"Secrets & Lies"
Author: Lynx
Email: lmentus@rochester.rr.com
Notes: For my fellow couch-sitters, especially Chelle, who never stopped
prodding. Bless your heart!
Willow wandered around the living room for a minute before remembering that she had left her Calc book in Buffy's room yesterday, after school. *I'll just go get it while she's in the shower. I'm going to need it later.* Willow walked up the stairs, calling out as she went.
"Buffy?" She heard the water running in the shower and headed for the bedroom.
Opening the door, she was surprised to find the room dark. Buffy usually had the curtains open, so that the sun could shine through. Willow's nose wrinkled. *What's that smell?* It was a musky odor, almost like an animal's den.
The blankets from the bed were strewn on the floor. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw more blankets on the windows and frowned. What was Buffy doing? It wasn't like her to stay in a dark, stuffy room. And while Buffy wasn't as neat as Willow, her room had never smelled funky before. *Maybe I should take them down for her, air the room out.*
"Willow! I didn't expect to find you up here." Buffy's heart was pounding as she stared at the redhead. She had nearly had a heart attack when she'd seen her door open. Thank god she'd put the robe back on.
"Buffy, why do you have blankets on the windows? Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I'm sure. The blankets- you'll think it's stupid."
"No, I won't."
"I wanted the room to be like a cave. It felt comforting, know what I mean?" Where was Spike? The closet?
Willow sighed with relief. "Yes, I know. I feel like that too, sometimes. Except that in my case, I'm afraid of the dark. Have you seen my Calc book? I think I left it here."
Buffy looked around, spotting it on the dresser. "Here it is, safe and sound." She needed to get Willow out of her room. "Listen, would you do me a favor and toast a bagel while I get dressed? I can eat it on the way." There was no way she could let the other girl see her naked, not with finger marks on her ass and Spike's bite on her breast.
"Sure! I'll see you downstairs."
"Thanks Willow, you're the best." Buffy locked the door behind her and turned toward the closet.
"Spike? Are you in there?" She opened the door to find him standing there naked, holding his jeans. Buffy laughed as the tension drained out of her body.
"I don't see what's so bloody funny about this, Slayer." He stomped past her and plopped back onto the bed. "She's not stupid, you know. Thank Christ your little friend is a virgin, or you'd be trying to explain the interesting aroma in your room."
Buffy began getting dressed. "Are you always this cranky when you wake up?"
She turned to the mirror to brush her hair, jumping as his hands slid around her waist. *Dammit, does he have to sneak up on me like that?* Her head fell back as he nuzzled her neck.
"Just hurry back, luv. I'm not the most patient of men." He nibbled on her ear lobe.
"You're not patient, period. Oooh, Spike, that feels so good. Now stop it, so I can go." She turned in his arms, giving him a quick kiss. "I'll be back before you know it."
"Hold on." He grabbed his jeans and dug his keys out. "Could you get my clothes out of the trunk? It's parked on the next street over. Someone I know ripped the ones I had on."
Buffy stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed the keys. She kissed him quickly again and in a second she was gone, leaving the vampire to stare moodily after her. *Now what the fuck do I do?*
Willow sat across the table from Giles, surreptitiously glancing his way every couple of minutes. He sat there, staring morosely at a book, glasses perched on the end of his nose, hair sticking up in spots where his fingers had run through it in agitation. The Watcher had barely said two words to her since she'd arrived; he'd handed her a stack of books and then delved into one of his own, effectively ignoring her presence.
What was his problem? He'd never treated her this way before, not in the entire time that she'd known him. Willow was beginning to regret coming to the library alone. Having Xander, Oz, or even Cordelia around would have at least eased the tension somewhat. And why was there even tension at all? They'd worked together numerous times in the past- sometimes all night- and Willow had never felt anything but comfortable in Giles' presence. Now, the man she admired most in the world was acting as if she had the plague.
*Yeah, sure...admired.* Insufficient at best, when used to describe her feelings for Giles. Willow supposed it had been accurate in the beginning, when they'd first met. Giles had been so proper, so...British. The lone grownup in their midst, he'd been like a benevolent uncle, offering tea and sympathy to anyone who needed it. Someone to look up to, someone to lean on. Until Miss Calendar had swept into his life, making Willow sit up and take notice of the things she'd overlooked.
Like the way his eyes changed from blue to green behind his glasses, and how boyish he seemed when he took them off. The way he ran his hand through his hair when frustrated, or rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand when tired. Suddenly, Willow noticed everything about Giles; watching as his hands caressed the cover of an old book, wondering if they'd be as gentle on her skin. She knew immediately if something was bothering him, just from the sound of his voice, or that clucking noise he made when he was angry. When Jenny had been killed, Willow had felt his pain as if it were her own; wanting more than anything to comfort him, knowing it was useless to even try. All she could do was look while pretending not to, and guard her secret carefully.
It wasn't that she didn't love Oz...she did. The way he looked at her made her stomach do that flip-floppy thing, and his kisses were so sweet and warm. He made her feel beautiful- something that no one else had ever done before. Oz was wonderful, he was special, he was...Oz.
Still, whenever she fantasized about her first time, it wasn't Oz, or even Xander to whom she gave her virginity. It was Giles, a man old enough to be her father. A man with a hidden, dangerous side that made the idea of sex with him all the more exciting...and all the more distressing. *How can I even THINK about Giles that way? I'm sick, disgusting...a bad, bad person.* She lowered her head as the heat crept across her face. *No one can ever know, I'd die of embarrassment.* They wouldn't understand, anyway- not even Buffy. Especially not Buffy.
Willow could just imagine the Slayer's reaction. In Buffy's mind, Giles was way too old to be considered a "hottie", which was ridiculous, considering her last boyfriend had been alive during the Revolutionary War.
Or had Angel already been undead by then? Alive, undead- it didn't really matter anymore, did it? Angel was gone for good and now Willow and her fish were safe from harm. *Well, not safe from the usual Hellmouth harm, but at least safe from Angelus harm.* She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Buffy, to love Angel and then have to kill Angelus. No wonder the Slayer was having serious mood swings, who wouldn't?
Willow could understand the anger, the violence, the tears. What she couldn't figure out was that secretive smile, that happy glow that the Slayer sometimes had. Was it possible that Buffy had fallen for someone else? Who could it be? And why would she try to hide it? The way she'd been last night- letting Spike practically get close enough to bite her- had scared them all. He could have killed her right then and there. Buffy had acted as if she hadn't even cared, brushing them all off like it was nothing. The girl was headed for trouble, no doubt about it.
Willow sighed, her gaze drifting over to the masculine hands that were turning pages and tapping fingers on the table. She needed to concentrate on the research and forget about Buffy's problems for awhile. Willow had enough of her own to contend with, starting with her growing attraction to the man sitting across from her.
Spike paced restlessly after the Slayer left, wondering what he was going to do with himself. He took a shower and brushed his teeth, figuring he was safe in assuming that the purple sparkly toothbrush was Buffy's. He didn't think she'd mind his using it, considering the amount of bodily fluids they'd already exchanged.
Back in the bedroom, Spike pulled on his jeans, tugging the broken zipper partway closed and leaving them to ride low on his hips. He made the bed and straightened up the room, smiling as he picked up the tattered clothing from the floor. Would they ever have the patience to just undo the buttons? Probably not, and he didn't care if every outfit he owned was destroyed, as long as it was the Slayer doing the shredding.
