Disclaimer: Again...I own nothing, except the original characters. I just like to play.
"No. No. And once again for those of you who just tuned in...no." The scowl on his face deepened as Xander tossed the clipboard on the kitchen counter and turned to retrieve another beer from the fridge.
"Well, why not? He helps with research and fighting. Besides, everyone must see my beautiful dress." Anya stared at her fiancé. She didn't understand why he was getting so upset about this.
"Spike is not coming to our wedding. End of story."
"Xander Harris, you're being unreasonable. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't invite him. We know him much better than most of the people on the guest list." She flipped through the pages, taking note of the names she'd penciled through and frowned.
Another pull from the bottle helped some, but thoughts of a certain peroxide nuisance were interrupting his enjoyment of the grainy goodness. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Our lives. I don't want it ruined by Spike...being Spike."
"So I'll make him promise to be on his best behavior." Her face lit up, and she smiled as a brilliant idea came to her. "I'll just tell him that Hallie's invited and that if he acts up I'll be feeling particularly vengeful."
"Ahn, it's not that...although that plan sounds like a lot of fun." Bottle in hand, he retreated to the living room and sank into his favorite chair. Anya followed him closely with the guest list and settled herself in his lap.
"Then what?"
"He's a demon." Xander said it as if it was some grand revelation, that suddenly she would automatically be swayed.
"So?" A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she waved the papers in his face. "Have you looked at this at all? There are plenty of demons invited. And if you're going to get technical about it, Spike's not even a demon anymore."
"Yes, and can I tell you how thrilled I'm not that our wedding reception is going to be Demon-palooza. No Spike."
"But Xander..."
"I said, no," he grumbled, pushing her from his lap so he could stand. "Once a demon, always a demon. And if there's one thing I learned about Hellmouth-livin' it's to not trust them, ever."
The empty bottle clanked against others in the wastebasket, making a hollow sound as he dropped it in. Without so much as a word, Anya just turned quietly and disappeared into the bedroom. When he followed her, he found a large suitcase thrown across the bed and his fiancé calmly scooping her substantial lingerie collection out of an open dresser drawer.
"Ahn..."
She didn't even look at him. The stony silence of her turned back was all the response Xander got as she threw open the closet door and started yanking her dresses from their hangers.
"Honey..."
The endearment, that usually earned him one of her sunny smiles, only seemed to enrage her more, and shoes started flying through the air, coming dangerously close to his head. Worry overcame him as he watched her fold every article of clothing she owned and shove it into the bag.
"Baby, talk to me...what's wrong?"
Eyes full of fire, she turned to him, finally losing the shaky hold she had on her anger. When she spoke, the sarcasm in her voice was a tangible thing and every word was pitched higher than the last. "What's wrong, Xander? Oh, I don't know, what could possibly have upset me?" The ex-demon tossed a platform heel at the suitcase as punctuation.
He shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the doorframe studying something incredibly interesting in the carpet fibers. "If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask, now would I?"
"No, I guess you wouldn't know." Anya sat down beside her bag with a heavy sigh and lifted tear-filled eyes to look at him.
"Tell me what I did wrong so we can make it better."
"This is not something you can just wave your arms at and 'poof' it goes away." Her hands rubbed at each other in her lap out of fear and nervousness, and she watched the skin pull and pucker in places it shouldn't for awhile before continuing. "It's who you are."
A worried frown seized Xander's features and he moved to sit beside her on the bed. It was almost imperceptible, the miniscule movement when she scooted away from him, but the implication was still there. Dread, like a cold, unyielding fist, wrapped around his heart and squeezed.
"What do you mean, Ahn?" He couldn't help the tremor in his voice. Give him a room full of mucus-demon things with a taste for human flesh any day. The thought of life without her scared him more than any vile thing he'd ever faced. Being alone sucked, and he wasn't in any hurry to go back there.
