Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
Much love to ObscureBookWyrm. She's crazy diligent.
Spoilers: Pangs
Remember When
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Buffy glared down at the watery mashed potatoes. How did her mother get them so creamy? Maybe she should have gone with Mom and Dawn to Aunt Darlene's. She totally could have pulled a Willow and finished her midterm early…and pigs flew while singing Skip To My Lou.
"Maybe you can cook off the extra water?" Willow offered helpfully.
"But I've already put them in the bowl."
Both girls looked from the white plastic mixing bowl to the large pot the potatoes were boiled in.
"The microwave?"
Willow shrugged. "Maybe?"
This sucked. Cooking dinner sucked. She shouldn't have been so gung-ho about it. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but she was in college now. An official adult. Eighteen, living on her own, and ready to do official adult things, like going to frat parties, making new adult friends, and getting a normal human boyfriend. Most importantly she was getting an education so she could get a good job in four years. Not just a job. A career. For her future.
A future.
Buffy swallowed hard, choking down an overwhelming sense of panic that had been plaguing her since she put Faith in a coma.
Angel had put so much crap in Faith's head about futures. About normality. Only Faith had known better. Like she told Buffy, Slayers were meant to die choking on their own blood.
The only future a Slayer had was the yawning hole of her grave.
Buffy opened the microwave and tried unsuccessfully to cram the large bowl inside, shoving down her panic. Hosting Thanksgiving dinner was adult, wasn't it? Mom made it look so easy; a beautiful dinner seemed to appear effortlessly on the table every year, complete with those little fall leaf cutouts on the pumpkin pie. Meanwhile, Buffy had watery potatoes, further proof that she just wasn't cut out for a normal life.
As she rotated the bowl for the third time, trying unsuccessfully to pass a large object through a small hole, much like childbirth, there was a frantic knocking at the door. Buffy didn't pay it any mind until she heard a familiar voice.
"I'm parboiling out here."
Buffy and Willow rushed to the front door to see Spike pressed into the invisible barrier, trying to fit into the small sliver of shadow offered by the narrow eaves. Huddled beneath a ratty blanket, Spike peered helplessly at them with red-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks.
"Oh, let him in Giles. Remember I told you, he saved me the other night. If he hadn't, those scary masked men would have kidnapped me!"
"If I understand correctly, those men wouldn't have been a bother if he hadn't led them straight to you."
"Oi! If I'd known they could track me, I wouldn't have lingered with the witch." Spike leaned in to meet the other man's eyes. "Wouldn't want those wankers to get their grubby hands on her. Not a place for anyone to be, especially women."
Buffy and Willow gasped, and Giles's face hardened.
"You've spent time with these commandos?"
"If by 'spent time' you mean unlawfully detained and experimented on, sure."
"Experimented on?" Willow squeaked, hands fluttering like small birds trying to escape.
"Is that why you couldn't bite Willow?" Buffy accused.
Willow dropped her gaze to her feet, scraping the toe of her purple and neon green Sketchers across the floor like a chastised child. She peeked from under her fringe of bangs at Spike, who glared defiantly at Buffy, refusing to be ashamed of his nature.
"I didn't mean to tell them that part."
Spike raised a brow, shocked at her conspiratorial tone. Seemed that saving birds made them unnaturally grateful and forgiving of past wrongs. Spike needed to give that some serious thought.
"S'kay, pet. It happened. No use denyin' it. But, yeah. Spike had a little trip to the vet and now he doesn't chase the other puppies anymore."
"We can't know that for sure; this may be a trick." Giles firmed his stance in front of the door, denying the vampire entry.
"I don't know, Giles. It was pretty bad. He was all, 'owww, bloody hell' and whimpery." Willow winced. "Spike doesn't strike me as the whimpery type unless he means it."
"I was not whimpery. Take it back!" Spike huffed, nearly affronted enough to about face and stalk away.
"Not whimpery in a bad way….but in a cute-" Spike's fangs made an appearance and Willow scrambled to revise. "I was just running with your puppy analogy!"
"We can't let him burn up outside." Buffy's face was studiously blank as she spoke, cutting through the nonsense and getting to the business at hand.
Relieved that his slayer was at least treating the situation with the gravity it deserved, Giles pointed toward one of the wooden dining chairs. "The only way I'm letting a master vampire in my home is if he's restrained."
"Fine. Yes. A little bondage never hurt no one." Spike cast a panicked glance over his shoulder. The day was hot and bright, and teeming with danger. The sense of helplessness he felt nearly overwhelmed him. "Just let me in."
"It's probably for the best." Spike met Buffy's gaze as she spoke. Resignation, sadness, and a wealth of disappointment reflected in her expression. Disappointment that no matter how many chances he was given he still gave in to his nature.
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"That was Angel on the phone," Giles stated, the iron grip on his eyeglasses belying his calm tone.
Buffy's hand slipped and the knot around Spike's ankle tightened.
"Not so tight, you're cutting off my circulation."