A round pink pig was next to the bed; he threw it against the wall and caught it a few times before turning his attention to the other stuffed animals. A bunny wearing a vest, a frog that was stuffed behind the chair cushion as though someone had tried to hide it, a blue fuzzy monster of some kind, a couple of bears, and some bean-filled animals. No dolls, for which he was immensely grateful.
Spike had always hated the way Dru's dolls had seemed to stare at him with those blank faces and dead eyes. The Slayer only had cute, furry things that were soft to the touch. He played with them absently, moving them this way and that, rearranging them, all the while thinking about the Slayer and the things that she did to him.
He'd never known anyone like her- so full of life, so full of fire. So passionate and hungry, always eager for his touch. She made him feel things that he'd thought were impossible, especially for a demon. Every time he fed on her, it warmed him for hours afterward, as though he'd absorbed her entire essence along with her blood. Made him feel almost...human.
Funny, it was that very thing that Angelus hadn't been able to accept. Spike wondered why he wasn't bothered by human emotion the way Angelus had been. By all rights he should resent the Slayer for making him want her so desperately that he sometimes thought he'd go mad without her. *More deep thoughts, I'm a regular fucking philosopher lately.*
Bored with the animals, he started poking around in the closet. Her outfits always delighted him; they were so short, so tight...so easily torn. A wide grin split his face as he pictured the Slayer trying to explain to her mum why half of her wardrobe was missing. The woman was so fucking oblivious though, that she'd probably never notice.
The trunk on the floor caught his eye and he opened it, only to slam it shut as several crosses winked up at him. "Bloody hell!" He should have known better than to open it. Where to next?
Spike walked over to the vanity, wanting a closer look at the picture resting on top. The Slayer as a small child- round-cheeked and smiling- wearing ice skates. He ran his finger over the image. *Cute little tyke.* Putting it back, he picked up the book that lay next to it, noticing the rose stem peeking out of the pages.
Turning to the first page, he read the words "The Journal of Buffy Anne Summers" and closed it again, returning it to the vanity. A diary was a private thing and even though he was curious, Spike didn't want to betray the Slayer's trust. Besides, reading about her and Angel would only make him heave.
Angel. HE'D read the fucking thing. Angelus had bragged about it, laughing as he told them how Soul Boy had lied right to her face. Said her mum had moved the book. *Wanker.* Spike was many things- none of them very nice- but he still had his own standards. His 'code of honor', so to speak. Now that he was no longer under Angelus' control, he avoided behaving in any way that resembled his Sire. No, he wouldn't be reading the Slayer's diary; he wasn't that much of a prick.
Looking for something else to read, Spike scanned the bookcase. There weren't many books, not that that surprised him; he hadn't figured the Slayer for a big reader. A bunch by someone named Judy Blume, a couple of classics, one Shakespeare- Romeo and Juliet- and several romance novels with ridiculous sounding titles. Nothing interested him, so he walked back over to the bed, spotting another book on the nightstand.
It was well worn and obviously much read, with creases in the binding. A man and woman in medieval clothing graced the cover, under the title Velvet Song. *Bloody stupid title.* Spike flopped down on the bed and got comfortable. *Might as well see what the Slayer likes to read.* He was beyond bored and the book would at least be good for a few laughs.
Turning to the first page, he began reading in his usual fashion- skimming over the pages to get the gist of the story while searching for any 'good parts'. *England, 1502, blah, blah, blah...flat-chested old maid of twenty...musically gifted, blah, blah, blah...* Spike frowned as he read about three noblemen trying to rape the girl. He'd seen enough of rape in both his life and his unlife to know that it disgusted him. The next part cheered him when the girl kicked the leader in the bollocks and escaped. *Serves you right, you bloody pillock.*
Of course, the noblemen came after the girl, killing her father and branding her a witch in the process. *Christ, what an ignorant time that was.* Unbidden, a vision came to him of a girl being burned at the stake while he watched from a curtained window. Extremely vivid, as if he'd been there.
He could smell the burning flesh, hear the crowd shouting in English and French as the girl cried out "Jesus!" over and over. The image was gone as quickly as it came, leaving him bewildered. He'd never witnessed a burning before, he was sure of it. Oh, he'd seen executions- beheadings, hangings...firing squad even- but never anyone burned at the stake. *Must have seen it on tv.* Spike shook his head and returned to the book, curious to see what happened next.
The girl- Alyx, disguised herself as a boy, hiding in the forest with a band of criminals led by one of the King's knights, an exiled nobleman. He treated her rudely, and she, of course, became increasingly attracted to him. *People actually read this rubbish? It's the bloody Middle Ages, where's the jousting? Where's the fighting? WHERE'S THE BLOODY FUCK SCENES!?! Spike grew increasingly annoyed with the book, shouting out loud in frustration, "Open your eyes, for fuck's sake! She's a girl, you half-wit!"
Finally, the moron got a fever and in his delirium, fucked the girl senseless. *About bloody time!* Naturally, the knight then proceeded to pretend that he didn't remember, making both Alyx AND Spike irritated beyond belief. He was on the verge of hurling the book across the room when the idiot gave in and shagged the girl again.
Buffy opened the door and stopped, staring at the sight that greeted her. Spike was lying across her bed, wearing just his half-opened jeans, reading a book. He looked so comfortable, so relaxed, so...edible. Her tongue darted out and touched her lower lip as her gaze drifted down his stomach to the vee made by the broken zipper.
"Spike?" She frowned as he grunted but didn't look up. "I brought your clothes," she said, tossing his duffle bag onto the bed.
"Thanks, pet." Spike glanced up from the book. "Does your mum know that you read this trash?" He lifted the book so that she could see the cover.
Buffy nearly choked when she saw what he was reading, then grew indignant at his words. "That's not trash! It's literature."
He snorted and continued reading. She watched in disbelief as he all but ignored her, irritation turning to amusement when she saw his lips moving. *A vampire who reads romance novels? What next?* She was turning to go back downstairs when he finally spoke.
"Whoa, what's this, then?" He looked up, eyes wide with wonder. "Is it physically possible, do you think?"
Buffy was almost afraid to ask. "Is 'what' physically possible?"
"Shagging on horseback," he replied, waving the book at her. He had a gleam in his eye that worried her.
"You mean there's something that you 'haven't' managed to do in two hundred years?"
"It never occurred to me to try." Spike looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'll bet it's not so hard to manage, though."
"Well, we lack a horse, so I guess it'll have to remain a mystery." She tried to change the subject, hoping that that would be the end of it. "How about lunch?"
Spike wasn't about to be deterred. "We could do it, there's a stable just up the street from the mansion..."
"NO!"
"Come on, Slayer...aren't you even curious? Where's your sense of adventure?" His boyish grin was doing its best to try to convince her, but she wasn't having any of it.
"Forget it, I'm not risking a broken neck, just so you can try out a new position. And sneaking around with you is adventure enough, I don't need any more excitement in my life."
She turned and left the room, his shout of "Spoilsport!" following her as she went. Buffy shook her head. *Horseback! Is he out of his mind?* Well yes, they both were, actually. They'd proved that just by being together.
In the kitchen, she made a sandwich and poured the blood into a mug, heating it in the microwave. She'd made Willy swear up and down that no one had died to supply it, then smacked him around a little to ensure his promise that he'd only use willing donors, and NOT steal from the hospital's blood bank. As she'd been leaving, Willy had asked her if she'd ever thought of being an actress. He had a friend in the movie business- strictly softcore, of course. It took every ounce of willpower to keep from going back and beating him up some more.
Buffy grabbed a soda and some chips and threw everything on a tray, heading back upstairs. As she walked into the room, Spike threw the book down in disgust.
"I can't believe Alyx left with that Joss bloke!"
