Chapter Two
Slowly, and with the stealth God granted the greatest of predators, he sought out his prey. Blue eyes peered over the edge of the bed, the sleeping woman peacefully lost in her dream world. She had no idea that she was being stalked, hunted. With a war whoop that would rival any Indians, he pounced. Only to find himself plucked out the air before he landed, and mercilessly being tickled. Shrill giggles filled the air as he admitted defeat, and tried to twist away from his mother.
“Mommy, stop!” Matthew Williams cried as squirmed in her arms.
“Oh, no. The tickle monster will not be denied.” Anne said with a witch-like cackle. Laughter filled the room, much like it did every morning. Finally, when he was a limp mass of breathless giggles, Anne let him up.
“How’d ya know it was me?” He asked, smiling the smile of the happily defeated. She looked at him, hazel eyes dancing. His brown, curly hair fell across his forehead, blue eyes sparkled with the sunlight coming through the open windows. He was wearing his favorite pair of faded Scooby pajamas, and freckles dusted the bridge of his nose.
“It’s a mom thing.” she said, reaching out to tweak his nose. He giggled again, and began to excitedly jump on the bed.
“C’n I have panny cakes?” he asked, hope filling his eyes. She tilted her head back, and contemplated the ceiling.
“I dunno.” She said, dragging it out. “I distinctly remember saying NO brownies before bed.” She gave him the ‘fess up now’ look, one brow cocked and her mouth slightly pursed as she fought a grin.
“Mooommmmyyy.” Matt cried, a shadow of his mother’s pout forming on his face. Her grin broke free at the pleading sound of his voice.
“Alright.”
“Yippee!” he squealed, throwing himself into her arms, then scrambled off the bed.
“Wait a minute, mister. Go get dressed first. You still have school today.” she reminded him, chuckling at the crestfallen look on his face. He left the room, as slowly as he could, dragging his feet the whole time. She rolled her eyes, and pushed herself out of bed, wincing at the pain shooting up her legs.
A few minutes later, she emerged form her room, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with the word Tombstone emblazoned across it. She had never seen a ghost town before, so Mark had taken them the year before to “enlighten them to the history of the Old West.”
“Come on Matt.” she called as she passed his room.
“Coming.” he answered, his less than enthusiastic answer making her chuckle yet again. Walking into her kitchen, she set about making pancakes. Matt came in just as she was pouring the first ones into the pan.
“Hey, sit down and drink your juice.” She told him, indicating the glass on the table under the window. Not noticing the sullen look on his face, because she was looking away, she expertly flipped the pancakes. Sometimes, she still thought it was amazing that she had ever learned how to cook. There had seemed no point in Sunnydale. Her life consisted of school, slaying, and Angel. She sighed a little as the image of her first love danced in her memory. It didn’t hurt to think about him anymore. In fact, it hadn’t hurt in a long time. Once she had found out she was pregnant, Angel missage had taken a backseat. She had felt guilty about that for a long time. Like somehow, she was disrespecting his memory by not wallowing in sorrow. Now, all she felt when she allowed herself the indulgence of memories, was a bit of melancholy.
“Mommy.” Matt’s soft voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to look at him. The scowl on his face had visions of another vampire swimming through her brain, and she marveled again at how much he looked like his father.
“What’s the matter honey?” She asked, turning back to the stove.
“Why don’t I have a daddy?” The clatter of the spatula made him jump, and he looked quizzically over at his mother. “Mommy, are you okay?” She was staring at him gaped mouthed, the spatula on the floor at her feet. She shook herself out of her shock, leaned down to pick up the utensil. Throwing it in the sink, she turned off the pan, and took the finished pancakes to the table, silently contemplating her answer. She sat across from him, looking into his eyes, a wave of love so strong flowing over her, she almost felt like she was drowning. Curiosity and pain clouded the blue orbs, letting her know something had spurred on this question, other than natural interest.
“Did something happen at school?” she asked him, placing two pancakes on his plate. He picked up his fork and started to push them around, his scowl deepening.
“No.” came the glum response.
“Uh huh. Try again.” Anne smiled at him, her eyes coaxing him to answer. He looked up at her quickly, then back down at his plate. Shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, he started to talk.
‘Sam said, sat I wuf a legemate.” he mumbled. Anne struggled to understand the gibberish, hoping she hadn’t gotten it right.
“What did Sam say?” She asked when he had swallowed. She placed a hand on his wrist before he could shove more food in his mouth. “Try it without the word jumbler.”
“Sam said that I was ilgityment. He said that means I don’t have a daddy.” Closing her eyes against the urge to go rip little Sammy’s head off, she waited to answer.
“Of course you have a daddy, honey. All children have a daddy.” She began. Giles had been wrong, demons weren’t the danger. Tiny kids with big mouths were. Maybe Sam was a demon, she could take care of that, she considered, evilly.
“Then why innit he here?”
“Isn’t.” She corrected automatically, her mind scrambling for an answer. How the hell was she supposed to answer this? Gee honey, me and your father were only together for a day, and then he left before I found out I was pregnant. Oh, and by the way, he’s a vampire. She thought she’d have a couple of years at least before she had to answer this. Plenty of time to think up something. But, he’d started preschool this year, and apparently that opened up a can of worms she wasn’t prepared to deal with yet. Matt watched her as she struggled for an answer.
“Didn’t he love us?” *Oh God* she moaned internally at his tiny question. Tears shimmered in the depths of his eyes, and his lip started to tremble.
“Baby, some things aren’t that simple. Me and your father had something special. But, sometimes, circumstances can keep people apart. It isn’t right, or fair, but it happens.” Anne told him, pulling him from his chair and into her lap. He cried quietly against her chest, and Anne knew that there were some demons, she couldn’t slay.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” His voice was muffled against her shirt. She smiled into his hair, and placed a kiss on his head.
“Yeah, baby. I do.”
~*~*~
Druscilla’s eyes turned away from Spike to the statue of Acathla, a dreamy smile on her face.
“Oh, here he comes.” she sighed. Spike used the opportunity to wrap his arm around her throat and start choking her. Across the room, Buffy and Angel turn towards each other, swords at the ready.
“You almost made it Buff.” Angelus said with a sneer.
“It’s not over yet.” Buffy returned, steely determination etched on her face. Angel looked over his shoulder at the statue.
“My boy Acathla here is about to wake up. You’re going to Hell.”
“Save me a seat.” At that , Buffy thrust her sword at him. He parried and swung around with a thrust of his own, only to be blocked by her. The sound of clashing blades rang through the room each trying for the advantage. Thrusts and parries, jumps and swings, neither quite able to catch the other off guard.
“I’m sorry baby.” Spike said, as Dru started to lose consciousness in his arms. As she slumped to the floor, he hazarded a look out to the courtyard, where Angel had Buffy trapped against the wall, blade pointed at her head. “God, he’s going to kill her.” He muttered, before shrugging a shoulder and reaching down to gather Dru. As he leaned down, the supposedly unconscious figure of Dru swung up with the andiron. Stars burst behind Spike’s eyes and he fell to the floor. He grabbed blindly at her ankle as she tried to scurry away
“Now that’s everything, huh? No weapons. No friends. No hope.” Angel taunted, smirking as Buffy’s eyes drifted closed. “Take that all away, and what’s left?” Not expecting an answer, he pulled his arm back, ready to deal the killing blow. To his amazement, the forward movement of the blade is stopped between the palms of her hands.
“Me.” She shoved the blade away from her, slamming the hilt into his face causing him to stumble back. She jumped to her feet, one tiny foot slamming into his chest, pushing him back farther. In one fluid motion, she snatched her sword off the floor and the fight was on again, this time Buffy with the advantage.
Spike blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Dru was swinging the andiron again, cracking it across his back. He managed to keep his hold on her leg, while the pain scorched through his body. A wild swing landed in her stomach, causing her to drop the metal. He yanked hard and she landed on her butt with a shriek. Kicking wildly at him, she rolled and tried to gain purchase on her knees. What she saw when she turned made her pause.
