Title: Ordinary World

Author: HLynn

Rating: PG-13

Summary: B/S. Is Buffy attracted to the monster, or the man? She begins to find out in a way she never imagined. UPDATE - Ch. 10 Angel and Lorne prepare to see the Quathra demon, while Spike decides it's time for the next step between him and Buffy.

A/N: This was a hard chapter to get through, not because of the subject, per se, but mostly due to the more recent episodes of Buffy. I think you know which ones I mean. I managed to finish this before heading off to Vegas, so you all wouldn't start to think I'd abandoned the story. :)

Chapter 10 - Going Forward

If the previous night had told Spike anything, it was that the time for moving forward had arrived. Falling asleep together was so normal, so simple, it made the next step only logical. And besides, there was that one night in the abandoned building, and the other time afterwards, which made it seem almost expected. All these reasons, however, didn't stop his hands from sweating at the thought.

He had a plan, a way of making this better and more meaningful than the previous shag-fest. It was probably sappy and pathetically romantic, and risked the chance of emasculating himself, but it was all for Buffy, really. Well, and himself too, but mainly it was about showing her the depth of his love for her. With luck, he might have a spoken return on that regard, something he wanted badly, almost as badly as...

"...a hot dog?"

He blinked and looked down to Buffy's inscrutable face. "Sorry?"

"I said, do you want a hamburger, or a hot dog?" He glanced over to the waiting employee behind the counter of a greasy shack set up on the edge of the converted pier. This particular pier had been converted into a recreational attraction, although mild in comparison to some. The warm day had brought out tourists and locals to the beach, and Buffy had brought him here to 'work on his tan'. He recalled her talking about stuffing themselves with some fast food, but he must have drifted off into his thoughts, the way he used to back in his human days.

And so it was again, he thought ruefully, not happy to see some of the old traits reappear. He smiled for Buffy's sake, then ordered a hamburger. At least he could be vaguely sure that the meat patty would be all bovine, rather than the disturbing mix of animals inherent in the ersatz sausage.

Spike could already feel the burn starting on the back of his neck, after being out for only a half hour. The perils of pasty white skin now were haunting him. He was sure that by the end of the day, his face and neck would be burnt and peeling--not an attractive sight for a prospective suitor hoping to impress his lady. Then again, her own skin was far from a Californian tan these days, so maybe the effect would be mutual.

Once they'd gotten and paid for their lunch, they found an unoccupied table and sat down to enjoy the ocean view. Being together like this was so unusual, and yet so amazingly pleasant, he would have sat there happily if Buffy hadn't prodded him to eat.

She looked happy, and had told him many times that she was happy with him, but she'd never said she loved him...not even after all this time. He didn't expect a profession so soon, but his memories of Riley caused a cold knot to settle in his stomach, and he was pretty sure it wasn't due to the burger. He knew she was afraid of opening herself to someone, terrified that it would backfire; Angel had given her more than physical scars. Her last boyfriend hadn't been able to pierce through the walls she'd built around herself. He wondered if he could succeed where others had failed.

The day slipped into afternoon as Willow, Tara, Wesley and Fred studied various grimoires and reference texts, hoping to turn their spell into a vampire panacea. The night before had been just as fruitless, giving them only a hint at how such a spell could be constructed, let alone reproduced on a large scale. Anya wasn't too happy at their plan and said so loudly, and often. When Xander arrived at the shop, straight from work, they were grateful for the distraction he provided.

Finally, Tara sighed and closed the book in front of her. "This isn't going to work."

"Don't think that way--of course it will," Willow smiled in encouragement. "We'll find a way."

"I think we need to give up on doing it on the larger scale, and focus on creating the spell," Fred suggested quietly, drawing their surprise. "We have a structure in mind, and an idea how to implement it."

"We'll need blood in order to test it, though," Willow said. "Besides, creating a spell means nothing if we can't change more than one vampire at a time. We'd be better off just having the blood on hand."

"And that would become expensive," Wesley added, seeing her point. "Still, it would better to have a functioning spell than nothing at all. Would the incantation be hard to create?"

Tara shook her head. "No, not once we know what we're doing, exactly. We just have to be careful on the phrasing."

"If we don't make it clear, something bad could happen," Willow continued with a knowing look. "You make one word mistake, and you could be turning the vampire into a Mohra demon, instead of a human being."

"Or making them a zombie," Tara said with a shudder. "For all we know, maybe the 'blood of eternity' can't be used in a proxy form. Maybe it has to make contact with blood in order to work."

"Then maybe what we need is a big aerosol can," Fred grinned. At everyone's blank stare, she clarified, "You know, to spray it at them like mace? Create a mist that covers a large area? Except that I just realized you'd need to have them all bleeding, so forget I said anything."

