Chapter Twenty-Six: Offering
Sire and Childe
"It's a forgery," Giles proclaimed in front of the assembled group, seated and standing around his living room.
"It's why we haven't been able to decipher the symbols properly," Willow said.
"It's an ancient code," Oz added.
"You're not permitted to replicate such a powerful magical object in absolute detail," Willow clarified. "It'll upset the balance."
The vampiress huffed.
"What won't?"
"What does this mean, exactly?" Xander asked.
"It means we have to find the original dagger," the Slayer concluded, looking at Giles, who gave a slight nod in confirmation.
There was a loud clanking noise which emanated from the bathroom, and everyone looked towards its origin, the silence stretching uneasily.
"What was that?" Giles finally asked, getting himself moving toward the doorway.
"We..." the Slayer began, following on his heels. "We didn't know what else to do with him," she finished as Giles' eyes landed on the form of the vampire, seated on the floor in front of the bathtub, heavy chains disappearing into the shadows underneath it, reappearing in coils around the faucet and pipes by the wall, binding him to his current position.
The vampire raised one restrained hand in a noncommittal greeting.
The Watcher took a step back, turning to the Slayer and then looking over her head at the vampiress, who tried a small smile: his face bore no trace of reciprocating it. He walked up to the front door and she reluctantly followed.
"What are you thinking?" he demanded, once they were outside.
He wasn't yelling, but the anger in his voice hit her as if he had.
"Right this very second?" she said, her attempted innocence only serving to cloud his features over further, prompting her to drop it and try something more sincere as she added: "Giles, please."
"This is the thing that took you away. In my home."
"I know that," she replied quietly. "And I'm sorry. But... But I can't..."
She trailed off; but the way he observed her, how it ironed out the creases of his brow, made her understand that her emotions were showing clearly on her face. He sighed.
"He will stay in chains at all times," he said and a smile lit up her face. "I don't have to trust him," he added.
"No," she said, the smile lingering as she stepped into him, hugging him tight.
"And I don't have to like this," he insisted, making her let go and getting her gaze in his. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather... stake him?"
"No," she replied simply, turning around and heading back inside.
x
"Is that how I looked?" the vampiress heard the other Spike ask the Slayer as they observed the bound vampire through the doorway of the bathroom.
"No, you were actually in the bathtub, hence looking even less threatening," the Slayer replied, both vampires making the same noise of contempt at the sentiment at the exact same time. "You hungry?" she added to the one on the bathroom floor. "Can I tempt you with a mug of...?"
"Close the bloody door," came the grumbled reply.
The vampiress stepped between Slayer and Vamp, closing the door behind her with a reassuring look at them as they seemed apt to protest.
She faced her sire feeling disappointment.
With him, for not owning up to the respect he should treat her with; but even more with herself, for expecting him to. He had torn down those expectations enough times now that she should have been taught the uselessness of building them up. He wasn't the kind of man to carry them, anyway, even if she did reduce them to the size of a penny: it wouldn't matter if they could fit in his pocket, he'd end up trading them in for something that in his opinion carried much greater value.
"This," he now said, moving his wrists the few centimeters that the chains allowed, finishing: "is sodding humiliating."
She merely smiled the trace of a smile, observing him as her mind raced for a sentence that wouldn't sound too studied, and at the same time wouldn't tell him exactly how much she wished things had been different, how much she would have wanted to stand at his side, instead of forcing him down before her in this absolutely disgraceful manner. But then, he had done it to her. Without remorse.
"Why didn't you finish her?" she asked. "I can smell her perfume on you, but no blood."
At first he looked perplexed, but then it seeped away and left was only annoyance. He wasn't going to reply, she realized.
She observed him for a long minute before she approached him. She barely reflected over her following action, the nail of her thumb biting through the skin of her left wrist, creating a shallow cut into the vein residing there.
She reached it out to him.
