Beyond the Darkness
Chapter Six
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.
Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"
Author's Notes: Thanks goes out to my reviewers (those loyal few) who keep reminding me to update, and therefore, it is. (lol) Otherwise, I know this story would never make itself known.
* * * * *
Chapter Six
Straightening his slightly disheveled shirt, Xander cast his girlfriend a rakish grin, looping his arm lazily over her shoulders. "Haveth not we slayeth thy evil beasts enough for one night, milady? What say we hasten toward yonder tavern to feast and dance?"
Anya giggled, pushing him playfully. "Xander, you make the worst medieval knight, and I should know." Smiling impishly, she snuggled closer under his arm. "But yes, let's go check out the Bronze."
Xander smiled triumphantly, raising an arm as if to raise an invisible sword. "Avast ye, scourges of the night, minions of Satan! Thy brave knight and his fair maid take their leave of thee, but rest assured two equally deadly shall taketh their place in just time!"
The blonde half-demon rolled her eyes amusingly. "Now you're sounding like a pirate…"
The two, laughing gently amongst themselves, began to walk; turning down the dark dreary street that marked the bad part of town where the Bronze lay. The streets were silent, save for the usual nighttime sounds coming from the alleys and shuttered buildings around them. Both were use to the eerie silence, however, and though they may not be as talented or have superhuman strength such as the Slayer, each was fairly capable of taking care of his or herself in their own way.
But as they turned the corner, the dim florescent lights of the Bronze just in view, an eerie stillness passed over them, causing them to pause in worried consternation.
Anya looked around curiously, wondering about the complete absence of nighttime sound. She turned to Xander, worried. "Xander…" she began, peering down the deserted street.
The brown-haired young man silenced her quickly with a raised palm, heavy eyebrows furrowed thoughtfully. "Do you hear that?" Both cocked their heads patiently, straining to hear some faint sound.
Anya looked puzzled. "I don't hear—"
"Shh! There it is!" hissed Xander urgently, holding up a hand for silence. And the sound came again, louder this time. A mournful, unearthly lowing.
Both shivered, a sudden fierce breeze whipping at their clothes. And then it was gone—the wind, the noise, and the strange stillness. The night sounds returned, and the air lost its heaviness; as if something had been holding its breath and had just now released it.
Blinking confusedly, Anya searched the street offhandedly, no longer afraid. "What the hell was that?"
Xander shrugged, still looking unnerved. "I dunno'. It was…" He shivered, making a disgusted face. "…eeaugh! It gave me the wiggins."
The blonde nodded enthusiastically, resuming their walk. "Definitely. Very wiggy."
Still uneasy, the messy-haired young man took one last backward glance down the deserted street and wrapped his arm back around Anya's shoulders. "Remind me to tell Wills about it. And remind me to emphasize the 'majorly creepy' factor." He was getting his wallet out as he spoke, the two of them nearing the Bronze now.
Anya nodded absently, staring oddly at his hands fumbling with the rumpled bills. "Sure, honey. Might I also remind you it's "No Cover" night?"
The fumbling stopped, a sheepish expression appearing on the young man's face. "Right. Thanks, An." He awkwardly filed the bills back in his wallet, shoving the wallet back into his pocket.
"Sometimes I worry about you," muttered Anya with a hopeless sigh, shaking her head gently.
Xander just stared at her, one eyebrow cocked at the complete irony of her remark and the two of them, arm in arm, entered the already hopping club.
* * *
When the immediate burst of passion had abated enough for Buffy to think rationally, she pulled away hastily, tearing herself away from Spike's comforting embrace as if burned. She looked up at him with wild, olive eyes, tears brimming behind their ardent depths, and immediately she was backing away slowly.
"We can't keep doing this…" she whispered, voice harsh with the pain of her longing. He watched her go, eyebrows knitted furiously, the muscles in his cheeks and neck twitching with the emotions he was trying to restrain as she disappeared into the crowd with one last, painful glance, regret and apology in her eyes.
She disappeared, but his want of her didn't, and he growled low in his chest in self-loathing and growing despair, turning away in the opposite direction, into the flow of twisting arms and writhing bodies; hating himself and the desires still rolling over him in suffocating, maddening waves.
Buffy. Bloodlust. Buffy and bloodlust. The press of warm, blood-filled bodies began to madden him like never before, and all he could see was red, maddening red filling his vision, the beat of hundreds of hearts thundering in his head.
Ignoring the cries of surprise and objection, he pushed gruffly through them; out, out into the cool night away from the noise and lust and warmth. And in the emptiness that was the night, he let the cold rush of night air calm him, calm the bloodlust that was more out of despair than true hunger, and he cursed his impulsiveness.
Finally calm, feeling a strange sort of rationality befall him, he lit a cigarette, enjoying the familiarity of the act as he let himself fade into the welcome shadows of the alley. Wait, that's what he would do. He could wait.
And so he waited. As did the night.
It was as if something vast were holding its breath.
* * *
So caught up in her confusion and despair was she, Buffy nearly rushed right past the redheaded Wiccan.
"Buffy!" cried Willow; half in surprise, half-worried at the sight of the blonde's anguished face.
Buffy turned hastily, startled, immediately wiping the pain and confusion from her features and swallowing the un-spilled tears as she did so. "Will! Uh, I didn't see you! I guess I was a little caught-up in myself."
The redhead brushed aside the obvious excuse, gently pulling the blonde aside from the writhing crowd. "Buffy, what's wrong?" At her shoulder, Tara peered at Buffy with equal concern, mirroring the redhead with her expression.
Buffy studied them both for a painful half-second, knowing she wasn't going to be able to brush this one off with a simple "Nothing, I'm fine." Immediately, she smiled shakily, allowing some of her hurt to show as she wove them a believable lie.
"Oh…it's just…I ran into Ben," she lied quickly, giving them a pained expression for emphasis. "He was still a little upset over me turning him down last week and I had a hard time turning him down again."
The two witches looked at her understandingly, obviously believing the little white lie. Willow rubbed the blonde Slayer's arm comfortingly, peering at her in friendly concern. "You gonna' be okay?"
The Slayer smiled assuredly. "Yeah. I'm fine. I was just a little flustered."
"Men can be so relentless at times," remarked Tara helpfully with that rueful half-smile of hers.
"What's that about us men being relentless?" spoke up a familiar, amused voice, its owner squeezing between the tightly packed crowd to join them.
The three young women smiled sardonically up at Xander as Anya squeezed in beside him.
"Just preaching on the evils of the male sex," commented Willow with a wicked grin.
Xander put on a look of mock insult, eyes wide. "You Wiccans and your filthy lies! LIES, ALL LIES!" he raved in a mock crazed voice, shaking an angry finger for emphasis.
Rolling her eyes dramatically but chuckling nonetheless, Buffy put out an arm to quiet him. "Down, boy. Be still and know that it's not you we speak of." And not Ben, either…
Anya turned to give Xander a smug sort of expression. "See? Now Buffy speaks like a true knight," she remarked pointedly.
Xander seemed to pout in annoyance. "Yeah, how do you do that, Buffster?"
Buffy shrugged nonchalantly, pushing her former worries from her mind and allowing herself to enjoy her friends' playful banter. Just like old times. It felt strangely good.
"It's natural. Just part of the whole warrior and 'savior of good' thing."
Willow gave a little gasp, looking slightly embarrassed. "Oh, that's right!" She turned to Xander and Anya. "It's time for Tara and I to patrol, right?"
Xander nodded. "Right-o, Willow the Brave. Evil awaits your long arm of justice."
Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. "Xander, you read too many comics."
Gathering their coats, the two witches smiled at the others and turned to leave. "To the bat cave, Tara!" commented Willow teasingly, just to humor Buffy. The petite Slayer rolled her eyes again, giving her friends a short wave before they disappeared into the crowd of people around them.
Anya cleared her throat softly, gently pushing at Xander. Putting up a finger in thought, Xander looked to Buffy apologetically for a moment. "Just a sec. Gotta' fill Will in on something." He disappeared momentarily after the two witches, Buffy simply nodding after him, not really interested.
"How was patrol?" she inquired curiously, turning to the former demon. She was beginning to feel the longing and lingering pain of the broken embrace eating at the edges of her mind again, and she desperately tried to shove it away. She could still taste him on her lips, his scent surrounding her.
Anya shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat at the table Willow had pulled Buffy to and signaling one of the silver-clad waitresses. "It was pretty dead again. Um, no pun intended. We dusted a couple of vampires near the mausoleums then made-out for awhile, then came here. Kiddy-cocktail, please." She nodded at the waitress, who smiled and hurried off with her order.
Buffy watched her curiously, wondering about this strange blonde demon just as she always did. Ignoring the slip of personal information on the two's love life, she leaned forward on the little table, resting her arms casually. "So…no sign of that weird, red whirlwind?" she prodded carefully.
Anya shook her head emphatically, fixing the other blonde with her sweetly innocent, yet blank expression. "Nope. Just vampires. And regular wind."
After some time, the waitress returned with her kiddy-cocktail, and she plucked the single floating cherry from the sparkling drink and popped it casually into her mouth, playing lazily with the little umbrella propped against the glass's rim. Buffy watched her silently, not bothering to try to instigate further conversation as she mulled over the half-demon's reply. Just regular wind…Why all of sudden did she feel so uneasy?
Xander reappeared from the crowd, spinning a chair around and taking a seat between the two blondes. "Well, ladies, what do we have in store for tonight?" he asked in a slightly game-show-hostesc voice, grinning brightly.
Anya swallowed her cherry quickly, washing it down with a quick sip of her drink. "Dancing. Definitely dancing." She looked at her drink reflectively, swirling the tiny umbrella in the liquid. "And more kiddy-cocktails."
Xander nodded, satisfied with her reply, and turned to Buffy inquiringly. "And you, oh fierce maiden knight?"
Buffy pursed her lips slightly at his jest. "Just cocktails for me. And watching." She certainly wasn't in the mood for dancing anymore. A sudden thought occurred to her, a broken piece of a memory.
"I could have danced all night with that one."
She dodged his lazy swing, ducking under his arm. "Is that what you think we're doing?"
Then, that self-assured grin. Another swing. "That's all we've ever done."
Dance. It was an endless dance. Forever and ever, whirling around, like a finely choreographed stage fight. Never losing, never gaining, only spinning and dipping and swaying to an unseen song that burned in each their hearts. To dance, together, as one. That's all we've ever done.
She gasped inwardly, everything just a bit clearer. All those fights. All those taunts. Nothing, completely nothing. All harmless steps in the endless dance. They had never meant to kill each other, and they never would. They were like puppets, and she wondered who could wield the strings of such an intricate act.
Dance. One big, harmless dance. That's all we've ever done. …All we've ever done…all we've ever…
Xander was talking to her but his words jumbled together as if from a great distance and she hardly heard him. She was lost in the dance, the steps going over and over in her mind from the very beginning at that PTA meeting four years ago to their more recent, sensual dance on the dance floor of the Bronze. Her eyes glazed, she saw each step as it really had been. And her chest ached painfully, knowing that it would go on like this forever. Or until something came along to break the dance.
Just like something had for her and Angel's dance.
Xander watched the blonde stare blankly off into space, giving her an odd look. He turned to Anya questioningly, but the former demon simply shrugged, equally confused.
"She's got a lot on her mind," she stated simply, finishing her drink and looking at her boyfriend pointedly.
"So, how about we go have that dance?"
* * *
Dawn found herself oddly drawn to the window. She didn't know what she was looking for; she just simply turned away from the television which had not held her attention thus far and climbed to the couch, staring out over the dark, silent street with growing curiosity. She saw nothing; all was still and completely silent. Silent…
That was it. She furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. There should have been so many nighttime sounds; crickets whirring, dogs barking, cars going by in the distance. Instead there was only a still pall over everything.
Giles looked up from his books, pushing his glasses up on his nose with a finger as he glanced at the young teenager. "Dawn? What is it?"
She started slightly, turning to look at him. "Nothing." She turned back to the window for a moment, scanning the darkness. But nothing else piqued her interest. It was just eerily calm. "I was just checking if Buffy was coming home yet," she added shortly, finally turning from the window and sliding down the couch to sit comfortably on it.
The old Watcher cocked a brow gently but Dawn had already turned her attention back to the quiet television set. He brushed off whatever comment he had been about to make, turning back to his books as well, and the room was silent once again, save the soft murmur of the television and the clock on the wall ticking gently.
And suddenly, the house began to shake fiercely, a great screaming of wind tearing outside at the windows. Both looked about in horror, the room bathed in crimson light for one brief moment, and then it was gone—the shaking, the light—all of it.
Both sat in silence again for a moment, Giles staring about the seemingly untouched room with openmouthed amazement, his glasses cocked crookedly on his nose. After a moment, he seemed to gather his wits, straightening his glasses shakily.
"What on earth was that?" he gasped, breathless. Dawn shook her head, wide-eyed with fear and amazement. Both stared at each other wordlessly for a few brief seconds, then Dawn hurried for the phone.
"I'll call Buffy," she said hurriedly, dialing the pager number with quick fingers. Giles nodded numbly, still looking about him in bewildered wonder. But no more tremors came.
* * *
Buffy finished her most recent kiddy-cocktail just as Xander and Anya came back from yet another dance. Putting aside her empty glass and giving the couple an apologetic grin, Buffy slowly got up from her chair.
"I think I'm going to call it a night, guys," she remarked, yawning a bit for emphasis.
Both looked at her regretfully. "Aw, so early, Buff?" commented Xander, making a sour face. "Don't you want me to treat you to a dance first?"
Buffy shook her head gently, giving the brown-haired joker a wan smile. "I think I'll pass tonight, Xander. I've got a lot of preparations still waiting for me at home and I should really check up on Dawn."
Anya looked at the concerned expression on her boyfriend's face, then at Buffy with an eager expression. "Do you want us to walk you home?"
Again, Buffy gave a slight smile, shaking her head. "Nah, I'll be fine." Dropping a tip on the table, she glanced up at them one last time. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, 'kay?"
The two nodded, watching her drift away into the no-longer-so crowded club. Buffy could feel their eyes on her, watching her with growing concern, and she wished she hadn't caused her friends so much trouble in the last week. Sorry guys.
Upon reaching the street, she took a deep, much needed breath of the cool night air, wrapping her arms around herself in the sudden cold. She had forgotten a coat that night, but the chill was only minor. Watching a star winking lonely in the sky, she turned around into the alley, deciding to take the back way home.
And immediately, she found herself face to face with the blue-eyed vampire before the warning tingle had even hit her.
He looked at her, tightly, a million emotions flitting across his features and swimming in those blue depths. And then he offered her his hand, as if they had just been introduced at some crowded, casual party, imploring her to shake it.
She stared at him, then at his hand, in mounting confusion as well as a hundred other emotions broiling through her. And then Spike smiled brashly, inclining his head slightly to show that he wasn't quite so serious.
"A truce, Slayer?"
Buffy continued to stare at him, hesitance in her stance. Then, unable to contain an amused smile, she took the proffered hand and shook it warmly. Immediately, his grin grew wider, and with a quick tug, he pulled her forward so that his arm was hooked in hers and began to escort her home. She let out a short cry of surprise, then looked up at him with mock annoyance.
"Alright, William, what's this about?" she asked sternly, pushing back the warm tingle initiated by his touch.
Spike shrugged nonchalantly, not looking at her. "Can't a bloke simply want to escort a lovely lady home?"
She watched him curiously, marveling at the way the pale light from a nearby street lamp accentuated the striking features of his face. And she remembered what he'd said some months before about that dance, and suddenly she was stopping them both in the dark alley, stepping in front of him to look at him squarely.
"What's this really about?" she demanded gently. "Come on Spike, I don't want this to end up like it did in there."
He sighed irritably, turning his head away for a moment in annoyance at her persistence. When he met her gaze again, his face was completely serious. "Okay, Slayer. Fine." He stared down at her, deeply now, his eyes dark and glittering in the dimly lit shadows. "I'm apologizing. Happy now?"
Buffy looked somewhat suspicious, cocking her head inquisitively at the vampire. It was all he could do not to kiss her firmly pouting lips, so tantalizing in the heavy shadow enshrouding her face. "You're…apologizing?" she repeated, disbelieving.
Spike rolled his eyes, turning away with a frustrated sigh. "Oh, come on, Buffy, stop acting like I'm some pathetic sod who's never apologized to anyone before!" he growled, making a pleading gesture despite the annoyance in his tone.
He realized she was giggling silently and he glared at her sharply. "You're impossible, Slayer!" he growled in exasperation. She merely laughed louder at his comment, her eyes dancing despite the lack of lighting. She's breathtaking, he thought, fighting the urge to take her in his arms again. And he was sorely tempted to. Instead he heaved another frustrated sigh, giving her a pointed glare until she quieted again.
"I'm sorry," apologized the blonde, still grinning slightly. He grinned back at that.
"Hey, I thought I was suppose to be doing the apologizing around here, pet?" he remarked. She gulped, his grin affecting her in more ways than one.
The two continued their walk, turning down the dark alley and back out onto the empty street beyond.
"You don't really need to apologize," continued Buffy in a soft voice, not looking at the vampire.
He glanced sidelong at her. "No, I didn't mean to hurt you, luv."
She seemed troubled, her eyes still staring steadfastly ahead. "I know. But it was as much my fault as yours."
Both were silent for a moment, once in a while slipping a glance at one another in the dim moonlight. A muscle twitched in Spike's cheek.
"It doesn't have to be anyone's fault," he said finally, tightly. She shot a brief questioning glance at him but his blank expression betrayed nothing. "It doesn't have to keep going on like this, luv, and you know it." This time he looked at her, meaningfully, the desire filling his dark eyes again.
Buffy stiffened, looking back at him hesitantly. "Spike, don't—"
"Just listen to me, Slayer," he whispered urgently, stopping both of them and standing in front of her pleadingly. "This tension…we keep fighting it. You keep fighting it, luv. But it's there and it's not going away. We know that." He paused, looking at her searchingly. "But do we really need to be fighting it? What are we afraid of?"
She realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly, her eyes wandering around the desolate street in search of an escape. No, this isn't happening. I can't answer him! her thoughts raved, panicking. She could feel the passion swelling within her, his touch calling her. No! No! Mustn't…
"This is crazy!" she muttered, staring at him wildly, feeling herself backing away. "Spike, I already told you! This is wrong—we're wrong. This feeling is just—"
He looked at her steadily, unmoved. "You keep saying that, Buffy, when you don't even believe it yourself."
That froze her. She stared at him, her breath coming heavily, unable to contain the lust in her gaze. He came at her gently this time, taking her arms and looking down into her green eyes with his blue filled with intense longing and a new, calmer reason than he had had earlier that night.
"I love you. I always have it seems. And I always will. Why can't that be enough, Buffy?" His eyes were pleading with her, demanding an answer.
It seemed that they stood that way for an eternity. Her breath still not quite recovered, she seemed to steady herself momentarily, then looking back up at him with a clear expression, she licked her lips thoughtfully. "Spike, once you told me…that all we ever did was dance." He blinked at her in recognition and she continued. "And I looked back, on all the times we've fought, and all the times we've bickered, and I realized…that you were right. It was all just one big dance." She closed her eyes reflectively, pain flashing across her face. "Spike, the dance has to end. It has to end, because if it doesn't, someone will get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to be hurt."
Anger flashed in the vampire's eyes. "You think that Angel was a dance." It wasn't a question, but a statement. His eyes glittered fiercely, challenging her.
"Spike, this isn't about Angel." But her face was equally hard, angered that he had brought her former lover into this.
But the vampire wasn't finished. He smiled scornfully, releasing her coldly. "It isn't?" he hissed, voice taunting. He whirled away from her, duster fluttering madly about him as he spun back around to face her. "It's always been, sweetheart. 'Can't love another vampire because poofy Angel hurt me so. Forget how much he drives me mad—can't let that happen again!'" He was stalking around her restlessly, gesticulating wildly the way he always did when impassioned with something.
Buffy glared at him heatedly, passion and anger swelling as one. "Spike…" she hissed warningly, but the vampire was almost beyond reason now.
"What do you want, Buffy?! Like I said, obviously my love just ain't enough—oh no! What do you want? Another Angel? Another soul? That you can soddin' lose and break? Is that what you want, Buffy?!"
Buffy was shaking now, half from rage but also out of pent-up desire. Despite the venom in his words and the old wounds he was bringing up, the peroxide-blonde's angry ranting only seemed to increase her longing for him. "Spike, shut up."
The ranting vampire strode hastily up to her, facing her, noses nearly touching. "Don't tell me to bloody shut up, sod it all!" he hissed, grabbing her arm roughly. "I bloody love you and you pretend it's nothing! What does it fucking take, Buffy?! I mean, it's as simple as me loving you and you loving—"
"IT'S NOT!" she shouted suddenly, wresting her arm from his grasp before he could finish. Her pulse was racing, whirring crazily in her ears as she gasped for breath, shaking with rage and desire. "It's not…" she murmured again, her eyes welling with tears.
"You're right. It was about Angel. And you're not Angel." She turned away hastily, wringing her hands in despair. "But it's—not—that—easy!"
He was watching her now with a pained expression on his face, suddenly calm after his short tirade. "Why, Buffy? Why is it?" he pleaded, gentler this time but his voice still stern. "You're right, I'm not Angel. And I don't have a soul. I've got nothin' to lose, luv. Why is that so hard?"
"You're still a killer!" she shouted suddenly, rounding on him. Her voice reverberated coldly on the nearby buildings, traveling down the deserted streets. "Just because there's some chip in your head and you can't kill now, doesn't mean you won't!"
Spike was silent for a moment, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "We don't even know if—when that might happen, Buffy. Why do we—" he began, but she cut him off suddenly.
"Maybe…Maybe you do love me. Like you say," she began, turning away. She sniffled a bit, and he could see that she was fighting tears. "But you're a vampire. And I'm a vampire Slayer. Once that chip is removed, and you start killing again…I'll have to kill you. Because it's my job." She looked at him suddenly, the pain and desire radiating from her. "And I don't want to kill you," she finished in a soft voice.
He was stunned, staring at her silently, suddenly understanding her. There was nothing he could say to her, because after all, it was all true. Once he got the chip removed, he would go on killing, just like before, like his nature called for. What else could he do? Continue to drink pigs' blood from a bag like some cripple? It just wasn't conceivable. He lowered his head, feeling such hopelessness wash over him that he couldn't speak.
It really was impossible. He had been a fool. And he had hurt her, just like that filthy poofter, Angel.
"Fine." The word was a low whisper, rumbling deep in his chest. He looked up at her coldly, his expression blank, all emotion gone from his eyes. It was as it was before he'd gotten that chip in his head, devoid of expression and coldly indifferent. "Fine, Slayer. That's the way it'll be. I've finished this dance…"
With one last cold glance, he turned and walked away with his usual coolly indifferent saunter. And the tears Buffy had been trying to hold back began to flow freely down her face, watching him go with a terrible emptiness resounding in her chest. Neither said anything, simply watching and believing the other was effectively torn from their life. And the night echoed their stillness.
Almost as if it were holding its breath.
* * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED…