An AU fic (no Initiative, chipped vamps, or Riley! I left out Dawn too just
because). I will warn readers, there is a little bit of S/A in here, but
not all parties involved are willing.
Disclaimer: These characters are products of Joss Whedon and Co, but most of the stuff in this story is mine. You know, all the witty comebacks, sexually awkward situations, and rabid tattooed monkeys! Okay, okay, maybe not the rabid tattooed monkeys, but you're an intelligent fanfic reader, you get the point. Thanks to everyone involved with the creation of this story. The few, the proud, the insane.
Chapter Two: Fool Me Twice
An half hour later, Willow strode through the doors of the apartment building, worriedly picking up the whispers which were obviously about her friend. They were supposed to be going out to the movies tonight, and since Buffy didn't drive yet, her friend was acting as chauffeur. This was one of Buffy's chief dislikes in life. When she had turned 20, the Slayer had finally moved away from her mother, but was still dependent on other people for transportation, much to her embarrassment.
Picking up her pace, the redheaded witch managed to keep a calm face on until in the stairway. Out of sight, she vaulted up the steps three at a time, noting the scrubbed but visible bloodstains with concern. Once outside the door, Willow considered knocking, but in the interest of time, used her spare key to enter the small apartment. Besides, goddess knew what state her friend was in!
Stepping inside Buffy's apartment was always like a trip back to childhood. In a determined attempt to avoid the morbidity of the rest of her life, the Slayer had painted her walls in bright, pastel colors. Even the furniture fit this ideal, the tables with softly rounded edges, walls laden with picture frames and whimsical paintings, and the lamps carefully chosen to provide as much light as possible. Of course, it was not a perfect haven, for weapons were hidden in many of the innocent-looking furniture pieces.
"With good reason." Willow muttered wryly as she searched for her injured friend.
In the small dwelling, it took a matter of seconds to find Buffy in the bathroom, staring absently into her mirror. Taking in the sight of her bloodied lips, bruises and various cuts, the witch couldn't help gasping out loud. The Slayer's glassy, lost eyes focused on Willow's reflection, and tears welled up as she struggled to say something.
"Shh," the redhead murmured, running a inch of water in the tub to clean off Buffy's feet and helping her stand in it. "I'll be right back, Buffy."
When Willow returned with a first aid kit and pajamas, the petite girl had not moved, transfixed by the reddish tint of the water around her swollen ankles. Silent tears ran down her face, aiding her friend in cleaning the wounds. Not a word was spoken until the witch produced the pajamas.
"Angel." Buffy read listlessly, wanting to scrape off every trace of the glittery writing off.
She had bought that sleepwear a while ago, as a whimsical joke. But they weren't funny anymore. She had probably doomed the world with her selfishness. She had been cursing herself a million times over since she got home, but it wasn't enough yet. It would never be enough for screwing everybody over--again. So much for learning from mistakes.
"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me," she hoarsely whispered.
"What?" Willow asked softly.
"Just go get another pair!" Buffy shouted, unstoppable sobs shaking her small frame.
Aware that something more than a beating had occurred tonight, the witch reminded herself not to make judgements on Buffy's actions. Returning with a royal blue spaghetti strap and matching drawstring pants, she managed to get the Slayer dressed and into her room.
"What happened, Buffy?" Willow queried, drawing a bright patchwork quilt over her friend's shivering body.
"Mom made this," was Buffy's only response, running her fingers over the neat stitches.
"Yeah, Joyce is really good at sewing," Willow agreed, before being struck by a horrible thought. "Nothing.please tell me nothing happened to her?"
Finally realizing that the Wiccan was worried out of her mind, the Slayer came out of her sorrowful trance. "No, no..not Mom. Angel."
"Want to tell me more or should I keep guessing?" her friend lightly pried.
"He came back." Buffy choked, "An..and..so did Spike. Spike knocked Angel out before I knew for sure, but I think."
"He lost his soul again." Willow finished when the Slayer's resolve ran out.
