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Thanks to ObscureBookWyrm!
Remember When
Chapter Fifty-Four
Spike stalked through the graveyard, open bottle of Jack in one hand, a brown paper bag filled with booze and smokes in the other. He'd spent his night drinking and leering at half-naked chippies at the Fish Tank, but as dawn approached he decided it was time to take his pathetic party back to his crypt before he got tempted to take up one of those pretty ladies' invites to go back to their place. He knew going home alone put his man card at stake, but he couldn't bring himself to indulge in meaningless shagging. Not while he wanted so much more. At least alone at home, he could sleep off his drunk and forget the night ever happened.
The sound of running water alerted him he wasn't alone as soon as he pushed open the door to his crypt. His demon rushed to the forefront in a crunch of cartilage, sobering him out of his stupor. He set the paper bag on the sarcophagus, keeping his half-full bottle of Jack for a weapon, and stealthily made his way to the trap door that led to the lower level.
He dropped down into the dark hole, landing panther-soft, not even his leather duster rustling. Candles were lit and burning low in his bathroom, casting wavering shadows throughout the rest of the dark bedroom. Silently he moved to the edge of the light, peering into the shower stall.
The bottle of Jack slipped from his hand and shattered on the polished cement floor he and Xander had poured the weekend before. The thick soles of his boot heels ground the glass into dust shards as he strode into the room.
"Buffy! What are you doin', luv?"
He grabbed a rumpled towel off the top of an old cupboard he'd salvaged from the dump and hurried over to the girl. She was crouched naked in the bottom of the shower stall, her usually golden skin leached white and her lips blue.
Cranking off the water, he bent down to wrap the towel around her shoulders. "Bugger. You're freezing." Even to him, a man who ran at room temperature, she felt as cold as ice. He didn't know how long she'd been sitting under the cold water, but it had been long enough for her shivers to pass. He didn't know much about human anatomy but he knew that was bad.
He wrapped another towel around her, then shook her by the shoulders, trying to get her to acknowledge him. She stared blankly past him, and he could tell by her red-rimmed eyes she'd been crying.
His stomach twisted as he hauled her up into his arms, knowing he had to get her off the cold tile and warmed up. He carried her into his bedroom and placed her on the huge four poster bed he and Xander had found in the same abandoned Victorian they pulled the cherry wood paneling from. It had taken them most of the day to dismantle it, haul it back to his crypt, and put it together again, but when Anya had showed with red Egyptian cotton sheets and a matching velvet duvet, he couldn't have been happier. It was a bed fit for a queen. Too bad he imagined Buffy, with her gold hair spread over his red sheets, ending up in his bed under much different circumstances.
When he tried to straighten away from her, Buffy latched on, her arms snaking around his neck until he was stuck awkwardly bent over her.
"Buffy, luv?"
"No, Spike. Don't go."
He rubbed his hand down her back, caressing her soft skin just above the line of the towel, and shuddering at how cold she still felt. Lifting her up, he sat on the bed, his back to the headboard and Buffy in his lap. Fumbling a bit, he yanked the comforter from beneath them and hauled it around Buffy's shoulders.
He barely settled her before she pressed her cheek to his chest and began to sob, great big shudders of rage and grief that made the sick in the bottom of his stomach twist up tight in his throat.
"What's wrong, baby? Tell me."
She shook her head, her wet cheek rubbing against his tee. He thought about how he'd last seen her at the Bronze, arse-deep in men panting over her tight, leather-clad self. He'd known something was off with her, could smell the beer on her, and he'd let her walk off. If something had happened to her, he'd be to blame for leaving her to fend for herself.
He was so used to thinking of his girl as strong, as unbeatable, but that didn't mean she was invincible. She could still be taken advantage of. Even if she could still fight off an attacker while drunk, he heard tell of lads who liked to drug girls' drinks, a trend rising in popularity among the college set.
Fingers shaking, he brushed her hair away from her cheek, trying to get a glimpse of her face. "Did someone hurt you, Buffy?"