"Well, it was a plausible idea, Fred," Wesley offered a little too earnestly, smiling at her in a way that didn't warrant it. He didn't notice the two witches' sly glance at each other, or the small grin they momentarily shared.

"So, are you going to stand there primping your hair all night, or what?"

Angel turned to see Cordelia leaning in the doorway, miffed but in a playful way. He smiled self-consciously and shrugged. "Well, it's not like I can look in a mirror or anything."

"You look fine," she replied, and the honest sentiment caught him off-guard.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." She walked past him to check on Connor, but talked over her shoulder. "The shirt is way too Wine Bar-Undead-Goth, but I guess it's meant to be that way. Gotta look like the evil undead, right?"

"Right," Angel agreed distantly, and reminded himself to put the shirt in the giveaway pile after they came back. Now that she pointed it out, the shiny blood-red silk did scream "vampire" from across the room.

Lorne poked his green, horned head into the room and grinned at Angel. "Now there's a shirt to die for! Or die in, I suppose."

Angel silently vowed to burn it instead. "So, this Quathra demon...Fraresaka? You think he'll show?"

"For eight ounces of blood, at fifty bucks an ounce, he'd be crazy not to. Besides, tonight is merely the pre-lim--he wants to meet you, build a rapport with the customer."

"And maybe find out a little info on why we want it. He's suspicious, which isn't good. It means he's smart."

"To get blood from a Mohra without getting killed, he'd have to be," Lorne replied darkly.

Cordelia walked over and straightened Angel's collar, then smoothed out the fabric in a way that did nothing to calm him down--quite the contrary. Lorne gave him a raised brow and a smirk from over Cordy's shoulder, and Angel threw him an annoyed look.

She caught his glare, but misread the reason behind it. "Oh, come on, Angel, don't be a sulky baby. You can stand a little collar straightening, can't you?"

He could handle a lot more from her than that, but he kept the thought to himself. Instead he replied, "You'll make a great mom someday, you know that, right? You catch everything. It's like you've got eyes in the back of your head."

"No, I just had the one. Thankfully, it was very, very temporary."

When she pulled away, Angel found himself missing the loss of her presence. He pointedly ignored Lorne as he grabbed his coat off of the chair. "Time to meet our supplier, wouldn't you say?"

Dawn was acting weird, Buffy observed, which by itself wasn't a great indicator of trouble. As the months after her resurrection went by, puberty had taken root and made her sister's life into one huge melodrama. If she didn't meet up with her friends, she would die. If Kevin Taylor smiled at her, she would be dying on the spot. And if she saw Lisa wearing the same dress for the spring fling, she was going to die.

Buffy hadn't realized that being almost twenty-one could feel so ancient, when she looked back on her own teenage years and couldn't remember things like boys and clothing being so important. Maybe it was because by Dawn's age, she was fighting for her life every night, hoping to beat the odds and become the first Slayer to ever retire.

However, Dawn's current weirdness was odd, even for her. She stayed quiet the whole way in the car, a slight dopey smile on her face that only budged when her most-hated-song-in-the-world came on the radio. As Buffy dropped her off at Xander's apartment, Dawn didn't argue or pout at the restrictions imposed on her. Buffy wasn't even sure why Dawn wanted to stay over at Xander's, rather than a friend's house. When asked, Dawn said something about tradition and wanting to try out his new Xbox, despite the fact that she abhorred video games of all kinds.

It wasn't until she arrived home that Buffy started to understand the plot. Scheme might have been a better word, as she could smell something delicious, and the sound of someone rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. The dining room table had two place settings, with goblets and all the fancy trappings that had tended to mystify her as a child. The only light came from two lit candles, illuminating food that certainly hadn't been cooked in her house, and certainly not by the person she suspected was behind all this.

She took in the scene with a growing amazement. All the pieces fell into place--Spike's odd insistence about heading home after lunch, and his need to go out and 'check on a few things'. She found herself staring at the plates, the marvelous food, and the curious lack of anyone present to greet her.

"Hey, I'm home," she called out, and couldn't help a slight smile at the sound of cursing coming from the other room. Spike bolted out the doorway in haste, a paper-wrapped bouquet in hand and his white oxford shirt not quite buttoned up all the way, the sleeves partly rolled up. The dark grey slacks had a matching jacket somewhere, she knew, but apparently she'd come home a little faster than expected.

"Oh, um, you're back," he smiled nervously, then handed her the flowers. "These are for you."

Blue asters were mixed with white lilies and peach-pink roses, the sort of thing a flower arranger would probably cringe to see, but she didn't care. Somehow he knew her favorites, and that meant more to her than the perfunctory dozen red roses with baby's breath.