Buffy nodded, gesturing at her wounds. "And then Spike did all this to me."
"He ripped your clothes off too?" the witch said dubiously.
"No." the blonde whispered with downcast eyes. "Angel. And me.so now you know."
"Oh, goddess." Willow exclaimed. She had not understood what had happened with Angel's soul.
"It's all my fault!" the Slayer moaned, rocking back and forth. "I'm such a whore. "
Getting over her shock at Buffy's disclosure, Willow sat down on the bed and embraced her best friend.
"No, you aren't!" she vehemently argued. "You never get over your first love, even when you've moved on."
"Never." Buffy hoarsely agreed, too tired to continue the subject. Wiping the last of the tears off her face, she smiled weakly at the redheaded witch. "Have fun at the movie, Wills."
"I'll be right at home." Willow contradicted. "Call me if you need anything at all. I mean it."
"K," the Slayer mumbled, snuggling deeper into her nest of sheets.
By the time Willow softly locked the door behind herself, Buffy was already asleep, curled into the fetal position and deathly still.
********** On the other side of town, Spike and Drusilla had procured a elegant mansion rather easily. Drusilla convinced the owner to let them in, swaying her body in a shy yet sensual manner. The lecherous old fool completely ignored Spike's presence, but that was all part of the plan. In any case, her paramour had grown indifferent to this common occurrence. Damned if he would be jealous of a human anyway.
Once inside, the pair hit the elderly man from both sides, draining him dry in a matter of minutes. His blood was like a dry, well-aged wine, though not as filling as the blood of the younger. Spike dumped the body outside on the secluded lot. The place was so big anyway, the old eccentric would decompose before anyone found him. He reentered the house to find Drusilla gone, likely exploring the grounds. She'd probably find some dusty old painting and sit in front of it for the next hour or two, convinced the subject was telling her secrets. Well, that was just fine with Spike. She was a big girl, and he needed time alone.
Suddenly he found himself feeling unusually hot. Stripping everything off from the waist up, he still boiled, so he went in search of a bathroom and a cold bath. Ten minutes later he was immersed in the water and found some relief from the heat. His unanticipated illness puzzled him. After all, he hadn't been sick since he was a human, unless you counted bloodlust as a disease. As the water grew tepid from the fever of his body, he found his thoughts drifting to the Slayer, an image of her winded on the ground foremost in his mind.
It was funny how a man in search of a challenge either never finds it, or finds that he respects that obstacle because it so resembles himself. He appreciated her prowess as a fellow fighter, but that wasn't exactly what he was thinking about. He was acknowledging that had Buffy's eyes shown the least hint of belief she would die, he would have gone for the kill. Fate disgusted him because it contradicted his rebellious way of life. It was so much more fun flinging yourself against destiny and winning.
"Long time, no see, William," a voice interrupted with amusement. "I must admit I'm curious. However did you get into that tub with crippled legs?"
"Angelus." Spike greeted coolly, his eyes quick to notice Drusilla just behind her sire in the doorway.
Her face was luminous even staring at the back of Angelus' ugly head. She had probably slipped away to go find the other love of her unlife. It looked like he had some dusty paintings to go and destroy for 'telling' her that her sire was back to bad. Little ripped shreds of canvas would do nicely.
Masking his apprehension, Spike rose languidly from the tub without bothering to cover himself. It was nothing they had not seen before.
"Ah, so you've healed," the older male murmured, his eyes sliding blatantly over his childe's body. Spike pretended not to notice the stare or the discomfort it caused him.
Dru pouted but neither of her men paid attention, eyes locked in a silent contest of dominance. Feeling prudence was the wiser course of action, Spike lowered his icy gaze first. Let the poof think he was in charge for awhile. His fall would come. Angelus smiled in triumph and led the vampiress from the room.
"Let's go pick a room, darling!" Dru cooed, steering him down the hall.
"One far enough away so we won't disturb Spike," his grandsire chuckled, voice fading as the couple left.
