V
Her next encounter with Spike came at the expense of another crack in her slowly breaking heart. Their dance seemed a perpetual one-step-forward-two-steps-back, only the backward steps, in her case, felt more like chest-crushing shoves. Each night following their post-bunker encounter had only postponed the lost cause that was her impending emotional devastation. And now, locked in the hold of the vampires Willy the Snitch had on his payroll and guarded by the Taraka assassins, her eyes were immediately drawn to the gorgeous woman at the altar of the church. She hung nailed palm-to-palm to a near-naked Angel, who looked as beaten and pitiful as Buffy felt.
Willy had never had a prouder day in his life, she reckoned. He was leading a group of vamps and approaching a master vampire with what he thought was leverage in tow. However, from the irritated snarl stretching Spike’s lips, Buffy could tell this was going to quickly spiral downhill for the local pain-in-the-ass. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t. Her eyes were on the prize: her vampire lover, her so-called vampire boyfriend, and the vampire woman who stood between them.
It was only somewhat comforting when Spike’s eyes wavered a bit upon meeting hers.
“It’s payday, pal,” Willy said cheerily. “I got your slayer.”
Buffy fought the urge to snicker. Perhaps it was all the quality time she’d spent with Spike that made her so apt at reading him. More likely, the human at her side was an incredibly dense tool who wouldn’t know a pissed off vampire from a hole in the ground.
A point which was proven nicely the next second. “Are you tripping?” Spike barked, stopping just short of lunging for the barkeep’s jugular. “You bring her here? Now?”
“You said you wanted her,” Willy replied, his face crestfallen, his voice trembling and a nervous hand combing through his hair.
“That’s not what I said!” Spike snapped. If Willy wasn’t careful, he truly was going to end up with a ripped throat and minus one heartbeat. “How’s it that you don’ get this? Dru’s ceremony—”
“Look, see, there’s a bounty on her head, and in case you hadn’t noticed, buddy, I ain’t exactly equipped to hold a slayer. Cages, yeah—kept Angel there from escaping. Slayer’s different business. You wanted her—I heard it. Here she is.”
If anything, the repetition of Spike’s so-called desire only infuriated her vampire even more. And had Buffy not been preoccupied with formulating an escape plan which included Angel in the flesh and not in the ash, she would have been wholly devastated, rather than mostly crushed.
In that instant, she needed to distract herself from Spike’s obvious disdain. She needed to think of something—anything—to get her mind on track. Thus her eyes settled on Angel, and before she could stop herself, his name had rolled off her lips almost mournfully.
It wasn’t her intent, but her whisper was enough to ensnare Spike’s attention. And no, she didn’t revel in the flare of jealousy that brightened his eyes. Not at all. This wasn’t the time for such things.
God, she was such a mess with priorities that were so all over the place.
“Yeah,” he snarled, taking a dangerous step in her direction. There was nothing fair about this. The last time he’d been so close, she’d had his cock in her mouth and his balls in her hands. And tonight, if they both survived this, they’d come together in the same passionate fury that always followed their fights. He’d whisper things to her that he’d forget come morning. Things she knew he meant when he was with her, but only when he was with her.
Things she still wasn’t entirely sure were real. They hadn’t yet gotten the chance to try out the code; from the look on Spike’s face, tonight wasn’t going to be their night. Presuming he cared enough to tear his mind from his precious Drusilla’s revitalization ritual to give his nighttime lover any thought. Presuming she was right to begin with, and her dreams were true and not just dreams. But God, by now, if they weren’t real then something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“It bugs me, too,” Spike continued casually as he tossed a careless glance over his shoulder. “Seeing him like that. Another five minutes, though, an’ Angel will be dead, so…I forebear.”
His words were enough to snap her back to the present—and give herself yet another reason to kick her own ass for having her mind constantly with someone she should have dusted by now were it not for the fact she was hopelessly in love with him.
“Spike,” she protested softly, only to have her arm tugged in harsh reprimand by one of the vamp cronies behind her.
