Beyond the Darkness
Chapter Five
By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson
Rating: PG or TV 14
Pairings: B/S
Disclaimer: All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…). The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story. The song "War" is by The Cardigans.
Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"
Author's Notes: Um, for my own sake, I must say it in advance—this chapter is very fluffy, and a little sappy. I couldn't change it, though; I just couldn't. I'm sure most of you will find fault in Buffy & Spike's behavior, and I won't blame you, but that's how I saw them acting at the time I wrote this. Throughout "Beyond", Buffy and Spike go through phase after phase of love-hate situations, of passion and loathing—but that is the way I felt like portraying them when I first took up writing this piece. This story is meant to portray the fickleness of Buffy's emotions after the cataclysmic death of her mother, and part of that fickleness is her self-battle between her feelings of desire for Spike and her sense of duty towards her calling (as well as other elements that exist to keep these two apart.)
Anyway, I wanted to defend myself a bit ahead of time, before you all sent me chiding reviews over this chapter's developments.
Just enjoy this chapter as a Buffy/Spike treat. ^_^
Another Note: For more vampire works by me, check out my original short story, "Lesson in the Dark". I would love some reviews on this story, which has been overlooked on FF.net for nearly a year. Here's the URL:
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1095531
Pleeeeeaaaase, check it out!
* * * * *
Chapter Five
Checking her reflection in the short mirror, Buffy put the last finishing touches on her hair, observing the effect. Pouting critically at her reflection but appearing fairly satisfied nonetheless, she finally turned away from the mirror, gathering her jacket off the bed and hurrying casually downstairs.
Tonight was her night off. Xander and Anya, and then Willow and Tara were switching off for the night's patrol and Giles had offered to come over and keep an eye on Dawn while Buffy took a much needed break at the Bronze for the night. She had been somewhat hesitant at first to give up her duties, even for one night, but her friends had been adamant. Normally she would have jumped at the thankful reprieve, but she had been pushing herself so much after her mother's death, she didn't want to stop. Constantly working, worrying about the tangible stuff that she could take care of, took her mind off the pain. And she wasn't sure if she was ready to rest.
Although she admitted she needed it. She could feel the exhaustion beginning to cut in, see the hollowness settling beneath her eyes. Often she would find herself drifting off in the midst of invitations and papers, awakening with a jolt from troubled dreams, and also her slaying was beginning to suffer. She was noticeably a bit slower, somewhat lethargic, and she'd nearly been finished several times. She was like a well-oiled machine gone rusty and it was beginning to show in her work.
So she'd listened to the advice, had thrown in the towel for once, and here she was, all ready for a relaxed night at the Bronze. She would hang out with Willow and Tara a bit until they went on patrol, then she'd get to hang out with Xander and Anya a bit. Perhaps even Ben will be there, she thought dully, but the thought didn't seem to excite her the way it had before. Suddenly Ben seemed as plain and dispassionate as Riley had become, the spark short-lived and quickly burnt out.
Despite her efforts to ignore it, there was only one man on her mind, one man she was secretly hoping she'd run into. She knew that her thoughts were fruitless, that running into him would only cause her frustration to deepen, but she couldn't stop them. She wanted to see him across the dimly lit room, looking at her again with that seductive predatory gaze of his, the passion burning underneath the shadowed eyes. Wanted to see him out of the line of her vision like she always use to, stalking slowly along the edge of the crowd, hunting her. Wanted to feel the tingling presence on the back of her neck. Even if she could do nothing about it, even if she could merely watch and feel, just as he, she wanted to feel that again.
She realized, with a pang, that it had been weeks since he'd last done that, since she'd told him to disappear and after so much insistence, he had. Of course, he had come back after her mother's death, but things hadn't been the same. She longed for something to go back to being the same, for everything was changing, and changing much too fast.
"Dawn!" she called, coming down the steps and turning into the living room. The younger girl appeared from the direction of the kitchen, watching her sister with a patient, dispassionate gaze. Buffy's chest tightened uncomfortably at the emptiness still there.
