Chapter Sixteen
“You’re going to apologize to Harmony before we all end up dying here.” Jenn appeared between the two Spikes, hooking her arms at their elbows.
Both Spikes groaned at the same time.
“Look, Jenn,” demon Spike said. “We’re in the middle of strategizing here.”
“And why should we apologize?” Spike added. “All that stuff between us happened eons ago.”
“Hmph,” Jenn huffed. “I still say you guys and L’Gant owe her something.”
“After we’re done strategizing,” vampire Spike persisted.
Imitating the Spikes, Jenn surveyed the kranooks’ underground headquarters. The air contained more moisture than the humid forests of Louisiana, and Spike almost felt as if he were inhaling water. It was close enough to Stephanie’s fortress that they had easy access to the enclosures she’d set up for them but hidden well enough that she hadn’t found their personal space.
The Spikes and Jenn were standing at the edge of a cavernous room with high ceilings and lime-encased rock walls. Small private sleeping rooms were arranged in two stories across the room, but reportedly, they were rarely used except in emergencies. The kranooks tended to put up the façade that they were minding Stephanie’s rules. As guests, L’Gant, the two Spikes, and Jenn each had their own private space. To Spike’s right, Michael and Harmony were in the small food area, sipping blood from crudely fashioned mugs. Kranooks surrounded them, feasting from their own plates, their dinner a mess of something Spike couldn’t quite make out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were eating.
Spike eyed the kranook leader standing slightly apart from them. He was amazed by how different the kranooks appeared when he wasn’t blindly fighting for his life in the middle of a dark throng of trees. Although they were covered in scales of varying shades of green, the structure of their faces was human and seemed to emerge from their reptilian skin as if they were wearing a costume. The kranooks’ feet and hands were webbed, and their eyes were vampire yellow. When they moved, they emitted a distinctive slithering sound. Every time Spike heard the signature noise, he shivered. He decided his reaction was instinctive, and he gave brief consideration to the notion that his feeling was the product of years of human evolution.
“We’re not strategizing; we’re waiting,” the kranook leader suggested in a hoarse, guttural tone that was difficult to understand.
Jenn didn’t disguise her impatience in her tone. “Waiting for what, Jon?”
Spike still couldn’t get over how the kranook leader’s name was so. . . well, common. But he also understood. Spike had undergone a pretty radical change himself when he became a vampire, and although he’d changed his name, he’d kept it simple.
“We’re waiting for reports on the riots and on the status of the dimensional key before we make our next move. Stephanie will be bringing the fight to us soon, and we must make certain she does not find this place for as long as possible.”
“But what about Buffy and Angel. . . the good guys?” Jenn asked.
When they were still in Bizarro world and negotiating with the kranooks, Spike had asked the same question. Jenn had been at the Slayer headquarters gathering bags full of stakes and holy water and hadn’t been exposed to the kranooks’ violent temper. Spike’s whole body still hurt from the kranook’s. . . literal arm bending.
And okay, so Jon was much gentler with the young woman. This time, Jon’s head merely shot around, and he hissed. His eyes flamed with anger, and his face became more reptilian than human. Spike half-expected a forked tongue to slither out from between Jon’s parted lips.
Jenn was startled but finished strong, “W-well. Um, we really should consider what they want with Buffy and Angel. And we should be trying to get them back. And soon, before things start getting too out of control. Doesn’t anyone remember the prophecy about the need for Spike, Buffy and Angel to defeat the vampires?”
Before Jon could put on a repeat violent performance for Jenn, Spike nudged his way between the kranook and the Slayer-in-training, facing Jenn. “Let’s not fight. We gotta save our energy for elsewhere.”
Demon Spike took Jenn’s arm and pulled her back from the imminent situation. “He’s right, pet. We can’t afford to fight amongst ourselves. We have a big enough battle ahead.”
Jenn shook off her friend’s touch. “Right. You’re right.” She straightened her shoulders in her leather coat. “I’m going to go check on L’Gant.” To show that she wasn’t really angry, she slung back over her retreating shoulder, “And I’m going to talk with him about apologizing, too.”
