Title: No Rest for the Wicked
Author: PrettyPoppy
Summary: Two months after Spike leaves for Africa, Buffy begins encountering him in her dreams. Disgusted and horrified, she is helpless to make them stop. Ultimately, Buffy must discover for herself that there is only one thing that can make the nightmares end. Post "Grave."
Author's Notes: Although I have loved the Spike/Buffy interaction in Season 7, there is a part of me that feels that what happened between them in "Seeing Red" was glossed over way too easily on the show. This is simply another version of how Spike and Buffy could have found their way back to each other - without Spike being insane and without The First being involved. There is a strong "Fool For Love" influence here, as evidenced by the first scene alone. I will also be freely referencing other episodes throughout, as that's half the fun. Rated R
WARNING: Much of this story takes place in Spike and Buffy's dreams. In two of these instances, Spike dreams that he actually succeeds in raping Buffy. The scenes are not gratuitous, but they are graphic enough to get the point across. I thought it was only fair to warn people before they begin reading, as it's not my intention to offend anyone.
Feedback: Yes, please. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net
Distribution: If you want it, just let me know
Disclaimer: Joss is a god. The rest of us are just his lowly minions. I own nothing. Joss owns everything.
* * *
Chapter One
The room was spinning. She could feel the warmth of a dozen bodies pressing in around her, the sound of a dozen voices all speaking at once. It was hot. Hot and stuffy. She could feel her chest constricting, her ribs incased in a viselike grip. She was suffocating.
She tried to focus on something, anything. She needed to know where she was and what was going on.
She heard a humming around her. The low, dizzying hum of a myriad voices all chattering at once. Everything was hazy and she couldn't seem to remember where she was.
Suddenly, a clear, familiar voice broke through the chaos.
"So, we'll get this done as quickly as possible, and then all will be well."
Buffy turned around to see Giles standing behind her. He was dressed rather strangely, she thought. Typical snooty English attire, but even more snooty than usual - if that were possible. There was something outdated and formal about his suit. Then Buffy looked down at her own clothes.
She was wearing a powder blue gown, with a full skirt, and apparently some sort of bustle thingy in the back. She couldn't see the bustle, but she could certainly feel it. Instinctively, her hands flew to her chest, to the iron grip that was cutting off her oxygen. But there was nothing there. No demon, no vampire trying to squeeze the life out of her. Just the confines of a whalebone corset. As Buffy scanned the room, she realized that she was not dressed all that differently than the other women present.
"So what exactly are we doing here?" Buffy asked. She couldn't remember why Giles had brought her here.
"There's some information we need to acquire that was not accessible any other way. You'll be fine Buffy. Just mingle, and well, at least try not to get into any trouble."
"Giles, please, I think I can handle myself. This is Victorian England after all. Isn't it?" Buffy was unsure. "What possible trouble could I get into?"
"Right. What trouble indeed? Just do your best. Follow your instincts."
"Follow my instincts?" Buffy turned to look at Giles again. "What the heck is that supposed to . . .?"
But he was already gone
Buffy meandered through the crowd, doing her best to "follow her instincts." Whatever that was supposed to mean. Those very instincts led her to the far edge of the room where she found a long sofa beckoning for her to take her ease.
Buffy absently pulled off her gloves and flopped down on the brocaded couch. "I wish I had something to stake," she mumbled to herself.
"Pardon me?" a very sweet, almost familiar voice, asked from the seat beside her.
Buffy turned her head, which was lazily resting on the back of the couch, and looked at her companion. "Oh nothing. You wouldn't . . ." Buffy froze. Her mouth fell open and she stared, wide-eyed and shocked, at the "stranger" beside her.
Buffy felt like she was about to fall through the floor. There, sitting in the chair beside her, was William. William! Spike's William. William the Bloody. The one and only.
Buffy tried to breathe, but found she couldn't.
"Is there something wrong? Have I upset you?" he asked, suddenly alarmed.
"Nooo," came her slow reply. "No, it's not that." Buffy pulled herself up in her seat and moved closer to him. How very much like Spike he looked. "It's just, you remind me of someone."
"Someone not so pleasant, apparently."
Buffy couldn't help but smile at that. "He has his moments."
