The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 8
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
****
The bed creaked as Buffy turned onto her stomach, waking up. She pressed her face against the side of Spike's shoulder, rubbing her cheek in groggy circles against the softness of his tee-shirt sleeve. They'd held hands for hours in a comfortable silence before falling into sleep, side-by- side and almost innocent in their amazement at each other. Spike slept on his back, his mouth tipped open. The line of his teeth gleamed white in the candlelight. Reaching up, Buffy ran her fingertip lightly over the blunt ends, so flat and human looking. If I didn't know what he was, I'd never guess he *was* a what. He looks like a regular person.
And that's what we can be here, she realized, watching the bleached strands stick up in tufts as her fingers played. The thought froze in her brain. Not the Slayer, not a vampire. Just us. Just a girl and a guy, lying in bed, finding their way together. Here in the jungle, where no one knows me but him, I can have a normal life.
Excitement fluttered through her, filling her body with energy. The house around her seemed to buzz with life, making every cell of her body ache with the urge to leap out of bed. She fastened her gaze on Spike's face, searching for any sign of alertness and coming up empty. "You still asleep?" she whispered, knowing he was. She threaded her fingers into his curls, pulling at them, enjoying the softness. "There's lots to do, you know. Can't sleep the night away. We have this whole house to explore. And I want to meet Hugh."
Surfacing slowly from the depths of sleep, Spike sighed and smacked his mouth shut. He rolled his head on the pillow until his lips found her forehead. "Still sleepy," he said, his words tickling her skin. "Should've known you'd be a morning person."
She smiled and took his hand in hers, rubbing the hairs on the back with her thumb. "It is so not morning."
"Morning is whenever you wake up, to my way of thinking." He yawned out of habit. Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head. "What's with the 'early bird gets the worm' routine? You that anxious to go try on your new life? See how it feels to be a normal girl for once?"
She was surprised to hear his words echo her own thoughts. "What's wrong with that?"
"Not a thing, pet," he said, settling back into the pillows and stroking his hand over her hair. "Not a bloody thing. Only… look at what you have here. You, me, the bed… that's a boatload of normalness for you. No patrolling, no demons, no Watcher or end-of-the-world-oh-my to worry about. Relax. Enjoy." Making a gasp of mock-horror, he said, "even sleep in!"
"Not counting the months in the coffin, I haven't slept in for… well, since before Mom died, that's for sure. No, since before the Initiative… and college, I had morning classes. And there was training, Giles liked to do that early when we could, and…" Rolling her eyes in self-annoyance, she relaxed into the mattress and pulled the blanket up high around her shoulders. "You're right. This is my new, normal-girl life. And part of that life definitely includes lazing around in bed."
Dropping his hand lower, he splayed his fingers over the skin of her upper arm below the sleeve of her shirt. His mouth quirked with amusement. "Well, that about covers sloth. Let's see what other deadly sins I can talk you into."
She closed her eyes, letting her mind delve fully into the feel of his cool skin caressing her warmth. An innocent touch, really, she knew. His hand on her arm. Nothing more. But the way her body reacted to him screamed of fire and ice, intensity, bodies moving together in the dark- anything but innocence. Opening her eyes, she gazed at him, putting all her feelings for him into the look.
The smoldering flame he saw in her eyes brought a smirk of awareness to his lips. "What?" he said, squeezing her arm deliberately. He danced his fingers over the soft skin, moving towards the pulse at her wrist. "Something you… want?"
Buffy paused a moment to enjoy the anticipation of what she knew was about to happen. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach, a warm tightening that seemed to grow inside of her. His fingers found her pulse and pressed into it, then ran back up her arm, brushing against the side of her breast as they moved up her shoulder.
Suppressing a gasp at the rush of heat the graze filled her with, she reached out a shaking hand and placed it flat against his chest. She clenched her fingers in his shirt, scratching him through the material. "Something I want," she said, the huskiness of her voice matching her eyes, which felt heavy with desire. So heavy, she closed them and kept them closed. "Aren't you going to kiss me yet?"
She felt him moving over her, closer, lowering his face towards her with movements so gradual, she couldn't stop her fingernails from digging into the skin of his chest. He hesitated, a shudder rippling through his frame. Forcing herself not to rush him, not to rush *them*, she released the tension from her hands and caressed him, urging him to move as he would. Her eyelids pressed together as she dropped all her preternatural senses of him, so conscious she was of letting this happen on his own terms.
There were images floating in the darkness behind her eyelids, crackles of red and green lightening. It had been so long since she'd cut off her extra awareness, but somehow, it felt right. Just a guy, just a girl, she thought, watching the florescent lightening sparkle. This must be what blindness feels like. Only, not blindness. I'm just… normal now.
All she could hear was the sound of her own labored breathing. The lack of sensation began to nibble at her edges, and suddenly the world felt too small, too dark. Before she could open her eyes, the scent of Spike's arousal reached into her, deep inside, easing the momentary panic. Then came the feel of his breath on her lips, so intense it could've been the coldest cold or the hottest heat; he burned her.