“Stubborn,” demon Spike returned.
“Look who’s talking,” she responded as she descended into the level where Harmony and Michael were chatting.
Spike faced Jon. “If we play this your way, nothing better happen to Buffy. . . or to Angel.”
Jon glared. “You threatening me?”
“Let’s just call it a warning.”
Jon stared Spike in the eyes for a long moment, and Spike stared back, resolve unchanging. Finally, Jon broke away and slithered/walked away.
As Spike unclenched the fists he hadn’t realized he’d been making, vampire Spike spoke, “If only you would do that with Buffy.”
The flame of Spike’s anger reignited. “What the hell are you going on about?”
“What do you think? Anything is better than what you’re doing, which is a whole lot of nothing.” Vampire Spike lit a cigarette, but this time he didn’t offer one to his counterpart.
“What Buffy and I have is complicated, and none of your business.”
“Doesn’t look so complicated from where I sit.”
“How the bloody hell would you know?”
Demon Spike frowned at him and blew some smoke toward him. “I know because I have eyes. Just seeing how she reacts to you, how she cares about how her words impact you, how she’s worried about your health. That tells me everything; things haven’t changed for her since Sunnydale. And you. . . you’re acting like William around Cecily. You’re all hovering around her like a wide-eyed abused puppy who just wants a table scrap.”
“Buffy is not Cecily.”
“No, she’s not. She’s more than throwing out scraps to you, and you’re not taking advantage of any of them because you’re too skittish to take the risk.” He took a drag from his cigarette.
“I want more than scraps,” Spike was surprised to hear these words push past his lips because he honestly wouldn’t let himself admit that before now – even to himself.
Vampire Spike shifted with impatience. “Bloody well right, you want more than scraps! You deserve more, but unless you take the risk, you won’t get them.”
“She left for three years.”
“And you’re doing what? Punishing her for being young and not knowing who she was or what she wanted?”
“No, I. . .” Was he punishing her? If he was honest with himself, there was more than a little anger there, lingering underneath the hurt.
“If you aren’t, what are you doing?”
“She said she loved me.” Spike wasn’t sure why those words slipped out of his mouth. Maybe he was trying to help his twin understand the reasons why he was reluctant to leap into something with Buffy.
“She did?” This time, vampire Spike was the one who seemed surprised.
“Yeah, in the cavern under Sunnydale right before. . . she held my hand and our hands. . . .” Trailing off, Spike ran his thumb over the scar on his palm. He wondered if Buffy still had a similar mark lingering on her skin. He inhaled. “Our hands burst into mystical flames of some sort, and then, I knew. . . knew how she really felt. She loved me, and if the ground wouldn’t have shifted, she’d have gone down in flames with me.” Tears filled his eyes, and through the haze, he saw that vampire Spike’s eyes were soft with emotion, too.
“She never told me,” demon Spike whispered after a heartbeat or two. He threw the cigarette on the ground and crushed out the tiny flame with the heel of his boot.
They were silent for several more seconds, and Spike took in the magnitude of his twin’s confession. Spike sometimes thought he hadn’t really needed Buffy’s profession of love to know that she loved him. In the year after he came back to Sunnydale with a soul, she’d shown how much she cared about him through her actions, actions that he didn’t necessarily understand or believe at the time. He’d gone over them and over them since he became human, perhaps trying to convince himself that she had meant that she loved him just before he died. Her leaving just added to the mass of confusion. On a gut level, he knew her words were true, but in his mind and heart, he didn’t know, and maybe that’s what his vampire self meant when he said that his own fears and insecurity were holding him back from accepting the truth of her words.
When vampire Spike looked back up, his tears were gone. The set of his jaw was clear. “Even more reason to not be a nancy boy and do something about it. Life is short. Carpe diem and all that jazz. Which brings me back to my original point.” He paused for effect. “If you have unresolved feelings toward Buffy. . . anger or resentment or hurt, you need to tell her. That’s the only way you’ll know for sure if you can make a go of it.” Spike opened his mouth, but vampire Spike held up a finger. “And don’t say that she needs to make the first move because someone has to take a risk first, and it doesn’t have to be Buffy. You could have gone after her, too, you know. You played a role in your separation.”
Spike could own that. “You’re right. I did.”
“Damn right, I’m right.”
* * *
Hands behind his head, Spike stared at the dirt ceiling as he lay on a pallet in his small private quarters. A large melting ice block on one side of the cave-like space provided temporary escape from the heat and humidity.
Spike had closed his eyes he didn’t know how many times, but he’d been unable to sleep. He’d tried pacing to relieve some of the tension built up in his muscles, but the room was small and the motion had done nothing but increase his irritability. He didn’t want to join the crowd because he needed a break from his twin self, especially considering the talk they’d had about Buffy.
So he was bloody well stuck.
He impatiently sat up, pressing his hands to the top of his head as if he could push the helpless feelings out of his head.
God, he was worried about Buffy. Hell, he was even worried about Angel. And not just because Buffy and Angel were likely alone together. He hadn’t realized how much he cared about his grandsire until he was gone. Over the years, he’d grown to trust the vampire almost as much as he trusted Buffy. And he wasn’t sure how he’d feel if something happened to Angel.
And if something happened to Buffy before he had a chance to . . .
That was it.
Spike had had enough. Clenching his jaw, he jumped up from the pallet, intent on going to Jon and insisting they do something. . . anything.
A small knock echoed from the other side of the door. Spike’s eyes narrowed. Whoever was on the other side of the barrier better have news that he wanted to hear.
As soon as he swung the door open, his whole body relaxed, his shoulders rounding a little.
Buffy stood on the other side of the threshold, her hand raised to rap on the crooked wooden planks again.
Her hair was a tousled mess, her face was streaked with dirt and blood, and her clothes were torn in half a dozen places. Still, a smile spread over her face when she saw him.
Spike had never seen anyone more beautiful.
Before he knew what was happening, she launched herself into his arms, holding him tight against her slender form. She didn’t say a word – just held on as if she would never let go.
Spike buried his face in her neck and inhaled her familiar scent, another confirmation that she was alive. “God, Buffy, how’d you get here? What happened?” Spike literally had to pry her arms from around his waist so he could survey her appearance. “You’re bleeding.”
Buffy glanced at the gaping wound in her left arm and shrugged, remaining silent and staring up at him with big green eyes that threatened to swallow him whole.
Spike picked up her hand and drew her into his tiny space. He led her to the pallet, where she perched while he rummaged in his pack for a first aid kit. Withdrawing tape, cream, astringent, and scissors, he set them on the tiny stand next to the cot. As he turned to face her, he saw her shirt flutter to the floor in a dark stream.
She smiled and snagged the loose cloth at the center of his shirt, pulling him forward.
Laying a finger over his gaping mouth, she swept it down over his bottom lip until her fingertip was under his chin. Gently, she closed his mouth and leaned forward, bringing her lips to his. He was so startled that he found himself melting into her embrace, allowing herself to tumble into the relief and happiness he felt at her safety. The kiss was simple and chaste, but Spike’s whole body was aflame.
When his eyelids opened, he found her emerald eyes were lit with the same flame. “Buffy,” he started.
“Shhhh,” she murmured, focusing on his cheek and tracing her fingers over his face. “I need you to show me.”
“Show you?” he managed, trying not to gasp as she trailed his fingers down his chest, tugging his shirt upward.
“Show me that things are different now. That we’re different.”
Spike let Buffy sweep his shirt over his head, and her hand trailed over his abdomen, dipping lower to his tightening pants. Spike couldn’t remove his eyes from her hands that began circling his ribcage as she drew her naked mid-section toward his. He started to groan as her flesh pressed into his, but he was cut-off by Buffy’s supple lips slamming into his with such force that he stumbled back a bit.
As her hand fumbled for his zipper, something clicked in the back of Spike’s mind, making him think of a time years ago before he had a soul. . . a time when Buffy had used him. Taking a deep breath, he summoned all the willpower he had left and took her by the shoulders, being careful not to damage her arm.