"Well, a true gentleman is always considerate of a lady. He does not need to just 'have his moments.'"
Buffy felt her heart beginning to race. It was Spike, but it wasn't Spike. It had been so long since she had seem him, she hadn't realized just how very much she had missed him. Even though this was indeed William, she couldn't turn away. Somehow even he had managed to captivate her.
"So, you're William, right?" she asked, at a loss for anything else to say.
"You know me?" He seemed genuinely surprised.
"By reputation. I've heard about your poetry," she said, motioning toward the paper and pen he held in his lap.
"Ah, well, it isn't terribly good, but it is heartfelt."
The words "bloody awful" danced through her mind, but she knew better than to say anything.
"I scarcely think we should be talking though, as we have not been properly introduced."
"I'm Buffy," she said, extending her hand to him in a forthright gesture.
He seemed stunned. He just stared at her hand for a moment, apparently unsure of what to do with it.
A small sigh escaped her throat, as she turned her hand a little, offering it this time to be kissed, and not shaken. "Miss Buffy Anne Summers."
William brightened a little, finally in his element. Gently, he took Buffy's hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss.
The simple caress was a shock for Buffy. His lips were so warm, unlike Spike's. She reveled in the feel of them against her skin, heat spreading through her body unbidden. His hand was warm too, the contact between them exquisite.
He was so much like Spike, it was frightening. He had the power to affect her even with the simplest touch. So, he had a high body temperature, dark hair, and a pair of spectacles. In every other way he was the man she knew. The same sapphire blue eyes, the same high cheekbones, the same beautiful mouth. Buffy stared at that mouth as he looked up at her quizzically. She shook herself and tried to focus on purer thoughts.
They sat there for a moment in silence. Buffy pretended not to stare, but she was having serious difficulty. She was entranced by him, utterly and completely fascinated. Spike was evil, but William was good and faultless. He couldn't be held responsible for the things Spike had done. Something in him called to Buffy. She couldn't explain what it was, but she needed to connect with him.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Feeling increasingly frustrated, she broke the silence. "William?"
"Yes?"
"How about some fresh air?" Buffy bounded out of her seat and grabbed his hand, dragging him with her. She needed to get out, out of the stuffy confines of the room, and into the night air. She needed to be alone with William. Something inside of her was driving her to him.
"Uh, no, wait. We can't go out there alone. People will talk." He tried to pull away.
"Then let them talk."
Buffy dragged him out into the alleyway beside the large, London townhouse. It wasn't much different from the alleys in her own Sunnydale.
She pulled him over to the wall of the building and cornered him there.
"Well, that was lovely. Had all the fresh air we need. Now, let's go back inside," he said, as he tried to get passed her.
"Not so fast," she said, reaching out and resting her hands on either side of him. "I want to talk to you."
"We can just as easily talk inside as . . ."
Buffy didn't let him finish. In a moment of pure insanity, driven only by instinct, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him soundly on the mouth.
He stood there frozen, his body refusing to respond in any way to her advance.
She pulled back. "It's all right," she whispered against his lips.
"No, I'm afraid it's not." His voice trembled. "Really, Miss Summers, this is quite unseemly."
"No it's not. It's not like we've never done this before."
"Excuse me?" he asked, finally regaining some of his courage. "I can assure you that we have never done this before."
"Another time, another place." She laid her hand on his chest and stared up into his eyes.
He flinched at the contact. "I don't know what you're talking about. But I would very much like it if you would let me go now. I have never in my life disrespected a lady, but if you do not remove your hand from my person, I may be forced to manhandle you."
Buffy smiled. She couldn't help it. She knew that technically, this wasn't Spike, and yet, how many times had she seen this side of him? The man in front of her was a part of Spike. Perhaps the deepest, most important part. The part that made him capable of loving, in spite of not having a soul. The part of him that could be sweet, and tender, and romantic. The part of him that could cry. She wanted to know that part, much more intimately.
She searched his eyes, captivated by their brilliance. They were so very much like Spike's - but somehow deeper - if that were possible. There was a spark there she had never seen before. Something warm and alive. Something she couldn't pull away from. "Would you like to manhandle me?" she asked.
She heard him choke.
