The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 9
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. I also used them to separate out a dream sequence.
For Sass. Because you inspire me more than you know. Thanks!
*****
Two Years Later
The Mexican jungle
The bed sheets twisted around Buffy's body, constricting her as she tossed and rolled. Beneath the heft of blond hair that spread over it, her face was wrinkled with fear, her eyes squeezed shut in sleep. A moan rolled out from between her lips, low and long and gut wrenching, taking the form of a name as it went. "Dawn."
The tower shook beneath her feet as she raced upwards, towards the platform where her sister was tied. Helpless. In terrible danger. "Dawn!" she screamed, throwing her body up the steps. The fear growing inside of her propelled her and kept her focused, kept her feet so precise, she could not trip. She had to make it there, before… and then she was there.
"Dawn!" she screamed again, her eyes widening. Horror gripped her with a freezing fist. She could not move as she stood at the top of the steps, watching the two figures at the other end of the platform. Her sister, brown hair waving in the wind, bent limply over a figure. A figure in black, who clutched her against him. A familiar figure, whose duster had been cast off, whose shirt stuck wetly to his body. "Spike!"
When he turned, Buffy took a step back. "Spike?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes. A terrible calm seized her as she took in his crouching stance, his vampire ridges and fangs, and most of all- most of all- Dawn's blood. The thick redness dripped from his chin, adding to the mess that covered his shirt and hands.
I won't look, Buffy told herself, but betrayed the thought in the next second. Her eyes were drawn without mercy to the sight of her sister's body, gutted and hanging from the ropes that bound her. Even Dawn's face- her beautiful face, a voice deep inside her mourned- was cut to disfigurement and shrouded with blood. Taking a breath, Buffy closed her eyes. Close your eyes. The end of your world is here. You're in hell. Close your eyes.
The last thing she felt was Spike's body hurling into hers. She screamed…
Screaming, Buffy sat up in bed, her arms waving with remembered distress. "Oh… oh god," she said, choking back tears. Feeling the bed beside her, her heart sank to find him gone. "Spike. It's time."
Suddenly, the door flung open and banged against the wall. She jumped, pulling the blanket over herself as Hugh ran in, wild-eyed and frantic. "Hugh," she whispered, calming herself. "It's okay, it's just Hugh."
"Milady, are you injured?" he says, rushing to her bedside. "I could go find the vampire?"
"It's just a dream, Hugh," she said, sitting up and slipping her feet into her slippers. "A nightmare."
"A Slayer dream? Did you see the future?" He looked nauseated at the thought which, considering Buffy's reaction to the dream, was fitting. "Is there danger ahead?"
"No, not a Slayer dream. Just your regular, ole doozy of a nightmare." Shuddering, she rubbed her arms, cold in the oppressive heat of the jungle. "Danger… there's always danger. We've known for a long time that we'd eventually have to face the life I left behind in Sunnydale. The dream was just telling me that… that time's up." And that there's danger, but let's not freak Hugh out any more than he already is.
Visibly relieved, Hugh, patted her arm. Going to the dresser, he opened a drawer and dug through her clothes until he came up with a warm cardigan. "Here, Mistress. Warm yourself. I will fetch your vampire."
"No, you don't have to. I know you don't like it outside after dark, even with all the lanterns lit. But… where is Spike?"
With a barking laugh, Hugh pointed out the window. "Trapping the pig."
Even though shaken, she had to smile. "Porky's back, huh?"
"Oh, yes. The vampire came tearing through an hour ago, ranting on about his trap being broken again."
"Again?" Slipping the shirt over her tank top with shaking hands, Buffy stood. "That's the third trap this week. Porky's smart for a jungle pig."
"The vampire says the pig will die before dawn." Hugh's face, wrinkled and brown, was alit with humor. "I say, the vampire will be back before dawn, pigless and in a mood so foul, I think I may leave for the village for the day."
"Good plan," Buffy said. Waving her hand at him, she said, "Now, out with you. I've got to finish getting dressed."
"You're going after the vampire? I don't believe he'll appreciate the assistance. He seems to hang his manhood on this pig's beating heart."
"Hugh," Buffy said, her voice an equal mix of warning and laughter. "Picking on Spike is a fun time, believe me I know, but…"
Rolling his eyes, Hugh shuffled towards the door. "He's taken the north path, Mistress. Finding him should be simple for you, not to worry."
