36
The meeting room was almost empty. Most of the people had cleared out, but shocker—Buffy was still there, in the same place that Spike had left her, over two hours ago. In the corner, Giles was there too, sitting in a chair, a book open in his palm. He didn't look up as Spike approached Buffy, the vampire too quiet to catch his attention, but Buffy saw him. She had another red flag twisting between her fingers, which she plunged down on the map. Aggravated, she rubbed at her temples, mussing up those golden strands of her silky, smooth hair. She looked up, wearily at Spike. She didn't have as much spunk as she normally did. It was as Willow had told him, the Slayer was tired. A nap would do her good. Spike thought back to the nights before they had fought the First Evil. He had held her in his arms until she slept, until his skin was almost as warm as hers had been. Had breathed in her scent, that smell of coconut and saccharine sweetness. Felt her small body entwined in his arms. It had been the happiest moments of his life. Yet they were so bloody elusive now, sometimes he doubted they happened. But they had. As much as Buffy wanted to deny it, they had happened. There was an attraction between them that couldn't be denied. But that was all she did. Didn't want to get distracted, no, the big boss Slayer had to keep herself busy at all times.
And she was wearing herself thin, worry lines on her face from that damned somber attitude. Where was the carefree Buffy, the one who liked frolicking at the Bronze and shopping? Who paid attention to what she wore and how she did her hair. But she was dressed in plain slacks, a tanktop that didn't accentuate her chest, but displayed her slim figure. Her hair was haphazardly tied back, and the only trace of makeup on her was smudged mascara and uneven eyeshadow. An attempt to play at being Buffy, but Spike knew better. Knew her better. Always had. Knew what hungered beneath, knew every shadow in that heart of hers. At one time, he would have tried to exploit it, bring her into the shadows with him, but it had never worked. She had always stayed just far enough away from him. And that wasn't him anymore. Maybe getting his soul back was supposed to make him deserve her more, but it just meant that to be better for her, he had to do things without her. Didn't make any bloody sense, it didn't, like a damn puzzle he had to do blindfolded. And that was the way things were with Buffy, so damn muddled and sodding confusing, and he could hardly think of anything else. She twisted him all up inside, whenever he was near her. He just wanted to grab her, hold her, kiss her. Whisper sweet nothings into her ear like he was meant to, but she didn't want any of it. Didn't allow herself to. Same ol' Buffy, always holding back. And same ol' Spike, just hanging back in the sidelines, just in case. In case she changed her mind.
Damn, but what a sodding inner monologue. And she hadn't done anything but flickered those maddening green eyes back at him. Turned his insides to mush. He was here for a purpose, he was. Not to stare, and not to fawn. Convince her to get some bloody kip before she fell over from exhaustion. Because she was impossible, this woman, and stubborn to the last. Part of what he had always loved about her. That she was a challenge. But other times, her obstinate ways were a pain in the arse. Right now, it would be a bit of a distraction. As if they had enough problems, and then there was Illyria, accusing Jade of being in some magic's handle. He knew the blue bird wasn't the most sane of companions, but she did know a few things, her Old One's knowledge sometimes being more useful than not. Spike tried not to worry about the Slayer. Willow could set her right back, no need to even think on it. Possession, or Illyria's wackiness, Willow'd set it right. He had confidence in the witch's powers, though they were spread a bit thin these days. Trying to crack open an answer to the million questions they had. Easy as peach.
"You look like you want something," Buffy said, a sigh in her tone. Rupert looked up from where he was reading, glancing suspiciously at Spike, but no more than a lingering glare before he returned back to his book. That's right, Watcher. Keep to your own business. Not that Buffy needed the old man to step in for her anyway. Never had much of a trouble speaking her mind, being bossy as hell when she wanted to be. She'd throw Spike right out of this room if that was what she wanted. Toss him like a Frisbee.
"Yeah," Spike shrugged nonchalantly. "You to have some rest." He watched that infallible little Slayer's body tense a moment at the word 'you', then relax as he finished the rest of his sentence. It always made her a bit uncomfortable, admitting what they had been in the past. So, maybe it wasn't exactly a relationship, in the way a warm, loving one should be—although Spike had definitely loved her, utterly and completely, for every moment of it—it had been lots of sex. Buffy wanting him, wanting to feel something with him. And he had utterly obliged. Been almost a damned sex slave. Like him and Harmony, in reverse. Ugh. He shuddered at the thought of the perky blonde vampire. Sure, she had been a good lay when there were no other options, and he had bleeding sought her right out after becoming corporeal, but she was damn annoying. There was no love there, just a means to an end. And secretly, that was all Spike thought he was to Buffy, just a means to an end. Except she had told him she loved him. He remembered that. She admitted it. But she never acted on it, she only said that because he was about to die. And die he had. And came back. And she was just as confusing as always.
"I'm busy, Spike," Buffy spoke, irritated. Spike heard the little huff of breath coming from the watcher in the corner. The vampire doubted he was the first to try to convince Buffy to let it be for a little while, but it seemed like Rupert had plain given up, settling to pretending he was still helping by being in the same room as her, trying to keep his eyes open, clearly as wearied as his Slayer was. But Rupert was going to stay for as long as Buffy did. Trying to match his stubbornness with hers. Buffy's would win, would always win. Until Spike came into the mix. He was damned good at convincing Buffy of things. At least he had been, once.
"You'll be busy for a while longer, love. You'll hurt your eyes, looking at these maps. Won't be able to see nothing clearly. Take a break. Come back to it."
"Spike," Buffy closed her eyes as if to will him away. But he was making sense, he knew it, she bloody knew it. She grasped at her neck, where there was no doubt tension in it from the stiff soldier act. "Can you just let me be, please?"
"After you kip for a bit," Spike said, holding steadfast. She was breaking, he knew it. Just a few more talk of beds and an overabundance of pillows and she'd fall right for it.
"What does that even mean?" Buffy muttered, staring back down at the map without blinking.
"Sleep. Come back here with a fresh mind. Everyone will be the better for it," he prompted her, keeping his tone slick and sweet, alluring her. Finally, his Slayer nodded.
"Alright," She acquiesced. Giles' book closed shut with a triumphant slam, the Watcher all but jumping out of his chair. Buffy looked back over her shoulder, with the barest of amusement. "If you were tired, Giles, you didn't have to stay up with me."
"Nonsense, Buffy. I'm, uh, here. Whatever you need. But Spike is right," The older man blanched, as if it were terribly wrong to rearrange the words like that in a sentence. But ha, the man had said it. Spike was right. Spike shot him a smug gloat. "Best we get back to this with clear heads. We're more likely to miss something if we're not at our best." He nodded in that slow contemplative way of his. The watcher ambled out of the room, book in hand, while Buffy cast one more look at the table, laying an unused flag to the side. Spike still lingered, watching her, and she glanced up with an exasperated look.
"Okay!" she said, stepping animatedly away from the table. "I'm going to bed. Alone." She said after a moment, as if Spike needed another reminder. She didn't say it to be cruel—though it often had that effect anyway—but more to assure herself.
"No need to tell it to me, love. Not here for that," Spike responded pointedly, but threw it off as casual, shrugging his shoulders as they made their way to the exit. Buffy looked up at him incredulously.
"No?" She asked, clearly not believing him. "Isn't that always what you want?"
He reached for a loose piece of hair, tucking it behind her ear. At least she didn't flinch at the movement. She did, for a while. After he… after he had attacked her, trying to force her to love him again. But now, she just glanced at him warily, waiting for some snarky comment that would made her blush with its bawdiness. But he wasn't quite the dirty-mouthed Vampire he had been once. Sure, most of that was still there. How he had been for over a century, but he wasn't going to be cruel about it. Didn't need to hint at what made her uncomfortable. He'd figured out by now that it wasn't going to make her run into his arms. "I'm just here to help, love."
Buffy sighed, then nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it, Spike." She spoke tiredly, not even a trace of attitude in her tone. Just genuine.
