The Parchment
Summary: A magical piece of paper falls prey to the whims and fancies of midlife crisis. Definitely B/S, set in AU S5; no Dawn, no Glory.
Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all related to her belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.
A/N: Okay, I give up, and I give in to my own mind. I didn't want to put up this story, right now; it's not fully done, yet. But I couldn't help it; I needed to get feedback for
at least one chapter first. Also, I put up something like a sequel to 'The Road
Home', but have decided to delete the story. I'll put it up some other time.
Anyways, as always, let me know what you think.
1. As Night Falls
The wind picked up her scent and carried it, reverently, to him. He didn't fool himself; he knew, as he breathed in the fragrance that was uniquely her, that the reverence was not for him, but for her.
The vanilla of her hair was mixed with the red currant of her lotion, and as she spoke, her strawberry lip gloss added another whiff. He was so lost in the fruity scent, mixed with the heady smell of skin that he had come to know as hers, leaning forwards to breathe it in more deeply, he hardly paid any attention to her words, or the twig that crackled beneath his feet.
Until she yelled, of course.
"Spike!"
He almost fell out of the bushes he was hidden in, surprised at not hearing a pun as she staked the latest fledging. Instead, he forced himself to stand as still as... well, a corpse, and waited for her to say something, wondering if he'd really heard her call his name, or if it was just wishful thinking.
Hah. He should have known better. Really, would she really say the name as if it was a curse if he had imagined it?
"Spike, you asshole, I know you're in the bushes. I've known it's you for a month. Get out, right now, before I come in and drag your puny, undead ass out!"
Now, when a Slayer, particularly this Slayer, makes a threat, she usually carries it out. So Spike, gathering what little was left of his self-esteem, stepped grudgingly out into the open ground of the cemetery, into the Slayer's view.
The second his eyes fell upon her form, his throat went dry. He gulped, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his black duster, taking a step back so she wouldn't see his body's reaction to her.
She was wearing a jean skirt that ended a good few inches before where it should. Her tank top, pink like the colour of her cheeks even in the pale moonlight, stuck to her torso like a second skin because of the sweat that came with the humid night. No makeup, hair in a no nonsense, tight ponytail, stake in hand and her mouth a grim line.
She was bloody beautiful.
"'ello there, Slayer. Nice night, eh?" Spike's light tone broke the silence between them.
He'd been following her for weeks, now, practically months. He had to, he told himself. After all, patrol was the only time she was alone. Otherwise she was that ponce of a boyfriend with her, or her Slayerette friends. And he had to watch her, after all, to see and study her fighting methods. There wasn't any minion he could ask to tape her for him to watch anymore. He had to do it himself. Watch and study. Study and watch.
Ugh. It didn't even sound convincing in his head; would she really believe it? Because Spike knew that, in a matter of seconds, Buffy would ask him why, exactly, he was following her. And his answer was plain crap, so...
"It was till you showed up." She crossed her arms over her chest.
Ooh, someone was grouchy. Inwardly, Spike cringed at himself. 'Ooh'? That word should not exist in any Big Bad's dictionary, whether internal or external. He realized, then that Buffy was still speaking, so he concentrated on her.
Not much use. He just got the last few words.
"... you're following me?" She finished with a tap of her foot.
It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was saying. He played the fool, buying time. "Sorry, pet, didn't hear ya, there. Mind repeatin'?"
Her frown deepened and her eyes narrowed. "Why have you been following me around, Spike? Are you really that in love with pain?"
Ah, the clincher.
Spike shrugged it off, playing cool. But if he had a heartbeat, it'd have skyrocketed.
He was glad he didn't.
"My cemetery, luv. 'm the one undusted vamp you'll usually find here."
Her eyes shouldn't have been able to narrow further. They did. "Are you telling me that wasn't you in the War Cemetery, yelping when you fell into poison ivy after jumping off that tomb?"
"Hey!" Spike said, his voice wavering. "That hurt, okay? You should know, you always walk around with a stick up your ass!"