"And I can't believe you read almost half of that book." Buffy set the tray down and turned to face him. "Anyway, she left because she wanted to keep Raine safe."
"You don't leave just because things get tough. Leaving only means you didn't care enough to stick around in the first place." It was something he'd always felt strongly about. If you loved someone, you stayed. Period.
"What if you thought you were doing it to save that person? Sacrificing your own happiness for someone else's?"
"Well then, pet, I guess I'm just a selfish bastard. I don't give up what's mine, not for any reason." There was an intensity in his gaze that should have frightened her, but didn't. "I stay until the bitter end, luv. I did it with Drusilla, didn't I? Stayed long after I bloody well should have left..." His voice trailed off, his expression both angry and sad as memories of Dru surfaced again.
Buffy looked up at him in surprise. He hardly ever mentioned Drusilla, almost desperately avoided talking about her. Unconsciously, she reached for him, stopping when he flinched from her touch.
Spike saw the hurt in her eyes and swore softly, pulling her close. He buried his face in her hair, forcing Drusilla from his mind. Her ghost could only haunt him if he let it, and he wasn't about to ruin the day with thoughts of his former lover. *Just stay dead Dru, that's all I fucking ask.* The Slayer's soft lips beckoned to him and he obeyed, kissing her until she couldn't breathe. She was all he wanted, all he needed...and to hell with everything else.
Reluctantly, Buffy pulled away, gasping for air. She planted a kiss at the base of his throat, nuzzling against him. Without warning, her stomach growled. She smiled up at Spike.
"We should eat something, don't you think?" Kissing him one last time, she turned and grabbed the mug, handing it to him, then took the tray over to the bed. As she ate her sandwich, Buffy watched him drink unselfconsciously, not turning away from her the way Angel used to.
"Thanks for getting this for me, luv. I hope Willy wasn't too much of a pain."
"He was, but that's okay. I did my best to give him an incentive to be a better person." Her gaze wandered around the room, seeing how clean it was. "Hey, you picked up. What else did you get into...Spike! What have you done to them!?!" she wailed, noticing for the first time that her animals had all been rearranged...lewdly.
Kermit had his velcro hands and feet wrapped around Grover in a sixty-nine position and Mr. Gordo was being rammed from behind by Peter Rabbit. The bears were in missionary and the beanies were in a giant daisy chain of various x-rated poses. Buffy leaped from the bed and frantically began seperating them.
"What? What's wrong?" Spike asked, wondering what she was freaking out about. He couldn't see what the problem was.
"How could you do that to Kermit and Grover and...and Mr. Gordo! You might have scarred them for life!"
*Oh great, another female who thinks that her bloody toys are real.* "Um, pet...you DO realize that they're stuffed, right?" Spike didn't like the look in her eyes; she looked like she wanted to hurt him.
"Of course I know that! I'm not crazy!" She was cuddling the pig as if she were afraid that Spike would touch him again.
"Then why-"
"It's a girl thing, okay? I can't explain it, you just can't go around messing with other people's stuffed animals." She put them all back in their places and glared at him one more time before settling back down with her lunch.
Spike just looked at her and shook his head in disbelief. *Women!*
Willow was lost in another erotic daydream, when Giles finally looked up from the text he was reading.
"Find anything yet, Willow?"
"What?" Willow jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. She flushed guiltily, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Um, no. Sorry, Giles."
"Are you all right? You look feverish." Without thinking, Giles rose from his chair and went to her, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin was soft and cool against his hand and the light scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, making him dizzy for just a second.
"Giles?" Her voice came from far away, almost breathless. He looked down into luminous green eyes and snatched his hand away quickly as if he'd been burned.
Giles cleared his throat. "Y-Yes, well. Your temperature seems fine, then." He turned and went up into the stacks, anxious to be away from her before he did something really stupid. *You're getting worse each day, Ripper. Can't you bloody control yourself?* He tried to clear his head by scanning the shelves for another book.
Willow sat there in a daze, still feeling the imprint of his warm hand on her skin. She watched as he walked away, running his hand through his hair as he headed for the stacks. Part of her wanted to call him back, beg him to touch her again. She shook her head to clear it, amazed at her own foolishness. *As if he could ever want ME. I'm sure he thinks I'm just a child.*
Oz, she should think of Oz. He was perfect for her in every way- smart, funny...nice hands. They even had the same color hair and eyes. When Oz had his regular hair, that is. And he was sweet, sweeter than any guy had a right to be. The Dingoes always attracted girls at the Bronze and Oz could have any one of them if he wanted. Instead, he chose to be with her- shy, nerdy Willow. She was so lucky...she knew that. So why was she dreaming about someone she could never have?
Giles came out from behind the bookshelves, mumbling to himself.
"Blast! I thought there was another volume back there...Willow?"
"Yes?"
"A shipment of books came yesterday, could you get them out of my office, please?"
"Sure thing, Giles."
Willow looked around the office, finding two boxes. One was obviously from a bookseller, but the other one had an unfamiliar name on it. She brought them both out into the main room, setting them on the table. Knowing Giles, he probably hadn't even looked at them, just assumed they were both filled with books.
"Giles, what's this one?" She held up the smaller box. "It's from someone named Reginald Weston, Esquire."
"Really? From Weston? He is, or rather was, my grandmother's solicitor. How odd." Giles picked up the box and opened it, removing a carefully wrapped package and two envelopes. The first envelope held a letter from the solicitor, saying only that he'd been instructed to forward this package to Giles two years after his grandmother's death. Whatever it was hadn't been included with the other possessions from her estate.
Giles quickly opened the second envelope and removed his grandmother's letter. His eyes began to water as he stared at the familiar handwriting before him. He missed Edwina- his Gran. She'd been the only one besides Meredith who'd seemed to understand him. Giles had never felt close to his father; it was always Edwina that he'd looked up to.
She'd been like a force of nature- wild in her youth, formidable in her prime. The Council had tried to control her and failed miserably; she had done as she pleased and her Slayers had always flourished. Giles did his best to follow in her footsteps, believing her methods to be superior to those promoted by the Council.
He began reading the letter, anxious to discover what she had to tell him from beyond the grave. The letter was short and to the point, the way that Edwina had always expressed herself in life. She said that she was leaving him the journals of a Watcher, Lucien Aubry, and his Slayer, Anne LeMaire. They had lived in France during the 15th century and their journals had been replicated- as was required with all of the Watcher diaries- in order to preserve them. The Council was unaware of their existence, the diaries having been kept secret by a select group of Watchers for five hundred years.
His grandmother had always loved thumbing her nose at the Council and she'd instilled in Giles a healthy lack of respect for them. Her letter told him to translate the journals and guard the information in them carefully. She said precious little about what he would find, only saying that he might be surprised at what he would discover. Edwina always did enjoy being enigmatic; it had driven him crazy as a youth. *Dear, dear Edwina. Even in death you manage to have the last word.*
She closed the note by telling him to stay safe, a common refrain in the past. His finger traced her signature as memories of her flooded him. After a moment, Giles blinked the tears from his eyes and looked up to find Willow watching him with concern.
"What is it Giles? Are you okay?" She could see that the letter affected him and was relieved when he smiled back at her.
"I'm fine, Willow. Just something...unexpected, is all." He set down the letter and went about unwrapping the journals.
The books were old, but not ancient. The fact that they were reproductions made them easier to handle; if they'd been original, they wouldn't have been able to be touched, for fear of them disintegrating. Giles wondered what was in them that made their existence such a secret. He couldn't wait to start translating.