Perhaps it was the way she said his name; a strange light flooded Spike’s eyes. Nothing she recognized, but at this point, anything different was good. “Gotta say, Slayer,” he purred, running his tongue over the sharp point of one fang. “Thought you’d spoil the party, but havin’ you here…watchin’ your honeybear boil away to nothin’…knowin’ your last kiss really was your last.” His eyes flared at that, and her heart leapt into her throat. “Well…you mighta jus’ saved ole Willy’s life. This is…oh, what’s the word…delicious.”
Stupidly, her first instinct was to clear what felt like an allegation. “Hold on. We haven’t—”
And oh thank God, the cavalry arrived. Another second and she would have embarrassed herself to the point where death would have been the better alternative. A back-flipping Kendra burst into the sanctuary, and the next thing Buffy knew, the vampire lackeys were on the ground and she’d been thrust against Spike, the force of her impact knocking them both to the floor.
Kendra didn’t waste any time; she was at Buffy’s side the next second. And thankfully, the presence of a responsible doesn’t-have-naked-dreams-about-vampires-who-wanted-her-dead slayer succeeded in screwing Buffy’s head on properly. She didn’t allow herself to enjoy the feel of Spike’s body against hers; she was on her feet again the next second, and more than ready to hand his ass to him if he so much as glanced at her neck in a way she didn’t like.
Kendra’s overly ostentatious but very welcome entrance, however, had successfully captured Spike’s attention.
“Who the hell is this?” he barked, tossing Buffy an almost accusatory glare as the other slayer seized him by the shirt.
Somehow, said glare had no effect on her. “It’s your lucky day, Spike,” she spat.
“Two slayers!” Kendra announced proudly before decking his jaw.
“No waiting!” Buffy added, jabbing his oh-so-kissable gut with a very angry fist. And there would have been more where the first came from had her spider-senses not directed her back to the gun-happy bitch and the other paid cronies.
The Order of Taraka. The assassins who didn’t quit until their target was dead.
“Why?” she demanded, wiping her eyes fiercely and cursing herself for being so damned pathetic. She hated weakness. God, she hated weakness. And she’d never felt so weak in her life. Not as a child from a broken household, not as a hormone-riddled teenager, and certainly not as the Slayer. Yet Spike, whose tenderness made her melt as much as his harshness made her bleed, could render her into a babbling stereotype in seconds.
She hated being weak.
And yet, hating it didn’t stop it.
“Why, Spike? I…I thought…”
He could barely look at her.
“Do you hate me so much?”
“No,” he replied hoarsely, though his eyes betrayed a hatred for himself at the answer. “Buffy, I…” He paused, inhaling sharply. “Dru. She…she’s the one. She did it. Sent ‘em after you. Saw it in her Tarot cards. A nice distraction to keep you outta the picture so…” He broke off and grew disturbingly silent, his countenance haunted. “I told her…told her not to. Told her you were mine to…she din’t take kindly to that. To you being…bloody hell. Kitten, I din’t—”
“Giles says I should lay low. Run. I’ve never run from a problem; not once. And God, I’m the Slayer. How am I supposed to—”
To her astonishment, he nodded. “You just are. Your watcher’s right. These are nasty buggers, baby. Brutal, nasty buggers. An’ yeah, you’re strong…stronger than any one of them…but you never know where they’re comin’ from. Jus’…lay low till I can work out a way to get the hit called off.”
Buffy froze, not daring to hope. “You…you’re going to—”
“’Course. I’ve been lookin’ for a sodding loophole since she let it out that she’d sent them after you at all.” He captured her face in her hands and kissed her tears away. “Told you. Fuck, I told her. You’re mine. An’ until I figure out what that means, exactly, I need to keep you nice an’ warm an’ alive.” Spike smiled softly, his mouth dipping southward, nipping at her breast as a sly hand delved between her legs. “An’ here. Right here.”
Obviously, since their probably-real discussion, Spike hadn’t been able to make any progress on calling off the hit. Crazy-cop lady had still found time to swing by school during career week and shoot a few rounds through a crowded hallway.
At first, the crazy-cop lady proved frustratingly strong for a human. There was no way the human members of the Order of Taraka were relying on natural strength. Either she was chugging steroids or there was some demonic power infusing her veins with weirdly potent strength. Crazy-cop lady paid her back every punch. Every kick. Every everything Buffy threw at her. It was damned irritating, and had Giles and company not stormed in and taken the recovering vamp-cronies by surprise she might have been in a world of hurt.