It took him a surprising amount of time to realize what he'd said. Buffy's smirk was what told him first. She tsked.
"Bugger." He muttered under his breath.
"I don't know what you're planning, now, but listen," The smirk was gone, now, in place a menacing look accompanied with a dangerous glint in her eyes, "If you try to hurt any of my friends, you'll suffer. I swear to God, Spike, I'll make you suffer, make you scream. I let you off that stint with Adam, but that doesn't mean that you'll—" She broke off when she realized he had a hollow look in his eyes. "Are you even listening to me!" She demanded.
"Huh?" Spike shook out of the stupor her words, 'make you suffer, make you scream', had sent him into. "Oh, right luv, sorry, won't follow you again."
Her suspicious expression didn't disappear, only deepened.
"Really!"
She sighed. "Try to make it more convincing next time. I'm too tired to fight anymore, Spike. Leave me alone."
"With pleasure," Spike remarked, half turning but freezing to watch her turn and retreat. As he watched her body sway to the beat of her heart, something hit him. He called out, "Hey, Slayer, innit Friday today?"
She froze. And slowly turned to face him, a guarded expression on her face. "Yeah." Her vice was flat. "So?"
"So?" Spike sauntered forwards to stand directly in front of her, a grin blossoming in his face. "Where's Cap'n Cardboard? Don't you patrol together on Fridays?"
Rather than be creeped out that Spike had her schedule memorized, the hard line of Buffy's mouth wavered as she said, "R-Riley's gone."
Spike's grin vanished when he saw the sparkle in her eyes, knowing it wasn't the steely Slayer glint anymore. Rather, it was an expression of a lost little girl... "Gone?" He echoed. "As in?"
"As in left, moved out, disappeared, not here!" Her voice became firm, now, and he knew she was trying not to cry. "We broke up." The last sentence was hardly a whisper and he wouldn't have heard it were it not for his preternatural senses.
Spike swallowed. He didn't know what to say to that... The joy welling deep inside him wouldn't comfort her, he knew. But he didn't want to lie. "Slayer," He started, only to have her put up one hand in the universal feminine gesture to stop.
"Can't take any more of you tonight, Spike." Buffy looked away, fingers tightening around her stake, too angry, or upset, for use of pronouns. "Leave me alone."
And without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away, leaving a trail of ashes for him to continue to follow, moodily now, to make sure she got home properly.
Joyce Summers rubbed her temples slowly, in a circular motion, willing the headache away. She tried to concentrate on the files before her, but she knew that in a matter of minutes, she would be heading to the kitchen, into the comforts of chamomile tea.
She didn't waste time, now. Closing the file that held the list of purchases for the fall exhibition at her gallery, Joyce left her office slowly, as though movement would cause her temples to throb further. She made it down the stairs, and halfway across the foyer before the bell rang.
With a deep sigh, she turned around and walked to the door, lifting up to her toes to see who was calling so late. It was usually just one lonely vampire who came to raid her kitchen of mini marshmallows, but Spike had said he would be busy today. She squinted out into the dark, seeing nothing at first, but then noticing a red head, very close to the door.
At once, she opened the door and let Willow in. "Willow, hi, what..." Joyce broke off when she noticed that not much of Willow's front was visible.
"Hey, Mrs. Summers." Willow's voice came from somewhere behind the huge paper bag she was carrying in her arms, overflowing with odd objects that were as alien to Joyce as art was to Buffy. "Um, could you please help me a little, Mrs. Summers..."
"Oh!" Joyce pulled her eyes away from a jar that contained something that looked suspiciously like human nails, and moved forwards to help her daughter's friend. "Of course!"
Holding the heavy bag together, the two women walked into the living room where they deposited it on the floor, leaning against an armchair. Willow let out a huge sigh and sank into the chair while Joyce stood beside her, trying to catch her breath.
"That was quite some task," She said, moving back to the foyer to shut the front door. "What in the world have you got in there?"