"Thank you, Hugh," Buffy said, giving him a smile that fell the moment the Brownie closed the door. Going to the vanity table, she grabbed a brush and pulled her hair back into a hasty ponytail. "Not to worry," she echoed. Giving herself a long look in the mirror, she shook her head, watching the heavy tail swing back and forth behind her. "Not to worry. As if finding him was the tough part."
*****
She followed the north path through the jungle, lighting the string of lanterns that hung from the tree branches as she went. Red mud squished beneath her boots, thick and gooey. Making her way carefully towards the clearing, she focused hard on keeping her footing. When she found the broken trap, it was all she could do not to turn around and head back to the house, to pretend her dream had never happened. And when she found the orchid Spike had left for her on the wooden platform the trap had been built on, she did turn around. She made it ten steps up the path before her cowardice shamed her into turning back. Be strong, Slayer. Just because he picks my favorite flower doesn't mean I can protect him from this.
After clearing the wooden shards from the platform, she laid down on her back and looked up at the stars, holding the flower's stem between her hands like a fragrant talisman. Take your time, Spike, she thought, sending the words out into the blackness of the night sky towards his ears. Enjoy your last moments of being just yourself. Your last moments of simplicity, before we have to go and mess things up again.
A tiny, sensible voice in the back of her head told her that they'd only be gone for a little while. They'd come back and their home would still be here. But it took us so long to *get* here, Buffy countered. To be able to see each other as Buffy and Spike, leaving all the titles and baggage behind. Going back will change everything. We'll have to earn all this… this comfort, this peace… earn it all again.
And it had been peaceful and comfortable, the past two years. They'd fought, of course. The memory brought a twisted smile to her lips. Fighting was as much a part of their relationship- of their dance- as making love. In her mind's eye, she could see his lips curved in sarcasm as readily as love, but the love was always there, softening both their edges.
When we go back, it'll change us. Change this. Change everything. If it doesn't kill us. The stars blinked above her, adorning a sky so wide and open, Buffy felt like it could swallow her. A stray thought crossed her mind quickly maybe I want it to swallow me, but she pushed the notion away. You are still the Slayer, on hiatus or not. This is still your job, no matter how terrible it makes you feel. Groaning, she threw an arm over her eyes and let out a loud, sputtering sigh. "I'm an idiot," she groaned, annoyed with the swirl of feelings inside of her.
"Not as big of one as Porky," Spike called.
Buffy opened her eyes and sat up. She watched him walk slowly up the path, a large lump slung over his shoulder revealed, as he came into the spread of the lantern's light, as Porky. She squinted, wondering why his clothes looked so oddly flat, then smiled as she realized he was naked and covered in a thick layer of red mud.
He grinned at her as he approached; she could see the light of the moon glinting off his teeth even with the distance between them. Naked, covered in mud and blood, he looks so happy that Buffy wished again that they could put off the conversation she'd come here to have with him. No wimping out, she told herself, wincing as she noticed the way his smile widened as he reached the clearing and saw his flower in her hands.
Two weeks, Buffy thought, feeling the welling of tears in her eyes. She blinked them back, squaring her jaw for courage. He looks so happy. We both are so happy, but it'll only take two weeks, then we'll be back.
"Bring me anything?" he said, quickening his pace up under the heaviness of the pig.
Buffy stood and pulled his skinning knife out of her belt. "You forgot this," she said as he got to the platform. Wrinkling her nose, she tossed it down, impaling it in the dirt. "You left it on the kitchen table again, oh sanitary one."
He shook his head once, sharply, looking at his knife in the mud. "Now I've got to wash it."
"Oh, of course. Because you wouldn't want to dirty the pig." Pointing at it, she kicked the broken trap. "I see you finally got revenge on Porky. Only took three traps to bring him down."
Spike flung the pig's heavy carcass on the ground at Buffy's feet. "As they say, third try's the charm. That, and the spear."
"Guess so." Tipping the flower at him, she smiled. "Thanks for the orchid. They're my favorite."
"As you tell me every day when I bring you them," he said with a smile that warmed her down to her bones. Then the smile twisted upwards with mischief. He came towards her, muddy hands outstretched. "Come here, Slayer."
Shrieking, she jumped back as he tried to embrace her. "Get away, you're filthy! Hugh just washed this shirt, and you know it!"
"No problems there, love," he said, taking hold of her shoulders. Mud from his hands, red and warm, slid under the neck of her shirt and down her back. "We'll just take it off."
He went to strip it from her, but she beat him to the buttons, undoing them quickly before he could tear them apart. "I've learned a thing or two in the last couple years," she said, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes. "Like, that you and buttons are not mixy."
"Too slow," he agreed, the anticipation on his face shadowed by the gloom of night where the lanterns failed. "Especially when I know there's skin like that underneath, just waiting for my touch."
Naked, she held him off with a look. "My turn to play," she said, her voice a throaty whisper. "You got to last time."
He nodded, unable to move words around the lump that rose in his throat as she trailed her fingernail over the flat muscles of his chest, making a line in the mud that headed towards his nipple. It puckered under her touch, encouraging her to bring the other hand up. She placed it flat over his other nipple, enjoying the warmth of the mud between her skin and his. "Lots of possibilities here," she said, rubbing slow circles in the slippery stickiness, digging underneath the mud for the feel of his skin. "I finally see the appeal of all those mud wrestling shows Xander was into."
She trailed her hands around the back of his ribs, pulling him to her. Rubbing her body up the front of his, she raised herself on tip-toe, bringing her mouth to brush over his. Breathing into him, she balanced her body by leaning fully against him and brought her hands up to slid into his hair, mussing it, pulling him closer to her, ever closer.
When she kissed him, she tasted salt, fused with the sweet tang that was pure Spike. Against her lips, his mouth felt cool and yielding. The smell of mud, earthy and elemental, combined with the scent of their arousal. Their limbs entwined with precision born of years full of practice.
"I love you," she said, wanting to hearten them both, but the words came out burdened with sadness. Suck it up, she told herself. You have to tell him.
Opening her mouth, she searched for the words to tell him, but in her reluctance couldn't find them. Coward. Big fraidy-cat. Some Slayer you are. Tracing her fingers over his face, she stroked the line of his neck and down further, to the notch in the center of his collarbone and outward, over his shoulders. Gripping his upper arms in her hands, she turned her face up to his, closing her eyes. Hear me, she willed at him, her chest tightening. Know what's going on without me having to say the words. Then make love to me, here in the mud so we don't have to talk about it now. Let's be just us, for another hour at least, before real life comes rushing back.
Dropping his forehead against hers as he felt her hands run down his back, over the tautness of his backside and curve around to the front, he groaned, aching for more of her, always more. But the feel of her tense muscles under his hands combined with the sound of her voice told him that she needed something different.
"You're my world," he said, opening his eyes and staring into hers, so close their eyelashes brushed. "My bloody world. Now, tell me what's worrying you."
Sagging against him, she exhaled heavily. So much for pretenses. "Thanks a lot," she said. "I'm trying to stall, here. That thing about procrastination getting you no where? So not true."
"Right, Slayer," he said, wrapping her in his embrace. "Because it's getting you so far with me. You going to tell me what's wrong, or keep playing games?"
"No games. You need to know. It's just…" she stepped back from him, needing to pace. The mud squished between her toes as she moved around the broken trap, undaunted by her nakedness. Throwing up her hands with helplessness, she gave Spike a level look. "It's time."
"Time for what?" he asked, but he knew what she was talking about before the words had passed his lips. Something tightened inside his chest, making him inhale quickly. "You're sure?"
She nodded once. "I had a dream. We leave in the morning." Picking up his pants, she tossed them to him. "Put these one. Spare Hugh the sight of your… you know."
When he didn't retort with 'I thought you liked my 'you-know', when he only stood silently, the pants hanging from his hands, Buffy knew that he was as dismayed by the thought of returning to Sunnydale as she was. "Spike?" she said, pulling her jeans over her muddy legs. "Put your pants on."
"Hugh's taking care of the train tickets and what-not?" The words, flat and casual, rolled out of him, taking no thought, bearing no impression of the emotions that were making his stomach churn. "Is he coming along with us?"
"He's staying here. I told him to." Buttoning her shirt, she moved back to Spike's side, bringing him the rest of his clothes. "We won't need him there. It's only for two weeks. He'll be better off here, keeping the house ready for us to come home to."
"It might be okay," he said, but the lines of tension blossoming on his brow betrayed him. Rubbing his hands over his face, he knocked some of the drying mud off. "You haven't had a Slayer dream about going back for at least a month. Maybe that means everything'll turn out fine."
"Or maybe that just means that my Slayer dreams aren't super reliable. Because they aren't. It's not like they haven't confused me in the past. It was a regular nightmare I had tonight. Just your regular, run of the mill, demon-eating-my-sister kinda dream, but I know it was a sign."
Spike frowned. "Something's going to eat your sister?"
"No. Like I said, it wasn't a Slayer dream. It wasn't prophetic kinda thing, just…" She broke off, shuddering. Pulling her arms around herself, she said, "Just really freaky. I can't get it out of my head. It was a sign, telling me that it's time to go back. And that going back is dangerous."
"Doesn't matter much, pet. Dangerous or not, we have to go back. If Glory doesn't die, the other you will. We have to kill her. End of story."
"You make it sound so easy." Sighing, she pushed a hand through her hair. "I won't be able to go into town. The timeline… it's too risky. You'll have to go."
"So I will, then. Not a problem. I'll take care of it. You could even stay here. Kick back with Hugh. Keep our bed warm."
"Yeah, sure. I'll just send you back there to do my dirty work while I'm sitting in the sun, sipping a martini." She glared at him. "You could die. You're not exactly Mr. Popular in Sunnydale. What if I … the other me… catches you killing Ben? I'd be sitting down here, waiting for you, and all the time you'd be a pile of dust in Sunnydale, dead after getting in the way of my stake. The other me's stake. She'd kill you on sight."
"I can handle myself, Slayer."
"I know that," she said, touching his arm. "I do."
"But you're still scared."
"Of course I am. You're my… well, I love you. Being scared for you when you're going up against a hellgod in the Slayer's backyard goes with the whole 'I love you' package."
"You told me yourself that Glory's too weak to come out and attack me. And Ben's just a human. Weak."
She dropped her eyes, acquiescing his point, then raised them and met his with determination. "There are other things that could go wrong."
"Drusilla? I'm sure she's long since left town."
"Not just her. There's… you. You haven't killed a human in years."
"And you're worried that this'll bring back my taste for it?" He touched her hair, stroking over it with his palm. "I'd have to be a crazy fool to give up what we have here, Buffy. I'm a lot of things, but not crazy. And I'm only a fool when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" she said, her lips parting as he ran his thumb over them.
"Your eyes all big and shiny… your mouth open for me to kiss… Like you're thinking the whole world could go to hell, and you'd still want to stay here in the jungle with me, world be damned."
"That… pretty much sums it up," she whispered as he bent and kissed her once, gently. "It's not like I think you'll turn all demoney again. But… don't you ever miss it? Your old life?"
"Not much to miss there. Being Angelus's punching bag didn't hold much appeal."
An uncertainty crept into her expression. "Do you ever miss Drusilla?"
He hesitated a second, his hands growing still on her hair. Then, tipping her chin up to make her hold his gaze, he said, "Yeah, sometimes. Her fecklessness. But I don't miss who I was when I was with her. Here…" He looked up at the jungle canopy, illuminated with the lights of the lanterns, then back at Buffy. Bending down, he snatched the orchid from the ground and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers stroked the petals, brushing her skin. "It's better here. With you."
Turning her face into his hand, she exhaled heavily, releasing the tension from her body in a breath that heated his skin. "I wish I could just snap my fingers and have this all over with. A big, magic poof, and suddenly it's two weeks later and we're home again."
"Things will be fine, pet. You'll see. We'll be back here, together, in no time." Giving her a final kiss, he pointed to the pig. "You want to feel sorry for someone, stick around. Porky there is about to become breakfast meat."
She watched him pick up the knife and tuck it into his belt, watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the thin material of his shirt as he lift the pig and heaved it onto the broken trap, out of the mud. "You're sure? About Ben? You can do this?"
"Killing a human won't call my demon back to play, Slayer. We've got no worries. It'll be easy as pie." He sliced the knife into the pig, pulling at the thick hide. Blood dripped over the ground, over his knees, staining his pants and shirt. "Bugger. Never should've gotten dressed." He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. "Slayer, you mind taking these back to the house when you go?"
She stood over him, still as a statue, her mind working way too fast as she tried to tell herself the blood on his hands belonged to the pig, that it wasn't foreshadowing of any kind. But her dream came back to her, slamming her with images of William the Bloody feasting on her little sister's blood. When she saw his shirt fall from his shoulders, bile raised inside of her. Too much like the dream… I can't see this. This is bad. Without a word, she turned and ran for the house.
"Buffy? My clothes?" He searched the shadows on the clearing, but couldn't find her. "Buffy?" Leaving the pig where it lay, Spike started back to the house after her. To hell with Porky. To hell with this whole sodding place. We don't need it to be happy, Buffy and I. We'll be fine, out there in the world together. Just bloody fine. As he trudged through the mud, he smirked, irritated with himself. Almost managed to convince myself that time. Now I've just got to convince her.
Chapter 9
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. I also used them to separate out a dream sequence.
For Sass. Because you inspire me more than you know. Thanks!
*****
Two Years Later
The Mexican jungle
The bed sheets twisted around Buffy's body, constricting her as she tossed and rolled. Beneath the heft of blond hair that spread over it, her face was wrinkled with fear, her eyes squeezed shut in sleep. A moan rolled out from between her lips, low and long and gut wrenching, taking the form of a name as it went. "Dawn."
The tower shook beneath her feet as she raced upwards, towards the platform where her sister was tied. Helpless. In terrible danger. "Dawn!" she screamed, throwing her body up the steps. The fear growing inside of her propelled her and kept her focused, kept her feet so precise, she could not trip. She had to make it there, before… and then she was there.
"Dawn!" she screamed again, her eyes widening. Horror gripped her with a freezing fist. She could not move as she stood at the top of the steps, watching the two figures at the other end of the platform. Her sister, brown hair waving in the wind, bent limply over a figure. A figure in black, who clutched her against him. A familiar figure, whose duster had been cast off, whose shirt stuck wetly to his body. "Spike!"
When he turned, Buffy took a step back. "Spike?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes. A terrible calm seized her as she took in his crouching stance, his vampire ridges and fangs, and most of all- most of all- Dawn's blood. The thick redness dripped from his chin, adding to the mess that covered his shirt and hands.
I won't look, Buffy told herself, but betrayed the thought in the next second. Her eyes were drawn without mercy to the sight of her sister's body, gutted and hanging from the ropes that bound her. Even Dawn's face- her beautiful face, a voice deep inside her mourned- was cut to disfigurement and shrouded with blood. Taking a breath, Buffy closed her eyes. Close your eyes. The end of your world is here. You're in hell. Close your eyes.
The last thing she felt was Spike's body hurling into hers. She screamed…
Screaming, Buffy sat up in bed, her arms waving with remembered distress. "Oh… oh god," she said, choking back tears. Feeling the bed beside her, her heart sank to find him gone. "Spike. It's time."
Suddenly, the door flung open and banged against the wall. She jumped, pulling the blanket over herself as Hugh ran in, wild-eyed and frantic. "Hugh," she whispered, calming herself. "It's okay, it's just Hugh."
"Milady, are you injured?" he says, rushing to her bedside. "I could go find the vampire?"
"It's just a dream, Hugh," she said, sitting up and slipping her feet into her slippers. "A nightmare."
"A Slayer dream? Did you see the future?" He looked nauseated at the thought which, considering Buffy's reaction to the dream, was fitting. "Is there danger ahead?"
"No, not a Slayer dream. Just your regular, ole doozy of a nightmare." Shuddering, she rubbed her arms, cold in the oppressive heat of the jungle. "Danger… there's always danger. We've known for a long time that we'd eventually have to face the life I left behind in Sunnydale. The dream was just telling me that… that time's up." And that there's danger, but let's not freak Hugh out any more than he already is.
Visibly relieved, Hugh, patted her arm. Going to the dresser, he opened a drawer and dug through her clothes until he came up with a warm cardigan. "Here, Mistress. Warm yourself. I will fetch your vampire."
"No, you don't have to. I know you don't like it outside after dark, even with all the lanterns lit. But… where is Spike?"
With a barking laugh, Hugh pointed out the window. "Trapping the pig."
Even though shaken, she had to smile. "Porky's back, huh?"
"Oh, yes. The vampire came tearing through an hour ago, ranting on about his trap being broken again."
"Again?" Slipping the shirt over her tank top with shaking hands, Buffy stood. "That's the third trap this week. Porky's smart for a jungle pig."
"The vampire says the pig will die before dawn." Hugh's face, wrinkled and brown, was alit with humor. "I say, the vampire will be back before dawn, pigless and in a mood so foul, I think I may leave for the village for the day."
"Good plan," Buffy said. Waving her hand at him, she said, "Now, out with you. I've got to finish getting dressed."
"You're going after the vampire? I don't believe he'll appreciate the assistance. He seems to hang his manhood on this pig's beating heart."
"Hugh," Buffy said, her voice an equal mix of warning and laughter. "Picking on Spike is a fun time, believe me I know, but…"
Rolling his eyes, Hugh shuffled towards the door. "He's taken the north path, Mistress. Finding him should be simple for you, not to worry."