As it was, the Scoobies’ entrance gave Buffy the upper-hand she needed. Her knee butted hard with the cop’s not-so killer abs, rendering the woman breathless and completely unprepared to block a kick to the face.
“Now now, Sarge,” Buffy quipped, feeling oddly punny. “Something tells me this isn’t within the definition of legal protocol.”
Okay, so it wasn’t the puniest of the punny. It was still more than she’d done in weeks.
And it provided much needed amusement points. How a faux cop could look so offended at something so stupid, she didn’t know. All she cared about was the fact she’d just dealt out the winning hand. When the cop rushed back at her, swinging a blade out of her sleeve, Buffy barely blinked. She ducked, rolled, and ducked again. She knocked the cop to the floor with a quick sweep of her legs, and sent her staggering into the wall when she tried to get up. It was nice, after feeling weak and pathetically girly for so long, to toss around a super-being—by methods unknown—like a rag doll.
Kendra, however, wasn’t having the same luck with Spike. And while Buffy was relieved she didn’t have to do something thoroughly embarrassing like save the stupid vampire’s life, she similarly wasn’t about to have responsibility for a slayer’s death placed on her shoulders.
Therefore, as Kendra scrambled back to her feet following a powerful kick to her stomach, Buffy made a quick decision.
Better to forfeit the easy opponent to make sure everyone stayed alive.
And non-dusted.
“Switch!” she yelled, dropping to the ground.
Kendra didn’t hesitate. She rolled over Buffy’s back and was on her feet just in time to send the now-recovered cop into the wall again.
Buffy barely noticed. Her chest heaved, sweat stung her eyes, and Spike was in front of her. And then everything stopped. Everything. At last, though the chaotic world swirled around them, they were alone. She was alone with Spike—Real Spike. The Spike she’d dry-humped in a bunker because reality and fantasy were too close to fusing together in her mind’s very confused eye.
She needed to know if her Spike lurked somewhere within those demon eyes. She was so certain he was; she only had enough doubt left to make her question herself, and she was so tired of questioning herself.
The sign. The code. One of us—
“I’d rather be fightin’ you, anyway,” Spike drawled, licking his lips hungrily.
What an odd time to get turned on. And yet, she couldn’t help herself. A smirk quirked her lips and she nodded in accord. “Mutual.”
“You’re makin’ a hard day’s night outta my work.”
It happened so quickly she nearly tripped. Buffy honestly didn’t know what she’d expected. A dramatic pause. A flickered brow. A wink. There was nothing. Nothing. Nothing but the words. The words she’d longed to hear since the night they’d decided on a stupid code in the first place. They were there. They were in the open. In the air. And any lingering doubt was banished with the purity of knowledge.
The moment stretched forever. Spike was panting almost as hard as she was, studying her like she would crumble if he blinked. And she couldn’t look away. Every nerve in her body was numb. The ground on which she stood trembled beneath her feet. It had happened; it had finally happened. And heaven help her, she was at a complete loss. Real Spike and Dream Spike were one, and all she wanted to do was run into his arms and beg him to make the badness go away. To wipe the snarl out of his eyes in favor for the kindness she’d come to treasure.
Reality wasn’t as forgiving. Spike was commanded by a different set of rules outside their dream-world. He couldn’t take her in his arms—chances were he wouldn’t even if he had the option. Not out here. Not in a world where they were defined by their titles.
“Spike…”
His name rolled off her lips before she could help herself. The silence between them was too damn much. She’d had enough silence to last her lifetimes.
Spike’s eyes widened and a strange sense of calm washed over him. “Buffy…”
Her knees almost buckled and tears flooded her eyes. God, it was real. It was really real. This was the same Spike who kissed her at night. Who whispered poetry in her ear as his fingers manipulated her clit. This was her Spike. In the real world.
What did it mean? What did any of this mean?
