Warning: The timeline skips around a little, so you need to pay attention to figure out "when" you are reading.
**Major Warning: there is a scene that does NOT show Buffy in a good light. You might not like her very much after reading the scene but, trust me, you can't hate her as much as she hates herself. We are going to get a little dark here.
Dedication: Thank you from the reviews on FF: LovesSoliloquy, gottalovea x2, Istcryptonian, mandigrrl, Blade Redwind, DFect1ve, Ero-Neka-Hime, Nossid, Jhiz, beigeflicka and HTSwasrubbish. From EF, big thanks to: IveDiedTwice,hiker96, dmf109, no_promises, ladypeyton x2, Lou, Amasirol, MelViolet, Magnus374, All4Spike, TexasEx, Badgervamp and ginar369. I can't believe I have over one hundred reviews on that site alone. Thank you to everyone for coming back for updates, even if it takes a few months.
A large thank you to Maire and Blade Redwind for reading through a (very) rough draft and giving me their thoughts!
Chapter Nine
(I can't) Breakaway
Though he had only been in his position for a short while, it would be an understatement to say that Clem enjoyed his job.
As a young Luu'sken, he had spent close to a decade wandering around the countries of the world in between sporadic bouts of working for various family members and evenings spent in a series of poker games (snacking on Sokoke and Canadian Sphinx kittens when he won big and stray calicos when he went bust). Though intermittent, his past employment history was typical for any Luu'sken youth, and included a variety of intensive "internships" learning from the greatest leaders and advisors his clan had produced.
Among his kind, the laissez-faire attitude was expected, if not encouraged in their youth. Work when you want, play when you want.
Now that Ami-gi, was upon him, he had no regrets regarding his youth and he looked forward to the stability of maturity and gainful employment that would prove he would be a worthy mate. When Spike had mentioned that he "knew a bloke who might have a use for you", Clem was happy to check it out. Finding out that the offer came from none other than Ma'r Vynatch, Leader of the Clan Vynatch of the Fhrewh'ard was just the frosting on the kitten.
By Luu'sken standards, he was still considered young and landing such a prestigious position was quite an achievement.
From the moment he pulled in through the warehouse doors in his red Volkswagon and met with the banshee who ran the Demon Resource Department, he was filled with excitement and purpose. Happily, he filled out the required paperwork and was escorted to the lower levels of the facility for "a short introduction".
Clem was not so naïve as to believe gaining employment with the leader of one of the world's most powerful Fhrewh'ard clans would be so simple and, when he stepped out of the elevator, he was prepared to prove his mettle.
Already, a room full of irate Kungai muttered to one another about the long wait and stared openly toward a small cluster of Miquot who scowled and threw out a comment that if anyone would be seen first, it would be them. Both species appeared similar in their reptilian appearance, were quick tempered and prone to squabble over the slightest insult.
Unfortunately, a common language between the two species was being spoken and the comments were becoming increasingly derogatory to the other species. When one tall, thin Miquot began to speak snidely about an elder Kungai's "misshapen horn", Clem knew he needed to step in, even if doing so cost him the chance at the job of a lifetime.
The elder Kungai began to growl, his horn glowing and two Miquot flexed their forearms, which in turn released two serrated bone blades into their hands. If Clem didn't act soon, the squabble would become bloody and Clem had no intention of being a casualty.
Taking initiative (and hoping it would not result in an immediate dismissal), Clem greeted each grouping respectfully and announced that he hoped no one would mind if he got refreshment (and by the way, could he get anyone anything while he was at the bar?).
Within a few minutes, each creature held a small tumbler of the facility's finest Yak Urine, a toast of good will was made and no blood was spilled.
When Ma'r Vynatch appeared, the Banshee from DR at his side, the Miquot rose regally and they were escorted through a side door, into what Clem supposed was a private meeting room or office.
Clem spent the next six hours in the waiting room as various other demons arrived and departed. During his time, he diffused four potential "battles to the death", instructed a fellow employee on the finer points of etiquette when escorting a Draconi (to whom one should never, under any circumstances, turn their back), conversed fluently with a mated pair of Fyarl demons and persuaded an impatient zombie master to not leave when his appointment was postponed for another thirty minutes.
