Chapter Twenty-Nine
Eric watched the scenery whip by from his spot in the passenger seat of Pam's car with a scowl. Nothing had gone as he'd expected tonight. And while his time at Buffy's apartment was a pleasant deviation from his plans, what had happened in their meeting with the queen and afterwards had been a much less enjoyable surprise.
Pam, though, was very amused by this turn of events.
"So, your words are what actually alerted Sophie-Anne to the ruse?" Pam asked, seemingly delighted by his mistake.
"It was Buffy's fault. If she'd just told me about her fight with Andre-"
He was interrupted by Pam's burst of laughter.
Really, it wasn't her fault. It was easy to say so, but he shouldn't have changed things at the last minute like that. It had just occurred to him as he'd taken his seat in the office that Sophie-Anne might not believe that, had he really been present (and in his right mind), he would've allowed Buffy to get so grievously injured and allowed the perpetrators to escape. Looking back, maybe it had been vanity prompting that thought, but at the moment, it seemed the best course of action.
The look on the queen's face after that made it very apparent that it had been a mistake.
He'd gone out into that hall to wait feeling more trepidation than he'd felt in centuries. His imagination conjuring horrible scenarios of torture and punishment for Buffy because of his misstep. He'd listened through the bond for spikes of fear or pain, ready to intervene despite the consequences, but all he'd felt was tension lined with calculation.
When she'd come out and said they could leave, then told him in the elevator down that Sophie-Anne ordered her to Shreveport for the duration of her recovery, he'd been shocked. And overwhelmingly suspicious. Buffy had just seemed relieved, but Eric wasn't buying that this was just a lucky turn of events or that Sophie-Anne had been feeling generous at the moment.
When he'd asked Buffy exactly what she'd said to Sophie-Anne, she'd locked down tighter that Fort Knox - confirming his suspicion that there was much more going on than he knew of. Not that that was anything new these days. Pile that on top of the fact that Buffy refused to leave for Shreveport until she'd talked to that damned guard and how she'd told Eric in no uncertain terms that she didn't want him there when she did… Well… It left him in a less than charitable mood.
"Why are you so angry?" Pam asked, to which he just raised an 'are you kidding me' eyebrow as an answer. He'd told her the entire story (leaving out the blood induced black-out… that was something he'd have to ponder later), so she should know exactly why he was so angry.
She shook her head and returned her gaze to the road. "You've slept with her, established a solid blood bond - without her even knowing - and she's coming to Shreveport - where you can simultaneously get more of 'the best sex you've ever had', as you called it, and have more time to pry her secrets out of her. You have no reason to pout."
"I'm not pouting," he snapped.
"Then again" Pam continued, ignoring his outburst. "You still don't know anything about this other dimension she took you to or what happened there. You wouldn't even know you'd been to another dimension at all if it weren't for me. Oh, and she did decided to stay the night in New Orleans so she could talk to that guard instead of leaving tonight with you… Okay, resume pouting."
Eric turned his eyes back out the window, not deeming her words worthy of a response. Instead, he plotted ways to get Buffy to tell him about what she was keeping from him. That's right, he was plotting. Absolutely not pouting.
Buffy dumped another dustpan full of broken glass into the trash bag at her feet, taking a moment to both be grateful that her neighbors knew how to mind their own business and also feeling guilty for probably being the worlds worst person to live next to. Well, at least with her going to Shreveport for a little while it would give them a little peace. And it'd give the maintenance guys a chance to fix the damage her and Eric had wrought.
The clean-up was mostly just a distraction though - busy work to keep her focused on the awkward conversation waiting when Rasul got off work. So she swept, vacuumed and carried bags full of broken glass, shattered wood and cracked tiles to the garbage chute.