"'Once a demon, always a demon' wasn't it? Well, I was a demon Xander. For centuries I maimed, tortured, and generally made bloody messes all over the place. I enjoyed it. Loved it." Anya stared fixedly at the wall, willing him to say something, anything to make it better."
"That's different..."
"No. It's not different. I'm not the exception to some crazy Xander-verse rule. Things don't change just because you love me."
"That has nothing to do with it." He knew he was grasping at the proverbial straw, but was determined to do the right thing. Right thing...yeah, he thought. Xander knew he'd do anything to keep her from leaving, whether it was right or not.
"Would you love me if I was still a vengeance demon?" Anya's pointed question threw him for a loop, and he hesitated a moment before answering.
"That's what I thought," she said before he had uttered a word. Another sigh and the sound of metal on metal as she yanked the zipper on the suitcase closed.
"Goodbye Xander." He knew she probably had no idea where she was going, or what she would do, and that more likely than not she would be back in his arms in under a week's time. Still the finality of those words echoed in his ears like an old tune he'd heard one too many times until he couldn't stand the thought of being left...again.
"Ahn, wait..."
"For what?" The way she stood there, her hands planted firmly on her hips, reminded him of the way Cordelia always used to look at him as if he were related to something small and wriggly.
"Look, I'm sorry. Spike can come to the wedding, whatever. Just...don't do this." He gave her his best puppy dog look. "Please."
"On one condition."
Xander didn't particularly care for the dangerous smile that curved her lips, and again his voice trembled when he spoke.
"Okaaaaayy." Funny how the word gained syllables when you said it that way.
"No more caveman-Xander." Now she was looking at him as if that explained everything. Either he was very stupid, or just out of sync with what passed for logic in Anya's brain. Both were equally possible.
"And that would mean..."
"No more of this, 'human good, demon bad...ugh, ugh' stuff. I was a demon a lot longer than I've been your girlfriend, Xander, and every time you say those things it's like insulting my heritage."
"Not exactly the kind of lineage I'd be proud of."
Swiftly, she grabbed the handle on the suitcase and pulled it off the bed, almost toppling under its weight.
"See, that's exactly what I mean." Without a second glance at him, Anya began dragging the heavy bag towards the front door of the apartment.
"Ahn..." She wasn't listening. "Ahn!"
"What?" she snapped.
"I'll try, okay. You can't expect me to turn around a good six years of demon jibes in a split second." From where he sat on the bed, Xander looked up at her, the pain evident on his face. "I can't lose you."
"And..."
"Spike can come to the wedding."
"And..."
"What? What else?"
The look she gave him was condescending and threatening at the same time, and he wondered offhandedly how she managed it.
"Okay. No more cracks about anybody's blood-encrusted past. Yours..." He gritted his teeth as he said it, "Or Spike's. Happy now?"
"Yes." The way she giggled, if he hadn't known she was furious ten seconds earlier, Xander would have sworn they had just been choosing napkin colors for the sixth time.
"Now we have loud, sweaty make-up sex."
"Sounds like a plan."
*****
"Dawn, you ready?" Spike smiled in spite of himself. It always amused him how vehement the girl was about being treated like an adult, especially when she did things like this. Since it didn't seem like she'd heard him, he leaned back against the wall, fished the fags out of his pocket, and settled in to wait.
"I did hear you, you know." She continued her journey, hopping gracefully from one foot to the other. "You're late by the way." With uncharacteristic grace, Dawn bent down to pick up the rock at her feet, hopped down to the end of the chalk outline, and raised her arms in a victorious gesture that made him think she'd just claimed America for the English.
Not two days ago, he'd been favoring the girl with lectures about her "come-hither" looks, and now here she was playing bloody hopscotch. Only Dawn. Spike ground his cigarette out against the brick as she collected her bag and started off in the direction of the car.
Lagging back a few paces in silence, he started as a familiar chill rose on the back of his neck. The one that screamed "Danger!" The one that might have sent his heart racing if it still beat. He would have snarled, but it just didn't sound as threatening anymore.
