Chapter Nineteen
Buffy clenched her hands on front of her, waiting for her turn to go in. Angel had been lost in thought when he came out, not speaking to anybody. When Giles had come out, he had offered her a sad smile, before being intercepted by Angel. Now, the two of them were talking quietly down the hall, far enough away that she would have had to strain to hear them, if she cared about their conversation, that is. Right now, all she cared about was seeing Spike, holding him, and telling him that she loved him. She would make their last night together as beautiful as possible, then stand beside him when he faced the Council the next day. She had meant what she had said about going with him, she couldn’t face the next eternity without him.
Buffy pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning in at the sound of the heavy steel door opening. She hurried over towards it at the guards beckoning, pausing only when she felt her mothers hand on hers.
“Honey, he’s given up.” Was all Joyce said, sadness etched on her face. *Haven’t we all?* Buffy thought. But all she did was nod, then slipped past the guard into the harshly lit room. As soon as she saw him, her unbeating heart clenched in her chest. He was sitting on the cot, elbows resting on his knees, hands fisted in his hair. He was dressed only in his t-shirt and jeans, his duster thrown on the bed beside him. She didn’t speak as she followed the guard over to the cell, the heels of her boots echoing off the walls.
Every sound seemed harsh in her ears, from the sound of the guards breathing, to the rusty squeak of the key turning in the lock. She stepped inside, eyes riveted to his still form on the cot. The only indication that he gave that he was aware of her presence was the quickening of his breathing. She jumped a little when the door slammed shut, the finality of the sound ringing in her ears. She stood, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
“You shouldn’t have come.” he said after a couple of minutes. Her jaw clenched at his words, and she felt a stab of anger and hurt.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve never been known to do what I should do.” She shot back. He raised hi head then, his blue eyes traveling over her. From her low heeled, knee high boots, over the calf length brown leather skirt, to the lace camisole, to the slender curve of her shoulders and finally over the smooth column of her neck. He took his time meeting her eyes, almost as is he was memorizing her. When their gazed finally locked, it was with mirroring expressions of misery and anguish.
Spike’s anger deflated as soon as he saw her. She looked so very much like the seventeen year old girl that she would be for eternity, her young features a mask of heartache. Sighing, he held out a long fingered hand to her.
“Come here, baby.” He whispered, pulling her to him when she reached him, then resting his cheek against her stomach. She laced her fingers of one had through the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand ran over the soft tresses on the top if his head. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he breathed in deep her scent.
“How long they stayed like that, they didn’t know. No words were spoken as they held onto each other, neither willing to break the silence. Tears fell from Buffy’s eyes as she stroked him, the direness of their situation finally settling in. She had been on auto since leaving Sunnydale, her only thought during the long crate ride to London being get to Spike. Now that she was here, holding his slightly trembling form in her arms, reality smacked her in the face.
He mother had said that he had given up, and Buffy could sense it, in the feel of his arms around her, and singing along the bond they shared.
“Spike.” She said, cupping his chin and raising his eyes to hers. “Why didn’t you want me here?” The look her gave her brought fresh tears to her eyes. It was so full of hopelessness and defeat, as well as shame.
“I don’t want you to have to watch me die, pet.” He said, sliding his hands down her leather clad legs.
“I love you, Spike. I have a right to be here. And I won’t have to watch.” She smiled at the confusion that marred his brow.
“What do you mean, baby?” he asked, pretty sure he didn’t want to know. She had that steely look of determination in her eyes.
“What I mean is, the second the ax falls, is the second I turn to dust.” His hands clenched painfully on her thighs, his eyes widening in horror.
“No.” he said, pushing her away so he could stand. “NO!”
“Why?” she asked, taking his place on the cot to watch him pace the tiny cell.
“You are not going to kill yourself, Buffy. You have a life, friends. Your mother. Don’t end it for the likes of me.” Arching a brow, she managed to contain her temper. Barely.
“The likes of you? I. LOVE. YOU. You idiot. Yeah, I have my friends, who are human. They won’t live forever. I will. Without you, what’s the point?” Her eyes were flashing, and her words were thick.
“There’s Angel.” He reminded her, then grunted when he landed against the bars when her fist connected with his jaw. He hadn’t been expecting it, which was why she had managed to connect. Blue eyes flashed yellow as he pushed himself back to a standing position.
“Watch it little girl.” he snarled, his anger springing back to life.
