Rating: R
Disclaimer: All BtVS characters belong to Joss
DARK TIDESBy Saj
Chapter 1
HungerThrough the deep eyes of this,
my night
I seep into the past
on the wings of a dream that looks past me.
Song of Remembrance
Julia de Burgos
She was 14. It was happening, the change. A little more energy, a little more bounce, a tentative reaching out with her senses. Her inner radar starting to activate, scanning and registering information in a sense code, bypassing her cognitive mind. An inner force was winding its way though her, steadily peeling her open to know the world as only a Slayer can.
Health science class just didn't quite nail it. The heightened sense of awareness, the increase in strength and agility, the urgency she felt at sunset to head out in pursuit of something she couldn't name. She was seriously suspecting that the intense alertness and readiness that came over her in the middle of the night was not a common adolescent experience. Her new intuitive sensitivity was due to more than the surging of hormones.
Then Merrick found her. His explanations were the only ones that made any sense, and they were unbelievable. Vampires. Slayer. Who would have thought? What a strange and wild world she lived in--and one could say what a strange and wild world lived in her.
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She walked slowly, a wooden stake artfully held in her right hand. It was a misty evening. Cool heavy moisture floated in the air, slowly soaking into her light jacket and gathering around her face and knit cap. A watery film formed over the bulky backpack she was carrying. Crickets were making the only noise that she was picking up. She loved that about September. The sweet pulsing of their call that would abruptly stop as she passed by. She had just begun her evening patrol, starting in the cemetery on the west side of town. Things were quiet tonight. She felt a peaceful solitude bordering on an ache. During the summer Xander and Dawn had frequently accompanied her. But tonight she needed to be alone.
In the past few months she had found herself pulling out and reviewing her past, as if laying out pieces of a puzzle. While Willow did her grieving and sorting in England, she did hers here. Xander had stayed with Willow in London for the first month, and then returned. Anya had disappeared. The Magic Box remained a burnt out hull of what it had been.
When Dawn wasn't spending time with her friends, they'd sometimes go shopping or to the beach. She seemed to be doing okay.
There were times when they could both feel Tara's presence as if she were strolling through the house. One afternoon she had found Dawn sitting where Tara had fallen. She was so still that Buffy had felt a chill of uneasiness run through her. Dawn had opened her eyes as if coming out of a dream and looked over at her. "I can feel her. If I'm really still and quiet, I can feel Tara." Buffy had sat next to her and put an arm around her, sitting so still she could feel their heartbeats. They had sat quietly together for a long time, breathing in Tara's generous and strong energy.
Xander didn't smile easily these days. When he wasn't at his construction job, he had taken to hanging out and working on her house. It was as if he thought that he could rebuild their lives, one nail at a time. The Council had finally agreed to give Buffy a monthly stipend, as well as a lump sum as back pay. Apparently, the recent apocalyptical threat had loosened their pocketbooks. She had used some of the money for building materials so Xander could remodel the basement into a new training room. He had approached the project with such an intensity that the air around him seemed to quietly burn.
Shattered and healing beings, all of them.
At least she wanted to be here now. The numb rage at being sucked back into her life had dissolved, leaving her feeling more like herself than she had since before Glory hit town. Yet, she wasn't the same. None of them would ever be the same.
Dawn joined her and Xander on patrol several times a week. She took to it with a skill and delight that was both a pleasure and a fear to watch. They would head home after a few hours and Buffy would then switch into serious slayer mode. It would be during these times, when she was centered in her slayer energy in the middle of the night, alone, that she found herself taking apart her life and putting it back together again, over and over, until the pieces started to fit.
She was changing. Her fighting was quicker, stronger and more precise. Her dreams were more frequent and clear. A new level was opening within her, reminding her of when the slayer energy first hit at 14.
Merrick had managed to convince her that she had a unique, if not extremely weird, calling. She began to understand a little about the primal powers that had been taking form within her. If it hadn't been for the dreams, she would have enjoyed it. A quiet zingy feeling flowed through her. She had felt it in her blood, a humming current like a deep river. Merrick had said it was her slayer chi--the flow of her life essence. Whatever. It was good.
But the dreams. Even now, years later, they remained alive, lying just below the surface, like a dark force watching for openings.
Colors, smells, voices, journeys through times and cultures, painted in blood and death. Sometimes, all of history seemed to be showing itself to her in her dreams, as if she were living and dying repeatedly, forever. Endless battles, hand to hand with faceless vampires. Then, her inevitable death, over and over. Only to come back again. Another body, another time, another vampire.
Did she have a premonition, even then, that death was hers only to give, not to have? She didn't think so, not really. She didn't analyze her dreams then; they just happened, leaving behind fragmented feelings and images. It had been Giles who had paid close attention to her dreams, guiding her in their meanings, showing her that she was connected to something very large and insistent. It was only then that she understood symbolic messages were bleeding into her consciousness while she slept.