"Dawn!"
Puzzled, she spun around to face him. "What now?" Something was up, she could tell by the way his body tensed...the way he didn't meet her gaze when he answered.
Spike tugged the car keys out of his pants pocket and tossed them to her, his eyes still scanning their surroundings. "Get in the car, lock the doors, and stay there - no matter what. I'll be over in a couple minutes."
"But..."
"Bloody hell. Don't argue, just go." His 'stern voice' was much more convincing than Buffy's, and there was also the added fact he never used it unless something really was wrong. Unlike her sister...Buffy used it when she left a glob of toothpaste in the sink. "Summers women," he grumbled, but breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Dawn trotting off towards the DeSoto.
From where he stood looking out a window on the second floor, Ralph smiled. He had always loved a challenge, and if the Guardian could feel the threat he posed, this would definitely be one.
The guy looked frantic. Finally, it seemed, the Key's keeper had convinced himself that nothing would coming flying out of the bushes when he turned his back, and stalked off towards the parking lot. Hmmm, Ralph thought, that car's a classic. Not many of those around anymore. Made his job that much easier.
Humming quietly, the demon slipped the headphones back over his ears and wrung the soggy mop out in his bucket. So far, so good. Nice thing about Hellmouths, they go through janitors like nobody's business. And when he'd applied, they were so desperate to replace the last one, who had rather conveniently disappeared, he didn't even have to invent a plausible work history. Half an hour later, they handed him coveralls and a broom.
People could be so blind.
*****
There was something she needed to do, she could feel it in her bones...but that didn't help her place it. Something. Her heeled boots ground against the grit and cement beneath her as Buffy crossed the room and settled in the battered green chair with a sigh. Of all places, Spike's crypt. Logically she knew he didn't even live here anymore, but every cell in her body told her this is where she needed to be.
Shadows flickered across her face, the muted television emitting a soft blue glow. Funny, she hadn't noticed it was on when she came in. Every now and then a familiar image flashed across the screen, but she would have sworn she imagined it. Each time the picture shifted back to meaningless snow before Buffy could make any sense of what was there. In the dim light, she caught a flash of something metallic lying atop the sarcophagus and a frown creased her brow. Curious, she pushed herself up out of the chair intent on getting a closer look. The coin. This she remembered. Odd that it would be warm, she thought, turning it over in her palm almost reverently.
"Buffy!!!!"
Something that shrill could only be Dawn, and she spun around, searching the near-darkness for her sister.
"Dawnie?"
"Buffy, please! Help me!"
The shriek was more insistent this time, but Buffy couldn't find the girl anywhere. Finally she spared a glance at Spike's ancient television. She could see things moving, behind the fuzzy reception.
This time it was his voice that rose through the still air, and his image that danced across the screen.
"Dawn, no. God, no...don't..."
"Spike! Dawn! What's going on?"
Frantic, Buffy reached her hand out as if to touch the screen and the curtain of snow fell again. She started as electricity zinged through her fingertips and up her arm. No glass where glass should be. Screams ripped from the speakers, loud enough to burst her eardrums, and Buffy steeled herself against the pain, pushing her arm through the television all the way up to the shoulder.
Suddenly, she was thrown against the opposite wall of the crypt by some unseen force. Gasping, Buffy cradled the injured arm against her chest, trying valiantly to ignore the charred, mangled flesh.
"Tsk, tsk, little girl. Always being naughty." The screaming had stopped, and the screen was black, save for a pair of dark, unblinking eyes that stared out at her accusingly.
"You can't stop this."
Buffy managed to find the strength for a snort and chuckle, "Everyone keeps telling me that. Hasn't worked yet."
Her vision blurred, and she actually felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing she heard before the world turned black was laughter and that taunting voice.
"Foolish child. Get in my way, you all die."