He would not have been so pleased with himself if he had seen the twisted loathing on Spike's face. But as always, the younger vamp was patient. He could ruin Angelus if he had to go against his nature to do it. He had done so in the past by allying with the Slayer, and that idiot obviously didn't believe he would do it again. Drying off swiftly, he entered a nearby bedroom, conveniently separated from wherever the hell Dru and Angelus had set up, and crawled under the sheets still naked.
********** Sleep came to the vampire, but was not easy, for he dreamed fitfully. Screaming faces from the past sped in front of him, threatening to inflict on him the pain he had given them. They laughed at him as he had laughed at them, because they now knew his weakness. 'What weakness?' he tried to ask them, but his lips were as if sewn shut. The more he tried to talk, the more of them gathered to jab their knives into his body. The stabs gave only a tickling sensation in his skin but hurt like hell in some deeper place they shouldn't be able to reach. 'What is wrong with me?' he screamed finally, and found his mouth able to open.
"Nothing is wrong with you." Drusilla replied matter-of-factly, holding her cold palm to his sweaty brow. Still in a crimson dressing robe, she glanced at him questioningly.
"I was dreaming." Spike tried to gather his thoughts, staring at the moonlight through the curtains he had forgotten to shut. "Wasn't I?"
"Of course you were, ducks," his ex-lover reassured him, running her hand through his tousled platinum hair. She gasped suddenly, fingers still kneading his scalp as she saw a vision from far away. Her eyes closed in concentration.
"Dru?" he gently prompted. It didn't usually take much to get her to divulge what she was seeing.
"You've changed," the vampiress intoned in a different voice, one somewhat hoarser and deeper. "I planned it this way."
"Planned what, Dru?" he queried, unnerved by the fact that her eyes had turned a blind white.
"You know you are different now, William," the being responded, ignoring his question. "What he has lost, you have gained."
It took Spike a moment to puzzle that one through, but Dru's grip on his scalp seemed to coax the memory out. The images rushed up in torrents. Last night.
"Angel's soul? Why me?" the vampire asked angrily, now speaking not to Drusilla but the entity within.
The Gypsy-inside-Drusilla chuckled. "All by default, I assure you. The second time he lost his soul, it was to leap to the nearest being who lacked. You just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time."
"Look, I don't need a bloody soul, so you can just un-give it!" Spike snapped at the blind witch.
"I'm afraid it's there to stay," she said apologetically. "But if it's any consolation, it won't bother you any more than it did last night."
"It had better not," the blond threatened. "Or I will dig you out of whatever forsaken grave you claim and."
"Now, now, William," the old woman admonished. "No need to try and intimidate me. This soul isn't yours anyway, so I do not plan for it to trouble you."
"You don't?" he retorted nastily. "Last I checked you had a thing against vampires."
She just looked at him smugly. Without warning, she plunged her hand into his chest, but it didn't hurt at all. It was as if Drusilla had become a ghost. He swiped at her hand but his arm passed straight through. The Gypsy woman smiled at him patronizingly, then removed her hand as painlessly as it had gone in.
"It's settled in deep enough so that it will be at rest," she informed him. "Good luck."
"Wait just a bloody minute!" he hissed. "Take it out! I recall telling you I didn't want this!"
"What do you want, love?" Drusilla asked him, smiling sweetly.
She obviously didn't remember a word she, or it, had just told him. The expectant look in her eyes told him what she wanted the answer to be. He hadn't the heart to reject her outright, but now that she was back to sleeping with Angelus, she was like used goods. He settled for a polite kiss across her knuckles and laid her hand back on her lap. Her face relaxed somewhat but her head was still cocked to one side, a birdlike curiosity in her expression.
"It's nothing, luv," Spike sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. Nothing she would understand, that is. "I just got fooled, s'all."
There's another chapter I'll put up soon, just found it laying around my desk and after a tweak or two I'll ship it off. Hope the Angel-checking- Spike-out scene wasn't too scary..I'm not done with that little bit yet, but I promise it doesn't end that way! Please! B/S has too much potential for that.
