TITLE: Coming Back 4/?
DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to Joss.
A/N: Thanks and much loving go out to all the lovelies at Band of Buggered. They're helpful beyond belief. Copious amounts of loving to Kes and her beta skills.
~~~
Colored lights strobed in time with the electronic drumbeats, as a sea of half-naked bodies, slick with sweat followed the rhythm. The air reeked of sex and money, two of her favorite things – however Anya couldn't have been more bored. She sat slumped, her chin propped up on her elbow resting atop the tiny table in a corner of the densely packed after hours club, barely paying attention to the weepy blonde across from her. Sweat was pooling in her bra, and she cursed herself for not changing into something more appropriate for the climate before she had teleported herself into the middle the Nevada desert.
"He said he loved me," the blonde cried, blowing her nose into a cocktail napkin.
"They always do," Anya replied half-heartedly, lazily tracing the wet ring of condensation left by the untouched, over priced cocktail in front of her.
Vengeance was her life; it's what she had been made for, so why wasn't she more excited to be here? There had been a time when 'I wish' had been her two favorite words; she'd get a buzz whenever she heard a scorned woman utter them. Now she simply got a sick sour feeling anytime someone said them. She remembered the days when vengeance had been her calling. Before Xander, before Buffy, and before Dawn. What a thrill she'd gotten sitting and roasting marshmallows with Halfrek as Chicago burned after she'd turned Mrs. O'Leary's philandering husband into a cow. Or the tingle she used to get whenever someone mentioned the Black Plague. Those had been good times.
Beside her the blonde gulped, hot tears continuing to pour down her cheeks, "He said I was the only one for him."
"Of course he did," Anya mumbled, stabbing at the air with the little plastic sword that had come in her cocktail garnish.
The world of vengeance simply wasn't what it once was. She had assured Halfrek that her low number of wishes granted and her lack of creativity were temporary – that she was simply having a difficult time readjusting after three years of living as a human. But that excuse wouldn't hold out for much longer. She used to be D'Hoffryn's most successful girl – somewhere she had a dozen "Most Wishes Granted" plaques packed away. She'd been Vengeance Demon of the century three eras running. Once upon a time she'd been admired, revered. Now she was the topic of vengeance fold gossip. 'Anyanka's gone soft,' they said. 'She's lost her edge.'
Soft her heinie. She'd show them.
"What is it about men?" the blonde sobbed, tears choking her voice.
"Men. They woo you, they win your heart, they dash it into tiny pieces all over the linoleum of your kitchen floor." Anya said, drawing herself up. Looking the weepy blonde in the eye she stamped down the uneasy feeling that was growing in her stomach. She needed this wish. After all, she had a job to do and there were quotas to make. "I bet you wish his lips would fall off."
The blonde looked horrified, her features twisted with revulsion. "Oh God no." She said, shaking her head.
"I know! How about self cannibalization?" She suggested, a wistful smile curling the corners of her mouth. "It's an old one, I know. And it lacks points for originality… But it was one of my favorites."
"I couldn't stand it if anything bad happened to him," the blonde hiccuped, her tears beginning to dry up.
In dazed exasperation, Anya gaped, wondering what had happened. The blonde woman's need for retribution was slowly waning. Desperately she sought for something that could seal this deal. She was determined to make this one work; needed this act of vengeance to prove she still had it.
"But you said he broke your heart! That he promised you'd spend your lives together, surely you want him to pay for the pain he's caused, for the humiliation."
"Pay?" The woman asked, her voice giving away her confusion.
Anya released a labored sigh and leaned across the table. "Wouldn't you feel better if he'd never been born, or if his intestines turned to mush?"
The blonde's already horror stricken face twisted into an even bigger parody of terror. "No!" She wailed. "I mean, if he'd never been born, I'd never have gotten to know him, and we did have some good times together."
"What about your broken heart?" Anya pleaded.
The woman across the table from her shrugged. "It'll heal."
Anya couldn't believe what she was hearing. What was it with women these days? Just hours before this woman's cry for vengeance could be heard clear back in Sunnydale. Anya had found her at a slot machine, mascara streaking her face, crying her eyes out despite the fact that she had just hit a big jackpot.
"You know, I'm really glad I ran into you," the blonde said gathering her belongings. "I feel much better."
"I don't" Anya grumbled as she watched the woman walk away. She'd never even gotten the woman's name, hadn't thought she would be around long enough to need to use it. The agony and need for payback had been so strong, Anya had been certain it wouldn't take her but a few hours to seal the deal. And she had been glad for it too; glad that she wouldn't have time to back down from granting the wish when it finally came.
She groaned in frustration, banging her head on the table. Twice in one night a call for vengeance had gone unfulfilled. She wanted someone around her to make a wish, ANY wish just so she could get some satisfaction.
Over the music the bartender announced last call.
Anya sat up slowly. Last call. That meant, "Shit!" 8:30 am, way past sunrise.
~~~
It makes her shiver. The light feathery way he touches her; fingers and palms barely coming into contact with her flesh, as if he's afraid that she'll break if he grasps her, or that he might somehow taint her. She's clean to him, she knows this, knows he sees her as his salvation, his reason for being.
"For you, pet." he moans as his lips graze the skin of her neck, sending bolts of cold lightning down into her very soul. "All for you."
Always for her, everything – every stupid thing he does, he does for her.
She's on fire wherever he touches her despite the chill in the air, and suddenly she's overdressed, but taking off her clothes would mean stopping, and she can't stop. She can't bring herself to push him away enough to strip off the offending layers between them, as her hands scurry over his body, pulling at him, tugging him closer.
"You're so far away," she laments, feeling as though she's going to topple off the cold granite slab she's sitting on, but holding on for balance would mean letting go of him. And she can't - must not let go because if she does, he may disappear again. She wraps her legs around him, as if to assure herself he's not going anywhere again – that he can't get away.
"Closer than you think," he murmurs into her mouth as he kisses her, feeds on her tongue, his hands in her hair. "Closer than you can imagine."
He pushes into her and she welcomes him in, wondering when they'd stopped to remove their clothes, but it doesn't matter, nothing matters as long as he's here, as long as she can feel his hot flesh pressed against her, inside her.
She needs him, has so much to tell him, but she can't find her voice; wouldn't matter even if she could, because his mouth won't let go of hers long enough for her to speak. But it's okay; because she knows her body is telling him more than her words ever could. Knows his fingers can read her goose bumps like Braille.
She also knows they're being watched. She can see Tara over his pale shoulder- blazing with the fire of a thousand suns; standing there, the blood still staining her shirt, unaffected by the two bodies writhing atop her grave.
"Be careful with him Buffy," Tara tells her, even though her mouth doesn't seem to move. "Be careful, because it just may kill him when he discovers what was sacrificed so he could bring you this gift."
Buffy wants to say she understands, wants to tell her not to worry, but all she can think about as he's filling her is that she's so dangerously close to falling…
"Almost there," he whimpers. He's coming, and so is she. "Buffy, we're almost there."
Buffy woke with a jolt, hitting her head against the window.
"Huh?"
"I said, we're almost there," Xander called over his shoulder as he steered the car off the highway, onto the off ramp.
She wiped at her mouth, hoping she hadn't been drooling, "Mmm… must have fallen asleep."
"The minute we left LA." Xander said grinning at her in the rear view mirror as she stretched the best she could in the back seat of his car. "Good dream?"
She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "What makes you ask that?" Oh god, please, don't tell me I was moaning.
"You were smiling," he said glancing back at her in the mirror. "Made me think you were having a happy dream."
"I don't remember it." She lied. She couldn't tell him, he'd never understand. She quickly changed the subject.
"When did they doze off?" Buffy asked, regarding the sleeping watcher in the front seat and the witch in the back seat with her.
"About ten minutes after you did."
"Sorry," Buffy said sheepishly. She'd done this to him on the drive down to LA as well. "Road trips equal nappy Buffy."
"No problem, just remind me of that the next time the plans include one, and I'll remember to take Dawn instead."
"Check," she said as she sat back, watching the familiar scenery pass them by, saddened when she saw that the sign welcoming them to Sunnydale was still standing. It wouldn't be if he'd come back. Round about the third time she had read in the paper that vandals had once again knocked down the sign, she'd put two and two together, and realized that it happened every time he came into town. It was as if knocking down that sign was his calling card, his way of announcing himself to the citizens of Sunnydale. How very Victorian of him, she had thought.
