Voices of Experience
⸹
Sunnydale
April 2003
⸹
Buffy figured she could make some frozen waffles hot and call it breakfast, since she was up before Dawn the next morning. She'd just put on a pot of coffee when the doorbell rang. Wrinkling her nose at the fact she looked a mess in last night's clothes, she went to answer. At least she was decent.
"Aubrey?" She blinked at him.
"Oh! Good morning, my dear. I must say, I expected your sister."
She leaned forward and took one of the suitcases in his hand. It was obvious to her that he'd teleported from London. "I stayed over last night. Late patrol."
"I'm glad to see you, in any case. I did need to speak with you." He stepped in, well used to the lack of invitation.
"You're already moving back?" She moved to give him a hug.
"I am and delighted to do so. I find London weather has not improved after living in southern California."
"Would you like some coffee?"
"No, but if you'll fetch me the kettle, I'll put it on for tea."
They puttered about the kitchen trading gossip about the Council for a few minutes, until Willingham had a cup of Earl Grey and Buffy had half of a cup of coffee in her. "So, what did you want to speak to me about?" she asked, wrapping her hands around the warm mug that held her remaining coffee.
"How would you feel having me as your official Watcher?"
She blinked at him across the table. "Isn't that a bit of a comedown from Head of the Council?"
"Oh, no. Watcher to a Slayer? I don't consider it a comedown at all," he assured her with utter sincerity. "I just thought I might do. I know you don't need a Watcher, not really, but they're insisting you have one. You wouldn't have to break in anyone new, and I'll mostly serve as a liaison with the Council."
"And as my main research guy?" Buffy teased.
"And that, of course."
She put her hand over his. "I would be honored. I wondered how Giles was going to handle that. I don't want another Watcher, truthfully, but I figured either it would be a conflict of interest since I'm his stepdaughter now, or just that he'd be too busy with his new duties."
"Well, it was his idea. He asked me, since I was moving back, and I told him I'd ask you. I'm so pleased you said yes." He patted her hand.
"Like I'm going to turn down my favorite Council head ever. Especially after your resolution ending the eighteenth-birthday torture." Buffy nodded toward the suitcases in the other room. "That's all you've brought?"
"It's enough for a few days. I should have kept my flat, but everything was such chaos after the explosion last fall, I let the lease lapse. I thought I would settle in at that bed-and-breakfast near the Magic Box while I look for a new one. I came early so I can check the classifieds in the Sunday paper."
"Are you hungry? I was going to toast up waffles for breakfast."
"Er, no, that's quite all right."
"Let me go see if my sister's up." Buffy was deep in thought as she clumped down the basement stairs.
"Hey, Buf," Dawn said around a yawn.
"Hey, Dawnie." She sat down on the bed. "Did you sleep okay?"
"I did. Even though you snore."
"I do not. Aubrey's up in the kitchen."
"He is? Why?"
"He's really moving back. Listen, I have an idea…"
Dawn, after a quick pit stop in the bathroom, kept Aubrey busy talking while Buffy made a couple of phone calls. She looked up as Buffy came back into the kitchen.
"It's okay with Mom."
Dawn squealed. "Cool! Uncle Aubrey, will you move in with me? You can have my old room upstairs."
He looked between the two sisters. "What? Stay here?"
"Yes! It'll be perfect. Mom's been worried about me being alone."
Buffy nodded. "Spike and I stop by most days, but you know it has to be lonely for her."
He didn't quite sputter as he turned to Dawn. "I'm sure you wouldn't want a relic like me –"
"I do." She put her hand over his. "I absolutely do. No other relic will do."
Willingham looked between them, helpless before the power of Summers women. "I need extra space, though, a place to research…"
Buffy walked a few feet away and peered into the back of the living room. "What about Mom's desk? It gets just a little morning light, but I don't think it would fade your books if we put them on the back wall…" She considered the space a moment more, then walked back to the table. "Xander could probably put in bookshelves."
"I'll be gone during the days," Dawn added, "so I won't interrupt you while you're working."
"You, interrupt me?" he asked, incredulous. "I'm sure I would be the one, er, cramping your style."
Dawn giggled at his old-fashioned phrase. "No. My style is completely uncrampable."
He looked between them once more, torn. "It's just, I have this new line of research, an old prophecy no one considered before, since there was only one Slayer. I know how I get when I'm involved in research. I won't be much company."
"Like we aren't used to that from Giles."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right? Come on, Uncle Aubrey. Please? I've missed you."
"Please, Watcher?" Buffy added.
He caved, as he'd known he would from the moment they'd asked. "I'd be honored, my dears."
⸹
Oz checked over the state of beverages for the circle of coven members gathered in his living room. No one looked like they needed refills. For a few moments, he just watched the faces as they chanted: Willow and Tara, a faint white glow surrounding them, Michael, the twins, and a young man he thought was named Thom. Jonathan was beside Tara; it would his last time with the coven before moving to Portland with his girlfriend, Kelly.
He didn't often get a chance to attend a coven meeting. Next semester, he'd be at Cal Tech; he supposed he'd see more. Oz heard a warning beep from the timer on the oven and went to check on the sheet of cookies.
Sliding Willow's little circles of yum onto a wire rack to cool, Oz put the sheet back in the oven and made sure it was off. He propped himself against the counter again, watching the chant, though mostly he was watching his pack.
A few weeks from now, he'd be a married man. Well, not in a legal sense, but they were going to stand up before Gaia and everyone and declare that their love was lasting and true. Oz thought about how odd it was that the three of them came from intact families (Tara's had been, before her mother died). So many of his friends were children of divorce. Tara's family was beyond dysfunctional, as was Willow's in a different way. While his parents were loving, they didn't have the kind of grand passion he felt for his mates. Maybe that came with the beast. If that was the case, he was grateful for the wolf. There was so much life in their little circle.
The chant reached the crescendo. The focus was a tray of gold and silver rings in various sizes. Over half of them were for Spike. Now that they weren't working on transformation, Oz had taken to training with the vampire on weekends just to keep up their friendship. Spike was doing incredible amounts of upper body work in the gym, pounding on both the speed bag and heavy punching bag to charge the rings, and he'd followed suit. Both of them had added inches to their upper arms and shoulders, to the point where Oz's tuxedo no longer fit. He was pretty sure he could get out of wearing one altogether.
The thought of his wedding clothes brought his attention sharply back to his mates. They were listening to Michael tell everyone about the forge set up near Kingsman Bluff. The dark-haired sorcerer had put on muscle, too, as he learned to create weapons. He reported that he felt they were at least a year away from attempting their first Slayer weapon.
Willow and Tara had already accepted that the new weapons wouldn't have the same powerful magic as the Scythe. Even though their coven was one of the top three or four most powerful on earth, magic itself wasn't as available now as it had been at the dawn of civilization. It was spread across billions of people instead of thousands. They could infuse a sword or ax with magic, and Spike, as the Guardian, could tie the energy to the Slayer line, but nothing they could create would be as elemental as the Scythe.
