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Chapter Thirty-Six

It was nearly nine o'clock; the grandfather clock in foyer chimed in reminder of fifteen minutes to the hour. Thankfully, the little cuckoo bird didn't make the customary, and overly loud, coos unless it was on the hour. So for now he was saved from that mild annoyance.

Spike idly ran a hand down his front, smoothing out the barely-there wrinkles in his shirt and waistcoat. The former was the usual white simply because he hadn't had anything else available in his wardrobe; also, it was damned impossible to get a black dress-type shirt in this time period. The waistcoat, or vest, was a muted red; a rich burgundy made of dull and nonreflective silk. It was entirely lacking in embroidery. He'd tried to go without a cravat, but Reggie had given him one look and had proceeded to explain to him that while it was perfectly acceptable for him to go around looking like a lay-a-bout at home, he was not going to do so on his date. He had, however, bloody well told her it would not be so damned tight as to choke him. A man had to have some standards.

The cravat was black; he'd won some ground on that score. And his valet had had the sense to pack a coat that was long enough to be a decent replacement for his duster. It flared perhaps a bit more and, unfortunately, it wasn't made of leather. Still, it was also black and at least made him feel a bit more like himself. He really missed his coat though, and seriously hoped when this business was all over he'd get it back. Like hell that bloody genie had taken it. If he had, Spike was going to be making another damned trip to Africa to get it back.

He glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten till.

The night before when he'd agreed to this Buffy had asked him to meet her in the foyer at nine, saying she'd take care of everything. He still didn't know what to make of it all. The one time he'd stupidly tried to make a date with her it had all gone to shit. Really, when he thought back on it, there were parts of him that was still the man he'd once been in this place, this time. The awkwardness, the uncertainty of self—absolutely.

He'd never had to prove anything to Dru, not the way he'd felt he'd had to with Buffy. Dru had chosen him, after all. And he hadn't given a shit what any other woman he'd slept with had wanted, if they'd wanted more. Why would he? Most of them had been food, fun, or both. Dru had been who he'd loved, who his heart had been loyal to for over a century.

And now, supposedly, Buffy was choosing him. That is, if miracles were to be believed. He wanted to believe it, to believe that she loved him and not just some reflection of the man he'd once been.

He'd had some time to really think this afternoon; at least he'd forced himself to—to recount some of the memories from his time as William. The things she'd said…

He sighed and shut his eyes, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It would be so fuckin' easy to give in, to say yes. The lovesick part of him that ached whenever she entered a room, whenever he got a whisper of her scent, or whenever he caught the lyrical taste of her voice—that part of him wanted to dive headfirst. It was the same part that had said yes to tonight, that had given in to her request because saying no felt cruel and wrong and went against the grain of him given the gesture.

So here he was, unable to keep his heart out of his hands, bleeding and waiting for her—just as always. He couldn't help it, but he could do his best to hide it—that fear of what might come. The fear that she might very well convince him to try again and that it would be yet another example of just why he'd told her years ago that he was love's bitch.

"Hey, you alright?"

Spike nearly jumped out of his own skin, immediately hating himself for being so absorbed in his own bloody head. But he supposed it was par for the course given the focus of his thoughts. Expected, even.

His gaze shifted to the speaker, to Buffy. Her hand was hovering as if she meant to touch his shoulder, her green eyes were narrowed in what appeared concern, and she had a way about her that was hesitant—as if she didn't know if it was alright to touch him or not. Though, before he could say anything she did pull her hand away.

"M'fine," he managed, swallowing once as he shook it all off internally.

She'd told him to dress fancy, but not too fancy; so he figured he'd done alright. He took a moment to give her a once over, not at all surprised to see her in pants again. She'd gone this long without skirts, so why would tonight be any different? Truth be told, the pants suited her better anyway.

It was all black: the pants, the coat. Her cravat was white though, and her waistcoat was deep green that matched her eyes. It was also double breasted, the buttons that ran parallel up the front a coppery sort of bronze. Unlike his, however, it had a bit of embroidery; a deep black that almost faded into the dark green. Her coat was not as long as his own, but it fit her just as well and fell to the backs of her knees. He supposed it might be biased of him, but in many ways, she looked better than he did.

He watched as she stuffed her hands into her coat pockets, likely for a lack of anything else to do with them. Her smile was weak, but there all the same—hopeful. "I'm… I'm glad you agreed to come."

"Me too, slayer," he said in return, his own mouth crooking upward just a bit. He wasn't shocked to find me meant the words, but perhaps a little that he'd said them so easily. He still didn't know where he stood with all of this.

"Anyway, um," she started, "where we're going doesn't have a set time. So if you need to do or get anything else before we go—."

"'M ready," he told her. "Been ready for a bit now."

"Right, ok," she agreed with a nod and a tight smile. "Let's go then." She motioned to the door, walking in that direction. "I didn't mean to make you wait," she added as she opened the door.

He took hold of it behind her, his hand settling on the upper portion of above her head. She took the hint quickly and walked on ahead, turning and pausing briefly to wait for him. As she did so, he replied, shutting the door behind them both, "I wasn't upset about the wait. Was only explaining."

"Oh, ok." She nodded again, making her short strands bounce slightly.

It was damned strange to see her like this, especially around him. Spike believed that she believed everything she'd said about him, but he also knew better. Buffy had fallen in love with William; Spike wasn't that man any more than a person was the same as they'd been when they were a teenager. There were parts of him that remained; he could agree to that—like the bits about him being a lovesick fool. But it was like he'd told her before—it was easy to love William, not so easy to love him.

Even if he were wrong, even if it were possible that she had real feelings for him—ones he'd always wished for—it didn't matter. Some things were just too broken to fix.

And yet, here he was, getting in the carriage with her. All because there was some part him that—against his better judgement, against his own logic—that wanted her to convince him that they could be better, that she did in fact love him and not just an afterimage of what he'd once been.

#

Buffy didn't think she would ever look at carriages the same way ever again. They were not romantic, no matter how amazing it looked in movies or on TV. But she guessed that this one was better than most when it wasn't packed with herself, Isa, and Kit as they had been on the way here. It felt much roomier now that it was just herself and Spike. Even so, the darkness that surrounded them took a moment to adjust to. Unlike in the city, here in the country there were few to no outdoor lights. The carriage interior had none, but usually a streetlight or two provided some illumination when she'd been in London.

Now… now it was just a blanket of night with only the moon, and that had very little at the moment.

She wouldn't have minded the quiet in addition to the darkness, but she had gone through all the effort to bring Spike out here, so she supposed she should start a conversation with him. Somehow.

"You look nice," she managed.

"You said not too formal."

"I'm mostly surprised you wore a cravat."

He sighed. "I wouldn't have, but Reggie wasn't having any of it."

Buffy smiled at that. "She wanted me to wear a dress."

"Did she?"

"Yeah, but there was no way I was doing that. Corsets hurt after a while. Plus, they're hard as hell to fight in." She paused. "She reminds me a lot of Dawn. Why didn't you… you know, ever mention them?"

"Lily and Reggie? There wasn't much point in it…" he admitted, his voice softer than before—as if he were holding things back. "How is Nibblet, anyway?"

Talking about home wouldn't be the worst thing, she hoped. "She's taking summer school, but she's mostly ok. She misses you."

She could see well enough in the dark to see his eyebrows rise just so. It made her frown. "You didn't think she would? She adores you."

He looked towards the window, into the night as he replied, "I just assumed that after you told her about… about the bathroom that—."

"I didn't tell her," Buffy interrupted. "Xander wanted to, but I told him it wasn't his place and that he should respect my wishes." She hesitated briefly, considering her next words before she continued, "I know she's not a little kid anymore; I've had to get used to that idea. I get it. But there are just some things she doesn't need to know yet at her age. More importantly, things I'm just not really to explain. It's…. it's a hell of a lot more complicated than I can ever manage to try and tell her anyway." She was looking at him when she finished rambling, but he wasn't saying anything. So she tried to change the subject a little. "Willow… Willow's living in England now. Giles is with her. And ah… I haven't really seen Anya around a whole lot."

"Tara mentioned something about that," he finally said, his voice distant. "Things got a little broken."

"They've been broke for a while," she said seriously, her fingers weaving together in her lap.

There was more silence after that, but Spike must have taken some kind of pity on her because the next things he said was, "So, what have you got planned for us tonight, Slayer?"

#

It was some time later, perhaps an hour, when they pulled up in front of the house. Well, more like mansion, Buffy guessed; or a castle-mansion. It was made of stone and had the pointed rooftops in certain places. The music was loud enough to be heard floating from out the open windows and front door. And while it was mostly woods around them on all sides, the place where the carriage stopped had a stone driveway that looped about a fountain.

"Where the hell are we?" Spike asked as he got out ahead of her, offering her a hand while someone held the carriage door for them both.

Buffy took it despite the fact that she didn't need any help getting down; she did appreciate it all the same. "Tara recommended it," Buffy explained as she looked up to see how high the building went. It looked to have two or three floors. "Said it was demon neutral ground. You can't even fight outside of the approve zones."

"Interesting."

Buffy shrugged and smiled. "We didn't have many options for nighttime entertainment in the country. I figured a house party was as good as anything else. And Tara did tell me there was gambling and dancing, so I figure we're covered on both counts."

"Is there now?" He slanted a look at her.

"I figured you could do for some kitten poker."

He snorted. "I'd fancy any poker that didn't involve Reggie or Lily at the mo'."

Buffy chuckled at that as she slipped her arm into his offered one and allowed for him to lead her inside. "What, do they rob you blind?"

"They know my bloody tells too well," he grumbled. "Demons I can fool. Sisters? Forget it."

"I seem to remember Dawn telling me she beat you a few times."

"To be fair, I did let her once or twice to help build her confidence. But, the Bit got good on her own." Her smirked. "If I could have gotten away with it, I'd have taken her with me to the games at the bar. You woulda staked me for sure if I had."

"I dunno," Buffy sighed out as they stepped inside, as she gazed about at the plethora of people all smoking, drinking, and talking; someone was playing a piano in the center of the room—the foyer that seemed to double as a ballroom. The second floor was visible; a balcony encircled and hung over part of the large room. People lingered about up there as well. In terms of decoration and design, this place didn't look any different than any other home she'd been in thus far; though, there were a lot more reds, velvets, and silks to go around, reminding her a bit of whore house from an old movie. "Dawn's growing up. As much as I'd like to think she can have a normal life? She's my sister. That was never in the cards for her—no pun intended. The best I can do from here on out if get her ready to take care of herself. I've… I've had to come to terms with that over the summer."

"I imagine without all the Scoobies about to natter on in your ear it's a lot easier to sit and listen to her."

"Yeah, it is. Funny how not being pulled in forty different directions does that to a person." Buffy stopped and—ironically—eyeballed several different directions. "Hm… I wonder where the bar is…"

"'M sure we'll find it, Slayer."

"Which way?" she decided to ask, looking over at him with a small smile.

"You want me to pick?" A single brow rose.

"Sure, why not?" She shrugged and glanced about one more time. "I'm up for a little adventuring. Plus, your nose is better than mine; I'm sure you can scent out the liquor." She gave a quick grin.

"Alright then." With a small—and purely Spike—smile in return, he led her towards a room along the far right wall, one where a number of people were coming and going. This one was smokier than the ballroom-foyer, but all of the doors and windows had been opened to let in the evening air. There were people sitting at tables, and a bar along the wall farthest from the door in. The colors were different, more pinks and purples and none of the reds. It seemed to Buffy that people were gambling here, if the cards in their hands were anything to go on; the chips too in front of them and in the center of the tables. There were things other than chips, of course, but she was more interested in getting a drink. Her attention was totally diverted when Spike led her to the bar and asked, "You got an idea of what you want, Slayer? I doubt they have the kind of drinks you're used to."

It felt good to hear him call her that, but she didn't mention it. "I was thinking just a simple glass of rose or champagne," she told him. "The hard stuff is your department." She was smirking as she leaned into the bar, both forearms pressing into the wood top parallel. "You were right even then, you know?"

"You might need to spark my memory, love." He was leaning in as well, his body angled towards her with one elbow on the bar. His knuckles tapped idly as he looked down at the barkeep who was serving someone else.

"It was during that whole period of time when I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life. Which, by the way, still haven't totally figured out. But, you know, you were right about me not being a shopkeeper or anything like that."

"Ah," he said with some recognition, probably recalling the night of drunken kitten poker, many shots of whisky, and her complaining about her lack of a life plan. "No, the hard stuff isn't really your department," he said with a chuckle. "Though, you are damned cute when you're pissed." He was grinning just a tad now. But it washed away slowly as he looked to the side. "Still, was wrong about one thing."

"Yeah?" Her brows rose as he met his gaze, or tried to. He wasn't exactly looking at her.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I had this whole notion that if I convinced you that you were meant for the dark that you'd quit seeing yourself as too good for me. But I was wrong; knew it even then, to be honest. If anything, you bring light to the dark, love. Always have; always will."

The corner of her mouth curled just so, but then it was gone just as quickly. She wasn't quite frowning, but her voice felt heavy with her own truth. "I've got my own darkness, Spike. You weren't totally wrong, trust me." Briefly, the memory of her chat with Tara—about the djinn's truth—echoed in her own mind. But like before, she pushed it away and shook her head. "No one's totally good and perfect, right?" she asked, smiling again.

"We about to have a philosophical discussion about good, evil, and perspective?" He asked, smirking.

"Maybe? Is that good date conversation?"

"I don't know, but we can give a shot if you want, love."

AN :: Sorry the update took so long, guys. I hope you like it? This chapter feels sloppy to me, but I guess first dates usually are. Especially for our two heroes. Spike's in this weird I-Don't-Know-What-I'm-Doing kind of place and Buffy's mostly where he was before, in like, season five and six—hoping for scraps. But you know, that kind of was my point with this story—a reverse of positions. So while I'm not totally happy with it, I am?

And I really did debate on putting Buffy in a dress, but at this point it just didn't seem to mesh well with the story so far. Buffy does like pretty stuff; we all know she does given all the cute outfits and skirts she wear sin the show. But it's hare for me to see her wearing period clothing in this story. Back home in modern dresses, sure. But not here. 'Sides, she never needed to dress up to impress her vampire, am-I-rite?

Also, I'm totally aware that I've been misspelling djinn this whole damn story x,X. Sorry. I'll correct that... eventually.

—Blade