Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say, September
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SAMARITAN Pt. 11 In the Solitude Singing
"I'll kill that one if I see him again." Zevra paused for a moment on the way out the door, her face grim. The demons had agreed to reconvene the next evening to compare notes, and, hopefully, prisoners.
"No worries, love; I'll keep him out of your way," Spike said. "But he's here to rescue his wife, you know - "
Zevvie snorted. Amazons didn't believe in marriage.
" - and she's half Dendron. Could be he's not as bad as the rest, after all."
"They're all the same," she said bleakly, striding out.
Spike stood in the doorway for a moment after she left, not really seeing the street, and fingering his sleeve where Buffy had touched him.
They'd been sitting at the table, talking business, and she'd leaned forward and put her hand on his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she didn't loathe the sight of him. He could still feel her hot little fingers burning him through the fabric. If he'd ever wondered if her touch was still electrifying after all these months, now he knew. Of course, he never had wondered.
* * * *
"That went well, all things considered," Clem said when Spike joined him in the kitchen.
"If that git gets through this little visit to Sunnydale with only one attempt at vengeance, he'll be lucky," Spike said acidly. "Fortunately, that's not our problem. Grabbing our minion and figuring out this bleeding thrall, those are our problems. Seems like the spell or whatever works on some demon hybrids but not others, like vamps. And we know it works on pure demons."
"Better stay out of her clutches, that's all," Clem said.
"No, I don't want to risk anybody getting captured." Still stroking his sleeve, Spike absently drank a mug of foamy root beer. "We need reinforcements."
* * * *
He was on top of her, and she ran her hands up his smooth, powerful back, pressing him close, her eyes closed. She felt his lips touch her throat, cool and soft, and his silken hair rub against her cheek; she heard him gasp as she moved. It was dark and safe in his arms, and warm - though never too warm. She pressed her face against his shoulder -
- And woke to staccato knocking.
"Buffy!" It was Dawn's voice. "Aren't you up yet? Don't you want to go to Anya's this morning?"
Buffy felt the sting of tears starting, and flung her arm across her eyes for a moment. She didn't want to see brilliant sunlight right now, or hear birds tweeting in brainless happiness; if only she could have that beautiful darkness back, just for a few more minutes.
But she knew she had to answer.
"Okay, Dawnie, I'll be right down," she said.
* * * *
"I do have books that mention thrall," Anya said. "Up there, Dawn, on the second shelf down, at the far end."
"Okay," Dawn said, starting up the library ladder to fetch them, happy to be an official part of Spike's project.
As she climbed, Anya turned to Buffy.
"Is everything okay?" she said, in a lowered voice. "You seem sad."
Feeling herself blush, Buffy bent her head. Why did love always make you feel like such a fool? Oh, God. "When we saw Spike last night there was this girl demon there."
"Was she pretty?" Anya said, striking right to the heart of the matter, as usual.
"Gorgeous!" Buffy burst out, "she had black skin and beautiful white hair, and this fabulous figure - I mean, J-Lo fabulous. You know - curvy. And you could really see it, too; she wasn't exactly wearing a lot. Spike said she's an Amazon."
"Hmmm. Must be a Zantip Amazon. Well," Anya said practically, "they have no objection to, you know, flings, but they don't believe in permanent mating, if that's any consolation."
Buffy sighed. It really wasn't. Funny how she could talk about flings with Anya without angst; but that was different. She knew Anya didn't want Spike for herself.
"And not only that, I found out some things - well, that I wish I hadn't."
"Not about Spike?" Dawn said anxiously. Drat! She'd been so busy conferring with Anya that she hadn't noticed Dawn come back with the reference books. She didn't mean to tell her sister about the worryingly attractive Amazon; she hadn't sunk THAT low. Yet.
"No, not about Spike at all. About Riley, in fact, and the Initiative. And Sam. Riley lied to me - a lot."
"Humph." Dawn was unimpressed. "I could've told you that. I don't see how you could have swallowed that 'Spike is an international arms dealer' stuff; he doesn't even have a phone."
"I didn't think Riley would lie," Buffy said glumly, pushing her hair back with both hands. "I wonder if he ever told the truth about anything, now."
* * * *
The three girls sat around Anya's makeshift table (she had a new, improved model on order for the grand re-opening) skimming reference books and marking anything useful with post-it notes. It was boring, but they all wanted to help Spike out, and tacitly agreed to do it without involving Xander or Riley. Or, as Anya put it, 'we don't need any stupid men.' Buffy wished, though, and not for the first time, that Giles were here; as research girl, she was pretty sure she sucked. But what else could they do?
