"Secrets & Lies "
Author: Lynx
Email: lmentus@rochester.rr.com
Notes: For my fellow couch-sitters, especially Chelle, who never stopped
prodding. Bless your heart!
Spike wandered restlessly through the mansion, waiting anxiously for the sun to go down. He was uneasy...had been ever since the redhead had shown up and told him about the Slayer's illness. Despite his attempts to distance himself worry had gnawed at his gut for hours afterward, making him feel some bloody modern-day Prometheus- bound by his inability to just swallow his pride and go to her, see for himself that she was all right.
For the past week he'd stalked the streets of Sunnydale, fruitlessly searching for some sign of her on patrol. There was nothing, not even her scent lingering in the cemeteries. The Watcher and that whelp- the one with a constant hard-on for the Slayer- patrolled in her stead, crashing through the undergrowth like a herd of elephants. Spike watched them from a distance, shaking his head at their near incompetence. The Watcher certainly had the balls for the job, but he lacked the stealth required to sneak up on unsuspecting prey. Neither one of them ever gave any indication that they were aware of his presence and the thought occurred to him that they were fortunate he wasn't in a killing mood. Any other demon would have taken them out in a heartbeat, leaving only pieces for the Slayer to find.
The Slayer. As each day without her passed, he found himself wanting her more. And hating himself for it. She occupied his every waking thought, invaded his dreams...basically drove him fucking mad, day in and day out. He willingly fell into a narcoleptic state during daylight hours, sleeping straight through until nearly sunset, always waking with her name on his lips. Always certain that he could hear her voice in his ear, smell her scent on his skin. Always wanting to slip right back into the void, where her welcoming heat beckoned. Needing to feel her again...
The excess sleep made him groggy, turning him into little more than a zombie during his nighttime wanderings. His thoughts were muddled...disjointed; he was unable to concentrate on anything except his obsession, while his body thrummed with its usual restless energy. Hunting was an interesting enterprise- running his prey down effortlessly in a burst of speed, then becoming distracted as the Slayer's face filled his vision. He was barely able to focus long enough to slake his thirst, instinct driving him more than any real intent to feed.
Bloody fucking miserable excuse for a vampire.
He ended up at the corner of her street time and time again, part of him wanting to just walk right up to her house and demand to see her. Make her face him, make her listen to him...until he remembered that 'he' was the one to chase 'her' away. Remembered that he'd taunted her, ignoring her apologies, her pleas for forgiveness. Remembered how he'd screamed at her to get out, screamed at her to shut the fuck up.
Why would she ever want to see him again? She most likely believed that he hated her, and possibly hated him, as well. He bloody well couldn't blame her, really. He'd acted like a complete shit. A total prick.
He'd acted like Angelus.
Disgusted with himself, Spike whirled and punched the wall, listening to the satisfying crack as the knuckles of his right hand shattered. The pain felt good- almost cathartic. He'd fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him, so why shouldn't he fuck up his hand as well? At least he'd had the presence of mind not to lead with his left. He could manage without his weaker hand for awhile, and it would heal soon enough anyway. Everything broken healed, eventually.
Everything except his heart.
Spike snorted in disbelief. He was bloody pathetic, wasn't he? Worse than Angel, all soul-having. Worse than Byron and Shelley and the rest of those bleedin' fops- whining and brooding about "fountains mingling with the rivers" and "moonbeams kissing the sea." That had been Shelley...the romantic sap. Byron had been more Spike's style- all dark and cynical- curling his lip at the world, much like Spike himself often did. Byron had been a sick fuck, though, he mused. Tosser would have made a bloody good vampire.
Angelus had been sorely tempted. They had made the Byron's acquaintance in Switzerland and Spike's obsessed Sire had followed the poet to the Mediterranean. Byron had been beautiful, arrogant, cruel- all of the things that Angelus himself had been- not to mention an enthusiastic indulger in the perversions of the flesh. His lovers, of both sexes, had been too numerous to count, and hundreds had claimed to be the inspiration of his works long after his death. Only Angelus had known for certain that he was the subject of several epics, having wormed his way into Byron's confidence...and his bed.
Spike had been fearful of losing his place as his Sire's favorite, too young and inexperienced to be out on his own. Night after night he'd stewed with hatred and jealousy as his Sire had left him behind to court the charming poet. He'd felt a profound relief when Angelus had come to the realization that Byron was 'too' charismatic, and had far too much potential. A Sire's fledglings were to be nothing more than a reflection of their master, and Angelus had never liked being overshadowed. He'd taken Spike and returned to London, leaving Byron to his fated early and untimely death. And Angelus hadn't been moved to create another childe for years afterward. Not until Drusilla...
Spike shook off his morbid thoughts of the past and tended to his hand, ripping a piece of his tee-shirt off for a bandage. He carelessly wrapped it and retrieved a bottle from the liquor cabinet, his first of the day. He'd cut down his consumption in the two weeks since he'd driven the Slayer out of his home. Now he only drank enough to leave him in a pleasant fog, instead of the "falling down drunk" state he'd so fervently sought out after the wolf's death.
The only problem with being semi-sober was that the mansion seemed all too empty, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors as he paced each day away. There was no one to talk to, no one to slap around. Sometimes, Spike thought that he'd even tolerate having Darius back, just to hear the sound of another voice. Of course, as soon as Darius opened his mouth he'd have to kill the wanker all over again, and he would be right back to where he had started...
Alone.
The sun began to slip behind the horizon and his body tensed in anticipation of leaving the sprawling house that felt more like a mausoleum. He was anxious to be out under the moonlight, in the dark where he belonged. Sating his hunger, if not his lust for death and violence. He couldn't even scare up a good fight, for fuck's sake, due to the lack of demons currently residing in Sunnydale. That would all change though, once word got out that the Slayer was incapacitated and the Hellmouth was up for grabs. Legions of undead would descend upon this wretched hole like flies on rotted meat, he thought with irritation. And him not even capable of mastering his own unlife, much less a clan of new minions.
He wondered if tonight would be the night he found the Slayer. If he would suddenly turn a corner and find her waiting for him, beautiful and deadly, stake in hand. He could picture her standing in the cemetery, blonde hair falling around her face, the way she'd looked in the alley outside the Bronze, that first night he'd ever laid eyes on her. A small part of him had known even then, even as the words "I kill you" had left his lips, that he'd never see it through. And from then on, his efforts to destroy her had been half-assed, at best. Half-assed because even as enemies, he hadn't wanted an unlife without her in it.
As night approached, Spike went to his room and changed his shirt, then grabbed his duster from the chair by the bed. He drained the bottle he'd been drinking from and left the room, his thoughts centered on hunting for food and searching for the Slayer. Maybe he'd drive out of town this time, get away from Sunnydale and forget about 'her' for awhile. *Yeah, right. That'll happen.* The only way she would ever leave his mind is if someone put a stake through his heart. Until then, he was doomed to wander the streets night after night, hoping against hope that he'd see her again.
Several nights ago, long after midnight, he'd made a surprising discovery- the redhead, Willow, out walking...alone. He'd followed at a discreet distance, curious to see what she was up to all by herself. The first few nights, she only wandered restlessly, stopping occasionally to pick a flower, or pluck a leaf off a tree. Every time she went out, Spike picked up her scent and shadowed her, unsure whether to admire her guts, or curse her stupidity for daring to go out alone after dark. He kept watch over her, his only link to the Slayer, making sure that nothing, human or otherwise, bothered her.
Knowing that the redhead was out alone only reinforced his worry about the Slayer. He knew that she would never allow those close to her to put themselves in danger- especially after what had happened to the wolf. How ill was she? Was she bedridden? In the hospital? It was becoming harder and harder to keep from approaching Willow and demanding answers. He'd nearly done it last night, but she'd taken off at a run and hadn't stopped until she'd reached the Watcher's flat.
Curious, that. Considering the lateness of the hour, he'd expected the Watcher to just drive the girl home, but after waiting nearly an hour for her to reappear, he'd given up and gone home to the mansion. Perhaps she'd decided to stay and the Watcher had put her up on the couch. Or perhaps... Spike shook his head. The Watcher and the redhead? Unlikely, but he'd seen stranger things in the last two hundred years. Most of them he'd done himself.