"Thank you, Hugh," Buffy said, giving him a smile that fell the moment the Brownie closed the door. Going to the vanity table, she grabbed a brush and pulled her hair back into a hasty ponytail. "Not to worry," she echoed. Giving herself a long look in the mirror, she shook her head, watching the heavy tail swing back and forth behind her. "Not to worry. As if finding him was the tough part."
*****
She followed the north path through the jungle, lighting the string of lanterns that hung from the tree branches as she went. Red mud squished beneath her boots, thick and gooey. Making her way carefully towards the clearing, she focused hard on keeping her footing. When she found the broken trap, it was all she could do not to turn around and head back to the house, to pretend her dream had never happened. And when she found the orchid Spike had left for her on the wooden platform the trap had been built on, she did turn around. She made it ten steps up the path before her cowardice shamed her into turning back. Be strong, Slayer. Just because he picks my favorite flower doesn't mean I can protect him from this.
After clearing the wooden shards from the platform, she laid down on her back and looked up at the stars, holding the flower's stem between her hands like a fragrant talisman. Take your time, Spike, she thought, sending the words out into the blackness of the night sky towards his ears. Enjoy your last moments of being just yourself. Your last moments of simplicity, before we have to go and mess things up again.
A tiny, sensible voice in the back of her head told her that they'd only be gone for a little while. They'd come back and their home would still be here. But it took us so long to *get* here, Buffy countered. To be able to see each other as Buffy and Spike, leaving all the titles and baggage behind. Going back will change everything. We'll have to earn all this… this comfort, this peace… earn it all again.
And it had been peaceful and comfortable, the past two years. They'd fought, of course. The memory brought a twisted smile to her lips. Fighting was as much a part of their relationship- of their dance- as making love. In her mind's eye, she could see his lips curved in sarcasm as readily as love, but the love was always there, softening both their edges.
When we go back, it'll change us. Change this. Change everything. If it doesn't kill us. The stars blinked above her, adorning a sky so wide and open, Buffy felt like it could swallow her. A stray thought crossed her mind quickly maybe I want it to swallow me, but she pushed the notion away. You are still the Slayer, on hiatus or not. This is still your job, no matter how terrible it makes you feel. Groaning, she threw an arm over her eyes and let out a loud, sputtering sigh. "I'm an idiot," she groaned, annoyed with the swirl of feelings inside of her.
"Not as big of one as Porky," Spike called.
Buffy opened her eyes and sat up. She watched him walk slowly up the path, a large lump slung over his shoulder revealed, as he came into the spread of the lantern's light, as Porky. She squinted, wondering why his clothes looked so oddly flat, then smiled as she realized he was naked and covered in a thick layer of red mud.
He grinned at her as he approached; she could see the light of the moon glinting off his teeth even with the distance between them. Naked, covered in mud and blood, he looks so happy that Buffy wished again that they could put off the conversation she'd come here to have with him. No wimping out, she told herself, wincing as she noticed the way his smile widened as he reached the clearing and saw his flower in her hands.
Two weeks, Buffy thought, feeling the welling of tears in her eyes. She blinked them back, squaring her jaw for courage. He looks so happy. We both are so happy, but it'll only take two weeks, then we'll be back.
"Bring me anything?" he said, quickening his pace up under the heaviness of the pig.
Buffy stood and pulled his skinning knife out of her belt. "You forgot this," she said as he got to the platform. Wrinkling her nose, she tossed it down, impaling it in the dirt. "You left it on the kitchen table again, oh sanitary one."
He shook his head once, sharply, looking at his knife in the mud. "Now I've got to wash it."
"Oh, of course. Because you wouldn't want to dirty the pig." Pointing at it, she kicked the broken trap. "I see you finally got revenge on Porky. Only took three traps to bring him down."
Spike flung the pig's heavy carcass on the ground at Buffy's feet. "As they say, third try's the charm. That, and the spear."
"Guess so." Tipping the flower at him, she smiled. "Thanks for the orchid. They're my favorite."
"As you tell me every day when I bring you them," he said with a smile that warmed her down to her bones. Then the smile twisted upwards with mischief. He came towards her, muddy hands outstretched. "Come here, Slayer."
Shrieking, she jumped back as he tried to embrace her. "Get away, you're filthy! Hugh just washed this shirt, and you know it!"
"No problems there, love," he said, taking hold of her shoulders. Mud from his hands, red and warm, slid under the neck of her shirt and down her back. "We'll just take it off."
He went to strip it from her, but she beat him to the buttons, undoing them quickly before he could tear them apart. "I've learned a thing or two in the last couple years," she said, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it onto the pile of his clothes. "Like, that you and buttons are not mixy."
"Too slow," he agreed, the anticipation on his face shadowed by the gloom of night where the lanterns failed. "Especially when I know there's skin like that underneath, just waiting for my touch."
Naked, she held him off with a look. "My turn to play," she said, her voice a throaty whisper. "You got to last time."
He nodded, unable to move words around the lump that rose in his throat as she trailed her fingernail over the flat muscles of his chest, making a line in the mud that headed towards his nipple. It puckered under her touch, encouraging her to bring the other hand up. She placed it flat over his other nipple, enjoying the warmth of the mud between her skin and his. "Lots of possibilities here," she said, rubbing slow circles in the slippery stickiness, digging underneath the mud for the feel of his skin. "I finally see the appeal of all those mud wrestling shows Xander was into."
She trailed her hands around the back of his ribs, pulling him to her. Rubbing her body up the front of his, she raised herself on tip-toe, bringing her mouth to brush over his. Breathing into him, she balanced her body by leaning fully against him and brought her hands up to slid into his hair, mussing it, pulling him closer to her, ever closer.
When she kissed him, she tasted salt, fused with the sweet tang that was pure Spike. Against her lips, his mouth felt cool and yielding. The smell of mud, earthy and elemental, combined with the scent of their arousal. Their limbs entwined with precision born of years full of practice.
"I love you," she said, wanting to hearten them both, but the words came out burdened with sadness. Suck it up, she told herself. You have to tell him.
Opening her mouth, she searched for the words to tell him, but in her reluctance couldn't find them. Coward. Big fraidy-cat. Some Slayer you are. Tracing her fingers over his face, she stroked the line of his neck and down further, to the notch in the center of his collarbone and outward, over his shoulders. Gripping his upper arms in her hands, she turned her face up to his, closing her eyes. Hear me, she willed at him, her chest tightening. Know what's going on without me having to say the words. Then make love to me, here in the mud so we don't have to talk about it now. Let's be just us, for another hour at least, before real life comes rushing back.
Dropping his forehead against hers as he felt her hands run down his back, over the tautness of his backside and curve around to the front, he groaned, aching for more of her, always more. But the feel of her tense muscles under his hands combined with the sound of her voice told him that she needed something different.
"You're my world," he said, opening his eyes and staring into hers, so close their eyelashes brushed. "My bloody world. Now, tell me what's worrying you."
Sagging against him, she exhaled heavily. So much for pretenses. "Thanks a lot," she said. "I'm trying to stall, here. That thing about procrastination getting you no where? So not true."
"Right, Slayer," he said, wrapping her in his embrace. "Because it's getting you so far with me. You going to tell me what's wrong, or keep playing games?"
"No games. You need to know. It's just…" she stepped back from him, needing to pace. The mud squished between her toes as she moved around the broken trap, undaunted by her nakedness. Throwing up her hands with helplessness, she gave Spike a level look. "It's time."
"Time for what?" he asked, but he knew what she was talking about before the words had passed his lips. Something tightened inside his chest, making him inhale quickly. "You're sure?"
She nodded once. "I had a dream. We leave in the morning." Picking up his pants, she tossed them to him. "Put these one. Spare Hugh the sight of your… you know."
When he didn't retort with 'I thought you liked my 'you-know', when he only stood silently, the pants hanging from his hands, Buffy knew that he was as dismayed by the thought of returning to Sunnydale as she was. "Spike?" she said, pulling her jeans over her muddy legs. "Put your pants on."
"Hugh's taking care of the train tickets and what-not?" The words, flat and casual, rolled out of him, taking no thought, bearing no impression of the emotions that were making his stomach churn. "Is he coming along with us?"
"He's staying here. I told him to." Buttoning her shirt, she moved back to Spike's side, bringing him the rest of his clothes. "We won't need him there. It's only for two weeks. He'll be better off here, keeping the house ready for us to come home to."
"It might be okay," he said, but the lines of tension blossoming on his brow betrayed him. Rubbing his hands over his face, he knocked some of the drying mud off. "You haven't had a Slayer dream about going back for at least a month. Maybe that means everything'll turn out fine."
"Or maybe that just means that my Slayer dreams aren't super reliable. Because they aren't. It's not like they haven't confused me in the past. It was a regular nightmare I had tonight. Just your regular, run of the mill, demon-eating-my-sister kinda dream, but I know it was a sign."
Spike frowned. "Something's going to eat your sister?"
"No. Like I said, it wasn't a Slayer dream. It wasn't prophetic kinda thing, just…" She broke off, shuddering. Pulling her arms around herself, she said, "Just really freaky. I can't get it out of my head. It was a sign, telling me that it's time to go back. And that going back is dangerous."
"Doesn't matter much, pet. Dangerous or not, we have to go back. If Glory doesn't die, the other you will. We have to kill her. End of story."
"You make it sound so easy." Sighing, she pushed a hand through her hair. "I won't be able to go into town. The timeline… it's too risky. You'll have to go."
"So I will, then. Not a problem. I'll take care of it. You could even stay here. Kick back with Hugh. Keep our bed warm."
"Yeah, sure. I'll just send you back there to do my dirty work while I'm sitting in the sun, sipping a martini." She glared at him. "You could die. You're not exactly Mr. Popular in Sunnydale. What if I … the other me… catches you killing Ben? I'd be sitting down here, waiting for you, and all the time you'd be a pile of dust in Sunnydale, dead after getting in the way of my stake. The other me's stake. She'd kill you on sight."
"I can handle myself, Slayer."
"I know that," she said, touching his arm. "I do."
"But you're still scared."
"Of course I am. You're my… well, I love you. Being scared for you when you're going up against a hellgod in the Slayer's backyard goes with the whole 'I love you' package."
"You told me yourself that Glory's too weak to come out and attack me. And Ben's just a human. Weak."
She dropped her eyes, acquiescing his point, then raised them and met his with determination. "There are other things that could go wrong."
"Drusilla? I'm sure she's long since left town."
"Not just her. There's… you. You haven't killed a human in years."
"And you're worried that this'll bring back my taste for it?" He touched her hair, stroking over it with his palm. "I'd have to be a crazy fool to give up what we have here, Buffy. I'm a lot of things, but not crazy. And I'm only a fool when you look at me like that."
"Like what?" she said, her lips parting as he ran his thumb over them.
"Your eyes all big and shiny… your mouth open for me to kiss… Like you're thinking the whole world could go to hell, and you'd still want to stay here in the jungle with me, world be damned."
"That… pretty much sums it up," she whispered as he bent and kissed her once, gently. "It's not like I think you'll turn all demoney again. But… don't you ever miss it? Your old life?"
"Not much to miss there. Being Angelus's punching bag didn't hold much appeal."
An uncertainty crept into her expression. "Do you ever miss Drusilla?"
He hesitated a second, his hands growing still on her hair. Then, tipping her chin up to make her hold his gaze, he said, "Yeah, sometimes. Her fecklessness. But I don't miss who I was when I was with her. Here…" He looked up at the jungle canopy, illuminated with the lights of the lanterns, then back at Buffy. Bending down, he snatched the orchid from the ground and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers stroked the petals, brushing her skin. "It's better here. With you."
Turning her face into his hand, she exhaled heavily, releasing the tension from her body in a breath that heated his skin. "I wish I could just snap my fingers and have this all over with. A big, magic poof, and suddenly it's two weeks later and we're home again."
"Things will be fine, pet. You'll see. We'll be back here, together, in no time." Giving her a final kiss, he pointed to the pig. "You want to feel sorry for someone, stick around. Porky there is about to become breakfast meat."
She watched him pick up the knife and tuck it into his belt, watched the muscles of his back shift beneath the thin material of his shirt as he lift the pig and heaved it onto the broken trap, out of the mud. "You're sure? About Ben? You can do this?"
"Killing a human won't call my demon back to play, Slayer. We've got no worries. It'll be easy as pie." He sliced the knife into the pig, pulling at the thick hide. Blood dripped over the ground, over his knees, staining his pants and shirt. "Bugger. Never should've gotten dressed." He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. "Slayer, you mind taking these back to the house when you go?"
She stood over him, still as a statue, her mind working way too fast as she tried to tell herself the blood on his hands belonged to the pig, that it wasn't foreshadowing of any kind. But her dream came back to her, slamming her with images of William the Bloody feasting on her little sister's blood. When she saw his shirt fall from his shoulders, bile raised inside of her. Too much like the dream… I can't see this. This is bad. Without a word, she turned and ran for the house.
"Buffy? My clothes?" He searched the shadows on the clearing, but couldn't find her. "Buffy?" Leaving the pig where it lay, Spike started back to the house after her. To hell with Porky. To hell with this whole sodding place. We don't need it to be happy, Buffy and I. We'll be fine, out there in the world together. Just bloody fine. As he trudged through the mud, he smirked, irritated with himself. Almost managed to convince myself that time. Now I've just got to convince her.