So reviews= happy me! And I don't know about you, but when I'm happy life is good. No, really. :-D CenizaAzul
Disclaimer: These characters are products of Joss Whedon and Co, but most of the stuff in this story is mine. You know, all the witty comebacks, sexually awkward situations, and rabid tattooed monkeys! Okay, okay, maybe not the rabid tattooed monkeys, but you're an intelligent fanfic reader, you get the point. Thanks to everyone involved with the creation of this story. The few, the proud, the insane.
Chapter Two: Fool Me Twice
An half hour later, Willow strode through the doors of the apartment building, worriedly picking up the whispers which were obviously about her friend. They were supposed to be going out to the movies tonight, and since Buffy didn't drive yet, her friend was acting as chauffeur. This was one of Buffy's chief dislikes in life. When she had turned 20, the Slayer had finally moved away from her mother, but was still dependent on other people for transportation, much to her embarrassment.
Picking up her pace, the redheaded witch managed to keep a calm face on until in the stairway. Out of sight, she vaulted up the steps three at a time, noting the scrubbed but visible bloodstains with concern. Once outside the door, Willow considered knocking, but in the interest of time, used her spare key to enter the small apartment. Besides, goddess knew what state her friend was in!
Stepping inside Buffy's apartment was always like a trip back to childhood. In a determined attempt to avoid the morbidity of the rest of her life, the Slayer had painted her walls in bright, pastel colors. Even the furniture fit this ideal, the tables with softly rounded edges, walls laden with picture frames and whimsical paintings, and the lamps carefully chosen to provide as much light as possible. Of course, it was not a perfect haven, for weapons were hidden in many of the innocent-looking furniture pieces.
"With good reason." Willow muttered wryly as she searched for her injured friend.
In the small dwelling, it took a matter of seconds to find Buffy in the bathroom, staring absently into her mirror. Taking in the sight of her bloodied lips, bruises and various cuts, the witch couldn't help gasping out loud. The Slayer's glassy, lost eyes focused on Willow's reflection, and tears welled up as she struggled to say something.
"Shh," the redhead murmured, running a inch of water in the tub to clean off Buffy's feet and helping her stand in it. "I'll be right back, Buffy."
When Willow returned with a first aid kit and pajamas, the petite girl had not moved, transfixed by the reddish tint of the water around her swollen ankles. Silent tears ran down her face, aiding her friend in cleaning the wounds. Not a word was spoken until the witch produced the pajamas.
"Angel." Buffy read listlessly, wanting to scrape off every trace of the glittery writing off.
She had bought that sleepwear a while ago, as a whimsical joke. But they weren't funny anymore. She had probably doomed the world with her selfishness. She had been cursing herself a million times over since she got home, but it wasn't enough yet. It would never be enough for screwing everybody over--again. So much for learning from mistakes.
"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me," she hoarsely whispered.
"What?" Willow asked softly.
"Just go get another pair!" Buffy shouted, unstoppable sobs shaking her small frame.
Aware that something more than a beating had occurred tonight, the witch reminded herself not to make judgements on Buffy's actions. Returning with a royal blue spaghetti strap and matching drawstring pants, she managed to get the Slayer dressed and into her room.
"What happened, Buffy?" Willow queried, drawing a bright patchwork quilt over her friend's shivering body.
"Mom made this," was Buffy's only response, running her fingers over the neat stitches.
"Yeah, Joyce is really good at sewing," Willow agreed, before being struck by a horrible thought. "Nothing.please tell me nothing happened to her?"
Finally realizing that the Wiccan was worried out of her mind, the Slayer came out of her sorrowful trance. "No, no..not Mom. Angel."
"Want to tell me more or should I keep guessing?" her friend lightly pried.
"He came back." Buffy choked, "An..and..so did Spike. Spike knocked Angel out before I knew for sure, but I think."
"He lost his soul again." Willow finished when the Slayer's resolve ran out.
Buffy nodded, gesturing at her wounds. "And then Spike did all this to me."
"He ripped your clothes off too?" the witch said dubiously.
"No." the blonde whispered with downcast eyes. "Angel. And me.so now you know."
"Oh, goddess." Willow exclaimed. She had not understood what had happened with Angel's soul.
"It's all my fault!" the Slayer moaned, rocking back and forth. "I'm such a whore. "
Getting over her shock at Buffy's disclosure, Willow sat down on the bed and embraced her best friend.
"No, you aren't!" she vehemently argued. "You never get over your first love, even when you've moved on."
"Never." Buffy hoarsely agreed, too tired to continue the subject. Wiping the last of the tears off her face, she smiled weakly at the redheaded witch. "Have fun at the movie, Wills."
"I'll be right at home." Willow contradicted. "Call me if you need anything at all. I mean it."
"K," the Slayer mumbled, snuggling deeper into her nest of sheets.
By the time Willow softly locked the door behind herself, Buffy was already asleep, curled into the fetal position and deathly still.
********** On the other side of town, Spike and Drusilla had procured a elegant mansion rather easily. Drusilla convinced the owner to let them in, swaying her body in a shy yet sensual manner. The lecherous old fool completely ignored Spike's presence, but that was all part of the plan. In any case, her paramour had grown indifferent to this common occurrence. Damned if he would be jealous of a human anyway.
Once inside, the pair hit the elderly man from both sides, draining him dry in a matter of minutes. His blood was like a dry, well-aged wine, though not as filling as the blood of the younger. Spike dumped the body outside on the secluded lot. The place was so big anyway, the old eccentric would decompose before anyone found him. He reentered the house to find Drusilla gone, likely exploring the grounds. She'd probably find some dusty old painting and sit in front of it for the next hour or two, convinced the subject was telling her secrets. Well, that was just fine with Spike. She was a big girl, and he needed time alone.
Suddenly he found himself feeling unusually hot. Stripping everything off from the waist up, he still boiled, so he went in search of a bathroom and a cold bath. Ten minutes later he was immersed in the water and found some relief from the heat. His unanticipated illness puzzled him. After all, he hadn't been sick since he was a human, unless you counted bloodlust as a disease. As the water grew tepid from the fever of his body, he found his thoughts drifting to the Slayer, an image of her winded on the ground foremost in his mind.
It was funny how a man in search of a challenge either never finds it, or finds that he respects that obstacle because it so resembles himself. He appreciated her prowess as a fellow fighter, but that wasn't exactly what he was thinking about. He was acknowledging that had Buffy's eyes shown the least hint of belief she would die, he would have gone for the kill. Fate disgusted him because it contradicted his rebellious way of life. It was so much more fun flinging yourself against destiny and winning.
"Long time, no see, William," a voice interrupted with amusement. "I must admit I'm curious. However did you get into that tub with crippled legs?"
"Angelus." Spike greeted coolly, his eyes quick to notice Drusilla just behind her sire in the doorway.
Her face was luminous even staring at the back of Angelus' ugly head. She had probably slipped away to go find the other love of her unlife. It looked like he had some dusty paintings to go and destroy for 'telling' her that her sire was back to bad. Little ripped shreds of canvas would do nicely.
Masking his apprehension, Spike rose languidly from the tub without bothering to cover himself. It was nothing they had not seen before.
"Ah, so you've healed," the older male murmured, his eyes sliding blatantly over his childe's body. Spike pretended not to notice the stare or the discomfort it caused him.
Dru pouted but neither of her men paid attention, eyes locked in a silent contest of dominance. Feeling prudence was the wiser course of action, Spike lowered his icy gaze first. Let the poof think he was in charge for awhile. His fall would come. Angelus smiled in triumph and led the vampiress from the room.
"Let's go pick a room, darling!" Dru cooed, steering him down the hall.
"One far enough away so we won't disturb Spike," his grandsire chuckled, voice fading as the couple left.