"Spike," she whispered into his mouth as it grazed her own, once, twice. "This is…"
"Us," he whispered back. He held her face between his palms, raising it to his. He brushed another kiss over her. "This is us."
Us is softer than I'd thought it would be, Buffy thought, her breath hitching as his lips graced her forehead, her cheekbones. Then she realized, with a sigh of appreciation, the reason behind his gentleness. She raised her hands to draw his face down. His forehead, flat and human, pressed against hers. She opened her eyes and stared into his, so near she could see the flecks of navy that overlaid the lighter blue.
"I want you," she said, dropping her eyes to look at all of him. Her mouth sought out his. Kissing him hard, she said, "You. This is not you. Gentle… nice, yeah, but come on… Show me what you've got, Spike. All of it." She pressed her closed lips flat against him, then opened slightly, flicking her tongue over the line of his mouth, urging him to open for her, to accept. "All of you. Just… be with me. Be with me."
Her words unlocked him. Where he had been hesitant, he was now demanding. He pulled her against him, sudden and hard. Her head fell back as his mouth moved, nibbling at her lips, then soothing them with his tongue. She kissed him back with depth, feeling as if she was falling into him, falling inside of his skin. A moan ripped through her as his hands spanned her hips and drifted upwards, over her ribs, to cup her softness.
"God," she breathed, her hands tearing at his shirt. "Too many clothes. Way too many."
"Wait," he said, stiffening. His hands dropped with obvious reluctance from her breasts. Cocking his head to the side, he frowned. "Someone's here. Listen."
Gritting her teeth, she flopped back onto the pillows. "Look, if you're still not sure you want to love a Slayer, that's one thing. But using stupid excuses like that to…"
"Would you shut it a minute?" he said, putting his hand over her mouth. "You don't know how wrong you are. Did it seem like I didn't want you a minute ago?"
Blush crept into her cheeks. "You could've been…"
"What? Faking?" Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her hand and pressed in against the bulge pressing against his zipper. "Can't fake that, pet. Wasn't even sure I could do that at all. Broken back, remember? It's not you, Slayer. You, I like. Voices in the hallway of our supposedly private hide-out, I don't."
"Listen," she said, the sound hitting her ears. Her eyes widened with alertness. "Those can't be voices. There would have to be hundreds of people out there."
"I'd say you're right, there must be hundreds of people out there. 'Cause those are voices. Speaking… I don't know what. Some kind of… language."
"Isn't that helpful," she said, shooting to her feet. "People, speaking language. Great. Any guesses as to who they are? Or if they're even people? People, most of them can see me. No one here would know me as the Slayer. But demons… they'd sense it right off."
Spike shook his head. "I can't get a feel for them," he said, swinging his dead-weight legs over the side of the bed. "Could be anyone. Or anything."
"One way to find out," Buffy said, moving towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder, and shook her head at Spike. "Stay there. Dragging yourself across the floor will not help me. I don't want to have to worry about tripping over you if whoever's out there wants a fight."
"Tripping over…" He glared at her. "I'm not totally useless, you know."
"Just. Stay. Put."
The door was heavy, made of a dark wood Buffy didn't recognize. Placing one hand flat on the door to steady herself, she turned the knob and slowly opened it a crack, just enough to give her space to peek outside. Voices filled the room as the door opened, moans and screams overlapping fervent conversations in a language foreign to them both.
"Oh… God," Buffy said, slamming the door shut and sagging against it. Her face paled. She swiped a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"What? What do you see?" Spike rocked slightly on the edge of the bed, the sway of his leaden legs reminding him of his helplessness. Pulling himself back to sit against the headboard, he said, "Slayer? You all right?"
She nodded, swallowing hard. "People. Lots of them. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Well, not thousands of people, but… parts. People parts."
"Parts? Of bodies? Pet, parts don't talk."
"These ones do." Rubbing her hands over her face, she kept her back pressed against the door. The last thing she wanted was for the carnage in the hallway to come into the bedroom. "They're naked, and… and headless, all of them. And it gets worse than that."
"Worse than headless? Hard to manage that."
Looking at Spike's crotch meaningfully, she said, "Worse."
"Ah. Um…. okay. And these people and their parts are doing… what?"
Biting her lip, she shrugged. "Wandering around out there. Crying. They don't seem to be going anywhere. They're just sort of… standing around. Waiting, maybe."
"What would they be waiting for?"
"I don't know. Not really big on the caring at this point either. You want to tell me how to get Hugh up here? Is there a phone or something? He lives here. He could maybe tell us if decapitated people stand around in the hallway a lot, or if this is something special just for us."
"A phone? Didn't see one." He looked at the nightstand. "Nope, no phone."
"How did you get him up here when I was unconscious?"
"Like this," he said, covering his ears. "HUGH!"
"HUGH!" Buffy screamed, adding her voice to his to carry the call over the voices of the people in the hallway. "HUGH!"
A knock came on the door under her back, startling her. She shrieked, scuttling across the room in surprise. Pulling herself together, she avoided Spike's laughing eyes. "That's… that should be him."
"How do you know? It could be… one of them."
She shook her head. "Most of them didn't have any hands to knock with." Opening the door, she tried to cover her surprise at the appearance of the creature who rushed inside. The Brownie looked like a cross between a Saint Bernard and a monkey, with a healthy dose of not-natural thrown in. "You're Hugh?"
"Told you it wasn't Grant," Spike drawled, enjoying her discomfit. "Hugh, meet your mistress. This is the Slayer, awake now, as you can see."
Ignoring Spike, Hugh fell to his knees before Buffy. "Mistress, I apologize, a thousand times and again. You must think so poorly of me. The ghosts… they're a bit early this decade, I didn't know they'd arrive before you awoke from your shock."
"Ghosts?" Throwing a hand up to bring Hugh to his feet, Buffy pointed at the closed door. "Those people out there are ghosts?"
"Mayan ghosts," Hugh explained, standing. "This mansion… it was built on the site of the ancient Mayan temple, built by a demon who called himself a shaman. This demon- Lotaxh- sacrificed human beings in an effort to please his master, the god of chaos."
"Which one?" Spike asked from the bed. "Set? Cizin? Kali?"
Shuddering, the Brownie gazed up at Buffy with fear-stained eyes. "I do not speak the name of such a god, not here, not over his own temple."
Darting an evil look at Spike, Buffy patting Hugh's head. "It's okay. Whatever's wrong, I'll take care of it."
Hugh sagged with relief. "Oh, mistress. Slayer. I knew you'd help them. That's why I brought you here. The poor souls need such a one as you to free them."
"Wait. What do you mean, that's why you brought her here?" Spike gave him a narrowed glinting glance. "I thought you wanted to take care of her. Keep her safe."
"Oh, I do, I do. I'm a Brownie, that's…"
"That's what you do," Spike interrupted. "I got that already. But if your idea of helping her is bringing her here to fight your battles, I think your days as a working Brownie are over."
"I did help her, you see? She's awake, healthy, whole… and with you, I can smell that the two of you have been…"
"What!" Buffy cut him off, her tone biting with annoyance. "You can *smell* that we've been making out?" She watched a minute as Hugh sputtered for a response, then waved him off. "Never mind that. We have a hundreds of ghost parts screaming in the hallway. What do you mean, I can free them? Free them from what?"
"The shaman," Hugh said. He walked over to the window and tugged on the shutters, making sure they were tightly shut. "The demon shaman still lives in this jungle. As long as he lives, the ghosts of his victims are trapped between worlds. It is their curse, you see, the poor souls. Doomed to an eternity of nothingness, they materialize every decade on the day of mid-season, searching for a way to kill the shaman and end their torment. Annabella heard them crying only once, bless her soul. She bid me to help them, and so I must. And so, I brought you here to be my hands and good, strong back."
"You want me to search out this shaman guy and kill him?" So much for the whole 'normal girl' thing. Buffy shrugged, thinking of the pieces of people crying for help. One last fight. That's all. Nothing I can't handle. "I can do that."
"He's strong. Tall as well," Hugh said in warning, holding his hand up several inches above his head. "At least this tall."
Buffy looked down at his hand, a foot below her own height. "Umm… won't be a problem, really," she said, fighting back a laugh. "How do I kill micro-shaman?"
Eyeing her uncertainly, Hugh drew a hand over his throat. "Like this. His neck, that's the vulnerable place."
"Do we have weapons?" She scanned the room, then looked at Spike. "A sword would work best."
Pointing, Spike said, "In the closet, there. When do we leave?"
"We? There's no 'we' about this." She retrieved the sword from the closet and swung it in a broad arc, testing its weight. "There's me, who goes and kills the shaman, and there's you, who stays here and recuperates. Forget the 'we'."
Ignoring Buffy's words as predictable, Spike looked at Hugh. "You don't want her going out in that jungle alone, mate. Demons aside, there are also dangerous animals… snakes, wild cats, and the like."
"Oh yeah, like I can't take care of myself." The sword hissed through the air as she spun with it, brandishing it within inches of Spike's head. "Wimpy ole Buffy, that's what they call me. How would you fight off an attacking animal? Scowl at it real hard? Scare it off with the glare of your fangs? I don't think so."
Hugh looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike, unsure of who to obey. "He could be a help to you, mistress. You've no knowledge of the paths through this jungle. The vampire has been down the main path; he could show you the way."
"Why don't you show me? Not like you've got a hopping social schedule. No hot dates planned tonight, right?"
Shuddering, Hugh cast a frightened glace towards the window. "No, mistress. That demon is something I stay far away from."
"Get my cart," Spike said, hefting his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll ride along. Slayer can build herself some arm muscles and push me."
"My arms are just fine the way they are," Buffy said, hefting the sword back towards his head. "See? Strong enough to cut through your neck if you don't quit acting like a big baby. You know that if I take you along, I'll be worrying about protecting you. I need to focus on the slaying, not on the protecting of the defenseless vampire."
Growling, Spike said, "Come a step closer and call me defenseless, Slayer. I'd love to show you just how wrong you are."
Buffy flashed him a grin. "Later on, I'll hold you to that threat. Right now, I've got a demon to decapitate. Hugh?"
"You don't want me to aid your search." Hugh shook his head furiously. "If you bid it, I must, but mistress…"
"Just point me down the right path. I'll take it from there. Demons, especially magickey demons, sorta tend to prick at my Slayer senses. Shouldn't be a problem to hunt him down." Pointing at Spike with the sword, she narrowed her eyes. "Put me on the path, then come back up here and guard Mr. Pouty here. Paralyzed or not, he's big with the stubbornness. I wouldn't put it past him to crawl through the jungle on his elbows, just to prove me wrong."
"Wouldn't crawl," Spike muttered, his face a portrait of frustration. "Wouldn't have to if you'd just…"
"Shut up," Buffy said. She placed her hand on the doorknob. "I have to run through these ghosts. Apparitions or not, they look real. Something about them being headless and… other-parts-less makes me not want to linger and say hello. You coming, Hugh?"
"Stay where the Slayer placed you," Hugh said to Spike. He took his place at Buffy's side, ready to rush past the ghosts.
"The *Slayer* didn't place me anywhere, you ponce," Spike said, reddening with annoyance. "I'm a free agent, no matter what sort of scent you picked up between us. If I decide to spend the night lounging about in bed, well, then, that's my choice."
"And if you decide to crawl out of this house, we'll just see how many choices you get after I beat you into a pulp." Buffy smiled to soften the words, but her eyes read serious. "I'll see you soon."
"Fine," Spike said, watching them go. The door slammed shut on the Mayan voices in the hallway, the thud reverberating through his body with finality. "I'll just… be here."
***
Killing the small shaman was as easy as Buffy had expected. After cleaning the blood from her hands, she walked up the hallway towards the bedroom, delighted to find it empty of ghosts. Entering the room, she smiled at Spike, who was sitting up in bed, reading.
"How long has the ghoulish gang been gone?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her shoes and climbed up to sit next to him.
"The screams and such died off about twenty minutes ago." He closed his novel and placed it on the nightstand. Examining her with his eyes, his lips twisted with enigmatic emotion. "Took care of the demon?"
Buffy nodded, reading the stiffness of his face and adjusting her demeanor accordingly. "He's dead." She reached out and traced a line down the back of his hand with her finger. "You okay?"
"Fine, for a defenseless invalid," Spike said, his eyes flashing with indigence. "If you think I'm such a weakling, why are you here with me? Touching me? Or do you just like being the one with the power?"
"Hey," Buffy said, tension riding the word. "I do *not* think you're a weakling. You're hurt, you idiot. But you'll heal. I know you will, I've seen it happen already."
"By that time, there'll be no demons left to fight," he said petulantly.
"That's what this is about? You want a good fight?" She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice. "No problem. There's plenty around here to do. First, you and I can spar, once you're back on your feet. And there's hunting. How are we supposed to eat if I can't hunt and neither can Hugh? We'll need you to get us meat."
"Hunting," Spike said, rolling the word around his tongue as if trying it on. "Suppose I could give that a try."
"You'll need a good source of blood. Hugh can't keep buying it from the locals, not without raising suspicion anyway. So, go hunt some jungle pigs. They're out there, Hugh showed me their tracks."
"Pigs and sparring. Please, help me contain my excitement."
"The sparring is important. Another two years, and we'll have to head back up to Sunnydale. If we k…" She swallowed hard, then continued, "If we kill Ben, then Glory won't kill the other me. But Ben's not a little guy. He can take care of himself. We have to keep up our skills, especially knowing he could turn into Glory at any moment."
Looking at her closely, Spike said, "You think you can do that? Kill a human?"
Buffy took a deep breath. No. I can't kill Ben. I *like* Ben. But… She stiffened her chin with resolve. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
"Or I can do it," Spike said, nodding in understanding. "One way or another, you- the other you- won't have a hellgod to worry about."
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we can enjoy just being us." His hand felt cold beneath hers. She clasped it between her palms, lending him her body heat. "Forget about titles and callings and inclinations and just… just *be*."
His eyes caught hers, deep blue pools of emotion that assessed her boldly, merciless. He drew her into him with that gaze, as though he was examining her soul and taking his time with the judgment. With reckless courage, she moved up his body, and kissed him. Not a passionate kiss; not even a friendly kiss. Just a press of lips against colder lips. When she moved away, it was only a hairsbreadth.
"Can you do that?" she whispered, her mouth grazing his as she spoke.
He pulled her roughly, almost violently against him. Grabbing his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the kaleidoscope of scents that had belonged to every version of him she'd ever known. Leather and cigarettes, bourbon, and an underlying tang so elemental, she knew it only as his very essence.
"Good answer," she said, inhaling gingerly so as to not discourage his arms from squeezing around her. "Great, even. But… words please?"
Tipping her head back to face him, his eyes softened like a kiss even as they burned her with their intensity. Seeing his face, she had every answer to every question she could ever think to ask him. But she had to hear him say it. "Spike?"
Words so honest they seemed painful rumbled against her as he pulled her to his chest. "I can't *not* do that," he said, and to Buffy's surprise, he sounded full of joy.
Chapter 8
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me.
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
****
The bed creaked as Buffy turned onto her stomach, waking up. She pressed her face against the side of Spike's shoulder, rubbing her cheek in groggy circles against the softness of his tee-shirt sleeve. They'd held hands for hours in a comfortable silence before falling into sleep, side-by- side and almost innocent in their amazement at each other. Spike slept on his back, his mouth tipped open. The line of his teeth gleamed white in the candlelight. Reaching up, Buffy ran her fingertip lightly over the blunt ends, so flat and human looking. If I didn't know what he was, I'd never guess he *was* a what. He looks like a regular person.
And that's what we can be here, she realized, watching the bleached strands stick up in tufts as her fingers played. The thought froze in her brain. Not the Slayer, not a vampire. Just us. Just a girl and a guy, lying in bed, finding their way together. Here in the jungle, where no one knows me but him, I can have a normal life.
Excitement fluttered through her, filling her body with energy. The house around her seemed to buzz with life, making every cell of her body ache with the urge to leap out of bed. She fastened her gaze on Spike's face, searching for any sign of alertness and coming up empty. "You still asleep?" she whispered, knowing he was. She threaded her fingers into his curls, pulling at them, enjoying the softness. "There's lots to do, you know. Can't sleep the night away. We have this whole house to explore. And I want to meet Hugh."
Surfacing slowly from the depths of sleep, Spike sighed and smacked his mouth shut. He rolled his head on the pillow until his lips found her forehead. "Still sleepy," he said, his words tickling her skin. "Should've known you'd be a morning person."
She smiled and took his hand in hers, rubbing the hairs on the back with her thumb. "It is so not morning."
"Morning is whenever you wake up, to my way of thinking." He yawned out of habit. Sitting up, he stretched his arms over his head. "What's with the 'early bird gets the worm' routine? You that anxious to go try on your new life? See how it feels to be a normal girl for once?"
She was surprised to hear his words echo her own thoughts. "What's wrong with that?"
"Not a thing, pet," he said, settling back into the pillows and stroking his hand over her hair. "Not a bloody thing. Only… look at what you have here. You, me, the bed… that's a boatload of normalness for you. No patrolling, no demons, no Watcher or end-of-the-world-oh-my to worry about. Relax. Enjoy." Making a gasp of mock-horror, he said, "even sleep in!"
"Not counting the months in the coffin, I haven't slept in for… well, since before Mom died, that's for sure. No, since before the Initiative… and college, I had morning classes. And there was training, Giles liked to do that early when we could, and…" Rolling her eyes in self-annoyance, she relaxed into the mattress and pulled the blanket up high around her shoulders. "You're right. This is my new, normal-girl life. And part of that life definitely includes lazing around in bed."
Dropping his hand lower, he splayed his fingers over the skin of her upper arm below the sleeve of her shirt. His mouth quirked with amusement. "Well, that about covers sloth. Let's see what other deadly sins I can talk you into."
She closed her eyes, letting her mind delve fully into the feel of his cool skin caressing her warmth. An innocent touch, really, she knew. His hand on her arm. Nothing more. But the way her body reacted to him screamed of fire and ice, intensity, bodies moving together in the dark- anything but innocence. Opening her eyes, she gazed at him, putting all her feelings for him into the look.
The smoldering flame he saw in her eyes brought a smirk of awareness to his lips. "What?" he said, squeezing her arm deliberately. He danced his fingers over the soft skin, moving towards the pulse at her wrist. "Something you… want?"
Buffy paused a moment to enjoy the anticipation of what she knew was about to happen. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach, a warm tightening that seemed to grow inside of her. His fingers found her pulse and pressed into it, then ran back up her arm, brushing against the side of her breast as they moved up her shoulder.
Suppressing a gasp at the rush of heat the graze filled her with, she reached out a shaking hand and placed it flat against his chest. She clenched her fingers in his shirt, scratching him through the material. "Something I want," she said, the huskiness of her voice matching her eyes, which felt heavy with desire. So heavy, she closed them and kept them closed. "Aren't you going to kiss me yet?"
She felt him moving over her, closer, lowering his face towards her with movements so gradual, she couldn't stop her fingernails from digging into the skin of his chest. He hesitated, a shudder rippling through his frame. Forcing herself not to rush him, not to rush *them*, she released the tension from her hands and caressed him, urging him to move as he would. Her eyelids pressed together as she dropped all her preternatural senses of him, so conscious she was of letting this happen on his own terms.
There were images floating in the darkness behind her eyelids, crackles of red and green lightening. It had been so long since she'd cut off her extra awareness, but somehow, it felt right. Just a guy, just a girl, she thought, watching the florescent lightening sparkle. This must be what blindness feels like. Only, not blindness. I'm just… normal now.
All she could hear was the sound of her own labored breathing. The lack of sensation began to nibble at her edges, and suddenly the world felt too small, too dark. Before she could open her eyes, the scent of Spike's arousal reached into her, deep inside, easing the momentary panic. Then came the feel of his breath on her lips, so intense it could've been the coldest cold or the hottest heat; he burned her.
"Spike," she whispered into his mouth as it grazed her own, once, twice. "This is…"
"Us," he whispered back. He held her face between his palms, raising it to his. He brushed another kiss over her. "This is us."
Us is softer than I'd thought it would be, Buffy thought, her breath hitching as his lips graced her forehead, her cheekbones. Then she realized, with a sigh of appreciation, the reason behind his gentleness. She raised her hands to draw his face down. His forehead, flat and human, pressed against hers. She opened her eyes and stared into his, so near she could see the flecks of navy that overlaid the lighter blue.
"I want you," she said, dropping her eyes to look at all of him. Her mouth sought out his. Kissing him hard, she said, "You. This is not you. Gentle… nice, yeah, but come on… Show me what you've got, Spike. All of it." She pressed her closed lips flat against him, then opened slightly, flicking her tongue over the line of his mouth, urging him to open for her, to accept. "All of you. Just… be with me. Be with me."
Her words unlocked him. Where he had been hesitant, he was now demanding. He pulled her against him, sudden and hard. Her head fell back as his mouth moved, nibbling at her lips, then soothing them with his tongue. She kissed him back with depth, feeling as if she was falling into him, falling inside of his skin. A moan ripped through her as his hands spanned her hips and drifted upwards, over her ribs, to cup her softness.
"God," she breathed, her hands tearing at his shirt. "Too many clothes. Way too many."
"Wait," he said, stiffening. His hands dropped with obvious reluctance from her breasts. Cocking his head to the side, he frowned. "Someone's here. Listen."
Gritting her teeth, she flopped back onto the pillows. "Look, if you're still not sure you want to love a Slayer, that's one thing. But using stupid excuses like that to…"
"Would you shut it a minute?" he said, putting his hand over her mouth. "You don't know how wrong you are. Did it seem like I didn't want you a minute ago?"
Blush crept into her cheeks. "You could've been…"
"What? Faking?" Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her hand and pressed in against the bulge pressing against his zipper. "Can't fake that, pet. Wasn't even sure I could do that at all. Broken back, remember? It's not you, Slayer. You, I like. Voices in the hallway of our supposedly private hide-out, I don't."
"Listen," she said, the sound hitting her ears. Her eyes widened with alertness. "Those can't be voices. There would have to be hundreds of people out there."
"I'd say you're right, there must be hundreds of people out there. 'Cause those are voices. Speaking… I don't know what. Some kind of… language."
"Isn't that helpful," she said, shooting to her feet. "People, speaking language. Great. Any guesses as to who they are? Or if they're even people? People, most of them can see me. No one here would know me as the Slayer. But demons… they'd sense it right off."
Spike shook his head. "I can't get a feel for them," he said, swinging his dead-weight legs over the side of the bed. "Could be anyone. Or anything."
"One way to find out," Buffy said, moving towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder, and shook her head at Spike. "Stay there. Dragging yourself across the floor will not help me. I don't want to have to worry about tripping over you if whoever's out there wants a fight."
"Tripping over…" He glared at her. "I'm not totally useless, you know."
"Just. Stay. Put."
The door was heavy, made of a dark wood Buffy didn't recognize. Placing one hand flat on the door to steady herself, she turned the knob and slowly opened it a crack, just enough to give her space to peek outside. Voices filled the room as the door opened, moans and screams overlapping fervent conversations in a language foreign to them both.
"Oh… God," Buffy said, slamming the door shut and sagging against it. Her face paled. She swiped a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"What? What do you see?" Spike rocked slightly on the edge of the bed, the sway of his leaden legs reminding him of his helplessness. Pulling himself back to sit against the headboard, he said, "Slayer? You all right?"
She nodded, swallowing hard. "People. Lots of them. Hundreds. Thousands, maybe. Well, not thousands of people, but… parts. People parts."
"Parts? Of bodies? Pet, parts don't talk."
"These ones do." Rubbing her hands over her face, she kept her back pressed against the door. The last thing she wanted was for the carnage in the hallway to come into the bedroom. "They're naked, and… and headless, all of them. And it gets worse than that."
"Worse than headless? Hard to manage that."
Looking at Spike's crotch meaningfully, she said, "Worse."
"Ah. Um…. okay. And these people and their parts are doing… what?"
Biting her lip, she shrugged. "Wandering around out there. Crying. They don't seem to be going anywhere. They're just sort of… standing around. Waiting, maybe."
"What would they be waiting for?"
"I don't know. Not really big on the caring at this point either. You want to tell me how to get Hugh up here? Is there a phone or something? He lives here. He could maybe tell us if decapitated people stand around in the hallway a lot, or if this is something special just for us."
"A phone? Didn't see one." He looked at the nightstand. "Nope, no phone."
"How did you get him up here when I was unconscious?"
"Like this," he said, covering his ears. "HUGH!"
"HUGH!" Buffy screamed, adding her voice to his to carry the call over the voices of the people in the hallway. "HUGH!"
A knock came on the door under her back, startling her. She shrieked, scuttling across the room in surprise. Pulling herself together, she avoided Spike's laughing eyes. "That's… that should be him."
"How do you know? It could be… one of them."
She shook her head. "Most of them didn't have any hands to knock with." Opening the door, she tried to cover her surprise at the appearance of the creature who rushed inside. The Brownie looked like a cross between a Saint Bernard and a monkey, with a healthy dose of not-natural thrown in. "You're Hugh?"
"Told you it wasn't Grant," Spike drawled, enjoying her discomfit. "Hugh, meet your mistress. This is the Slayer, awake now, as you can see."
Ignoring Spike, Hugh fell to his knees before Buffy. "Mistress, I apologize, a thousand times and again. You must think so poorly of me. The ghosts… they're a bit early this decade, I didn't know they'd arrive before you awoke from your shock."
"Ghosts?" Throwing a hand up to bring Hugh to his feet, Buffy pointed at the closed door. "Those people out there are ghosts?"
"Mayan ghosts," Hugh explained, standing. "This mansion… it was built on the site of the ancient Mayan temple, built by a demon who called himself a shaman. This demon- Lotaxh- sacrificed human beings in an effort to please his master, the god of chaos."
"Which one?" Spike asked from the bed. "Set? Cizin? Kali?"
Shuddering, the Brownie gazed up at Buffy with fear-stained eyes. "I do not speak the name of such a god, not here, not over his own temple."
Darting an evil look at Spike, Buffy patting Hugh's head. "It's okay. Whatever's wrong, I'll take care of it."
Hugh sagged with relief. "Oh, mistress. Slayer. I knew you'd help them. That's why I brought you here. The poor souls need such a one as you to free them."
"Wait. What do you mean, that's why you brought her here?" Spike gave him a narrowed glinting glance. "I thought you wanted to take care of her. Keep her safe."
"Oh, I do, I do. I'm a Brownie, that's…"
"That's what you do," Spike interrupted. "I got that already. But if your idea of helping her is bringing her here to fight your battles, I think your days as a working Brownie are over."
"I did help her, you see? She's awake, healthy, whole… and with you, I can smell that the two of you have been…"
"What!" Buffy cut him off, her tone biting with annoyance. "You can *smell* that we've been making out?" She watched a minute as Hugh sputtered for a response, then waved him off. "Never mind that. We have a hundreds of ghost parts screaming in the hallway. What do you mean, I can free them? Free them from what?"
"The shaman," Hugh said. He walked over to the window and tugged on the shutters, making sure they were tightly shut. "The demon shaman still lives in this jungle. As long as he lives, the ghosts of his victims are trapped between worlds. It is their curse, you see, the poor souls. Doomed to an eternity of nothingness, they materialize every decade on the day of mid-season, searching for a way to kill the shaman and end their torment. Annabella heard them crying only once, bless her soul. She bid me to help them, and so I must. And so, I brought you here to be my hands and good, strong back."
"You want me to search out this shaman guy and kill him?" So much for the whole 'normal girl' thing. Buffy shrugged, thinking of the pieces of people crying for help. One last fight. That's all. Nothing I can't handle. "I can do that."
"He's strong. Tall as well," Hugh said in warning, holding his hand up several inches above his head. "At least this tall."
Buffy looked down at his hand, a foot below her own height. "Umm… won't be a problem, really," she said, fighting back a laugh. "How do I kill micro-shaman?"
Eyeing her uncertainly, Hugh drew a hand over his throat. "Like this. His neck, that's the vulnerable place."
"Do we have weapons?" She scanned the room, then looked at Spike. "A sword would work best."
Pointing, Spike said, "In the closet, there. When do we leave?"
"We? There's no 'we' about this." She retrieved the sword from the closet and swung it in a broad arc, testing its weight. "There's me, who goes and kills the shaman, and there's you, who stays here and recuperates. Forget the 'we'."
Ignoring Buffy's words as predictable, Spike looked at Hugh. "You don't want her going out in that jungle alone, mate. Demons aside, there are also dangerous animals… snakes, wild cats, and the like."
"Oh yeah, like I can't take care of myself." The sword hissed through the air as she spun with it, brandishing it within inches of Spike's head. "Wimpy ole Buffy, that's what they call me. How would you fight off an attacking animal? Scowl at it real hard? Scare it off with the glare of your fangs? I don't think so."
Hugh looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike, unsure of who to obey. "He could be a help to you, mistress. You've no knowledge of the paths through this jungle. The vampire has been down the main path; he could show you the way."
"Why don't you show me? Not like you've got a hopping social schedule. No hot dates planned tonight, right?"
Shuddering, Hugh cast a frightened glace towards the window. "No, mistress. That demon is something I stay far away from."
"Get my cart," Spike said, hefting his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll ride along. Slayer can build herself some arm muscles and push me."
"My arms are just fine the way they are," Buffy said, hefting the sword back towards his head. "See? Strong enough to cut through your neck if you don't quit acting like a big baby. You know that if I take you along, I'll be worrying about protecting you. I need to focus on the slaying, not on the protecting of the defenseless vampire."
Growling, Spike said, "Come a step closer and call me defenseless, Slayer. I'd love to show you just how wrong you are."
Buffy flashed him a grin. "Later on, I'll hold you to that threat. Right now, I've got a demon to decapitate. Hugh?"
"You don't want me to aid your search." Hugh shook his head furiously. "If you bid it, I must, but mistress…"
"Just point me down the right path. I'll take it from there. Demons, especially magickey demons, sorta tend to prick at my Slayer senses. Shouldn't be a problem to hunt him down." Pointing at Spike with the sword, she narrowed her eyes. "Put me on the path, then come back up here and guard Mr. Pouty here. Paralyzed or not, he's big with the stubbornness. I wouldn't put it past him to crawl through the jungle on his elbows, just to prove me wrong."
"Wouldn't crawl," Spike muttered, his face a portrait of frustration. "Wouldn't have to if you'd just…"
"Shut up," Buffy said. She placed her hand on the doorknob. "I have to run through these ghosts. Apparitions or not, they look real. Something about them being headless and… other-parts-less makes me not want to linger and say hello. You coming, Hugh?"
"Stay where the Slayer placed you," Hugh said to Spike. He took his place at Buffy's side, ready to rush past the ghosts.
"The *Slayer* didn't place me anywhere, you ponce," Spike said, reddening with annoyance. "I'm a free agent, no matter what sort of scent you picked up between us. If I decide to spend the night lounging about in bed, well, then, that's my choice."
"And if you decide to crawl out of this house, we'll just see how many choices you get after I beat you into a pulp." Buffy smiled to soften the words, but her eyes read serious. "I'll see you soon."
"Fine," Spike said, watching them go. The door slammed shut on the Mayan voices in the hallway, the thud reverberating through his body with finality. "I'll just… be here."
***
Killing the small shaman was as easy as Buffy had expected. After cleaning the blood from her hands, she walked up the hallway towards the bedroom, delighted to find it empty of ghosts. Entering the room, she smiled at Spike, who was sitting up in bed, reading.
"How long has the ghoulish gang been gone?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her shoes and climbed up to sit next to him.
"The screams and such died off about twenty minutes ago." He closed his novel and placed it on the nightstand. Examining her with his eyes, his lips twisted with enigmatic emotion. "Took care of the demon?"
Buffy nodded, reading the stiffness of his face and adjusting her demeanor accordingly. "He's dead." She reached out and traced a line down the back of his hand with her finger. "You okay?"
"Fine, for a defenseless invalid," Spike said, his eyes flashing with indigence. "If you think I'm such a weakling, why are you here with me? Touching me? Or do you just like being the one with the power?"
"Hey," Buffy said, tension riding the word. "I do *not* think you're a weakling. You're hurt, you idiot. But you'll heal. I know you will, I've seen it happen already."
"By that time, there'll be no demons left to fight," he said petulantly.
"That's what this is about? You want a good fight?" She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice. "No problem. There's plenty around here to do. First, you and I can spar, once you're back on your feet. And there's hunting. How are we supposed to eat if I can't hunt and neither can Hugh? We'll need you to get us meat."
"Hunting," Spike said, rolling the word around his tongue as if trying it on. "Suppose I could give that a try."
"You'll need a good source of blood. Hugh can't keep buying it from the locals, not without raising suspicion anyway. So, go hunt some jungle pigs. They're out there, Hugh showed me their tracks."
"Pigs and sparring. Please, help me contain my excitement."
"The sparring is important. Another two years, and we'll have to head back up to Sunnydale. If we k…" She swallowed hard, then continued, "If we kill Ben, then Glory won't kill the other me. But Ben's not a little guy. He can take care of himself. We have to keep up our skills, especially knowing he could turn into Glory at any moment."
Looking at her closely, Spike said, "You think you can do that? Kill a human?"
Buffy took a deep breath. No. I can't kill Ben. I *like* Ben. But… She stiffened her chin with resolve. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"
"Or I can do it," Spike said, nodding in understanding. "One way or another, you- the other you- won't have a hellgod to worry about."
"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we can enjoy just being us." His hand felt cold beneath hers. She clasped it between her palms, lending him her body heat. "Forget about titles and callings and inclinations and just… just *be*."
His eyes caught hers, deep blue pools of emotion that assessed her boldly, merciless. He drew her into him with that gaze, as though he was examining her soul and taking his time with the judgment. With reckless courage, she moved up his body, and kissed him. Not a passionate kiss; not even a friendly kiss. Just a press of lips against colder lips. When she moved away, it was only a hairsbreadth.
"Can you do that?" she whispered, her mouth grazing his as she spoke.
He pulled her roughly, almost violently against him. Grabbing his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck, inhaling the kaleidoscope of scents that had belonged to every version of him she'd ever known. Leather and cigarettes, bourbon, and an underlying tang so elemental, she knew it only as his very essence.
"Good answer," she said, inhaling gingerly so as to not discourage his arms from squeezing around her. "Great, even. But… words please?"
Tipping her head back to face him, his eyes softened like a kiss even as they burned her with their intensity. Seeing his face, she had every answer to every question she could ever think to ask him. But she had to hear him say it. "Spike?"
Words so honest they seemed painful rumbled against her as he pulled her to his chest. "I can't *not* do that," he said, and to Buffy's surprise, he sounded full of joy.