"Be good for Giles, okay," she instructed gently, her usual firmness lost in her concern. Immediately she felt her earlier excitement waning and she had half a mind to stay and try once again to sit down and comfort the young teenager, but Giles appeared from the doorway behind Dawn, giving her an assuring glance.
Dawn nodded numbly. "Yeah. Sure."
Buffy pursed her lips worriedly, stealing another glance at Giles. "I won't be long. Just page me if you need anything, and I'll come right over, okay?"
"We'll be fine, Buffy," assured Giles, speaking up for Dawn. He came further into the room, ushering her gently towards the door. "Go and have yourself a good time, now. Relax for the night. Dawn and I will be fine." He put a friendly hand on her shoulder, steering her gently towards the door as he spoke.
Still hesitant, Buffy peered at Dawn with concern. "Are you sure you'll be okay, Dawn?"
There was the briefest pause, then Dawn nodded stiffly. "Go have a good time, Buffy," she spoke, expressionless, her voice empty.
Buffy would have paused further, but with an exasperated sigh, Giles opened the door and succeeded in herding her out.
"Have a good time, Buffy, and please don't worry about us."
Giving him a thin, watery smile, she turned and headed out into the night with one last backward glance.
* * *
"Hey, party girl!" crowed Willow, smiling cheerily. She came over and took a seat on one of the stuffed chairs next to the blonde.
The Bronze was fairly packed, it being No-Cover Friday night, and the band was blasting over on the small stage. Sitting in a comfortable looking chair set just off the bar, Buffy was somewhat apart from the action, however.
Buffy smiled thinly at her best friend. "Hey, Wills."
The redhead cocked her head at her with mock disapproval, a mischievous glint in her dark green eyes. "Maybe I should revise that 'party girl' part…"
Forcing a cheerier grin, Buffy shook her head emphatically. "No, no, I'm having a blast! This is great, Willow." She bobbed her head a bit to the music, giving the redhead a "See? I told you" look.
Willow smiled, but looked unconvinced. "Too early, huh?"
The blonde nodded gently, giving a small guilty sort of sigh. "Yeah. Just a bit."
The redhead squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "It's okay. We didn't really expect you to just get up and start groovin' just yet. Just maybe…consider groovin'."
"Sure, Wills. Sounds like a good First Step program." She shifted a bit, trying to get a look at the stage. "So, who's the band?" she asked blandly, trying to be conversational. Silently she could feel this just wasn't going to work out. Already, visions of coffins and paperwork were floating through her head. And a certain blonde vampire.
But that was a whole different matter.
Cocking a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, Willow glanced towards the stage, then back at her friend. "Um, Buff, it's The Cardigans? You know? You really like them?"
Buffy smiled sheepishly. "Oh, right. I guess I can't really hear much from over here…" she remarked lamely. Definitely not working out. Her mind was completely elsewhere. Was Dawn okay? Did she get all the invitations out? Had she remembered to leave that message at that hotel in Madrid for her dad? She shook herself mentally, trying to clear her mind.
And immediately, she felt it. That pleasant, exciting tingle on the back of her neck. She gulped heavily, forcing herself not to turn around.
"Buffy?"
She jumped slightly, fixing the redhead with a forced smile. "Um, yeah?"
Willow's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You okay, Buffy?"
Buffy nodded hastily, gulping again as the tingle became stronger, slowly working it's way down her backbone. "Yeah, yeah, I'm…great! I just…don't really feel like dancing just yet, I guess. Y'know? I think I'm just gonna' sit here awhile, scope everything out." She looked at the redhead apologetically, hoping she would be convinced.
Misinterpreting her awkwardness, Willow gave her a gentle smile. "You sure? 'Cuz, if you want, I could dance with you awhile?"
"I'm sure. You just go dance with Tara. I'll be fine…" remarked Buffy with slightly overdone cheerfulness. "Sitting here. Scopin', remember?" Her pulse was racing madly, and it was all she could do not to turn around and find him in the crowd. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, devouring her. His gaze was so intense, far more intense than it had been before when she used to feel him watching her dancing with her friends or Riley, and it had a newer, sorrowful tone to it. She could feel the frustration in it, and it tore at her heart.
Willow was still watching her, pity and compassion in her eyes, misinterpreting her discomfort to be over her recent tragedy. Patting her shoulder lightly, she got up from her seat, deciding to give Buffy some room to think. "Right. Just shout if you change your mind, okay, Buff?"
Buffy nodded, watching Willow disappear into the crowd of writhing bodies with a pained gaze. Willow had it so easy. An ace in school, smart, funny, sweet, good friends and a faithful girlfriend. No 'false' sister, no dead mother, and especially no vampiric love interests. Buffy shook her head furiously. She shouldn't be getting jealous of her friends. Everyone had their problems, and hoping to be someone else didn't solve them. She should just be glad she had such friends to help her get through.
The tingle on her neck had lessened gradually, until it was a bare whisper on her skin. She sighed softly, looking down at her hands resting neatly on her knees, realizing her whole body had been tense. He must have left, she thought, a bit sadly but with a sigh of relief. After all, it was better this way. She had been kidding herself, thinking she would be able to handle just feeling him watch her. It would be best if she could just make him disappear altogether.
Disappear…Her chest clenched tightly. She was so confused. First she wanted him to go away, then she wanted him near her, now she was saying she wanted him to disappear again. It was never going to end.
Oh, it will end alright, she reminded herself shortly. Just like Angel. Slowly, slowly, forever and ever, but it will end. Painfully.
If she could just stop anything else from happening between them, it wouldn't be quite so hard. Her face burned, a strange ache swelling in her loins as she remembered the fierce way he had first kissed her in his crypt. So soft, his lips asking if she'd have them, and she'd taken them willingly, allowing it to grow deeper. It had just been a short jolt, a brief moment, but each had felt the other's longing. And then in the graveyard…the way his fingers brushed her hair back from her face, the intense burn of his eyes. The moment had been broken. But he had kissed her anyway afterwards. She gulped heavily, remembering the fury of that kiss.
And worse yet was that afternoon, three days ago in her kitchen. That had been beyond anything those two kisses had ignited in her. Her skin had been afire, she had never wanted someone or something so bad in her life as she had then. She looked down at her hand, although the minor cut had long-since healed and was no longer visible. Why had his licking her wound aroused her so completely? Even when she had been with Angel, the thought of him drinking blood had unnerved her. Drinking blood had just been a part of who he was that she had had to deal with. She had let him drink from her once, and because of her love for him, the experience had been intimate, had lit a strange passion within her, but it had also been painful. Painful because the demon in him had tried to take control, had wanted to hurt her. Angelus had hated her that much. But why not with Spike? He had been so gentle, so tender, and demon was all he was. There was no soul to hold him back. There was no William to overpower Spike, as there had been an Angel to counter Angelus' hate and hunger.
Why had the feel of his tongue gently lapping the blood from her palm excited her so much?
She was suddenly jolted out of her heated daydreaming as someone took a seat across from her on one of the other stuffed chairs scattered around the little club.
"Hi," greeted Ben, smiling shyly.
Buffy felt a nervous chill go through her. She blinked, surprised by the reaction, forcing a cheerful smile so as to cover up for the slip. But still, she felt it. Something didn't feel right.
She looked at him, smiling, but inwardly suspicious. "Oh! Hi! Ben!"
The medical intern chuckled shortly, still appearing shy and nervous. "Right. You remembered," he joked lightly, smiling at her warmly.
But the strange chill was still there. Buffy felt herself go rigid, her smile frozen on her face. "Of course I remembered. So, what brings you over here?"
Ben's smile deepened. "You…"
* * *
Spike raised his arm slightly, signaling the bartender.
"What'll it be?"
"Another beer. Killian's."
The bartender disappeared for a moment, coming back with the chilled bottle. Handing him a bill and marveling at the genius of "Dollar Drink" nights, Spike turned away from the bar, weaving his way back through the crowd of people dancing and making their own way to the bar. Eyebrows furrowed in frustration and thought, he wandered idly along the edge of the dancing crowd, taking a reflective swig from his beer as he eyed the unfamiliar faces around him.