Buffy took a step back, never breaking eye contact. "Do you believe in vampires, William?"
"What?" He was genuinely confused.
"Vampires. You know, the undead? Bloodsucking fiends that stalk their prey at night? Vampires?"
"Yes, I know what vampires are. But I certainly do not believe in them. Just fairy stories, made up to scare children."
Buffy sensed that they had scared him as a child. "Well, they're real."
"Preposterous!"
"Oh really?" Buffy reached into the small purse attached to her dress and pulled out a stake. "Then why do I carry this around?"
She moved up closer to him, and pressed the stake against his chest. He inhaled a sharp breath at the contact.
"I have no idea. You are a very peculiar girl. Are you sure that you haven't escaped from Bedlam?"
"I'm the Slayer."
"The Slayer?" he asked, as if talking to a child. "And what might that be?"
"I'll show you." Buffy put the stake back in her purse and retreated a few steps. "I realize that you've apparently never attacked a woman before. But, for argument's sake? I want you to try."
"You want me to what?" He stared at her aghast.
"Attack me. Trust me. It'll be fun."
"I most certainly will not. And if you do not desist this instant, in these lunatic ramblings, I shall be forced to call a constable." He looked up and down the empty street as if looking for someone to help him back up his threat.
"It's just an experiment. Jeez, Spike. Give it a rest."
"Spike?"
"Yeah. Look," she refused to explain, "just come at me. Consider it your moral duty. If you catch me, you can turn me in to the nearest constable and see that I'm safely locked away, where I will no longer be a threat to myself or society. All right?"
He looked at her skeptically.
"Oh come on!"
"Very well. But only because it is my moral duty. You are a very sick girl, Miss Summers. A very sick girl."
"Tell me about it," she whispered under her breath.
William took a tentative step toward her, and Buffy wanted to laugh. Apparently, William didn't possess quite the same survival instincts as Spike. He seemed scared to come near her.
Buffy glared at him, hands on her hips, clearly exasperated. "Sometime before the beginning of the Edwardian era."
He moved a little more quickly, coming to a stop right in front of her. Then, he reached out his hand and tried to grab her arm.
Buffy quickly countered his move, grabbing him instead, and flipping him over onto his back. He hit the ground with a sickening "thud." He didn't move.
Buffy approached him cautiously. She knelt down beside him, trying her best not to panic. His eyes were closed, and she couldn't tell if he was breathing. "William?"
He slowly opened his eyes. "Ow!" He brought his hand to the back of his head and rubbed the offended area. "I'm sorry, but are you completely and totally insane? I think you broke something." He tried to sit up, but was having difficulty.
Buffy helped him.
"Really Miss, I think you should go. Please. I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I'm not a man to be trifled with. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. I never knew they were such a breed of lunatics, though. If it's money you want," he pulled out his purse, and offered her several crisp bills, "take what you like and just leave me alone."
Buffy took both the money and the purse from his hands. She folded the bills up and put them back in their proper place. Then she reached inside his coat and slipped the whole thing back into his pocket. He sighed heavily when she touched him.
"William . . ."
"Miss Summers, please . . ."
Despite his protests, she helped pull him up so that he was standing beside her once more. "I'm sorry."
"That's quite all right Miss. No harm done. Good night." He moved to walk away but she grabbed him again, this time pulling him into a passionate embrace. She kissed him heatedly, trying to arouse that decadent part of him she knew was there.
It worked. In spite of his former protests, she could feel his arousal.
He started kissing her back. He was less experienced than Spike, but what he lacked in experience, he made up for in innate sensuality. His lips were so soft, so warm, and she could tell he was trying desperately to please her.
Finally, remembering himself, he pulled back. "Miss Summers . . ."
"Don't." Buffy pulled him to her, and kissed him again.
His hands gently began stroking the bare flesh of her arms, then moved lower to her waist. Buffy took the initiative, and pushed him back up against the wall. She entwined her fingers in his hair - his beautiful, dark, wild hair. So unlike Spike's. She pulled off his glasses and threw them aside. He tried to protest, but she recaptured his mouth with her own, silencing him.
Buffy leaned closer, her limbs trembling, her heart thrumming against her ribs. It had been so long. So long since she had been close to him. So long since she had been able to touch him. It felt like a lifetime.