She looked up at him from her knees, her green eyes spitting fire that for once he hadn't put there. She was between his spread thighs, tying his ankles to the wooden, straight-backed chair while Spike contemplated dirty, dirty thoughts.
"You don't have any circulation." She brushed her hair out of her eyes.
Spike grimaced as she tightened the last knot. "Well, it pinches," Spike hissed. Buffy ignored him.
"What did he want?"
"To inform you that he received information that you were in grave danger. He offered to lend assistance."
"Did you tell that ass that if he comes into my town I'll cut something important off?"
Both of Spike's black brows shot up; Giles coughed.
"I advised him that his assistance wasn't necessary, and that we'd take care of it."
"Did he say what the 'grave danger' was?"
"No."
"Figures."
"Trouble in paradise, pet?" She rose to her feet, giving him a nasty look. Spike watched as she brushed her hair away again, the silky strands shifting to reveal a glimpse of his scar on her neck. "Something to do with that little bit of faith you mentioned before?"
"Faith is a person, you moron." And apparently a sore spot for the slayer.
"Someone I should meet then?" he asked silkily.
She glowered, smacking him on the back of the head. Hard.
"Wait," he called before she could stomp away.
Reluctantly, she turned back.
"My left breast pocket."
Buffy raised an eyebrow, familiar with this game.
She bent over, aware that her blouse gaped in the front and feeling a delicious little thrill at the knowledge. She didn't know why she was teasing him. It wasn't like anything could ever happen between them. Well, anything more than whatever already happened.
She slid her fingers into his inner pocket, feeling a slender piece of wood. Her hair stick! He'd kept it. After their fight in the quad she had reconciled herself to never seeing again.
Her solemn face instantly brightened into a smile. Standing directly in front of him, she wound her hair at the top of her head, revealing the long lines of her neck. She knew her actions pretty much constituted vamp porn, and she was a little bit titillated by Spike's obvious reaction. His body visibly tightened, straining against the ropes, his hips shifting in his seat. She looked into his eyes the entire time she slid the stick into her hair. As expected she saw hunger in his gaze, not for her blood, but something else entirely. Even knowing what kind of game she was playing, she backed away, disconcerted.
"What? No thank-you?"
Spike's voice was husky with an emotion she didn't want to contemplate; instead she ignored him and went back to whipping her potatoes. Vigorously.
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"He won't be receiving any nourishment until he tells us what we want to know."
"Ah, come on Giles. He's hungry. He looked terrible in the dorm a week ago, and now he looks ten times worse."
"Thanks, pet."
Willow frowned at him. "We need to feed him," she continued decisively.
"While I appreciate your sympathy for this creature, the fact is that he would have eaten you given the chance."
"That's right, no feeding of the undead." Xander waved his finger in the air, too weak to do anything else while laying, sweating and moaning, on the couch.
Wanker. Their camaraderie on the campus had certainly been short-lived. The berk had started complaining about Spike's presence as soon as he staggered into the house, draped over some pretty brunette's shoulder.
Spike turned his attention to her. She was pretty enough, except for the air about her that wasn't quite right. Not wrong. But not right either.
"Who's the new girl? She's not going to start crying is she?"
Buffy shot him a curious look. "Why would she start crying?"
"Dunno. Every time I come around this burg, one of you girls starts blubbering on me like I'm a soddin' hanky. It's enough to give a bloke one of those psychological complexes."
"You're a vampire. It's practically in your job description to make girls cry."
The look Spike cast Xander promised a bloody death. The ailing teen just grunted, having used most of his energy to speak.
"What do you know of jobs? Notice you don't smell of pizza anymore."
"Hey, I work. Very manly work. At a construction site."
"Digging holes. Very manly. Very lowbrow."
"Did you just call me stupid?"
"No, but you just did."
"Do shut up, the both of you." Once again Giles wondered at the wisdom of allowing Buffy to host her dinner at his flat. Yes, he was feeling at loose ends lately, and decidedly forgotten, but this was just ludicrous.
Anya glanced between the vampire and her boyfriend, frowning when Xander failed to introduce her. "I'm Anya, Xander's girlfriend!" She spoke with enough perkiness to make Spike's fangs ache.
"Got a thing for leggy brunettes that are too good for you, Harris?"
"Girlfriend? When did we say girlfriend?"
Anya turned to him, her expression confused and hurt. "You did. Earlier. Remember, you were sick and sweating grotesquely and you said I was the best girlfriend ever."
"I don't remember. Must be the fever."
"Wanker. If she cries, she'd better not wipe her snot on my duster."
Anya's lower lip quivered. She started to gather up her purse when Xander stumbled off the couch, grabbing her wrist before she could leave.
"Not that it's not absolutely true. You are the best girlfriend ever."
Her smile was blinding as she threw her arms around him. When he staggered, she started to cluck, leading him to the couch to rest.
Spike had something nasty to say about that, but then the windows shattered and arrows started flying….and there was a soddin' bear.
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"I think it's best that we collect what information we can."
"Then what, mate?" Spike yanked on his chains and they rattled in the enamel tub. Forced to sit through a five course meal and not an ounce of blood passed his way. Bloody hell, he was hungry enough to consider eating a red-arsed baboon. Nasty buggers with fangs the size of an elephant's prick. Leastways it seemed that way when they were charging you, screaming bloody death.
It didn't help that Buffy's blood permeated the air, tantalizingly sweet with a hint of pumpkin spice from her failed baking experiments.
Giles looked at him dryly, his intent clear.
"That's what I thought. I'm suddenly havin' an attack of amnesia. Can't remember a thing."
"Spike!" Willow threw up her hands in exasperation.
"What can I say? They messed with my noggin, yeah?"
"That reminds me." Willow moved behind him, her hands shifting gently though his hair. "Here. See."
Both Buffy and Giles crowded behind him. Spike fought the urge to jerk his head away, but a woman threading her fingers through his hair was a pleasure he thoroughly enjoyed. He was silently hoping Buffy would take over from her friend.
"Is that a surgical scar?" Giles asked.
"Looks like," answered Willow.
"Someone has definitely done something to him, which is why we need more information."
As Giles spoke, Buffy drifted back to the front of him. The sadness in her eyes made his heart ache with the urge to tell her everything, but her Watcher's matter-of-fact coldness stopped him dead. Above all, Spike was a survivor, and he knew that if he wanted to make it out alive he'd have to play his cards close to the vest.
"How long are you going to pull this crap?" Buffy folded her arms over her chest, tapping her foot.
"How long am I going to live once I tell you?" Spike glared right back at her in pure survivor mode.
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"All that blood pumping…" she traced the graceful line of her neck, leaning a fraction closer to him. Her fingers brushed his scar, and he salivated. He lunged, wrapping his fist in the knot of golden hair held tight by his gift, and yanked her near until their lips were a kiss apart.
"It's not nice to tease the Big Bad, luv." She stared into his blue eyes, tense but unafraid.
"You're hurting me."
His grip loosened, not releasing her completely.
"Tell me about the commandos, and I'll give you some blood."
"Give me some blood, and I'll tell you about the commandos," he countered.
They hung at an impasse, close enough to be tempted by each other's scents. Spike was uncomfortably aware that Buffy wasn't a girl any more. She was a woman. A beautiful one.
She slowly shook her head, and her silky hair shifted through his fingers. He inhaled. Not because he needed to, but because he wanted more of her scent inside him.
"Pet, if I knew anything I'd tell you. Let me up and we'll talk."
Her pink, glossy lips turned down at the corners, and disappointment resonated in his chest. Stifling his sigh, he slid his hand from her hair.
"Can't trust you."
"Can't you?"
Her mouth hardened, and he ached to kiss it soft again.
"No! You attacked me, remember? Worse, you frightened my mother so badly she held a knife to you!"
Spike sank back into the tub, trying unsuccessfully to meld with the enamel.
"Did Joyce tell you that?" His eyes flittered away, concentrating on a plain white hand towel hanging neatly on the rack. For a bachelor the watcher was a prissy little bastard.
"No, Dawn did."
What little fight Spike had seemed to leak out of him. His shoulders hunched to his ears, his hands fisted in his lap in defeat.
"I'm so pissed with you right now!"
"Sing me another, princess. When're you not brassed off at me for being what I am? But if you want to know about those commandos then you'll have to feed me. It'd be easy as you please with that leak you've sprung." He motioned to her bandaged arm where an arrow had pierced her during the fray.
Buffy looked down at her arm, then back up at him, her eyes hard.
"You're right. I'm pissed at you for being a vampire. So you can sit there in your chains, sulking about how no one understands you, and you can starve until you're a pile of moldy bones for all I care."
Suddenly furious, Spike yanked, and kicked, and growled to no avail. The iron chains rattled, but stayed fast to the brass fittings.
"Buffy, you alright in there?"
"Fine, Giles," she called through the door, keeping her eyes locked on Spike's.
"I'm starvin'."
"Good," she replied without a flicker of pity on her face. "It's what you deserve."
Spike panted, angry gusts that flared his nostrils. When he spoke, the words were spat out from between pale, pressed lips.
"I wouldn't have hurt your mum or Dawn. I wouldn't even have hurt the witch if I'd gotten my fangs in her. I'm not goin' to hurt anyone now, either."
Her tone was pure acid, her face stone as she leaned closer to hiss under her breath so Giles wouldn't hear. "How can I possibly know that, Spike? After how you assaulted me last year."
Spike jolted forward in the tub, but Buffy slapped him back down with a hand to his chest. "I did no such fuckin' thing!" Spike's eyes blazed cold fire.
"You took without my permission, Spike." She covered her throat protectively, ignoring the agony that flashed over his face. "You don't get a taste ever again."
Resolutely, Spike set his gaze straight ahead.
"Guess we have nothin' to talk about."
"Guess not." Buffy got to her feet and walked out without looking back.