Willow looked at him questioningly. "Are those more Watcher's diaries?"
Giles nodded. "And a Slayer's journal. They're copies actually, from the fifteenth century. They'll need to be translated- they're in archaic French." He handed them over to Willow, letting her look through them.
"I'll take the Slayer's journal, you take the Watcher's. It'll go faster that way." She was excited about being able to read the diary of a young girl from another time. And in French, too. It was sort of...romantic. "Do you think we'll find anything useful in them?"
"Anything's possible, especially on the Hellmouth. These names are new to me; I don't recall seeing them in the Watcher index." His forehead wrinkled as he concentrated, trying to remember if he'd seen any reference to the names at all. Could what they'd been looking for be right here? "Only one way to find out, I suppose. Shall we get started?"
Their eyes met again, happy grins lighting their faces as the excitement coursed through them, brought on by the prospect of a new mystery to unravel. Excitement that only the two of them shared...or understood. It was what drove them- the search for knowledge.
The tension forgotten, Willow and Giles began the long process of translating the journals, working side by side in their old familiar rhythm, sharing information and satisfied smiles as the day wore on.
Buffy had forgiven Spike for mistreating her stuffed animals and now sat on the floor of her bedroom, eating Chocolate Mint Haagen Daz. She was leaning against the bed, surrounded by pillows with Spike's head in her lap, listening as he told her about the different places that he'd lived in and the historical events that he'd witnessed. It was so much more interesting to hear about history from someone who'd actually lived it, as opposed to boring teachers who only looked as if they had.
Spike seemed so at ease lying there, his face youthful and relaxed. Every so often, Buffy put down the ice cream and ran her fingers through his hair, watching as he would close his eyes and smile, rumbling low in his chest like a giant kitty. *More like a jungle cat, all sleek and muscular.* A possessive smile crept across her face. *And all mine.*
"Spike?" Her hand glided through the short platinum waves in a steady motion.
"Yeah, luv?" He was in heaven- as close to heaven as he'd ever get, anyway- and it was so warm, so comforting, driving his demon farther and farther away. *Don't stop, luv, don't ever stop...*
"I'm glad you stayed."
His eyes opened. "Me too, pet." He smiled up at her, enjoying the view of her full breasts from his position. She was so soft like this, all signs of the Slayer gone for the time being. Just a girl, all curves and sweet smelling.
"I wish..." Her voice trailed off and she looked away for a minute. When she turned back to him, he was staring up at her, blue eyes glowing in the dim light.
"I know, baby." He rubbed his cheek against her thigh, seeking more contact.
They both felt it- a yearning for something that was beyond their reach, a longing for a life that they could never have. Buffy lightly stroked the side of Spike's face, wanting to stay like this forever- no Hellmouth, no minions, no disapproving friends. Just the two of them, together for always.
Sighing, she picked up the ice cream and started quizzing Spike on his likes and dislikes, eager to know more about him. "What's your favorite color?"
He raised an eyebrow, giving her a 'duh' kind of look. "Red and black."
"Favorite movie?" She took a big spoonful of the Chocolate Mint, giving a happy moan as she swallowed.
"I don't have one favorite, there are too many to choose from. I've seen just about every bloody movie there ever was."
"Well, what are some that you liked?" Another spoonful, another happy sound.
"I like the old films- 'The Thin Man', 'Casablanca', that sort of thing. And anything with Cary Grant."
"Oh, I love Cary Grant! 'Bringing Up Baby' is one of my favorites."
"No, 'To Catch a Thief'...he was so bloody smooth in that one, AND he got to shag Grace Kelly." His eyes followed the spoon as it disappeared into her mouth again.
One slender eyebrow arched as she looked down at him. "Have a thing for cool blondes, do you?"
"No, luv. Just hot ones," he said, with a seductive grin.
Buffy blushed and cleared her throat. "What other stuff do you like?"
"Let's see, then, action pictures- Quentin Tarantino, John Woo...ever see 'Hard Boiled'? Great film starring Chow Yun Fat and Tony Leung- lots of shooting, explosions- much better action scenes than in your American movies." Just thinking about it got him wanting to see it again. He'd have to find a copy on tape somewhere. "What about you? What's your favorite?"
Buffy didn't hesitate. "The Princess Bride."
Spike closed his eyes and quoted, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for awhile." He opened his eyes and grinned as she gave him a surprised look. "Told you, pet. I've seen 'em all."
Again, Spike managed to catch her off guard with his romantic streak. She would have expected the usual guy quote from that movie- 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya'. *God knows Xander says it enough times.*
Instead, he'd quoted her favorite line, the one that always gave her a warm feeling each time she watched the movie. True love- was it such an impossible dream? After Angel, she'd figured that love was something she'd never find again. And now look at her. In love with another vampire, one who made her feel things that Angel never had.
Spike watched as she ate another spoonful, curiosity getting the better of him. "How about giving us a taste, luv?" If her expression was any indication, it had to be good.
Buffy scooped up some Chocolate Mint and fed it to him, smiling as he made a little sound in his throat. As she started to pull the spoon away, he bit down on it, grabbing her wrist at the same time to hold it there.
Fascinated, she watched as he sucked every drop of ice cream off the spoon, then licked the surface clean. His mouth filled her vision- those perfect lips, that oh so skilled tongue that was moving up the spoon to her fingers. She forgot to breathe for a moment when it touched her skin, a tiny whimper escaping from her throat.
His eyes never left hers as he sucked her index finger into his mouth, and that low-down tickle started on its journey from her bellybutton to her groin. After a minute of exquisite torture, he released her and slid his hands under her shirt, pushing it up out of the way.
"In two hundred years, I've never tasted anything so delicious."
Nearly breathless, Buffy managed to squeak out, "I-It's good ice cream."
Blue, blue eyes looked up at her through dark lashes.
"I wasn't talking about the ice cream, pet." "Oh." Buffy moaned as he brushed his lips tenderly across her stomach, feeling his cold tongue circle her navel. She managed somehow to put the ice cream on the floor and tangled her hands in his hair, pressing close. Her body tingled all over, from her head to her feet, nipples thrusting up through the thin material of her top.
Spike nipped at her skin with blunt teeth, chuckling as her body arched toward him. His fingertips danced over goosebumped flesh, just touching the swell of her breasts. The smell of her was driving him crazy, forcing him to nuzzle lower and lower, until his face was pressed against the crotch of her pants. He burrowed there, biting through the light fabric, growling as his cock hardened.
"Tell me that you want me, Slayer." His fingers hooked into her waistband and stopped, waiting for her to answer.
"I want you, Spike...please..." She always wanted him, it was all she ever thought about.
His mouth followed the pants as they slid over her hips and down her legs. After removing them completely, Spike planted soft kisses along her thigh, working his way slowly back to her nest of curls. His tongue darted out to taste her, then began a steady, stroking rhythm on her clitoris as her cries pierced the air around him.
The pleasure coursing through Buffy's body was almost more than she could bear. His mouth was cold, so cold- made more so by the ice cream- swirling, stroking, sucking, until she was nearly screaming for release. She tried to thrust harder against his face, wanting more...needing more, but he held her still and continued the slow, maddening pace. When she was right on the brink, he stopped, bringing a howl of frustration from her lips.
"Tell me that you need me." Spike could feel her shaking beneath his hands, so close to coming that he knew it would only take one touch to send her over the edge.
"I do, I need you..." she whispered, then screamed his name as his tongue found the underside of her clitoris, making her shatter into a million pieces.
Spike quickly yanked off his jeans and thrust himself into her still quaking body, groaning as her heat enveloped him. Her muscles gripped him as they spasmed from the force of her orgasm, almost making him come as soon as he was inside her. Spike buried his face in her neck as he drove into her, feeling her pulse against his mouth. Just before he was about to come, he stopped again, raising his head to look in her eyes. In a low, husky voice he made his third demand.
"Tell me that you love me."
Two weeks ago, she would have denied it. Would never even have considered leaving herself vulnerable that way. But now she was powerless against the need in his voice, the magnetic pull of his eyes. Reaching up to touch his face, she sealed her fate with four simple words- "I love you, Spike."
With a triumphant growl, he kissed her...and then he was coming- hard, fast- pouring his seed deep in her womb. A tiny part of him wishing that it would take root and grow...wishing the impossible.
Spike collapsed in the Slayer's arms, resting his head on her breast, listening to the music of her heartbeat. Wondering if they'd tempted fate once too often and not really caring if they had.
Buffy held him close, sliding her fingers through his hair. She was still dazed from Spike's lovemaking, dazed and...terrified. Terrified that by admitting her love for him, she'd sentenced them both to certain doom.
It had happened with Angel and the situation with Spike was much worse, with all of the secrecy and sneaking around. It was only a matter of time before someone found out about them. She couldn't guarantee that Giles or even Xander wouldn't try to kill Spike, and if that happened she'd lose, no matter what the outcome.
She loved Giles- and Xander too, she supposed- but Spike was a part of her now, just as she was a part of him. They were joined together by her blood and a love so intense that it threatened to consume her. Buffy couldn't imagine life without him.
Spike's hands moved restlessly under her shirt, as if they were memorizing the feel of her skin. He kept thinking about their earlier conversation, when they were talking about that stupid book. The ridiculous notion that it was better to be noble and set someone free. Well, he'd never claimed to be selfless and wasn't about to start now.
"Promise me, Slayer." He brushed his lips across her breast, feeling her hardened nipple through her shirt. "Promise me you won't leave, even if it means watching me die."
Buffy blinked back tears, wanting to tell him no, that there was no way she could agree to such a thing. That she'd leave in a second if it meant that he'd be safe. But she couldn't refuse him; she loved him too much. *Too much, too soon. God, what have I done? *
Her hands tightened in his hair and she closed her eyes, saying the words that he wanted to hear. "I promise, Spike. I promise I won't leave you."
And she prayed that she'd never have to.
Willow and Giles worked throughout the afternoon and into the evening. They had decided to concentrate solely on the Watcher's diary first, because of its greater volume. It was slow going in the beginning, but they soon established a comfortable rhythm of translating the text, with Willow quickly catching on to the differences between modern and medieval French, impressing Giles with her ability. As they translated, Willow typed it all onto her laptop, which he had to admit proved a lot faster than the old handwritten way.
The first few pages of the diary dealt with Lucien's early days in training as a Watcher and his life in Rouen, where he was an apothecary and sometime leech. He lived with his unmarried sister, Marie-Thérèse, in the same building which housed his apothecary shop. Some of his early entries expressed frustration at the English occupation of his city, and at the lean times brought on by the neverending war. The entries were sparse, until the day that a small girl arrived on his doorstep.
14 June, 1425
My Slayer arrived this morning- a small, golden child with bright inquisitive eyes. Marie-Thérèse has fallen instantly in love, finally having a little girl on which to lavish her affection. I have tried to explain to her the need for distance, that the Council advocates a relationship similar to that of an apprenticeship, but my words fall on deaf ears.
It is true that Anne is an engaging child, very friendly and not the least bit fearful of her new surroundings. Looking at her, I find it difficult to imagine that this tiny, delicate creature will grow up to battle the forces of darkness. I have long wondered why the Slayers are young girls and not men. Perhaps they serve as the perfect lure, drawing evil with their beauty and innocence. If so, then Anne will be like a beacon with her glowing smile and sweet nature.
She will grow to be a beautiful young woman- a Slayer of men, as well as beasts. It will be difficult to shelter her from their advances, but a Slayer must not be distracted from her duty. I must make certain that Marie-Thérèse does not get any romantic notions where her little one's future is concerned.
We have spread the story that she is our niece, sent to us because her family cannot afford to feed her. It was readily believed, for Marie-Thérèse and I are able to provide for a child, and everyone knows how much my sister has longed for one. It pains me that one with so much love to give has been denied a marriage and family, all because of a few barely visible scars. How can people be so blinded by ignorance? The fire did not extinguish the purity of her soul, which shines from within.
I must admit to feeling apprehensive about my responsibility. I am to train Anne and send her off to fight the most horrible evils, possibly losing her to one of them. It is a heavy burden to bear.
Lucien faithfully recorded Anne's progress- her skill at learning letters, her physical strength, the way her mind quickly solved problems. Many of his daily entries were short, just a statement or two about what they had worked on that day. Those passages went quickly for Willow and Giles, allowing them to progress through the first year in just a few short hours.
24 May, 1426
Anne's intelligence astounds me. She already is quite adept at reading and writing, and her ability to cipher is far beyond her years. Marie-Thérèse glows with pride every time her little one shows off her skills. It is so good to see my sister happy. The two of them have formed a close bond- they are inseperable. The customers are also captivated by my Slayer- they bring her sweets and little trinkets when they come to see me. Even Gérard de Metz- that humorless old goat, smiles at the sight of her. I swear that Anne could charm the Devil himself.
16 July, 1426
Mon Dieu! Anne is such a headstrong child, so willful. She questions everything, and uses her wiles on Marie-Thérèse in order to have her way. I fear that I will not be able to control her in the future.
Giles smiled at Lucien's words. Anne sounded remarkably like Buffy and he could well sympathize with Lucien's plight. He wondered what it would have been like to have received Buffy into his care as a small child. The Slayer probably would have driven him out of his bloody mind. A surge of affection for his charge flooded him as he conceded that she certainly would have made his life more interesting. Perhaps less dark, as well.
Willow looked at the clock, surprised to see that it was ten already. Goodness, she hadn't even called home or checked on Buffy. She stood up and stretched, not noticing that the Watcher's eyes were drawn to the strip of bare skin exposed when her shirt lifted.
"I hadn't realized how late it was. Do you think we should call Buffy and tell her about the journals?"
"What journals?" The Slayer had entered the library silently, startling them.
"Buffy! Are you done patrolling already?" Willow asked, taking in the Slayer's happy smile and languid movements.
"Yep, I made a quick pass through the cemetary. No newly risen dead to report."
"Your 'day of decadence' must have agreed with you. You look...very relaxed."
Giles blinked, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two girls. "Decadence?" Did he even want to know?
The Slayer blushed and looked away. "I spent most of the day in bed, just lounging around. It felt good to be lazy for once." *Boy, did it feel good.* The blush deepened and she flung herself in a chair, trying to look as casual as possible.
She and Spike had reluctantly parted at eight-thirty so that Buffy could patrol and so that Spike could, quote "make certain that the imbeciles hadn't burned down the bloody mansion" in his absence. She could still feel the imprint of his last hard kiss on her lips and there was a delicious soreness between her legs as a reminder of his lovemaking.
She loved the way he was with her- forceful, demanding- always taking what he wanted. Angel had backed away far too often, making her the pursuer. It was nice to be able to give in to Spike's strength, to let him be in control. It was something she'd found lacking in mortal men; a strength to equal her own.
Glancing up, Buffy saw Giles and Willow staring at her with identical puzzled expressions. She shook herself out of the daydream and tried to remember what they'd been talking about when she had walked in. "Did you say something about journals?"
"Yes, we did." Giles stood up, looking excited as he reached for the volumes. "I received these journals from my grandmother's estate. They appear to have been kept secret from the Council. They're quite old- fifteenth century- a Watcher's diary and a Slayer's journal." He handed them to Buffy, saying as he did so, "Their names were Lucien Aubry and Anne LeMaire."
As her fingers touched the Slayer's journal, Buffy felt an electric shock go through her, followed by a sense of familiarity. The room seemed to fade away as her hand stroked the cover. *My journal, but...it's different. It's not the same book...how can that be?* A sudden lightheadedness came over her and her fingers pressed against her temples.
"Buffy, are you all right?" Giles was at her side, looking at her with concern.
She blinked at him, slowly coming back from the sudden fog that had filled her mind. "Giles? What happened?"
"Y-You just went deathly pale for a moment. It was as if you weren't here...your eyes were completely blank." He glanced up. "Willow, get her some water, please."
The redhead nodded and ran from the room.
Buffy patted his arm. "I'm okay, Giles. I just got dizzy for a second." She smiled to show him that she was feeling better. "Tell me more about the journals."
"They're in French. Willow and I have started the translation of Lucien's diary and we plan to work on Anne's journal later on, when the time periods match up. That way, the events will be revealed chronologically."
"French?" Buffy asked faintly. Her dream came flooding back- the terror, the hopelessness. Spike had said she'd been speaking French. Were the journals connected somehow? Was the dream a prophecy...a portent? She started to shake as the possibility of losing Spike hit her again.
Buffy wanted more than anything to be able to tell Giles about her dream, but how? Telling him meant revealing her relationship with Spike and she couldn't do that, not now. Giles wouldn't understand- 'couldn't' understand her feelings for Spike. He didn't see what she saw when she looked at Spike. All he saw was a demon, a killer; the same thing that had taken Jenny from him. She would have to keep the dream to herself, and pray that the journals would give her some insight as to what they meant.
Willow returned with the water and she and Giles watched anxiously as the Slayer drank, her color still pale. After a few moments, the shaking subsided and Buffy's breathing evened out. She looked at the journal again, tentatively reaching out to touch it. When nothing happened, she opened it and stared at the name written inside.
"Anne...my middle name is Anne." Her finger traced the letters as she wondered about the other Slayer. *What was she like? How long did she live? Was she like me...or like Kendra?*
Giles adjusted his glasses. "It is, isn't it? Of course, Anne was quite a common name back then...still, it is an interesting coincidence."
"Giles, this is the Hellmouth," Willow chided the older man, noticing Buffy's almost trance-like state. "Do you really believe in coincidence anymore?"
"Hmmm, you may be right. It is rather odd, the journals showing up as suddenly as they did." And just as Buffy was going through a difficult time. His gaze drifted back toward his Slayer, who was sitting there staring at the book. "Buffy? Are you sure you're all right? Do you remember anything at all from when you blanked out?"
Buffy shook her head. "Not much. I just...felt like I recognized the journal. But it was different, somehow. I don't know how to explain it, it was just weird. Like I was there, but I wasn't."
"Well, I'm certainly anxious to find out what's in these books. Willow, I hope you won't mind working with me on this. It may involve long hours, probably tedious ones at that."
*Me, mind?* Willow smiled brightly at the prospect of working with Giles. "I don't mind at all. I'm just as curious as you are. I mean, think about it...reading a first hand account of life in the Middle Ages. And Anne and Lucien are real, not just some characters in a novel."
The look on her face enchanted him- the dreamy smile, the excitement sparking in her green eyes. Giles groaned inwardly at the thought of working closely with her for the next few weeks. How was he going handle being alone with her night after night? *Don't be ridiculous, you've worked together numerous times. You're not a bloody animal and you certainly can control yourself. Pillock.*
"I think I'll work on Lucien's diary for awhile longer. Why don't you girls go home and get some rest? You both look tired."
Giles doubted if anything earth-shattering would be discovered in the early parts of the diary. He had the feeling that the real revelations would come when they worked on Anne's journal. Unfortunately, research often involved wading through pages and pages of monotonous text until one finally got to "the good stuff". It would most likely be days- or even weeks- before they translated enough of the diaries to learn anything significant.
After questioning Buffy once more to make certain that she was feeling all right, he said goodnight to the girls and turned his attention back to Lucien's words, already resigned to getting little sleep that night.
Something was different. Spike knew it- had felt it ever since he'd first fed from the Slayer. Her blood was changing him. He wasn't sure how, but he could feel it happening- his remorse over that woman, Lara; the dreams about his past; the way the Slayer constantly occupied his thoughts and the way he couldn't stand to be away from her. He'd been 'feeling' too much- caring too much, about too many things. And it was only getting worse...
On his way back to the mansion, he'd come across easy prey- a drunken teenager stumbling home from a party- just begging to be killed. Spike had grabbed the boy, slaked his thirst, and dropped him to the ground...still alive. The gluttony that usually made him drain his victims was gone. The urge to kill just wasn't 'there'. It bothered him- worried him, more than he cared to admit.
What was happening to him? Was her blood somehow capable of controlling a demon? A Slayer's blood was so pure- so powerful and addicting. Was it powerful enough to have wrought this change in him? Killing those other two Slayers hadn't changed him this way; their blood had only given him a surge of strength and a good old fashioned buzz. So what was different this time?
Well, 'this' Slayer was still alive. He fed from her in increments, taking only a little at a time, and only in the throes of passion. And she loved him, as fucking incomprehensible as it was. She'd looked him right in the eye and said so, promising that she'd never leave. Cor, was he bloody insane? Hell yes, he was completely 'round the fucking bend' for falling in love with the Slayer. Christ! Would he never learn to guard his heart? Demons weren't supposed to fall in love...not with their enemies at any rate.
Spike ran his fingers through his short hair and paced around his room. It felt like a prison, not like home. The mansion's oppressive air weighed heavily on him, suffocating him. He didn't belong here anymore, didn't fit in. *No one left who knows anything about me...no one except the Slayer.*
It was times like this that made him miss Dalton. Spike had been able talk to him- really talk, about anything at all- no matter how strange the subject matter. That had been stupid, letting the poor sod get fried by the Judge. Dalton had even cared about Drusilla, helping Spike take care of her when she'd been weak.
Dru. Sometimes he missed her so much that he ached with it, like a burning hole in the middle of his chest. He hated the weakness of it, hated that he missed someone who'd taken his heart and stomped all over it. Hated her for not having been strong enough to resist Angel.
Would his relationship with the Slayer end the same way- in tragedy? Would she have the strength to handle her Watcher and all of her mates finding out about them? Or would she desert him, the way that Dru had? And would he be able to survive it if she did?
A low, rumbling growl sounded from deep in Spike's throat as he continued to pace, trying not to think about where his feelings for the Slayer were leading him. Trying not to bloody think at all.
Buffy moved through the streets of Sunnydale, trolling for demons and other assorted baddies. She was counting down the minutes until she would see Spike, just as she'd done almost every night for the past couple of weeks.
They usually met on the edge of town after Buffy finished patrolling, driving away to Breaker's Woods, the beach- any secluded spot that they could think of- far from the prying eyes of Sunnydale. For a few short hours at least, Vampire and Slayer were able to make the rest of the world disappear...and lose themselves in the one they created.
For Buffy, the past two weeks had been incredible, filled with love and laughter and more passionate lovemaking than she'd ever thought possible. Her days ran together in a blur, barely making an impression. She existed only for the nights with him, for the few hours that they could steal away together.
Hours spent talking- about anything and everything- although Spike still kept his more vicious exploits hidden from her. Hours spent fighting, trying to see which of them was faster, stronger...more resilient. Their battles served as a bizarre form of foreplay, driving them into a lustful frenzy, leading to hours of dizzying sex. It constantly amazed them both that their desire never waned, but instead grew more intense with each encounter.
The last time they had been together, Buffy had curled up next to Spike, letting her hand roam over his sweaty skin as she basked in the afterglow of a particularly spectacular orgasm. Without thinking, she'd given voice to the fear that plagued her during the day.
"Sometimes, I wonder if you'll get tired of me, when the novelty of sex with a human wears off." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she'd wanted to take them back. *God, I'm so pathetic. Why can't I learn to keep my big mouth shut?*
Spike had been flabbergasted. *Tired of her? Christ, I fucking can't get enough as it is.* His hand had tangled in her hair, tugging her head back to look in her eyes. "Never happen. Not in this bloody lifetime."
He'd kissed her hard, plundering her mouth with his, showing her just how much he wanted her...how much he needed her. And then he'd proceeded to show her exactly why he'd NEVER grow tired of her, of this...of loving her.
Buffy sighed as the memory of that night swept over her. Spike never came out and said that he loved her, but she could feel it down to her toes when he looked at her, when he kissed her, when he growled her name as he came inside her. The intensity of his lovemaking told her all she needed to know and his very possessiveness spoke volumes.
She understood his reluctance to say the words; neither one of them liked the vulnerability that came with such an admission. Her own uneasiness had kept her from repeating them since that day in her room. Once had been enough.
School would be letting out in a couple of days. She couldn't believe that summer was here already, along with her annual visit with her father. She'd been panic stricken at the thought of leaving Spike, but as luck would have it, her father had cut the visit short. Instead of the whole summer, she would only have two weeks at the beginning and one week at the end.
His job was requiring him to travel extensively this year, and while she was somewhat disappointed at their lack of time together, she was also relieved that she could spend most of her summer in Sunnydale. Spike wasn't happy about her leaving, but there was no way around it. They would just have to deal...and make up for lost time when she returned.
Buffy looked up from her musing and realized that she was at the edge of town, her feet having unconsciously brought her to the pick up spot. The squeal of tires could be heard a block away and her body tingled in anticipation of what was to come. Another night in his arms, another night of ecstasy. As the black car came into view, her heart beat a little faster and a silly grin plastered itself on her face. They still had a few days before she left, and she would make sure that they didn't waste a single minute.
School had let out and Buffy was in L.A.. She'd passed her classes- just barely- somehow managing to pull a D out of her ass in French. Her mother had been so relieved that her daughter had made it through the year without getting kicked out, that she hadn't mentioned the substandard grades on Buffy's report card. Not that the Slayer would have cared one way or the other. She'd seen so little of her mother these last few weeks, and lately, anything that she 'did' say tended to go in one ear and out the other.
Now, Buffy was with her dad, who was doing his best to spoil her rotten. Dinner at her favorite restaurants, a couple of Broadway shows, marathon shopping sprees- all things that had given her an inordinate amount of pleasure in the past. This year, however, they were only a way to pass the time until she could be back home again, with Spike.
He called every night, making her shiver as he described- in great detail- all of the things he would do to her when he got her back in his arms. Buffy would lay in bed, touching herself and wondering if he was doing the same as his voice purred erotically in her ear. Spike made her come, time and time again, with just the power of his voice and the image in her head of him lying there naked, stroking himself as he spoke to her. It was only out of sheer luck that her father never picked up the phone during their calls.
Willow also phoned frequently, filling Buffy in on their progress with the journals. Lucien's diary hadn't revealed anything yet, but they were almost ready to start with the translation of Anne's. It made Buffy anxious to be back in Sunnydale, helping with the research. She wanted to know why she'd felt such a connection to Anne, and what her dreams meant.
She'd had several more of them. Some were like the first, with that overwhelming sense of terror and helplessness. Others showed her only quick images- a young girl being burned at the stake, a vampire rising out of the grave. A man with midnight blue eyes, kissing her until she couldn't breathe. He didn't look like Spike, but he felt like him- the same cool lips, the same wiry build under her hands.
Between kisses, he whispered in her ear, "You're late. I was worried, cherie. I thought perhaps he'd found us out." And she answered him in a voice that was half sigh, half moan, "Non, we are still safe for now, my love." Urgent hands removing her clothes, lowering her to ground, his voice a rumbling growl as he told her how much he wanted her, needed her. "Je te desire...J'ai besoin de toi..." Always in French, but it didn't matter because she understood every word.
Upon waking, she always felt disoriented, staring at the room around her like a stranger in a strange land. The dreams were so vivid, so 'real'- like being in another time and place. And the man- no, the 'vampire' who kissed her- so much like Spike, and yet, so different. She had to find out, had to know what it all meant. If something was going to happen, she needed to be prepared to face it.
Buffy rolled over in bed, blinking at the light filtering into the room. *Morning again. Just a few more days and I can go home.* She never thought of L.A. as home anymore. She saw her father so seldom, and everything and everyone else that she loved was in Sunnydale. Her mom, Giles, Willow, Xander, Oz...even Cordelia. And of course, Spike. *Home is where the heart is.* And Sunnydale was home, Hellmouth and all. It was where she belonged.
Spike could feel the sun rising as he stripped off his clothes before collapsing on the bed. The tiny prickles that danced over his skin reminded him of the Slayer's heat, of how his skin always tingled in her presence. *Just a few more days, mate. A few more days until you're back where you belong- inside her slick, hot, tight, wet...Great, just bloody great...another fucking hard-on.*
With a long suffering sigh, Spike wrapped his hand around his aching cock and jerked himself off, anxious for the day when he would feel the Slayer's soft little hand around him instead. He brought himself to orgasm quickly, imagining her velvety tongue, the silken walls of her pussy tightening around him. Two fucking weeks of this...he was such a pathetic wanker.
Stretching out his aching muscles, Spike crawled under the covers, eager for sleep. For the past ten evenings, he'd done nothing but fight, going off on anyone stupid enough to provoke him. Last night, he'd gone after two demons just passing through, getting banged up right proper. Fortunately for him, they hadn't had any weird appendages that sliced and diced, just regular hands and feet. They 'were' sort of slimy though, and what was with those antlers? The two demons had tried their hardest, but even double teaming him hadn't given them enough of an edge to defeat his pent up aggression.
His eyes closed as exhaustion overcame him, allowing him to drift into a deep sleep. The dreams started almost immediately- images from his past, visions of the Slayer. Then, they suddenly shifted and he was standing in a stable, pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.
He could smell the fresh hay, the horseflesh. Where was she? Did the Watcher know about them? Had she been hurt while slaying, or was she...?
A soft voice behind him, "Guillaume," and then she was in his arms, her lips soft and yielding beneath his. The Slayer, 'his' Slayer, but...she looked different. Blue eyes, not hazel, and her hair was darker, more honey colored. But she felt the same- the same curves, the same softness, the same warmth. As familiar to him as his own skin, as familiar as the taste of blood.
Spike was murmuring against her hair, "I was worried, cherie. I thought he'd found us out." She reassured him that they were still safe, whispering "Je t'aime," as his hands removed her clothing. They made love in the hay- fiercely, desperately- his fangs sinking into her breast as he came in glorious, violent shudders. Her sighs ringing in his ears, her heartbeat thudding against his chest. Her love surrounding him like a mother's womb.
As quickly as it had come, the dream left him. His eyes opened and he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, taking deep, unnecessary breaths. *What the fuck was that?* Not a memory, but it 'felt' like one, every image sharp, down to the smallest detail. He could still smell the girl's scent, taste her skin on his lips. Could still feel the powerful emotions emanating from the dream.
How could he feel so strongly about something that had never happened? About someone he'd never met? But he knew her...as well as he knew himself. He recalled that they had both been speaking French. *What in the bloody hell is going on? First the Slayer dreams in French...and now I do?*
Spike rubbed his face with his hands, trying to make some sense of it all. There wasn't any logical explanation for the dream that he could think of. *Bloody, fucking Hellmouth...what could possibly be next? Rain of toads? The sea turning to blood?*
His unlife had been fucked six ways from Sunday ever since he'd arrived in Sunnyhell. Getting paralyzed. Losing Dru to Angel, and then losing her forever. Falling in love with the Slayer. Was the Hellmouth working some sort of weird mojo on them? Some sort of spell which turned enemies into lovers? Still didn't explain the dream, though. Spike rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. *Just come home, Slayer. J'ai besoin de toi comme le sang que je bois...I need you more than the blood I drink.*
>From the Journal of Anne LeMaire
13 January, 1430
Today I am ten years old. I received a beautiful new dress from Tante Marie-Therese and this book from Oncle Lucien. This book in which I am to record my life as a Slayer.
Oncle told me today about my destiny. That I am a Slayer, born to kill vampires and fight the forces of darkness. It is my duty to train and prepare, for when one Slayer dies, the next is called. And then it will be my turn, one girl in all the world. I am not sure how that makes me feel. Proud, frightened, even a little angry? My life is not my own, it belongs to the Watcher's Council, to Oncle Lucien...to the vampires.
I have always known that I was different somehow- stronger, faster, braver than most of the boys who live nearby. Now Oncle says that I must be very careful to hide my abilities. As I near womanhood, my strength will increase, and my senses will become sharper. No one must know that I am the Slayer. I will have to hunt in secret, alone. Always alone.
As she read Anne's first entry, Willow felt a sort of sadness creep through her. She had forgotten what a Slayer's life was supposed to be like. Buffy was the exception- a Slayer with friends and family, a Slayer surrounded by love and support. Anne appeared to be loved by her Watcher and surrogate "aunt", but the time in which she had been born made her job all the more difficult. Superstition and fear would have made it quite dangerous for the Slayer, if anyone found out about her superhuman powers. *What a lonely existence, always afraid of being found out.*
Buffy was coming home tomorrow. Willow had missed her and couldn't wait to show her the translations from Anne's journal. She planned on working all day and most of the night, in order to have enough for Buffy to read. Willow was also hoping that her friend would confide in her.
Buffy had practically sleepwalked through the last few days of school, and it was only through Willow's constant tutoring that she'd passed any classes at all. She'd disappeared almost every night after patrolling, not even showing up at the Bronze the way she used to. There had to be a guy, and Willow was hurt that Buffy hadn't told her about him. *She has to know that she can trust me, right? I tell her everything...well, almost everything.*
Willow still hadn't told Buffy about her attraction to Giles, but she figured that it didn't matter. It wasn't like anything was going to happen there, anyway. It was just a crush, an infatuation. There really was nothing to tell.
She looked up, casting her gaze on the man in question. He was completely engrossed in Lucien's diary, working on the same time period as she was. They planned to translate a few entries and then compare what they had. Giles had told her that the diary didn't contain anything remarkable so far, just the usual Watcher's notes on his Slayer's progress. Fortunately, the man wasn't long winded in his writings and Giles was able to keep pace with Willow's much smaller volume.
They worked tirelessly, stopping now and then to point out anything historically interesting. Anne wrote sporadically during the first year, too young to have very many experiences beyond her studies and Slayer training. Before long, Willow came to a reference that sounded familiar. She frowned, trying to place the name.
"Giles? Have you come across the name Jehanne la Pucelle? What is that...Jehanne the Pure?"
Giles answered almost absently, "The Maid, actually. Lucien speaks of her, as well. That's what Joan of Arc was called by her contemporaries. The name that most people know her by is fiction, invented sometime in the sixteenth century. Her real name was Jehanne Romee. I've always found her story fascinating."
"Okay, that makes sense then. It appears that Anne followed Jehanne's career. There are several references to her army's victories." Willow could just imagine how many young girls had worshipped Jehanne. A young woman not much older than they, leading an army and helping to crown a king. Breaking free of the oppression that women were subjected to back then. It was unfortunate that Jehanne's life had come to such a tragic end.
25 May, 1430
News has come to Rouen that the Burgundians have captured Jehanne. What will this mean for France? Will the Dauphin pay her ransom? The English soldiers were cheering in the streets. I hate them! I wish they would go back to England and leave us alone.
Lucien's diary mirrored Anne's in the events surrounding Jehanne's capture. He was fed up with the English occupation of the city, and he was also becoming increasingly concerned about keeping Anne's abilities concealed from the rest of the townspeople.
>From the Diary of Lucien Aubry
15 September 1430
Anne's strength is growing by the day. She is already a formidable opponent in her training sessions and her agility is remarkable. It is becoming more difficult for her to control her temper, however.
The other day, she almost broke Jacques Boucher's arm when he set upon young Louis de Coutes. Thank the Lord, he was too ashamed to tell anyone that a small girl bested him. I have told her repeatedly to be careful, but she cannot resist defending the weak and less fortunate. It is not the first time a ruffian has felt her vengeful wrath. I just pray that I can keep her safe and that her identity remains a secret.
Again, Giles was struck by the similarities between Anne and Buffy. He knew that Buffy stood up for her friends time and time again, and that the school bullies gave her a wide berth. Was it just a Slayer's nature to defend the weak? Or did Buffy and Anne take it upon themselves to act on the compassion they felt for the downtrodden? Whatever it was, Giles couldn't deny that Buffy was one of the strongest Slayers he'd ever come across. It made him wonder what kind of Slayer Anne had been.
>From the Journal of Anne LeMaire
20 December, 1430
The English have brought Jehanne to Rouen! She is to be tried for heresy and witchcraft. How can they do this to a servant of God? I do not believe that Jehanne is a witch. It is just the word of the English, they want to punish her for putting the Dauphin on the throne. It is they who are evil.
30 May, 1431
It is over. They burned Jehanne today, may God have mercy on their souls. I didn't want to go, but Oncle Lucien said that we must, so that our prayers would aid Jehanne's soul on its journey. I can still smell her burning flesh, still hear her cries. It was so horrible! I think that I would rather risk eternal damnation and take my own life than to be burned alive. Blasphemy, I know, but I do not care!
Oncle says that we must be ever more vigilant about keeping my identity a secret. It matters not that we fight evil, my slaying powers would be enough to have me branded as a witch. I shall pray every night that does not happen. I could never be so brave as Jehanne.
Giles and Willow stared at each other for a moment as Anne's words reverberated in their heads. They both knew that it was common practice for children to witness executions, but it still horrified them to read about it firsthand. And for Anne to have a real reason to fear the same fate- it was a wonder she hadn't been plagued by nightmares every time she closed her eyes.
Giles cleared his throat and looked at his watch, surprised at the time. "It's quite late, Willow. Let me drive you home."
She readily agreed, tired from working on the journals all day. They gathered up their things and left in silence, the past weighing heavily on their minds. At least Buffy would be home tomorrow and they could see how 'their' Slayer was feeling these days. Neither of them could shake the feeling that something was looming on the horizon. Something that would change them all.