He lowered his head and began kissing her neck. "Spike, I want you," she moaned softly. Spike?"
"Yes luv?" He looked up at her, yellow eyes gleaming, lumpies in full force.
"Spike?!" she screamed in alarm, as he bared his fangs and bit into her neck.
Buffy's eyes shot open and she sat up in bed. She was shaking. Her limbs were trembling and she was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Oh my God." She brought her hand to her mouth and sat there in shock. Spike. She was dreaming about Spike. Oh God, why?
It had been two months since Buffy had seen Spike. Two months since he had left town. Since that horrible night. She tried never to think of him. During her waking hours, whenever her mind wandered to thoughts of him, she always forced herself out of it. He was a monster. He had proven it once again. Once and for all. He had tried to rape her. What more proof did she need? She swore she would never again be weak enough to trust him. So, why was she doing this to herself? Why was she seeing him in her dreams? Worse, why was she trying to have sex with him in her dreams?
Buffy lay back down and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself back to sleep. It didn't work. The instant her eyes closed, she saw him, hovering before her. Those eyes, haunting her. What was it about his eyes? There was something different about them. They were unmistakably Spike's, but there was something else.
Frustrated, Buffy groaned and threw off the covers, moving to stand by her open window. She needed the fresh air to calm her nerves.
Oh God, what was wrong with her? She had dreamt about William. William! Not Spike. Why was she dreaming about seducing William? And why had it seemed so real? A desperately real and vivid dream. She had wanted him, wanted him more than she had ever imagined. Wanted him to be Spike more than she had ever imagined.
Buffy wrapped her arms about herself protectively and stared out, unseeing, into the darkness. Her body still trembled with unfulfilled desire. What was wrong with her? The fact that she had sought out William in her dream and not Spike, made little difference. She had allowed herself to want William in her dream because William was safe. William was good. William had not tried to brutally rape her. She knew all that. But she also knew that secretly, deep down inside, it was Spike - not William - from whom she had truly been seeking fulfillment.
It was wrong to want a man who had tried to violate you. Buffy knew that. She knew she couldn't trust Spike. That he truly was evil and that it was over. But somehow, her mind and body weren't convinced. Why were her own senses betraying her? What was she trying to tell herself?
She wanted Spike, she knew that. But no matter what happened in her dreams, she knew she could never trust him. Never again.
* * *
"So, Giles just handed you over to Spike? Kind of a handed you off and gave Spike his blessing?" Xander asked, as he watched a very distraught Buffy rummage around the kitchen for the pancake mix.
"No. He didn't just give me to Spike. It was kind of . . . oh, I don't know. He just left me there. And it wasn't Spike, it was William." Buffy found the mix hidden in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets, then she moved down the counter and pulled out a mixing bowl.
"William? Spike? Buffy, I'm not sure I'm liking this."
"Well, neither am I." Buffy hadn't wanted to tell Xander about the dream, but it was haunting her, and she didn't know what else do to. There was no one else to confide in. Willow was in England with Giles, and Dawn would definitely not be too keen on hearing any stories that involved her sister consorting with Spike, in human form or not. "It's not exactly my idea of a fun, enjoyable evening - making out with William the Bloody Awful Poet in a dark alley."
"Right. Of course." He didn't quite seem to believe her.
"Anyway," Buffy glared at him, "it was gross. And disturbing. And I'd really like to have my memory expunged sometime real soon."
"Maybe this is just something you have to go through, Buff. Maybe it's part of the healing process. Just think, a few more dreams like that, and maybe you'll actually get around to killing him."
Buffy gave him a dark look.
"Okay, maybe a few more dreams like that, and you'll end up killing yourself. Look Buff," he got up and moved closer to her, "it was just a dream. It doesn't have to mean anything. Not everything we dream does, you know? If it did, I'd be in serious trouble. Did I ever tell you the one about me, my mom and good old Mr. Gordo?"
"Ewww. Thankfully, no. Look, Xander, I'm trying. But it's hard. With Willow gone, and Giles gone, and all the turmoil of the last couple of months, I don't know where my head is at. I'll try to do better though. If Spike tries showing up in my dreams again tonight, I promise, I'll stake him.