They'd been at it for a couple of hours, and already downed innumerable Diet Cokes, when the shop bell rang. All three faces turned, blinking, towards the door.
In the entrance stood two people none of them had ever seen before, and after a blank moment Buffy realized who it must be and sprang up to greet them.
"Hi! Come on in - you must be Gunn, and you must be Fred!" she said. "Welcome! I've heard so much about you!"
"Thanks, I think." Laughing, Gunn shook her hand. "And I'm guessing you are Buffy, the Vampire Slayer."
"It's so nice to meet you!" Fred said, beaming. "We've heard a lot about you, too! Well, not from Spike - or from Angel, for that matter - but we have, anyway! Is he here?"
"Spike should be here anytime now," Buffy said, untangling this without difficulty; she felt she was getting the hang of Fred. She led them down to the main store area. "This is Anya, the owner of the Magic Box, and my sister, Dawn."
"Hi! This shop is great," Fred said, looking around, "you have so many hard-to-find things! Basilisk scales! And Cimmerian sand! You wouldn't have Rhine Pearls, would you? 'Cause I couldn't find a one in LA."
"Thank you very much, I'm glad you like it! I do have the pearls, right over here," Anya said proudly, showing Fred a display case. "I have all summoning objects in this area - "
"She's a live-wire, isn't she?" Buffy said, smiling at Gunn. "We weren't expecting you guys."
"Spike called last night. We've got to talk to him, and this Initiative guy, too. There's some bad stuff going down; we dug up some pretty scary information about what those boys are doing now."
"They're not working for any government agency, are they?" Buffy said.
"No way in hell, to put it bluntly. At least no government we know about."
They were distracted when the bell rang again. It was Spike.
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Fred streaked across the room and threw her arms around him, and Buffy watched his face light up in a way she'd never seen before. He lifted Fred up and swung her around in an ecstatic half-circle.
"I'm so glad to see you!" Fred said. "Are you okay? Did you ever get all warmed up again? What did you do with Captain Jack's shirt? How did you like the boat, wasn't it great?"
"Hello, darlin,'" he said. "I love the boat; it's in a place of honor in my parlor. Right over the telly."
Buffy glanced toward Anya and Dawn, who had moved to stand beside her, and observed a singular expression on both their faces. She knew just what that expression meant, because she knew her own face wore it, too - it meant 'hey, strange girl, hands off my vampire!'
"Wait a minute, man, I think that belongs to me," Gunn said.
"Special delivery package for Mr. Gunn." Spike handed Fred over and shook hands. "That was quick, mate."
"Yeah, well, we picked up some info that really needs confirming. We need to talk to this Initiative guy ASAP."
"They're both at Harris's flat, right, Slayer?" Spike said - finally looking at her, but in a purely professional manner. "I can take you to him, but after that he's all yours. I DON'T need to talk to the giant nitwit again, thank you very much."
"Great - sooner we get started, the better; my van is completely vamp-friendly, blackout windows and everything - not that the Big Guy ever uses it. Prefers his own wheels."
"Can you give 'em a call to say we're coming, Slayer? I'll drop these two shamuses off and meet you back here in twenty minutes, if that's all right."
"Okay. I'll be waiting." She said, with composure; she could almost hear Anya's mental 'atta girl.'
"It was so great to finally meet all of you," Fred said warmly.
As they moved toward the door, Gunn said, "Shamuses?"
"That's what you lot are, isn't it?" she heard Spike reply. "You're lucky I didn't say dicks."
* * * *
Buffy sat down at the table and opened a particularly grubby volume, turning over ancient, musty-smelling pages that threatened to crumble beneath her fingers, and wondered if she was even able to talk to Spike alone without saying something stupid. Since he came back her record on tact wasn't exactly impressive. Or before he left, for that matter.
She didn't need to ask herself why anymore; she knew why. And, judging from Dawn and Anya's reactions, they knew, too. How long had she been in love with him? Always? Why had she been so blind? So dishonest? And how could she have been so - so cruel?
She knew what she'd done. Something had clicked into place the very first time she saw that jaunty figure and that bleached head gleaming against the darkness, as if she'd always expected him and there he was. Right from the beginning she'd known him so well. She spotted his weak point, the chink in his armor, the minute she saw him, fearsome as he appeared.
It was always love.