“How can you even suggest that?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous. “I can barely stand to look at him anymore, much less consider forever with him.” Tears coursed down her cheeks and she wiped them away with an angry hand. Spike decided to try a different tactic. Walking over to her, he cupped her face in his hands.
“There’s still so much good you could do in the world, luv.”
“Don’t try to guilt me with my calling. A new Slayer has probably already been called. There’s no use for me.” She insisted, raising her chin defiantly. “What would you do if it was me?” she asked quietly. He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching tight as he thought of that. Pain lanced through him as he imagined it. With a sigh, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
“I’d probably start looking for the nearest sharp object.” he told her, feeling the argument drain out of him. Her smile was triumphant as she leaned up to kiss him. It started as a gentle brushing of their lips together. It quickly advanced to a desperate battle of tongues, as they sought to imprint the taste and feel of each other onto their minds. When she pulled away, realization pierced her hazy brain. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t noticed it before.
“You’re warm.” she gasped, slipping a hand under his shirt. He shivered at the feel of her cool hand sliding across his flesh, leaving a trail of icy heat in its wake. His lips quirked at the look of awe on her face. He hissed in a breath when her nails scratched lightly over his nipple.
“Yeah. They took my medallion.” he said, pulling off his t-shirt to show her his bare chest. Buffy was fascinated by their difference in body temperature, and she brought her other hand up to join the first. Spike managed to hold himself still so she could continue her exploration. Every nerve came alive and his body hardened in response to her touch. She ran her hands over the hard muscle of his stomach and chest, then over his shoulders and down his arms. Desire flared bright between them as their fingers linked, and they moved towards each other. Their mouths came together again, the sensation of hot and cold combining to arouse them further. Sensually, their tongues slid together, the taste of tobacco, blood and their own distinct flavors sending sparks shooting between them.
“I love you.” Spike whispered against her mouth, trailing his fingers up her arm. Buffy trembled at the light contact, a moan escaping from her lips. She arched towards him when his wandering fingers dipped into the top of her camisole, the pads teasing the soft curve of her breast above her bra. “I want you.”
“Then take me.” she whispered back. Suddenly, clothes were flying and they were kissing and touching. Spike filled his hands with her breasts, while he trailed kisses across her face and jaw. Her own hand coursed over his skin, nails digging slightly into muscle as she struggled to remain standing. Sensing her predicament, he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the cot, pushing his duster to the floor before laying her back. He then settled himself over her, and continued his rediscovery of her sleek body. He ran his tongue over his mark on her neck, and incredibly, Buffy felt another wave of unbearable arousal wash over her. The smell of her wafted up to his nose, making him change his mind about slow. They had all night for slow, now he just needed her, to be surrounded by her. Gripping her thighs, he pulled them up until her knees were by her elbows. Looking deep into her eyes, he slid expertly inside of her, the feel of his heat impaling her cold, wet channel caused their demons to surge forward. Her hands wound into his hair, pulling him down for a brutal kiss as he began to move within her. Fangs scraped across lips and tongues as the taste of each other’s blood, the feel of each other’s skin drove them into a frenzy. Hips crashed together as their climaxes fast approached. As they began to fall over the top, the tore way from each others’ mouths to sink fangs into flesh. Bright colors flashed behind their eyes as magic crackled in the air around them. Her inner muscles clamped down hard over him, and with a growl against her throat, his shaft pulsed his seed deep within her womb. Tears rushed from their eyes as they raised their heads, blue eyes meeting hazel as their mouths renewed their claim on one another.
A certain level of happiness settled over them as they began to rock together once more. Desire, love and the slight edge of desperation made them take and claim each other, over and over. Eventually, they wound up with Spike on his back, Buffy sprawled against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat drumming in her ears. They talked quietly through the night, about little things. Stupid things. Anything but what the dawning of the next day would bring. Again and again they made love, neither wanting to go to sleep and waste even a second of their time together.
But, eventually, the emotional stress and lack of sleep of the last couple of days caught up with them. When the guard came in the next day to retrieve Buffy, he found them wrapped around each other in the tiny cot, his duster pulled over them, their hands tightly linked over his heart.
“Where’s Giles and Angel?” Buffy asked her mother, wiping away the tears staining her cheeks. As soon as she had left the room, she had collapsed on her mother, crying out her helplessness.
“I’m not sure where Angel is. He and Rupert were having some conversation when I came out. Then, Angel said there was something he had to take care of and he left. Rupert went down to the library, muttering something about research.” Buffy lips quirked into a smile. Leave it to Giles to find the nearest book and stick his nose in it.