As he left the mansion, Spike couldn't help the sense of foreboding that came over him. The feeling that something was coming...something unexpected. Would he see the Slayer tonight? Would he put an end to the longing that was threatening to drive him mad and finally be able to stop brooding like his fucking Sire?
He wanted the Slayer back... Bloody fucking needed her, to his utter mortification. The real question was, did she still want him?
After Buffy left the library, Giles' first course of action was to gather up every text on vampire lore that he could find- The Black Chronicles, The Tiberius Manifesto, and countless others, including the Council's own manifest, handed down for generations. Their bible, so to speak. Giles knew the Council's teachings by heart but he scanned the text anyway, searching in vain for some mention of vampires retaining their souls or being capable of procreation.
As he and Willow poured over volume after volume, Giles was achingly aware of the young woman sitting across from him- and achingly aware of things left unsaid. Several times, he looked up from his book to find her studiously ignoring him, her eyes locked on the pages in front of her. He watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and worried her lower lip with her teeth, feeling a twinge of lust as he remembered how those lips felt against his. How sweet her mouth had tasted, how warm...
Giles shook his head to clear his thoughts. *Christ, Ripper! You stupid bloody git, will you never learn?* One night only, that was what she had said. To wish for anything more was insanity. It was bad enough that he had last night on his conscience. She was only a friend- a colleague, an ally in the fight against evil...
She was only seventeen.
They couldn't ignore what had happened between them. Couldn't pretend that everything was fine, that nothing had changed. The tension in the air was thick, heavy- nearly suffocating in its oppressiveness. Giles could hear her feet shifting nervously under her chair and he closed his book in frustration, knowing that he'd never be able to concentrate if things continued as they were. He cleared his throat.
"Willow?"
She started at the sound of his voice and her head snapped up, a blush spreading across her skin when she saw him staring. "Yeah?" she squeaked out.
"Willow, I think we should talk...a-about last night."
She bit her lip and shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you, I'm fine...everything's fine, Giles." Her voice was slightly high-pitched and panicky as she tried to convince him. "It happened and now it's over. We- we shouldn't dwell on it, right?"
When Buffy had left the library, she'd taken Willow's self-confidence with her. Alone with Giles, Willow could feel the awkwardness and tension growing every minute, and she wished she'd thought twice about offering to stay behind and work on the research. Images of the night before kept crowding her mind, making concentration nearly impossible. Giles had kissed her...had seen her naked...had been 'inside' her... He knew her more intimately than anyone else on earth. And now, sitting here facing him...
She wanted to turn tail and run.
Willow watched as Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, the way he always did when something pained him. Obviously, that something was her. Panic swept through her like a hot wind, bringing tears to her eyes. All of her fears were becoming reality- fear that he wouldn't be able to look her in the eye again, fear that she'd ruined their friendship, that she'd lost his respect. All because of one selfish act.
"Oh...oh, no..." she whispered, pushing away from the table and standing on shaking legs. At the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor, Giles looked up and mimicked her actions, rounding the table to stand in front of her, effectively blocking her quick exit.
"Willow, we need to discuss this. What happened was..." Was what? How did he put into words what he was thinking...feeling? High priced Oxford education be damned...his grasp of the English language was precariously thin at the moment and the feeling of utter helplessness put him on the defensive. "Dammit, Willow! I bloody well don't know what happened! I only know that you can't ignore it...y-you can't keep all of this bottled up inside- not Oz, not Buffy," his voice softened, "... not us."
She wrapped her arms around her waist, her hair falling forward as she hugged herself tightly. Denial, denial...just float away on that river like Moses in his little reed basket, she thought to herself, wishing that Giles would just go away and leave her alone. I can't do this, she moaned inwardly. I'm not strong like Buffy...I can't face my demons. I don't know who that girl was last night, but she wasn't me! I'm "hide-under-the-covers-don't-stick-your-foot-out" girl. She mumbled under her breath, "I 'can' keep it bottled up, I 'want' to ignore it..."
Giles grabbed her upper arms and shook her, forcing her to look up at him. "Willow, stop it! This isn't healthy, this- this avoidance! Just tell me...tell me how you feel," he pleaded in a low, husky voice.
Something snapped inside her and her eyes flashed with green fire. "What do you want me to say?" she desperately cried out. "Do you want me to tell you that I wish it had been Oz last night? Is that really what you want to hear? God, Giles... What I did was bad enough, do I have to say it out loud?" Tears of frustration and embarrassment shone in her eyes. "I know I shouldn't have used you like that, but last night, I didn't care. Last night, all I wanted was..." She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "All I wanted was to know what it felt like, to have another person inside me...the way...the way that Oz would have...been." Willow opened her eyes in time to see the hurt reflected in his.
"I'm sorry, Giles."
He released his hold on her and bowed his head. He'd known, deep down, that last night had been born out of desperation. That he'd been nothing more than a replacement for a boy dead and buried in the ground. He understood it- all too well- but still... That didn't make the cut any less painful.
He sighed. "Willow, you don't need to apologize. You offered something and I took it...knowing full well what I was doing. I was selfish in my own right... I-I should have stopped to consider the consequences."
She lowered her eyes and her voice was soft as she answered him. "I didn't want you to stop. I wanted everything that happened."
Giles reached out, running his finger along the curve of her jaw before tipping her chin up to look into her eyes. "Why me? Why not Xander? Why didn't you just try confiding in Buffy, your best friend?"
"I- I couldn't. You know, I've loved Xander for most of my life. And when we were little, I always ran to him when something bad happened. But we're not little anymore...and he's hurt me so many times, maybe not intentionally, but... He really cares about Cordelia. Going to him would only have piled hurt upon hurt. It would have felt wrong. And as much as I love Buffy...even though I knew it really wasn't her fault, I still blamed her for Oz's death. Besides, I needed more than just a shoulder to cry on." She shrugged. "I trusted you, Giles. And part of me has always..." Willow looked away, whispering, "Part of me has always wondered...what it would be like...with you."
She returned her gaze to him, finding some hidden reserve of courage. "I knew that you would make it all right. Going to you 'felt' right. You weren't just a choice, Giles...you were the only choice."
Her admission stunned him. He wasn't sure what he had expected to hear- that she chose him because he was older, more experienced? That Xander would have complicated things, Giles had already known, but to hear her say that she'd thought about him, in that way, before? All this time that they had been working together, had she been imagining the same things that he had? *Only seventeen, she's only seventeen...*
"Whoa," she said, pulling away with a shaky laugh as she tucked her hair behind her ears. "I never thought I'd tell you that. I never 'meant' to tell you, actually. It was only a fantasy- just me, daydreaming- it didn't mean anything."
"Willow, I-"
She held up a hand. "You don't have to say anything. I mean, I know last night was only a comfort thing, I'm sure you never in a million years ever considered-"
"I did."
Her hand fell to her side and for a moment she couldn't breathe. "You did what?"
His eyes were deep and penetrating as they stared into hers. "I considered it...more than once. You're a beautiful and intelligent young woman, Willow, and all of those nights, here, just the two of us..." His lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Of course I imagined what it would be like. I'm only human, after all."
"But- but, I thought- I'm not-" She shook her head in bewilderment. "I'm not beautiful, Giles. Other than Oz, no boy has ever found me attractive. I'm okay with that, I'm used to it. I'm just...me."
Giles constantly found himself amazed at the stupidity and ignorance of teenage boys. A girl like Willow glowed from within, how they could be blind to that inner light was a mystery unto itself. He reached out and brushed a lock of crimson and gold from her forehead, his expression both tender and serious. "Listen to me, Willow, and listen well. Oz's taste in women was...light years ahead of other young men his age. You remind me so much of a girl I once knew, and to this day, I've seen very few women who can compare to her beauty. The boys at school may not have the good sense to realize what is beneath their very noses, but I assure you, there are men out there who do. Smart men, like Oz."
Willow blushed. "Giles, you don't have to- "
"I meant every word. Last night was more than just comfort for me. You...helped me rediscover a part of myself that I thought had died with Jenny. I- I never expected to feel that way again after..."
His voice trailed off as the pain of losing Jenny resurfaced. He closed his eyes for a second as he regained his composure, then focused his attention back on Willow, taking her hand in both of his. "Now, tell me...you're truly all right? I wish to God that I hadn't hurt you the way I did..."