Stupid. So bloody stupid…he cursed himself mentally, taking another swig from the cold bottle. He shouldn't have come. He knew it. But he couldn't help himself. He had wanted to see her again like that, the way he use to. Wanted to watch her from afar, the way he knew he was fixed to do from now on, knowing he could never have her, but needing to glimpse that one untouchable ray of sunshine in his life as if afraid to lose it.
And she was like the sunshine, radiant even when she was obviously so sad. She had been wearing a slim black dress with a crocheted black over-shirt, blonde hair pulled up in the back to hang in loose ringlets against her neck, and she had looked ravishing. It had been all he could but go over there and pull her to him. It seemed so long since he had actually touched her, though it was most likely several days ago. But those days had seemed forever with all the fighting, the bickering, and not feeling her touch again, burning with her heat and musky, vanilla scent. So many times he had wanted to break the tense atmosphere between them, but had agonizingly held himself back. He loved her, he truly did, but he couldn't go on like this. Knowing she'd always push him away, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how bad she wanted him back.
And it was all Angel's fault, of course. She'd been so in love with him—(stupid git!)—that giving him up had nearly destroyed her. She would never allow herself to be with another vampire now. For once in his unlife, he resented what he was.
Looking out over the crowd again with a gruff, irritated sigh, he spotted two of her Scooby friends drifting unwittingly towards him through the crowd. It was Red, and that other witch. What was her name? It didn't matter though. He watched them, drifting further back into the crowd so as not to be seen, but neither seemed to take notice of him. They were deeply in conversation, Willow's eyebrows furrowed in concern as she spoke animatedly.
"…hope this funeral doesn't wear her down. I'm so worried about her."
The blonde witch looked at her understandingly. "I know. But I think we just have to give her some time. And a little space. She's doing the best she can."
"I know, Tara, I just wish there was something I could do to help. She never comes to me anymore—"
The two drifted further away in the crowd, leaving Spike to digest their words. The funeral. He had completely forgotten that there would be a funeral. The poor Slayer must be so overwhelmed with preparations, not to mention her slaying duties. He immediately felt a guilty pang. The tenseness between them; the bitterness. She had just been under a lot of pressure. He should have been more understanding, instead of constantly fighting her back.
Suddenly he wanted to find the petite blonde. He didn't care about this unseen barrier she had put up between them anymore. He just needed to see her, to talk to her. He needed to comfort the Slayer. His Slayer.
"My Slayer," he murmured to himself aloud, enjoying the feel of the words on his tongue. In his mind, he traced a tender finger down her cheekbone, feeling the warm, soft flesh beneath his touch, saw her green eyes gazing up at him with unbridled desire. My Slayer…
He quickened his pace, weaving his way back through the crowd towards the bar and towards the Slayer. And saw her chair empty. Mind whirling in a slight panic, he glanced quickly around the small, crowded club for the petite little blonde in the black dress.
She was standing away off, backing towards the stage amidst the many bodies writhing to the music around her, a tight smile on her face as she spoke to a figure standing over her, urging her further into the crowd. By her stance and the tightness of her features, she was obviously not quite so willing to dance as she appeared. She was waving her hands lightly, kindly demurring the figure's invitation. But the man seemed not to understand her gentle refusal, laughing lightly and taking her arms gently and pulling her into a slow dance step. As Spike watched with growing animosity, the young man turned his way and he was able to see his face.
He growled, low in his throat. "It's that same wanker from before," he growled in a deadly tone, placing his empty bottle on the bar and heading towards the couple with quick, purposeful strides.
* * *
Buffy was having a hard time keeping a friendly smile on her face.
"No, really, Ben I don't really feel much like dancing right now…" She began to pull his arms off of her meaningfully, but Ben didn't seem to get the hint.
"Buffy, you're so modest. You're a great dancer," remarked Ben, that shy friendly smile still on his face. It was beginning to unnerve her, how every time she talked to him, he was exactly the same, like they were constantly repeating the same conversation over and over again.
She bit her lip, still uneasy, but feeling no harm in one little dance. After all, she had been looking for something to get her mind off of the funeral and her slaying duties anyway. She was supposed to be taking a break, having a good time.
But there was something unsettling about Ben now.
"One dance," she proclaimed firmly, pushing away her discomfort for the time being. It was just one dance. And then she'd just excuse herself. Her night was not going well enough to make her stay at the Bronze any longer.