She still had no clue as to how this had happened. Granted, it wasn't the first time she'd gotten so wrapped up in sex that she hadn't noticed her and her partner causing insane amounts of damage to their surroundings. But with the house that her and Spike had wrecked during their first time, she at least remembered what had happened between them. She may have been oblivious to everything around them, but she still remembered the act. With Eric, she remembered nothing after their time in the bedroom.
So that accounted for the messed up hallway and the broken bed, but all the other destruction was a mystery. She would've thought the brief memory lapse was some weird side effect of him biting her, like some kind of vampy mojo in this dimension that she knew nothing about, if it hadn't been for the fact he couldn't remember what happened either.
So he says, the darker, more cynical part of her whispered. He's already keeping secrets, what's one more? And you felt it, remember? That flash of understanding when he looked around the room? He knows. Or at least has an idea. And he's not sharing.
Buffy's hands stilled on the broom. She'd forgotten about that. There had been that moment of comprehension and curiosity from him. He did know. Or at least had a very good idea. Plus there was the whole feeling-what-he's-feeling thing that he also wasn't telling her about .
She resumed her sweeping with a vengeance. Any guilt she'd felt about sending him off to Shreveport alone so she could talk to Rasul before she left vanished, replaced by anger at his secret-keeping and determination to get some damn answers when she saw him tomorrow night.
She'd left her front door open so she wouldn't miss Rasul when he got back, and finally, about an hour before dawn, he did. She heard the ding of the elevator and went to the entranceway, peeking out into the hall like a nosy old lady. When she saw it Rasul and not just another neighbor, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of her doorway.
He didn't even glance at her as he pulled his key from his pocket, turning his back to her and fitting in the lock.
He's not going to make it easy on me, is he…
She gave a small sigh and moved closer. "Rasul, can we-"
He stepped inside and slammed the door in her face.
She blinked stupidly for a second, looking at the grain of the wood in front of her as if it would just disappear because there was no way that just happened. When it steadfastly remained she gave a little frown, then took a step away, pulled back a leg and kicked it open, hearing the frame crack with satisfaction as the door sprang open hard enough to wedge the knob in the wall behind it.
Rasul was standing in the entrance to the living room, his SWAT-like vest in hand, staring at her in disbelief. She just shrugged.
"Now we're even on door destroying."
His jaw tensed for a second and it looked like he was going to say something, but then he just turned away, walking further into the living room. But Buffy wasn't put off by the door in her face, so no way was a room change going to stop her.
"So that's it then? You're just going to give me the cold shoulder?"
"There's nothing to say," he said quietly, tossing his vest on the couch as he sat down and tugged the laces on his boots loose. "You've made your choice."
"And you're angry with me because of it."
He just gave a shrug, continuing to work his boots off.
"I know you don't like him," she said, her tone softening. "And I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did."
Rasul gave a derisive snort and his shoulders tightened. His boots were off now, but he was still seated, leaning his forearms on his thighs and looking at his hands dangling between his knees.
"I found out exactly the way he wanted me to. He all but tattooed his name on your forehead and then paraded you around so everyone would know."
"It wasn't like that," Buffy said, her cheeks flaring in embarrassment. "It wasn't planned or anything, it just happened."
"Maybe it wasn't planned by you. But you don't know Northman."
There was a flutter of dread at his words, because, really, he was right. She didn't really know him and if she was honest, she'd admit that she had her own doubts about his motives. But still, she didn't want to think he'd manipulated her like that.
"You don't understand," she said, shaking off her misgivings. "He was trying to keep me safe. He-"
Rasul gave a bark of humorless laughter. "So, let me get this straight. He convinced you to sleep with him and then go to a meeting with the most powerful woman in the state smelling like the two of you just stopped screwing long enough to fit her into your schedule, and somehow he made you think it was all for your own good? If I weren't so disgusted, I'd be impressed."
"It wasn't like that! He wouldn't do that!" She yelled, clenching her fists and taking another step into the room, losing her cool in the heat of her embarrassment.
"He would do that!" He shouted back as he shot to his feet, his own restraint slipping. "And some part of you knows it or you wouldn't be so defensive!"
