CHAPTER THREE
"Guys, I've got some news," Buffy says to the Scoobies the next afternoon. She has just finished training and her clothes are sweaty and she's wondering if her friends are noticing the sopping wet rings under her arms. She thinks at least Anya is because she has seen her nose wrinkle a couple of times. Maybe I stink, she thinks to herself. "We've got the Big Bad to deal with again."
"Which one?" Willow asks.
"The one who likes to think of himself as the original Big Bad. El Capo de tutti capi of the Big Bads. The Grand Poobah of the Big Bads. The Merchant of Big Badedness." She hopes her friends will get what she's trying to say, because she's running out of euphemisms.
"Oh!" Xander says. "Has my former roommate blown back into town? And he didn't even bother to come by and say hello. Well, that's friendship for you. See if I ever commiserate with him over a game of pool again."
Giles is scowling while he shakes his head slowly. "I knew he couldn't stay away for long." He is trying to engage Buffy with his eyes, but she is not looking in his direction.
"But there's something you should know about him," Buffy says.
"He's got an evil twin," Xander says. "No! Wait! He's your twin brother!" When his remarks are met with annoyed glances, he feels the need to explain. "Sorry. Anya and I were doing the Star Wars trilogy thing yesterday."
"All six and a half hours," Anya says bitterly.
"It still really bothers me that Obi Wan didn't tell Luke about Leia being his sister. I mean, the guy's living in a desert, harvesting dirt crops and eating what looks like very soggy cornflakes. He meets this groovy princess who packs heat and doesn't wear a bra. There's an attraction there…" He shakes his head. "I know because of the whole mythology thing, Luke couldn't know about Daddy Darth yet, but surely he could have been let in on the whole sister Leia thing before he started thinking about what she looked like out of her white dress. Or how good she looked in the iron bikini."
"Honey, that's the fifth time you've mentioned Leia and her iron bikini since last night," Anya says. "Am I going to have to go out and buy one of those for you?"
"Please?" Xander says.
Buffy is standing silent with her lips pursed, looking like an irritated professor whose lecture has been interrupted by some students' noisy note passing.
"Sorry, Buffy. You were saying?" Xander says.
"Guys, this is serious. I know it's been a while since we've thought of Spike being a threat. It's kind of hard to take a villain seriously when he's wearing one of Xander's Hawaiian shirts, but." She takes a breath. "All I'm saying is, The Initiative's peroxided guinea pig is back to his former self."
Those gathered around the table exchange baffled looks.
Finally Willow speaks. "No chip?"
"Chip is still there, but not a big problem any more. Apparently, he's found a way to control the pain now."
"How did you find this out?" Giles asks.
"The hard way. We fought."
"And you won?" Willow asks.
"I'm standing here speaking to you now, aren't I?"
"And you didn't kill him?" Xander asks.
"No," Buffy returns slowly. They're going to want to know why and none of them knows what went on six months ago…She knows then that she should have killed him. She is staring at five reasons to have plunged the stake in his chest. But while she had the stake in her hand, the reasons against killing him were too clear. She can see the fear building in their eyes. She knows what they're thinking. He's spent all these years under the control of the chip. Now he's going to unleash a reign of terror not seen since the days of the French Revolution. They've been mean to him. Brutal. Almost as evil as he has been to them. He's going to want revenge. All their necks are prime targets. She should have beheaded that platinum blond Robespierre before a single innocent head fell into the basket.
I'm supposed to keep them safe. They count on me. And in a moment of weakness I failed. I should have remembered them, not him…
"It's the Dawn thing, isn't it?" Willow asks.
"What?" Buffy asks.
"The Dawn thing. He took care of Dawn after your mother died. That's why you couldn't kill him."
She shrugs her shoulders. "That must have been it," she says. At that moment, she does look at Giles. He is fixing her with a cold, soul-searching stare. Sometimes she wishes he couldn't read her so well. Apparently there is no off position on the Watcher switch.