"Can I get that on a t-shirt?" He couldn't help himself, and was rewarded with a roll of her eyes and a light shove that was in no way her full Slayer strength.
"God! Spike, really? You're impossible," She shook her head, but there was a flabbergasted smile playing at her lips. That was the Slayer he knew. Not skimping out on the personality or sass at all.
"Bit ironic, coming from you."
He walked her to her room, stopping at the doorway. He had been invited in, once before. Nothing intimate, but he was sure it still stood. Normally, hotels didn't have protective doorways, but in the case of this one, each Slayer who stayed there long enough had bought out a room, so it was their home. Defense against vampires, as if any would be stupid enough to try to break into a Slayer hive. Which made him wonder what exactly was doing all the big bad body snatching. A thought came to him, and he almost spoke it out loud, but kept it to himself. No, he needed Buffy to sleep, not to keep her up with more debating and theories. "Good night, love." He said to her. She didn't flinch as she did sometimes when he used that word. She hated hearing it, although his response was that it was plenty common nickname among the British. But he didn't use it willy nilly, not anymore. He said love to her because he loved her, and that was that.
"Good night, Spike," Buffy answered, a softness in her tone.
He left her there, and wandered down the halls, running into the familiar red-headed Witch as she headed to her own room. Curiosity sprung at him. He was glad that she had been able to talk to Jade alone, without that damned girlfriend of her hanging around, all suspicious and demanding. Never was that close with Kennedy. Spike had liked Tara, as much as he had liked humans at that time. She was good, and genuinely sweet. And had a hidden spunk in her. He hadn't even yelled at her when she tried to fry him with the sun. Though she had been a bit wacky at the time. But she had never treated him like a monster, just a man. Was a bit of a rare commodity out here, soul or not. Jade. She was another who treated Spike like a man, like an equal. Never complaining to the fact he couldn't travel during the day, throwing his weaknesses in his face. Teased him about his love for Buffy or just treated him like he was an evil soulless thing. Points in her favor. It was simpler, with her. He hadn't had too many friends, or least not that many left, but she was reliable. A strong fighter, and not stubborn as a mule.
"Find anything out with your mystic mojo?" Spike asked Willow, then frowned. She seemed a bit off. Hadn't even noticed him until he said something, and he was basically standing in front of her. She glanced up to him, her nose a bit red, her eyes teary. "Something happen?" He demanded, a bit more urgently.
"Huh? Yeah. And no. Um…" Willow shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if to focus herself. Tired. Everyone here was tired, and not at their best. Bloody right time for the enemy to attack, whoever it was. They were wearing themselves out far too much. "There is something…" The witch said, meeting her gaze to Spike's. "A little tear in her spirit. Lets others get through. It's not natural, it must have been forced recently. She's not in danger," Willow asserted, as she watched Spike's forehead furrow. "Yet. But spirits are trying to find their way through her. It's made her a little tired."
"Why haven't I seen this?" Spike asked.
"Well. It wasn't open very far. I was trying to figure out what it was, and I guess I kinda sped up the process a little. T-A spirit took possession of her for a couple minutes. A good one."
"You hurried it along?" Spike said. This damn magic stuff. Willow was bloody talented—scary talented—at it, but that didn't mean she shouldn't hold it in a bit. She was far too blasé about it sometimes. Spike kept away from magic as much as he could.
"Well, it was going to do it on its own. But yes, I guess I made it a little worse. I'm going to fix it! I just need some sleep." Girl was tired. Her eyes were half-closed. "She's fine right now, Spike." Willow bit back a yawn. "I'll figure it out, I promise." This yawn she couldn't quite stop. Woman was knackered. Spike nodded, a bit reluctantly.