She twisted around, burying her face deeper into his chest, her sobs worsening. The sick in his stomach crawled farther into his throat, and for a moment Spike thought he'd defy biology and lose his dinner all over the floor.
It was a struggle to just hold her tight and keep his mouth closed. He was a talker, always had been. Always trying to get those he cared for to share their feeling, but he had to remind himself that Buffy wasn't a sharer. Not when pushed. When pushed, she clammed up and it wouldn't be pried out of her with a tire iron and a two-by-four.
"Faith woke up," Buffy whispered after what felt like days of her soft cries. Spike brushed his hand over her hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"I heard."
Buffy nodded, and Spike waited patiently for her to continue. "She stole my body."
Spike stiffened beneath her. "What? How?"
"She had some magical doo-dad from the Mayor. She's been running around in my body all night."
Spike remembered her at the Bronze. How it felt like he was looking at a stranger. "That's why you were actin' off."
Buffy jerked upright, twisting in his lap to face him. Spike dropped his eyes, unable to see the contempt he was sure was there. "You saw her!"
"You…she was at the Bronze."
"What did she say to you?"
Spike pressed his lips tight. When Buffy wrapped her tiny fist around the lapel of his duster, he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it from her. He focused his eyes on the floor beside the bed, and loosened his arms, certain she'd be crawling off his lap any moment.
"Tell me," she ordered.
He took a deep breath, trapping it in his lungs until it hurt. "She wanted to have sex."
Her grip on his jacket loosened and she leaned away from him. He dropped his arms, pressing them into the bed and fisting his hands along his thighs. Still he wouldn't look at her.
"Did you?"
He didn't blame her for asking the question, but it still brassed him the hell off. "No," he spat. "You weren't actin' right, and I could smell the booze on your breath, yeah? Even a berk would know you were drunk off your arse."
"That doesn't matter."
Spike finally looked at her, blue eyes hot. "Matters to me! You sat here, in my lap, and went on and on about how you wanted your next time all romantic like. I figured up against a wall in the alley behind the Bronze wasn't that. I figured it was just the booze talking."
Her face fell, and Spike remembered how he found her. "Hey." He cupped her shoulder, gently pressing her closer. "Did something happen?"
She sniffed, nodding her head, and Spike's entire world went dark, then red. "Bloody, buggering, fuck! I should have never left you there. I knew something wasn't right, but I was so brassed off at you, I fuckin' walked away."
Needing to hold her tight, he wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin. "I'm sorry, Buffy. This is all my fault. I should have tried to get you –her–to leave with me."
She shook her head, her hair brushing his chin, still sniffling against his neck. "No. She would have just killed you. I know Faith. She's a selfish, vindictive bitch. She just wanted you because of how we used to talk about you."
"She said I weirded you and the Scoobs out."
Buffy chuckled, a welcome sound compared to her soft sobs. "Well, yeah. We used to talk about you all the time last year. Especially Giles. Trying to figure out what made you so different. Why you helped us. Why, even without your soul, you didn't hurt Dawn, and saved the world…" Buffy chuckled a bit more. "And brought us gifts. That one totally wigged Giles out."
Spike rubbed his hand down her back, smiling into her hair. He was glad that he could make her laugh, even if was at his expense, just a little. He could imagine the Scoobs surrounding the Watcher as he went through book after book, muttering to himself about the weird vampire who turned their lives upside down. He found himself minding that not one bit.
His glimmer of happiness was short-lived. "I still should have never left you there, luv. At the very least I should have gotten the Watcher or something. Someone hurt you and it's my fault." Spike was never going to forgive himself for this failure. He'd known something was wrong and he'd ignored his instincts, and because of it, his girl had been hurt.
Buffy rubbed her hand on his shoulder, leaching away some of his anger. "It's not what you think, Spike. It wasn't like that."
"What was it like, then?" he asked carefully.
Spike counted Buffy's breaths as she remained silent. He was at twenty-three before she spoke. "Can I lie down? My head hurts."
"Course." Spike moved from beneath her, placing her on the bed. "Let me get you some water."