And that would be fine. The enchanted sword that Kendra brought to Sunnydale to kill Angelus had worked beautifully to kill Turok-Han, too. His packmates were going to do amazing things.
The witches and sorcerers were starting to rise from the floor now, most of them gathering around Jonathan. Oz privately wondered if Jonathan would continue to do magic. His girlfriend Kelly didn't seem to want to have much to do with the supernatural. Still, they were moving to Portland. From what Oz had seen on concert tours, it was a funky, quirky town. Jonathan might find another coven up there.
Then it was time for him to play host. Oz moved the still-warm cookies onto a plate and put them on the counter with plates of fruit and veggies from the refrigerator. He opened two bottles of wine, one red and one white, and made sure the various little beaded charms for the glass stems were laid prominently to the side. They made him feel funny; for so long, it had been a Sharpie to mark a red Solo cup. Having stemware was part of becoming an adult, he supposed.
Willow moved close, bumping into his side like a puppy. He put his arm around her and gave her a slow smile. She was always so happy after a good spellcasting. Tara joined them in the kitchen, giving him her own slow smile. They were both happy, afterwards. Happy and amorous.
He felt like singing, like smashing a guitar on a stage. He felt like shooing the rest of the coven out of the house, or just disappearing with his pack into a back room, leaving the guests to figure it out on their own. Mostly, he just felt happy and, though he wasn't proud of it, a little smug. The three of them had something so few people seemed to have. They had love. They had passion.
They had each other.
Oz just smiled at one of the twins, Rachel, and offered her a cookie. His pack had him domesticated, after all. He'd tried the wild side, and this was worlds better.
⸹
London
⸹
"Just speak clearly," the Watcher told Buffy, clipping the microphone to the collar of her blouse. Standing, the woman checked something off on her clipboard and headed for the exit.
Faith leaned over from the chair next to her. "The translation spell works pretty good." The two of them were at the front of a conference room for a panel called 'Voices of Experience.' Buffy had already decided that she was going to rename it 'I'm a Slayer, Ask Me How' when the English-speaking Slayers came to Sunnydale for their seminar.
"Thanks," she told Faith. "I'm already nervous. I'd hate to tell them to 'stake first, quip later,' but have them hear they should pat the hippo or something." She looked at the door. "When will they be here?"
Faith twisted to check the digital clock behind them. "At, um, eighteen o'clock. England's so weird." She shot Buffy a grin. "They've been doing weapons check out. Then this, then they'll get dinner, and I'll get to collapse."
"How are you holding up?"
"I never got one, but this must be what a parole hearing is like." She shrugged. "I'm constantly on my best behavior, trying to think through everything I say." Faith shuddered. "The Watchers keep telling me I'm a role model."
They stopped speaking as a hotel employee brought a metal pitcher of water and two glasses to the narrow table in front of them. The Council had decided to ward a single London location, so the Slayers, their families and teams, and the meeting facilities were all housed inside an anonymous chain hotel. The grand ballroom substituted as a training room, full of mats and racks of weapons instead of the usual balloons and streamers.
Buffy took her hand as soon as the employee left. "You're a great Slayer, Faith. That's all you have to be."
She grimaced. "They're all younger than us, B. I actually do want them do what I say, not what I did."
"All I can tell you is what I learned from having a kid sister: be honest, but hit some of those points harder than others and vague it up on lots of other stuff."
"And that's honest?"
Buffy shrugged. "My most recent thing with Dawn was underlining that sex really hurts the first time and saying nothing about it feeling good at all."
"Got it." Then Faith leaned forward and asked in a much lower voice. "It really hurt for you?"
"No," Buffy admitted. "Stung for a couple of minutes. And doesn't that feel like a lifetime ago? It's all good now, not that I'm going to mention that to my baby sister."
Faith put her face in her hands. "God, I miss Groo."
Buffy's eyes were on the door. Her Slayer senses were warning her that an old, powerful vampire was approaching. "And I've missed Spike."
From the hallway, she heard her husband's voice speaking words in a language she couldn't identify. Even above the babble of voices, she heard a schoolgirl laugh that seemed to be in response to whatever he said. "So, do they all have crushes on him?"
"No, actually," Faith said. "One of the Chinese Slayers, Chao-Ahn, can't seem to get past the fact that one of the Slayers he killed back in the day was from her province." She shot Buffy a grin. "And two of them are lesbians."
"Doesn't stop Willow," Buffy grumbled. Then she perked up; she could see him through the doorway now. Spike spotted her, too, and she was so glad Alpana hurried up to talk to Faith so she could drink him in. He was wearing a name badge clipped to a belt loop of his dark jeans. She could tell he had gelled his hair earlier in the day, but it was unruly now. Instead of a button-down shirt, he wore an unexpected white tee.
Slayer from Brazil sliced through it when she swung an ax, he told her in response to her silent query. His eyes were as warm as his smile as he came toward her.
Are you okay? She asked the question even though she could see that he was, even though she knew the Gem kept him whole.
Fine, love, now that I've seen you. He leaned over her, bracing his weight on the armrests of her chair, and lowered his mouth to hers in a slow kiss.
Faith turned from Alpana long enough to whack his shoulder. "Not in front of the kids."
Her Watcher cleared her throat. "I have to agree with Faith. Let's maintain a business-like decorum, shall we?" Unlike Faith, she wasn't teasing them.
Buffy reluctantly withdrew her arms from her husband's neck, pouting at him so that he would chase her lips for another kiss, though it was a brief one. "Decorum it is," she sighed.
Want to go out clubbing tonight? Nothing at the Astoria, but we could go to the Marquee or Hammersmith –
Dinner with Mom and Giles.
It was his turn to pout. Oh, fun for your night in London.
Buffy gave him one more light kiss. I got a silencing charm from Willow that's just right for your hotel room for after dinner.
Spike's pout turned into a leer, complete with curled tongue. Faith made a disgusted noise. "I don't even have to hear it to know what you two are talking about." She shoved at Spike's hand, still on Buffy's armrest. "Get. We have wisdom to impart, none of which they'll notice with your cute ass aimed toward them."
He shot a quick grin at the dark-haired Slayer. "I'll head on to your mum's, then, unless you want me to wait…?" When Buffy shook her head, Spike put his forehead against hers and then headed for the exit.
Alpana glanced over the room of girls and saw all of them had settled into seats. She headed to one of the two standing microphones already set up in the room. "Thank you, ladies, we're ready to begin. My name is Alpana Vishnaswamy. I'm Watcher to one of the original Slayers. I've met most of you, but greetings from the Council and welcome to London to those I haven't. This is your chance to ask our two experienced Slayers anything you'd like to know." She briefly explained how there came to be two Slayers, introduced Buffy and Faith, and left them to their opening statements.
Buffy lifted her brows at Faith, surprised the other Slayer was letting her go first. She cleared her throat. "First," she said, scooting forward so she could rest her clasped hands on the table, "I'd like to say that the most important thing you can do as a Slayer is to keep your bonds with your family and friends. Forge new ones. Use the team the Council sends to you. I wouldn't be here at all if my friend Xander hadn't saved my life with CPR after I was killed by the Master of the Order of Aurelius, a 500-year-old vampire."