She smiled and reached up with her other hand to touch his face. "I'm fine, Giles. Really and truly fine." Her smile faltered and her hand slipped down to rest against his chest. "What happens now? Did I...did I ruin everything? Can we still work together? Are we still...?" The words caught in her throat and she swallowed heavily.
"Still friends?" he finished for her.
She nodded fearfully, waiting for his response.
Giles gave her a small smile and kissed the hand that he was holding. "We are still, and I hope always will be, friends." He felt the air leave her body and pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead. "As far as working together is concerned... I sincerely doubt that I would be able to manage without you. We are a team, yes?" he murmured against her hair.
"Yes," she answered, tears of relief filling her eyes. "Always."
They stood there together for a moment, his head resting against hers. Reluctantly, Giles released her and they looked at each other in complete understanding before dropping their gazes to the pile of books on the table next to them.
"Right then," Giles said. "Back to work?"
"Back to work," Willow smiled, as she moved to take her seat again. "Did you find anything at all in that pile?"
"Not a blasted thing. Perhaps we should turn our attention to the journals? See if Lucien's diary gives any credence to Anne's story?"
Willow nodded and handed Giles the Watcher's diary, then resigned herself to searching through the remaining stack of books. This time, it was a comfortable silence that fell over the library as they settled into the familiar routine of working together.
>From the Diary of Lucien Aubry
1 June 1435
Anne seems distracted of late. She does not come home until sunrise and is nearly incapable of paying attention during her lessons. She insists that there has been an increase in vampire activity which requires her to spend longer hours slaying. I myself have not noticed this increase, but she is the one who must face the horde each night and thus would have more knowledge of this than I. Perhaps the numbers will dwindle as summer approaches and brings with it longer days, and Anne will be able to spend more time on her training sessions.
There is little that has been written about the current Master, Guillaume. He is said to be a fierce and deadly fighter, and there are rumors that he has dispatched more than one Slayer. Anne has not mentioned him as yet, but it is only a matter of time before she must confront Guillaume and attempt to defeat him. I can only hope that she is ready when the time comes.
12 June 1435
Anne has still not faced Guillaume. She avoids speaking of him, telling me that she has not found his lair and that his minions refuse to impart any information, even under threat of torture. It is troublesome, I admit, but I have no doubt that a meeting between them is inevitable. As Master of Rouen, Guillaume will not suffer a Slayer to live, and it is Anne's sacred duty to destroy any vampire which stalks our city. She will either defeat him, or perish in the attempt.
27 June 1435
I am concerned about Anne's current state. She seems listless- uninterested in her lessons, and her attention wanders most annoyingly. I must remind myself that she is a female, and as such is prone to flights of fancy and irrational behavior, but it plagues me still. I cannot fathom why Slayers are not young men, instead of girls. Females are difficult beings, lacking common sense and strength of character. I fear that my earlier misgivings about Anne are coming to fruition.
Marie-Therese prattles endlessly about love and marriage, no matter how I strive to correct her. Anne is not meant for such a life- it is her destiny to fight the forces of darkness and nothing more. Why does Marie-Therese not understand that Slayers do not live long enough to bear children? A Slayer who survives her sixteenth year is a rarity, and one who surpasses the eighteenth? Unheard of. Anne is fifteen now and already showing signs of becoming weary. I do not think that she will last much longer, more's the pity.
"YOU BLOODY PILLOCK!"
Willow looked up with a start. "Giles?" She stared with concern at the unnatural redness of his face. "What's wrong?"
"This!" He angrily jabbed his finger at the book in front of him. "This- this so-called Watcher! He talks about Anne- 'his' Slayer, the girl he raised as his own for ten years- he- he talks about her as if she is completely expendable, as if...as if she's nothing more than...than fodder for his precious cause!" Lucien's overbearing and self-righteous manner had annoyed Giles numerous times during the translation process, but now he was appalled at the blatant lack of concern the Watcher had shown in his musings on Anne's demise.
Giles slammed the book closed and lurched to his feet, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the offending tome. He backed away from the table and began to pace, tearing his glasses off in order to press the heal of his hand against the sudden shooting pain in his left eye.
Willow reached across the table and pulled the translated page over to her side. She quickly read the entries and understanding dawned as she realized that Giles was comparing himself to Lucien. She tried to calm him with logic. "Giles, it was a different time. Many men of that time viewed their wives and daughters as property, you know that. And you've mentioned more than once that the Council doesn't exactly promote closeness between Watchers and Slayers."
Giles whirled to face her. "That doesn't make it right!" he nearly shouted. He tried to compose himself as he shoved his glasses back onto his face. Lowering his voice, he continued, "That sort of treatment of Slayers wasn't limited to five hundred years ago. It's still going on, right now, all over the world. Young girls are isolated and taught that having emotions is somehow wrong...that to love is a weakness. You remember Kendra?"
Willow nodded. "Of course."
"Sam Zabuto is a friend of mine, and a highly respected Watcher. And yet, his Slayer is no different from the rest- her only purpose in life is to fight vampires and demons. She doesn't even remember her own family, for Christ's sake! We process these girls and send them out to be slaughtered, one after another. Expendable, replaceable... One dies and another is called...ad infinitum."
"But you and Buffy are different, Giles. She has friends and family...people who love her. 'You' are not Lucien, or any of these other Watchers," Willow assured him.
"But don't you see, Willow- I 'could' have been them, so very easily." He shook his head. "If Buffy hadn't slipped through the cracks, if she hadn't been free to develop into her own person... The Council has never had much tolerance for individuality."
"That's never stopped you before. You've always done things your own way- you've even disregarded direct orders from the Council." Her lips quirked up in a smile. "You're a rebel. Your grandmother would have been proud."
Giles couldn't help the grin that her statement coaxed out of him. "Thank you for that." He looked down at the diary and sighed. "I suppose that I should get back to this. I can only imagine what his reaction to finding out about Anne and Guillaume must have been."
Giles sat down and picked up his pen, a feeling of dread stealing over him as he continued translating.
14 July 1435
Anne grows more distant with each passing day. Marie-Therese is convinced that Anne has fallen in love, but with whom? And how could this have happened? She has had little contact with the local men in the past year, and I have closely monitored her activities during the day. No, it cannot be possible. If the Council were to hear of this, they would surely remove me from my position as Watcher.
26 July 1435
I awoke this morn to the sound of retching. Anne was violently ill, and for a few terrifying moments I feared that some sort of plague had been visited upon us. After a thorough examination, however, I determined that there were no other symptoms to indicate such. No fever, pustules or rash, nor did she experience any sort of pain. After settling her stomach with some peppermint, I performed a simple alchemist's trick to ascertain if she had been bewitched. Again, I gathered no evidence. Perhaps it was only the evening meal that caused Anne's illness, although Marie-Therese and I experienced no such upset. I shall keep a close watch over her, in any case.
3 August 1435
Anne is becoming dreadfully thin and pale. She tries to hide her illness from us, but I've heard the sounds of her wretchedness in the mornings. I cannot fathom what ails her. If I do not discover a cause soon, I must admit defeat and notify the Council at once.
8 August 1435
Marie-Therese believes that there is only one explanation for Anne's condition...that my Slayer is with child. Has Anne been meeting a young man while out slaying? Has she betrayed her sacred duty, her secret identity? I cannot imagine which of the men has wormed his way into her heart. She has always maintained a distance from them, always comported herself like a proper lady. Have I been blind to her true nature? How could she allow herself to be so easily led astray?
Despite Anne's physical strength and mental acuity, she is still subject to the weaknesses of her sex. Therefore, as Watcher and head of this household, it is my responsibility to put an end to whatever entanglements in which she finds herself. I shall follow her the night after next and see for myself who it is that has stolen my Slayer's heart.
If Marie-Therese's suspicions are true and Anne is with child, then there can only be one recourse. The Council has made it plain that no Slayer shall bear children- Anne will not be the first. The right amount of pennyroyal in her mead is sure to remedy the situation, and I shall make certain that she does not stray again.
Giles blanched as he read the words he'd just translated. "Dear God in heaven," he murmured. How could this man have been so cold blooded? How could he have been so callous, treating Anne as if she were nothing more than an animal to be sterilized?