She shook her head in denial. "You're just saying that because you don't like him."
"You're right, I am saying it because I don't like him. But it doesn't make it any less true. That's part of why I don't like him," he said, his eyes locked on hers as he rounded the couch. "Dammit Buffy, he's not good enough for you."
"That's not your decision to make!"
"I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt! But since you insist on acting like an idiot it seems that's a lost cause."
"Don't call me an idiot!"
"Then don't act like one!" He yelled, stopping right in front of her. "Take off the goddamned blinders and see what's staring you in the face! He knows you're important, powerful, unique. That's what draws him to you, not you."
"Gee thanks," she said with a breath of harsh laughter. "Nice to know that you not only think I'm stupid and incapable of making decisions for myself, but you also think the only reason anyone would be interested in me is because I'm the Slay-"
She stopped herself just in time, the button he pushed almost having her blurt out the fact she'd worked hardest to hide. But his words poked at a deeply hidden, but still raw insecurity.
"That's not what I meant," Rasul gritted out, thankfully missing her little slip in the heat of the moment. "You just don't -why can't you-"
"Why can't I what?" She challenged, taking a step closer and narrowing her eyes.
He looked down at her, his dark brows pulled together over darker eyes and his lips twisted with frustration. Then, suddenly, his mouth was on hers. You'd think, given the speed of the action and that it seemed to be driven by anger, that it would be rough - a crashing of lips and teeth - but it was so soft that it took Buffy a moment to even realize what was happening. When she did, when the light touch of his lips to hers finally registered with her, her first thought was to pull away. But his hand came up right then, brushing across her cheek gently and tucking her hair behind her ear as he cradled her face. The move was so tender, so sweet, that it made her pause.
Rasul doesn't keep secrets from you, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. In fact, he keeps secrets for you. At risk to himself.
It was true. He hadn't told about the bite marks or anything she'd told him in confidence or Willow, Spike and Angel's visit. Even though Sophie-Anne would probably like to know all of those things and would be pissed if she found out, he'd still kept all that to himself, knowing there'd be hell to pay if it came out. Not to mention he'd accepted her right off, from day one, secrets and all. And even though she made it hard on him, he'd still been there for her whenever she needed him.
While her thoughts twirled, Rasul took her hesitancy as acceptance and moved closer, the hand not on the side of her face brushing down her arm to rest on her waist. The gentle pressure of his kiss eased off and he pulled back a little, his lips still barely touching hers while he took an unneeded breath, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment. Then he moved in a fraction, ever so gently taking her bottom lip between his and nipping at it softly, careful not to puncture her with his half lowered fangs, then soothing over it with a swipe of his tongue. A slightly strangled sound came out of him then, as if he were trying to choke it back and the force of it was too strong to hold it in. A breathy kind of groan, almost of relief, but stronger, salvation maybe… Like the sound of a man finding water in the desert.
It was that soft sound, so filled with emotion, that had her snapping back to herself. Even though Eric kept running her around in circles and her feelings for him were sketchy at best right at the moment, that didn't mean it was okay to turn to Rasul as some kind of substitute. He had strong feelings for her, that much she could tell now - this was more than just a crush to him. And sadly, she couldn't return those feelings. Not right now, not when she was so wrapped up in Eric. Maybe not ever. Maybe he'd never be more than a treasured friend to her. What ever the case, this wasn't the way to go about finding out.
She brought her hands up and placed them on his chest, lightly pushing and taking a step back at the same time. His hand slid out of her hair and the other away from her waist, his eyes still closed, but she could see in his tightening features that he knew what was coming.
"Rasul… I don't-"
"I know," he said, turning from her, shoulders slumping. "But I do. So I guess we're stuck until one of us gives."
She reached toward his back, fingers stretching, but she curled them back just before they could touch him. Her regret, her pity, her confusion - those would only make the situation worse. So she left.