"No. No. And once again for those of you who just tuned in...no." The scowl on his face deepened as Xander tossed the clipboard on the kitchen counter and turned to retrieve another beer from the fridge.
"Well, why not? He helps with research and fighting. Besides, everyone must see my beautiful dress." Anya stared at her fiancé. She didn't understand why he was getting so upset about this.
"Spike is not coming to our wedding. End of story."
"Xander Harris, you're being unreasonable. Give me one good reason why we shouldn't invite him. We know him much better than most of the people on the guest list." She flipped through the pages, taking note of the names she'd penciled through and frowned.
Another pull from the bottle helped some, but thoughts of a certain peroxide nuisance were interrupting his enjoyment of the grainy goodness. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. Our lives. I don't want it ruined by Spike...being Spike."
"So I'll make him promise to be on his best behavior." Her face lit up, and she smiled as a brilliant idea came to her. "I'll just tell him that Hallie's invited and that if he acts up I'll be feeling particularly vengeful."
"Ahn, it's not that...although that plan sounds like a lot of fun." Bottle in hand, he retreated to the living room and sank into his favorite chair. Anya followed him closely with the guest list and settled herself in his lap.
"Then what?"
"He's a demon." Xander said it as if it was some grand revelation, that suddenly she would automatically be swayed.
"So?" A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she waved the papers in his face. "Have you looked at this at all? There are plenty of demons invited. And if you're going to get technical about it, Spike's not even a demon anymore."
"Yes, and can I tell you how thrilled I'm not that our wedding reception is going to be Demon-palooza. No Spike."
"But Xander..."
"I said, no," he grumbled, pushing her from his lap so he could stand. "Once a demon, always a demon. And if there's one thing I learned about Hellmouth-livin' it's to not trust them, ever."
The empty bottle clanked against others in the wastebasket, making a hollow sound as he dropped it in. Without so much as a word, Anya just turned quietly and disappeared into the bedroom. When he followed her, he found a large suitcase thrown across the bed and his fiancé calmly scooping her substantial lingerie collection out of an open dresser drawer.
"Ahn..."
She didn't even look at him. The stony silence of her turned back was all the response Xander got as she threw open the closet door and started yanking her dresses from their hangers.
"Honey..."
The endearment, that usually earned him one of her sunny smiles, only seemed to enrage her more, and shoes started flying through the air, coming dangerously close to his head. Worry overcame him as he watched her fold every article of clothing she owned and shove it into the bag.
"Baby, talk to me...what's wrong?"
Eyes full of fire, she turned to him, finally losing the shaky hold she had on her anger. When she spoke, the sarcasm in her voice was a tangible thing and every word was pitched higher than the last. "What's wrong, Xander? Oh, I don't know, what could possibly have upset me?" The ex-demon tossed a platform heel at the suitcase as punctuation.
He shifted uncomfortably and leaned against the doorframe studying something incredibly interesting in the carpet fibers. "If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask, now would I?"
"No, I guess you wouldn't know." Anya sat down beside her bag with a heavy sigh and lifted tear-filled eyes to look at him.
"Tell me what I did wrong so we can make it better."
"This is not something you can just wave your arms at and 'poof' it goes away." Her hands rubbed at each other in her lap out of fear and nervousness, and she watched the skin pull and pucker in places it shouldn't for awhile before continuing. "It's who you are."
A worried frown seized Xander's features and he moved to sit beside her on the bed. It was almost imperceptible, the miniscule movement when she scooted away from him, but the implication was still there. Dread, like a cold, unyielding fist, wrapped around his heart and squeezed.
"What do you mean, Ahn?" He couldn't help the tremor in his voice. Give him a room full of mucus-demon things with a taste for human flesh any day. The thought of life without her scared him more than any vile thing he'd ever faced. Being alone sucked, and he wasn't in any hurry to go back there.