As angry as he had been at Buffy's deception, Giles knew that he ultimately would forgive her almost anything at all. Each time he sent her out to fight unknown evil, he was filled with fear at the thought that she might not return. There were numerous times that he gladly would have fought in her stead, just to keep her safe. Under the gaze of her large hazel eyes, he often felt that he would promise her anything, and that he could deny her nothing. She was his partner, his confidant...and his child, as surely as if she'd sprung from his own loins. She was his reason for living, his entire life.
And his feelings for her went against everything the Council had so stridently tried to drum into him.
Giles glanced up and caught Willow's questioning stare. He shook his head slightly and contemplated the book in front of him, trying to fight the sick feeling worming its way through his gut. He knew that Slayers were normally sheltered from the outside world and raised for one purpose only- to fight demons. Kendra was a perfect example of the old world style advocated by the Council, while Buffy broke every rule and regulation in the handbook. Part of his reasoning for not giving her the bloody thing had been because he himself had thought it restrictive and outdated. He hadn't wanted a Stepford Slayer, and luckily for him, Buffy was anything but that.
He was troubled by the image of the Council portrayed in both journals. Certainly times had changed, hadn't they? The Council couldn't possibly still follow edicts that were over five hundred years old...could they? Of course, they did still perpetuate those barbarous Trials- the various tests that a Slayer must undergo when she reaches the age of eighteen. His stomach tied itself into knots at just the thought of Buffy having to endure them. Christ! There were only more questions, never any answers.
A sound from Willow gave him a welcome distraction from his brooding.
"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Oh, Giles, look at the time! It's dark already...my parents are going to freak!"
"I'm sorry, Willow, I should have remembered. I- I'll drive you right home and come back here to finish." His heart wasn't in it, but he desperately needed to know more about what had happened to Anne.
"Oh no, you won't," Willow said firmly.
"What? Of course I will- Lucien hasn't even found out about Guillaume." He pulled off his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. "I haven't learned a bloody thing yet."
"Giles, you're exhausted, same as me. The journals can wait until morning."
"But Buffy-"
"Will still be pregnant tomorrow," she finished for him. "C'mon. I insist that you get some sleep. I know that you have a headache, too...don't even try to deny it."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Since when did you get so bossy? And since when have you been noticing whether or not I've got a headache?"
"Since always," Willow replied softly. "I can read you like a book."
Unsure of how to respond, Giles decided to capitulate. He did need the sleep, after all. "All right. I'll go home and get some rest, provided that you do the same. Agreed?"
"Agreed. And no translating at home, either."
Giles shook his head as they cleared the table of books and papers, making plans to meet again early the next morning. The day's stress quickly caught up with them as they left the library, causing stifled yawns to echo in the deserted hallways. Sleep was what they yearned for, but they both knew that such a simple request would probably not be granted. Not until this whole mess was resolved one way or another.
The mansion loomed in front of her, dark and foreboding, despite the glare of the late morning sun. Buffy tried and failed to keep her legs from trembling as she made her way to the heavy door. She paused just outside it, raising one hand to press against the etched wood. Spike was inside, most likely sleeping, completely unaware of her presence. Her head fell forward until it touched the door and she took a deep shuddering breath, trying to gather her courage.
*Just open the door and go inside...*
Yesterday she'd been so determined in the face of Giles' anger, but now that she was actually here, she was terrified. Terrified that she would take one look at him and forget why she came. Terrified that she would lay her heart bare only to have it crushed beneath his boot-heel. Terrified that it was truly over between them, with no hope for reconciliation.
But there was too much at stake to not even try. She was pregnant with his child, and telling him was the right thing to do- the only thing to do. And she needed him, now more than ever before. She had to give him a chance, had to give 'them' a chance, even if it meant going down in flames.
*Stop being such a fucking wuss, Summers, and open the goddamn door...*
She grabbed the ornate handle and twisted it before she could change her mind. The door swung open easily and she stepped inside, into the waiting gloom. The welcoming silence was absolute; not even the sounds of passing cars or chirping birds penetrated the mansion's interior. She pulled a stake from her bag and glanced around the main hall, noticing a small stack of broken furniture that had been shoved into a corner. For a brief moment, the sounds of Spike's destruction came back to her, making her hesitate once again.
With a small noise of disgust at yet another display of weakness, she stiffened her spine and moved purposefully across the floor. She passed through each of the downstairs rooms, stake gripped tightly in her fist as she searched for any sign of conscious vampires. Finding nothing except for a few empty liquor bottles and several piles of shattered glass and splintered wood, she headed for the sweeping staircase at the rear of the house.
As she climbed the stairs, Buffy thought about her brief stop at the library before coming to the mansion. She had expected Giles to still be angry with her, for him to retreat into that cool, British reserve that surfaced when he was hurt, or upset. Instead, he'd greeted her with a smile, a real smile that said he was glad to see her. He had handed her the latest entries from Lucien's diary and then paced worriedly as she'd read the callous words with growing horror.
The papers had crumpled between her hands as she'd turned to face him. "Giles?" She could hear the desperation in her voice. "Is- is this really how the Council thinks of us? Slayers aren't supposed to feel anything...we're not supposed to love?" Tears had filled her eyes at the thought. "It's true, isn't it? As far as the Council is concerned, we're just trained animals, slaying machines...and if one of us dies, well then, there's always another to take her place, right?" She gave a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"Buffy-" Giles had looked at her helplessly. At the expression on his face, her heart had plummeted. Did he feel like that? Was his reaction to her pregnancy the same as Lucien's had been?
"Giles...tell me that this isn't you." She shook the papers in her hand. "Tell me that you don't feel this way...about me."
His hands had grasped her upper arms in a nearly painful grip. "Don't even think that for one second! I could never think that way about you...no matter what you had done. Yes, I was angry yesterday- you lied to me, for months. But more than anything I was hurt that you hadn't trusted me, after everything we've been through. Don't you realize how much you mean to me? You are the most important person in my life, and don't you ever forget that," he said fiercely.
Buffy remembered the feeling of utter relief that had come over her. Relief and a surge of love for the Watcher who had guided her through the darkest of times. She'd buried her face in his chest and cried, but this time they were cleansing tears, instead of sorrowful ones. Giles had held her and listened as she apologized for deceiving him, murmuring words of forgiveness as he'd stroked her hair. In his arms she found a peace that she hadn't felt in weeks, and thinking of it now gave her a renewed sense of courage.
The second floor hallway stretched before her, dimly lit by the dozen sconces that graced its walls. At first glance, they appeared to hold candles, but on closer inspection, Buffy could see tiny lightbulbs, instead of flickering flames.
She entered the first room at the top of the stairs and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Whoever had slept there had been a pig of the first order, leaving behind dirty clothes and half-empty pizza boxes. The stench nearly caused her stomach to heave and she quickly backed out of the room and shut the door.
Taking a deep breath, she continued her search, her heart pounding as she tried each door. She could feel her spine tingling in that familiar way, letting her know that Spike was nearby. What would she say when she found him? How would she even begin? And would he even listen to a single word?
Finally, she came to the end of the hall. There were three doors left, one of them appearing to be an elevator. She reached out a trembling hand and grasped the doorknob to her right. Counting slowly to three, she turned it and stepped inside the room.
Spike had fallen asleep and left a small lamp burning; its glow giving off just enough illumination in the room for Buffy to make out the form stretched out on the large, four poster bed. She let the stake fall from nerveless fingers as she walked across the floor, ignoring everything else except the sight of alabaster skin against midnight blue sheets.
He was lying on his stomach, arms wrapped around the pillow, hugging it to him. All of the breath left her body as she stared at planes of his face, softened in sleep. Dark, dark lashes contrasted with pale skin, his eyes moving restlessly beneath the closed lids. He looked young, almost vulnerable in this state, free of the defenses he'd so carefully erected over the past two hundred years.
She continued her perusal, content for the moment to just watch him slumber. His hair was slightly longer, darker at the roots and beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. Buffy's fingers itched to touch him, to thread themselves through the locks that were always softer than they appeared. Her hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into her palms as her eyes drifted downward, over his wiry frame.
The muscles in his back and shoulders moved slightly as he shifted in his sleep, curling around the pillow that he held tightly in his grip. The sheet slipped lower, just barely covering his hip and the curve of one buttock. The sight of him, so familiar and impossibly beautiful, was almost painful, bringing with it the sudden sting of tears to her eyes. Her breath hitched in her throat as he murmured, "Restez avec moi, ne retournez pas ce soir. Laissez-moi vous prendre loin d'ici."