"So," she says. "If you see him, don't think he won't attack. Keep your crossbows handy, avoid going out alone at night, and keep your de-invite spells in good repair.
"And darn it, Anya and I were going to have him over for brisket," Xander says.
Buffy is still aware that Giles is looking at her. She stares off in another direction, twisting one foot into the ground. "I don't think that he will hurt you, though. He says he can control his need to feed now. And he knows what will happen if he goes near any of you."
"Does he?" Giles says under his breath.
But it is loud enough for Buffy to hear. And feel.
After the meeting is over, Giles draws Buffy aside. She is expecting this. She knows it's lecture time.
"Buffy, I never did inform the others of what went on between you and Spike after your mother's death. Mostly because I am not completely certain of all the details and I'm not one to spread rumors and innuendo, but…"
"You want to know if I still have feelings for him," Buffy says.
"Do you?" he asks, relieved that she has filled in the blanks for him.
She hesitates before answering, aware that he is going to weigh everything she says with a rather accurate scale. "There was some sparkage," she says.
"Buffy…"
"I know, I know, I KNOW what you're going to say. I should just leave him alone. I should just stay away from him. Shouldn't encourage him. You know, in the time he's been gone, I have been trying to forget I ever went near him. He told me he was gone for good and I accepted that. But then when I saw him, all the old emotions came flooding back. The kind a Slayer isn't supposed to have for a vampire."
"Good Lord, Buffy. Obviously I am missing something here. How could you possibly feel any affection towards someone who's made being evil and vile his unlife's quest? Think about all the terrible predicaments he's put your friends through. Think about the terrible predicaments he's put you through." He pauses briefly. "Did you at least try and kill him?"
"I did. The stake right there, ready for action. But I couldn't do it…I just couldn't. I saw something in his eyes. And in his heart."
"What sort of hold does he have on you, Buffy?"
She is remembering what transpired on the bench in the playground. This she will not share with her Watcher. "I don't know. But it's there. He told me he wouldn't kill if I took him back."
"Do you believe him?"
"I'd like to. But I've got some trust issues right now."
"I didn't think it was possible, but I do believe he's far more dangerous loving you than he ever was when he was trying to up the tally of his Slayer kills." He touches her arm. He is afraid for her. She hasn't seen him look this worried for a long time. Fatherly concern consumes his features as he speaks to her. "Please, Buffy. I trust you to do the right thing."
She has always been trusted to do the right thing and it's starting to get on her nerves.
"I will, Giles."
"You still got the de-invite spell on your apartment," he says. "Don't let him convince you that he deserves admittance."
"I don't think he knows where I live yet."
At least she thinks.
When Buffy arrives home, all she wants to do is get out of her sweaty, clingy clothes and jump in the shower for about a half an hour. She is so ready for the steam and the pulsating rhythm of the water hitting her skin, she heads straight for the bathroom the minute she enters her apartment. But something stops her. She is aware of voices. Her sister's and…
He is in the apartment. She hears his voice. His loud, braying laughter with Dawn's girlish giggles intermixed. They are in her sister's bedroom.
The door is slightly ajar. She peeks in to find them sitting on the floor. Dawn is opening her CD player, about to insert a disk.
"You'll like this one. It has some really rare live tracks that you can't get anywhere anymore," Spike is saying. "I actually saw this show. I could tell that Sid was on his way out. I wanted to help him, but I thought about all the heroin in his blood. Didn't want to become a regular commuter on the smack train like he was."
"They were so ugly," Dawn says. "Look at all the scratch marks on this guys chest. Did he have a cat or something?"
"He liked to cut himself, I hear. Liked the pain and the adrenaline and all."
"Ewww…."
A this point, Dawn happens to notice her sister at the door way. "Oh, Buffy! Look who's back!"
Spike has followed Dawn's glance. He is smiling now. Yes, love. I am back in the fold, he seems to be saying.
"Yes, I see," she says, straining her works through gnashed teeth.
"He brought me all these CD's. I am so over that whole *NSYNC deal. Those guys were such butt munches. I finally got to see them in concert and went back stage. They were like, so immature and stuff. I felt like I was in junior high again."
"Oh, that's right. You're going into high school this year," Spike says.
"Two more weeks," she says proudly.
"Well, at least the blokes who built this new school had the good sense not to build on a hellmouth. I've been there. There's no evil there. Just a lot of wankers wearing oversized jeans and bints with nose rings."
"Spike, may I see you for a moment?" Buffy says.
"Certainly, love." He jumps up from the floor. "Be right back, Little Bit. Big sis and I have some catching up to do as well."
When she gets him out in the hall and out of earshot of Dawn, who is now cranking up the CD player, she slams him against the wall.
"How did you find me?" she asks, holding his shoulders firmly against the wall.
"Wasn't too hard, Slayer. I went to your old place. An old lady answered the door. I thought to myself, well, either the Slayer has aged overnight---and not very well, I might add---or she's not here anymore. The kindly old woman, Bev something or another, I believe, informed me that she didn't know of your whereabouts, but thought you might be living in Sunnydale Heights. I thought to myself, 'Buffy? In the projects?' And I didn't believe it until I came here and saw your name on the mailbox for this apartment."
"You didn't---
"No, I didn't lay a finger on that lady's poor gray head. She was rather puzzled by my appearance. Thought I was a monk, I believe. Have you seen my new cowl? The Indian stitched it together for me out of the blanket you gave me. It---
She forces him against the wall again, letting his head bounce off the plaster. "Spike! Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You are not welcome here. I don't know what you did to get Dawn to invite you in, but I'm going to undo it."
"Little Bits was happy to see me," Spike says. "She hugged me and everything. Told me she missed me. Which was more than I got from you. And I didn't sleep with her."
"Spike, do you feel what's under your feet? It's thin ice. And you're treading on it."
"Ooooh. What are you gonna do, Slayer? Stake me? Are you gonna dust old Spike right here in your clean and neat flat? You couldn't do it last night, could you? I thought, here's my only love in the world, who happens to be the only girl in the world who can hand me a death sentence, and she can't bring herself to do it. She can't do it because she loves me. She doesn't know it. Can't accept it. But can't fight it either."
She is trying to block out what he is saying. Trying. She is trying to concentrate on the music coming from Dawn's stereo. It sounds so odd after all these years of hearing songs that contain so many repetitions of the word baby, she has once considered calling Dawn's room the nursery.
His arms are coming around her. His words are encircling her in his spell as well. What sort of hold does he have on you, Buffy? Giles had asked that afternoon. She can't define it, can't point it out with any accuracy, but it's so powerful that when he touches her, she can't think of anything else.
"Do you think I risked my life today so that I could bring Dawn some old CD's? Do you? As good as it was to see her again, there was only one reason I came here. I want what we had six months ago. I want it so bad I'm willing to test the mid-day's sun's heat, feel the flames, just for your touch. Just for your scent. Just for you." She can feel his hands in his hair now. "I know why I was wandering for those six months. I didn't have you to keep me centered. I didn't have my anchor. You're the only one who makes everything clear to me. Gives the world meaning. Lying beside you, as your lover…that is the one thought that consumed me the whole time I was away. It was the one thought I couldn't put out of my head no matter how I tried. Every time I killed, I hated myself. She would hate me for doing this, I said to myself whenever my teeth sank deep into some anonymous neck. The blood would trickle into my mouth. I would taste it, embrace all its sweet sustenance. But I'd think, Buffy wouldn't like this. She's turned me into an Angel clone. And though the thought of being an Angel clone is as distasteful to me as a pitcher full of buttermilk, I considered perhaps that's not such a bad thing, considering you loved him. You tamed the bad boy in him. You've done the same for me, love. I am totally and completely whipped. And if you think that this is something someone like myself admits to on a day to day basis, without some sort of reward waiting in the wings, you've got another thing coming."
She can feel that a kiss is coming and she is preparing her lips for it. She wants it, a little. No, she wants it bad.
"But I can tell you're not quite ready to take me back," he says, in the voice of reason once again. "I can be a patient fellow. Contrary to popular belief. You say the word, love. And I'll be back in your arms where I belong." He kisses her forehead. "Forever."
She is standing there, still in his arms, still wondering why she is there. There is such yearning in her that she is about to come out of her own skin. As he moves away, there is an urge to do something. Grab a weapon. Dispatch him quick with his back turned so that she doesn't have to see his eyes. But she does nothing.
"Dawn, I'll be back for the CD's later," Spike calls.
"You leavin?" her voice trails from the bedroom.
"'Fraid so, Little Bit."
"Aww…"
The music stops and Dawn rushes out of the room into the hallway. She runs to him and Buffy watches in befuddlement as her sister's arms go around Spike's torso. Spike is watching Buffy with a triumphant smile beaming from his face.
"When are you coming back?" she asks, a wide-eyed plea on her upturned face.
"That's up to your sister, Little Bit. Ask her," he says. "For now, I've got to run."
Both watch as he collects his cloak from the chair beside the door and exits in a flowing stream of black.
"So when is he coming back?" Dawn asks. "I had forgotten how much fun he is. He was just killing me in there."
Buffy looks at her sister's innocent face. She doesn't know, she thinks. And I don't know how to tell her.
But she knows what to do next.
She goes to the phone.
"Buffy, what are you doing?" Dawn asks. When her sister doesn't answer her, she asks, "Buffy, who are you calling?"
Buffy ignores her sister and listens to the rings. One, two, three. And then a message. "Hi, you've reached Willow and Tara's place. Leave a message at the beep. Thanks!"
Buffy clears her throat. "Willow and Tara, it's Buffy. I need you to restore the de-invite spell on the apartment as soon as possible. As soon as you get this message."
Dawn's mouth flies open wide. "Buffy! Why?"
Buffy sets the phone down gently. She turns to her sister. Dawn, so trusting, so sweetly unaware that she has just invited a killer into the house.
"Oh, honey…" she begins as she lays a hand on the side of her sister's face. "There's something you should know."
She doesn't see him that night. And she doesn't hear from Willow and Tara.
The next night she is at the Bronze. It's her fourteenth night in a row. She loves the overtime, but hates the fact that she has no life. She waits from the phone call from management, telling her that she has to come in because someone else has quit.
There's a lot to do, always. Enough to make her think that waitresses deserve CEO's salaries. It's mindless work, mostly. She misses her college days sometimes. However brief they were. Her mind was engaged then. She thought about taking up a history major. Or an English major. Psychology, until Maggie Walsh ruined that for her.
Buffy wonders why she hasn't seen Spike. Why he didn't show up at her apartment, knowing he had been invited in. She fully expected to see him waiting for her last night, when she got home. But that wasn't so.
"Now this goes to table number 12," the bartender enunciates clearly. "That's table 1-2"
"I hear you," Buffy says, visibly offended as she hoists the tray over her head. "I'm clueless sometimes, not deaf."
She takes the drinks to the designated table. She has another drink order for the bartender. But he is busy. She places the tray between herself and the bar, rocking against it.
And that's when she spots him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a blond head. He is over by the very end of the bar. And he is talking to a girl.
Buffy doesn't know who this girl is. She has been to the bar before. Not very often. She is not a regular. But she has been there enough for Buffy to know that the girl is about twenty-something and still ID-able.
The girl is wearing a halter-top. A plunging neckline so deep that Jennifer Lopez wouldn't dare wear it. She is all alone. It is so evident that she is there to pick up men that she may as well be holding a sign that says, "Will give blow jobs for drinks."
"Buffy, this goes to table fourteen, that's 1-4," the bartender says.