At the end of the day, Clem was alone in the room when Ma'r Vynatch appeared. Silently, the Fhrewh'ard regarded Clem then began to greet him formally. When the greeting was complete, Clem performed the same ritual with the grace and precision of a native Fhrewh'ard.
Marv pulled a card from the pocket of his Armani jacket.
"Go see this man, he will get you some proper clothing. Report to me tomorrow two hours after sunrise."
And with that, his employer turned away and Clem began the next chapter of his life.
Now, just a few short months later, he sat in the luxurious vehicle across from one of the most notorious Slayers in history. Since the fall of Sunnydale, rumors had run rampant regarding the infamous Slayer and, while most of the demon world rejoiced in the speculation of her death, Clem held on to the small hope that she survived. He had been stunned when his employer had called and asked him to drive to the grand estate to collect Buffy and her sister.
Now, he watched the woman sit across from his as she gazed out of the car window, her face still carrying traces of her breakdown in New York.
When Spike had first told him that he and Slayer were an item "but let's keep that on the down-low, eh mate?" he had cautioned his friend that perhaps it would be more prudent to keep his relationship with Buffy professional. Clem worried that Buffy was pursuing Spike for all of the wrong reasons but Spike was too besotted to care.
A shadow crossed her face and he wondered if she was thinking about their meeting earlier that morning.
"You know what the kicker is, Clem?" Tears leaked from her eyes in a constant stream and Clem pulled a white silk handkerchief from his pocket. She took the item and balled it into her fist. "The kicker is I wasted every chance he gave me. He was a gift…a gift and I…I…"
She stalled on the word, little gasping hiccups and Clem scooted closer to her on the settee to tuck her closer.
"Why don't you hate me?" she whispered. "You know…you must have known what I did. How I treated him."
Clem opened his mouth to speak, but she thrust her fist with the handkerchief bunched up toward him.
"What kind of friend are you?" she accused, her voice rising. "Being so nice to me? I don't deserve it…"
"Buffy…" Clem started but she shook her head.
"No. No!"
Her hiccups became more pronounced and she tried to hold back the sobs. Feeling helpless, he pulled her into a hug.
She started to babble in between sobs, but he couldn't understand her words. Instead, he patted her gently on the back and murmured "I know. I know."
When her sobs subsided, he continued to hold her. Gradually, her posture relaxed.
"I belittled him, I scorned him and…god…I used him because I hated…everything…so much." She said. "He was a gift and I just…threw him away. So many times."
Clem said nothing and she pulled back, dabbed at her eyes with the silk.
"I think…" Clem started and she tensed, as if bracing for a physical blow. "you weren't in any condition to be in a relationship."
She nodded.
"And I knew that." She whispered fiercely. "It was all so mixed up. At first, I was so numb and he just made me feel…real, you know? But then the numbness faded and I. Got. So. Angry. And I felt so…impotent. I couldn't lash out at my friends – because I knew if I started, I would not have stopped until they were bloody and beaten and…dead. And they kept telling me how much they needed me…how the world needed me and every time I thought about ending it all…"
Clem inhaled sharply and she nodded.
"It was close...but then the guilt would weigh me down and the …god, the hate…would simmer until it threatened to boil over. I hated them for bringing me back, for making it impossible for me to…leave…and I hated myself because I was so weak."
"But Spike…" she shifted and sat up, looking out the large window at the sky. "I could hit and lash out and he…"
She gave a harsh bark of laughter.
"And they called him the monster. If they only knew. What he did to me? That time before he left and got his soul? It was nothing compared to the shit I pulled on him."
Once again, her eyes filled up and sobs filled the room. He pulled the grief-stricken woman into his arms and this time, she went pliantly.
"I just want...I just wish..." she sobbed."I know." It wouldn't fix anything, but he just whispered the words over and over and hoped it was enough.
Nothing was what she expected.
Buffy wasn't sure what she imagined exactly; dank, dark ossuaries maybe, perhaps even a dilapidated building or two, but not this.
At first glance, the warehouse seemed abandoned and in dire need of repair, but the two dapper gentlemen that sprinted from the side door were her first inkling that she was in for a surprise. Clem reached over and squeezed her hand in reassurance, as if she were scared or nervous.
Scared? No.
Nervous? Not quite. Unbalanced might be a better word to describe her feelings.
The car rolled through the large doors and Buffy got her first glance of the demon's home turf.
The interior was tidy, with bright overhead lights that chased away any shadows, and a glossy, gray concrete floor that gleamed as if it had been freshly waxed or polished. To one side, a long line of neatly parked cars, SUV's and trucks waited.
Had Spike's De Soto been parked here too, just a few months before?
(Would she see Spike? A voice whispered and she tried to stifle the anticipation because the disappointment always hurt when she thought she would and didn't. She was beginning to suspect that if she were in a place that Spike had once been then his mirror-like image appeared.)
Spike had been here and she wished he were still, to whisper snarky little comments in her ear and offer advice, whether she asked for it or not.
"You once spoke about rules? Rules that I need to know if I am meeting a demon on their turf."
She was on patrol and Spike had wordlessly been following her for a few turns around Sunnydale's finest amongst the graveyard elite. They were at Northwood cemetery, perhaps the oldest gothic cemetery within the town limits, whose large iron gates were guarded by two identical, winged gargoyles sporting mischievous faces. For some reason, during the time when Buffy had run away to Los Angeles, Oz and Xander had christened them as Lex and Brooklyn in some comic book reference she didn't pretend to want to understand.
Their names stuck.
Buffy had left the house alone that night; Willow had a late meeting, still trying her best to move past her magic dependency and thought joining a support group for drug addicts would help her, Xander was still MIA after he left Anya at the altar and this was the first night she had seen Spike since the disaster of a wedding.
She wasn't going to ask about his date from the wedding.
(She wasn't.)
She was past that.
(God, why wasn't she past that?)
There had been radio silence between the two of them for the past two weeks and, although she always felt him nearby when she patrolled, she didn't acknowledge him.
Until now.
Because she missed him, damn-it.
It was wrong, went against her very nature, but she missed him.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stirred as he walked closer until he was alongside her, matching her stride for stride; he was quiet and didn't look at her, only straight ahead. Some kind of emotion seemed to vibrate within him and she couldn't put a name to it.
"Rules." He said finally and she wanted to wilt with relief, though he still didn't look at her. She didn't care though, he was beside her and that was all that mattered right now. "You planning to go and invade some demon's territory, Buffy?"
Buffy. Not 'Slayer', 'Luv', 'Pet'…just Buffy. For so long, she had been telling him to stop calling her names and he had finally stopped.
She frowned.
She should be grateful, because he was getting over her; it was what she wanted, what she had told him to do.
Was he in love with the girl from the wedding? Did they- God, she needed to stop that thought right there, because she so wanted to remain ignorant of any doings between Spike and the goth girl.
"No, just something I was thinking about. You had implied I should know about them…once."
She wasn't going to tell him that she had spent the better part of the last two hours racking her brain with a topic that would draw him toward her because she missed him, missed trading barbs that always made nights like this more...fun. Less like work.
God, she was pathetic.
"That I did." His hands patted the pockets of his jacket and then he fished inside until he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and the silver lighter he favored. He sparked the flame and inhaled.
They'd reached her destination, the newly buried Carrie Ann Resendez, a twenty-four year old kindergarten teacher and victim of yet another attack of a gang of thugs hyped up on PCP (aka the vamps she dusted the night before, a mere twenty-four hours after they had killed the young schoolteacher).
The freshly packed dirt and unrolled square pats of grass looked undisturbed, a clear indication that the newly turned vampire had not yet risen, so Buffy sat on a nearby tomb stone and faced Spike. He looked past her, over her right shoulder, apparently lost in thought.
Then he spoke.
"Respect is always important." He still didn't look at her, but he was talking to her and she would take it. "I know it is not a popular theory amongst those that Watch, but it is true. Don't just limit the research to weaknesses and strengths and the fastest way to kill them. Try to find out who you are dealing with upfront, look to see if there can be a peaceful resolution, time permitting of course. If you don't know, then research a little more or even ask them yourself."
"Right," she smirked, "I just walk right up, tap one on the shoulder and ask 'Excuse me Mr. Demon, I might kill you but first tell me about yourself?'"
For one flash of a second, his eyes met hers then skidded away. His refusal to look directly at her left her feeling unsettled and the frozen knot that was at her core expanded ever so slightly, brought forth vague memories of those first few days in Sunnydale after Willow resurrected her, where everything had been too bright, too hard, too violent. Too much.
Back then, her apathy was constant, fading only when Spike touched her and sent sparks of sensation across her skin, bringing each nerve (each sense) alive. Now, with Spike determined to stay away she was terrified that the numbness would return.
"Look, you asked me…" he began and flicked the stub to the ground crushing it under the thick heel of his boot. He turned and she caught his arm.
"I'm sorry. You're right. I am 'All-Ears Buffy' right now." She cupped her ears with the tips of her fingers and waggled them. His lips twitched and she notched another win in her mental tally when he stayed. The spark of amusement faded and his face became a blank mask again, eyes trained slightly to the left.
"Look, respect is the key and it depends on how you ask the questions. Asking questions to gain information so you do not insult who you are meeting with is acceptable. You can ask about hierarchy or rank, demon type and even, in some cases, abilities. You can ask about any greeting rituals or 'show of good faith' – like a gift-"
"A gift? I'm sorry," she held up her hand for a moment, "but a gift? Why should I play Santa and give presents?"
"You don't have to, but a little gift goes a long way toward fostering goodwill, if you are looking for parley."
"Parley?" she bit her lip and tried not to look confused.
She thought about making a joke to hide her ignorance ("Parley? What do herbs have to do with anything?") but rejected the idea of making light, he was being serious and so should she. She had come to the realization that Spike had an untapped wealth of information and …and…she didn't want him to leave.
Their eyes connected and he gave her a searching look, quick and wary, like he was looking for a catch.
"Parley." He pronounced it par-LAY. "A discussion of sorts between opposing sides - be it for truce, negotiations for territory or temporary alliance."
She nodded and recalled the two of them sitting at her house a few years ago while they talked strategy on stopping Angelus and Dru while her mother served steaming cups of cocoa. It had been…different…she remembered. All of Giles' information had supported the theory that Slayers and demons would always and forever be at odds, yet they had worked together and stopped Acathala. Stopped Angelus.
That was before the chip…Spike had sat in her living room, chatting easily with her mother and…God, how had she forgotten that? That fascinated look on her mother's face as she had asked bold questions about Spike's vampire lifestyle ("So you don't sleep in a coffin? And turning into a bat?" her mother had asked and Buffy had bitten back a snarky "Do you want me to get you some paper and a pen so you can take notes, mom?") She remembered the earnest, slightly pleased expression on Spike's face when, unoffended, he answered her mother's questions openly and honestly.
It should have been an eye-opening event for her, allowed her to take that experience and apply it with all of her Slayer interactions. She even vaguely recalled Giles saying something similar once, but prejudice had prevented it. An alliance with demons? She had thought that working with Spike was an anomaly, a one-time act of desperation and had refused to consider it again.
Then Spike was captured, implanted with a chip and she –
She blinked a few times and tried to get back on track.
"What kind of gift? Are talking diamonds? A new car? Flowers?"
Spike shrugged and the lapels of his jacket fell open. She caught the flash of a vibrant crimson silk shirt and the snug black t-shirt that he usually wore. She looked up and caught his heated stare before his eyes darted into another direction. A flush crawled up her neck that had nothing to do with the cool evening air.
He still wanted her.
"Depends on the demon, Lu- Buffy." He fished for another cigarette and she bit her lip when she noticed the slight trembling of his fingers. Slowly, she slid from the tombstone, all thoughts of staying on topic evaporated.
"Anything else I should know?" her voice had dropped and she walked slowly toward him. Finally, he looked her dead in the eye as he pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth.
"Buffy, what are you doing?" his eyes were wary, stance defensive, balanced as if she were about to attack him but his voice, oh god, his voice was hoarse, like he had reached his limit. She knew that voice, knew what it meant. It meant...she shivered with anticipation.
"I…" she hesitated, "I just…miss you." She blinked in surprise, because it wasn't what she had meant to say at all.
Eyes troubled, he shifted his stance and relaxed slightly.
"Really?" he asked, softly and she saw the faintest spark of hope.
She knew she shouldn't do this, but she couldn't find it in herself to stop either.
"Really. I miss…you. Your hands, the way they would…" she had moved closer until she stood in front of him barely a few inches between them, but still not touching. He reached out and his hands spanned her waist then skated up her sides.
"Like this?" he asked, lips curving in his trademark smile.
"Uh-huh. And like…" she placed her palms overtop his hands and positioned them right where she wanted…needed them.
"Anything else you missed?" he leaned forward mouth hovering over hers, voice barely a whisper and his tongue darted out to wet his lips.
"Your…tongue." She whispered back, eyes focused on his mouth. He chuckled and the low rumble reverberated within her. Her fingers hooked into his belt loops and she pulled him close against her.
"Anywhere special, Luv?" her heart skipped a beat at the endearment and she closed her eyes.
Why was she doing this? She needed to sto-
"Everywhere. I want…" she said.
Of course at that moment, a hissing came from behind her and the once-lovely Ms. Resendez ("Homecoming Queen three years running and valedictorian in her graduating class at Sunnydale High and at UC Sunnydale" Her obituary had reported) unsteadily stood upon the freshly packed dirt, with bits of earth caught in the tangled curls of her hair.
"Hold that thought." She placed a finger over his lips then pushed into a backflip and pulled out Mr. Pointy. The fight was short and hardly satisfying but before Ms. Resendez's dust settled to the ground, she was back in his arms while his hands were sliding her shirt up and mouth on her shoulder. Her fingers opened the buckle on his pants.
"Maybe we should go somewhere…" he said against her neck.
"Now." She breathed, "No. Now." Because she wanted this, she needed this and if they paused then she was going to find a way to talk herself out of this.
You're selfish. Selfish. Selfish. She chanted in her head and she agreed even as she opened the zipper on his black denim jeans and held his swollen weight in her palm.
Words spilled from his mouth, muffled against her skin, but she heard them all the same.
"Yes. Now. Anything you want, I will give you." Against her neck as she stroked him.
"You know, I am yours…always yours. God, I lo- I would do anything for you." Against her breast, once her shirt drifted to the ground, while one hand tangled in her hair and the other undid the clasp at her back.
"Can't stay away…you know that…I would die for you…" he was on his knees, pushing her jeans down, mouth blazing a trail of fire up her bare leg while he freed her other, her hands threaded through his hair until she pushed his shoulders back toward the grass and straddled him.
"So hot, you're on fire…always so hot. Like molten silk, I …just…" he groaned as she glided down sighing at the sensation. He pulled back and she looked down on him before she claimed his mouth in a kiss.
"God," she groaned when she paused to breathe. She rose up a little and lowered herself again, head thrown back and throat pushed toward him. "You…make…me…feel…so…good."
"You know I do." He growled. "Tell me. Tell me you want me."
She snapped her head up as he thrust into her and she moaned. This is what she needed. His uncanny ability to thaw that frozen core of despair within and forget the hell that was her life; this…feeling he gave her was all that mattered.
"I want you." The words are pulled from her and she wanted to snatch them back, but they were gone. His eyes glowed with satisfaction.
"Tell me you need me." His growl rumbled in his chest and goose bumps pebbled her skin, her hands skated across the muscled contours of the chest she knew so well, she could recognize it blindfolded.
"I. Need. You." A sharp inhale between each word as his quick fingers slid between their joined bodies and she shuddered, on the cusp of release.
"Tell me…" his voice had changed from the low growl when she looked at him. The tone was soft (gentle) and eyes heartbreakingly vulnerable. Her heart hammered in chest as panic raced through her. The friction from his fingers as they rubbed faster made had her arching and, in a desperate move, her hand moved behind his neck, her nails digging violently across his skin.
"Tell me you lo-"
Her nails had never scraped as hard and he groaned in pain when the scent of blood from the lacerations hit, his eyes transformed from blue to gold in a heartbeat, the ridges on his forehead popped and his incisors lengthened when his orgasm hit and she reached hers at the same time.
"Why?" One anguished word and his thoughts are written on his face: Why does she make his demon appear, when he tried so hard to show her he is more than that? Why does she torment him so? Why doesn't she love him?
She had no answer.
Only the panting of their breath was heard for the next few heartbeats as they both shuddered in mutual satisfaction until, shamed, she climbed off him and picked up her shirt, his question hanging between them.
She darted her eyes sideways and he was on his back, naked and exposed, fingers clenched into the ground, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight and eyes closed. When they opened, he looked at her, expression filled with a terrifying mixture of resentment, betrayal and resignation.
And still there was love.
Horrified, she knew that he would never stop her. She could repeat this pattern over and over and he would let her - this strong, proud man would crumble at the crook of her finger and she realized she had to be strong.
"This can't happen again." For the first time, she spoke to herself, a stern admonishment to her twisted behavior and how it had broken the man beside her.
He gave a snort of disbelief as she pulled the shirt over her head.
"It will." He said hollowly and she wanted to cry.
If her mother could see her now, she thought and pictured the look of disappointment on her mother's face.
"It won't happen again." The words are firm, a vow she would not break again; she could not let herself do this to him.
"You keep saying that." He countered, bitterly, "until the next time. When kitten has an itch that needs scratching and you come to me panting for more…saying 'no' in one breath and 'please, more' in the next."
His hand snatched his jeans from the ground and, still on his back he slid into them and pulled them up, the muscles of his abdomen flexing.
"Maybe." She admitted, because she failed in her resolve before and it was already crumbling at her feet as she watched his body move. His eyes flared in triumph, but went flat at her next words.
"You don't have to say yes, you could say no." It would be so much easier if he wouldn't let her do this to him, so much easier if she placed the blame on his shoulders.
"I can't say no," though quiet, the words were spoken with such ferocity it was as if he shouted them. She started in surprise and he continued. "You know I can't say no. I can never say no. Not to you."
His tugged the hem of his shirt down and she turned back to face him clothed.
He rolled to his knees in front of her and she let him wrap his arms around her waist; let him inhale deeply when he buried his nose in her stomach. She placed her palm on his cheek and he leaned into the touch, such naked longing on his face.
"I've said it before. I'm a willing slave."
"I am sorry." She said. Was it an apology? Was she asking for forgiveness? She didn't know. She walked away and he stayed where he was.
"It's not enough." His bitter words carried through the air, "but I'll take it."
When she got home, she cried herself to sleep and dreamed of her mother, who held her in her arms stroking her hair as she spilled her shameful secrets.
She woke the next morning feeling drained but for the first time she knew she would not waver in her resolve. She wouldn't let him be used by her anymore.
It would stop.
"…ffy?" Clem sat across from her, a question on his face. She shook her head and smiled in apology.
"Sorry. I was just thinking that Spike was here, not long ago."
The car had stopped and the two gentlemen that had allowed the car inside waited impassively beside a set of double doors. Clem seemed in no hurry to rush her out of the car. His fingers flipped a switch and a small bar rose up in front of their seat. He snagged two short tumblers and a glass bottle filled with amber liquid that he splashed into each glass, offering one to Buffy.
"He didn't say goodbye," Clem confessed as he swirled the contents of the glass around and looked into its shallow depths, like a gypsy scrying the future. "I knew something was up because he came here in the middle of that crap that was going on in Sunnydale, but I just thought…I don't know what I thought."
"You didn't know? That he knew he was going to…die?" God, it really would not get any easier saying it out loud, she thought.
Clem shook his head.
"I had to leave on an errand and when I got back…he was gone. He had waited for a bit, I was told, so I think he meant to say something, but the meeting I had went long and when I got back…" Clem shrugged, passed the tumbler from one hand to the other causing the amber liquid to slosh gently.
"And…if you had known? If he told you what he knew?"
"He would never have driven back to Sunnydale alone. I would have gone with him and, no matter how much he would have said otherwise, I would have made sure he told you or told you myself, would have tried to…do something."
She nodded. It was enough.
Clem saluted her with his drink.
"To Spike."
"To Spike."
They drank quietly then Clem put aside their used glasses.
"Okay," she said, "let's do this."
Mindful of the rules, Buffy tried to maintain a pleasant demeanor with the receptionist, but it was difficult. The woman (creature? Definitely not completely human according to her Slayer senses) condescending and Buffy tried to remind herself that she could not lose her cool, that it would not make a good impression and foster goodwill if she ripped the head off of the first (demon?) creature she met. She could not afford to offend this Marv, not on his own turf and certainly not before she found out what he had for her.