As she thought back, she could see that pieces were showing themselves then that she was only now starting to put together. Like the death puzzle. She felt a dark tremor pass through her as she recalled the horror she felt when she found herself alive again, walking through the streets of Sunnydale in a wild daze, wondering if she had somehow been thrown into hell. She had felt a sickness of spirit, a sense of raging defeat in the days and months that followed. Would she always be brought back? If not by Willow or Xander, by some other unforeseen force unwilling to let her go? She came to believe that she would never be allowed to know death. Not the finality and peace of it. Whatever claimed her, whatever this was that made her the Slayer, it did not seem to end, ever.
Now, when she became frightened, not of death, but of not dying, she would remember her experience of what had seemed like heaven. That had been real. In that realm she had been whole, complete, and filled with a sense of peace. She now believed that when she died a part of her would be released to return there.
Yet, the part of her that carried the slayer lineage would never die. That primal energy would move forward into another form, always taking shape and existence. Part of her was this simple being made up of personal history and temperament, and the other part, the more powerful and determining aspect, was made from something as old and enduring as time.
As she had calmly and clearly laid out these pieces, that was what she had come to. And it had settled in as only something that is true does.
A thought popped into her head, surprising her. With a few slight differences, she was kind of like a vampire. She was called to fight chaos and evil, and they were driven to create it, but aside from that, they had some things in common. To be a Slayer or a vampire was to be sucked into a force as compelling as the tides. This was a new thought for her and it was startling. She squirmed a little as a new-felt tinge of compassion wormed its way through her. One day they're going on with their little human life, and the next they're in game face, talking with a lisp, looking for a neck to chomp on. Must have been a shock. She could understand that.
Did they ever experience the kind of fatigue she felt, the bone-deep tiredness of existing outside, apart? Probably not, she decided. At least not in her neighborhood--they didn't live that long.
She wondered what her life would look like if she thought she would live to, say, 60--hell, even 40. As it was, she didn't know of any slayers who had made it past 25. She was shooting for 30, herself. God, what would it be like to not have to live with the question--is this the night? No matter how good she was, or how prepared, the time would come when a vamp or some other Big Bad would luck out. It's just statistics and the nature of the job. Family, friends, Watcher, or not. It's the inevitable that hangs in thin air, waiting for its moment.
Buffy sat down on a tombstone that had fallen on its side, making it a convenient place to stop for a minute. The soft smooth crush of her expensive leather pants against her skin, comforted her. She put her hands to her temples and closed her eyes. Oh, headache. This was more probing-like philosophical thinking than she was used to.
Hello. Her slayer sense was whistling and whizzing. Turning quickly to her right she spotted a young female vampire emerging from the earth about five feet away. This was too easy, she thought, and realized she would welcome a little tussle about now to shake off the gloom. Oh, well, it can't always be an adrenaline rush, she thought with a slump of disappointment. As the female form brushed off the last of the dirt from her black lace blouse, she looked around. Buffy stood in front of her. "Hi. Sorry about this, but really, it's for the best. You'd be miserable here, trust me." As the vamp looked at her with a confused and dazed expression, Buffy brought the stake home with a movement so fast it could hardly be seen. Dust fluttered into the moist night air and fell to the ground like tiny wet moths.
Thank God it wasn't always so boring, or her death wish would get the best of her. But, she had to admit, slaying beat working at the Doublemeat Palace. She imagined her job satisfaction probably rated higher than most. Of course, it wasn't a normal job and it was a bit hard when people asked her what kind of work she did. Graveyard maintenance. Night shift. People looked at her with undisguised pity and only slightly masked horror. But, hey, no more chicken hat. Although there were nights she was tempted to pull it out and wear it on patrol, just for shock value.
She adjusted her backpack and took stock of where she was. She had made her way into the central part of town where the oldest cemetery was. Peaceful Acres. There were mausoleums here as large as her house. Many of the gravestones were hand carved and had been imported from Italy. She liked passing through here. The trees were old and stood around her like silent queens of the underworld, keeping her company as she walked through their realm. She stood still a moment, letting the environment register through her senses. Quiet. Old, artsy and quiet. She continued walking, and began thinking about how hard she had tried to believe she could be normal.
When she was new at the slayer thing, she had thought she could manipulate it. Be normal by day; control the vampire population at night. No biggie. A little shopping, a little time with friends at the Bronze, a little slaughtering of vamps before bed—just a little different than other girls' lives.
Now she knew, had finally completely accepted, that she would never be normal. There was something about trying to kill all her friends and Dawn in an effort to enter the world of everydayness that woke her up. Nope, no "normal" for her. She had stopped being normal the very moment the primal biological wheel of slayer karma began to unwind itself in her sentient adolescent cells.