"Oh, just stuff for some spells," Willow said, smiling as Joyce sat down next to her. "I'm trying to make this really old, important ingredient for a really... well, old and important charm."
"Ah." Joyce smiled, unsure of what to say, fazed in the face of witchcraft. "So... you'll make the ingredient, and then make the spell?"
"Well, it's complicated," Willow admitted, "But I'm hoping it'll work out."
"Good. I hope it does."
"Me, too." Willow nodded.
The two sat in silence for a while before Joyce, brightening, said, "I've forgotten my manners!" She stood up and asked, "So, what do you want to drink, Willow? It's awfully hot outside, Buffy's been complaining all day. Do you want some lemonade? Or a soda?" She moved towards the kitchen, and Willow got up to follow.
"Oh, I catch a cold if I have cold drinks too quickly after coming in from the heat. But tea would be nice." Willow suddenly perked up. "I know! I'll make us some!"
"Oh, no, Willow," Joyce pulled out the kettle, glad she had an excuse for the tea she was craving. "I'll make it quickly."
Willow grinned and pointed at the cups that Joyce had pulled out for the tea. "Can't be quicker than me," She said, winking as a slight, hissing noise emanated from behind Joyce.
Frowning, Joyce turned to see the cups full to the brim with tea. The scent of chamomile drifted up to her and she turned to smile admiringly at Willow. "That's amazing!"
"Just a trick I taught myself during the finals," Willow confided, settling down at the kitchen table on a stool.
"I see." Joyce sipped her hot tea. Looking surprised, she said, "It's great!"
"Been practising." Willow took a deep gulp of her own tea before looking around inquiringly. "Is Buffy in?"
"No, Willow." Joyce sighed. "She's out patrolling."
"Oh." Willow bit her lip as though to hold in her words. They jumped out anyway. "She's taxing herself, don't you think?"
"Definitely." Joyce nodded her agreement. "Classes, then she helps me at work, then patrolling. It's a wonder, if she even finds any time for herself."
"Which she really needs, especially now that Riley's gone." Willow sighed. "How're you feeling, Mrs. Summers? Buffy told me you went to the doctor today. What did he say?"
Joyce smiled. "Thank you, Willow, I'm a bit better, but I couldn't get the doctor today. He was tackling an emergency case." She frowned a little as a thought hit her. "Buffy told you I've been ill?"
Willow shrugged slightly. "Well, we tend to bug her till she talks about whatever's bothering her. It lets her blow off steam. Also," She added, "You do need a reason to move out of your dorm room, of course."
"I told her not to, you know." Joyce's forehead was heavily creased, now. "I told her I could take care of myself. But you know her. Always wanting to help, even when it really isn't needed..."
"I don't believe that." Willow declared. "Buffy thinks you need a hand around the gallery, then perhaps you do. She had good judgement, you know."
"Except where her heart is concerned."
A slight, sad smile marred Willow's lips. "No, even then, she comes through."
Joyce's mind flew to when her daughter had to kill her first love. She nodded. "You're right."
They sat in companionable silence, sipping tea for a while, before Willow burst out, "She has a rescue complex, though. Even outside slaying."
Joyce nodded. "I'm glad her friends understand that."
Willow grinned and gulped down what little was left of her tea. Standing up, she said, "Thanks, Mrs. Summers. We need to do this more often."
Joyce laughed. "I'm always free, Willow. Come whenever you want."
They walked to the living room and Joyce helped willow hoist her bag up again. "How are you going to carry that thing?" She asked at the porch.
"Well, I carried it all the way from the Magic Box," Willow's voice was muffled by the bag, again. "I just tend to give out when I see someone I know."
Joyce laughed and said, "Take care, Willow. Good night!"
"Night, Mrs. Summers!"
Joyce watched the little redhead walk away before going back in and shutting off the lamps in the living room. With a glance at the clock and a sigh, she made her way upstairs, not noticing the forgotten piece of paper by the chair on which Willow had sat.
