Unmoved
By iyaorisha

Timing: AU S7

Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)

Summary: Spike has healed, but doesn't want to leave the Summers' house. Buffy struggles with flashbacks from the attempted rape. Meanwhile, Rack's twin sister seeks revenge for his death. Can Willow defend herself without resorting to magick?

("Unmoved" is the sequel to "Look What Love Gave Us" and the second in a series of four linked AU S7 fanfics I wrote in the summer of 2002.)

Rating/Warnings: R. Violence (including suggested domestic violence), language, F/M, M/M flashback, rape flashback, and torture.

Spoilers: None if you've seen up through S6. References to my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath" and "Look What Love Gave Us".

Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com

***
Chapter 4

The whole house seemed to reek of burned oil. Buffy's stomach roiled from a combination of nausea and hunger as she walked into the kitchen. At first, there was no sign of Willow or Ravesa. Then, the Slayer noticed that the back door was ajar. Walking outside into the dark, she could just discern the outline of two figures seated on the little bench across the yard. The night was moonless and she couldn't make out their faces or forms very well, but she knew it was her best friend and the dark-haired stranger. Clutching each other.

What was going on between Ravesa and Willow? At no point during the evening, had there been any hint of sexual tension between the two young women. But Willow was acting like a teenager with her first crush. And Ravesa's rude and presumptious behavior suggested that she felt confident of her place in Willow's life.

Buffy couldn't imagine Willow in love or lust with Ravesa who was in every way Tara's polar opposite. Still, there's no accounting for taste. Nor, she told herself, can you always explain who you'll turn to when you're lonely and in pain. Buffy was awash with a sudden flood of memories. Losing herself in Spike's skilled and passionate embrace. Cold hands and lips on the most intimate parts of her body. Welcoming every twisted and degrading thing that he did to her and made her do. And then, afterwards, taking a sick pleasure in the wounds left by these acts. The scratches and tender places scraped raw. Her aching jaw and strained muscles. Why had she tolerated --no sought out-- those things? Because sex with Spike distracted her from the waking nightmare that was life on earth after she was torn out of heaven. And because each encounter she survived with jugular intact made her briefly, so damn fleetingly glad that she was alive.

Buffy didn't want to believe that was what Willow was reduced to in her grief for Tara and her guilt over the deaths of Warren and Rack. But, if that was the case, she wasn't going to stand by and watch her best friend destroy herself that way.

She stepped down onto the grass, unsure of what she would say. Then she heard Dawn call out for her. She couldn't quite hear all of it, but the name Spike was intelligible enough. Buffy turned back toward the house in annoyance, then hesitated. She looked back at the entwined silhouettes. Strained to see more clearly. She still couldn't make out the figures very well. But one was obviously consoling the sobbing other.

If Buffy had known that it was Willow crying, she might not have gone into the house. But Dawn's voice was growing more shrill. Demanding that her sister make Spike do something. The Slayer sighed and headed back into the house to see what the peroxided bane of her existence was up to now.

***
Willow Rosenberg was engaged in that awful gulping and shaking sort of crying that she thought only small children did. She told herself that it was from anger and embarrassment at the cruel way her friends had treated Ravesa. But deep down, a little voice gibbered that she was sobbing from fear. Fear that her new friend was so upset by the evening's events that she would never return to the house. No, worse; that Ravesa might never wanted to see Willow again.

A calmer Willow would have instantly discerned that Ravesa did not seem the least bit traumatized. True, the dark-haired woman did bear the shiny tracks of dried tears on her cheeks. But these were in fact, a glamour created by Rack's sister as she bolted from Dawn's bedroom and down the stairs. She whispered the last words of the spell just as Willow caught up with her.

Ravesa pretended to be too frightened to remain in the house. She allowed the redhead to lead her outside to a bench. Once seated, Ravesa clasped Willow tightly. The embrace delivered the third dose of the binding spell.

Willow inhaled Ravesa's unique scent and was again struck by the oddest sense of intimacy. She had known the brunette ex-witch less than half a day, but felt they were... soulmates. She pulled back to look into Ravesa's eyes.

At that moment, Rack's twin told her brother's killer that she had made a terrible mistake in coming to the house. "No, Ravesa." Willow cried. "I swear, Spike's not a threat. I just wanted you to see why he couldn't go to a doctor."

Ravesa shook her head. "It's not that, Willow."

"What is it then?"

Ravesa took a deep breath. "Your friends wanted to frighten me. And they succeeded." She lied. "Even before you revealed that Spike is a vampire, I could sense that he wanted to do me harm. And not just him. Buffy, too. And even, Dawn. I'm not welcome in that house."

Willow vehemently denied this.

The brunette shook her head. "Willow, you know it's true. The only one who wanted me there tonight was you." she paused. "And I think that in time the tension would have made you want me to leave as well."

"No. Things were awkward, but they'll get better." Willow protested. "They're just slow to accept new people. If they see how much you mean to me, they'll..."

"They'll force you to choose." Ravesa said harshly.

Some part of Willow's mind told her that this whole conversation and her emotional turmoil over it were both very wrong. But the binding spell suppressed it. The redhead dissolved into sobs.

She buried her face into Ravesa's neck as the brunette's arms enfolded her. Breathed in more of the binding spell. Felt like her whole body was longing for Ravesa. Not a sexual longing; though on some level, she felt that if Ravesa had desired her, she would comply. Willingly. Gladly. No, it went beyond sex. It went beyond explaining. Or human understanding.

"Ravesa, don't leave me." Willow whispered.

"Willow, you knew when we met this afternoon that I would be part of your life for only a very short time. I'm risking this stay near the Hellmouth only because of an obligation to the only family member I had left. Once it is discharged, I'll leave again."

"You don't have to." Willow wept.

Ravesa shook her head. "You know I do. Let's just make the best of the time we have."

Willow nodded and dried her tears. She would do that. But she would also find someway to get her friends to accept Ravesa. So that she would stay. So that Willow could be complete again.

***
Some part of Buffy that held an appreciation for the absurd struggled not to laugh at the sight in front of her. Spike was backed against the wall by her little sister. His soot-stained hair was completely disarranged and he held Dawn's sock monkey up as a shield. "No!" he was shouting. Then he spotted Buffy.

"Slayer!" He yelped with obvious relief. "Get your sister away from me."

Buffy couldn't help laughing then, as the vampire scuttled past Dawn and ran to hide behind her. "What is she trying to put more gauze on you?"

"No," Spike roared. "The Nibblet's gone completely mad. Dawn wants me to feed off her!"

Buffy stopped laughing. She didn't know who to glare at. Spike was a familiar target, though. She grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the closet door hard enough to set the house rattling. A stake appeared in her right hand. "Why shouldn't I spare you the itching phase of those burns?" she asked him.

Dawn was at her side, pleading. " No, Buffy. Spike didn't do anything. I was just trying to get him to eat. Y'know so he would heal faster."

She was incredulous. "But, why would you want him to eat you?"

Dawn blushed. "I brought Spike a glass of pigs' blood. But he said it had turned and he didn't want to drink it. That why I was calling you. I thought you could make him. But you took so long getting up here that he poured it all out into the wastebasket. So, I thought that he might drink...well, some of mine. Not a lot, just enough to tide him over until the morning when one of us could get to the slaughterhouse."

"Oh, Dawnie!" Buffy sighed.

"But Spike refused."

"Yes, I refused!" Spike gasped. "Can you put away the stake now?"

She released him and hid the weapon back in her jeans.

Spike slid to the floor and gave them both reproachful looks. "I don't think I can stay here after all. With the exception of Dru, you Summers' women are the barmiest bints I've had the displeasure to meet. She," he pointed at Dawn, "offers me her neck. 'Cause it's the sane -and I might add, moral thing to do, I refuse. And what do I get for it, she" he indicated Buffy, "wants to dust me!"

His sense of having been wronged was so enormous that Buffy found herself struggling not to laugh again. She took her sister by the arm. "Dawn, you can not invite Spike to feed off you. It's wrong. You should know better."

"But you let him drink your blood when you staked him." The teen protested.

"That was different. He had a serious wound and major blood loss. And I didn't invite him to feed from me." Buffy shuddered at the thought. "Those burns will heal without your blood."

Dawn sighed. "I know. I just wanted to make up it."

"Well, you can take him shopping tomorrow." Buffy said. "He needs some new shirts. I promised him ten for saving your butt."

The teen was delighted. "Really?"

"Sure. That is, if he's decided to stay."

The sisters turned to Spike. The blonde vampire still regarded them with distrust.

"I'm sorry, Spike." Dawn said.

"It's okay, Nibblet. Just don't go tempting me like that." He looked pointedly at Buffy and waited.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Spike."

He still seemed to be waiting.

"I've already asked you to stay. I'm not going to say it again."

The vampire gave a disgusted snort. "I wasn't really going to leave." He stood up. "I just want your word that you won't assume I'm in the wrong the next time someone wants me to bite them."

Buffy looked at him. He was making little effort to conceal the hurt in his eyes. She realized he was right. She heard the words "feed" and "Dawn" in the same sentence and it made her want to reduce him to dust. Even though it was obvious that he was trying hard to fend off her sister. Even though he'd risked himself to save Dawn not more than an hour earlier. And pledged to keep her safe. Even if it meant killing again.

Was it always going to be this way with him? The rush to judgment. The stake ready in her hand. If so, she was no better than Xander in her inability to forgive Spike's past deeds and accept his repentance. She wanted for Dawn's sake and, even for her own, to make a complete peace with the ensouled vampire. But, it seemed impossible. Maybe she couldn't forgive because she couldn't forget. How could she ever forget?

Suddenly, all the strain of the day hit the Slayer very hard. She turned to the door. "I've got to call Xander. See if he can repair this mess."

As Spike watched Buffy walk away, he wondered if he had really expected her to promise to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was more likely to survive sunrise at the beach than to ever regain her trust.

***
He wanted to kiss her so badly. The whole evening all he could think about were her lips. She was wearing this ruby red lipstick that made her mouth look so ripe and inviting. The caveman part of his brain said a girl didn't wear that shade if she wasn't asking to be kissed. His common sense and recent experience wasn't quite sure.

Would it sound foolish to ask? I'd like to kiss you, Xander murmured.

Across the room, Anya paused in hanging up their jackets. "Did you say something?"

He lost his courage. "No."

She smiled and shut the closet door. "Do you want a drink? I have some of that expensive beer that you like."

"No, thank you. Um, Anya, please come here." He patted the couch cushion next to him.

She sat down and looked at him expectantly.

Xander wasn't sure where to start. "We've been seeing a lot of each other recently, right."

"We've had seven official dates in two weeks. That's not counting the four times that we had coffee when you stopped by the Magic Box. Or taking into account stopping for ice cream on the way home from Buffy's."

Xander smiled. Trust Anya to try to quantify things. "Well, what I meant is that we've enjoyed each other's company rather frequently. At least I've enjoyed it and I think you have too."

Anya nodded. "The movie tonight was very enjoyable. Despite my chosen vocation, I found the combination of romance and comedy quite appealing."

"That wasn't what I meant, Anya"

She looked puzzled.

"I mean we enjoy being together. You and me. No matter what we're doing." He paused. "Don't you feel that way, too?"

The smile on her luscious mouth was all the answer he needed.

"And I was thinking," he continued. "Um hoping that..."

Anya waited expectantly as Xander waited for the right words.

He opened his mouth and his cell phone rang. "Sorry, I'll get rid of whoever it is."

It was Buffy. Anya wasn't surprised. Who else would call Xander on his cell phone at nearly eleven o'clock at night. No doubt, the Slayer had already left a dozen messages on Xander's home answering machine.

From the side of the conversation she could hear, there was a fire at the Summers' house. Or there had been. She heard Xander sigh with relief that no one was hurt but Spike. Of course, he would come over to look at the damage. He hung up and stood up awkwardly. "Anya..."

She stood up, too.

"There was a fire at Buffy's..."

And now, you're running over there, she thought bitterly. "I understand. You have to go."

Xander looked into her eyes. A thousand years old and she couldn't conceal her disappointment anymore than a four year old receiving a pair of socks for his birthday. It was clear, if he left now, he should plan on never coming back.

"No. Not tonight at least." He pulled her toward him and kissed those irresistible lips. Then he picked her up, the kind of suave sweeping off the feet that movie heroes did with ease, but he'd always screwed up before. This time, though, he didn't bump Anya's head against the doorframe as he carried her into the bedroom.

When he set her down and closed the door, he noticed that she was trembling. Xander was shaking, too. Fear mixed with desire.

It was not just the odd notion of making love to a demon. At first, Xander wasn't sure he could drive the images of Anya and Spike's sexual encounter from his mind. But Anya felt so right in his arms. So right, that it hurt him physically when she moved away to loosen the tie that held her wrap dress together.

They shed their clothing slowly, watching each other. When Anya slipped out of the last garment, dove gray tap pants and stood before him, Xander felt like he was seeing her for the first time. Gone was the almost too slim body of the teenager Anyanka had become when Giles destroyed her amulet. Now her breasts were fuller and her hips sweetly curved. Womanhood had come to Anya.

"You're so beautiful, Baby." She blushed under the heat of his stare, but her own admiration was no less ardent.

Though Xander went to work in a suit and tie as often overalls these days, he'd worked hard to melt away the extra pounds from pre-wedding piggishness. Now, his body was hard again. All lean muscles on a swimmer's broad shouldered and slim-waisted frame.

Anya closed the short distance between their bodies and offered her mouth to him again. When he kissed her, her arms went around his neck. He pulled her even closer, amazed by the perfection of the skin under his rough workman's hands. His hands traced the delicate bones of her shoulderblades and spine as she stood on tiptoe and moved her mouth to his neck.

As he caressed her, Xander found the words to say what was in his heart. He wanted to make love to her, but that wasn't why he stayed. He was here now with her because it was the only place that was really right for him to be. It was a terrible mistake to leave her at the altar. A worse one to lash out at her because she turned in her pain to D'Hoffryn, accepting her old master's offer of returning to demonhood. And most of all, he apologized for his reaction to her liaison with Spike. Unforgivable, he murmured into her hair. But he hoped she would find a way to forgive him, but he was nothing without her.

She was crying happily now as he kissed her. She made her own apologies. Told him how empty her Xander-less life was. She found no pleasure to vengeance anymore, perhaps because she finally understood all that could go wrong no matter how much you loved the other person. Even tallying the day's sales at the Magic Box had lost allure.

Xander was careful not to laugh at this last comment. He understood. Anya wanted this reconciliation as badly as he did. "I can't make up for everything." He said hoarsely. "But I want to do whatever it takes to rebuild our dream."

"You can start by making love to me." Anya whispered through her tears.

He was more than glad to comply.

Anya allowed Xander to lift her once more and place her on the bed. Beneath her, the satin coverlet was chilly against her bare skin and she shivered. But his mouth upon her nipple soon warmed her. As he suckled, her hands explored the planes and angles of Xander's body. His hands too were busy, kneading her bottom and teasing her inner thighs. She parted her legs and he settled between them, his hardening cock brushing against her.

"Don't make me wait," She cried. "We have all night."

"Tomorrow morning, too." Xander laughed as he entered her.

It was like being enveloped in heated, liquid silk. He held still for a moment to better relish the sensation of their joined bodies. And then, as Anya bent her head and wickedly licked the underside of his chin, Xander began to move above her with infinite slowness.

The languid strokes made the pleasure building inside Anya mount unbearably. She clasped her long legs around the small of Xander's back to better thrust against him. He moaned into her ear as she uncontrollably tightened the inner muscles of her sex. "Oh. Oh, my love."

They rested for a moment, her heart thudding pleasantly against his chest. Then she pushed him over and straddled him. "Anya," Xander breathed as she slipped onto him. "This time I set the pace." She laughed.

It was a hard and fast rhythm. One that brought her to orgasm a second time and left him gasping even before his own crest hit. He cried out her name as he exploded inside her.

And, for once, in one small corner of Sunnydale, everything was as it should be.

***
Buffy lay on her bed fully dressed. She was aware that she was ruining the coverlet, but felt too tired to remove her grimy clothes. At present, the most she had energy for was staring at the ceiling. And even that was beginning to exhaust her.

Lately, she felt like her life was moving in a dreary circle of work, Slaying, and if she was lucky a few hours of sleep. Only Giles' occasional creativity with training routines broke the monotonous pattern. And now that he was away on a buying trip for the Magic Box, she lacked even that.

It wasn't even that Buffy craved excitement. She got enough of that with the various denizens of the Hellmouth. Rather, she wanted to feel that her life had some meaning beyond her destiny as the chosen one.

Only two short years ago, she thought things could hardly get better. Her college grades weren't stellar, but she had successfully earned enough credits to gain sophomore status. And, though her heart still ached for Angel, she had Riley. Despite the twin thorns in her side of her bratty kid sister and chip-neutered vampire, she felt satisfied. She was even beginning to share her mom's dream of something, someday resembling a normal life. A real career. Maybe marriage and children.

How quickly it all fell apart. Riley's betrayal, ultimatum, and departure. Dropping out of school because of Joyce's illness and eventually death.

By the time of the final battle with Glory, Buffy had nothing left to lose, except Dawn.

It was almost a relief to die. To be done with all the endless fighting and worrying. Even without heaven, even if all that her freed soul had found was an eternity of nothingness, Buffy would have accepted it.

But, she was dragged back into living. And like so many things humans did with reluctance, she'd screwed it up. Ignoring both Willow's addiction to magick and Dawn's growing delinquency. Not to mention the whole disastrous relationship with Spike.

Buffy had hoped that Giles' return to Sunnydale would provide some direction to her life. The former Watcher's mentoring did return a much-needed edge to her fighting skills. But she was still emotionally adrift.

It was at times like this that Buffy missed her mother the most. And not just for the pep talk. How different life would be right now if she had lived. Joyce's calm, loving ways had kept the Summers' home a refuge from much of the chaos of living in Sunnydale. Buffy was trying her hardest to replicate that, but she was falling miserably short. The fire tonight was proof of that. Why hadn't she taught Dawn not to throw water on a grease fire? Or not to wear long, dangly sleeves near the stove? Thank God for Spike, she thought.

As she remembered the blond vampire's act of heroism, Buffy felt her inner conflict increase. That Spike was even at dinner tonight was another sign of her inability to get her life together. She should have removed the charges from his crypt two weeks ago. Instead, she let him linger on in the house.

The Slayer shook her head. If he hadn't been there tonight, Dawn would be lying in a hospital bed right now, crisped and charred from the flaming oil. Her exhausted mind replayed the effort to put his blazing body out. She saw his head strike the chair as she knocked him down. Felt the flames try to claim her as well as she rolled both their bodies on the kitchen floor. Saw the horrible burns on his hands and chest. Smelled tobacco and whiskey as she bent over him to breathe unneeded air into his lifeless lungs.

Buffy Summer's last thought as she fell asleep: Spike's mouth had tasted like smoke and honey.

***
(Continued in Chapter 5)