He would not have been so pleased with himself if he had seen the twisted loathing on Spike's face. But as always, the younger vamp was patient. He could ruin Angelus if he had to go against his nature to do it. He had done so in the past by allying with the Slayer, and that idiot obviously didn't believe he would do it again. Drying off swiftly, he entered a nearby bedroom, conveniently separated from wherever the hell Dru and Angelus had set up, and crawled under the sheets still naked.
********** Sleep came to the vampire, but was not easy, for he dreamed fitfully. Screaming faces from the past sped in front of him, threatening to inflict on him the pain he had given them. They laughed at him as he had laughed at them, because they now knew his weakness. 'What weakness?' he tried to ask them, but his lips were as if sewn shut. The more he tried to talk, the more of them gathered to jab their knives into his body. The stabs gave only a tickling sensation in his skin but hurt like hell in some deeper place they shouldn't be able to reach. 'What is wrong with me?' he screamed finally, and found his mouth able to open.
"Nothing is wrong with you." Drusilla replied matter-of-factly, holding her cold palm to his sweaty brow. Still in a crimson dressing robe, she glanced at him questioningly.
"I was dreaming." Spike tried to gather his thoughts, staring at the moonlight through the curtains he had forgotten to shut. "Wasn't I?"
"Of course you were, ducks," his ex-lover reassured him, running her hand through his tousled platinum hair. She gasped suddenly, fingers still kneading his scalp as she saw a vision from far away. Her eyes closed in concentration.
"Dru?" he gently prompted. It didn't usually take much to get her to divulge what she was seeing.
"You've changed," the vampiress intoned in a different voice, one somewhat hoarser and deeper. "I planned it this way."
"Planned what, Dru?" he queried, unnerved by the fact that her eyes had turned a blind white.
"You know you are different now, William," the being responded, ignoring his question. "What he has lost, you have gained."
It took Spike a moment to puzzle that one through, but Dru's grip on his scalp seemed to coax the memory out. The images rushed up in torrents. Last night.
"Angel's soul? Why me?" the vampire asked angrily, now speaking not to Drusilla but the entity within.
The Gypsy-inside-Drusilla chuckled. "All by default, I assure you. The second time he lost his soul, it was to leap to the nearest being who lacked. You just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time."
"Look, I don't need a bloody soul, so you can just un-give it!" Spike snapped at the blind witch.
"I'm afraid it's there to stay," she said apologetically. "But if it's any consolation, it won't bother you any more than it did last night."
"It had better not," the blond threatened. "Or I will dig you out of whatever forsaken grave you claim and."
"Now, now, William," the old woman admonished. "No need to try and intimidate me. This soul isn't yours anyway, so I do not plan for it to trouble you."
"You don't?" he retorted nastily. "Last I checked you had a thing against vampires."
She just looked at him smugly. Without warning, she plunged her hand into his chest, but it didn't hurt at all. It was as if Drusilla had become a ghost. He swiped at her hand but his arm passed straight through. The Gypsy woman smiled at him patronizingly, then removed her hand as painlessly as it had gone in.
"It's settled in deep enough so that it will be at rest," she informed him. "Good luck."
"Wait just a bloody minute!" he hissed. "Take it out! I recall telling you I didn't want this!"
"What do you want, love?" Drusilla asked him, smiling sweetly.
She obviously didn't remember a word she, or it, had just told him. The expectant look in her eyes told him what she wanted the answer to be. He hadn't the heart to reject her outright, but now that she was back to sleeping with Angelus, she was like used goods. He settled for a polite kiss across her knuckles and laid her hand back on her lap. Her face relaxed somewhat but her head was still cocked to one side, a birdlike curiosity in her expression.
"It's nothing, luv," Spike sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. Nothing she would understand, that is. "I just got fooled, s'all."
There's another chapter I'll put up soon, just found it laying around my desk and after a tweak or two I'll ship it off. Hope the Angel-checking- Spike-out scene wasn't too scary..I'm not done with that little bit yet, but I promise it doesn't end that way! Please! B/S has too much potential for that.
So reviews= happy me! And I don't know about you, but when I'm happy life is good. No, really. :-D CenizaAzul