It took a few seconds for him to react as he was stubbornly keeping his eyes on the insides of the bathtub, but then his head snapped around, his gaze fastening on the offering hovering at eye level. He looked up at her, as though he wanted to make sure she wasn't holding a stake poised to perform. His gaze tangled with hers for one breathless beat, and then he moved his head forward, eyelids closing in anticipation, his lips parting as they latched on to her skin, his tongue gliding over the wound, teasing the life sustaining crimson to flow into his mouth, down his throat, and spread renewed energy through him. He had been in need of it for some time. She hadn't understood just how badly, until now. How long had it been since he fed?
Her free hand seemed to move very slowly of its own accord, her fingertips touching his forehead gently before sliding forward, into his tresses. The movement of his tongue against her skin stopped; unnecessary breaths caressed the spot instead. She didn't want to look at him, but knew he was looking at her. And then his cheek pressed against the palm of the hand belonging to the offered wrist – which had still been hanging in mid-air as though waiting for him to resume draining it, waiting for the sensation to begin once more, take hold, wrap around; that intoxicating notion of slipping into him. Of savoring it. Because it felt natural. Right.
His lips followed his cheek, placing a kiss on her lifeline.
She moved away then, still not looking at him, and fled out through the door, to the safety that wasn't him.
x
"And that's the plan," the Slayer finished, turning her head to the vampiress as the latter entered the room. She had wrapped one hand around her wounded wrist, trying to keep the guilt off her face.
"We have a plan?" she asked, learning how intrusive Spike's close surveying of her every move could be.
She ignored him with effort, waiting for the Slayer to reply.
"Willy's," she said.
The vampiress gave a nod, following her up to the front door, turning around to face Spike, who was close on her heel, but halted as she obstructed his path.
"Whatever you're thinking– " she began.
"None of my business, is it, love?" he cut her off, raising both hands in an evasive gesture before stepping past her and continuing after the Slayer.
The vampiress stood put for a second, then swirled around and hurried after him.
"Tell me what you're thinking," she said as she caught up with him.
He smirked.
"What I'm thinking, or what I think he's thinking?" he asked.
She urged her face into earnestly-pleading-expression and though she wasn't fooled for a second that he actually believed she thought it was necessary, she knew he appreciated the thoughtfulness she was showing in putting it on: no more expectations.
"I'm thinking whatever is going on between the two of you should be resolved," he replied. "Quickly," he added.
"Why?" she inquired curiously, holding his gaze and feeling how incredibly starved she was for having those eyes look at her.
Only, it wasn't those eyes she craved.
He smiled now.
"Because the current situation is doing neither of you any bloody good," he replied. "Is it?"
The question was one posed without any need for a real answer. One of those question marks that were simply thrown in to make her see it, and turn it on herself. And of course it wasn't doing her any good. The situation. Or the question mark.
"How do I resolve it?" she asked.
"That's where my powers end, pet," he answered with a smile. "Can't expect me to have an answer to everything."
She smiled back, giving him a small push.
"Are you coming?" the Slayer's voice broke the friendliness, tinged with a sharpness that made the vampiress meet the other woman's gaze with a rather meaningful cocking of an eyebrow.
The Slayer noticed it, and had no better response than to look skyward before turning around again.
x
Spike rested his forehead against the edge of the bathtub. The blood of his childe was a craving met that calmed his frazzled pride, stroked back the hairs that had been standing on end from the second he bought a ticket for America instead of Austria, and sedated his disbelief at his having brought himself into this situation.
But then – he remembered her. He remembered how she had enticed him – through some way not yet revealed to him – and how that enticement had led to him turning her, to him keeping her with him, to that damned kiss and to her tight and convivial places proving too tight and convivial to resist.
She had bewitched him with unspoken promises of somewhere he had never gone before, those hidden, unknown reaches of such a formidable enemy; and her eyes looking into his right before she surrendered herself to him, as though the part of her that wanted it, wanted him, was stronger than all those other parts that said he was a wrong.
And yet, she was judging him.
Yet she refused to acknowledge him, refused to embrace the truth of her sharing his nature.
He had seen her pupils dilate when she scented blood; he had sensed her yearning to experience the high of the hunt, and still she fought it. How did she think she would live? Then he realized that she wouldn't; which meant that it didn't matter either way. So what the bloody hell was the point of acting the saint bound for damnation: why not be the demon headed for home?
The girl that had escaped him danced into his mind and he swirled her right out again, banging his head against the cold porcelain of the tub in frustration.