“You haven’t been out here all night, have you? I’m so going to let Giles have it if you were.” She said, a flash of anger passing through her eyes. Joyce squeezed her fingers in reassurance.
“No, honey. Believe it or not, Mr. Lancaster put me up in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.”
“Really? Well, color me not impressed.” Joyce’s eyebrows shot up at the sarcasm dripping from her daughter’s words.
“Buffy, don’t be ungrateful.” She admonished.
“Sorry, mom. But it’s kind of hard to feel anything nice about the man that’s planning on killing my boyfriend.” She responded with a pout. Tears formed in her eyes again, and she scrubbed them away with her fists. She had decided, while she was huddled in her mother’s arms, that this was the last time she would cry. Now, she needed to conduct herself with the same dignity that her mother did.
“I know, honey.” was all Joyce could say. All of this was out of her league as a mother. First, she had to accept that vampires were real, and that her daughter was the chosen one to kill them. Then, she had to accept that her only daughter, was now a vampire herself, with a soul no less. And right on the heels of that, was the revelation that Spike, a miracle of science and magic, was coming to destroy Buffy. Instead, they fall in love. Which leads to a huge showdown between Spike and Angel, who regains HIS soul , while Buffy kills Druscilla. And now, Spike’s life was hanging in the balance because the very organization that created him deemed him unnecessary, since turned Slayer’s kept their souls.
To say that none of this was covered in Parent Magazine would be an understatement.
Both women were pulled out of their thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Giles was walking towards them, several books and a legal pad stacked in his hands.
“What’s that?” Buffy asked, rising to her feet. He set the books down on the chair next to Joyce, the took his glasses off to rub his tired eyes.
“Hopefully, help for Spike.” he answered. “Has Angel returned yet?”
“No, we haven’t seen him yet.” Joyce told him, laying a hand on his arm. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, happiness of her mother and Watcher dislodging some of her grief. All three turned at the sound of several people coming down the hall. Lancaster walked ahead of four guards, each heavily armed. Buffy smirked at their apparent feat of their prisoner.
Nigel Lancaster stepped in front of them, motioning for the guards to continue on to the holding area.
“It’s time.” was all he said, waving his hand in indication that they should start down the hall. Giles picked up his books and Buffy grabbed her mothers’ hand as the trio fell into step behind the Council Head.
Lancaster led them through a seemingly endless maze of staircases and hallways that differed only in paint schemes. And that was only varying shades of white. Buffy found herself naming the halls as they passed through them. One was the eggshell hallway, another was the stark white corridor. Not very original, but it was something to pass the time.
Finally, her ushered them through a door and into a richly colored hall. A long, oriental carpet in the colors of red and gold ran down the length of the floor. Dark wood paneling lined the walls from ceiling to baseboard. Crystal chandeliers dangled from above every few feet, and beautiful original works of art hung on the walls. At the end of the hallway, was a set of large, wood double doors. When they reached them, Lancaster paused, his hand on the brass handle.
“You will conduct yourselves in a proper manner.” He warned, his green eyes cold. Then he opened the door. The room they entered was the size of a small lecture hall. The same dark wood paneling and oriental carpeting from the hall was in here. Several chairs were lined against the walls, most already filled with Watchers waiting to see the creature that all had heard about, but few had seen. A long judges bar sat at the head of the room, in front of a large window with heavy velvet drapes. Apparently they were closed in concession to the undead status of two of their spectators. Of course, one of them was not yet present, but Buffy appreciated the gesture.
Behind the judges bar sat nine overstuffed leather chairs. Eight of which were already filled with assembly members, tweed neatly pressed, and stray hairs combed over bald spots. The ninth chair sat empty in the middle, apparently awaiting Nigel.
“Take your seats. We will begin as soon as the accused is brought in.” He told them, before turning away to go sit down. Buffy and Joyce sat in chairs close to the front, while Giles merely set his books down, then picked up the legal pad off the top before turning to address the Council Assembly. He was outwardly a picture of calm reserve as he approached them. Inside, his stomach was clenched with apprehension. Spike was right, give him something big and nasty to kill, over this bunch of pompous asses. Lancaster was the youngest amongst them, close to Giles’ age. The others were older, many of them the fathers and grandfathers of current Watchers.
Buffy jumped when a warm hand touched her wrist. Turning her head, she found herself staring into a pair of blue eyes that were eerily familiar.