Although the directions Eric had given her were good, it still took Buffy a while to find Fangtasia the next night. She drove around the block twice before she realized the bar was actually in the strip mall she'd gone by on the right. Even after pulling in and parking, seeing the bright red neon labeling it as the place she was looking for, she still double checked her directions. Yep, that was it. She stared at the little gray section of building for a moment, trying to reconcile it with the image she'd had in her mind.
For some strange reason, which now seemed silly, she'd been picturing something more like that bar in the movie with Patrick Swayze, Road House. Some seedy place out in the middle of nowhere with a dirt parking lot and a fight every ten minutes. Maybe even a blind kid singing the blues on a stage surrounded by chicken-wire, just for kicks.
From what she could see from her position in her car, this place was on the other end of the spectrum from that. With a Sam's and a Toys-R-Us nearby and set into a building with other stores that seemed to be in business, just closed for the night, it was remarkably normal. The gray exterior was flat and plain except for the neon name and a red door, which was currently propped open by none other than Pam herself. She was out of her suburban house-wife-wear and in something much more gothic, taking what Buffy guessed was a cover charge from the orderly line out front.
Shaking her head, Buffy checked her appearance one more time in the rearview and then got out of her rental car. She bypassed the line, getting a few dirty looks and not caring even a little.
"Buffy," Pam greeted with a smile which faded to a wistful look as she looked her up and down. "You look wonderful."
Actually, Buffy was thinking she looked a little plain in her skinny jeans, knee high boots and sweater topped with a snug waist-length wool coat. Most of the people in line had gone all out with their "vampire" look, the girls wearing heavy make-up, tight dresses and short skirts.
"Thanks, Pam," she answered politely. "You look-"
"Like Elvira's younger, more beautiful sister?" She asked with a lip curl of disgust, letting Buffy know that her compliment was more envy at being able to wear normal clothes than anything. But she quickly regained her apathy and gave a little shrug. "Part of the job, the vermin expect vampires to have no fashion sense apparently."
Buffy bit back her natural response at the slight against humans and gave a sympathetic sound instead. After all, she knew very well the wonders of crappy uniforms. She repressed a shudder at the thought of her burger flipping days.
"We should go shopping while I'm in town," Buffy offered, trying to cheer her up.
It worked, Pam perked up at the word 'shopping'. "Yes, we should do that. My treat, of course. I owe you."
"Owe me? For what?"
But Pam just gave a secretive little smile and waved her inside. "Eric's expecting you."
Casting her one last confused look and getting nothing but an enigmatic smirk in return, Buffy left her to her money collecting and entered the dim interior of Fangtasia. Bad Moon Rising played over the speaker system, making her smile at both the cliché and the familiarity. It always made her feel a little better when something here was exactly the same as it was at home - for some reason it made her feel a little less crazy for choosing to hang out in a different dimension.
The lighting was dim and the color scheme all red, black and gray. That combined with the music and Pam's outfit made Buffy realize that Eric was giving the people what they wanted. And, in a odd parallel to her own thoughts moments ago, was making them more comfortable with venturing into the unknown by showing them what they expected to see. It seemed to work well, too. The vibe in the room was mostly curiosity and excitement.
She eased her way through the thick crowd, taking a break at the bar to get away from the press of bodies around her. Business was certainly booming at Fangtasia. A tingling at her back had her turning back toward the bar, where what looked like a romance novel version of a young Captain Hook was serving drinks. Catching her look he gave her an infectious smile and after handing a woman her drink, made his way toward her.
With his eye patch, tall boots and billowy shirt, she almost expected his stride to be interrupted by the thump of a peg leg, but his movements were quick and graceful. His hair was a rich chestnut and beautifully curly, making Buffy sigh in envy. She'd wanted curly hair so badly when she was younger, but after a disastrous perm she'd decided that even though the grass was greener on the other side of the fence, if it kept her from looking like an electrocuted lion, she'd stick to her less green grass.