"Fine. You get your sleep then." Willow nodded, relieved, and stepped past him, a few rooms down the hall before entering hers and Kennedy's. Spike watched her for a minute. So it was true, then. Illyria was right after all. Possession. Spike frowned. Recently, the witch had said. Spirits made him think of the demon dimension he and Jade had been banished to. But if that was the case, Spike had been there too. He wasn't about to be possessed, was he? Had enough of that for the week. Year, rest of his damn life. But he'd better keep an eye on Jade, if that was the case. He followed her scent to one of the guest rooms, knocking on the door. Her voice answered him, quiet but immediate, and he entered. She was standing by the window, at the balcony, a cigarette to her lips. Not sleeping yet, but then he and her had all but switched their sleeping schedules around, sleeping during the day like vamps should.
"Want one?" Jade offered as he neared. Nice to keep him from rustling around in his own coat's pockets. He accepted it, and then the lighter from her slender fingers as she passed that to him as well. He took a long drag and then handed the metal lighter back, her hand feeling cold, even next to his.
"Not warm out here," He commented to her. And she was a small thing, goosebumps over that pale skin of hers, but she shrugged in response. She was looking a little worse for wear. But magics could do that. "Talked to Willow," He told her. Jade glanced at him, her expression hard to read. A bit of hesitation, worry, maybe some shame. Whatever for. Wasn't her bloody fault that this was happening. But she was feeling like the weak link, maybe.
"She'll fix it. She said it opens and closes a bit. Should be fine for a while." Jade didn't sound nearly as certain as she tried to be. "I was Tara." She added after a moment, a small hesitant voice. "That is, she was speaking through me."
"Ah." Spike said. That explained things a bit. Well, the sniffling and the crying. Didn't take a genius to figure it out. "She snog you?"
He meant the last part as a humorous quip, and Jade indulged him, shaking her head with a small, but distinct smile. "Tara said it wouldn't be fair to me. She seemed really sweet. I could feel her. Thoughts and feelings running through my head. A bit tiring," She added the last part quietly.
"I imagine it would be," Spike answered, contemplative. "At least there's no overly big bad ghosts taking you for a spin,"
"How do you figure?" Jade asked, curious. Oh, she didn't see it. Made sense. She didn't know the spirits that were visiting as well as Spike did. She leaned into the balcony, not quite hiding the shiver this time as the breeze blew back at them, colder again.
"Well, Tara was Red's one great love. She couldn't hurt a hair on anyone's head. I figure that these spirits come out because there's someone they want to see. And someone wants to see them. Same with Wesley and Illyria. Not that Wesley was overly fond of Illyria. When she came to be she took over the body of the woman he loved, killing her. Looking just like her, except blue. But guess it was enough. Wesley was a bit soft on her 'cuz of it. And though you can't quite tell, Illyria was fond of him. In her own off her knocker way. So at least two cases," Spike gestured with his fingers, "That whoever came through you tried to have a lover's reunion. Sort of."
Jade nodded, understanding rather than perplexed. "Thanks for explaining," She spoke with some relief. "There's so many people—so many things that happened. I get lost."
"Here to help," Spike shrugged. "Get back inside. You're turning as blue as Illyria." Jade didn't argue with him, letting herself be ushered inside, and Spike snuffed out his cigarette under his heel before closing the glass door behind them.
"Who do you think you'd see?" Jade sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him. "Or, talk to, rather. From the spirit world."
Spike shrugged nonchalantly. There were some people who were dead that he cared about, although some had come back one way or another. He had been fond of Fred, loved her even, like a sister, or a friend, but her body was still in use. Wasn't even sure if she'd come through. And then there was Buffy, but she was flesh and blood, had been for four years again. "Prolly the same as who we saw in the dimension," Spike admitted. His mum. Although the version in the dimension, that hadn't, hadn't been her. He didn't even know if the ones trying to inhabit Jade weren't some twisted version. Willow seemed to think that it was Tara, full and completely, but she didn't always think with her head, that one. Led a little too much with her heart. Might just be hearing what she wanted to hear.
"Get some sleep." He told her as he stepped up, over towards the door. She was tired and cold, and her eyelids were drooping. Her gaze followed him. She seemed a bit timid, maybe afraid of the dark, or the strange possession. But so far it had only come out when she was with someone. Or at least, that was how it seemed. He didn't wait for her response after he closed the door behind him, but heard a light "Good night," follow him down the hall.