How could she fall for him? He's so obviously out for a scrump, Buffy thinks to herself. Or worse.
"Buffy? Table fourteen?" the bartender says.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting to it," Buffy says, not taking her eyes off the girl. But she has to train her eyes elsewhere as she looks for the table. It's at the other side of the room. Don't go anywhere until I'm back, she threatens him in her head.
She goes off in search of her thirsty customers. And when she returns, the girl has disappeared.
Oh, God, she thinks. He's taken her off somewhere. He's convinced her that he's a decent guy and now she's dinner.
But then she sees them. They're out on the dance floor. The girl is still holding her beer. He is too. They are drinking together. And her hips begin to grind into his.
He is whispering things to her. She laughs and grinds deeper into him, slapping his arm playfully.
"Buffy, table number fifteen," the bartender says. "Number 1-5."
"OK, OK," she says, hefting the tray over her head. She turns to see that Spike and his decidedly pixilated flavor of the night are now fully engaged in foreplay right there on the dance floor.
I can see why. He's damn sexy. No, he's not! He's not sexy! Being a killer doesn't make you sexy! Yeah, those followers of Charles Manson thought he was Jesus. But they don't think that now that they're in prison for life…
She returns to the bar. The girl and Spike are still together. He is either pretending that he doesn't see her, or pretending that he doesn't care. He hasn't made eye contact with her yet. She doesn't know what he's thinking. No, she knows what he's thinking. I'm going to make the Slayer jealous, he is thinking.
"I need a Bloody Mary and two shots of tequila for table twelve," Buffy says.
The bartender has his back turned. He is tallying up a bar tab and is seemingly astounded by the final amount he is coming up with.
"Bloody Mary? Two shots of tequila… sometime soon?" she says again.
"In a second, Buffy," the bartender says.
His consternation over the tally provides her with an opportunity to view the dancers of the floor. Spike is still fully entwined with his newfound sweetie. He does look hot in his black ensemble. He does look sexy, always. He moves sexily, he talks sexily, and he entices sexily…
Spike's face comes down around the girl's neck area. Buffy sees this happening, even though the girl is perfectly oblivious, so grateful that she's found someone to hold onto when drunkenness becomes the order of the evening.
Buffy forces her way onto the dance floor. The couples that have joined forces in their ardor look at her in exasperation as she pushes through. She finds them, solidly together. He is caressing her backside. She is touching his as well.
"Excuse me," Buffy says, tapping a finger on the girl's shoulder.
The girl is slow to respond. But Spike sees Buffy right away. He has been noticing her all night, her aggravation that there is someone else in the world he might be keen on spending the night with.
"Hey," the girl says, "We didn't order anything."
"I did," Spike says, spinning the girl off in another direction. He grabs for Buffy. She finds herself against him as the song ends and another song begins. "This is exactly what I ordered."
The song begins. It's an old one, by Depeche Mode. Buffy listened to it when she was about ten. It was just about the first song she ever knew. It didn't mean anything to her then. But it does now.
Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world
Painful to me
Pierce right through me
Can't you understand
Oh, my little girl
He grasps her firmly, unrelentingly. She feels the beat of the tune. She feels him against her.
All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm
"You feel so good against me," Spike says to her. "So bloody good."
She is aware of the hardness imposing itself against her pelvic region. His lips are on hers now in a fierce clench, tearing away at mouth. She again feels that loss of all sensibility, with arguments ranting through her head, but no one there to hear them. All urges she has to do the right thing, as Giles has trusted her so whole-heartedly to do, fall by the wayside. The creature inside of him when he's wearing his human face is not even given a second glance. In his kiss, there is humanity, there is passion, and there is goodness.
His mouth moves away from hers. Her eyes are still closed when she feels his lips' absence. They open to find him licking the corners of his mouth, tasting her, she is sure.
And then his lips are on hers again. His hands as well. And she hears him say, "Oh, Buffy, I want you…I want you so bad…."