Angel should have been her first clue. She had felt a draw towards him that was as compelling as the force that pulled her to slay vampires. From that first moment of contact, she had felt it.
Their bodies screamed from the intensity of the burning energy caught between them--warm slayer flesh and cool vampire skin pressing, reaching hungrily for the other. She was shaking, not from the wet cold, but from being about to step off a precipice. An abyss of hunger and need was consuming her, opening her spirit and body to his. A wildfire of need burst forth, as if it had been smoldering for centuries, waiting for this moment to ignite. Unsure, caught off guard, she pulled back slightly. Angel's mouth pushed harder against hers--his tongue exploring with an urgency, a growl rumbling up from his chest. Pulling her closer to him, his fingers expertly exploring and stroking her, he whispered and groaned of his love, like a tortured animal. His body trembled from the effort of moving slowly, being gentle. He morphed into game face and began entering her. His fangs caressed her flesh, just breaking the skin-- his tongue followed the curve of neck to the soft hollow of her throat. As Buffy traced the thickened ridges and edges of his demonic face with her fingertips, she felt herself dissolving into something fierce and predatory. Holding back, holding back, keeping control. Not here. This isn't about that. Angel pushed deeper, breaking through the tender virginal membrane, causing slight waves of exquisite pain to ripple up into her belly and rise into a hungry moan escaping from her throat. The tender depth of their feelings for each other were cast aside into an ocean of hunger and craving that demanded a violence of possession—that howled for satiation. Looking at her with an expression of soft shock, he groaned, "God, Buffy..." and then his effort at gentle initiation gave way, and he took her violently, loudly, and with such force it would have crushed and broken her if she hadn't been the slayer. She wrapped her strong legs around him, holding him to her, moving with him, against him, pulling, biting, scratching, riding him until she came with a need that drove her to sink her teeth deeply into his shoulder, his blood flowing into her mouth as a predatory growl came up from her depths.
She remembered catching a look in Angel's eyes, as he lay staring at her, at them, afterward. She had eased closer to him, his strength, solidness. Keeping her fears at bay, she had asked, "Is this how it usually is?" He had looked at her, the way he did when there was something that needed to be said directly. "There's an energy between us I've never felt before. With vampires, well, sex can be, often is, rough, even dangerous. But, you, and I—there's something between us that is wilder than I've ever known." He had rolled over and pulled her on top of him, stroking her back. It was then that she had noticed the bloodstains on the sheets. His blood, not hers. Kissing her slowly, he had said, "Making love with you is like swimming in fire." Shaken by the primal passion that lay between them, they had held on to each other as they fell asleep, unsure of what their union had the potential to unleash.
Angelus. She cringed as she remembered his cruelty. You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro. Words meant to cut into her spirit and powers. Bells ringing, fireworks, a dulcent choir of pretty little birdies? Come on Buffy. It's not like I've never been there before. She realized now that he had been terrified because he knew she would destroy him.
Her lovemaking with Angel held a ragged hunger and heartbreak that she had tightly wrapped up and stored away in the attic of her longings. The more she had been with him, the more insistent her primal energies had become. She had assumed that was a normal part of falling in love.
It had been her experience with Riley that had brought home the difference. Sleeping with Riley had a sweetness and safety to it that she took refuge in. Her body had felt rocked and aroused in a gentle quiet way, content to never fully awaken. She hadn't worried about finding herself on the edge of a precipice, losing control, falling into a primality that could devour her. Being with Riley never came close to igniting the passion and power of that first and only time with Angel. Not because she didn't love him, not because he wasn't a skilled and passionate lover, and not because she didn't desire him.
God, what it had taken for her to be willing to finally see the truth about herself?
Spike.
He tasted like sex. Tracing across his pectoral muscle with her tongue, she took a nipple between her teeth, pulling and biting, while her hands traveled and clawed their way down his back.
She took a deep breath, remembering. The vibration of his being, the animal strength and vampire agility, tempered by time and experience. She had yearned for him on a cellular level, from the core of her being. She had wanted to devour him, take him into her as fully and completely as she had ever wanted to kill him.
Throwing her on to her back, he balanced himself just inches above her. As their eyes met, an electric aliveness traveled between them, signaling they were each ready and alert for the next move. Laughing, a full delicious laugh, she shoved him hard. He flew across the crypt, hitting the wall, his paper-thin skin grazing against lit candles. Spike's eyes grew wide. Sending her a slow grin, he said, "You bitch." Snaking towards her, he added, "Shouldn't play with fire, pet." Then moving lightning fast, knocking over a table and lamp in the process, he grabbed her ankle as she tried to stand and leap away. Before she could kick him with her free leg, he was on top of her, pinning her, spreading her legs apart. Breathing hard, needing him inside of her, she struggled with all her strength to push him away. "No use fighting me Slayer." His face, vibrating with desire and power, came closer, his fiery blue eyes drilling into hers. "Say it." Fighting against him, while hoping he would not loosen his grip, she accepted with relief that she was overpowered. "Say it," he whispered fiercely. Her legs spread, his cock pressing against her, ready. "Never." Her voice quivered unconvincingly. His mouth fell roughly over hers, kissing and biting until her lips hurt. His tongue moved forcefully inside her mouth. The tip of his cock pressed against her, ready to push inside, and she moaned, "Okay, okay." He pressed into her just slightly and withdrew. "Say it, Slayer." Rolling her head away and arching her hips toward him, she whispered, "Uncle, you bastard. Now fuck me." Laughing, he pushed into her fully, keeping her pinned while they moved against and into each other, until she came, screaming and biting into his flesh.
After several more rounds, he had said, "The things you do..the way you make it hurt in all the wrong places. I've never been with such an animal." Angel had implied as much, but with way more tact. She had finally let go, her primal sexual desires showing themselves with Spike. He had met her move for move, hunger for hunger. The intensity between them would take them to an edge at times where she wasn't sure if they were going to fuck or kill each other. And, in those moments, it was hard to say which she wanted most.
She wasn't sure just when the truth finally took hold, staring her down until she couldn't lie to herself any longer. Spike had said it, and she had wanted to kill him for it. I'm just saying…vampires make you hot. He knew that the electrical heat between them, a vampire and a slayer, fucking, threw the world out of kilter a notch. And he had reveled in it. He had tried to possess her through his lovemaking with the same fierce need and hunger he brought to battle. He had been willing to be consumed in an effort to claim her.
Sex with Spike had been amazing--a bloody revelation, touching into the very core of their primal energies.
A slayer is biologically attuned to vampiric energy. And she was now suspecting that she needed their energy almost as basically and essentially as they needed blood. That was where her life force flamed and burned.
Faith had been the first to say it, and had seemed disbelieving that Buffy didn't appreciate the basicness of it. Hey, slaying's what we were built for. If you're not enjoying it, you're doing something wrong. Buffy remembered the feeling of her face becoming hot, ashamed at being so exposed. She had tried to convince herself that her nightly dances with vamps were acts of civic duty--a dirty job, but someone had to do it. And, lucky her. She had been called. She had been unable to handle, to know where to put, the pleasure and aliveness that came over her as she battled and slay demons. Faith had pushed her, You're a liar. I've seen you. Tell me staking a vamp doesn't get you a little bit juiced. Come on, say it. You can't fool me. The look in your eyes right after a kill? You just get hungry for more.
Hunger. Taking out vampires was a craving, a need, a pleasure….a turn-on. And sex-- well, to paraphrase Spike, The only thing better than killing a vampire was fucking one.
Just then, a blurring of movement rushed toward her, jerking her out of her thoughts. Her body senses were singing, readying for the fight faster than her mind could track it. The fact was, this was almost all body, maybe 2% mind. She ducked as he swung his fist at her face. She swerved in the opposite direction, and watched for an opening, stake in hand. He was large, well built. Could have been a football player from high school. As he lunged at her, she easily stepped aside, and asked, "Hey, have we met?" She had seen that look of surprise before. Unless they knew she was the Slayer, coming across her was always a shock. She could have staked him quickly in that instant, but fact was, she needed a little more action. She kicked him hard in the chest, sending him flying, then walked towards him as he stood up. "Let's see, maybe the senior prom? Hmm. Oh, I remember. You were with the cheerleader with the nose piercing. A gross but powerful fashion statement." A fearful anger crossed his face as he replied, "Slayer. You're smaller than I thought. Hardly a snack." He faked a swing, and as she ducked, he caught her with a solid punch across her jaw. She smiled at the contact. She needed that. But, hey, enough was enough. She had a patrol to finish. "I'm definitely more than a snack. And you're…" she said as she pulled into his punch and bounced back to stake him precisely through his heart, "dust."
Life was so much better since she gave herself permission to enjoy her job. She almost hummed to herself.
Buffy pulled off her backpack and zipped open a pocket, pulling out a soda. Diet of course. She sat down under a tree, perching herself on one of its large extending roots. The night felt strange. Quiet. Something's off. What is it? She looked up into the stars, and for a moment she could hear the ocean, which was odd since she was miles from the surf. Hmm. Taking a sip of soda, she stretched and flexed her muscles, and found herself thinking of Spike.
Where was he? His crypt sat empty since Clem had moved out a couple of weeks ago. He said he wasn't sure if Spike was coming back. There were things about Spike she wasn't sure of, but that wasn't one of them. He always came back.