Spike was dreaming, about her- them- the Slayers, past and present. He was lying with his head on Anne's stomach, a feeling of intense possessiveness encompassing his entire being. He would do anything to keep her with him...anything. Her fingers moved through his hair in a steady motion and she was saying something that he couldn't quite make out. He was too busy listening to the strange sound beneath his ear- a fast chugging, almost like a train. It was so faint that he had to strain to hear it and in his dream state he didn't even think to question what it was. It didn't matter, all that mattered was this feeling of contentment. In that moment, he knew that he'd kill anyone who tried to separate them.
Anne's face faded into Buffy's, and as the Slayer's scent washed over him, a soft moan escaped his lips. "Buffy..." The dream was vivid, so bloody vivid that he could swear she was right in the room. His cock twitched and hardened against his thigh, rising as if to search for the soft flesh that it had been denied for so long. He could smell her, hear the blood rushing through her veins... Real, it was all too fucking real...
At the sound of her name, Buffy let out a soft cry and moved closer. "Spike?" She crouched by the bed and reached out to touch his shoulder, only to pull back with a startled gasp as yellow, unfocused eyes met hers. "Spike, are you awake?" she asked softly.
It wasn't a dream. The Slayer was here, in his room, next to his bed. Spike closed his eyes and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. Christ, he bloody well wasn't prepared for this. Even as he felt his heart soar, the rest of him began to close down in self-defense. Averting his gaze, he pushed the sheet aside and stood up, reaching for the jeans he'd discarded earlier. He kept his body angled away from her, trying to hide its automatic response to her presence. "What are you doing here?" he asked warily.
His voice was cold - emotionless - but Buffy hadn't expected his greeting to be warm. She watched as he tugged the jeans up over his hips and reached for his tee shirt. "I need to talk to you," she began. "Willow found something in Anne's journal, something important- "
"What does that have to do with me?" Spike interrupted. Of course she wouldn't have come just because she'd missed him. No declaration of undying love here, just more fucked up shit from the Hellmouth.
He pulled the shirt over his head and turned, looking her in the face for the first time. His eyes widened in shock at her appearance. "Christ, Slayer- you look like shit!" he blurted out before he could help himself.
Buffy knew that it was true, but his words still stung. She tried to cover the hurt with sarcasm. "Gee, Spike, rude much? I see Cordelia's been giving you lessons in tact."
Spike ignored her, appalled at the paleness of her skin. She looked as if she hadn't seen the sun in days, and judging by the purple shadows rimming her eyes, she hadn't slept in just as long either. The clothing that had once clung to every luscious curve of her body now hung, shapeless, on her too thin frame.
"I mean it, Slayer- what the fuck have you done to yourself?" He couldn't believe that this was the same vibrant girl who had haunted his dreams night after night.
Buffy tried to tamp down the hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt. *What have 'I' done? Holy cow, Batman, if you only knew just how much of a joint effort it took to make me look this way!* She forced herself to shrug and answer casually, "I was sick. Willow said she told you."
Her apparent composure made him want to shake her until her teeth rattled. He also wanted to kiss her until she couldn't breathe and fuck her until she couldn't see. How could she stand there as if nothing had happened? As if she hadn't been ripped apart in the past few weeks the way that he had? Had she ever really loved him? He wasn't about to let his guard down enough to find out.
"Yeah, she mentioned it." He turned away from her and began picking up the tequila bottles that littered the floor, searching for one that still had some life left in it. "You're better now?" he asked in a neutral voice, tossing the empties aside in frustration. A cigarette, he needed a cigarette.
"I'm getting there. Obviously, I don't look it." He didn't look that great himself. He was thinner, his cheekbones more prominent. His hair had grown out a little, in desperate need of bleaching. He looked tired...haggard, almost. It took every bit of strength to keep from breaking down and flinging herself in his arms. The tension between them was palpable, and Buffy swallowed, hoping for some sign that he still cared. His face was a mask; not a flicker of emotion showed in the pale blue eyes.
Why was she here? He walked over to the nightstand and yanked opened the drawer, tearing through the various papers and other assorted crap, looking for a smoke. He found a pack and snatched it up, then crumpled it in disgust when he saw that it was empty. Spike could feel his nerves jumping under his skin and wondered how much longer he could stand here and not touch her. "You were saying something about a bloody journal?" he prompted, dragging restless hands through his hair.
Buffy removed the pages from her bag and took a deep breath. "These are the latest entries that Willow translated. Anne fell in love with a Master vampire- Guillaume. After they started sleeping together, he stopped killing, and Anne became convinced that he still had his soul." Spike's head jerked up and he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "I- I think that she was right, that a vampire's soul doesn't leave when the demon moves in. And if that's true, then that would mean...it would mean that you still have yours...too."
Spike stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You can't be serious! There's no way in bloody hell that I still have my soul. I've been a demon for nearly two centuries, Slayer, and nothing is going to change that, especially not the fantasies of some girl who's been dead for five hundred years."
"There's more to it than that, Spike. If you'll just listen for a minute-" she tried.
"No, I'm not going to listen to this shit. Don't you dare try to turn me into Angel just because you feel guilty for fucking a demon," he hissed.
Buffy gasped. "Is that what you think? That I still want Angel after all this time?"
"It's true, isn't it? You've never really gotten over that sick fuck, and now you've latched onto this delusion as a way to have Soulboy back."
"Don't try to make this about Angel, this has nothing to do with him, nothing at all! Angel's dead- I killed him, remember? I love 'you', I never 'stopped' loving you...you asshole!" Tears of anger sprang to her eyes as she stared up at him, daring him to piss her off further.
"You love me? That's a crock, you don't even trust me!" He could feel the rage starting to bubble beneath the surface, enticing his demon to come out and play. His hands itched to circle her neck, and at the same time they wanted to strip the clothing from her body and toss her on the bed. A low growl emanated from his throat as he began to pace in agitation.
"I tried to tell you I was sorry, but you wouldn't listen!" she cried. "I was wrong, Spike- I know that. I just- it was bad enough when Angel killed Jenny, but Oz was one of 'us'. I couldn't think when I heard he was dead, I only reacted. When I accused you, I knew deep down that you wouldn't- couldn't - kill him, but I couldn't help myself." She took a tentative step toward him. "I'd give anything to take it back, Spike. Anything."
Spike shook his head and backed away. "What about now? You say you're sorry, but how do I know you mean it?"
"I'm here, aren't I? The last time I saw you, you wanted to hurt me," she said softly. "I couldn't slay a fly right now...you could kill me...and I wouldn't be able to stop you."
He nodded in acknowledgment. It was true, she did look weak. It had to have taken trust on her part to come here not knowing how he'd react, especially after his display during her last visit. He wanted to believe her, he really did. There was no denying that the last few weeks had been pure hell, on her, apparently, as well as him. If they could somehow manage to get past all this...
But then, what was this crap about him having a soul?
"All right, so you trust me. But I don't have a soul, Slayer, so you can just get that idea right out of your head," he told her.
"I can't do that, not when I believe it's true. I've wondered for weeks if it was possible, and now..."
"And now, what? Don't you think I'd know? Wouldn't other vampires know they had a soul? It's bullshit, plain bullshit!"
"Maybe not. I don't know! I think the Council buried the information, and even if the really old vampires do know, it wouldn't be in their best interests to tell anyone, would it? Just read this-" She held the papers out to him.
"I don't want to fucking read it!" Spike shouted, knocking the papers from her hand. "I don't have a bloody soul, Slayer," he added through gritted teeth. "Just drop it."
"No, I won't drop it," she insisted. "I know that it's still there, inside you. I've known it ever since you put that rose in my locker, ever since that night at the tree house. How else could I have fallen in love with you? How else could you love me?"
At her words, he lashed out in blind panic. "Whoever said I loved you?"
Buffy's face went still, and then her chin lifted defiantly. "You did," she answered calmly.
"I never-"
"Every time you kissed me," she interrupted, walking toward him, "every time you made love to me, you told me. I felt it in your touch, Spike, the same way I felt your soul."
Spike shook his head in denial. "It was just sex, nothing more."