She nodded her head, and he hurried upstairs, grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. By the time he made it back downstairs, the wet towels she'd been wearing were folded on top of his dresser and he could see she was wearing one of his black tees.
He handed her the water, but before he could step back, she grabbed him by the wrist. "Lay down with me?"
He stared down at her bruised eyes and too-pale face and nodded, unable to deny her anything. He toed off his shoes, tossing his duster across the foot of the bed, and crawled under the covers still dressed. She moved over, making room, but as soon as he was settled she tucked herself under his arm.
Spike was rubbing her upper arm with his thumb, the way she liked, when she spoke. "It was Riley. But it wasn't his fault. How was he to know? And I am his girlfriend…" She curled her body up next to his, trying to make herself as small as her words sounded.
Spike's entire body tensed, but he didn't stop the soothing motions of his thumb. She might not blame the boy, but he sure as fuck did. Holding her tight, he buried his nose in her hair. "Tell me." He tried to keep the demand from his tone. Keep his words soft. To contain his anger by touching her smooth skin and inhaling her honey-slick scent.
But as her words poured out it became more of a struggle, and he had to fight to remain calm. How could the big git not know it wasn't her? How could he have disregarded her desire to have their first time together to be romantic? She had told the lad time and time again that she wanted to wait, wanted it to be meaningful, not some dirty, drunken fuck. And that was the gist of it. Anyone with two brains cells to rub together would have known the girl had been off, if not at the very least drunk. Drunk and not in her right mind. But that hadn't meant anything to Riley, who'd just wanted to get in her pants.
"I'm just so sick and tired of having no say in what happens to me. First, I get this stupid calling when I'm only fifteen. Fifteen! Who does that? 'Hey, kid, guess what? You've been chosen to fight and die for us. I know you had other plans, like having a life and all, but we need you to put your life on the line every night instead. Oh, and just so you know, you'll probably die before twenty. Twenty-five for sure.'"
Buffy ignored Spike's low, warning growl, too upset to pause her rant.
"It just never stops. Spells and curses, and parasites attaching themselves to me, making me do things I'd never do. I never get a say in anything. Sometimes I think I don't even get a say in who I love." She turned on him, big eyes bright with tears. "Did I tell you that the Powers That Be sent Angel here? Plopped him down right in front of me. Sure, they say we weren't supposed to fall in love, but can I really believe them? All they do is mess with my life. No matter how hard I try to take something for myself, they get in the way. Just look at me trying to go to college. All I wanted was to be Ms. Sunnydale Co-ed, and what happens? I end up dating a guy working for some evil Dr. Frankenstein. I mean, coincidence? I think not. My life isn't my own!" She curled up tight, shielding herself. "Not even my body is my own."
Unable to stop himself, his heart bleeding, Spike curled himself around her tiny body. "I'm sorry, Buffy." He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo and despair.
"Everyone just takes from me," she whispered in a small sad voice, and Spike's heart broke with guilt. Because wasn't he trying to take from her? Take comfort from her? Take more than the friendship she was willing to give?
He needed to figure out a way to give to her instead of take. He wanted to show his precious girl there was more to life than spells gone wrong and vicious monsters in the dark. She deserved so much more than had been handed to her; he just needed to figure out how to give it to her.
But first there was something he had to do.
8888
"Did you check the campus library?" Willow asked, rubbing her hands together. Tara sat next to her on Giles' couch, the warm heat of her body a silent comfort.
Riley stopped his frustrated pacing to glare at her. "Have you ever seen Buffy at the library?"
"Once," Willow replied defensively, not liking his tone.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" Xander held the door open for Anya, his eyes sliding down to her swaying ass, before darting over to Willow to make sure his best friend didn't catch him ogling his girlfriend. Yeah, Anya was his girl, but Willow had this weird fem thing where she didn't like to see her fellow women being ogled, even by their boyfriends. Anya, however, liked being ogled, and Xander felt it was his boyfriendly duty to oblige her whenever possible.
"Do come in," Giles said in that dry British tone of his, telling Xander he was annoyed. From the way Giles' hard stare was locked on Riley, for once his irritation wasn't at Xander, for which he was eternally thankful.