“I just wanted to say I hope for the best, ma’am.” He told her, his soft, cultured voice filled with warmth. Sandy blonde hair curled loosely around a face that harbored well chiseled features. The cheekbones were no where near as sharp as the ones she had left earlier that morning, but still, the resemblance was there.
“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes wide. Joyce gave a startled gasp as she too saw the similarities. He offered her a smile that was the shadow of the wicked grin that belonged to the man downstairs.
“My name is Phillip. He was my great grandmothers’ brother. And he was never anything but an angel on her eyes.” Buffy cursed herself when tears threatened to spill once more.
“Thank you.” She whispered, giving him a watery smile. He patted her wrist and nodded, moving away to sit across the room. Buffy stared at him for a moment more, then turned back to the argument Giles was having with Lancaster.
“Mr. Giles, I thought I made it clear. . .”
“MR. LANCASTER,” Giles interrupted, losing his hold on his temper. “You cannot condemn this man to death without hearing both sides of his story.” The Council Heads’ face was a lovely shade of red, as he glared angrily at the man before him.
“Nigel,” the man to his left began. He seemed to be the oldest among the panel. His hair was completely grey, and his face was wizened with age. Kind brown eyes shown from under thick, grey eyebrows. His hand rested atop his considerable stomach, as he turned his chair to look at his colleague. “He is right.” He spoke with a voice of authority, his tone brooking no argument. Nigel looked as if he was going to do just that, before he seemed to remember that these men were the ones to put him into power. And they could just as easily take it away.
“Very well, Mr. Giles. If you feel the need to waste our time as well as yours, you may argue his case.” He conceded, clearly not happy with the new development.
“Thank you.” Giles replied, managing to keep the malice out of his voice. Now, all he had to do was stall them until Angel returned.
All eyes turned towards the doors when they opened. Two of the guards entered first, followed by the swaggering Spike, who had been given his boots and belt back. His duster flowed around him and an unlit cigarette hung from his smirking lips. He never faltered in his steps as his eyes locked with Buffy, love shining in their depths, until he turned to face the council, and they had turned to ice once more. The two guards behind him had their weapons trained at his back as he was herded towards the front of the room.
Spike and Giles exchanged glances before turning back to the Assembly.
“William Andrew Carlisle the third, it would seem that you have a champion. I wonder if he will still feel the same after he has heard all you’ve done.” Nigel started, sneering down at the peroxided man in front of him. Spike merely raised his scarred brow and cocked his head to the side, cigarette roiling between his clenched teeth.
“Let’s just get on with it. Alright.” He answered.
“As you wish. You, Mr. Carlisle, have charged with two hundred counts of murder and torture.” He paused, savoring the gasps and the slightly sick look of Buffy and Joyce’s faces. “How do you plead?” Spike took his time in answering, exchanging a look with Giles. He then reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth, removing a stray piece of tobacco from his tongue. Returning his eyes to Nigel, Spike gave him a sinister smile.
“How ’bout. Just for shits and giggles, I say.. . Not guilty?” Buffy grinned despite herself. Gone was the man that she had spent a few desperate hours loving the night before. In his place was the cocky, self assured man that she had fallen in love with.
Several of the Assembly had to cover their mouths to hide their smiles at his flippant remark. Lancaster himself looked like he had swallowed a lemon, followed by a couple of shots of salt peter.
“That is, of course, your prerogative.” he choked out, finally. He then reached behind him to produce a thick file. “Mr. Giles, you may begin.”
“Er, y-yes. I would like to start with. . .” At that moment, the door swung open again to reveal Angel. But, it was the man with him that commanded everybody’s attention.
He was old, so old that you couldn’t determine his age. He was short of stature, his hunched shoulders only making him seem smaller. He moved with a frailty of a man that had seen to much, but that didn’t diminish the aura of power that surrounded him. Deep lines were carved in his face, two white eyebrows slashed out over sparkling aqua eyes. His bald head and gnarled hands were covered with age spots. A pair of wire rimmed glasses were perched on his wide nose, and a large wooden staff was gripped in one arthritic hand. His long, brown robe hung to his ankles, and his sandaled feet shuffled across the carpet.
He and Angel came to a stop next to Giles and Angel.
“Brother, to what do we owe this visit?” Nigel asked, confusion settled on his features. You could have heard a pin drop as everyone held their breath, waiting for him to speak.
“I believe,” he began, his voice strong and clear, the deep timber emanating with wisdom know only to a person of his advanced years. “That there has been a mistake.”