"I want you too," she stutters out as he forces himself against her even more.
"When can you get away from here?" he asks her, letting his bottom lip drag on her earlobe.
She is thinking. She is supposed to close tonight. She can always ask the other waitress to cover for her. Do double duty. Buffy can make up for it. Everyone knows she needs the money and that she'll do anything to remain on. And she's done countless favors for the other girl, when she was too hungover to come to work. Like the last week…
There are three waitresses patrolling the tables this night. Any two can handle the crowd, she is sure. Buffy's handled both floors some nights with a crowd this light. It's late summer. People are suddenly away. There's an urgency to the end of summer and those who are embracing these final days before the Jerry Lewis Telathon are off at beach resorts. Not in Sunnydale.
It's almost 11:00 pm. She could leave. Closing time is in three hours.
"Wait a minute," she says.
She leaves Spike in the center of the dance floor as she searches for the waitress who owes her a favor. He sways all alone on the floor, swigging his beer, fully expecting her to return with bad news. And then he would have to kill.
But in moments, she is back of the floor, back in his arms.
"We can go to my apartment," she says.
"Now?" he asks.
"Now," she reaffirms.
They are walking through the firedoor, out into the alleyway. The night air is cool in comparison to the heat of the dance floor. Anything is cool in comparison to the heat on the dance floor. A fiery furnace, a vacation on the sun, the pits of hell…
But as they are walking, hand in hand, something changes. She can sense it brewing but can do nothing to alter the course. She is slammed against the brick wall of the Bronze, right there in the alley. She feels the coolness of the brick. And then she feels his mouth against her neck. All it takes it one little slip up, she had been reminded over and over. This is it, she tells herself. This is how it ends. Spike can add
Slayer #3 to his resume.
But on her neck now, she doesn't feel his teeth. Instead, there is the feather-light touch of his lips. He moans against her.
"Slayer…" he says.
There's no time to get home. He is fiddling with the snap on her shorts. She helps him as his mouth crashes against hers. She feels her panties being lowered, falling just below her knees. They feel so warm. Then she feels the coldness of the wall against her exposed posterior.
He is inside her. Unceremoniously. She gasps at his entrance. Had she known it would be here, she would have steeled herself against the penetration. But she's been wet since she first sensed he was in town. She's been waiting for him.
She is against the wall, with him deep inside her. She is reacquainting herself with his muscles. His arms are so large and so strong. And his back muscles. She could feel them forever. They are the asps' neck expansion as he poisons her once again.
She hugs her inner muscles against him.
"Oh, I've missed this," he utters in a whisper. "Oh, God, I've missed this." He kisses her violently. She squeezes him again. "Oh, God, you're so good."
"Did you come back just for this?" she asks as she clamps down on him once again.
He groans as he repositions his hands on the wall. "No, I came back because…" he feels her closing in around him again, tighter than before. "Oh, God…I love you more than anything in the world."
"More than blood?" she says, as her muscles clench again.
She wonders if he has broken him. He remains still for several minutes before he resumes the assault.
"More than blood," he says in a promising voice.
He feels her legs against his backside. Her arms are around him as she calls his name. He has pulled her tee shirt; her bra as well. He kisses her breasts. He can't get enough of her breasts. They are suddenly the most delicious treats in the world to him. But he feels the terror in her as well. The terror when she knows she treading so close to death. She knows that at any minute there can be a sea change and his fangs can be in her as sure as he is in her now and she thrills at the danger.
When he is done and she is nearly slipping from the wall onto the ground, she whispers into his ear, "Spike, promise me something…"
"Anything," he says as he's feeling everything he has stored inside of him going directly into her.
"Promise me you won't kill."
"I won't. Ever," he says, kissing her.
"You won't kill?" She is surprised by this. Or she is surprised by the honesty in his voice.
"I won't kill," he says. "I promise."
As he remains inside her, as he leans heavily against her, kissing her neck, but never coming close to inserting an incisor, she believes him.