Buffy eyes widened at his reaction, and Spike waited for the cloud of desire to sweep away from her eyes. She took in his expression, and tears immediately filled her eyes.
“What’s going on, Buffy?” he asked, his words edged with a sharpness that faded as the tears trailed over her face.
Buffy’s shoulders slumped, and she followed Spike’s lead as he sat down. She sank onto the thin mattress next to him with her head bowed; Spike ran his hand over the back of her long hair.
“Tell me what happened.” To give her time to gather her thoughts, he returned to his original task of assembling supplies to care for her arm.
“What do you mean?” she asked even though she obviously knew what he was talking about.
“In Stephanie’s fortress. What happened?” He met her eyes from beneath raised eyebrows. “Where’s Angel?”
Tears flowed anew down Buffy’s cheeks, and several seconds passed before she responded, “H-he’s gone.”
Not surprised by her revelation, Spike began dabbing astringent on Buffy’s injury to cleanse the laceration. She squirmed and grimaced at the sting, and he mindfully blew on the cut, waiting for her to continue.
She finally said, “He’s Angelus again.”
Of all the things he expected her to say. . . well, he wasn’t sure what he expected her to say. “How?”
Her eyes fluttered up briefly to meet his, but despite his reassuring touch, her next words came out in a disjointed manner, “Roxy. . . and Stephanie. Angel was bitten by a kranook. It was the only cure. A-and it was horrible how they did it. It felt like part of me w-was being sucked out.”
A concerned line appeared between Spike’s eyes. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning.”
Buffy nodded and hiccupped a little.
“What happened first after you and Angel were taken from the battle with the kranooks?” Spike returned to doctoring her arm.
“Well, Angel was unconscious because he was bitten by one of the kranooks. And I was knocked unconscious. Angel and Lorne and Wesley. . .”
“Aren’t on our side.”
She nodded and handed Spike a moist cloth to wipe the excess medicine off his fingers. “A-and when I woke up, I was in a cell in Stephanie’s palace. And man, did that suck. She didn’t even have a toilet in her prison! What kind of person doesn’t have a toilet in their prison?”
“A vampire?” Spike asked, and he was rewarded with the beginnings of a smile at the corners of Buffy’s lips.
“Uh huh.” Her face grew serious again, and she explained the rest of the events that had transpired until she reached his door.
Spike listened silently, feeling a plethora of emotions from anger to disappointment to tenderness to finally understanding why Buffy had done what she had when she knocked on his door. Without realizing what he was doing, his hand had gone from holding hers to nestling around her waist.
When she ceased talking, Spike gathered his thoughts before he burst out with what was in his heart.
Buffy wasn’t used to such restraint from Spike, and she looked up at him from his chest, with expectation written on her features. “So?”
“So, what?” he asked, averting his eyes.
“So, why aren’t you saying anything? You know, how you’re disappointed in me that I tried to use you again or something.”
Spike bit the inside of his cheek and inhaled deeply. “Buffy, I’m not going to change. If you let yourself lo– have feelings for me, I’m not going to disappear. I’m not going to change and become someone else who will abuse you. What you see is what you get with me. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Tears filled Buffy’s eyes, and she hid them by burying her face against his arm. “I know that.”
Spike felt tired. “I’m not Angelus; I’m not Angel. I never will be. You just have to decide what you want. . . and sort through your fears.” He halted for a moment before continuing, “I can’t do it. I can be here while you do, but I can’t fix it for you.”
Buffy moved her hand to the top of his, pressing the tips of her fingers in the crevices at the base of his fingers. Her words came out a little hoarse, “I know.”
“So, it’s really up to you. You have to decide what you want. I know you, Buffy. When you make up your mind about something, you go for it, and you get it. That’s something I admire; it’s how I strive to be.” Spike knew this wasn’t everything. What was happening between them wasn’t all on Buffy. “I say all this knowing that I’m a pot calling the sodding kettle black.”
“What do you mean?”