And even in the midst of her mind-crushing confusion, she found it reassuring that Spike didn’t seem to have the answers either. Everything was in question now, and suddenly there were no absolutes. The awkward stretch of quiet between them likely lasted only seconds in reality, but everything slowed around her. She knew the Scoobies were in danger. Kendra was handling the cop. Giles was firing rounds off his crossbow. Angel was slowly dying. She knew it all, and the period between knowledge and action seemed endless. She couldn’t move. She was literally frozen in place—staring at Spike as the world around her provided a true definition of slow-motion.
Spike’s eyes kept hold of hers for a long moment, then he turned slowly to face the altar. To the place where Angel and Drusilla hung together. He paused again, glancing back to Buffy, his gaze heavy and lost. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but there was nothing to say. The world was crumbling around them and all they could do was stare.
Perhaps, then, it wasn’t so surprising when they reached a unanimous decision without saying a word. They turned on the same note, falling into a quick stride toward the altar. Spike slid the ceremonial dagger out of his girlfriend’s palm; Buffy’s hands occupied at the leather-skin belt which bound the vampires together. They worked in silence; Buffy ignored the half-dazed questioning looks Angel fired her way, and Spike ignored Drusilla’s power-drunk glare. Nothing seemed to matter at that point—nothing save collecting their mutual people and getting as far away from each other as possible to figure out what the hell had happened. To get to neutral ground until they saw each other again.
“Tonight,” Spike said shortly, tossing her a quick glance as he hauled Drusilla into his arms. “We’ll talk tonight.”
Her heart leapt. “Tonight,” she agreed, catching Angel as he fell.
The church was going up in flames. Kendra was quickly ushering everyone out, but Buffy couldn’t move. She remained paralyzed with shock, not to mention bogged with the weight of an intensely weakened vampire. Thus she sank to her knees with Angel slung half-dead in her lap. And while she knew she had to move, the whole of her was too numb to take action.
It was real. This thing with Spike was real. The dreams were real.
Then her love for Spike was real, as well.
Oh God.
Spike was currently carting his girlfriend—his real girlfriend—to safety, and Buffy was in love with him. And too lost with the forefront of that knowledge to even consider the possibility that Kendra would take it upon herself to stop Spike from escaping. She glanced up just in time to watch what appeared to be an old paint can smash into Spike’s head, and she watched in horror as he staggered and hurtled into an ancient pipe organ. Debris crashed and the fire spread, and then it was over.
In seconds, it was over.
The scream that peeled off her lips when the organ wailed in protest, wavered, and finally collapsed upon her fallen vampire brought the silence that had haunted her to life. Everything around her stopped. Everything.
Buffy barely noticed. Cold tears rained down her cheeks. Every nerve in her body ached. Her ears were ringing. Spike was gone.
Spike was gone.
Spike was gone.
And all she could do was weep.
*~*~*
Of all the scenarios she’d envisioned forcing her to break the news to Giles about her nocturnal activity, it had never been because her heart lay in ruins. Never because the vampire she was in love with—the evil thing he was—had died at the hand of another slayer. These were things she couldn’t possibly have known. Things that didn’t seem real, even as they unfolded right before her tear-crusted eyes.
The thing about Giles was one could never pinpoint how he’d react. She’d expected anger and yelling and a lot of glasses-polishing. She’d expected him to hurl a few what-were-you-thinkings coupled with I-can’t-believe-you’d-keep-something-like-this-from-me at her feet. She’d expected anything aside from what she received.
A handkerchief. A glass of water. A promise to keep her secret a secret.
An inquiry. Was there anything he could do?
An answer. No, but thank you.
All Buffy wanted was to get home and sleep. She needed sleep. When she slept, she’d see him. He’d be there. She’d know he was all right.
But she didn’t tell Giles that.
Once she got home, she skipped her nighttime-preparation routine entirely. No post-fight shower. No brushing her teeth. No checking her wounds to make sure she’d stopped bleeding. She didn’t even change into pajamas. She dove into bed and wrestled with her thundering heart, waiting for sleep to come.
It happened just before dawn. Her eyes finally became heavy and reality faded into nothing. And when she stepped into their motel room only to find it empty, every inch of her collapsed with the coldest sorrow she’d ever known. Buffy burst into tears, crashed to her knees, and cried herself awake.