When the woman was satisfied that Buffy was, indeed, an invited guest, Buffy offered the least sincere of her smiles and thought "There are twelve different ways I could kill you in this room alone."
The woman's complexion paled and Buffy's smile became a touch more genuine.
There was a quiet ping and the elevator opened and she and Clem stepped inside.
As the doors closed, she noticed the mirrored interior and her heart sped up.
Would she see Spike?
Granted, it had been a little while since the last "sighting", but any mirrored surface still caused her heart to jump into her throat.
The ride down, however, was uneventful and the silence was filled with instrumental elevator muzak and the periodic ping! as the elevator passed a floor, in her hand she carried the cardboard box that tipped from side to side when the large spider inside skittered around.
When the elevator stopped, the doors opened and Buffy followed Clem out of the door, posture straight, and walked out, the very picture of strength that hid the jittery bundle of nerves she was inside.
Never let them see you falter, Pet. Confidence at all times.
With a quick, sweeping glance of the room she noted two doors that could be used as exits, a wide staircase with perhaps ten steps leading down into a sunken room with odd seating and only one other individual present.
Although she had five snarky quips on the tip of her tongue, Buffy held them back and waited, tempering the compulsion to barge brashly forward while she took a moment to observe the creature she presumed to be Marv.
Humanoid in appearance, with a thick, rough looking hide that was a soft shade of mocha and eyes a warm shade of amber that reminded her of a Mesopotamian broach her mother once showed her, he seemed unassuming. Height wise, she had the advantage of being a good five-or-so inches taller, while his limbs were easily twice the width of her own – a build her mother would not-unkindly refer to as stocky.
Physically, she could take him easily in a fight; she had fought bigger and brawnier without chipping a nail.
It was the aura of power that surrounded him like a second, invisible skin that would have given her pause, though. The air around them practically vibrated, like a sub-sonic hum that she could feel rather than hear. In a way, it reminded her of Willow at her darkest, where power waited unseen but easily within reach.
"Easy, now Slayer. By all means, stay alert, but don't walk about all tense and ready for a fight before talks have even begun."
Buffy waited.
Marv would never admit to such a weakness, but the idea of a Slayer walking around the halls of his livelihood (and so close to his family), no matter how thoroughly warded against all manner of threats, set his teeth on edge. He had lived a long life, even by Fhrewh'ard standards, and had accomplished this by being smart and by staying far from the watchful stare of any Slayer.
Though he respected their abilities and their strength, he mistrusted a Slayer's complete and total faith in the archaic teachings of their Watchers, who had a well-documented history of discouraging a Slayer from anything remotely resembling independent thinking.
He had said as much to Spike just a few months before and the vampire had chuckled out a reply.
"This Slayer might just surprise you, Marv."
Marv had merely grunted and agreed, with great reluctance, to carry out Spike's wishes.
Contrary to the opinions of the Watcher's, Fhrewh'ard demons were a neutral species, neither on the side of good nor evil. In fact, the classification of Fhrewh'ard Demon itself could be considered something of a misnomer – a Watcher from the first crusades had stumbled across their kind and, due to their innate ability to manipulate fire and the description of the sweltering inferno of their dimension (not to mention their apparent demon-like appearance), had promptly classified them as demon from a hell dimension.
The assumptions were flawed, but the title stuck.
Marv, along with others of their kind, knew better than to waste time trying to correct the inaccuracy, hardly concerned to be afraid of the young Slayers. By their very nature, they were an arrogant species, unparalleled in their ability to manipulate fire and resistant to most magic (particularly magic cast by humans).
Few demons who went against a Fhrewh'ard lived to tell the tale and, in fact, until a mere decade ago, Marv had never learned fear.
Then he met his mate, Shaylindrea, whose lack of magic and thick, iridescent hide made her an outcast amongst their kind. Alone and unprotected, she had come to him after her kin had passed from this life into the Garondaria- The Blazing Beyond, where all Fhrewh'ard go into the afterlife. The depth of his feeling for his mate never ceased to grow and only deepened when she bore his little Shri'taria.
However, with his ever increasing love, he had discovered the true definition of terror; while the wards held true against magic, they were no defense against physical violence.
The seemingly defenseless woman before him had first gained notice when she avoided the harvest and then when she defeated The Master of Sunnydale. With each victory, her notoriety spread and he scoffed at the fools that sought her out.
