TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #12 Encounter
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART: 12/?
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's
going.
Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
Angel carried the drink carefully
across the room to the table alongside the stage. The bartender had sprigged it
with a cherry, and an umbrella, but somehow it still screamed "Shirley Temple".
A girlie glass, filled with pink, for a smidgen of a girl.
Said girl sat quietly at a table
alongside the stage. Cordelia was chattering at her, full of cheery smiles and
affection, but Angel could see Dawn was just barely following the conversation.
She was still very shaken up from the incident earlier this evening, and he'd
have liked nothing better than to send her home right now. But the gang were
here for a twofold reason. They were expecting a contact in regards to an
investigation underway. Bringing Dawn had been Angel's inspiration- He had held
out great hope that the Host could offer Dawn some guidance.
"Here you go- One cherry seven up,
straight up with a twist."
He was grinning broadly, but Dawn
just looked at him like he was stupid.
"Nevermind. Here, just drink it."
He shoved the glass at her and she
accepted.
"Angel- Over there, look!"
Cordy's whisper was a touch too
dramatic…then again, it usually was. He turned his head towards the bar.
"Interesting."
He got up, and Cordy put her hand on
his arm. Worry creased her forehead, and Angel forced himself to stop and give
her his best reassuring smile.
"It's okay, Cordelia, I'm just going
to talk to him."
The look in his eyes sharpened, and
he continued.
"I oughtta see about his truck."
With that, he walked off, and left
Cordy standing there with her hand out, perplexed.
"Okay. That made NO sense."
She plopped back into the chair, and
looked over at her charge.
"You hungry? They have bbq wings."
She felt naked, even dressed in all
these layers.
The exposed bite mark was the
problem, she knew. It felt raw, hypersensitive- As if it picked up shifts in
temperature and changes in air current around her. Her hands sought it out- She
kept trailing her fingers over it, unconsciously.
She should never have let him talk
her into uncovering it.
"Quit playing with it, Slayer."
She elbowed his rib.
"Watch your mouth, "Billy", or
you'll ruin the whole damn disguise."
It was camouflage, he'd explained. It
would make her untouchable, invisible, inside the demon bars. Two scars and a
healing bite wound said to the world quite loudly, "I am some Vampire's Ho."
That, she figured, was the problem.
She rather felt like one.
The way she'd gone after him earlier-
Her face flushed at the memory. She was ashamed of herself. Her behaviour had
been wanton, lewd- exhilarating and shameful. She wanted to do it again, and
was terrified she might.
He put his hands on her waist, and
pulled her against him.
"Dance with me."
"Sp- Billy, we don't have time-"
His mouth next to her ear, he
whispered.
"We're too noticeable just standin'
about."
He moved his head back, and met her
gaze.
"Besides- I'm good enough to fuck,
but not good enough to dance with?"
His voice was teasing, but still she
heard the faint undertone of hurt in it. She'd wounded his pride, again.
She wrapped her arms around his
neck, and her breath caught at the
closeness. The feel of him against her, his scent- they overwhelmed her senses.
He moved tight against her, easing her through the
crowded dance floor.
"D'you see him yet?"
She shook her head no, struggling to
pay attention to their surroundings. He grumbled under his breath.
"Poncy bugger never could stay where
'e's s'posed to."
They'd been in and out of clubs all
night, talking to people and showing Dawn's picture.
Spike
had faxed it out to the homeless shelters and youth organizations that
afternoon, but they'd had no response yet. Buffy was losing hope. It was as if
Dawn had walked out of the Apartment complex and vanished.
In a dive a couple blocks away
someone had i.d.'ed Spike, and tried to
pick a fight with him by taunting him with Angel. The unintentional "tip" had
led them here, to a karaoke bar full of demon customers.
Buffy was certain that Angel could
help them find Dawn. Spike was less enthusiastic, but she knew much of his
hesitation stemmed from ordinary male jealousy.
She had loved Angel- and probably
still did.
And Spike loved her.
It was an unholy mess, guaranteed to
break hearts and bust heads, eventually.
Buffy did not love Spike. But she
liked him. She trusted him in ways she had trusted no one else before. It made
no sense and filled her with trepidation. What did it all mean?
She wanted him. That was uncomfortable
to admit, but she did. And the sex was amazing. He was her drug of choice, her
new favorite vice. It had never been this way before, not with anyone.
That thought scared her most of all. She was capable
of complete surrender with Spike, letting down all barriers, trusting him
utterly.
But she didn't love him.
She admired him, she enjoyed his company-
She caught a glimpse of his profile
beside her and her breath caught in her throat.
-she adored his body. She could be honest enough now
to admit that. She was fascinated with the shape of his mouth, the length of
his fingers, the hollow of his hip.
But he was
bad; he was wicked.
She worried that might be why she liked him so well.
Angel leaned in close behind the unsuspecting mortal.
"Hello Lindsay," he crooned.
Lindsay's head shot up from his beer bottle, looking
into the mirror behind the bar. He smiled serenely at his lone reflection.
"Hello Angel," he drawled, lifting up his bottle in
mock-salute.
"Shouldn't you be, oh, I don't know- someplace ripping
off widows, stealing from orphans-"
Lindsay swiveled on the barstool.
"Nope."
He swigged on the bottle a moment, then wiped his
mouth on his coatsleeve.
"Sorry to say it, but I'm just fresh out."
Angel seized him by the lapels, lifting him up slightly.
"I don't think you ought to frequent this
establishment anymore, Lindsay. They don't cater to your type."
Still hanging from Angel's meaty fist, Lindsay
grinned drunkenly, and slurred his words.
"Oh, I don't know about that."
He gestured with his short arm, indicating the room.
"Looks like the place's just FULL of monsters."
Angel shoved him back into the seat. For some reason,
the boy always provoked him, made him lose his temper. It had been a long time
since anyone enraged him quite like Lindsay did, and he distinctly disliked the
feeling.
Stolidly he gritted his teeth.
"Finish your beer, and the Get Out. Don't come here
again. Stay away from my crew, and me."
The boy raised his eyebrows, insolently.
"Or you'll what?"
There was a hollowness in his expression, a void
inside him, that reminded Angel of his own. He responded to it involuntarily,
stepping away from him. Truly, Lindsay was not afraid of him. Lindsay was
afraid of nothing.
Lindsay didn't care anymore.
It intrigued parts of Angel that he had always been
certain belonged to Angelus. Irritated, he tamped down the unsavory emotions,
and with a vampire's quickness, he had the carkeys out of Lindsay's hand.
He addressed himself to the bartender.
"My friend here's had a wee bit too much to drink.
Call him a cab for me?" He put his best efforts into the act, all phony
camaraderie as he slung the other arm around Lindsay's shoulders. He pulled him
in just a little too tight, just a little too close, and squeezed his neck hard
with his fist. The pain failed to move the boy, who just sat there.
Then Angel caught a familiar scent in the air, and
his night took another downturn.
"What the"-
He tossed a twenty at the bartender on the phone, and
pocketed the truck keys. He made his way out into the throng of dancers,
following blood and memories as sharp as glass.
In the middle of the room, he saw him. White blonde
hair, tousled and damp, caught the lights. Underneath them he danced. His form
was grace personified, and Angel was reminded just how beautiful his
descendants always were.
His back was to his grandsire, but Angel knew his
own. Spike had come here. Spike was in the City of Angels, and his time had run
out.
He approached him through the dancers, and came to a
stop right behind him.
He made his voice hard and derisive, his mouth curled
in a sneer.
"William."
Spike turned around, and then he saw who his boy was
dancing with.
"Buffy?"