A tiny fist caught him off guard, the perfect roundhouse sending him crashing to the floor. He rubbed his jaw and stared up at the furious blonde.
"Don't you ever say that again! It was 'not' just sex and you damn well know it!" she shouted, blinking back unshed tears. "Just because you're afraid-"
"I'm not afraid of anything," Spike lied as he grabbed a bottle of Cuervo from the floor and slowly stood up. "And you'd better step lightly, Slayer." His tone was deadly as he shook the bottle, eyeing the meager contents swirling in the bottom.
Buffy wasn't to be deterred. "Then why won't you accept the possibility that you're not just a demon?"
"All right, you think you're so smart?" He tipped the bottle and drained it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well then, tell me this, Miss-Know-It-All...where has this soul been for the last two hundred years?" Watching her face, he said deliberately, "Where was this soul when I was on my knees with Angelus' cock in my mouth?" He felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at the startled look in her eyes. "Where was this soul when I sat back and did nothing while Angel tortured Drusilla?"
His voice became deceptively soft for a moment. "C'mon, Buffy, tell me...Where was my FUCKING SOUL," Buffy let out a cry and ducked as he threw the bottle against the wall over her head, "WHEN I TORE MY OWN FATHER'S THROAT OUT?" He stood there, eyes filled with icy rage, chest heaving as he drew in unneeded breath.
Buffy looked at him, her face completely drained of blood. "Your...father? But- but you said..."
"I lied. It's what demons do. We're good at it- lying and murdering go hand in hand, like peanut butter and jelly." He stepped closer, staring into her eyes as he continued in a low voice. "Angelus and I tracked down my errant father and we made him watch while we killed everyone in the house- my half-brother and sister, their mother and grandmother, the servants- it was a real slaughter. And then, covered in the blood of his loved ones, I walked over to him and let him get a good look at me." Spike's eyes grew distant as he remembered that night. "Emma was right, you know, we looked exactly alike. Same hair color, same fucking eyes... It was almost like killing myself when I ripped into him."
He came back to the present and pinned her again with his icy stare. "Still think my soul is in here somewhere?" he smirked, wondering why he felt such a compulsive need to shock her with the truth.
Figuring that she'd walk away in disgust, Spike got another surprise when she replied in a soft, but firm voice, "Yes, I do."
He snorted and shook his head as he walked over to the bed and sat down.
Buffy followed him. "And I'll tell you something else...I think the very fact that you're bothered by this only proves my point."
"Piss off, Slayer. You haven't proven a bloody thing. You think my soul just sat back and watched me kill thousands of people? I never once thought twice about draining someone. Just the opposite, it felt good."
Buffy chose to ignore that last, refusing to rise to the bait. "I think that when the demon moves in, it's the stronger of the two. Maybe being drained weakens the soul in some way. Most vampires probably find that it's easier to just let the demon take over completely, to just let the darker side of their personality rule their actions. No guilt, no consequences." She moved to join him on the bed, holding her breath as she sat down next to him.
When he made no objection, she continued, "I think your soul went into hiding, the way Will used to hide from Emma. With Angelus, you had no choice."
The mention of his past caused his spine to stiffen. "What about Angel's curse?" he asked tightly. "Explain how he got cursed with a soul when he already had one."
"I don't believe he was cursed with a soul. I believe he was cursed with a conscience. Spike, there are humans with souls who commit evil acts every day. The two are not mutually exclusive. The older a vampire gets, the more control he gains, right? Maybe that's just his soul reasserting itself, or the remaining part of his humanity trying to top the demon. You were able to love Drusilla for a hundred years, you don't think that's a human trait? When is the last time you killed someone?"
Spike gave her a sharp glance, then looked away. "I don't recall." He did, though. Or, he at least remembered the one who had left a mark. Lara. Was she the last? Or had there been others? If there had been, there couldn't have been many.
"C'mon, Spike. You can't remember your last full meal? Was it hours ago? Days? Weeks?"
He suddenly rose to his feet. "I don't fucking remember! It was months, all right? Two fucking months ago!"
"Spike-"
"Shut up, Slayer. Just shut the bloody fuck up. You told me your little theory, you waved your little papers around, but you have no proof that any of it is real. That other Slayer just wanted to feel better about fucking a demon, so she manufactured this fantasy about him having a soul. End of story."
Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. *Now, Summers...tell him now.* She looked up at him, trying to concentrate on something beyond the pounding of her heart. "No, Spike, it's not the end of the story. There's more."
Spike groaned, clutching the sides of his head. "Slayer-"
"Anne was pregnant."
The sudden stillness in the room was deafening. Spike straightened and looked at her. "Pregnant when she met Guillaume," he stated, sure that that had to be the case.
"No, she was a virgin when she met Guillaume. He made her pregnant."
His eyes narrowed. "That's not possible."
"Oh, it's possible, it's very possible." Her hands were wringing themselves together with a force that could have crunched bone. "It happened then..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "and it's happened...now."
His face was completely still as her words sunk in. No, she couldn't be saying what he thought she was saying... He turned away from her and began to pace, not wanting to hear anymore.
Buffy stared at him, willing him to understand. "Spike? I wasn't sick with some virus. I had morning sickness."
No.
No. No. No. No. No. No... Spike shook his head. "No, it's not mi-"
Buffy jumped up and grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. "Don't. Don't you dare even say it," she hissed. "This baby is yours, you're the only one I've been with since Angel."
"But how? Vampires can't have kids, it's common fucking knowledge!"
She pulled away and sat back down. "I don't know how. Anne thought that her blood gave Guillaume's soul strength...maybe it was strong enough to create some sort of life-force." She watched as he followed her to back to the bed. Staring up at him, she said, "You were feeding from me for weeks, you stopped killing...it's all the same. We've been dreaming about them, now it's as if we're reliving what happened."
Spike crouched down in front of her. "This can't be happening, Slayer. It's not supposed to happen, ever."
A sharp laugh escaped her lips. "If you're shocked, how the fuck do you think I feel? You're not the one who was puking her guts up day and night for two weeks."
Spike winced. "You've seen a doctor? You know for certain that you're...?"
Buffy nodded. "Yesterday. I'm definitely pregnant. So, whether or not we think it should have happened, the fact of the matter is, it has."
He was cursed. That was all there was too it. *Well, mate, stick your prick in a flame and you're bound to get burned.* Burned? He was fucking roasted, toasted and flambéed.
"Spike? Say something," Buffy pleaded. "What are we going to do? What do 'you' want to do?"
"Do?" Spike stood up. "Christ, Slayer- even when I was human I never thought about having kids, not after my fucked up childhood. Fuck! I don't even know 'how' to be human anymore! Now you're telling me I've gone and done something..."
"Something completely human? Spike, you've always been more than just a demon, you just wouldn't admit it. That part of you that helped Will to survive all those years ago is still there. It's what made me fall in love with you in the first place."
"Bloody hell," he groaned, dropping his head into his hands as he slumped back down next to her. It was all too much to take- him being soul-having, knocking up the Slayer... Which cosmic being was having a laugh at his expense now?
Probably all of them.
Buffy stared at him as he sat there, rocking back and forth slightly on the edge of the bed. She didn't know what he was thinking or feeling. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know at this point. She'd turned his unlife upside down in a matter of minutes, and even though it cut right to the bone, she decided to give him an out.
"Spike, listen. If you want to walk away, I- I'll understand." Buffy blinked back tears. "Giles can take care of me and the baby...Willow will help...we- we'll be fine."
Walk away? He'd never walked away from anything- not as a mortal, and not as a vampire. The Slayer belonged to him- she belonged 'with' him- and now that he had her back, he'd be damned if he was going to let her go.
She gasped as he turned quickly and grabbed her wrist in a painful grip. "I told you before," he growled, "I don't give up what's mine, not for any reason."
Then his lips were on hers and Buffy could only whimper as she gave herself up to the sheer force of his power. The brute strength of his arms around her, his hand tangling in her hair, those lips... Everything she'd dreamt about for the past two weeks. This was where she belonged, where she would always belong. With him.
His.
His mate, his blood, his life... His soul?
Perhaps. Did it really matter at this point?
Spike was starved for the taste of her. Even in his darkest moments of hate, he'd still hungered for the feel of her lips beneath his, her body pressed against him. He kissed her hard, losing himself in her scent as he surrendered to the inevitable. Baby or no baby, soul or no soul, he wanted her. Their fates were intertwined, for good or bad, and it was pointless to try to resist.