"'Once a demon, always a demon' wasn't it? Well, I was a demon Xander. For centuries I maimed, tortured, and generally made bloody messes all over the place. I enjoyed it. Loved it." Anya stared fixedly at the wall, willing him to say something, anything to make it better."
"That's different..."
"No. It's not different. I'm not the exception to some crazy Xander-verse rule. Things don't change just because you love me."
"That has nothing to do with it." He knew he was grasping at the proverbial straw, but was determined to do the right thing. Right thing...yeah, he thought. Xander knew he'd do anything to keep her from leaving, whether it was right or not.
"Would you love me if I was still a vengeance demon?" Anya's pointed question threw him for a loop, and he hesitated a moment before answering.
"That's what I thought," she said before he had uttered a word. Another sigh and the sound of metal on metal as she yanked the zipper on the suitcase closed.
"Goodbye Xander." He knew she probably had no idea where she was going, or what she would do, and that more likely than not she would be back in his arms in under a week's time. Still the finality of those words echoed in his ears like an old tune he'd heard one too many times until he couldn't stand the thought of being left...again.
"Ahn, wait..."
"For what?" The way she stood there, her hands planted firmly on her hips, reminded him of the way Cordelia always used to look at him as if he were related to something small and wriggly.
"Look, I'm sorry. Spike can come to the wedding, whatever. Just...don't do this." He gave her his best puppy dog look. "Please."
"On one condition."
Xander didn't particularly care for the dangerous smile that curved her lips, and again his voice trembled when he spoke.
"Okaaaaayy." Funny how the word gained syllables when you said it that way.
"No more caveman-Xander." Now she was looking at him as if that explained everything. Either he was very stupid, or just out of sync with what passed for logic in Anya's brain. Both were equally possible.
"And that would mean..."
"No more of this, 'human good, demon bad...ugh, ugh' stuff. I was a demon a lot longer than I've been your girlfriend, Xander, and every time you say those things it's like insulting my heritage."
"Not exactly the kind of lineage I'd be proud of."
Swiftly, she grabbed the handle on the suitcase and pulled it off the bed, almost toppling under its weight.
"See, that's exactly what I mean." Without a second glance at him, Anya began dragging the heavy bag towards the front door of the apartment.
"Ahn..." She wasn't listening. "Ahn!"
"What?" she snapped.
"I'll try, okay. You can't expect me to turn around a good six years of demon jibes in a split second." From where he sat on the bed, Xander looked up at her, the pain evident on his face. "I can't lose you."
"And..."
"Spike can come to the wedding."
"And..."
"What? What else?"
The look she gave him was condescending and threatening at the same time, and he wondered offhandedly how she managed it.
"Okay. No more cracks about anybody's blood-encrusted past. Yours..." He gritted his teeth as he said it, "Or Spike's. Happy now?"
"Yes." The way she giggled, if he hadn't known she was furious ten seconds earlier, Xander would have sworn they had just been choosing napkin colors for the sixth time.
"Now we have loud, sweaty make-up sex."
"Sounds like a plan."
*****
"Dawn, you ready?" Spike smiled in spite of himself. It always amused him how vehement the girl was about being treated like an adult, especially when she did things like this. Since it didn't seem like she'd heard him, he leaned back against the wall, fished the fags out of his pocket, and settled in to wait.
"I did hear you, you know." She continued her journey, hopping gracefully from one foot to the other. "You're late by the way." With uncharacteristic grace, Dawn bent down to pick up the rock at her feet, hopped down to the end of the chalk outline, and raised her arms in a victorious gesture that made him think she'd just claimed America for the English.
Not two days ago, he'd been favoring the girl with lectures about her "come-hither" looks, and now here she was playing bloody hopscotch. Only Dawn. Spike ground his cigarette out against the brick as she collected her bag and started off in the direction of the car.
Lagging back a few paces in silence, he started as a familiar chill rose on the back of his neck. The one that screamed "Danger!" The one that might have sent his heart racing if it still beat. He would have snarled, but it just didn't sound as threatening anymore.
