Pretty Dollies: Our Girl
Part 1
Author's Note: There are going to be a few flashbacks in this story…I use italics, so if there's a section of italics, it's a flashback. Just a sentence or two is thoughts.
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Spike slammed the door of his crypt, sending small flurries of dust fluttering down from the ceiling. The girl looked around appraisingly. Spike had grabbed her hand and strongly, but gently led her to the crypt; all before Buffy had gotten a word in. He sat down on the sarcophagus near the center and the girl came over and climbed onto his lap.
"Now, kindly tell me what you're doing here? Did…did Drusilla send you?" She studiously ignored him and toyed with the partially frayed lace cuffs on her left sleeve. He growled quietly and hoisted her up and around to face him.
"Come on, you know you have to tell me eventually." She turned regretfully from her cuff and looked up at him angelically.
"Tell you what?"
"Guindeviere!" He grabbed her small chin in his hand when she tried to look away, "I need to know."
"Who was the lady you were shouting with?"
"Don't change the subject!" He exclaimed, then he considered his words and looked at her with sudden comprehension, "But you aren't, are you?" Guindeviere didn't answer.
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"We're hooooome!" Drusilla sang, waltzing through the archway that led into the grand hall they had been staying in. Guindeviere trailed behind, looking no more than four in powder blue. This dress was covered in smooth, colorful ribbons. The collar was high and stiff…and speckled with brilliant red, testament to the fate of it's former owner.
"Look Dru, you spoiled Guindeviere's new dress before she even wore it," Spike clucked his tongue in a perfect imitation of a disappointed mother. Dru giggled and shrugged.
"We can clean it. I wonder sometimes if it's possible…to scrub death out of a gown…to wring hatred out of socks. If you do Spike, promise to let me wear them. Such marvelous socks they would be…enough to make the heavens weep and the Earth bleed," she lay down in the puddle of drying blood and viscera that spread from the owner of the grand hall. She began to make a "snow angel" and giggled madly again, "I should like a pair of socks made of blood."
"I don't think socks come in 'blood', ducks," Spike told her, but she was already lost in her mind, thinking, no doubt, of interesting kinds of socks. He felt something near his foot, and looked down to see little Guindeviere had slumped into a subconscious stupor, arms wrapped around his leg. He smiled fondly down at her, then felt a wave of disgust for himself. It was disgraceful. A vampire, feeling affection for a young girl…he would be the laughingstock of the underworld if anyone ever heard. And that didn't even count if Angelus ever knew. Drusilla, she their sire would humor in her wish to care for this mortal child. But Spike…never. Despite himself, he found himself brushing a lock of soft hair away from her closed eyes. No matter what he told himself, or anyone else…he loved his little Guindeviere.
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Buffy sat at the kitchen counter, sucking absently on one of the Popsicles Dawn had made. She was so busy thinking, she barely even realized it was Coke-strawberry. Who was that little girl? She called Spike 'daddy'…was she his daughter? But Spike didn't have a daughter, vampires couldn't have children. But what about before then? Her dress was definitely antique-y she thought then shook her head. No, Spike had told her about his human past. He wouldn't have left a daughter out. Not after he had told her so much else. It was endearing, in a way…he knew he could have easily painted a picture of his young self as a rebel who didn't give a rat's ass about the rules of society, and she would never have known the difference. But he didn't. He told her the truth…that the man who stood before her now had sprung from a weak, mamma's boy, 'bloody awful' poet.
There was a twang of guilt. Spike told her so much, and she never let him in on her past. How she had felt when things went wrong. It's different, she told herself fiercely, he loves me. I don't love him. I don't have to tell him anything. Somehow though, she knew some of that wasn't true. If only she could figure out which part that was.
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Willow nodded blankly, valiantly attempting to stifle a yawn. Anya was babbling about the wedding again. She'd been going on and on for hours. What was she talking about? Possibly flower arrangements. Or her post-wedding plans for Xander. She really wasn't sure. Does she even need to breathe? Willow thought desperately. She briefly contemplated doing a quick little spell that would give Anya the uncontrollable urge to run out and buy chili, but she resisted. Anya was just excited about her special day. Just because she didn't realize that no one else was particularly interested wasn't her fault. I would be more interested if I was ever going to have a 'special day', she thought, face sinking into her hands. Wait…was, had she stopped talking? Willow tuned herself in.
"So I told him that that just wouldn't do and he looked at me like I was a grossly unpleasant thing to be looking at so I…" False alarm, Willow thought glumly, tuning out again, just a subcategory change. Why wasn't Xander in here? It was going to be his 'special day' too. If he got all the happiness and glory, he should have to take the heartaches that went with it. Or earaches, as the case may be…
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At that moment, Xander was, in an interesting coincidence, talking to Tara. They sat inside the Espresso Pump, Xander with his cocoa, Tara with a low-fat mocha.
"So, what do you think Willow would want for the big b-day?" Xander asked, taking another sip. Tara stirred her mocha nervously…she still got a tiny bit shy in one-on-one conversations with the Scoobies.
"Oh…I s-should be asking you, I-I mean you've known her for-forever," she sounded faintly jealous and Xander grinned.
"Well, yeah, but you're in on the whole Wicca thing, plus, no matter how long you know somebody, the person who sleeps with them knows them better," he grinned then realized he was talking to Tara (who might not get he was kidding) and stopped, "Oh, I mean, that's, if-"
"It's okay," Tara said quickly, blushing with silent pride, "I-I know what you meant."
"Good," Xander exhaled and flashed his lop-sided grin, "I wouldn't want to offend you…you might put some mojo on me…or tell Willow to turn me into a toad." Tara actually giggled at that, put at ease with Xander. He was a nice guy…the kind of guy she wouldn't mind dating. Except for, of course, the whole 'guy' thing.
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R+R…I promise, questions will be answered next time.