Chapter 19 - Getting to Know You
As he had hoped, Giles' news had forestalled Grianne's return to Ireland. She was now installed in an office next to his own, and had a flat next door. They had both spent hours poring over the files to which they had no access before. The one thing that Giles was clear on was that the Council of Watchers was a mess. Fortunately, he was able to recruit people - people he trusted and had known since University days, to help sort out the mess which constituted the financial affairs of the Council. That left him free to investigate the other, more important matters.
His relationship with the Phoenix hadn't given him as much information as he had hoped. In some respects, it felt like talking to a computer. He suspected he would get the information he needed, if only he could ask the right question.
At the first opportunity, he planned to move Jenny and the children to London. There was a local school Lizzie could attend, and it would mean spending more time with them that commuting would allow. And, Jenny was keen to help in more practical ways. Her background meant that she was much more adept in computer use than he was, and she had a great deal of arcane knowledge too. Not that these skills were in short supply among the Council staff - it was just that he was still being cautious as to whom to trust.
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Another day, another needle in her arm. Buffy's first thoughts as she woke were remarkably resigned. She opened her eyes quickly, but Spike was already withdrawing the needle from her arm, and glancing at her with an … apologetic? look before moving back to his chair.
She immediately noticed he was limping a little, and one glance at the bandage showed it was bloody. She was surprised. She had understood that vampire healing rivalled her own Slayer ability.
"You've been bleeding," she commented.
"Yeah, I think the knife that cut me had some Vargas demon spittle on it. You won't find any of those on this world, by the way, just in case you're getting any ideas. Thing is, that stuff's lethal to humans, and awkward for vampires. It slows or even stops the blood's ability to clot, so my leg's going to bleed for a while before it stops. Not fatal, though, for me anyway, and you'd better believe I can still run faster than you can."
She nodded. She knew the only reason he could run faster than she could, was the injection she'd just had. And, Buffy realised, it seemed that the stuff had a side effect. Since she had been having the injections, she'd also been sleeping very deeply, so Spike had a distinct advantage when it came to getting a needle in her arm each morning.
"Grab some food, I'll see if I can find some water for you. I'll be back soon," he announced before lacing her leash through the bed frame and limping out of the door. He locked it behind him. Buffy took the opportunity to check out her own injury. No mirror, of course, so she had to do it by hand. To her relief, the wound was closing, and, although painful to the touch, it was quite bearable when she'd re-bandaged it.
Spike came back a little later, with two filled water-skins. He handed one to Buffy, and she drank thirstily - one disadvantage of blood loss. She knew she was going to need a lot more to drink in the next few days if she was going to get back to normal, or what passed for normal for a drugged Slayer.
Spike rooted about in his pack and brought out another skin like the one she was drinking from, and raised it to his lips. She noticed it was blood, from the redness on his lips when he paused for a moment, and immediately regretted drinking the water. She realised she didn't know what else had been in that bag. Spike spotted her look of revulsion, but looked puzzled.
"I thought you'd be glad not to see me taking it from source, Slayer. Why the long face?"
"Well, first, it's still human blood, isn't it?"
He nodded, but carried on drinking.
"Well, someone had to provide it, didn't they? And, well, " Buffy stumbled over the other thought. Although it was important to her, it seemed insignificant compared to someone's life.
He was looking at her, an amused expression on his face while he waited for her to continue. "Well, I thought, maybe this bag had blood in it before." Her voice tailed off as she completed the sentence. She had also dipped her head as she spoke, but now she raised her eyes to see Spike's reaction. He was smiling, enjoying her discomfort.
"Don't worry, pet. I keep some bags just for water. Don't tend to re-use them once they've had blood in them. You know, I like blood. I know you don't approve, but to me, blood's well, just imagine your favourite food. The thing you crave more than anything else. Blood, fresh from the source is like that. There's nothing else like it. Cold blood from a bag is ok, but it's not as good. Stale blood, blood that's getting old, well, that's like eating mouldy food. And, that's what would happen if I re-used bags for blood. So, I don't."
Buffy returned to eating some cheese, washing it down with some more of the water. She was embarrassed by her reaction, but even more than that, she was amazed that she'd just had a conversation like that with a vampire. She ran her mind over the past few days, and realised it wasn't the first time she'd had a rational conversation with him. Her previous experience of conversations with vampires tended to be big on threats, but not a lot else. And, she couldn't understand him either. She tried to imagine herself having a conversation with a food source. A cow, or a sheep. That thought made her smile. Of course, cows and sheep have a bit of a language difficulty, so maybe it's not quite the same.
She remembered a book. She didn't know when she'd read it, especially since she had never been much of a one for reading. Maybe someone had told her about it. She decided that seemed more likely. Anyway, it was a story about all sorts of improbable things, and one of them was the idea that a cow had been bred able to talk, and to be perfectly content to be killed for food. In view of what Spike had told her about his wishes for her world, it didn't seem so preposterous as it had. That thought brought her back to reality, and she glanced up to see Spike re-packing his bag. He looked to be just about finished.
He watched her for a few moments as she finished her meal, then removed the collar from around her neck. The action required him to be close to her, his hands seeming to take a long time to undo the clasp that held it closed. Buffy decided that if she didn't know better, she'd think that Spike was nervous, his fingers not quite doing what he wanted them to do.
At last, it was undone, and he packed the leash in his bag. "As of today, you're my wife. If I need to, I'll drug you, and you'll by my sick wife. That was the original plan, but I'm really not that sure of how the sedative will react with the other drug I'm giving you. I'd rather not take the risk of you dying because of the drugs, so I've decided to try this. Don't give me a reason to take consider the alternative."
His words were firm, but the expression on his face showed something else. That was almost pleading with her. She could almost believe he actually cared what happened to her.
The next thing surprised her. He looked closely at her face, then muttered some words in a language she didn't understand. When he'd finished, he examined her face closely, then spoke.
"Problem with that spell, is it's difficult to know whether it's worked or not. Point of it is to stop people recognising you. Doesn't actually change the way you look, just sort of encourages people not to take too much notice. Still, it's never let me down before."
The next thing he did, was to leave her alone again, locking her in for a few moments, and when he returned, he was breathing. As her hand brushed against his when both stooped to pick up their packs, she realised he was warm. Whatever the charm was, it worked. He would certainly seem human to anyone they met.
They left a little while later, Spike using a wooden branch he found as a crutch. "It'll be more realistic if I'm supposed to be human," he told her, implying that he didn't actually need it. Buffy wasn't so sure. She had been watching him closely, and she was sure she had seen him wince a few times as he put weight on that leg, but, by the time they had travelled for half an hour, he seemed to be doing better.
They walked through the morning, and, had circumstances been different, Buffy could honestly have said she enjoyed it. Spike hadn't picked such a punishing pace as he had the day before, although whether that was to allow for his leg, or her own blood loss, she wasn't sure. The weather was sunny, and less cold than it had been. It had rained overnight, and the thin layer of snow, which had covered the ground the day before, had gone. The path was still hard, as if it was almost, but not quite, on the point of thawing.
By mid day, they came across the first signs of habitation. The land up until then had been much as it had the day before. The farms and villages they passed were deserted, although this side of the line, there was no obvious sign of predation.
Although these farms were still inhabited, anyone who saw them was wary, watching them, ready to take action if they came too close. That suited Spike well though, as the last thing he wanted was to give Buffy the chance to mix with others.
They walked on, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about the things around them. Spike seemed genuinely interested in the world his kind wanted to claim. He asked about its history, and its customs. He commented about the weather, and wanted to know the names of various plants they saw.
Buffy was happy to answer, surprising herself as to how much she actually knew. She'd never been too interested in school, and, once she was called, she had been removed from school to live with her Watcher and his family. From then on, her only subjects of study had been demonology and fighting skills. Not that she'd ever impressed her Watcher with her enthusiasm for her studies.
They'd been silent for a while, and she'd been thinking about her past. Spike's question surprised her.
"So, what's the life of a Slayer like on this world?"
It was more personal than anything else he'd asked, but she didn't see any harm in answering.
"Good," she replied. "Slayers are pretty much famous. Everyone knows them, and you get to live in a big house, and you've got plenty of cash. People want to know you, be your friend, whatever. Sometimes, though, you don't know whether they just want the Slayer for a friend, or if they really want you."
"Poor little rich girl," Spike teased. Buffy turned to face him, ready to point out that he'd asked, but the expression on his face held no malice.
"I suppose," she answered. "Thing is, Slayers don't live long. I'm about the oldest there's been, and I'm not going to get a lot older if you have your way. So, the way the people see it, they get to do all their living in a short time. Pretty much whatever we want, as long as it doesn't interfere with Slaying, it's ours. And, we're not expected to conform to … other standards."
Spike's face showed his amusement. "Other standards?"
Buffy looked at him, and blushed. She couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed, but she was doing it anyway. It was quite obvious that Spike knew what she meant, judging by the expression on his face, but he was playing stupid.
"You know what I mean. On this world, nice girls don't get … involved with men until they're married. Slayers don't marry, but the rules don't apply."
"So, do you have someone?" There was something about his voice that almost frightened Buffy.
"No, not now. I've never found someone I liked enough to keep around."
Spike looked as though he was about to ask another question, but he stopped himself. Buffy took the opportunity to turn the tables on him.
"So, how old are you anyway?"
He seemed surprised at the question. "Don't really keep track of it. I've been a vampire for, what, over a century? Don't really understand the mortal preoccupation with age."
"But, you were mortal, once."
"Yeah." His voice was a whisper. There was something in the voice. Was it regret? Or relief?
"So, what happened? How did you get turned?"
"Not important." The words came out more brusquely than he had intended, and Buffy's face showed her surprise.
There was a strained silence after that, which was eventually broken by Spike.
"It's hard, remembering things about being alive. Some things, it's not regret, not really, but there're some things you're never going to do. Things you take for granted while you're alive. But the advantages, well, apart from the whole immortality thing, there's the freedom. A bit like you Slayers. The rules just don't apply any more. Do what you want, when you want, well, as long as you don't irritate someone more powerful than you. It's hard to explain how it feels. I mean, unless you experience the feeling - you're so alive, even though, technically, you're dead."
"Was it hard, killing at first? Or did it come easily?"
Her voice only indicated curiosity, but Spike suspected an ulterior motive.
"Violence comes naturally. Never saw the point of killing, I mean, it's a one way trip, isn't it?"
"How many people have you killed?"
"Don't know. Never thought to add it up. Like I said, it's not often you have to, but, I defend myself. I've killed to defend others, sometimes. I've killed when it's necessary."
"And killing me is necessary?"
"I'm afraid it is, Pet. At the end of the day, I've got to look after my own kind. Just like you do when you kill mine. I didn't choose the way it is, I just live with it. Like you do."
Buffy was quiet for a while. She'd never thought of it in those terms. She had killed so many vampires in her life, she couldn't put a number to it either. They would have killed people if she hadn't, so she felt justified, but, if he had killed for the same reasons, was he really evil? Everything she had been taught, everything she had experienced, told her that vampires were evil. They didn't deserve anything other than a dusty end.
"But, you killed your own kind. Last night, you killed other vampires."
"Yeah, they were stupid. They'd been told to leave you alone, they knew you were important, even if they didn't know all the details. And then there was the whole 'self-defence' thing."
"And you saved my life."
That seemed to make him rather embarrassed. His reaction was to pick up the speed of their walk, forcing Buffy to hurry along in his wake. He was pleased to note that his leg was feeling much better. He couldn't see the bandage at all, but it didn't seem to have been bleeding for a while.
As night approached, they were nearing a village. Spike was in a quandary. In some ways, sleeping under the stars was the simplest option. He instinctively preferred the idea of avoiding contact for as long as possible. On the other hand, the long day had affected Buffy more than she admitted. The blood loss had left her lacking in energy, and it seemed to make her more vulnerable to the cold.
"How do you feel about spending the night in a warm bed?" he asked.
Buffy was surprised at the question. "As opposed to what? Sleeping on the ground? Because, got to say, not a difficult decision."
"That's what I thought. We're close to a village. Suppose we circle around it, and come in from the other direction. That way, the locals'll be more likely to trust us."
"Sure," Buffy answered. She was surprised at the suggestion, and she was so tired, she was sure she would have slept anywhere, but the prospect of warmth was undeniably welcome.
On arriving in the village, Spike enquired if there was an inn of any type in the area. The reply was that there wasn't, but that someone at the other end of the village had a spare room she had been know to let out to travellers. Spike led Buffy to the house indicated and knocked on the door.
It took only a few moments and a little haggling to procure the room along with the promise of a hot meal and breakfast in the morning. Unfortunately, it would be necessary to eat with the family, increasing the contact with humans, but it couldn't be helped.
They were led up a narrow, dark, staircase to a room with windows to the back of the house. It was clean, but somewhat lacking in other than the barest amenities. There was a double bed, a chair, and a table with a basin for washing. Their hostess bustled away to get some water so they could 'refresh themselves before eating', leaving them alone.
As soon as the woman had gone, Buffy flopped on the bed. She couldn't remember ever feeling this exhausted. The combination of losing her Slayer strength and the blood loss had left her weaker than ever. Spike watched in concern as she lay there, her eyes closed, his enhanced hearing all too aware of the way her heart was racing, and her breathing laboured. When their hostess returned with the water, she asked about preferences for food that night. As chance would have it, one of the options was liver casserole, and Spike immediately indicated his preference for that. Buffy started to object, but he over-ruled her.
"You could do with the iron, Pet. You know that."
"But, I don't like liver," she objected.
"Oh, I've heard that before," their hostess interjected. "But everyone loves my liver casserole. You wait and see."
As soon as they were alone again, Buffy tried to argue again. She was sick of a steady diet of cheese, and she was hungry. Spike wouldn't listen, just smiled as she tried to argue.
"I bet you always argued about eating your veg when you were little, too."
"I …" she replied, about to refute the suggestion.
"I guess I did," she admitted sheepishly. She was fast getting the impression that Spike knew far too much about her.
Dinner passed without incident. To her surprise, Spike ate with the rest of them, apparently enjoying the meal. Buffy found the casserole surprisingly palatable, but, she told herself, it was just because she was so hungry. To her delight, there were fresh garden vegetables to accompany the casserole, and a selection of fruit for afterwards. Conversation during the meal centred around the threat from the invaders. The people of the village were terrified, and felt very vulnerable that close to the line. The news from the capital wasn't too good either, and that was why they had remained. Apparently food was short there, and people were actively discouraged from leaving their homes. When the meal was over, the two travellers retired to their room, with wishes for a peaceful night.
Exhausted as she was, Buffy was keen to get out of the clothes she was wearing before she slept. Her shirt was only decent because it was too big. The incident of the previous night had left it without buttons, and she had worn it tucked into her trousers, the overlap large enough to keep it closed.
"Do you have anything I could sleep in?" she asked Spike. She had no other clothes in her pack, but she knew Spike had several changes.
"Might have," he answered before opening his pack. He rummaged around for a few moments before passing her the shirt she had worn after her bath.
"Thanks," she murmured, feeling embarrassed.
To her relief, he turned his back again, giving her the chance to change in private. When she indicated she was ready, she had already climbed into the bed. She was sitting, with the covers up to her waist.
"You going to turn your face too?" he asked.
"If you want," she replied, pulling the covers up over her head.
When she looked again, he was wearing just a pair of baggy trousers she hadn't seen before. "Don't normally wear anything to sleep in," he commented, "but, I suppose I've got to compromise."
Sitting on the bed, he started to roll one of the legs of his trousers up to have a look at his injury.
"Lie on the bed, and I'll look at it," Buffy huffed at him.
With a shrug, Spike complied.
When she removed the bandage, Buffy was able to see for herself that the bleeding had stopped. The injury didn't look as if it was healing, though. And, the skin around the wound was a funny greenish colour.
"Is it supposed to be green?" she asked. "It's just, I was taught to slay vampires, not how to give first aid."
"Green? Let me see," Spike snapped. He managed to contort himself enough to get a look.
"Looks like there was more than just Vargas spittle on that knife. Some sort of poison, I suspect, but I don't know what. Still, it's not hurting too much, and it didn't slow me up today, so I guess it's not too serious."
He got up from the bed, and pulled out some fresh bandages. Buffy did what she could, noticing that despite his comments, Spike seemed to tense every time she touched him. Of course, that didn't just apply to when she touched the leg. Touching his shoulder had the exact same effect.
Spike sat on the bed, bending and straightening his leg at the knee. It was obvious that it was less comfortable when the knee was bent, and he turned to look at Buffy. He was wanted to explain what he wanted without spooking her, but he wasn't sure how to do it. She had been watching, and spoke for him.
"You want to know if you can sleep in the bed too," she stated.
"Well, yeah, it'll be more comfortable. I'll stay to my side, won't try anything, I promise."
"Couldn't stop you if you did," Buffy reminded him bitterly. "You've been straight with me so far, so I believe you. Which side do you want? Beside the wall, or the outside?"
That got a smile. "I'll take the outside, Pet, if you don't mind. And, just in case you get any ideas, I'm a very light sleeper. And, if you did manage to escape, I'd be very put out, and I might have to take out my irritation on the family here. Now, I know you don't want that, so you'll be good, won't you?"
Buffy honestly couldn't decide how real the threat was. Any other vampire would not have been doubted. But, any other vampire wouldn't have asked her permission to share the bed, and wouldn't have promised to keep his distance. "Ok," she replied.
They settled down to sleep, and Buffy remembered nothing more.