She looked around the room. "A vampire that volunteered to work with us led my human friend Xander to his lair. I died," she turned to gesture at Faith, "and another Slayer was called. CPR is fairly new, but more importantly, because Slayers were traditionally kept as secret weapons in solitude against the darkness, it was the first time a Slayer had backup after CPR started being taught."
Buffy looked around the room. "My death at the Master's hands was prophesied in the Pergamum Codex," she thought she remembered the name right, "but my friends came for me anyway. After I revived, I killed the Master. I mean, he did ruin the really nice dress I wore that night. It was payback." She waited until the laughter died away. "From that night on, my Watcher and I never really believed we faced impossible odds. I'm still here because of my team. Rely on yours." She pushed back in her chair and turned her eyes to Faith.
Taking a hasty sip of water to wet her suddenly dry mouth, the other Slayer looked around the room at the girls. She knew most of them by name now, three days into the seminar. She did not know how much they knew about her.
"A few years ago, I killed a man, a human. It was an accident, but I kept it a secret. I didn't have a team like you have, and I'd known my new Watcher less than a week." She cleared her throat. "It was a mistake to keep it a secret, and… it festered. I never dealt with the guilt and shame, and I spiraled until I felt like I might as well be one of the bad guys. It wasn't until months later – some of that in a coma, granted – that I confessed and turned myself in to the police. If I'd just told my Watcher, the Council would have stepped in. There would have been an accounting, counseling, and I probably wouldn't have ever served time. The man I killed – his name was Allan Finch – wasn't the only person I killed, or tried to kill. I hurt everyone I knew during that time period."
Faith looked down. "So, voice of experience: do not keep secrets. Tell your Watcher, or someone on your team, or your mom. If you have a secret admirer, if you notice the same demon twice, if you have a dream that seems significant," her voice dropped half an octave, "if you accidentally kill a person, tell someone. Anyone."
Alpana, who had sat in a chair against the wall, paused to put her hand on Faith's shoulder as she came back to the microphone. "Thank you. These two things – rely on your team and do not keep secrets – are the most important things these two young ladies wanted to pass on. Not a type of kick or anything. Years of experience, and it doesn't come down to a single punch or a weapon. Slayers are more than a tool, yes?
"Now, if you have a question you'd like to ask either of the senior Slayers, please come up to the microphone. We have fifty minutes until our evening meal. Both have agreed to stay a few minutes after this session if you have personal questions to ask, as well."
There were four questions before the one Buffy figured was guaranteed came up. A Slayer from India came to the microphone and gripped it with both hands, clearly nervous. "My name is Aditi. My question is for Buffy." She licked her lips and rushed the words. "Are you really married to a vampire?"
Buffy, who had been watching each girl's lips in fascination as a real world version of audio dubbing took place, gave her a tight smile. "I think you've already met Spike, the blond man who was in here earlier." He had been one of the trainers in the ballroom the past couple of days. "He's a vampire, and he is my husband."
Aditi had a half-smile on her face. "How did that happen?"
"We fell in love." She lifted a shoulder. "The reason we ever got a chance to know each other is because he –"
"Has a soul?"
She looked at the Indian Slayer and shook her head. "No. Because he had so much humanity in him already, he sought me out and asked to work with me. True, Spike had his own agenda: he was trying to find a cure for a sick vampire."
Buffy looked around the room. "Think of that," she said softly. "Almost every vampire, every demon would take advantage of another demon's illness. They'd kill them for their weakness or leave them because who wants the trouble? We got to know each other when he tried to save the vampire he'd loved for almost a hundred and twenty years. That is not normal behavior for a vampire, to begin with. After we started developing feelings, he got his soul so that he could function in the human world again. He fought through a week of trials to regain his soul for me." Buffy looked around the room. The expression on most of their faces was either sappy or speculative.
"Don't look for that in any other vampire." Her words were flat; she'd been a romantic teenager once. "As far as we know, there are two vampires with souls in the entire world. The other got his soul by being cursed." No need to mention that vampire was no longer Angel, but Sam Lawson. "You will not find a vampire old enough and strong enough to go against their nature."
Faith leaned forward so that their elbows touched. "Trust me on this. That is one singular vampire. But let me tell you about my boyfriend." She grinned, a salacious and satisfied curving of her mouth. "My hottie's part demon. That means that he's stronger and has more stamina than a human. And there are plenty of human-demon mixes out there. If you're looking for a boyfriend, there's nothing wrong with humans. You just have to remember your own strength." She flashed a smile at Alpana, who had been looking alarmed until she spoke those last words. "If you want to know more, ask me at dinner." Faith winked at the girls so her Watcher couldn't see.
The Slayers tittered, and Aditi surrendered her place at the microphone. Buffy gave Faith a grateful smile, then focused her attention on the Slayer from Singapore, who wanted to know the best hairstyle for patrol.
"Well, the Watchers certainly never covered that," Faith drawled, getting another laugh from the girls.
Buffy watched her, feeling warm with pride. Faith was doing a great job, and she was beyond grateful that it didn't fall to her.
⸹
Dawn hung her coat in the guestroom closet and kicked her shoes in after. Then she plopped her small suitcase onto the bed and unfolded the sweater inside. The townhouse was modern, but the heating still wasn't enough to compensate for the April London chill on her Californian skin.
Mom had invited her for a family meal, since Buffy and Spike were coming for dinner. It was really more lunch for her, but it meant she got to skip her last two classes. Dawn had invited Aubrey to come along with her, but he gave her an absent "Hmm?" before turning down the offer. She used the crystals the coven set up, because overseas portals still gave her the wiggins. Dimensional portals seemed somehow less risky.
She heard the door open downstairs and gave herself a mental smack for leaving it unlocked. Fortunately, Spike's voice called out. He'd lock it behind him. As Dawn shrugged into her sweater, she heard raised voices from the kitchen. She quietly went downstairs.
⸹
"'Lo?" Spike opened the door to the townhouse when no one answered. He had a moment of concern because it was unlocked.
"In the kitchen."
"Ah, Rupes," he began, striding down the short hallway. "Joyce and the nipper in here with you?"
"No. She's out to Marks for pick-up. I forgot to thaw the chops." Giles was sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of Scotch in front of him and a glass in his hand.
"You're in the doghouse, then?" Spike turned a chair backwards and straddled it, eyeing the level of Scotch. The bottle was a third down.
"No. You are." Giles gave him a cold look. "You have a great deal to answer for."
Spike gave Giles a puzzled look. "Yeah?" he asked slowly. "What am I answering for now?"
Giles tossed back the last of the drink in his hand. "I ran into someone the other day."
The blond man closed his eyes. Another person he'd killed; another name and face he'd never bothered to remember. "Was it a brother? Sister? Spouse?"
"What?" Giles didn't have a clue about what he meant.
"Relly of someone I killed, was it?"
"No." There was a sneer in the Watcher's voice. "Though I see why you would think that; I probably run into mourners unawares thanks to you all the time. No, this was a demon I used to summon when I was young and foolish."
"What's brought this on, then?" His voice was uninflected.
"Your sheer arrogance," Giles ground out. His jaw worked for a moment, then he took up the bottle to pour another generous splash into his glass.
"Gotta have a bit more to go on."
"He knows things, right? Otherwise, why would I have summoned him? Never told me a false bloody thing." Giles' eyes blazed in fury over the hand holding the shot glass. "You and your world. A bloody pathetic excuse for a world, I'd say." He tossed back half of the Scotch.
"Spit it out."
"He told me that you've doomed Buffy and Dawn, that's what."
"I – What do you mean?" Doomed them? Spike felt an improbable cold chill touch his spine.
Giles uncurled one finger holding the glass to point at Spike. "Your world. Your fault. They never had a chance at any kind of real life, did they?"
Spike could only stare at him, stunned and hurt. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt my girls." He leaned closer. At least the Watcher didn't pull away from him. "Whatever is wrong, you know I'll fix it, do anything to fix it to save them from harm. What did this demon tell you?"
"They're going to be Powers." Ripper glared at him over the rim of the glass before a quick motion emptied it again. "They'll never have rest, you wanker. You've torn away every shred of humanity from them."
His gaze was fixed on his countryman, the human who had been alongside him the morning he saw his first sunrise in twelve decades. Because this was Giles, his anger had been slow to appear, but it was on its way. "Bollocks. Have you looked at your new daughters, mate? They're utterly and wonderfully human."
Rupert sneered at him. "They might have been, if you and your massive ego hadn't needed them to be special."
Spike put his hand out with blurring speed to keep Giles' hand from taking up the bottle again. "I think you've had enough."
"You best believe I've had enough." He leaned forward so that he was almost crouched, hardly touching the chair. "You had to be a singular vampire, dooming them to be what they are. You couldn't have loved her as a normal girl?"
It had never occurred to Spike before. Could this have been a world where Buffy didn't have to shoulder the burden of being a Slayer? Wouldn't he have wanted that for her? His anger quailed, and his voice had a lost quality. "I'd never do anything to hurt her or Dawn."
"Yet here we are," Giles sneered, "in a world where both of them are in danger, where they've both been hurt." By this point, he knew he was out of control, but this had been weighing on him for days. "Did you have an especially good time planning her introduction to Angelus?"
Spike's eyes went yellow. "You think I ever wanted that tosser to touch my mate?" he snarled. "I suppose you think it was my idea to let you drug her on her eighteenth birthday?" He missed the sound of a gasp from behind him. "I'm not the one who's betrayed her, you –"
"Shut up!" The scream was shrill and cut through the thick atmosphere of fury in the kitchen. Both men started, their attention jerked to where Dawn stood in the doorway. Her fists were clenched, but the tears on her cheeks were what caused them to fall silent. "Spike, do not go there." Dawn turned her attention to Giles. "And you. Way to go, Dad 2.0. If I wanted nasty family fights, I'd just as soon have Hank Summers here."
Giles' mouth worked for a moment, then his eyes slowly closed. "I'm sorry, Dawn. I… I got some distressing news the other day, and –"
"And somehow it's Spike's fault that I'm the Key? Or that Buffy's the Slayer?" She scoffed. "I'm not surprised that our futures might not be typical, especially mine. Why would it? My past wasn't. I'm going to enjoy every moment of my life," she took a steadying breath as fresh tears splashed across her cheeks, "because I doubt being the Key is going to allow me death."
The shame gave way to renewed resentment. "It needn't have been that way," Giles told her bitterly.
"H-how?"
Spike stood from the table and faced the door in the kitchen that led to a little enclosed garden, staring into the darkness. Dawn studied his tense shoulders and waited for him to say something. When he kept silent, she looked at her stepfather. He wouldn't meet her eye.
"Reckon he's right," Spike mumbled after a long, uncomfortable moment. "My fault."
"How could it be?"
"Watcher's right. My world, innit?" His tone was bleak.
"Your world?"
He lifted a shoulder, still facing into darkness. "Reality, dimension, whatever. It's what the Siren told me. My world, made where 'love can conquer all.'"
Dawn stared at him for a long second, her lips parted. Then she spared another glance at Giles. Her lips parted to speak, but she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
"A little help?" Joyce called.
Giving each of the males another scathing look, Dawn called, "Be right there, Mom!" Then she told the two in a lower voice, "We'll talk about this in a minute. Giles? Put the booze away." Dawn spun on her heel and went to help Joyce juggle Max's carrier and her bags. Just as they were getting everything inside, Buffy joined them at the door.
"Oh, hi, sweetie," Joyce greeted her oldest daughter, giving her a hug and peck on the cheek. "How did the panel go?"
"It went okay." She frowned up at Dawn. "Can you teach me to French braid my own hair? 'Cause this one Slayer had a good point about patrol hair." Only then did Buffy give her sister a hug.
"Later." Dawn rolled her eyes widely enough to include both of them. "We've got two idiots in the kitchen to deal with right now."
'Right now' turned out to be almost twenty minutes later, after a sleeping Max was transferred to his crib and dinner was heated. Dawn nixed wine with dinner, glaring at Giles as she opined that there was no need for more alcohol. After the family sat down at the table, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot until Spike heaved a sigh and told the story of how he'd learned it was his world.
Buffy lowered her eyes to her plate. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before."
Dawn gave her sister a sharp look before shaking her head. "Okay, G-man. Your turn. Tell everyone why you picked a fight with Spike."
There was a good measure of Ripper in the glare that he sent Dawn's way, but she wasn't in the least intimidated. He finally sighed and told about his encounter with Ami-beq. A heavy silence fell over the table.
Dawn broke it. "And that's it? Based on this, you three think that this is Spike's custom-designed reality?"
"Lot of things make sense about it, Bit." He poked with his fork at a lardon in the slice of steak and ale pie on his plate. He thought of Whistler and Doc, of how they felt like they didn't belong in this world.
"Sure. The fact that you've been on the planet for, what, a hundred and fifty years, and the planet itself is four billion years old, yet it's your world… That makes the kind of sense that's not." Dawn took an angry bite of crust.
"Don't think it works like that." He shrugged, uncomfortable. "More like a parallel universe, maybe, everything the same until something awful didn't happen, and things split into a new time stream."
Buffy spoke up loyally. "Mom, some of these feelings… They're like Slayer dreams."
One of Joyce's eyebrows rose. "The feelings of déjà vu?" When the polite disbelief in her voice made Spike look up at her, she went on. "And, honestly, dear, that Molpe person doesn't sound all that reliable."
Dawn was less polite. "You guys do know that people manage to fall in love all the time without it being a big world-changing thing, don't you?" She put on a melodramatic voice. "Oh, I love you in such a special way that it has to have its own world." Scoffing, she went back to belittling the idea in her own voice. "Sounds like something Angel would come up with. As if love conquers all. I mean, Britney and Justin, anybody?"
Joyce noted Giles' puzzled look. "Or Prince Charles and Princess Diana."
A little color was coming back into Buffy's cheeks. "I guess it was kind of an egotistical idea." She shot a look at her husband. He hadn't been sharing any thoughts.
"Maybe I'm as much of a control freak as my grandsire," he mumbled. Mixed in with the embarrassment, he felt a good deal of relief.
"You know," Dawn said cheerfully, "your first clue should have been the fact that Manchester United doesn't have more titles."
Spike waved a finger at her. "They'll have another next month," he promised.
"Oh. That's right; they're having a good season. Bad example," Dawn shrugged. It was enough to get everyone to laugh. The tension around the table eased after that, though the conversation stayed serious.
"Rupert, what do you think that demon meant by 'higher powers?'" Joyce asked. She rather wished they were having wine for this topic; she was almost done with breastfeeding, though she'd hoped to go a full year.
"I think it means exactly what he said," Giles told her, a sigh in his voice. He felt a little absurd for ever believing that their reality was made just for Spike, and he wasn't looking forward to apologizing for his attack. He knew he was out of line, but being in the wrong was never fun. "Both of you are extraordinary," Giles said, his voice warm as he looked between his stepdaughters. "I expect that it means that, after what I fervently hope is a very long time, you'll be agents of the Powers That Be."
"Nuh-uh," Dawn grinned. "That Becks dude said 'power,' not agent. I'll bet I'm going to be the boss of you," she told her sister. "Payback for little sisters everywhere."
"You are so not going to be the boss of me," Buffy corrected her, "not ever."
Dawn turned to Spike. "But we'll both be the boss of you."
"Differs from right now how, exactly?" he shot back.
The doorbell rang, cutting off Dawn's reply. Instead, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin, tossed it on the table, and told them over her shoulder, "I'll get it." She wasn't disappointed when she got to the door. "Aubrey! You came after all. Steak and ale pie," she told him as she stood aside from the door. "Big yum for you British people."
"You had two slices yourself," Joyce pointed out as the two of them came into the dining room. "Hello, Aubrey. Have a seat. I'll get another plate."
"Thank you, Joyce. It looks wonderful." He settled his bulk in the remaining empty chair. In a couple of minutes, he had a generous chunk of pie and a serving of Giles' favorite ale. "Ah, thank you. I hope I'm not disturbing a family meal?"
"You are family," Joyce said, putting her hand on his sleeve.
"And you are far too kind to an old man." He took a heroic bite to start catching up to the rest of them, and before he'd quite finished chewing, he waved his fork toward Spike. "Finally had one of those déjà vu moments you warned me about." Swallowing a quick sip of ale to clear his throat, Aubrey turned to Dawn. "That bit of parchment I've been working on? I finally got it translated. It's about that old prophecy of Slayers, plural, on the Hellmouth, the one everyone dismissed? Well, we have a djinn on the horizon. And blast if I don't feel like I've been here before."
⸹
Sunnydale
⸹
"No."
Luisa opened her eyes. It was mid-afternoon, and Sam Lawson was having another nightmare. She sat up from her bed, still dressed. He had nightmares every time he slept; there was no need to keep finding a robe before going to him.
"Sam?" She put her hand on the knob of the door to the other bedroom in her little house. She'd brought him here from Los Angeles, and here he'd stayed. Whenever he felt ready, he could choose an apartment in the minion's building. Luisa wasn't in any hurry for him to leave, though.
"No!"
She opened the door and went to the bed to grab him by one flailing arm. Her touch was cool, but the feelings she sent to him were warm and reassuring. After just a moment, his brow cleared and his arms fell back to the mattress. Luisa let go, and Sam rolled to the side without waking.
Her little house was usually in shade, and the heavy curtains kept out the rest of the light. She could still see him almost perfectly, her vampire's gaze taking in the slight frown that remained on his mouth. Lawson wasn't that much older than she was, not as vampires reckon age, but she was awed by his bravery. She'd turned down a soul.
Luisa waited a minute more, watching over him. His features were fine and almost too regular to be handsome. Almost. He had what casting directors for motion pictures would call an all-American face. It wasn't just his pleasing outside. Even before the soul, his thirst to feel had overwhelmed her. When Sam stayed quiet, she smoothed one hand over his hair before turning to leave.
The Master backed her decision to keep him in her house. Spike would back nearly any decision she made, and Luisa was grateful for that. She had the kind of autonomy she'd barely tasted as a human and never known as a vampire. When she wanted her kind, she had the minions. When she wanted friends, she could go to Fangs for a pint or to the Magic Box and see Tara. Luisa missed Joyce badly, now that Giles had taken the job in London.
It wasn't friendship that she missed most. Luisa had never loved Dracula, though she had been abjectly worshipful of her sire. She'd never felt any real connection to the other brides, though they were her lovers, too. Luisa had been in love once, though, and that had been the finest feeling she'd ever known.
Sam had one of the finest hearts she'd ever known. He hadn't been strong enough to rule his demon, but he'd been strong enough to take away any pleasure in evil. With his soul, now… Well, he had more than enough promise.
Before she left Sam's room, she turned once more to make sure he was sleeping calmly. Angel had warned them that Sam might be catatonic with guilt for years. Luisa didn't think that was the case, though. She'd asked Spike about his soul, and he told her that his demon and soul got on, that he hadn't had an extended period of madness. Of course, his hadn't come to him because of a curse.
Both Cory and Sam had wanted the curse performed. Cory's path was different; the human had stopped by a couple of evenings to see her and to give Sam encouragement. Sam had only been lucid during one of those visits. The older vampire had many more sins to plague him than Cory did.
But his need for the soul was different. Cory needed it so his body could transform into living human flesh. Sam needed his soul to give his existence purpose, color. His soul gave him access to grief and horror right now. She would have worried if he'd become gleeful over the things he'd done as a vampire. A small smile touched Luisa's mouth, turning her beauty into something unearthly. No, she didn't think Sam would be insane for years. She thought he might start coming back to himself in just a few weeks.
Stepping out of the bedroom, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. Once Sam could tear himself away from the past, she thought there was a good chance that she could help him and his soul explore other, more positive emotions. The little smile on her face deepened, and she headed back to her own room in the small, quiet house.
⸹
London
⸹
They hadn't gone clubbing. The two of them had gone back to Spike's hotel room and spent a couple of hours making silent, intense love. Now Spike was standing beside the bed, Buffy's feet resting against his chest. They were both still naked, and he was painting her toenails.
"Think the Bit's right? That I've just got an overdeveloped sense of self-importance?"
Buffy watched him through her knees. He was focused on her toes so that he didn't have to meet her eyes. "Well, you're not wrong. You do have a pretty healthy ego."
"So Rupes is wrong? All the shite you have to deal with isn't my fault?"
She was quiet long enough for him to apply cherry polish to three nails. "Slayer intuition says we aren't wrong."
Spike absorbed her words as he blew a stream of air across her cute little piggies. He started on her right foot. "Guess I owe you an apology, then. You and the Bit. And five billion other people."
"The only apology that needs to be made is the one Giles is going to give to you." Buffy's voice was hard. "He was way out of line tonight."
"What about what that Egyptian guy said?" Though he had a good excuse, Spike still wasn't looking at her. "That doesn't worry you?"
"I married an immortal." Buffy's voice was soft. "If something happens that lets me transcend mortality, do you think I might not welcome that?"
"Might come to hate me, Slayer. Immortality isn't all that great a gift."
Buffy watched him finish her last toe. As soon as he did, she took her feet from his sternum and sat up on the edge of the bed so she could slide her arms around his waist. "I'm going to live my life with the expectation that I will love you as long as I have life." Her words were soft. She waited until she he capped the polish and leaned over to place it on the bedside table, then she gripped him fiercely. "I'm going to live my life loving my friends and family. If I change from Slayer to something else, I'm still going to be Buffy." She pushed her forehead against the firm muscles of his torso. "You became a vampire and still managed to remain one of the most human people I've ever met. And since I can do anything you can do –"
"Better and in high heels," he put in.
"No, I'm not worried."
"What about Dawn?"
"She's mine." Buffy's voice was only a whisper. "Mine, and yours and Mom's. But she's always been something older and… deeper than us. I love her, but I never once believed that I'd get to hold her back. I think her destiny is going to be up to her, truthfully."
"Not up to me?"
She lifted her head. He was willing to look at her now, vulnerable before her with fear and love. "We're the ones that save the world, you know? If this is your reality, then I think we're as happy as any group of champions can possibly be."
You have faith in me. He was nearly dizzy with relief. Trust could be broken more easily than a heart.
I do. I always have. I always will.
⸹
Giles clenched his teeth as he spotted his quarry. Drawing himself up straighter, he strode down the hotel hallway to catch Spike. It was the last day of the seminar, and his last chance to speak with Spike without one or the other of them traveling.
Just now, the vampire was speaking Afrikaans and in conversation with the Slayer from South Africa. He raised one hand high, the other a little lower, apparently miming making a blow with an ax. When he felt the head of the Council behind him, he stiffened for a moment, then said goodbye to the girl before turning around.
"Rupes."
"Spike, do you have a moment?"
"Need to get over to Heathrow for precheck."
"This won't take long." Giles indicated the empty meeting room to the side. Once they were inside, he drew a breath. "I owe you an apology for the other day. I'm sorry, Spike. I was out of line."
The silence drew out as Spike waited for the 'but.' When there was none, he gave a grudging nod. "Thanks. I appreciate it."
Giles rubbed his forehead. "I spoke with Aubrey. He told me about the demon you killed in the Magic Box."
"Doc, yeah."
"He showed me the surveillance tape, told me that you had no real idea of who Doc was, just that he was a threat to Dawn." Giles closed his eyes and looked away. "I still think there's merit to the notion that Molpe introduced, that our dimension is, in fact, yours, based on a parallel dimension where things did not go well. But I don't think you're some kind of… puppet master, controlling every last part of our lives."
Spike averted his eyes, too. "You're a cautious bloke. It's in your nature. Figure you might get over your suspicions of me in another ten or twenty years."
Giles' brows rose at the hurt evident in the vampire's tone. "I don't believe it was caution. I heard news that scared me, and I lashed out. I do trust you."
Their eyes met for a brief moment. Spike deflected the softer emotions. "Well, the Scotch probably had a lot to do with it, too."
Running a hand through his hair, Giles turned toward the door. "Joyce tells me I drink too much. She's right. It isn't a good way to manage stress." Spike's next words stopped him from going into the hallway.
"It scares me, too, Rupert. If I was important enough to warrant a do-over, then I know we're going to be in danger, be asked to do," his words ended on a sigh, "very difficult things. It's a hard life." Spike moved past Giles, heading for the door.
The Watcher put a hand on his shoulder as he passed. "We'll do whatever is necessary." There was a slight emphasis on the first word.
Spike gave him a tight nod and they parted.
That night, Giles went to the home of one of the Watchers who had a gift for summoning demons. He'd already told Joyce he had to work late. It wasn't the first time. Rupert knew it bothered her; late nights had been the main thing that ended her first marriage.
Of course, her first husband had been trysting with secretaries. He was meeting with demons.
And Watchers. He was sitting in the dark-paneled study of what had to be an ancestral family home, having a drink with said Watcher. "Thank you, Nigel. I especially appreciate you doing this for me, since it isn't, strictly speaking, Council business."
"I'm happy to do it." Nigel Hetherington was young, barely in his thirties, but by all accounts a solid Watcher. "I've only summoned this demon once before, over that Incursion attempt a few years in Tasmania. You're ready to face it? Feeling centered? You know your questions?"
"Yes. Five questions, if I remember right?"
"That's correct." Nigel finished his drink and set down the glass. "If you're ready…?"
Giles followed him down a flight of wooden stairs. The basement, originally pantry and laundry space, was well lit and almost empty. A thin ring of metal lay embedded in the middle of the concrete floor. "Here we are, sir. If you'll step inside, I'll begin the ritual."
Giles nodded and took off his jacket, laying it on the floor. He began rolling up his sleeves. "And I address him as Steve?"
Nigel nodded. "He goes by several names, all starting with a sibilant." Giving a shrug, he pulled a short, flute-like instrument from his jacket pocket. It looked to be very old and made of bone. "Ready?"
Giles nodded and stepped into the circle. "Yes. And thank you again."
The notes Nigel made were not musical. Giles appreciated the concentration that went into casting a silent spell, even with the help of a sacred instrument. He focused on his questions and waited.
He didn't have time to grow impatient. The magic snapped into place around the ring in less than three minutes. He felt the surge of power inside the circle before the demon manifested, causing the hairs on his arms to stir. Then a shape coalesced before him.
The demon took a humanoid form, limbs and torso covered with poison-green scales that gave way to pale green scales over his face. In place of hair, a Medusa-like mass of snakes writhed around his head. "Ssssuplicant," he said, addressing Giles, even as his vertically slit eyes fell on his summoner, safe outside the circle.
"Steve," Giles said, giving him a polite nod. "I am called Rupert. I have questions. Would you hear them?"
"There isss a toll."
Giles was already holding out his hand, palm up. The demon leaned closer. One of the snakes on his brow drew closer, its tongue tasting the air. Then it struck at his hand, in and back almost too swiftly to be seen. Its bite left five punctures on his hand, three spots of blood on his palm and two on the lower knuckles of his fingers. He felt no venom, only the sting of rent flesh.
Steve drew closer, his eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of the offering. His mouth opened and he bent over Giles' hand to lap up the blood. The demon didn't hurry, lingering over the oozing pinpricks. Finally drawing back up, he gave him a predatory smile. "It isss well. Asssk your questionsss."
Outside the ring, Nigel would not be able to hear them. Giles drew a breath. "Was this dimension created for one person?"
Steve's smile was cold and knowing. "By one perssson. A Champion. I may not tell you how, or when, or why."
Giles thought furiously as his next question – why – was denied. "Is there a reality more likely than this one?"
"Yesss."
"What happens to me in that reality?"
"You are a Watcher ssstill and only that. You never marry, never have children, never have happinesss. When you die, only two mournersss at your gravessside feel sssorrow. None feel grief."
Chills broke across his chest and back. It was a horrible thing to hear. "What happens to my daughters in that reality?'
Steve shook his head. "That isss two questionssss."
"Right. What happens to my Slayer?"
"Ssshe diesss an orphan at age twenty-five beneath the fangsss of the Aurelian Drusssilla. The Immortal reclaimsss their bassstard daughter."
The Immortal? Giles had a vague notion that he was a shadowy, powerful being based in Rome. Reclaims… that sounded as though Buffy had tried to keep a child from him. And, orphan? Was it Joyce's tumor? His attention went back to Steve as the demon spoke.
"Lassst question."
Dammit! He could ask about Dawn in the other reality. Or, no. He should ask about their fates here. Was it better? It had to be better. Giles took a deep, calming breath, remembering what had brought on all his turmoil. The question was obvious.
"Do my daughters have a choice whether they become higher beings?"
"Yesss."
He nodded and said with dignity, "Thank you for your time and, er, expertise, Steve."
The demon inclined his head and began to dissipate. As the feel of Steve's power waned, he began to hear the atonal sounds of Nigel's flute once again. The younger Watcher had the magical containment circle down within a minute.
"Did you get the answers you needed?" he asked, swaying a little. He was obviously exhausted.
"Yes, I did. Thank you. It's a great deal to think about." He leaned over to retrieve his coat. "I won't linger; I can tell you're ready for your sleep."
"I am, rather. But I'm glad to do it for you."
"I am amazed that five questions are not enough," Giles admitted as he followed his host up the stairs.
"When you have a reliable source of information, it never is."
He thanked Nigel again and took his leave. Giles chose to walk. Three of the Slayers were in London right now, so the streets were safer than ever. The Watcher did not fear a mere human assailant after all his years of fighting vampires and worse.
Somewhere, in a parallel universe, he was going to die alone and unloved after a life of service to the Council. Buffy would be long dead, falling to Drusilla. His shoulders rose in his coat, remembering what it was like to look in her mad eyes, to realize suddenly that they weren't Jenny's lovely brown ones. All it would take was an unexpected chance meeting around a corner or across the threshold of an open door for Drusilla to win. And why would his Slayer be hiding her daughter from the father? Buffy didn't run from anything.
He gave himself a mental shake. Enough. He had his answers. This was his world, and from this report, it was far better than the most likely alternative. True, his Slayer had fallen in love with two vampires, but she was alive and happy. He was himself happy, in love with a magnificent woman and father of the most beautiful baby in the UK, and two wonderful daughters, besides.
Maybe it was time to give up this quest to give name to his suspicions. Giles had quite liked Spike until Buffy started to love him. He knew he would have reservations about any man she settled on; after Angel, how could he not? But he was tired of expecting the worst from Spike, or rather from the decisions the blond made. Like him, Spike would die or kill to keep the Summers women safe. The vampire wasn't a terribly complicated creature.
Giles thought of the sorrow on Buffy's face the night Dracula had died, when they told him this reality was to repay all the times they had lost each other in other dimensions. Apparently, the two of them were not the only ones who had lost. Maybe he should just enjoy the happiness he had in this world, a world made where love could conquer all obstacles.
Squaring his shoulders, Giles picked up the pace. Too many late nights, too much borrowed worry. Right now, he just wanted to get home to Max and his Joy.
⸹
Dawn looked out of the front window, then turned to call over her shoulder, "Spike's here!"
"Already?" From the bathroom, Buffy's voice was indistinct. "Shit. Tell him I'll be there in five minutes."
Dawn grinned at Aubrey. "Give him a disapproving look when he comes to the door holding a corsage like a dork." She thought it was sweet and very silly what the two of them were doing. Buffy had kept her dress for the dance in Dawn's closet so that Spike wouldn't see it. In thanks, she'd promised to be there for Dawn before the prom. She'd already made appointments at the salon for Dawn to have her hair and nails done. Dawn was surprised she hadn't done that herself, but she guessed the UC-Sunnydale Spring Formal wasn't as much of a thing as junior prom.
"Hey, Spike," she said, opening the door. She frowned, seeing the wire-rimmed glasses he wore. Her frown deepened at his black suit, which was nice but not perfectly tailored. At least he was wearing a pink boutonniere to match Buffy's dress. When she noticed what was parked at the curb, it was too much. "Is that brown daddy car yours?"
"For the minions' car pool," he said defensively. "Just driving it to make sure it's reliable. Your sis ready?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, she said five minutes. Come on in. What's with the glasses?"
"Going for the collegiate look." Spike had the excuse ready; he figured Dawn couldn't bypass a comment. He nodded at Aubrey, who was giving him a curious look.
"If it's supposed to make you look smart…" She trailed off, shaking her head at the tragic failure.
"Hi." Buffy came carefully down the stairs, fingers of one hand on the rail. In her other hand she was juggling a camera and her clutch. "You look nice."
"And you look…" For all the oddity of his attire, the admiration in his eyes was honest and obvious. "You look smashing, Miss Buffy."
"Quite," Aubrey agreed.
Dawn snorted, but before she could say anything, her sister charged in. "Dawn? Could you take our picture?" Buffy thrust the camera at her.
They posed on the stairs for a few shots, then Spike remembered he was holding a corsage. After that, Dawn took more pictures with the flowers pinned to Buffy's dress. She started to make another smart comment about how lame they were, but remembered in time that Buffy was going to be in this position when she left for prom. Instead, she just waved them out the door. "You kids have fun storming the castle!" she called.
Buffy leaned close to William. "I'm sorry my sister is such a doofus."
"She's sweet. You're very lucky to have her."
"You really don't know her," Buffy countered. He opened the car door for her.
Once he was in the driver's seat, William turned to her. "I don't want to embarrass you, but you do look truly amazing, Miss Buffy. I feel very fortunate that you're accompanying me tonight."
"I'd rather be going to a funeral with you than to a dance with anyone else."
He blinked at her a moment, parsing her words to find the compliment. "Er, yes, thank you. I hope we'll have more cheer."
"Oh." She looked down, biting her lip. "I meant, being with you makes even boring things fun. So, you and me at a dance? Guaranteed fun."
It wasn't, not at first. It was still daylight when the co-ed at the table took their tickets and let them into the ballroom. It was on the third floor of the student union building. Utilized for any campus meeting of over two hundred people, racks for the folding chairs were still along the far walls of the ballroom. The chairs themselves had sagging streamers taped along the tops and were tucked against folding tables covered with sage green paper tablecloths. The arrangement left a good chunk of the tile floor open for dancing. The overhead fluorescent lights still lit the whole area in a too-bright glare.
Buffy could feel Spike wanting to make snarky comments about the less than romantic venue, but William merely gave her a small, sweet smile and guided her to the queue for an official photograph. She smiled and waved at a couple of acquaintances but didn't see anyone she knew well. By the time the college photographer got their picture, the lights were down and the DJ had started up the music.
"Note to self," Buffy said, leaning close to Spike so she didn't have to yell, "be fashionably late to school dances."
"Good to know." William nodded at the tables. "Do you want to have a seat?"
"Not yet. Do you want to dance?"
His face lit. "I would love to dance with you." William held out a hand.
The song was a mid-tempo ballad that Buffy vaguely recalled hearing on the radio a couple years back. "Do you know this song?" she asked as she took his hand and placed her other on his shoulder.
"No, I'm very sorry, but I don't."
"I should know the first song we dance to," she said with a shrug.
"All we've ever done is dance." The words brought her eyes to his, a moment of electric contact. Those words meant something.
Buffy's lips parted as she looked up into Spike's deep blue eyes. Just now, there was no room for pretense. "With the right partner, the dance is everything."
"Oh," he breathed, a smile taking his mouth. "My sweet poetess."
She moved her fingers from his shoulder to brush against his lips. "Dance me to the end of love."
Recognizing the title of a Leonard Cohen poem, William kissed her fingertips and smiled at her fully. "There is no end," he promised.
They danced for over an hour without speaking further. The DJ played some fast songs, but most of the playlist was made for slow dancing. After the last notes of Norah Jones' 'Don't Know Why' faded, they drew apart and, without having to say the words, left the dance floor.
William pulled out a chair at an empty table, making sure the streamers weren't in her way. Then he sat next to her and very boldly took her hand. "You're an amazing lady. I can't tell you how happy I am in your presence."
"I'm so glad I met you, William."
"And I am glad I met you. I'm going to miss you."
Her eyebrows drew together. "Miss me?"
"I'm so very proud that you're graduating," he said hastily, then looked down, "but it does mean we won't see each other on campus."
These months of getting to know William had been wonderful. She wasn't going to let go of him. Buffy turned fully to him so she could touch his cheeks. "I can see a place for you in my life." Carefully, she took off his glasses and set them on the table. She pretended to be shocked. "But – I know you!"
He grinned and looked at his feet, at once bashful and cheeky. "Do you, now?"
"The love of my life has unveiled his hidden depths."
Spike met her eyes. "Have you enjoyed it?"
"Getting to know William? I have." She brushed a kiss across his jaw. "But I've always known you're a warrior-poet."
He pulled away a couple of inches, looking confused. "What do you – This hasn't been about me, love." He didn't squirm away, but he did lower his head so he could look up at her through his lashes. "Overheard you complaining about how settled you felt. Just thought you might enjoy being wooed again."
Buffy sat up straighter, looking confused. Then she remembered complaining to Faith about missing being single, about how she wished she still had some major life decisions ahead of her. Her eyes flew to Spike's. His visits as William had never been about introducing her to the shy, awkward poet. They had been his way of letting her date another man.
"Everyone complains about the grass being greener, yada yada," she said finally. "I'm no different. I love my life, Spike, and I have no complaints. I haven't felt 'settled' for a long time." Her tone softened. "That was very sweet of you to do, but you could have just asked me. I'd have told you I felt loved."
"I'd rather show you, every day of our lives."
Buffy felt the prick of tears in the corners of her eyes. Everything he did was for her. "You will," she said unsteadily, so she took a breath to steady herself. Picking up his glasses, she carefully placed them on the bridge of his nose and settled the earpieces. She needed William to come back. "Now, would you mind taking us for a drive before you take me home?"
She could tell he was confused, but he stood immediately, putting out a hand to help her to her feet. Buffy smiled up at him. The full moon was a week away. It was a great night to go parking. Whatever the reason for William and Buffy to go to a dance, it was going to end the way she'd planned. Buffy moved a little quicker through the people around the edges of the ballroom, heading for the exit. She had a Victorian gentleman to deflower.
⸹
"Ohh… Ahh… Miss Buffy, I'm not quite sure we should – Oh, Buffy!"
She grinned. She had him in the roomy back seat of the Jaguar sedan, his earlobe caught in her lips and her hands down his pants – and underwear! He really had gone all out to be in character. "It isn't proper, is it, William?"
"N-no," he agreed regretfully. He gripped the edge of the seat to keep from grabbing her.
She squeezed the hard length of him. "You need inspiration for poetry, right?"
"I-I suppose." His voice was a hiss.
"Well, you're my inspiration. You inspire me to passion, William." Buffy kissed his jaw, then his mouth. "Sweet, sweet William."
"Oh, Buffy," he sighed.
"I want to make you mine," she admitted, kissing his neck. "But I need you to tell me how it feels. What if it doesn't feel nice?"
"Oh, so much better than nice, kit– Miss Buffy."
"What do you feel when I do this?" She scooted a bit farther along the back seat so she could bow her head and take his cock into her mouth.
William groaned. "H-heat. So much warmth. The glow of the hearth fire after eons banished from home. Oh, Buffy, my Aphrodite, my goddess of love."
'Deflowering' a poet had its rewards. She had seldom felt this powerful and vowed to be more vocal when they were making love. Well, vowed to use actual words. "Too hot?" she asked, pulling away.
"Please, if you stop, I may die," he whispered. "I need you, crave your touch, your passion."
"Then you shall have it." She let him have it, until his belief he would 'expire before the bonfire of your beauty' came to fruition. Hiding a grin, she hoisted the skirt of her dress up and trapped his thighs between hers. "Do you care for me still, William? Even if I'm no longer a proper lady?"
"What could ever strip from my love the title of 'lady?'" He protested. "She was so crowned by Nature, her refinement imbued – Oh, fuck, Buffy."
She settled herself on him, taking his length inside slowly, bracing herself against the passenger seat headrest. Part of her wanted to giggle at the contrast between the flowery language and the setting. Most of her, though, was focused on the stupid amount of Spike she was wrangling. Hot though his words were, she usually had his mouth and hands to make her hot, too.
"Oh, my bright one," he said, grasping her waist and pulling her further along his body, "allow your subject to touch your hidden places." William's hand disappeared beneath her skirt. "I want to know all your gardens, to touch each petal of your blossoming love."
"Oooh, blossoming," Buffy agreed, swallowing. "William, my sweet poet, welcome to my garden. Be welcome to every vase in my house. Be welcome to my – oooh – every window box." She started moving, pushing back against him. The more she did it, the easier it got.
It suddenly occurred to Spike that his old human worry about being 'misshapen' had just been resolved without a hitch. God, he loved this woman. "I have no use for proper ladies," he told her, raising his hips to meet her. "They move to the side of me, circle past me. I need only the lady who sees me, who comes to me, who moves me. Lady of the sweetest kiss, lady of the quivering touch, ruler of my heart."
She could sit up now, her body adjusted to his girth. "I don't need – I mean, I have no need to rule you. Take my hand, my love, walk by my side…" Words failed her, and her head fell back.
"I'll be by your side," William vowed. He put his hands on her breasts, squeezing them as if it was the first time he'd ever felt their singular, contradictory firm softness. "We'll walk, nay, run toward passion, we'll find it – Oh, bloody – You've given – Aaargh!"
"William," Buffy told him, giggling at how quickly she'd brought him, "I don't think you're quite the proper gentleman, either." Then she smirked down at him. "Not any more."
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Next (Penultimate) Chapter: The month of May is always busy in Sunnydale, but this year it's for different reasons.