It was easy to be wise in hindsight – looking at his actions on a string lined out behind him, and wondering how much better things wouldn't have been if he had taken a different turn at this one or that; wishing fervently that he could have been granted the foresight to understand exactly what his actions would come to mean, and that each and every one of them always had an impact on his existence; no matter how little he wanted to believe in higher power or fate or any of that dullness. If only he could teach himself to learn from his mistakes.
He smirked to himself.
What would be the fun in that?
What had she said?
Say a person wants to change, and has the potential to change, but won't, because they don't know how.
He knew how. He knew how she would have him be, but she was daft if she thought he would ever be less than what he was for her. It was baffling how hard she was holding onto her humanity. If she would simply allow it to slip away she would realize the fine line between kill or be killed. Bloody hell, humans walked around eating the meat of soulless animals, even though the notion of anything being soulless was completely contradictory to every speck of evidence nature provided them with. I think, therefore I bleeding well feel!
A growl escaped him, his fists clenching in aggravation.
She was so stubborn.
Why couldn't she turn her advice on herself? Couldn't she see how bloody incredible her future would be in her new form if she simply let go of all the old that was like a dead weight around her ankles? If she would only move forward, move into what she had become, and not shy away from it, she would experience true freedom. She would be able to break away from all the things that were now holding her back and she would discover herself, and the world, and realize just what a bloody marvelous destination it was, instead of pulling away from it, afraid to take part in it, afraid what might happen if she sought her rightful place in it.
But, she had enjoyed London.
A tentative smile appeared on his mouth, but he smothered it instantly, opening his eyes and looking at the tiled floor he was confined to. A wave of anger smashed against his ribs. She had done this to him. She was the reason he was in this position. She should have her sodding face bashed in for all the good she had done him, the stupid hag!
He drew a breath, letting it out slowly, the burning sensation that flowed against the walls of his lungs at the unwanted presence of air serving as a tranquilizer for all the other emotions, giving him something to focus on.
"Bloody bint," he grumbled.
And what was with the sodding grudge she was holding? That useless, pointless fight they had had what felt like years ago now, why the hell couldn't she just forget it already? Making her jump to conclusions about why he was there. Like all he wanted was to see her dead. It bloody wasn't. But did she give him even the slightest chance to open his mouth and state that fact? No. She locked him up in rooms thinking all she had to do was command him to stay and he would wag his tail and be happy she wasn't bitch-slapping him around the sodding apartment!
He drew another breath.
She had been yelling at him, too, on top of that hill, it hadn't been a one-sided argument where he was the only one telling somebody off. She had done her share. He couldn't even remember what they had been sodding screaming about anyway.
Zack.
Guilt washed through him, startling him with its unanticipated arrival. Its companion was a prickling shame which lodged itself at the base of his throat and choked him, producing another growl. There wouldn't have been a reason for him to drag Zack into it if she'd only listened to him and left on her own.
Why can't you just accept me?
Why couldn't she just accept him?
No, they were doomed to walk in circles, so he had wanted her away from him, had wanted to get himself back on track. Only he had chased after her.
He had chased her.
Because he had wanted the taste of her. This lightness that spread through him for every minute that her blood worked its way into him, throughout him, was uncontested, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He had been certain that the elation would subside once she drank her first mouthful of him in that church, but it hadn't. It was her. Her taste.
Buffy.
Her fingers pushing through his hair came back in a sensation that raked goose bumps down his spine.
This time his forehead gave a low thud as it hit the edge of the tub.
"Give it up," he grumbled.
x
Willy nearly dropped the bottle he was holding as the doublets of the Slayer walked through his door. He glanced around at his clientele, checking to see if any of them seemed agitated enough to leave and take their much welcomed business with them. None seemed inclined. In fact, most simply kept staring into their glass, looking as though they were searching for a memory lost at the bottom of another pint in another bar sometime long ago.
The two Slayers and Spike stopped in front of the bar counter, one of the Slayer's offering him a smile while the other's face settled into something not far from a threat.
"Evening," he tried.
"My friends were in here a while back," the smiling Slayer said. "They wanted information and you gave it to them, but they seem to think you left some things out."