Ben smiled at her triumphantly, pulling her a little closer as they began to dance. She resisted the urge to pull away, not really in the mood to object anymore. She wondered briefly why she was allowing herself to be cowed so easily but shook the thought away, concentrating on the low swell of the music and the sway of bodies around her. And soon she was no longer in Ben's arms, but in strong, familiarly cool ones. She let her thoughts drift away, allowed herself to dream that it was Spike's arms around her and not the awkward, eerie medical assistant's.
She almost missed the surge of telltale electricity up her spine. Immediately her eyes shot open, and she was looking over Ben's shoulder directly into those familiar, dark eyes. Spike tapped Ben on the shoulder, stiffly, and she could see the anger boiling in him, though he wore his face in a coolly calm mask.
"Mind if I cut in, mate?" he purred casually, and before the young man could answer, he had slipped her from Ben's arms and slid his arms around her waist with a natural sensuous charm. Shooting the other man a devilish grin, he slid Buffy's hand in his and moved with her into the crowd.
Buffy was staring up at him in a mixture of gratitude and desire, her pulse racing madly at the way he gently held her against him, swaying gently in time to the music. "Thank you…" she breathed, unable to come up with further words. Here he was, dancing with her, holding her, just as she had been imagining.
He smiled at her brashly, pulling her just a bit closer. Her heat was just as he'd remembered it, the feel of her skin against him still as electrifying. "You're welcome," he murmured, his voice rumbling low in his chest. He felt her tremble slightly, then her green eyes met his again, staring up at him with so much longing he thought he would drown in her gaze. "You looked like you needed some help there, pet."
She nodded, lowering her gaze with some regret. "I just wasn't in the mood to argue, I guess."
He nodded, leaning his head closer to hers as they gently swayed to the music. The band was playing a slower, almost satirically mournful tune; the lyrics, long and breathy. It was one of Buffy's favorite songs by The Cardigans. She listened to the words with half an ear, a heady euphoria coming over her.
Oh, come crush me no-ow, don't leave
No one has won, this war, this time…
His fingers, resting lightly on her hip, the other hand gently clasping her own. The way his touch sent hungry tremors throughout her body, an aching feeling settling in her loins once again as they swayed silently to the music.
No, don't sleep toni-ight, avert…and ready for fight!
Don't leave me u-up, alarmed, and ready to die!
Come on, it's war, come on…
Come on, come on, come on…
Come on, it's war, come on…
"Why?" she whispered, her breath lightly brushing his neck at their closeness. "Why did you come?"
He shifted slightly, his fingers traveling slowly up her hip, then down again as he continued to sway to the music. "Because. I can't stand that bloody whelp." Their was the usual cocky humor to his tone, yet his grip tightened slightly, possessively.
She closed her eyes against the wave of pleasure. "No. Why did you come here?"
Spike was silent for a moment, pulling back slightly to peer at her questioningly. "Why does it matter, luv? Why were you expecting me to be here?" he countered gently, blue eyes clear and free of banter.
Buffy blinked, startled. "How did you know I was expecting you?" A bit defensively.
He smiled again, a soft, predatory gaze. "I can see it in your eyes, luv." He pulled her closer again, leaning his head beside hers. "You know why I came," he continued, his voice low and sensual in her ear. "The real question is, why did you want me to be here?"
Please, I'm almost do-one, don't retreat
I've loaded my gun, with love…with…
She gulped, beginning to tremble again in his light embrace. "Spike, don't do this," she murmured, half of her wishing he would pull her closer and the other half hoping for the courage to break away.
Hear, the dust roll over the floor
Why must you sleep?
Come crush me no-ow, armed…and ready to die!
"Do what, Buffy?" he murmured in her ear, voice somewhat strained. His grip tightened again, pulling her closer so that they were pressed chest to chest in the loosely scattered crowd. She sucked in a hasty breath, looking up at him through glazed eyes. "Hold you closer?" he hissed, "Torture you? Torture myself?"
…Come on, fight me, come on…
Come on, it's war, come o-on…
She closed her eyes tightly, fighting back tears of frustration. "Yes…" she hissed back, knowing she should push him away, knowing she needed to break his spell, but she couldn't bring herself to move in any way other than the slow, sensual dance they were in.
You look so peaceful when you sleep—(beautiful creep)—
It's such an easy way to choose,
You lose
He seemed to deflate slightly, loosening his grip on her a bit. Suddenly, he pulled her away from his embrace, tilting her chin with his thumb and forefinger to meet his gaze. There was guilt written all over his face. "Buffy…I'm sorry."
Buffy gazed at him searchingly, surprised by the apology and the obvious guilt in his features. "Spike, I just can't—"
He shook away her response, releasing her chin and resuming their slow, rhythmic sway. "I know, Buffy. It wasn't meant…It's not what I had intended. I just couldn't stand seeing you look so bloody damned miserable…"
She seemed to digest his words for a moment, then she shook her head gently, leaning it on his shoulder and surprising him. "I'm sorry," she murmured meekly, enjoying the feel of the worn leather beneath her cheek.
Spike seemed startled. "Sorry? For what, pet?"
"For looking miserable," she replied, equally as meekly. She could feel the tears welling and she didn't care anymore, gripping his shoulder tighter.
She felt him chuckle gently, his hand sliding from her hip to rub her back comfortingly. "Don't be silly, luv," he chided gently, holding her tighter. "It's understandable, you bein' miserable. Don't…don't be afraid to be miserable, Buffy." His grip tightened as he turned to gaze at her with lingering sadness. "Besides…misery always did love company."
Buffy sighed, blinking away the tears bravely. "It's just…the funeral," she began hesitantly, "There's just so much that has to be done. And then there's Dawn, and Glory, and patrolling on top of that…"
He shushed her, his hand sliding to her arm and rubbing it gently. "And I've been a soddin' wanker to you this whole time, huh?" he finished gently. The guilt and pain was obvious in his voice.
She pulled away suddenly, looking up at him with sorrowful, olive eyes. "Well…a bit." She hastened to explain, seeing the guilt in his blue eyes sharpen. "But I haven't been too easy about it, either, so it's really no one's fault."
Spike smiled ruefully. "No, don't bother. I shouldn't have been so bloody quick to think—" He stopped suddenly, looking away in frustration as if realizing what he'd just said.
Buffy peered at him curiously. "No, wait. Think what?"
He put his hand back on her waist, his other taking her hand, and began to sway once again to the music, turning his head away gruffly. "Nothing, luv. Just babbling…" he muttered sharply, avoiding her eyes.
She peered at him sternly, trying to get him to meet her gaze. "Spike, what did you think?" she demanded, a cold feeling in her stomach. He wasn't telling her something important. "Spike, tell me."
He sighed gruffly, exasperated. "Buffy, it's nothing—"
Immediately she grabbed his arms, pulling them both to a stop. "No, I want to know. Does this have to do with how tense you've been the last few days?"
Spike glared at her, frustrated. "How tense I've been? I'm not the one who was grinding me into the dirt at every soddin' chance she got for the last three nights!"
She glared at him, hurt. She began to pull away angrily, but he grabbed her arm hastily, stopping her. "No, Buffy, wait!" he pleaded, the anger gone from his eyes. He sighed, meeting her eyes finally with open honesty. "I didn't mean it. I just…"
"Is this about that day…in the kitchen?" she whispered hesitantly, her eyes gentle again. He stared at her in silence for a moment, the feeling of that day washing over him again as he stared into her olive-green eyes, and immediately he felt the urge to touch her, bringing his fingers to gently trace her cheekbone. She brought her hand up to grasp his gently, the longing evident between them once again.
"Oh, Buffy…" he said softly, pulling her to him again. She stepped into him willingly, and he leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. They studied each other momentarily, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back gently, then again more urgently, until he had pulled her tightly against him, kissing her hungrily, all their pent-up frustrations from the last three nights lending passion to their lips.
The band played on behind them, the people danced on around them, and their world shrunk to that one point of contact as they fought their passionate battle in each other's embrace.
…Come on, it's war, come on…
Come on, come on, come on…
Come on, fight me, come o-on…
* * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED…