Spike was quiet on the way to Bella's apartment. Gratefully, she did nothing to fill the silence. He had just killed his former lover. Drucilla had been beautiful, but every bit as batty as Buffy had said she was. Her heart ached for Spike. She knew how it felt to watch someone you loved die and to be helpless to it.
"I live here, " she said to him, stopping in front of a brownstone. It was a small facility, but she liked it that way. She unlocked the door and they walked somberly down the stairs into a short, dimly lit hallway. There were four doors. Hers was 4B. She turned the key in the deadbolt and invited him into her home.
"It's not much, but... it's all mine." She smiled weakly.
He followed her through the door into the living room. It was sparsely furnished with a black, leather sectional, a coffee table fashioned by an abstract top of bevelled glass on a base of what appeared to be a tangle of glazed, black branches. Off behind the living room was a small dining area. She had a table for two covered in a flowing, silken gown of red cloth. The chairs were dark wood cushioned with tufted red pads. On top of the red cloth, she had a drape of black gossamer freckled with tiny silver stars. In the center was a large, glass vase full of blood-red roses. His eyes darted back to the sofa and table, then across to a closed black armoire which he supposed served as some sort of entertainment center.
"Here, I'll give you the nickel tour," she offered. "This is the living room. There's the dining room," she led him over to it. "Got these at the Farmers' Market yesterday morning before I went over and scared Giles. Aren't they beautiful?" He nodded. She led him, next, to the kitchen which passed through from the dining area and overlooked the living area.
The kitchen was immaculate. Spotless. Cleaner than anything he'd ever seen. Supposed she needn't cook. Probably didn't eat. Although, she did have a few copper pots gleaming and hanging on a trestle from the ceiling. There was a wood chopping board on the back counter near the sink. Assorted cannisters which he supposed held the staples -- sugar, flour, coffee and salt. No pictures on the fridge. No postcards. Just one solitary magnet which read "Breanna Brews -- You Already Know Our Number." Odd magnet, he thought. Some sort of kitschy-witchy thing, perhaps. The kitchen emptied out next to the short hallway.
"Bathroom," she pointed at the open door to her left and a candle ignited from on top of the toilet tank. Feminine acouterments, he thought, with a quick glance. A tube of lipstick on the sink, lotion and soap. A small make-up bag. Fluffy towels on the towel rack. Thick, dark red rugs in front of the tub and covering the loo. It smelled like cinnabar. Sweet, spicy and heady. Like Bella's hair.
"Here's my room," she led him into her bedroom. He felt like he was stepping into a sanctuary of a goddess. Her king-sized bed was made neatly. It was so fluffy and girly, he chuckled in spite of himself. And massive. Flanked by a white-washed headboard and footboard with posts reaching near the ceiling. Gauzy material draped the canopy. The champagne comforter that covered it was made of satin and quilted velvet and embellished with glass beads and silken embroidery. It reminded him of a wedding gown; pure, innocent, regal and virginal. It was piled high with champagne-clothed pillows of various sizes and materials... velvet, satin, fur and leather. He wanted to take her in it right then and there. He looked to her and saw a bit of color flash into her cheeks. Didn't guard that thought too well, did I? he thought.
There were matching white-washed nightstands on either side of the bed with matching glass lamps. There was a book sitting on the one on the right. Blood and Gold by Anne Rice. He smiled at her choice of fiction. Ah, the romanticism of vampires by an excellent author. And read by what he was now beginning to regard as a romantic vampire, despite the air of bad-ass she put off.
Her dresser had a glass tray with a few bottles of perfumes, vials of oils. She also had a large wooden cross, Jesusless like the one around her neck, sitting in the center.
"I was raised to respect all gods and godesses," she told Spike. "And being Italian, I have a strong respect for Catholicism. I'm just all about polytheism."
She led him back into the hall and paused at the closed door across from the bathroom. She put her hand on the knob and then stopped. She turned to him and searched his eyes for a moment.
"I can trust you." she told him, as she opened the door. In an instant, the darkened room was lit by several large pillars. The cinnabar scent hit him like a spell. But he also smelled something else. Blood. In the center of the room was a gleaming, marble altar. There was a small bowl placed in the center back. And two candles, one to the right and the other to the left, both in front, creating a triangle. There was a wall of cabinets with locks behind it.
"This is my mother's altar. The one by which I was conceived, I guess you could say," she said with a tiny laugh that seemed to startle her. "I keep the cabinets locked. Safety. I keep my spell books, my oils and herbs, candles... all of my witchy items in there."
He was impressed with the room. He was impressed with Bella. He was sensing so many different emotions coming from her. She was still swirling with the heat of fledgling blood she had taken earlier. He also felt her loss as she snapped out the candles and closed the door. He felt ... fear? No, but something making her more timid than she had been before. Something more like... vulnerability.
She turned and he was right there. That hint of color crept into her cheeks again.
"Think we said something earlier about getting... gatted?" She quickly closed herself off and headed back to the kitchen. He followed her, watching as she swished down the hall. It was mesmerizing the way her ass moved like a pendulem.
"I've got some vino... red of course. But I tend to be a mash girl, myself," she told him pulling out a large bottle of Jack Daniels from behind the bar in the kitchen. "You wouldn't guess it by looking at me, but I can drink my weight in brown," she told him as she pulled out two glasses and began filling them well past the one-shot mark.
Spike couldn't help but smile at her. He hadn't said much since they had left the abandoned house where she had found Drucilla. And she didn't push him to talk. Didn't try to fill the air with nervous chatter like girls do because they can't stand the awkward silence. The silence wasn't awkward with Bella.
"No windows," Spike noticed as he took a glass from her.
"What?" she asked.
"You've no windows in here, pet." He threw back the double-plus of whiskey she had poured him.
She looked around.
"Oh my gosh! You're right!" She tossed back her glass, just as full as his, and knocked down the bitter brew without even wincing.
"Sub-floor. Vampire in me. Can't help it," she said, refilling their glasses. "Since I was turned and Mamma moved on," she took a thoughtful swig from her glass, "really have no desire to live in the light."
"But you can," Spike said, knocking back the booze. "You can live in the light. Do you understand what a blessing that is, Bella?"
She leaned on the countertop and looked across it into his eyes. Blue, blue beautiful eyes... don't fall Bella. Don't fall into them, she told herself. Spike held her gaze from his barstool perch, trying to get a line into her mind. Type of vampire she was, couldn't get one unless she wanted you to do it. And she did.
How can I live in the light when I was created by the dark? I'm the damnation of a fallen white witch and an ancient, evil vampire. I was created by tainted blood. I was turned to be a killer.
"But you're not, pet. You aren't tainted. You aren't evil. You've been able to take the lot you were dealt and rise above it. You really should live a little more in the light. Do it for all us poor blokes who incenerate at daylight." he joked.
She suddenly felt guilt sweep over her.
"Oh, Bella, sweet... it's not your fault that you were created the way you were. And, I didn't mean to imply that -- "
"No, it's okay. You're right. I'm awfully dungeon and dragons for a girl, immortal or not, who can actually go out during the day and be among the living... be alive. I'm just more comfortable this way since my mother... since that night. You know, you're the first person I've ever invited to my place," she told him, finishing off her glass before grabbing the bottle for a refill. Didn't even invite anyone over in New York, she'd told him.
This bint sure can drink, he thought as he watched he down her third glass.
Nothing else to do when you're alone, was her silent response. He heard it. She'd let her guard down with him. What the hell was she doing?
"I," she said, snapping out of her reverie, "Have a kick-ass record, and yes, we are talking pristeen vinyl, collection!" She made her way over to the armoire and opened it. Yep. Telly, stereo, all things electronic and entertaining inside of it.
"Misfits fan much?" she asked, holding up a stack of albums in their original jackets, slip of cellophane still acting as a dustcover.
He knelt down on the floor with her and began thumbing through her record collection. Misfits, Zepplin, Motley Crue, The Damned, Sex Pistols, Dead Kennedys... what was this? Un Bal Masque?
"Ooh, that's one of my favorites. It's a really super-rare LP," she was slurring a little. "Opera."
"Opera? Among the Misfits?" he was laughing. She practically in tears. The way he said it struck her as the funniest thing she'd ever heard in her life.
He carefully took the disc from its jacket. Big, shiny black 10"... don't see those much anymore. He placed it on the turn table and carefully set the needle on it.
"Sure you wouldn't rather hear Angelfuck?" She asked with a devilish grin as she held up her Legacy of Brutality record.
"Tempting," he told her. "But I'd rather find out more about you... and I think this record is the one that will tell me what I want to know."
They stayed seated on the gray shag carpet in front of the armoire. She felt a strange calm having him there with her. It was nice to not be alone.
"So, tell me love, how many hearts have you broken in your time?" He twisted the glass in his hands, curious about who Bella, the woman, was.
"None that I know of," she told him honestly. None. None? He saw her with vampire's eyes, critical of any flaw, any imperfection. He couldn't find any. How could any human man be immune to her lethal beauty?
"Mamma kept me rather... sheltered. And that was fine by me," she explained.
"No prom date for you, s'what you're saying?"
"No high school for me. Mamma home-schooled me all my life. She was my mother, my teacher, my playmate. And when I'd get bored with her, she'd conjure up something for me to amuse myself with."
"But after..."
"Oh, after... well, yeah. I just went out, you know, all newly-turned being the worldly woman I was and had myself a major fuck-fest."
Spike's eyes grew wide.
"NOT." She had lived just as sheltered a life as she had when Teofania was alive. If not an even more sequestered existence.
"Well, what have you done since you were turned then?" he wanted to know, curiosity thick in his voice.
She stood up and went over to the counter and returned with the bottle of whiskey. She took a hefty chug and then passed it to him.
"Fuck formality, yeah pet?" he laughed, taking just as healthy a swig.
"Yeah. Fuck formality." She agreed. The aria was lilting softly in the air. It was cathartic for her. It gave her such a wash of peace.
"Killed things. That's what I've done. Gone to work for the Grigori," she said with a sigh.
"I was turned in the early 80s... that would be 1980's," she joked. "I was all about the music and the witchcraft and believing Mamma when she said that I needed to always be with her. Too much bad stuff out there. Too much that could hurt me. Didn't stop me from sneaking out a time or two and hanging in the back of CBGB's to take in a punk or metal band. But I did it undetected. Invisible. One of the perks of being a witch. Can go places, do things, without anyone seeing me."
"And after?" he prodded again.
Never had a friend, she thought. Not sure how to do this at all, but want to tell him everything.
"After... I didn't leave the apartment for a month. Too scared. Too depressed. And then," she belted back some more booze, "Then I just got pissed."
She told him how she started hunting every night. Hunting for her kind. And slaying them with no mercy. She told him how she actually got off on the slayings.
"I hated them all so much, all of the evil blood-sucking things... and I hated myself for being one of them. I had held the same stake to my own chest so many times... until she came to me... Mamma."
It was hard to imagine Bella, the girl he'd fought beside earlier, fearless, strong, confident and wise, as anything else. Her strength had been borne of her fear.
"I've never had... I've never had a friend." There. She'd said it. Wasn't that difficult.
He felt such a pain in his dead heart.
"I've never gone to a slumber party. I've never giggled on the phone about a boy. I've never even kissed a boy." She was looking at her hands, feeling stupid. "Yep, now you know. Big bad scary Daywalker has never lived. Not even when I was alive."
"Bella, " he said softly. He tilted her face up with a cool hand so that she would look at him. "Love, I would be honored to be your friend. So, you're a late-bloomer. So was William Grieves... and I think I turned out bloody good."
Her eyes were shimmering. And a slow smile played on her lips. She reached for his hand and held it tightly in hers, like she was afraid that if she didn't, he'd run off.
"Not going anywhere, Pet. I'm not all about doing make-overs, but if you got some black laquer, we can do mannis," he joked. "And I can stay up all night stuffing myself on chocolate."
"Are you offering to have a slumber party with me?" she smiled coyly.
"I'm offering... a little living to you. A little late, but I think a bit of the tipple, black nails and contraband chocolate make a pretty decent overnight soiree, don't you?"
He was so bad that he was good.
"We can even giggle about boys, if you fancy?"
She let out an infectious laugh.
"Can we sneak smokes and then spray air freshener to try to hide the stink?" She giggled, pulling two cigs from the battered packet in her jacket pocket.
"Definately," Spike said lighting first hers and then his. He could be chivalrous when he wanted to. Just nobody else ever noticed his kind gestures.
Bella peeled the leather jacket from her slim body and tossed it behind her, haphazardly. Spike couldn't help but notice how her black t-shirt hugged her taut body. Friends, friends, don't wanna fuck this up, friends, he chanted to himself.
She dragged thoughtfully on her cigarette.
"Since I don't have any interesting stories, tell me one of yours," she told him.
One of his? His were full of blood. Full of hate. Full of ...
"Tell me... tell me what it's like to be in love."
In... love? Which time? With Cecilly? Where he was like a fucking dog, wanting her and writing bloody awful poetry when she wouldn't even cast a glance his way? With Dru? Where it was all about the hunt and the bloodlust and about fucking and lunacy? Or with Buffy? Where it was all about Buffy's feelings and her self-loathing and her hatred of him but her desire to fuck him silly nonetheless?
"Don't know that I'm the authority on that subject, pet." he quietly offered.
"But.. you loved Dru... didn't you?"
"Yes, I did love Dru. Part of me always will. But it... it wasn't a good kind of love." No, not good. Not what he could feel for Bella if he didn't stop himself. "Love... well, pet, like the song says Love Stinks. It takes you and twists you until your innards are knotted up. My experiences with love... not the best. Usually one-sided."
"No shining moments where the whole world seems to stand still for just you, huh? Yeah. I figured love was about as much," she said with just a bit of disappointment in her voice.
"There's so many kind of ways to love, pet. With Dru..." He couldn't believe he was offering her any of this. "It was really... a neccessity. She wasn't all right, pet. And my love for her was an adulteration of bloodlust, sex, survival... keeping her from going mad. Keeping myself from going mad from lonliness. It wasn't the kind of love that I would wish for you."
"Well, I really don't need to be falling in love anyhow. I'm here to help save the world. Got a mission. Can't go fucking it all to Hell by falling in love... right?" she asked weakly.
"C'mere, Pet," he told her. She crawled willingly into his arms and began to sob, uncontrollable shaking sobs. She buried her face against his chest and let him stroke her hair. Stupid, so fucking stupid, Bella. She was so angry with herself. Fucking display of emotion. Weak. Fucking weak. But being curled up against him felt too good to even care about being weak or stupid. She'd care later. She was sure of that.
He could hear her thoughts swirling. Made him hold her even tighter. Poor girl, been dead almost as long as she'd been alive. And not even allowed to live back then? It was fucked up, that's what it was, he decided.
She pulled back, still in his arms.
"If you tell anyone about me getting all blubbery and..." she was choking on her tears, "I'll stake you." He knew she wouldn't.
"You know, pet, seeing you like this... all soft and emotional... rather girly, in fact..."
She cracked a smile and playfully swatted at him.
"Love's nice thing. When it's real. And when it's right. And when it's reciprocated. And you'll find that when you're ready for it. I think that you've got enough on your plate between dealing with the big bad and actually being forced into such a fucked-up social situation among the Scoobies."
"And let's not forget me having my first-ever friend." She rubbed at her pink-rimmed eyes.
"Yes, let's not forget that," he said, rubbing his thumb gently over her tear-stained cheek.
Is it a bad thing to want to kiss your first-ever friend? she thought.
"So, isn't it something girls do at slumber parties, you know, practice kissing boys on pillows and on their hands?" he cracked.
Conceal, dammit. Conceal! She reminded herself that she had opened herself wide up to him. He could still hear her thoughts. Fuck it, Bella. Kiss him already.
"That's what I hear... but I've got a real, live boy at my slumber party." Her voice was husky, and unmistakably inviting him in.
"Well, I don't know about the live part... but we can pretend." She was fun to tease. And he felt a sense of trust with her that he had never felt with anyone before, living or dead.
Fuck it. "Spike... just... kiss me," she said, holding him in her gaze, "Or you'll force me to put the thrall on you."
"I thought you already had," he said, softly, leaning toward her face, letting himself fall into her beautiful eyes. Her hands slid up and around his neck. Real, live boy. In an instant, she was in his lap, straddling him, her face just a breath's width away from his. He had one hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. He wanted this to be special. Different. He wanted to engrain himself in her so that she wouldn't forget him, couldn't stop herself from falling in love with him. And he would love her and protect her... he knew that she was the one he'd been lonely without for so long. Even if she wasn't sure of it yet. He was locked in her eyes and that's where he wanted to stay. I'm going to kiss you now, he told her silently. I really wish you would, was her impatient response. He toyed with the idea of making her wait, just for a moment, but realized that he didn't want to wait any longer. His lips brushed softly over hers, eliciting a small gasp and shudder from her. He took his time, sipping lightly on her bottom lip. If she'd had a heartbeat, it would be frantic by now. He was in no rush. He nuzzled her nose with his, stopping to softly kiss the tip before returning to her lips. No matter what she was... witch, vampire, daywalker, guardian... right now, she was just a girl. Just a soft, sweet girl who wanted him to be the first to ever taste her mouth. He dipped his tongue between lips and she parted them to him. Excruciating... he thought... this is heaven. This is everything. This girl. He ran his tongue deep into the soft hollow of her mouth. She could stake me now and I'd die knowing I'd tasted heaven. He didn't care if she heard his every thought. He didn't want to have any secrets from Bella. He felt her tongue tentatively slip into his mouth and explore languorously. She tasted sweet of whiskey, smoke and blood. Like him. He sucked on her tongue, getting lost in her encouraging mews against his mouth. She had practically melded herself into him, firm breasts pressed into him, squeezing his waist with her thighs. He licked her lips, now swollen from kissing and released her with a few more lingering kisses before looking into her eyes.
"Pet, if I don't stop kissing you now, you'll never get rid of me. And just ask anyone, I'm quite the sycophant when I'm enchanted. I'll have you ready to stake me within a week," he told her. She didn't move from his lap. Her arms were still settled on his shoulders, fingers stroking his hair, the back of his neck. Somewhere in there, his hands had moved down to her ass. And were still there, without any protest from her.
"No, I don't think I'll want to stake you. Not after that. That's what I've been missing, huh?" Her eyes glittered a jewel-green.
"Something like that. I don't profess to be the best-- "
She silenced him with a soft kiss to his already tingling lips.
"Everything happens for a reason, Spike. I could have snuck out and made out with boys and... well, apparently I was supposed to wait for you. And I'm glad I did."
She said such dizzying things. He caught sight of the clock on the wall. Just about sunrise. He needed to go and hide out in his crypt until he could see her again.
"Don't... Don't go." She held him captive in her eyes. Not with the thrall, but with something else that he didn't even think that she was aware of.
"Burn up if I don't get to bed before sun's up, Pet" he told her.
"Then stay here. With me. You don't have to tell any of them where you were, if you don't want... just... stay here, please?" She was worried that he'd be against them finding out? Now that was different.
"I promise... I won't make you kiss me anymore," she smiled. He was sure that her smile greatly rivaled the sunrise at that moment. He took her face in his hands and tasted her lips and mouth again and again, making sure she was real.
They fell asleep somewhere in between the opera, the kissing and noontime. He awoke, surprised to find her still curled into his chest, her head bent into him, legs wrapped around his. He tried not to wake her as he made out the time on the clock... 6:15 PM. It would be time to patrol soon. And would it feel different? Patrolling at Bella's side after spending a night discovering the woman behind the guardian? She moved against him, eyes slowly recovering from booze-induced sleep.
"Didn't want to move and wake you," he said to her as she focused on him.
"Mmm... didn't wake me. Dream did." She smiled.
Dream, huh? Wonder what she was dreaming about, he thought. She stood and stretched, with a squeal. It was endearing.
"M'gonna take a shower, get ready for patrol. Just in case you're... hungry.... there's blood in the fridge. It's from the butcher, though. Oink, oink," she offered before scampering down the hall to the bathroom.
What was he getting himself into? Falling in love with another slayer, right? Well, not really. Bella was him. She was more like him than anyone he'd ever known, living or dead. She was dead. She was an immortal. But she was so alive inside. Just nobody ever bothered to show her that. Didn't want to fall in love. She'd said as much. But her mouth, her insatiable mouth... and her thoughts said something different. She liked him there. She liked him near her. She liked him touching her, kissing her... she hadn't wanted him to leave. Dammit, Women! Alive or dead, equally confusing. He took her up on her offer for a cuppa. Much as he'd grown accustomed to animal blood, still needed jazzing up with a hit of hot sauce and a few seconds in the microwave to take the chill off. Bella had neither of those things. He nosed around through the cabinets and came across a bottle of Absolute Peppar. Talk about a Bloody Mary, he thought as he put a liberal amount of the spicy vodka into the mug of blood. He took a gulp. Not half-bad.
He could smell all things female spilling out through the partially-open bathroom door. Soap and shampoo, fruity, spicy and sweet. He walked around to the living room and sat on the sofa. He noticed pictures he'd been too sidetracked to see the night before. There were a couple on the armoire. Bella and her mother. Had to be her mother. Just as beautiful and mysterious in looks. Bella looked like she was only 5 or 6 in the picture. She was a gorgeous child with big green eyes and flushed cheeks, tanned skin. Alive. There was another picture of the two of them together. Bella looked like she did now, but not exactly. There was something different. He went to the picture to get a closer look. Mother looked like she hadn't aged a bit. Witches were like that. But Bella, she looked pretty much the way she did now, but there was something different in her eyes.
"That was the day I was turned," she told him, startling him with her stealth. She was even lighter and quicker on her feet than he was.
She had a large, red towel wrapped around her. Her hair hung , still wet and fragrant with shampoo or conditioner or whatever other concoction girls liked to use to make their hair shinier. He could feel the heat from her skin rising. Hot water felt good as long as you were in it, he knew this. Temporary warmth.
"Mamma and I had our picture taken earlier in the day... my 18th birthday. Before Artemius showed up. Last picture of either of us... alive." She said with measured indifference.
He could tell that whenever she thought about what had happened that awful night, she tried to shake it off immediately. Couldn't really blame her.
"You were both beautiful, love. You still are." He placed the picture back on the armoire and leaned to kiss her warm lips. She returned his kiss before reminding him that they had to get ready to patrol.
She went to her bedroom and closed the door. Made him wish he had x-ray vision. He imagined how beautiful she looked naked. He wanted to touch her everywhere. Wanted to be her first everything. Wanted to be the one to love her for the rest of their lives. She'd had such an affect on him in such a short time. He wanted her to be his for eternity.
She came back out after a few minutes. Cinnabar. He smelled it on her. She was wearing a pair of Levi's, faded and blue, with a thick, black leather belt. The belt was well-worn, like the jeans. Soft and lived-in. She'd pulled a dark-green baby-tee over it which showed just the smallest amount of belly. Her belly-button was pierced. He noticed it as she pushed her hands into her pockets to set them right. She grabbed her boots from the living room floor, where she had thrown them along wth her jacket. She sat on the edge of the sofa next to him, pulling them on. He reached over and brushed her hair from her face.
"Think they'll know?" he half-joked, referring to the Scoobies and their slumber party.
"Do you care if they know?" she asked.
This was totally different from his tryst with Buffy where she came to him, used him and then swore him to secrecy about their relationship of convenience.
"If they suspect... well, just tell them that the pathetic and lonely daywalker took advantage of her first-ever friend. Thought that it was customary to slip your buddy the tongue," she joked.
"Sweet, we can tell the world or we can keep this to ourselves until we're sure of what it is," he told her. "It's your call, love. Being with you -- in any way -- on patrol, in your living room drinking whiskey... or drinking you... it's enough for me."
She stood and offered him her hand. He helped her into her jacket and followed her out the door, waiting as she bolted it. She took his hand tightly in hers as they walked out into the night.
"Can I keep you?" she asked, smiling at him, already knowing the answer.