"Good evening, fair maiden," he said, his English accented voice a melodious baritone. "What can I get for you tonight?"
"Nothing, thanks. Well, actually, I'm looking for Eric, could you point me in the right direction?"
Looking over her head, he raised an eyebrow at whatever he saw, then looked back at her more curiously than before.
"So you're the one he's been waiting for?" He cocked his head and studied her a little more closely before nodding toward the back corner of the club. "He's back there. Just follow the heat of his gaze, dear lady." Then he left with a chuckle.
Following his sight line, she saw immediately what the vampire bartender had meant. Eric was staring at her from a booth seat, his gaze so intense she was surprised she hadn't felt it boring into her. Taking a deep breath, she dove back into the crowd and worked her way in his direction. She was still about twenty feet from him when she saw him stand, his blond head rising above the crowd. And like magic, they parted, either sensing his irritation as she could, or more likely thinking he was about to walk toward them and wanting to be anywhere but in his path.
She shored up her determination to get some answers and closed the distance between them. But as she did, she took in his wardrobe for the night and her purpose faded under a weight of the ridiculous spectacle in front of her. Instead of his usual outfit of jeans and a t-shirt or button down, he was wearing something out of a Cowboys and Indians skin flick. The jeans were still there, albeit tighter than usual, accompanied by cowboy boots and a leather vest. And that was it.
Stopping just short of him, she couldn't help herself.
"I'm sorry, did I interrupt the shooting of some wagon wheel porn?"
Eric looked down at himself as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "Human women like this look."
Buffy snorted. "I think you could be wearing a used garbage bag and as long as it showed your chest, women would still like it."
"But you don't?"
His irritation had faded a little and she could feel his amusement.
"Not even a little," she answered truthfully. There was no way she could think sexy thoughts about him when he was dressed like that. She just kept picturing him wearing a tiny cowboy hat with an elastic string under his chin, running around with plastic guns yelling, "Pow! Pow!"
He seemed a little put off by that answer and looked at his clothing with what Buffy hoped was a fresh take. Maybe he'd burn them when he got home if she was lucky. Or donate them to a poor gay bar. After a moment he gave up on his clothing appraisal and she felt his focus snap back into place. What that focus was exactly on, she wasn't sure. Probably getting her naked again. But it served the purpose of reminding her of her own goal tonight.
"Can we go somewhere quieter?" She asked.
He studied her for a beat then nodded. "My office is this way."
Falling in step behind him, she tried to keep her eyes from wandering south, knowing that one of the best asses she'd ever seen was just begging to be oogled, but also knowing that her focus would waver when faced with the distraction of the amazing view. She settled on one quick glance, she was human after all.
"When did you arrive?" He asked, leading the way through the people that parted like the Red Sea at his approach.
"I just got here to the bar, but I got to the hotel around noon," she answered.
"How'd things go with the guard?" He asked as they went through a door marked for employees only into a hallway.
Buffy tensed, a feeling of dread rolling over her as the thoughts of Rasul she'd locked away sprung from their cage at his mention. Following the dread was fear - fear that she'd lost her closest friend in this dimension, fear that Eric would find out Rasul had kissed her and it would lead to bloodshed, fear that the things he'd said about Eric were actually true.
Eric stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at her with narrowed eyes.
"What did he do?"
Buffy gave a shrug, not meeting his eyes. "It just didn't go very well."
She could feel his frustration, his anger, his suspicions. It only served to reassert her resolve at getting some answers. She gestured for him to keep moving, she'd rather have the coming conversation (and probably argument) in relative privacy.
He looked at her a moment longer, maybe just to prove he didn't take gestured orders from anyone, but she could feel a resolve of his own hardening before he turned back down the hall and then went through a door on the left. She followed him in and shut the door behind her. As soon as the latch clicked he turned to her and she straightened her shoulders.
"I want some answers," they both said in unison.