He had laughed at Spike when he had first learned of the blood drinker's murderous obsession, but he stopped laughing when Spike failed to kill her. Marv may have considered Spike the antithesis of caution – the vampire was impulsive, passionate and had tendency to jump headfirst into any fight and laugh, even if he was on the losing side - but he had earned his title as "Slayer of Slayers".
The most shocking aspect of the tumultuous relationship between the Slayer and the Slayer of Slayer's was that either could not kill the other. As the Slayer's notoriety grew, so did Spike's, a fact that Marv did not hesitate to point out when Spike was the subject of ridicule. Master Vampire's, Hell God's, a pure serpent demon , not to mention that ridiculous "Slayer-Fest" – she defeated them all, yet Spike lived.
He would not underestimate the Slayer and, though he had every intention of keeping their meeting free from conflict, he still took certain precautions.
If he lost his kim-ri, his family, he would be devastated. Encouraging his two most beloved to take an impromptu trip to the south might not have been necessary, but he was grateful to know they would be safe. Alternately, he was aware that should anything happen to him, his beloved kim-ri would be defenseless against the vicious backbiting of their kin.
With the knowledge that his kim-ri were safely away, he would play the genial host, allow the Slayer entry into his territory and he would honor the vampire wishes.
Clem had stepped out first and the young Slayer behind him, which surprised Marv. Based on their brief phone conversation, he expected her to barge into his space and demand explanations. But, instead, she gave the room a sweeping glance and then looked expectantly at Clem.
"Ma'r Vynatch, may I present to you, The Slayer, Miss Buffy Summers."
Eyes on the Slayer, Marv stepped forward and performed the formal greeting ritual that their introduction required. Her expression was neutral but she watched his motions carefully. When he was finished, Clem continued.
"Miss Buffy Summers, may I present to you, Ma'r Vynatch, Leader of the Clan Vynatch of the Fhrewh'ard. You may address him as Marv."
Buffy turned to Clem, handed him a box.
The Slayer turned toward Marv and gracefully touched her head, chin and chest.
"Miss Summers, you honor me with your presence."
"Marv, I thank you for your invitation." she replied with a fleeting smile as she took the carton from Clem and presented it to the Fryrewh'ard. Her manner was formal and respectful, if not a little stilted, her attitude a far cry from the anecdotal reports that had been regaled to him over the last few years.
"Please accept this small token," she continued, "I appreciate the lengths that you must have gone through to find me and my sister." For a brief moment a hard look flashed across her face and Marv withheld a disapproving grumble at the inferred censure.
Beside her, Clem shifted uneasily, poised to intervene if the meeting veered from cordial and one of them were to take umbrage with the other; Marv was not known for possessing an easy going nature and Buffy had always been encouraged to negotiate with whichever weapon was handy. His reputation was such that he could afford to indulge in fits of temper as there were few who could hold their own against him. However, he was not willing to test his elemental abilities against the Slayer.
Instead, took the carton and hummed appreciatively at the sound of the creature within skittering around.
"A gift you choose most wisely, I am certain. Please," he gestured toward the room behind him, "join me for a drink."
A/N: Argh! Everyone is very patient with this fic and I appreciate all of the reviews, favorite's and continued alerts! I have a vague timeline and wanted to end at a specific place before the next chapter. I was having problems with the flow of this chapter and it was keeping me from posting – creating a history/demonology for Clem and Marv without too many contradictions was a challenge! Each line of their background has been re-written more than once and led to more development (some obviously remained in the fic; most was cut out, never to see the light of a computer screen again). It wasn't a lot of extra information but it did cause a significant delay in posting.
Sorry for ending here…there is more to come. After all the build-up, I have an obligation to you all to make sure it is done right. Some of it is written, but trying to finish the scene would have delayed posting even longer!
Meanwhile, I have written another fic that is posted and near completion. It is called "Postcards From Sunnydale" and is a Buffy/SPN crossover with a Sam/Buffy friendship/romance. Please check it out on and on A03.
The good news? Buffy has finally met Marv and will shortly be on her way back to NYC. And Andrew. (squeals happily!) Feedback? Thoughts? Predictions?
MTFBWY my friends
Stay tuned…