It's been three months, that nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her. He's not coming back.
He always does, she told the voice. He's like that cat in that song.
"Whatcha thinking?" Xander asked as they turned onto Revello drive.
"About what to do for dinner," she lied again. "Chinese?"
"Sounds good. I'm always open to a visit from General Tso."
"Chinese it is," she agreed as they pulled up in front of her house. "Should I wake them and say goodbye?"
Xander turned in his seat after killing the engine to look at the sleeping figure of his best friend, clutching the yellow crayon he'd given her at the airport. Buffy didn't completely understand the reference, but it seemed to bring Willow comfort, and that was enough for her not to question.
"Nah, the jet lag has to be killing them," he said, "and I guess they were up most of the night talking with Angel. I don't think they'd mind that you let them sleep through your departure into Casa de Summers."
"I guess you're right," she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Besides, I'm going to be seeing them again in a few hours."
"Very true. Thought I'd take them back to my place, let them get settled. Then we'd head over say round fiveish?"
"It's a plan, Xan." She chirped as she reached down to fetch her purse off the floor by her feet. "Thanks for putting them up until Giles' apartment is ready. Can you believe he kept that place?"
"Guess he knew on some level he'd be coming back."
Everyone comes back to Sunnydale, she thought.
"Um. Look, I wasn't going to say anything," Xander said uneasily, chewing his lip. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here. I know it's got to be eating at you."
"Huh?"
"You know, Angel…"
She stared at him blankly, waiting for him to elaborate.
"Angel…Who has a son? A son who's 18 even though he was only born last year?"
"Oh, that."
Yeah THAT, the little voice told her, because he could care less about what's really eating at you.
"I'm pretty okay with that," Buffy told him, ignoring the voice that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her mind.
"Pretty okay with that?" Xander scoffed, disbelieving. "A vampire has a baby, and you're 'pretty okay' with that?"
"Okay, I was shocked when he told me, but it was a prophecy, and it's not like you can argue with prophecies. Well, I guess you could, but it would be one sided, and you'd probably still lose anyway. So what's the point?"
Xander grinned and chuckled. "I have to admit you're handling it much better than I would have. Also, let me just take this moment to express my joy that it was a prophecy about two vampires, and not a vampire and a slayer, because I'm thinking… Buffy having Spike's baby would be oh such a very bad thing."
"God Xander…" Buffy's temper flared and she felt her hand clench into a fist at her side.
"Buffy, I'm just saying that if it had been a prophecy about you, he'd probably have stuck around. And I'm on the team that thinks it's a good thing he's gone."
"We are not having this conversation." She said opening the car door, preparing to flee.
Of course you're not, the voice replied, because then you might have to admit that you miss him.
Shut. Up. She told the voice.
"Buffy, he tried…"
And so did you, she wanted to say to him, wanted to remind him how he'd backed her into a vending machine in the school lounge. Tell him how his eyes had been filled with a predatory glint. Reminding him would do no good, and she knew it. He'd protest, tell her he had been possessed, that it was different. And she knew it was different; different in a way Xander would never admit.
"He tried. I stopped him. End of discussion. Got it?" She stared him down, watching as his face hardened.
"Yeah, I got it," he said sullenly as he turned back around in the driver's seat and reached down to pop the trunk latch so that she could get her overnight bag out.
"Xander, I stopped him," she said – softening - leaning forward and laying her hand on his shoulder. "And I'm okay. No posttraumatic stress disorder for Buffy. Okay?"
"Okay." he mumbled.
"Good, now promise me you won't say anything to Willow or Giles about it. It's my tale to tell, when and if I feel it needs to be told."
"Yeah I promise."
"Then we're all good," she said giving his shoulder a squeeze, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "See you tonight?"
"With bells on."
"You know, people always say that," Buffy started as she opened the car door and climbed out, "But they never show up wearing any bells." She stopped at the trunk and pulled her bag out, before rounding the car and knocking on the driver's side window.
He rolled down the window. "You forget something?"
"You know I love you, right?"
"Anya's going to be here tonight, isn't she?"
"Am I getting that easy to see through?" Buffy asked with a wince.