When breathing became an issue, he broke off the kiss and buried his face against her neck. "You're mine, Slayer...you'll always be mine," he murmured.
"Yes," she breathed. "Always." She let him tug her down to the mattress beside him, protest not even a consideration as relief flooded her. He still wanted her, after everything she'd told him. Whatever happened next - whatever turned up in the rest of the journals - they would deal with...together.
Their lips met again and Spike's fingers swiftly unbuttoned her blouse, pushing aside the material. Her full breasts spilled from the cups of her bra as he unhooked the front, brushing his thumbs across her sensitive nipples. She bit her lip at the sensation, watching his face as he stared down at her. His eyes darkened with lust as he cupped first one breast, then the other, letting their weight fill his hands.
He looked up at her and grinned. "They feel bigger." He rolled her nipples between his fingers, his smile widening as she arched her back and moaned. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are."
His lips replaced his hands and Buffy clutched him to her, sliding her fingers through his hair. The gentle tugging of his teeth sent a shock of pleasure straight to her core. She could feel the moisture pooling between her thighs and tried to thrust herself up against him in an effort to relieve the pressure.
Spike raised her up so he could slip the shirt and bra from her body. He quickly unbuttoned her pants and slid them down her legs, along with her underwear. Buffy reached out and tugged on his shirt. "Now you," she whispered, eager to see him.
Together, they drew his shirt over his head and then her hands were sliding down over his chest, delighting in the feel of hard muscle beneath the cool skin. She undid the fastening on his jeans and tugged them down over his hips, her breath catching in her throat as the rest of him was revealed. She gave in to her desire to touch him, running her fingers over his abdomen and through the dark curls below before sliding up the silky skin of his shaft. Her small hand encircled him, lightly stroking until he thought he'd explode. With a groan, he stopped her, easing her back down on the bed to continue his own exploration of her body.
His lips found her skin and his tongue swirled intricate patterns as he moved downward, occasionally nipping with his blunt teeth. When he reached her stomach, he paused, pulling back to look at her. "You're so thin," he said softly. "I can see your ribs."
"I won't be thin for long," she assured him. "Before you know it, I'll be as big as a house."
He was suddenly struck by an image of her, belly rounded with his child, and from out of nowhere, the realization that he'd done the impossible filled him with a sense of male pride. The intense feeling of possessiveness from his dream came back to him then, and he lowered his mouth to her abdomen, growls of satisfaction coming from his throat as he covered it with kisses.
Buffy writhed on the bed as she felt his fingers dancing over her clitoris. She squealed as he bit lightly into her mound, then moaned when his tongue probed her slit. It swept upward, circling the tiny bud before drawing it completely into his mouth. He suckled softly, gently, feeling the spasms against his tongue as the first orgasm rippled through her. The nectar that flowed from her was as sweet as he remembered, causing his cock to throb with the need to be inside her.
Every nerve ending in Buffy's body stood at attention under Spike's skillful tongue. Its velvety roughness brought her to a quick, sharp climax, making her cry out his name as the pulsing waves rolled over her. Instead of letting her come down, Spike kept his face between her thighs, licking and nibbling at the tender flesh until the sensation became almost unbearable.
"Now, Spike...I want you now," she pleaded, aching to feel him inside her. He ran his tongue over her opening once more, then kissed his way back up her body until they were face to face. Buffy looked up into passion-filled eyes and slid her hands through his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. His hardness pressed against her thigh as she kissed him hungrily, tasting herself on his lips.
Spike rubbed himself against her folds, groaning as his cool skin came in contact with her slick heat. *Bloody Christ, it feels so good and I'm not even inside yet.* Buffy's head fell back as he kissed his way down the slender column of her neck, answering the siren's call of her blood rushing through her veins. He nuzzled the hollow of her throat, sucking, but not breaking the skin, savoring the sweet torment of making himself wait. He felt her hand grasping him, sliding down over his shaft before guiding him to her entrance. "Are you sure it's all right, love?" he rasped near her ear. "Don't wanna hurt you..." He prayed to whatever gods would listen that it was; if they stopped now, his balls would surely implode from the pressure.
"Yes, Spike...just love me," she urged, gasping as his cock slid into her. He was so hard, so unbelievably hard as he plumbed her depths. Buffy wrapped her legs around him, pressing against the cool length of his body. His mouth on her neck was driving her crazy, and she wondered how he could stand to keep from biting her. She could feel his rumbling growl vibrating against her skin, feel him tremble with the strain of holding back his desire. As her own tension built, she realized that she didn't want him to wait. She wanted to him to give in, lose control...surrender.
Her skin burned. Like the sun's hottest rays, like all the fires of hell- she covered him in flames until he threatened to combust. He was shaking with need as he moved carefully within her, nearly undone by the almost virginal tightness of her cunt. Her scent overwhelmed him as he nuzzled behind her ear and he felt his demon edge closer to the surface, his face changing against the soft curtain of hair. *Not yet, too soon...*
"Let go...please, Spike," Buffy moaned.
"Buffy...no...not yet, love..." Of their own accord, his fangs grazed her skin.
"Drink me," she pleaded, nearing her own release. Her fingernails raked his buttocks. "Make me come again..."
Her words were all it took. With a low moan, he slid his fangs into her delicate skin, feeling his cock surge inside her as the blood flowed into his mouth. The dual explosions in his brain and balls left him momentarily blind and deaf, unable to do anything except ride the convulsive shudders of his body. All he could do was feel - feel her body stiffening beneath him, feel the hot, coppery blood sluicing into his mouth, feel her silken walls contracting around him, milking him of his apparently not-so-dead seed.
Spike's teeth penetrating her skin was all Buffy needed to send her spiraling over the edge again. She gave herself up to the sensation of being consumed, feeling an answering jolt in her womb as it received his precious fluid. The cresting waves crashed over her again and again, magnified by the suckling at her throat. The sensory onslaught was almost too much, but instead of fighting it, she let it take her, giving herself completely. Heart, mind, body, soul...
And trust.
Spike was lost in mindless pleasure. His seed flowing into her as her life poured into him. The steady beat of her heart surrounding him, her blood causing his own heart to beat in rhythm with hers. He could barely hear her whimpers and moans beyond the rushing in his ears. And above all that...
Taste.
He could taste every emotion coursing through her. Her overwhelming need, the underlying fear... and love. The love that allowed her to put her life in his hands - in his mouth - to cling to him with her last breath if he so wished it. The same love that allowed him to stop drinking before he drained her.
"I love you, Spike," came the soft whisper at his ear.
He carefully removed his fangs from her throat and licked the wound clean, feeling her tremble beneath his tongue. He'd reclaimed her as his mate, marked her once again. He was almost beyond any coherent thought at all, except for that.
Buffy couldn't imagine feeling happier than she did at that moment. She'd done it - opened herself completely to Spike - and he hadn't turned his back. The intensity of their union left little doubt that they belonged together. The tears she'd tried to hard to hold back slipped freely down her cheeks as she lay spent in his arms. Finally at peace, Buffy gave Spike a tired smile when he raised his head to look at her.
In the afterglow, she looked more beautiful than he could have imagined. And so very exhausted. Reluctantly, he slid out of her and rolled to his back, pulling her body close until she was curled up at his side. His fingers combed through her hair in a familiar, soothing pattern, lulling them both to the edge of sleep.
"I thought I'd die without you," Buffy whispered. "It felt like there wasn't enough air to breathe, like my heart would stop beating at any moment. I don't ever want to feel that way again." Her face pressed against his chest as if she wanted to burrow inside him.