"Dawn!"
Puzzled, she spun around to face him. "What now?" Something was up, she could tell by the way his body tensed...the way he didn't meet her gaze when he answered.
Spike tugged the car keys out of his pants pocket and tossed them to her, his eyes still scanning their surroundings. "Get in the car, lock the doors, and stay there - no matter what. I'll be over in a couple minutes."
"But..."
"Bloody hell. Don't argue, just go." His 'stern voice' was much more convincing than Buffy's, and there was also the added fact he never used it unless something really was wrong. Unlike her sister...Buffy used it when she left a glob of toothpaste in the sink. "Summers women," he grumbled, but breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Dawn trotting off towards the DeSoto.
From where he stood looking out a window on the second floor, Ralph smiled. He had always loved a challenge, and if the Guardian could feel the threat he posed, this would definitely be one.
The guy looked frantic. Finally, it seemed, the Key's keeper had convinced himself that nothing would coming flying out of the bushes when he turned his back, and stalked off towards the parking lot. Hmmm, Ralph thought, that car's a classic. Not many of those around anymore. Made his job that much easier.
Humming quietly, the demon slipped the headphones back over his ears and wrung the soggy mop out in his bucket. So far, so good. Nice thing about Hellmouths, they go through janitors like nobody's business. And when he'd applied, they were so desperate to replace the last one, who had rather conveniently disappeared, he didn't even have to invent a plausible work history. Half an hour later, they handed him coveralls and a broom.
People could be so blind.
*****
There was something she needed to do, she could feel it in her bones...but that didn't help her place it. Something. Her heeled boots ground against the grit and cement beneath her as Buffy crossed the room and settled in the battered green chair with a sigh. Of all places, Spike's crypt. Logically she knew he didn't even live here anymore, but every cell in her body told her this is where she needed to be.
Shadows flickered across her face, the muted television emitting a soft blue glow. Funny, she hadn't noticed it was on when she came in. Every now and then a familiar image flashed across the screen, but she would have sworn she imagined it. Each time the picture shifted back to meaningless snow before Buffy could make any sense of what was there. In the dim light, she caught a flash of something metallic lying atop the sarcophagus and a frown creased her brow. Curious, she pushed herself up out of the chair intent on getting a closer look. The coin. This she remembered. Odd that it would be warm, she thought, turning it over in her palm almost reverently.
"Buffy!!!!"
Something that shrill could only be Dawn, and she spun around, searching the near-darkness for her sister.
"Dawnie?"
"Buffy, please! Help me!"
The shriek was more insistent this time, but Buffy couldn't find the girl anywhere. Finally she spared a glance at Spike's ancient television. She could see things moving, behind the fuzzy reception.
This time it was his voice that rose through the still air, and his image that danced across the screen.
"Dawn, no. God, no...don't..."
"Spike! Dawn! What's going on?"
Frantic, Buffy reached her hand out as if to touch the screen and the curtain of snow fell again. She started as electricity zinged through her fingertips and up her arm. No glass where glass should be. Screams ripped from the speakers, loud enough to burst her eardrums, and Buffy steeled herself against the pain, pushing her arm through the television all the way up to the shoulder.
Suddenly, she was thrown against the opposite wall of the crypt by some unseen force. Gasping, Buffy cradled the injured arm against her chest, trying valiantly to ignore the charred, mangled flesh.
"Tsk, tsk, little girl. Always being naughty." The screaming had stopped, and the screen was black, save for a pair of dark, unblinking eyes that stared out at her accusingly.
"You can't stop this."
Buffy managed to find the strength for a snort and chuckle, "Everyone keeps telling me that. Hasn't worked yet."
Her vision blurred, and she actually felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. The last thing she heard before the world turned black was laughter and that taunting voice.
"Foolish child. Get in my way, you all die."