It was that vampire thing, the best she could figure out. Why she had kissed him that night at the Bronz. She had felt shaken and numb with anger after Willow's crazy spell. One moment she had been cleverly dropping puns and fighting vampires with a relish, and the next she was thrown back into her hell world, lying on the ground looking up at Spike as he had offered her his hand. And it had enraged her. He had enraged her. Her desire to pull him to her and lose herself in him had enraged her.
She had decided to go home, take a hot bath, and try to sleep. But her body had other ideas. She had felt his presence, the way she always did. A singsong buzz had radiated in her chest telling her he was nearby. Her good intentions headed for the door, and her slayer body had headed for Spike like a heat-seeking missile. The next thing she knew she had walked up to him and jerked his head down to hers, kissing him with the hunger of someone starving to death. His mouth had responded with an equal intensity and need. The deadness of her body had dissolved like chunks of ice breaking off an iceberg as a spring of volcanic heat rose up from within her. She had felt the warming of her center vibrate up through her lips, sucking his vampiric energy into her, igniting frozen cells into pools of living flesh. His roving hands had sent waves of life into her wherever they touched. The sexual hunger radiating between them had created a whirlpool of aliveness that had carried her back into the realm of the living.
She had gone home that night feeling alive for the first time since having returned. She had also felt like dirt. How could she let him touch her? How did something as evil as he have the power to cause such hot life to stir in her? What was she that he could do that to her?
And, she had kept going to him. Her hungers pulling at her with a force that had proved impossible to resist. Do you even like me? All she had allowed herself to know was that she could not stay away from him. But you like what I do to you. And he had accepted that, and did what he did to her with a passion and artistry that was breathtaking. The fierceness, freedom and hunger in their lovemaking had literally brought her back to life. She wondered if he knew he had saved her.
She stopped her slow contemplative walking, twirling her stake in her hand. She had left the central part of town and was now at the last peripheral cemetery, the one where Spike's crypt was, further ahead. She looked around. The grounds were untended and overgrown. The gravestones were crumbling and crawling with weeds. Antique rose bushes had taken over in places, creating strange rambling forms. Lavender, wisteria and honeysuckle grew wild and twisted and twirled up and around endless cracks and crevices. In the summer the scent was so rich as to be overwhelming. There was a quiet passion rooted here that took bloom each season despite complete lack of care.
She walked over to a concrete bench with a crack running through it. She had been here many times--this particular spot. And here, on this purposeful walk of readiness in other young female forms. Recently different slayers had appeared in her dreams and seemed to be trying to talk to her in a language that she couldn't quite decipher. Her body had a sense of the meanings, but the translation hadn't made it to her brain as yet.
The one truth that seemed obvious, was that there was a living connection between her and previous slayers. A mysterious knowledge was being passed to her vividly and passionately while she slept.
Surprising her, and not, Spike was almost always in these dreams.
The first dream was of Kendra--disciplined, tender, innocent Kendra. A virgin slayer trained by old men. She wasn't a virgin in the dream.
Her body lay spread across the library floor, only not lifeless and wet with blood as Buffy last remembered her. This time, she was nude, her warrior's body glistening. Spike lay atop of her, his sinewy form luminously white against her dark skin, entering her with a slow rhythm, stroking her hair as she moaned.
"That's it, love," he said softly, as to a child, "I've got you." He leaned forward, kissing her tenderly on her forehead, eyes, her half open mouth. "It'll be quick," he whispered as he stroked her left breast, letting his hand rest gently over her heart. Buffy could feel his desire and love, as palpable as the air she was breathing. Kendra looked over at her, their eyes meeting across time. The space between them opened into a still silence, leaving the movements of sexual heat far behind, as in a dim cool corridor. Buffy was not separate from Kendra, and yet she was. She felt her hand move, reaching to the right of her bare hip for Kendra's favored stake. She slowly wrapped her hand around it, ready. She could feel the hardness of Spike inside her, moving confidently, surely, with a gentleness that made her shiver in cold horror. Then she felt herself plummet into a fire of passion that was as hot as death, and as far away, or as close.
She gasped, and looking up was caught in the icy blue clarity of his eyes. She clutched the precise and sharp wooden weapon in her hand as she came, pulsing with waves of ecstatic release. At that moment, Spike pushed deeper inside her, while burying his razor sharp fangs into her jugular vein with a soft low growl. Her ready grip loosened, the stake softly rolling from her fingers to the floor, coming to a final stillness as her blood drained from her body in a sensual flow whispering of freedom. The darkly velvet peace that came over her, was a balm sweeter than the heaven she had been pulled from. His voice gently fell around her like a soft blanket, "Rest, love."
She had awakened from the dream with her face wet from tears, her soul drenched with a vision of unalterable future.
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Buffy looked up. The door to Spike's crypt was directly in front of her, not a foot from her nose. Vines of climbing wisteria had wrapped themselves around the entryway as if announcing the inevitable entanglements that lie within. The still emptiness of the chamber seemed to send chilling whispers into the air.