Angel was on his knees in front of Acathla, Buffy standing in front of him. Just as the Slayer was raising her sword to finish off the Master Vampire, he gasped loudly, a groan of pain spilling from his lips. She watched as his eyes glowed red, then quickly fade back to brown. Their eyes meet briefly before he collapsed, crying. She stared down at him, sword still fisted tight in her hand.
“Buffy?” Angel’s soft, confused voice asked. “What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed, confusion tearing at her
Spike reared up to latch onto Dru again, his own attention drawn to the couple across the room. Something was up, he could tell by the slow lowering of the sword, the embrace. They were speaking to each other, their voices low as they clung to each other like children. Behind them, the statue rumbled, the face contorting and the eyes glowing red. The mouth of the statue opened, and the swirling vortex to Hell began to open. *Oh shit* Spike though, at the same instant Angel raised his head, confusion marring his face. Spike let go of Dru, ready to take care of Angel himself should Buffy falter. Rising shakily to his feet, he staggered forward a step, his interest in Dru forgotten for the moment. He watched as Buffy kissed Angel, then stepped away. Spike sank to his knees when he saw her raise her sword, a surprising amount of sympathy welling forward as she thrust it into her love. He would have never been able to it, he thought, as Angel’s surprised, pain-filled eyes snapped open. She stepped farther away when Angel reached for her.
“Buffy.” he gasped. Behind him, the vortex had grown, the energy crackling as the sword and vortex react.
“Noooo!!!!” Came the crazed scream, and in a flurry of motion, Dru threw herself at Angel, latching her arms around his neck as the vortex came into contact with Angel’s blood.
“DRUSCILLA!” Spike screamed, surging forward as the vortex closed, without so much as a pop.
~*~*~
Spike shot to a sitting position, gasping huge gulps of unneeded air. Pushing his legs over the side of the bed, he thrust both hands through his hair, swallowing heavily against the grief that tore through him. Snatching his cigarettes off the nightstand, he sparked one, sucking greedily on the thin tube of nicotine. His hands were still shaking when he crushed it out, so, he lit another one.
He hadn’t had that particular nightmare in almost four years. He knew that seeing Buffy again had sparked it, the reliving of that day. Usually, he only dreamt of the time afterwards, the day spent with her. But, the fact that she had seemed happy hurt him for some reason, and that trudged up the memories of his Dark Princess. The one that had betrayed him.
Shaking his head, he crushed out his second fag, and walked over to the table. Sunset was fast approaching, he could feel it in his blood. He’d have to decide what to do. He had looked for her for so long, and now, he was within reach. However, if just the brief sight of her brought back all the pain, what would an extended conversation do? He didn’t want to go through all that again, and he found himself not wanting to put her through it either.
Grabbing the bag off the table, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey he had bought the night before. As he ripped the seal on the bottle and took a long swallow, the image of her from the night before whipped through is head. Her tiny, muscular body writhing to the pulsating music. Her wide smile as those wankers ogled her. Another surge of anger at the memory of her walking into the back with that git nearly choked him. Sex had permeated the hallway, and he had no problems imaging what happened back there. The thought of her selling herself sickened him.
A growl rumbled from his chest, the sound surprising him. Why should he care? *Because you didn’t spend four years looking for her to see her turned into a bloody prostitute.* He sneered at himself. He knew himself well enough to know that he was jealous. All those men getting to taste her sweet little body. What happened that she would be willing to do such a thing? How bad could it be?
Growling again, he drained the bottle in four long swallows, watching as the ray of light around the window softened into evening. He’d go again, tonight, he decided. He had to see her, talk to her. Maybe then he could understand this feeling that was curling around inside of him. Dropping the empty bottle into the trash, he stalked into the bathroom to take a shower. He’d get some answers tonight, he swore to himself. Then he’d drag her out of there by her hair and beat her bloody for allowing those pukes to touch her.