"I swear to God," he protested, putting the bottle down and holding up his hands.
He thought the threatening expression on the other Slayer's face was beginning to darken and he wondered if she actually believed in God. Perhaps she was very religious, seeing how she was always carrying crosses around and fighting the spawn of evil all day long, and here he had gone and insulted the Big Man.
"I-I mean," he stammered. "I swear to God – amen."
Spike's mouth curled in a small smirk. Willy noticed it, but chose to ignore it.
"Come on," he pleaded to the smiley one, "you know I wouldn't pull a fast one on you. Especially when a guy is talking about something as serious as the world ending."
"How did you know that?" the threatening one snapped.
"If the Mark of Nebulon is involved, it has to be serious. And with the whole Slayer being turned..."
He trailed off, his eyes widening as he looked back at the smiling one, who wasn't smiling anymore, but was beginning to look rather uneasy. So, she was the Buffy he had been dealing with for the past few years, wielding her righteousness and kicking down doors as though they would fix themselves in the morning. And now, here she was, trotting the lanes of the dark side while still trying to keep her halo in place. How typical.
"My, my," he murmured and she looked away from him, glancing around the bar to hide her discomfort.
The slamming down of a threatening palm – ready to turn into a fist, no doubt – brought his eyes back in the other Slayer's and he realized that she must be the real deal. And the Spike with her wasn't the same as the one who had brought that dark-haired beauty into the bar a couple of times, buying her the very best of blood. He wished he could have known more about what had brought them all together, and where this other duo had sprung from, but he put a leash on his tongue. They weren't there to chat.
"I told you everything I know," he said firmly, meeting the Slayer's gaze and keeping it there this time.
He was telling the truth.
"Then tell us what the guy looked like," Spike said.
"And what species he was," the Slayer filled in.
"Species?" Willy asked.
"Yes," the Slayer replied slowly.
"He was human," Willy answered.
"You said he ordered blood," the Slayer remarked sharply and he smiled, putting both hands up.
"I ask no questions. You'd be surprised what people down in here," he said.
"Then tell us what the guy looked like," Spike repeated.
Willy wrinkled his brow in thought.
"Kind of short. A bit stocky, I guess. Glasses. Oh, and he was wearing one of those hats hunters wear. You know, with the things on the sides covering your ears. It was red. And he had a really nice ring. Looked a bit ornate for a wedding ring, but it was on the right finger, so. It was silver, with a blue stone in it."
"What did he have on?" the vampiress inquired.
"It was actually sort of strange. A dark grey suit. And that hat."
The three left with a few nods of thanks, the door closing behind them. Willy wondered if they were off to save the world, and how one went about it, if one had to. It seemed quite the undertaking, really. Could his answer actually have helped? Had he just helped them save the world? That would really be something.
He grabbed the bottle and replaced it in its worn spot, grabbing a trusted piece of cloth and beginning to wipe the bar counter.
The vampiress turned to the other two once they were out on the sidewalk.
"Chicago or Los Angeles," Spike said and the Slayer nodded.
"We'll need to split up," she said.
"No," the vampiress disagreed, "we won't."
x
She knocked gingerly on the door; then waited. She felt peculiar. As though a part of her was somewhere else, removed from all of this, already safe and peaceful, having made all the right decisions and thereby having earned the rest it had been granted. But what was right to her wouldn't be right to the person about to open the door, and so rest seemed like a faraway concept.
Angel's eyes fastened in hers and for a long moment she thought he wouldn't smile, but then the expression tentatively formed and he stepped out of the way. She walked inside and looked around at all the familiar belongings of his that she had, not so very long ago, considered trivial. Now they were just a comb, a belt, a shoe. She felt tenderness towards them, but didn't treasure them as she had before, when everything that was his seemed the most important pieces that made up her everyday.
She looked at him and warmth swelled in her bosom until she thought it would rise to form tears. But it didn't. She wanted to tell him how she would always love him, and what they had had, but it seemed nothing short of condescending. He knew it so well already.