There was a quietness she could have sliced with her stake. Even the crickets' throbbing calls had dropped away. She felt her chest soften as a sigh escaped, easing the bittersweet tension that had gathered around her throat.
Why did this mixture of tension, sadness and anger come up when she came here? Buffy leaned against the stone archway. She remembered a talk she had with Giles as they walked along the beach just before he had left for England
"Giles, I need to talk with you about something. And it's hard for me. It's, you know, about Spike."
He seemed a little absentminded. "Hmmm. About Spike? Did you know there are at least three theses based on him? He's quite captured the imagination of the Council's graduate students. But I'm sure that's not what you have on your mind. Ah, go on."
Hmm. Not quite with the program here. Okay. "Well, it's actually about more than Spike. I've been thinking a lot about, well, sex. About being a slayer and sex. And vampires." She stopped and looked out towards the ocean, hoping for guidance.
"Ah, well, you know you can talk to me about anything. I may make small cringing movements as if to run, but please, continue." He smiled. "Really, go on. We've all been there. Well, maybe not with vampires…but, one can imagine."
Buffy looked down at her feet, not feeling like this was getting easier. "Giles, I'm beginning to feel I might have better luck giving Ann Landers a call. Are you with me here?"
"Yes, sorry. The last few days have been, well, I'm just not quite myself yet. You do know Ann Landers died recently? But really, you can talk to me about anything. Okay, the subject at hand. Sex with vampires. Not just Spike then. I take it we're including your experience with Angel in this discussion. Or, have there been more than…?
"God, Giles. No. Angel and Spike. Vampires. Me, the slayer, and sex with vampires. Just two of them."
"Yes, of course. Ah, I would imagine that sleeping with vampires is an experience of its own, different than…well, say with mere mortals, so to speak."
Whew, at last. That teleporting spell must have wiped out a sizeable chunk of his brain cells. "Giles, with Angel and Spike, it was way different than with Riley. Like off the map. I can't help but wonder if it's, you know…something about vampires, and me--a slayer."
Giles had picked up speed, and was walking so fast that Buffy had moved into a light jog in order to keep up. "Well, yes, if what I have been researching lately is correct, it would seem that sexual relations between slayers and vampires involve some unique, ah, dynamics and energies." He abruptly come to a stop and turned to face her. "Can you say a little more about what you mean by off the map?" He was making every effort to appear at ease. At least he hadn't taken off his glasses yet. She read that as a good sign.
Okay. "With Angel I felt an intense primal energy come over me, like a predator thing. It was extremely powerful. That was there with Spike too, but so were other things. It was more complicated with Spike. Except, simpler, you know, since he didn't turn into his evil, or, eviler, twin. Anyway, with Spike, it was as if we were connected on some deep, almost animal level. And I felt like I could take in his energy, like I could breath, eat, drink it in and it made me stronger, more alive. There was something about being with him that seemed so basic and compelling that it made me think it might have something to do with our biology, you know, as vampire and slayer." She looked down, and then said. "Now would be a good time to burst out laughing."
He smiled and laughed lightly. "I'm sure that would help some. I know this is a difficult subject." He looked at her calmly, though his forehead burrowed into lines of concern. "I've come across some resources the Council is unaware of. I had thought it best to wait until you were adjusted to being back and feeling stronger before bringing up some of what I've been researching." He motioned to a bench nearby and they walked over and sat down.
"It would seem that you are not the first slayer to find herself sexually involved with a vampire. There are actually a number of accounts I have come across. I found it startling at first, and then it began to make sense. Apparently there is a powerful energy exchange that occurs, such as what you have described. For slayers, as far as I can tell, a temporary biological enhancement takes place through the intake of vampire energy through sex. And vampires experience a certain amount of that as well, though not as profoundly. For vampires it is the blood of slayers that provides a biological boost, sometimes amazingly so." He looked at her tentatively.
Oh, was he asking if Spike had drunk from her? Surely, not. And Spike hadn't. At least, not from her neck. Hmm. "Ah,…what kind of amazing boost?"
Giles raised an eyebrow, and began combing his fingers through his hair. "Again, Buffy, this is new research, and there's yet much to put together. Most of this new information is based on slayers' journals that we discovered archived at the Council library. Additionally, we have recently come into contact with a witch who claims to have direct knowledge of a slayer culture existing totally separate from the Council. But to answer your question, …"
Huh? "Wait a minute. Back up.
There are slayer journals?
Journals of slayers who slept with vampires? There's a slayer culture out there without me in it? Giles, this is a hell of a lot of new
information. How long have you known
these things?"
"Buffy, like I said, this is new research. After returning to England, I was introduced to a relative of Olivia's who, by coincidence, had worked in the Council library for several years. As we came to know each other we discovered we had similar views and agendas regarding the Council. Recently she started sharing some of her private research with me. Turns out she has put onto microfilm hundreds of slayers' journals that had been forgotten in the Council's archives."
A hard, angry feeling passed through her. "Giles, it was you who returned my journals to me when I came back. I thought you had taken them for safekeeping."
He took a deep breath, and studied his hands for a minute. "A slayer's journals, along with her Watcher's, are obtained as soon as possible after a slayer dies. In actual practice, it is the Watchers' journals that are studied. The slayers' journals are placed in archives and are more or less forgotten. They're dismissed as insignificant, which has actually been a stroke of luck. The most powerful and amazing information has come to light with these records." He paused, and then looked at her. "Buffy, your journals are important. Future slayers' lives may depend on having access to what you have experienced and learned. Because of that, I did not give them to the Council. I reported that you didn't keep diaries, and surrendered only mine." He paused, and then continued, "I instead allowed your journals to be put on microfilm for use in our continuing research outside of the Council. When I learned of your return, I had the microfilm and all research related to your journals destroyed."
Buffy felt more than a little dazed. She remembered when she had tried to find out more about how previous slayers had been killed, and the Watcher's diaries were all she had. Yeah, a dead slayer may not write much, but the days and months before her death could yield a wealth of information. And, sure, she'd want her diaries available to future slayers. After a certain amount of editing—like a lot. But no way were they going to the Council. This was just too much.
"Let's walk some more Giles. Only this time, don't leave me in the dust." They started walking again, at a steady pace, heads down. "I don't know what to think. Slayer journals. Wow. How handy. If only I'd known."
"I'm sorry. I should have informed you of what I was uncovering. I just didn't think it was immediately relevant, or that you were ready to use this new information. If I had known…."
She'd have to sort out the slayer culture thing later. "Okay, let's get back to this temporary biological enhancement stuff. So, what I said, what I felt was happening, it was true. You know, with Spike."
"Buffy, it makes perfect sense that in your state you would have turned to Spike. You were almost completely depleted of your slayer energy when you were resurrected. And the emotional trauma must have added considerably to the difficulty of your recovery." He was silent a moment, considering something. Then he said, "The slayer part of you knew what you needed, and, perhaps, you were lucky that Spike was, ah, available."
"Yeah, pretty available. Lucky. That's me." Buffy recalled the feeling of aliveness that had come over her the night she had kissed Spike at the Bronz. "Giles, it was like all circuits were blown open and Spike's energy just poured into me. And I had to have it."
Giles stopped walking and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "You know, it's just possible you could have come across a worse cure."
Buffy felt confused and then realized he was playing with her, and she began to laugh, and then they laughed together. "Yeah, if you need unthawing, Spike's the one to call. He got those slayer cells rock and rolling in record time."
The space between them opened and relaxed. Giles reached out and touched her hair. "Buffy, I don't mean to make light of this. I know it must have felt frightening to be so drawn to him, from such a primal level, and to not know why, or be able to stop it. You must have felt extremely confused."
She felt tears forming. "It was awful. I felt like I didn't come back right. I couldn't understand how I could go to Spike that way. He's evil and I would have killed him long ago if he didn't have that chip. And there I was sleeping with him. I thought I must have come back twisted in some dark way." She felt her voice break and looked down. "I couldn't stop going to him, Giles. It took a long time before I felt strong enough to end it."
Giles looked surprised. "Buffy, Spike is what he is. But he has his redeeming qualities. One of which is an unshakable love for you and Dawn. You didn't grab a fledgling vampire for a one-night stand while patrolling, or ring up Dracula. Yes, you experienced a primal drive towards regeneration through sex, but I don't believe for a minute that that was all that drove you to Spike."
Buffy stared at Giles dumbfounded, at a loss for words, as she experienced an emotional, mental, and spiritual traffic jam.
She couldn't move. She stood still and stared teary eyed into the blueness of the sea. A huge aching sadness surfaced that she couldn't place.
She felt tired, not sure if she wanted to know much more. Surely, there couldn't be much more. "Anything more? You know, about slayers and vampires, and so forth."
Taking a breath, he continued with some hesitation. "In short, it would seem that slayers are extremely sensitive to the energy of vampires. Part of the biological change that occurs in a slayer at adolescence involves not only the evolution of a specialized hypersensitivity, but of a constitution that is actually reenergized when interacting with vampires. Such as in slaying. Or, as in, ah, sex. It could be that slayers and vampires have an ancient biological connection. There is even a theory that the First Slayer's powers were actually formed out of vampires' energies."
To hear Giles say it so clinically and matter of fact caused her to freeze inside with a sense of foreboding. On one hand, he made it sound like it was perfectly reasonable for slayers to sleep with vampires occasionally, just to, like, recharge their batteries, and on the other hand, there was something dark and crawly in there, that she could sense he was reluctant to talk about.
"Uhh, Giles. Is there more?"
"Buffy, maybe this isn't the best time."
She noticed that her breathing was shallow and a little rapid. She was afraid of what he might tell her, but how could she not ask? "Giles, I have to know what I am, what I'm dealing with. So, again I ask, what more?"
He resisted briefly, then, despite himself, his eyes lit up as he began talking about his research. "Well, it's really quite fascinating actually. There is evidence that on occasion the first slayers participated in rituals that enabled them to harness a vampire's energy, ah, sexually. It seems this was accomplished sometimes through consensual agreements, and sometimes through force. In which case, the vampire was usually killed afterwards." Giles glanced at Buffy and noted her stunned look. He quickly tried bringing the discussion to a graceful end. "But those were ancient practices, and may never have existed at all. Much, if not all these stories are no doubt simple mythology." If only he had stopped there. "Of course, there is always a dangerous element involved when a slayer is sexually involved with a vampire. Dangerous for both. That is often, no doubt, part of the attraction. Precautions almost always should be taken. But, of course, Spike has the infamous brain implant, so he couldn't really hurt you, nor do I believe he would want to. And, clearly, you refrained from staking him in the heat of passion." He let out a forced little laugh. "As I say, theories and research regarding violence within slayer-vampire sexual behaviors really isn't relevant to your experience." He let out a sigh of relief.
Buffy couldn't think. She plopped down on the sand, frowning as she tried to grasp what he was telling her, and exactly what was upsetting her so much. Suddenly, a fragment of a dream swept through her mind.
She rocked against Spike, hard inside her, his slender hips moving under her, while waves of passion pulsed between them. Spike's lean muscled arms were stretched above his head; his wrists limp within heavy handcuffs. Suddenly the shared space of red passion cracked apart. Desperate, primal need took over. Their eyes locked. A sad question passed through his pupils as she brought the wooden stake to a point above his chest, right over his heart, while grinding her cunt slowly against him.
It was a blur. She vaguely recalled the sound of Giles' voice as he mentioned Spike's chip. As if coming out of a deep sleep, she had said, "Spike's chip stopped working on me. He could hurt me."
A ripple passed through the air. Removing his glasses, he slowly rubbed his eyes, and then looked down at her with a steadiness that sent a ping of fear through her. "Did he hurt you?"
She looked away, not wanting to go into what had happened. "We hurt each other."
Ripper stood before her. Buffy pulled away instinctually. "Did Spike hurt you?"
It was clear that she wasn't going to be able to get around this, and she didn't have the energy to try. "Once. After I broke off with him. He and Anya slept together, and I felt hurt. He came to see me, to apologize. I told him that I could never love him. He lost it. He tried to rape me." Buffy stopped talking, and felt her shoulders shaking as she began to cry. "I was able to push him off, to stop him. He looked shocked, as if he hadn't realized what he was doing." She couldn't stop crying. Her feelings didn't make any sense. She felt the fear and rage of that night, and… Spike was gone. He had left her. And he had loved her and gently washed and bandaged her injured hands, and listened when she needed to say what she couldn't tell anyone else, and threw her down and tried to rape her, and she pounded his face into a pulp telling him he was a thing, and he let her, and it was all a jumbled up mess of grief, and she would never be able to stop crying.
She felt Giles sit down next to her and pull her into his arms, and she cried until there were no tears left.
It had become quiet as Giles said, "Where is Spike now?"
Buffy sighed, pulling herself away from the coldness of the stones that lined the entryway to the crypt. She steeled herself and faced the worn wooden door. There was a huge bolt and padlock on the antique door handle. Clem had put it there. He had confessed to her one night that he didn't exactly have a feeling of safety living in Spike's place, given his reputation in the demon community. Buffy had taken to doing extra rounds near the crypt, making sure the word got out that the Slayer was hanging out in this part of town. She had told herself that she did this for Clem, but she knew it was more than that. It was a ritual of safekeeping that extended far beyond him. And besides, trashing this place was her right, exclusively.
Digging into a pocket, she pulled out the key Clem had left with her. Undoing the lock, she gently pushed on the door, half expecting it to open slowly with a high creak like in the horror films. Instead, it didn't budge. She now remembered why she had always thrown the door open like a storm trooper—that's how you opened the fucking door. It was at least six inches thick and didn't exactly roll easily on its hinges. She positioned herself and kicked it open, the impact sending shock waves through the air.
She looked into the abandoned chamber, dark except for the castings of moonlight coming through the windows. She had no memories of the place before Spike, as if it hadn't existed. Now, every inch of it flashed a memory at her. She felt his presence as vividly as if he stood directly in front of her.
She felt a cold ache of sadness and frozen rage pass through her.
Damn Spike.
Where the hell was he?