spike had given her at least a peek at his hand.
Willow had grabbed onto Buffy’s arm, pulling her away from the bed. “What’re you doing?” she whispered into the Slayer’s ear. “Let him go. We don’t need him anymore.”
But Buffy wasn’t paying Willow any heed, her eyes still level with Spike’s, daring him with that golden petulance that just last year had driven him to distraction. Now, it had an entirely different effect, and his mouth set in a grim line as he squared his shoulders.
That’s the game she wants to play, so be it.
“You think you’ve got an offer I might be interested in, Slayer?” he drawled, hooking his thumb through his belt loop so that his fingers splayed across his crotch. He secretly pleasured in the flush that rose to her cheeks, and watched her retreat behind an icy exterior he was all too-familiar with.
“Never mind,” she snapped. “Just go. Willow and I can take care of Esme on our own.”
He waited until she’d turned to her friend before speaking again. “You think you can handle April all on your lonesome, too?” he asked.
It was Buffy’s turn to look like a deer in headlights, and the way her head swiveled back and forth between Spike and Willow almost made the vampire laugh out loud.
“That’s part of the long story,” Willow confirmed. “She’s out there, somewhere, and dangerous. You should’ve seen what she did to Spike.”
He squirmed under Buffy’s scrutiny. “Wouldn’t’ve happened if it wasn’t for that fuckin’ boytoy of hers—.”
“Nathan? Nathan’s here, too?”
Even as she said it, Spike realized that he’d known the name, too, a flimsy mote that had been buried in the avalanche of the other memories. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “The pair of ‘em have decided to finish off Esme, for some reason. Guess they didn’t like the terms of the deal she made to break the bitch out of her crystal palace.”
“Same fight, different day,” Buffy muttered. With one last look at the vampire, she turned away, scanning the room. “Where are my clothes? We need to go find Giles. We’re going to need all the help we can get with this one.”
“Ummm…OK.” Willow rushed through a hurried explanation about the set-up, how they’d fled from Esme and left most everything behind, all the while avoiding looking at a pacing Spike near the door. “And as for Giles, well, I’ve been so focused on getting you back that, well—.”
“Giles is here,” Buffy interrupted. She went to the wardrobe and began rifling through its contents, pulling out a pair of Willow’s pants as she spoke. “I found him when I was…when I was sleeping. There was this powerful spell holding him in some kind of time prison, but Rose broke that. He should be back here by now.”
“Powerful, huh? Do you think it was one of Esme’s?”
Buffy shrugged. “Don’t know anybody else with that kind of power just lying around, do you? It doesn’t matter anyway. Rose said all he had to do was leave the house to get back to his own time. I didn’t see it, but—.”
“He’s here.” The surprise in Willow’s quick glance was but a pinprick compared to the angry resentment in Buffy’s, and Spike shrugged as he tried to backtrack. “Watcher’s not completely daft. If all he had to do to get outta the place was go outside, something tells me he’s egghead enough to put one foot in front of the other. Not even Rupert is that pathetic not to suss that.”
Willow seemed to accept his rationalization, but the Slayer wasn’t nearly as forgiving, yanking the borrowed pants up before slipping on a pair of extra shoes. “He probably went back to the apartment to look for us,” Buffy said as she strode determinedly for the door. “I say we start our search for him there.”
Spike hung back, even after Willow had grabbed her backpack and stepped into the hall. Blue eyes never left the small blonde in the doorway, staying firm when she hesitated and looked back at him.
“Are you coming?” Buffy asked quietly. “I know it’s not your fight, and I don’t really have anything to give you this—.”
“I’m in.” He glanced out the window before sauntering forward. “Still some time before the sun comes up, and I got a score to settle with that April bitch.” Every step into the hallway was buoyed by her unfaltering gaze, but he couldn’t fight the urge to stop in front of Buffy and lean to whisper directly into her ear.
“Can’t rightly stay inside, anyway. Do that, and I’m just a prisoner of my own fear. Not really the way we work, now is it?”
Her sudden gasp was the best reward he could’ve asked for as he pulled back and continued down the hall.
Well…
…Second best.
*************
The sound of a key slipping into the lock was enough to draw Giles from his slumber, and he shot up from where he’d crashed on the couch to see the knob on the front door already turning. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the fruitless trek to Quentin’s house combined with the events of the past several days had been enough to make him collapse when he’d returned to the flat, and even now, the desire to just shoot whoever it was coming in so that he could get a few more hours of rest was overwhelming.
Her slim hand on the jamb was all he needed to shed the last vestiges of his disorientation, and Giles was at the door, pulling it away from Buffy’s grip, before she could say a word. Silently, he gathered her into his arms, grunting slightly when her squeeze began to border on the uncomfortable, and then reached out to include the waiting Willow in the hug.
It was only when he saw Spike lounging against the wall in the hall that he stiffened.
The vampire looked very much like he had the last time Giles had seen him over a year previously—though the coat certainly appeared a bit worse for wear—but when the two men met gazes, the Watcher’s stomach plummeted.
Haunted was the best word he could use to describe Spike.
Did she actually do it? Does he remember what happened?
But he mustn’t, Giles argued silently. He would never have attempted to kill Buffy last year if he still retained any feelings for her.
But then…why is he here?
“I think this is my new favorite day of the year,” Willow was babbling. “Buffy’s back, Giles is back, I’m no longer the only one trying to fix everything…”
“I take it, Rose was right?” Buffy asked, pulling away from the hug.
Giles nodded. “And a bit overzealous in getting me out of her way, it would seem. She literally shoved me out the door when she saw that man being attacked.”
“That was Richard,” the Slayer explained. “Her husband.”
“Does that mean—?”
“That the bitefest was courtesy of April? Yeah, that’s what it means.” She started to follow Willow into the flat, and then hesitated when she remembered the vampire still in the hallway.
“Would it be remiss to inquire why exactly Spike is here?” Giles asked before she could say anything.
Buffy sighed. “There are so many different answers to that question, I don’t even know where to start. But for now…I—we need him. You have no idea how much has happened here since we’ve been gone.”
“So…he’s here at your request?”
“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”
He ignored the sharpness of her tone, concentrating instead on Spike. There were no overt reactions to Buffy’s choice of words, his body still a casual study of indolence, but it was the precise measuredness of his pose, combined with the lack of his usual caustic retorts, that set the Watcher’s mind awhirl.
“Come in, Spike,” he finally said, stepping aside to allow him entrance.
No reaction.
Then, a single nod before shuffling past Giles. He stopped at the opening to the living room, surveying the ransacked interior, before choosing the farthest chair from the center of the room as his seat. After tossing a leg over the arm, he merely waited for Buffy to enter the room, and then watched her every move as she settled on the couch with Willow.
Something was going on between the pair, but what it could be, Giles was unsure. For now, he would bide his time and watch, hopeful that answers would be forthcoming. What they might be, whether Spike was now a threat along the same lines as Angelus—and oh, dear lord, did he hope that they didn’t have to worry about killing another vampire obsessed with Buffy—or whether there were other circumstances dictating Spike’s odd presence, he would have to wait and see.
For now, there were more pressing issues at hand.
*************
Explanations made the world go ‘round.
They didn’t do a thing for Buffy’s head, though.
Well, it wasn’t the explanations as much, because those were relatively effortless. If she took into consideration that she and Giles were sketchy on the time-past details in light of Spike’s professed ignorance of what had happened. And hearing just how Willow had teamed up with Esme hadn’t exactly been cheerworthy, either, but what was done, was done. They just had to move onward from there.
No, the head-spinning was courtesy of Spike. As usual.
When Angel had lost his soul, he’d looked mostly the same to her. So, Buffy’d figured that seeing the physical differences between Spike and William would make the separation of the two easier to manage. After all, there was so much changed—the bleached hair, the higher definition to his muscles, the added scars.
But when he’d spoken, and she’d leapt from the bed to meet his gaze, something inside her had come undone.
Because…he had William’s eyes.
The eyes were exactly the same.
It hadn’t been that way with Angelus. After the initial shock of learning he’d lost his soul, Buffy had picked up on the coldness and maniacal glee in his aspect every time she saw him, making it easier and easier for her to separate the man from the demon so that by the time it came to killing him for Acathla, she was ready. Of course, the getting his soul back at the last minute hadn’t been uber-fun, but by that point, it was too late. She knew what she had to do.
So she’d been preparing herself for the same thing with Spike. She could separate the two, no matter what the physical differences.
Except…
…He had William’s eyes.
And every time he looked at her—which was all the time, damn it, and just who in hell did he think he was fooling by saying he didn’t remember anything?—she had to fight the urge to go and curl into his lap, touch his face and tell him everything was going to be all right.
She didn’t know what all right was anymore.
“Buffy.”
Giles’ voice was gentle, nudging her from her reverie and snapping her head away from where she’d zoned into staring at Spike again. “What?” she asked, too chirpy, and then flushed at the kind reproof in his gaze. “Sorry. Just…I’ve spent too much time thinking lately. Not enough time killing things. My brain is going mushy.”
“I was just saying that I believe our best course of action at this point would be to contact the Council. With the information we can provide them now, it should be much easier for them to track April.”
“The Council? Giles, are you forgetting that they’re half to blame for this entire mess? And you said yourself that Mr. Travers wouldn’t even answer the door when you went to his house. That doesn’t scream ‘we want to help you’ to me.”
“That was before. Now, we have what they treasure most. Information. And as for Quentin, well, it is the middle of the night, Buffy. He was well within his rights to be in bed instead of waiting for my potential arrival.”
Her lips tightened. “All right, say we do spill to them about April. That doesn’t solve the Esme problem. I know Willow said she doesn’t have her magic right now, but how do we know that’s a permanent thing? She could get it back and then we wouldn’t be able touch her again, and neither could the Council. And we can’t just not deal with her. She’s got a big ol’ jones for Slayers, and hey, leader of the pack here.”
“I agree with Buffy,” Willow chimed in. “Especially since Spike and I, you know, kinda double-crossed her with sneaking out and everything.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Giles asked. “She’s still human. You can’t kill her—.”
“I can,” Spike offered. “Be my pleasure.”
The Watcher shot him a withering glance. “Like I said,” he continued, as if the vampire had never spoken up, “you can’t kill her. As far as we know, nothing we’ve ever done has harmed Esme. If she gets her powers back, we have no idea how to even approach disarming her again. We need allies, Buffy. We can’t do this alone.”
The voice from the front hall took them all by surprise, and every head turned to see Rose hovering in the living room’s entrance.
“I suppose this is the perfect opening for me to finally stop eavesdropping and start contributing, isn’t it?” she said.