He gently set her hand on her lap because he needed the space to get through the next part. “I know this isn’t the best timing, but I have to say it.” She nodded her permission, so he continued, “I’ve been thinking a lot on this mission. . . about myself, about us. And I am afraid I haven’t been completely fair to you.”
She made a face at him.
“It’s true. I’ve been hiding from you. . . literally, figuratively. I’ve been protecting myself and maybe even. . . punishing you by keeping my distance. I was hurt and more than a little angry that you came all that way to find me and then you left. I get it. Logically, I do. But my heart. . .” He couldn’t look at her, so he stared at his hands. “You told me that you loved me. I felt it. . . felt that it was true. And then, you were gone.”
“And you walled off your heart?” Buffy’s voice was small.
“I suppose I did. But life goes on. And each day was a step toward healing, patching up the painful bits. I found out that Angel’s pals weren’t half bad, especially Fred and Charlie. And Angel, well, he and I. . . I’ve never felt more accepted for where I was. We had our fights, yeah, but that’s always been par for the course.” A smile played a bit with the corners of his lips this time. “Being accepted that way, it helped me feel like maybe I was really worth something. Helped me open myself up again.”
“You are worth more than just something, you know.”
He peeked at her then. “You started it.”
Confusion crossed her face, but she searched his blue eyes. “What?”
“Making me feel like I was worthy when I didn’t believe it myself.”
“I never stopped believing in you. . . even after I left. A-and you’re allowed to be angry with me. I’d be angry with me.” He could hear the conviction, kindness, and sadness in her voice.
Spike almost said that he wasn’t angry and hurt, but that wasn’t true, so he said, “Thank you.” He hesitated but patted her leg, readjusting to the situation at hand. They could talk more later when things were more settled – if he could get the nerve up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, love. Can’t have you running around covered in blood. Then you’ll definitely attract the vamps.”
“Right.” Buffy moved to one side, allowing Spike access to the medical supplies. Pulling her hair around her neck to allow better exposure to the still bleeding wound in her arm, she added, “And after you finish, I need to talk with Roxy.”
“Want company?”
She smiled. “Company is welcome.”
“Good. I’d like to get some answers about her motivations.” He drenched another bit of cotton in astringent and pressed the material to Buffy’s wound.
Buffy sucked on her bottom lip at the sting. She needed distraction and fast – before he got to the stitches part. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to. How’d you get here?”
Spike lifted an eyebrow at her. “It’s a long story, pet.”
Despite the exhaustion in her eyes, she stubbornly said, “You listened to mine. I want to hear yours.”
* * *
“What’re you doing lurking about out here?”
When Spike heard the all too familiar voice, he wished he could go back inside and join Buffy. He’d patched up her arm and told her about his adventures without her, and then, when he was packing up the supplies, he saw her eyes drifting shut. He encouraged her to get some rest. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the canvas of the cot.
Demon Spike smirked at him and flicked the cigarette he was sucking on to the ground. He shrugged. “Saw Buffy go in there with you. Smelled the blood on her from across the way. Was curious is all.”
“Go somewhere else. There’s nothing to see. . . or hear,” Spike retorted, moving away from the space where Buffy was sleeping. He didn’t like being on the receiving end of his own peeping-Tom act.
Of course, vampire Spike tailed him. “I want things to go differently between the two of you.”
“They already have gone differently. Apparently in a lot of ways.” Spike held his ground.
“Fine. Just remember what I said.”
Spike’s temper flared, and he rounded on his tailgating doppelganger. “Stop trying to help me. I’m not the same as you. She’s not the same as your Buffy. And she didn’t choose you in your dimension.”
Multiple emotions played across demon Spike’s face, but Spike didn’t stop to try to figure them out.
“Let’s just focus on the mission,” the vampire conceded, calling out to him.
“Good,” he slung back.
Demon Spike sighed, jogging to catch up to Spike. “What are we doing again?”
“Preparing for battle.”
“I know that. I meant right now.”
“Roxy knows something. We need to find out what that is.”
“Any news about Angel. . . your Angel?”
“He’s no longer Angel,” Spike grumbled.
Vampire Spike halted dead in his tracks. “Angelus? Angelus is back? How?”