"We need your help," she said instead.
x
"Oh, bloody hell," Spike grumbled as his parallel universe twin walked into the room. He was carrying a mug declaring 'World's Best Librarian' and the vampire didn't need two guesses to conclude what was in it. "Don't you even bloody try feeding me that poison; I'd rather be a skeleton, thank you."
The other cocked an eyebrow, having a seat on the toilet, taking a mouthful of the vile stuff, making Spike shudder.
"Where's Buffy?"
"The Slayer..."
"I don't give a damn about the Slayer. Where's Buffy?"
The other had a small smile occur on his mouth which drove hard nails of anger into Spike's chest, making him tense up completely.
"She said you can't kill anymore," he went for the sorest spot he could think of, turning disgusted eyes on the mug in the other's hands. "What's that all about?"
"Long story."
"I know you can neaten it for me," Spike remarked, a smirk he couldn't suppress appearing on his lips.
"Government blokes put a chip in my head," the other humored him. "Stops me from hurting anything living. Bloody hell," he shook his head. "'S no fun."
Spike nodded slowly.
"And now you're working with the Slayer and her minions, yeah? Rescuing innocents and bloody interfering in honestly crafted schemes by good men of the trade? Doesn't it make you feel... whipped?"
The other eyed him without making even the slightest sign that he was going to answer, but as Spike was beginning to give up any hope, the other said:
"Can be pleasurable, if in the right context."
Spike laughed, unable to keep it down.
"And you'd have her hold the whip, then?" he asked, growing serious. "Don't even start denying it. You look at her the way I feel about Dru."
The other observed him intently at that and for some reason he raised a shoulder in a shrug. He had no idea what it was supposed to stand for, or why he did it, but he couldn't think of anything to say, and something seemed needed to fill the silence, since there didn't seem to be a response coming from the other this time.
"Why did you turn her?" it then came, quietly.
Spike couldn't meet his gaze for some reason, looking down at the black polish, which had previously covered his nails and was now nearly all chipped off.
"Have you even asked yourself that question, or has it all been about why she chose to find you?" the other pressed.
"Of course I've bloody well asked it," Spike growled, turning an incensed glare at the other. "Every other second I ask it. I think how different things would've been if I hadn't. If I'd let her go."
"But you didn't. Why?"
"I had her. She was right there. Open. Willing. She wanted me."
"What if she didn't?"
"She did."
"What if you wanted her so much it made you think you saw her wanting you, when really you were just seeing yourself and your desires reflected in her? It'd justify turning her, wouldn't it? It'd make it that much easier to dismiss as a bloody mistake in the morning. You blame it all on her, but what the hell were you thinking? You should've let her go. Now she's gonna bloody well die 'cause the world is being bloody ripped apart thanks to a decision you made!"
If he could have he would have gotten to his feet in the moment that the other did, and faced him, and hit him across the jaw for his bleeding meddling.
"I didn't want her," he stated.
"Trust me," the other replied, "you did. And when you realize just how much, you're gonna regret ever biting her, 'cause now you're gonna lose her, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it."
"I didn't come here to stop it," Spike bit.
The other watched him again, then turned from him with something dangerously close to disappointment on his face.
"Then you don't deserve her," he heard him say, right before the door slammed shut behind him.
x
Buffy wasn't certain, even when she grabbed the keys for the chains, of whether what she was about to do was the right thing, but she felt they really had no time to lose and so she would place the choice with him and simplify the matter for herself.
She walked into the bathroom with as much self-assuredness that she could muster, ignoring the soft longing inside to meet his eyes as she knelt next to him, their knees touching gently, his closeness making her hasten her movements until her fingers were practically trembling with the anticipation of getting the lock undone. She was leaning over the tub, the padlock located where the chains embraced the pipes behind it. She knew he was taking her in and it wasn't even that she could feel his gaze sliding over her form so much as it was her feeling so sure of his character by now that she had little doubt exactly where his eyes were directed.
She finished, sitting back and dragging the chains loose, Spike shaking his hands free but before he could do anything she was on her feet and stepping away from him. He remained seated, looking up at her quizzically.
"We're leaving," she declared.
"Are you?" he replied smoothly.
"Are you coming?" she more or less snapped, raising her eyebrows.
He smiled then, and rose.