"These are beautiful, thank you," she said as she hugged him, already feeling overwhelmed. "And the spread is amazing. What do you do for an encore?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, love," he replied, giving her the look that always stole the strength out of her knees. "Right now, it's time to sit down and eat."

"Okay...wait, not okay. I need to change," she glanced down at her t-shirt and jeans, a couple days away from being Laundry Day-wear. She handed him the flowers and bolted upstairs before he could stop her.

Upstairs, she tried to tear through her closet calmly but quickly. What do you wear to a dinner date at your own house? Then it hit her--Willow wasn't here, and Dawn was staying over...oh boy. This was it. The moment that Spike had wanted to be perfect, deliberate. And she'd come home early, dressed as if planning to clean out the garage. She didn't think there was a big enough rock for her to crawl underneath.

With renewed determination, she dug through her closet until she found the object of her search; a backless, black halter dress with a side slit that was enough to jumpstart the imagination. It had called out to her from the sale rack in L.A., as one of the last vestiges of the prior season's fashion. Her hair was twirled into a quick bun, although she knew it was only going to come down later. A little make-up finished off the look, and she slid into a pair of strappy heels before heading back downstairs.

He'd taken the time to put on the jacket and tie, and Buffy felt a small pang of regret. The more laid-back style fit his personality; the Spike she knew would never wear a suit and tie. However, she had to admit he looked great all dressed to the nines, making it seem effortless on his part. She was lucky that Slayer reflexes helped with balancing on high heels, or else she would have been tumbling down the stairs when she caught sight of the expression on his face. The mix of awe and adoration shining in his eyes was enough to make her forget to breathe, and she clutched the banister for support.

"You like?" she asked, a little nervous despite the approval in his eyes.

He nodded, momentarily speechless. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Uh, yeah. You look...stunning. Breathtaking."

"Thank you," she answered in a small voice, secretly pleased. With the heels on, she could meet his eyes on a more equal level, and it felt so personal and intimate that she eventually had to tear her eyes away. Spike gestured her to go ahead of him, and she allowed him to pull a chair out for her, the gentlemanly act so out-of-sorts with how she pictured him that she couldn't help staring as he sat down himself, unaware of her perusal.

What happened next was unusual only in its commonality. They ate, they talked, they enjoyed the simple moment of being with each other and learning more about the other person. Buffy watched how Spike's manners were oddly impeccable, the idea so strange it felt like a rebellious thought in her head. She suddenly found herself not knowing this man across the table from her, but also knowing him better than anyone else.

Buffy had worked up the nerve to ask more about his past by the time they'd finished dinner. He fiddled with the stereo as she lounged on the couch, waiting for him to join her. The music changed from the soothing background melodies while they ate, to something more classically inclined to induce necking. She hid a grin behind her hand, not wanting him to see how transparent he was. Thank goodness there hadn't been any rose petals on her bed, or else she would have laughed.

He had a glass of wine waiting for him on the coffee table as he walked back, although she'd abstained. The alcohol was obviously meant to soothe his nerves, as he took a sip before settling next to her. Despite the fact that her and booze were not meant to mix, she didn't want anything that could cause her control to slip tonight. Seeing him now, she was reminded again of how human he was, and therefore how easy it could be to hurt him unintentionally.

"Spike--I know you've told me about being turned, and a little about who you used to be...but I want to know more. About you, about how you lived, who your friends were, about the stupid childhood things you did. I want to know you, all of you."

He visibly swallowed, his hands unsure what to do with the wine glass in his hands. "You know about me."

"No, I don't. Not completely. I realized that tonight as we were talking. You...you're different. I knew you, or at least I thought I did. Now, I don't know."

"I'd rather talk about you," he replied. "Have you given any thought on a career path, goals and whatnot?"

"Spike..." For the first time, saying the name felt odd, almost wrong. "William. Please, I want to know."

"Don't say that name." His voice lowered darkly, without inflection.

"Why?"

"Because he was no one of any note." He took a swig of his wine.

"He was...is you. That makes him something, as far as I'm concerned."

His smile was bitter as he sat down his glass. "Buffy, I guarantee you don't want to hear this."

"And you'd be wrong about that," she challenged back. They stared at each other, as if waiting for the other person to give in first. Finally, Spike sighed and slouched back into the couch.

"All right, you win. Tonight will be completely shot to hell, but I guess that can't be helped. You wanna know who William was? He was a pathetic wanker who had a spine made of jelly and a propensity for falling in love with the wrong women. He was too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich, so he was tolerated in both, but never accepted into either realm. He wore glasses and he wrote bad poetry. He lived with his mother and siblings, and had no one who would claim to be his friend. He was, as you Americans would say, a loser. Satisfied?"

