- In the Name of Love
By Tales of Spike
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc. own all the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer though I think we should report them to Amnesty International for the cruel and unusual punishment meted out to Spike in recent months.
Thanks again to Joan the English chick and www.psyche.kn-bremen.de for transcripts since "As You Were" still hadn't aired in the UK when I wrote this.
Chapter 2
"Yes, that's right, everything is in place here."
"Yes, Willy's. The barman put me in touch with the right people, well when I say people, I am using it in the loosest sense of the word. They'll be around when they need to be."
"Yes, quite the experience, but I think I'll be glad to get back to business as normal. Okay, so I'll stay in town tonight and get the first flight tomorrow, and I'll be back in the office Friday."
The lawyer replaced the phone. Home office was pleased with him. Everything was going to plan. This was his ticket to a partnership. He had proven that he could cope with the things in that bar and come out unscathed not to mention under budget on the expenses. He could cope with anything the partners cared to throw at him.
* * * * *
Spike's drinking spree had ground to a temporary halt. This was largely, okay, totally due to the fact that he had run out of alcohol about ten minutes ago. He was currently at that mellow stage of inebriation where he wasn't quite sure whether the trip to the off-licence was more trouble than it was worth. He decided to light up another cigarette whilst he thought it over. That was the simple decision he had to make.
Okay, he had another hour or so before the sun hit tolerable levels. Travelling under cover was definitely too much effort in his present condition. If he still wanted a drink by the time the sun went down, then the shopping trip was on, otherwise, sod it, he'd probably still have to go to get some more booze just to make sure he had some in. It could be a rough week.
* * * * *
Spike leaned back against the tree. His metabolism had already burned off all the alcohol he'd drunk this afternoon, but he took a quick nip from his flask just often enough to ensure he was never stone cold sober. His eyes drifted shut and he forced tense shoulder muscles to relax. All afternoon and evening his thoughts had gone round in circles. Drinking, shopping, patrolling even, nothing stopped the circular train of thought.
He really wanted to tell Buffy about this afternoon. Not to ask for help, there was no help she could give. He wanted to tell her because he wanted to be honest with her, but if he told her what was going on she was bound to interfere. So by telling her, he would be endangering his charges rather than protecting them and that would mean that he'd broken the contract, wouldn't it? And if he broke the contract then Buffy, Dawn and Tara would die.
But if he didn't tell her and she found out, she would never believe why he'd done it. The lawyer had the contract. He had no proof. Was it too much to hope that she might trust him? Probably. Hmph! Definitely. Would she be disappointed? Maybe. Some days, Spike knew that her taunts about him being evil were mostly to reinforce her denial of her feelings for him. He knew that on an instinctive level, she thought that he'd changed. He knew that if she really deep down believed all the things she said then she would never have continued the affair. She did care, maybe it wasn't love, (not yet. a little voice in his head echoed their conversation of a few weeks before), but he had to believe on some level she cared. Bizarre to think that he had a better opinion of her morals than she did. Of course, other days every insult was another knife through his heart and he knew she believed every word that came from that oh so kissable mouth.
Of course the reverse of the argument where she believed he'd changed went like this. She decides that he hasn't changed, then bye-bye Spikey. One way or another. So don't tell her. Can't tell her. She mustn't ever know.
She mustn't ever know… but God he wished he could tell her.
And so back to the beginning of the argument.
Surely she should be getting back soon. She hadn't been patrolling. She wasn't at the Bronze. She wasn't in the sitting room, and there wasn't a light on in her room, so she had to be at that bloody job of hers. He could wait. He still had half a flask and a full packet of cigarettes. Sooner or later she'd be back.
Five cigarette butts later, he heard her footfalls on the walkway, and caught a whiff of her latest perfume, animal fat with just the faintest almost undetectable hint of that morning's vanilla perfume. He was returning the flask to his pocket after one last swig when he heard her joyful greeting, "Oh, for Pete's sake. Spike?"
Spike straightened and walked around the tree he'd been leaning against. "Ah. It's a fair cop. You caught me, Slayer. However…" He grinned wickedly, blue eyes glittering with a combination of little boy mischief and manly desire. "… In all honesty, we do have to say that one doesn't count. After all I wasn't exactly hiding."
He could tell she was tired and more than a little down after a day of drudgery but he could also tell that she wanted him every bit as badly as he wanted her. It might take a bit of persuasion, but tonight, at least for a while, he would be able to pretend she was his.
* * * * *
Spike decided to make another pass through the cemeteries on his way back to the crypt. There were times, like tonight when he just couldn't stay away from Buffy any longer, but these stolen moments came with a price. Frantic fumbles in the bushes only appeased his baser appetites and only for the briefest of times, leaving him tense and frustrated, hence the late night patrol.
In a lot of ways, he would almost rather things were back the way they were before Sweet and his musical extravaganza hit town. Back then they had almost been friends for a while. He could have been there for her. They could have sat on the back porch and she would have let off steam about her crap job. Maybe he might even have made her smile. They might still have been sitting there together hours from now. That was worth so much more to him than all the sexual escapades. Well, he'd burned those bridges with his little song. Now he had to play the game with the cards he had left. He fed the fires of her passion and hoped it would turn to love before the flames consumed them both.
They had gone from being friends to being sexual partners. Sometimes he thought it was too much to hope that they would ever be lovers, that she would make him welcome in her home, in her life and in her heart. He couldn't even talk to anyone about it. When she died, he hadn't had to hide his feelings. Most of the time he didn't talk about it, he was more about being there for Dawn, but when he did want to talk, she was there for him and so was Tara. In some ways his pain now was greater than before and his feeling of isolation drove him further into the shadows.
He'd told her that night on the balcony of the Bronze, that she belonged in the shadows with him, but he'd been wrong. Sometimes his demon did the talking for him instead of the man she made him aspire to be. Yeah, she needed someone who could understand her dark side, accept it as part of her and not judge her for it, hell he even loved her for it. She needed that, but she belonged in the light. If he dragged her into the darkness he had to accept that she would never again be the girl he fell in love with. He had to hope that he had enough love to bring all three of them, her, him and his demon into the light.
The big problem with that was it didn't seem to matter what he did, however much he had changed, no-one accepted him for who he was now. If Spike did good, it was because the chip made him good, or worse he was doing it to get into Buffy's knickers, to indulge his perverted obsession. (It could never be love – he didn't have a soul – he couldn't love anyone.) If Spike did bad that was because he was an evil soulless demon. People he would give his life to protect lived in fear of the day the chip would malfunction not realising that it had never kept them safe. It would be just as easy for him to call in the Order of Taraka now as it was years before. The chip stopped him feeding, but that was about it. Maybe some day someone other than Dawn would realise that.
Bloody hell! If he didn't watch it he'd be getting as broody as the Great Poof! Spike rested against a nearby monument to light another cigarette and take another swig from the flask, finally emptying it. Sighing heavily, he stood once more and forgetting the idea of further patrolling he quickened his pace towards home.
As he made his way up the gentle slope that marked the end of his walk home, he became aware of something out of place. He slowed trying to work out what was amiss. Then he realised. The crypt door was ajar. Momentarily it crossed his mind that whilst he'd detoured around half a dozen cemeteries, Buffy had come straight here and was waiting inside for him to return. No, that was too much to hope for. She only came to him when her desire overcame her will. He prepared himself for a fight, wishing he had something more than a stake in his pocket.
He moved silently up to the wall of the crypt putting his ear to the wall trying to hear who or what was waiting inside. What he heard made him more bemused than anything else. Who on earth would invite themselves into a vampire's home, and then go to sleep while they were waiting for him? But still he heard snoring. He edged around the door as quietly as he could, just in case there was more than one intruder in his home.
"Willy?" Spike took a leaf from the Slayer's book and threw one of the larger unlit candles at the form asleep in his armchair. Spike watched, as the former bartender jerked awake. He knew that in the dimly lit tomb he could at least see better than the man and he intended to use that to his best advantage. He lit a cigarette, knowing the play of light and shadow the action created would work to dramatic effect.
"I didn't know that I'd sent out any invitations, Willy."
"Spike, no, well, you didn't."
Spike cut him off before he got any further. "So why would you be here? I hope you've got a good reason, Willy?" Give someone a century to practise and to a coward like Willy the threat will sound convincing even if he knows you can't back it up.
"Well, I th-thought someone better stay to tell you that your other visitor had been. I'm just a messenger. The delivery's downstairs." He rose from the chair and edged past Spike to the door and out.
Spike didn't move making Willy's exit somewhat awkward, but neither did he prevent him leaving. After all, what could he do? He could hold him, stop him leaving, but Willy was just a body for hire and he'd lay odds of a hundred to one the same lawyer who visited him hired Willy. He had nothing to gain from keeping him there. He couldn't beat any information out of him
Willy smiled in satisfaction as he left the crypt. Some people had it coming to them, and he'd been there to see it. He remembered how Spike had made him grab a deliberately dropped bill from the sewer water years before. Yeah some people thought they were so great but sooner or later they got their comeuppance.
Spike forced himself to stay still till he finished the cigarette. He lit his paraffin lamp and moved down to the lower crypt to survey the damage. It couldn't be too bad could it. Anything that would fit through the entrance couldn't lay more than a couple of medium sized eggs, or maybe a lot of small ones. So how was it that his bedroom looked like a leftover set from Aliens?
End of chapter 2
Next chapter: A little bit of Willy
A chunk of Riley (Boo Hiss)
A goodly portion of Spike and Buffy