"Thanks, G-man," Xander said heartily, slamming the front door behind him. Seeing Anya had flung herself down on the couch next to Tara and Willow, leaving no room for him, Xander sauntered over to Giles, who stood next to the dining table, which had seen more books than food placed upon it throughout the years.
"What's up?" Xander repeated his question, picking up on the tension in the room, most of which was emanating from the military man pacing the length of the living room.
"I can't find Buffy," Riley threw out, running his hand over his close cropped hair. "I checked her dorm, campus, her mom's. She's nowhere and I've got to talk to her."
"About what?" Willow asked.
The dark look Riley threw Willow made Xander tense. Next to him, Giles shifted his weight, reminding the young boy that the older man next to him had a shady and violent past.
"Private stuff."
Willow's expression settled somewhere between her resolve face and her tenth grade biology class I'll-dissect-this-frog-but-I-won't-like-it face. Not a good combination, as far as Xander was concerned.
"Does this private stuff have to do with you spending time with Faith in Buffy's body and not knowing it?"
The sharp edge to Willow's tone made Xander think there was more to Riley 'spending time' with Faith than he knew about. Sure, he'd seen Buffy and Faith exchange some whispered words before Faith fell unconscious and Buffy ran out the door. The stark look on his friend's face had told him that whatever Faith had said hadn't been good. Then there had been the whispered argument between Riley and Willow afterwards. Something was going on, and Xander didn't like not being in the loop about it.
"Like I said, it's private. Now, do you have any idea where Buffy could be?"
Xander's eyes were drawn to the gape in Anya's shirt as she leaned forward to pick up the Cosmo she'd left the last time they were there. She crossed her legs as she flipped it open in her lap, her foot bouncing in her disinterested way. He had no idea why her appearance of complete and utter boredom intrigued him so. Probably because he knew she was discreetly paying attention to every little detail, but mostly because her disinterest made him want to sidle up next to her and pester the hell out of her until they only thing she paid attention to was him.
"She's probably with Spike." Anya licked her finger, flicking the glossy page of the magazine. Xander shifted his weight, attempting the hide the semi he was suddenly sporting.
"Spike? Why do you say that?"
Xander narrowed his gaze at Riley. Again with the tone. The guy was treading a fine line.
Anya shrugged, still disinterested. Ahh, his unbiased little vengeance demon. She was so gosh darn cute sometimes. "It's only logical. She's not where you said, and she's not with any of us 'cause we're all here. That leaves Spike." Xander fought the urge to grin. Cute and smart.
The front door slammed open and smoke and flame burst inside.
"Or maybe not," Anya said, lips pursed as she watched Spike stomped out his flaming blanket. Everyone in the room held their breath when the vampire targeted his dark gaze on Riley.
"Brilliant. You're here. I don't have to waste time hunting you."
The way he said hunting made Xander think of lions on the Serengeti. Even with a chip in his head, there was no mistaking Spike for being anything but a predator.
"Spike!" Willow leapt up from the couch. Despite her brief spar with Riley, Xander could tell she truly was concerned for Buffy, which only heightened his own unsettled feelings. "Have you seen Buffy? She's been missing since last night."
Spike pried his hard gaze off Riley, his eyes softening when they landed on the witch. "Yeah, Red. She's at my crypt. Lower level." He targeted Riley again, before saying, "Asleep in my bed."
The military man bristled. "What the fuck?" Riley growled, stepping into Spike's space.
With a single hand to Riley's wide chest, Spike shoved the man back three feet. If his chip fired, he didn't show it. Sneering, Spike opened the front door, careful to stay behind it and away from the spill of sunlight.
"You best go see to her, witches," Spike said to Willow and Tara. Biting her lip, Willow nodded, holding her hand out to Tara to help her off the couch. As they hurried over to the door, Spike aimed his gaze at Anya, who still flipped through her magazine. "You too, Demongirl. She'll need you."
The entire room froze. Willow's soft mouth dropped open, and sensing something dark and swirling Tara huddled closer to her lover, offering comfort. Riley stopped his advance toward Spike, brow crumpled as he too felt the swirl of unease.
Anya dropped her magazine, slowly looking up at Spike. "Me?"
Spike nodded once, a brisk, painful move that made Xander's lower gut clench.
"Spike?" Giles breathed and from the corner of his eye Xander saw the older man's hands curl around the edge of the table until the whites of his knuckles showed.
"What ––." Willow covered her mouth before she could finish the question. The words didn't need to be spoken. Everyone knew why the presence of Anyanka, The Vengeance of Scorned Women, would be needed. Anya might not be in the vengeance game any more, but her experience in dealing with woman in the aftermath of the events leading to their scorn still remained.
Spike inclined his head toward the door. "Off with you now."
"Yes. Okay." Anya fluttered a little as she put the magazine back on the coffee table, and Xander ached to offer her a hug, but the weight of the room held him in place. The knowledge that with the women gone, something brutal and unfettered would be set free amongst the men. Their own kind of justice.
Spike closed the door behind the women, pivoting on his heel to stride toward Giles and Xander. Behind him Riley's face hardened, his chin notching up.
Stopping in front of Giles, Spike shed his jacket, throwing it over the dining room chair. "One Englishman to another," Spike looked Giles in the eye as he spoke. "Swear to me you won't let the wanker stake me when I fall unconscious."
Giles removed his glasses, setting them atop of stack of books before answering. "I swear."
"What's going on?" A few weeks ago, Xander would have asked that question with his hands still shoved deep in his pockets. Now his hands were loose at his sides, fingers curled, feet hip-width apart. He'd had only a few sparring lessons with Spike, in between their weekends spent swilling beer, bonding over home improvements, but they had come easily to him. Xander already had a honed fighting sense from years spent battling on the hellmouth. He only needed a bit of guidance.
Spike cocked his head, turning to face his opponent. "You want to tell him or do you want me?"
Riley sneered. "There's nothing to tell. You're blowing this all out of proportion. No surprise there. Vampire seeing evil in something innocent."
"Innocent?" Spike seethed.
"How could I possibly know this Faith chick was inside Buffy? Shit like that isn't normal. There's no way I could have ever imagined that scenario."
Spike's grin wasn't anywhere in the ballpark of understanding or reassuring. "You're right. No soddin' way you could have known another girl was waltzing around in Buffy's skin."
It was clear that Riley wasn't convinced by Spike's tone, but he nodded anyways. "That's right. I couldn't have known. I couldn't ––."
Spike slashed his hand through the air, cutting the man off. "But you sure as shite should have figured the girl wasn't right. She smelled like a bloody brewery. Actin' like some floozy. At the very least actin' like she was three sheets to the wind."
"So what? She came to me. Came to my dorm. Not like I'm going to say no!" Riley snarled, edging his large body, vibrating with rage, closer to the vampire.
"If she ain't actin' herself, you say no. Easy as that. Put her ahead of yourself." Spike stood his ground, not backing away from the larger man, instead leaning contentiously into Riley's space.
"Couples have sex while drunk all the time. We didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh, shit." Xander rubbed his hand down his face. "You had sex with Faith while she was in Buffy's body." No one acknowledged him, which was just as well since he felt like a dumbass for not figuring it out sooner.
"Wrong!" Spike snarled, shoving at the other man when he edged a little too close. Riley fell back and Spike followed. "She was drunk and you weren't. You took advantage."
"Fuck, no." Riley shoved and Spike fell back.
Spike regained his balance, head cocked. "You saying you weren't stone-cold sober?"
"No." Riley rubbed a shaking hand through his hair. "I'm saying I didn't take advantage. You can't take advantage of your girlfriend. It's not like she was some girl passed out in the back room of the frat. We're together."
The look on Spike's face turned downright nasty. Giles angled himself so he was no longer behind the combatants, but between them and the door. Meanwhile, Xander stood unmoving, feeling like a douche and not knowing why. Hell, he knew why. Because Riley's reasoning wasn't all that unreasonable. Couples had drunk sex all the time. Consent was implied. Wasn't it?
"You seem to be forgetting one important detail, Cardboard."
"What's that, Vampire?"
Spike drew his prey in closer, angling his face up to the slightly taller man. "You and the slayer aren't shag mates. She told you – repeatedly – that she wanted to wait. She wanted romance. Not a dirty, drunk fuck for your first time."
Riley staggered back, eyes wide. He drew a shaking hand through his hair. "How do you know that?" His hand dropped, shock melting from his face, his expression hardening. "Why do you know that?" He shoved his finger into Spike's chest, sneering. "I can't believe she'd tell you our private business. And she wonders why we aren't working."
"You're not workin' because you're a wanker who thinks only with his prick. And when you're not thinkin' with your prick, you're out playin' soldier, messing with things way beyond your understandin'."
"You have no idea what the Initiative is trying to accomplish. My work with them is important."
"Your work? Capturing and torturing Others in your cocked-up quest to create super soldiers?" At Riley's startled look, Spike nodded. "Yeah, this isn't my first ride. You wankers have been around since the War."
"Gentlemen––," Giles tried to intercede.
Spike ignored him and stepped into Riley, shoving the other man until he flew back several feet. The only indication the chip triggered was the tightening around Spike's eyes as he advanced on the other man.
"The fact is, Cardboard, you don't know Buffy well enough to tell it wasn't her, but you still felt you had the right to stick your dick into her. Whether she was possessed or just drunk, even a steamin' turd could tell she wasn't dealin' a full deck. But you didn't care. You knew she wanted it special. But you didn't care. You knew you were doin' wrong. But. You. Didn't. Fuckin'. Care."
Riley shoved back hard. "I didn't do anything wrong. Whatever happened is between me and my girlfriend. And you are out of line." Riley shoved him again.
Spike's grin flashed a mouthful of fangs. "What I am is your worst bloody nightmare."
Done fucking around, Spike sprang forward, taking his prey to the ground in one graceful move. Straddling the boy, he reared back and plowed his fist into the git's face again and again, focusing on the meaty thwack of bone on flesh and the warmth of blood on his knuckles. He immersed himself in the heat and smell of violence, shoving away the electrical shocks surging through his brain and his own blood flowing from his ears and nose. When his eyesight coated red and bloody tears streamed down his cheeks, he knew he had to stop or risk permanent damage.
The man pinned beneath him never had a chance. He lived. A broken nose. Maybe a fractured orbital socket. A few loose teeth. Nothing permanent. Nothing to make Buffy have to stake him.
And a pity that was, because Spike's demon was at the forefront, lusting for the blood and death it had been denied for months. Lusting for the kill prone beneath his body. Starving for it.
Spike held Riley down by his shoulders, his claws curling around and leaving deep marks in the man's back. It would be so easy to rear back, shove his hand through the weakling's chest and liberate his still-beating heart from its cage of sinew and bone. So easy to take the sweetmeat back to his lady love and present it to her on a silver platter.
The thought sobered him cold. Buffy wasn't Dru. The Slayer's idea of romance wasn't still-beating hearts laid at her feet. It was fucking roses and champagne and goddamn silk sheets.
Buffy's heart's desire was a man, not a demon. It certainly wasn't a man who took vengeance on her behalf. Buffy was going to be livid, but as Spike levered himself off his prey, swaying slightly on his feet, his dark-edged sight narrowing down to a tiny pinprick, he thought he could live with her rage, because he knew she wouldn't take vengeance for herself. His sweet, beautiful, deadly slayer. She always forgave the men who wronged her. Again and again she forgave Angel before finally kicking him to the curb, and that git Parker who made her feel like nothing more than a used condom hadn't even gotten a punch to the nose.
No, his slayer was the forgiving sort. But Spike wasn't so charitable, and looking down at the mess he'd made of Riley, he found himself not caring that he'd let the demon out of its cage for a few moments of play. The Slayer had a line, and he hadn't crossed it. So he'd live with Buffy's righteous anger, because he knew she'd eventually forgive him too.