His tone was filled with self-hate and loathing, but his posture told of deep sorrow inflicted by painful memories. Ones that she'd had dredged up by her request. However, her feelings of guilt were outweighed by a growing sense of annoyance. "Is this what you've been hiding?"

"Yeah. Pitiful, isn't it? I'm sure you'll be fleeing in horror or laughing any moment now."

"Am I laughing? Or fleeing? You know, sometimes I wonder how much brain can possibly be left, with a skull as thick as yours." She watched as he turned to stare at her, a sliver of hope breaking through the gloomy disposition. "Do you think I like the way you behaved as a vampire? Newsflash, I didn't. If you weren't annoying the heck out of me one minute, you were likely irritating someone else.

"But the night before I died, you were so...different. More focused, I guess. And when I came back, you were so gentle with me. I came to you because I felt comfortable with you, though I didn't realize the feeling wasn't mutual."

"It was the sweetest torture, love," he said, his voice unstable. Her words were moving him deeply, but she wasn't done yet.

"I didn't mean for it to hurt, I really didn't. I was so sure I knew what I felt that I didn't think about why I wanted you, or how I felt when you were around. I was feeling something, but it wasn't for the vampire. It was for the man he used to be."

Spike nodded knowingly, and she deflated a bit when she realized that he already knew. How was he able to divine her own thoughts and feelings before she did? With a deep breath, she plowed on, partly hoping he'd figured this one out, as well.

"Remember when I told you that I wanted to find out if I could fall in love with you?" He nodded again, looking at her curiously. "I think I have. No, I am. In love with you, I mean."

His eyes widened, the emotions naked and exposed on his face. Elation, joy, surprise, and a hint of fear that he might be dreaming it all. "Honestly?"

"Truly, honestly, absolutely in love with you," she replied, feeling her own joy bubble up inside. It was a fragile thing, wary of the blaze inside her, but she didn't try to force it down into the dark. Things were still new and raw for her, but she wanted to feel love again. It was time to risk the pain, because he was worth it.

He kissed her soundly then, and she leaned in, welcoming him. The kiss soon dissolved into shorter ones, not too unlike the session they'd had while under the stairs at the Bronze. His hands roamed along her back, enjoying the feel of her skin and taking exploratory paths beyond the edge of the fabric. It was all progressing nicely until she remembered they were still on the couch.

In the meantime, Spike had figured this out, as well. He pulled back and flicked a glance up the stairs. She nodded, unable to speak, and tugged him up the stairs. The slam of the door echoed down the hallway, and if anyone had been around to hear it, they might have also heard the squeak of springs and floorboards groaning their protest.

Spike could tell it wasn't morning--he wasn't a vampire any longer, but sometimes it seemed his body would forget it and wake him up, anyway. Groggily, he reached over for Buffy and found a warm but empty spot instead. With a frown, he glanced around and noticed the bedroom door ajar and a light in the hallway. In seconds, he recognized the sound of running water.

Unfortunately, this reminded his body of another important bodily function, and he groused his way out of bed, following the light to its source.

The door only partly closed, and he could see her drying her hands on a towel, her hair in disarray and clothed only in his dress shirt. It was much too big for her, and it made her look even more fragile than she really was. He found that while seeing her in his shirt was sexy, the little black dress from tonight had nearly driven him to the brink. He couldn't remember if it was intact, but he hoped it was.

She smiled as he came in, the moment only awkward because of the extremely late hour. "Did I wake you?"

"Not at all. You mind if I, uh..." he gestured vaguely.

Buffy quickly understood and scurried to get out of his way. "I'll leave you to it, since I don't think we've reached the 'comfortable in the bathroom' stage."

"You mean to tell me there's actual stages to this sort of thing?"

She laughed at his almost-serious question. "Just wait till you meet my father," she added as she kissed him lightly, before going back to bed. She left before she could see the quiet panic show on his face.

As he cleaned up afterward, he took a look in the mirror to gauge the condition of the old bite mark. To his surprise, he noticed that he was starting to show pale red marks along the back of his neck and his torso...marks left by fingers and hands pressing in too tightly. He'd felt it at the time, but his mind had been focused elsewhere. A couple were sore enough that they might turn into bruises, and he feared what Buffy would do if she knew.

She was waiting for him as he came back to bed, the shirt discarded on the floor with the rest of the clothes. Spike slid in under the covers, making sure his back was out of view. Her arms pulled him close, her strength obvious but gentle, and he waited for her to fall asleep before he let his fatigue reclaim him into a dreamless slumber.