"No… it's just that 'You know I love you, right?' is usually followed by something like 'but you're an idiot' or 'but your formerly-former- vengeance-demon-ex-fiancée-who-pretty-much-hates-you-with-a-fiery-passion-and-would-inflict-grizzly-vengeance-upon-you-and-all-your-manly- parts-if-only-she-could is going to be at dinner tonight, so be good.'" He took a deep breath, and continued. "And seeing as we both already know that I'm an idiot, I had to go with the latter."
Buffy smiled at him, "You know I love you, right?"
"But I'm an idiot," He followed up with a cheesy grin. "Yeah, I'll be on my best behavior and try not to look like I'm still madly in love with her."
"Good," she replied, punctuating it with a kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight." She watched as his car disappeared down the street before turning and making her way to her front door.
~~~
Clutching a gym bag filled with blood and clothes for Spike closely to her side, Dawn slowly opened the back door and stuck her head in, checking to make sure the coast was clear. When it came to sneaking out she was a pro, sneaking in was a different story.
"Buffy?" she called, eyes wide, mouth set in a hopeful grin. Smiling happily when there was no answer, she threw open the door and sauntered in to the kitchen, pausing to grab a cup for Spike's blood. She was about to head up the stairs when Anya came up from the basement.
"Where have you been?" She demanded frantically. Dawn stopped, clutching the bag closely to her side.
"Out," she stammered. "Getting blood."
"He's still here, isn't he?" Anya asked. "That's why you put a distraction spell on your bedroom, so that if Buffy got home before you did, she wouldn't go in there."
"How did you know that?" Dawn asked curiously. "Is that some demon thing? Can you sense magicks?"
"No, you left the spell book open on my desk in the basement."
Anya shook her head, eyeing Dawn reproachfully. "Which, by the way, was very stupid. If Buffy had gotten here before I did and found it…" She rubbed her temples roughly as she began pacing. "This is very confusing, you know that, don't you? Makes me want to pull my hair out, the way your emotions are all over the place where he's concerned; you miss him one minute, the next every cell in your body is crying out for vengeance, and then in a matter of seconds all is right in the world. What is he doing here anyway?"
"You didn't come home by sunrise, he wouldn't leave until you got home."
"So he slept in your room?" she turned and scrutinized Dawn intensively, eyes narrowed as if she were looking for something. "Did you have sex with him?"
"God Anya, no," Dawn said quickly, not wanting a repeat of the conversation she and the demon had had the previous night.
"What a shame," Anya sighed. "You really don't know what you're missing."
"And I intend to keep it that way. Now excuse me, I have a vampire to feed." Dawn left the kitchen, mounting the stairs.
"Did you get him clothes?" Anya asked, trailing her. "Because I think he's still wearing the ones he left in, and he stinks."
"Yeah. Took me forever to find something that wasn't charred. Did you know his crypt had been blown up?"
"No," Anya replied, surprised. "How did that happen?"
They reached the second floor and turned towards Dawn's room, stopping at the door.
"Clem had no idea." Dawn paused, looking at her bedroom door, then back to Anya. "So… where did you take off to last night."
"Vegas. Vengeance."
"How did it go?" Dawn asked, once again eyeing her bedroom door. There was something she was supposed to be doing, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"It didn't. Very unsatisfactory." She glanced at the door and then shook her head. "Was there a reason we came upstairs?"
"I was just wondering the same thing," Dawn admitted. "Guess if we did it wasn't very important. You hungry?"
Anya thought about it for a moment, "Yeah, I am. Want a grilled cheese sandwich?"
"Sure."
"What's in the bag?" Anya asked half way down the stairs.
Dawn clutched the bag still slung over her shoulder, "Oh my God! Spike."
"You forgot to remove the spell before you went upstairs, didn't you?" Anya chided, smacking Dawn on the shoulder.
"Yeah." Dawn responded with an embarrassed giggle. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, reading from it the words that would end the spell.
They had just reached the landing when they heard the front door open and close. Buffy called out from downstairs. "Dawn? Anya? I'm home."
"Oh god, Buffy's back." Dawn gasped frantically.
"Go feed your vampire," Anya ordered, pushing Dawn towards her bedroom door. "I'll take care of Buffy."