"You won't have any reason to," he answered, tightening his hold on her. "I'm not letting you go, love, not ever again." "Good. Because you're stuck with me now," she smiled against his skin. Her smile faded as darker thoughts filled her head. "Spike? We still haven't finished the journals yet. We don't know what happened to Anne and Guillaume, what if-" "Shhh," he murmured, knowing what she was thinking. "We're not them. Whatever happened to them isn't going to happen to us." He was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm still not convinced about this soul business. I just can't accept that it's been there all along, without my knowing it." "Maybe part of you did know it. I've heard you refer to your demon as if it's a separate entity. I know you've always felt different from Angel and Drusilla. Maybe that's because your soul was a little bit stronger than theirs. Giles is trying to find out more. Not just about that, but about the baby, too." "The Watcher knows that I'm the father?" At her nod, he grinned ruefully. "Should I be thinking about wearing a stake-proof vest? Christ, he must have gone ballistic." "He did. But this morning he seemed better. He wants me to be happy, and he wants me to be safe. Right now his priority is finding out as much as he can about what to expect during my pregnancy." She decided not to tell Spike that Giles had advised against letting the vampire know about his impending fatherhood. She noticed that he'd gone silent again. "What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"I'm thinking that I'm still in shock." He rolled until he was perched above her stomach, grinning up at her. "But I like the idea of you waddling around, all fat and glowing..." He playfully nipped at her abdomen.
Buffy squealed. "Stop it!" She fingered the curls at the nape of his neck. "It's fine for you to talk, you're not the one who's gonna look like a beach ball." She felt him sigh against her skin as he nuzzled her bellybutton. "Spike? I- I'm scared...about the baby. What if something goes wrong? What if mixing humans and vampires is dangerous?"
Spike couldn't look at her as he voiced the obvious. "You don't have to have the baby-"
"I want to have the baby." She said it quietly, firmly, so that there was little doubt.
"Then we'll deal with whatever happens. The Watcher will just have to do his job and make sure we know what to expect." He shifted and pulled her back into his arms. "I won't let anything happen to you, Slayer. I promise."
She knew that it was a promise he couldn't keep, but hearing it was all she needed to ease her mind at the moment. She sighed and let Spike turn her on her side, feeling him press against her back like a second skin. His hand covered her stomach and the tiny life forming within, already protective of what he'd helped to create. And finally, the two of them drifted off to sleep, free of the nightmares that had plagued them during their days apart. Unaware of anything for the moment except the synchronized beating of their hearts.
Giles realized that he'd read the same sentence ten times and
shoved the book away from him in frustration. Worry for his Slayer gnawed
at his gut, and he clenched his fists in an attempt to keep from banging them
on the table like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. She should have been
back, should have called...should have let him know that she was all
right.
"Giles, stop it," came the weary voice behind him.
He turned and glared at Willow. "Stop what?" he asked petulantly.
"Stop driving yourself crazy," she answered, laying a hand on his shoulder, only to remove it quickly as her skin tingled from the contact. Willow sighed inwardly and walked around the table, putting some distance between them. She supposed she should be working on the journals, but like Giles, she found that concentration was nearly impossible. She'd watched him fidget for the past hour, watched him pick up one book after another, only to close them all without really reading them. Once again she marveled at her ability to tune into his thoughts so well. It's only natural, she thought. We've been working so closely together, and now, after the other night...
Probably best to not go there. Ever again.
Willow met Giles' eyes and saw the worry reflected there. "Try to be patient, Giles-"
"She should have called by now. What if he - What if she's..." He went cold at the thought of Spike turning on Buffy.
Willow shook her head. "Spike cares about her. I don't think he'd hurt her." She tried to ignore the little doubting voice in the back of her head. "They had a lot to talk about - I'm sure that's all it is. And if they did manage to patch things up, they might be busy-" Willow blushed as she realized that Giles wouldn't want to hear about his Slayer and Spike 'celebrating' their reconciliation. "Er, talking...some more. Lots and lots to talk about, like I said," she finished lamely, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.
Giles gave her an exasperated look and reached for another text. He really didn't need the image that Willow's words conjured up dancing in his head. Not in a million years would he ever have imagined Buffy in a relationship with *Spike*. All of Giles' research indicated that the vampire was nothing more than an unrepetant killer, the epitome of a soulless demon. The idea that Buffy had found anything to love in a creature like that was completely beyond his realm of understanding.
As was the fact that she was now pregnant by a demon.
A demon. Of all the bloody cock-ups he could have faced, this one took the proverbial cake. It shouldn't have been possible. Even with a soul involved, the odds should have been astronomically absurd. Could the Council really have kept something of this magnitude hidden for hundreds - no, thousands - of years? Was Spike in actuality a souled creature...or merely a demon, as they'd all been led to believe?
Demon...
The word echoed over and over in his head. Perhaps what he needed wasn't found in books. What if, instead of focusing on vampires, he expanded his search to include the demon aspect? He needed an expert in the field, someone who lived and breathed demons, someone not controlled by the Council. Someone like...
"Hold on," he murmured, sitting bolt upright in his chair. "Of course! How could I be so stupid?"
"Giles?" Willow looked up questioningly. He had a funny, far away look in his eye, the look that always made her visualize a lightbulb above his head. "Did you think of something?"
"Not some *thing*- some *one*. I think I may have remembered someone who can help us. Damien Carstairs, an old protege of my grandmother's." At Willow's eager prompting, he began filling her in on his relationship with the demonologist, glossing over the more lurid parts of his past.
"Damien - Dr. Carstairs now - was Edwina's favorite student - next to me, of course...brilliant, inquisitive, brash - a radical, just like she was. The two of us quickly became friends under her tutelage, competing to see who could learn faster, who could curry Edwina's favor more. We were her prodigies, her firebrands... Her legacy." Giles closed his eyes for a moment as the memories came flooding back. Memories of a different time, a different life.
"She always said we were too bright for our own good," he smiled, "so smart that it actually made us stupid. Time and again we proved her right, driving my father and everyone else in the vicinity nearly insane with our pranks. If it weren't for Edwina's influence, I think the Council would have washed its hands of us years ago. We certainly stretched the limits as far as they would go."
Willow watched the emotions play across his face, the years falling away as he remembered his youth. He hadn't told them much about his past, only the bare minimum that had been necessary when Ethan had shown up. She realized that there was so much she didn't know about him, so many things she had yet to discover.
But did she want to discover them? And would he even want her to? He was an intensely private person, and their relationship had gone through so many changes already... No, she told herself. We're friends, nothing more. Anything else is impossible. She gave a slight shake of her head and turned her attention back to Giles and his story.
"Damien's Watcher pedigree wasn't as pure as mine, so it was understood that he most likely would never be assigned a Slayer. It suited him just fine, he preferred not being under the Council's scrutiny and devoted himself to his studies. Then came university and a whole new world, and I - we - began to question our predetermined fate. Damien had it easier, he was allowed more freedom, but in my case... Everything I did had to be approved by the Council. It was stifling, and once I met Ethan and fell under his spell, there was no looking back." There was no need to tell Willow everything, but the memories kept surfacing, just the same.
When Giles began to balk at his predestined future, Damien had even followed him into his rebellion, hovering on the fringes of Ethan's Magical Mystery Tour. He'd used his connections as a medical student to procure some of the narcotics that Ethan deemed necessary for their rituals, but only dabbled in the actual practices of black magic. Damien had finally gotten cold feet and bailed out before the whole Eyghon mess, which had, in all probability, saved his life. He did a complete turn around after that, devoted himself to his studies once again, and had helped fill the void in Edwina's life that Giles had left during his downward spiral.
It had, in fact, been Damien who assisted Meredith in the de-toxing of Ripper when Giles had finally surfaced from the darkest period of his life. Between the two of them, Damien and Meredith had brought Giles back to the living, so to speak. They were Giles' lifeline for the next year, until Damien moved away to continue his studies and get out from underneath the Council's thumb. The young men maintained contact when they could, between Damien's traveling and Giles' Watcher training, and Edwina remained a strong influence on both of them, a common touchstone in their very different lives. Their last meeting had been at her funeral, after which Damien had disappeared into the wilds of some third world country, following a lead on what was supposed to be an extinct sect of demon worshipers. Giles hadn't heard from him since, too caught up in his Watcher duties during the last two years to seek Damien out.
"Do you think you can track him down after all this time?" Willow asked.
"I'm not sure," he answered with a frown. "But right now he's the only person I can think of who can help. Besides his expertise in medicine and demonology, Edwina may have shared the journals with him. She trusted him implicitly, and so do I. It's high time I reestablished contact with him."
It occurred to Giles that it might not even be possible to find Carstairs, but he had to try. Edwina had always been able to locate the errant doctor, so perhaps there was something in her old papers that would lead Giles in the right direction. He excused himself to Willow and went into his office to begin his search, finally feeling that he was headed in the right direction.