She'd told herself over and over that he couldn't love, but she knew it wasn't true; his love for Drusilla had allowed her to defeat him again and again. Then when she learned of his love for her - when he'd proved his love for her - she finally used that against him, too, as surely as if she had planned all along to annihilate him with it. Looking back, she didn't see how she could have hurt him more. Lucky for him he left when he did, really. Loving her was a sure formula for destruction.
"Well, they seemed nice," Anya said brightly after a few minutes, startling her out of her gloom. "Dawn, would you like to help me, uh, count some inventory downstairs?"
"Eeew, no, that's the most bori - I mean, sure, that'd be great," Dawn replied, responding with aplomb to an elbow in the ribs.
As they started downstairs, Buffy clearly heard Anya whisper, "We should leave your sister alone with Spike, you know."
* * * *
Buffy tried to make sense of the page she was reading. But soon - before she was ready - the bell over the shop door jingled again, and she jumped. Almost apprehensively, she looked toward the entrance.
Angel stood awkwardly on the step.
"Hey," he said. Well. She probably should have expected that.
"Come on in," she said. "I'd say I'm surprised to see you, but so much has happened in the last few days that I can't even feel it anymore. How are you?"
"Okay," he said. That was Angel all over, she thought irritably; Mr. Communication. (You never had to pry SPIKE'S feelings out of him with a crowbar.) He didn't look okay; he looked thin and strained, and somehow shadowed. She found that something inside her still cared if he was unhappy, and she wanted to make him feel welcome, though she didn't suppose offering him a Diet Coke would do it. Angel never was much of a one for people food.
"Come in and sit down. I'm sorry about what happened, with you and - and Spike," she went on, in sympathetic tone. He came down the steps toward her. "I mean, I heard about it. He told us."
"He did? Well, then you know what I owe him - everything, I guess," he said, smiling faintly for the first time. "I'm lucky he was there to help."
"It must feel sort of weird to say that." Sure she was fishing shamelessly. But she didn't care. If he could give her a clue about why Spike was acting this way, as Dawn had put it -
"Believe me, it does." Angel smiled again, but rather stiffly, as though he weren't quite used to doing it anymore; but he seemed a little more at ease, and sat down beside her at the research table. "As a matter of fact, I know it sounds stupid, but - well, I'm kind of proud of him."
"You're proud of Spike?"
"You know, what he's going through. He's sure handling it a lot better than I did - the whole soul thing. I guess I must be the only one who really knows how hard it - Buffy? Buffy, are you okay?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,
Thus much I at least may recall,
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd
Deserved to be dearest of all:
In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee."
George Gordon, Lord Byron
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C. And maybe...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 11 In the Solitude Singing
"I'll kill that one if I see him again." Zevra paused for a moment on the way out the door, her face grim. The demons had agreed to reconvene the next evening to compare notes, and, hopefully, prisoners.
"No worries, love; I'll keep him out of your way," Spike said. "But he's here to rescue his wife, you know - "
Zevvie snorted. Amazons didn't believe in marriage.
" - and she's half Dendron. Could be he's not as bad as the rest, after all."
"They're all the same," she said bleakly, striding out.
Spike stood in the doorway for a moment after she left, not really seeing the street, and fingering his sleeve where Buffy had touched him.
They'd been sitting at the table, talking business, and she'd leaned forward and put her hand on his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like she didn't loathe the sight of him. He could still feel her hot little fingers burning him through the fabric. If he'd ever wondered if her touch was still electrifying after all these months, now he knew. Of course, he never had wondered.
* * * *
"That went well, all things considered," Clem said when Spike joined him in the kitchen.
"If that git gets through this little visit to Sunnydale with only one attempt at vengeance, he'll be lucky," Spike said acidly. "Fortunately, that's not our problem. Grabbing our minion and figuring out this bleeding thrall, those are our problems. Seems like the spell or whatever works on some demon hybrids but not others, like vamps. And we know it works on pure demons."
"Better stay out of her clutches, that's all," Clem said.
"No, I don't want to risk anybody getting captured." Still stroking his sleeve, Spike absently drank a mug of foamy root beer. "We need reinforcements."
* * * *
He was on top of her, and she ran her hands up his smooth, powerful back, pressing him close, her eyes closed. She felt his lips touch her throat, cool and soft, and his silken hair rub against her cheek; she heard him gasp as she moved. It was dark and safe in his arms, and warm - though never too warm. She pressed her face against his shoulder -
- And woke to staccato knocking.
"Buffy!" It was Dawn's voice. "Aren't you up yet? Don't you want to go to Anya's this morning?"
Buffy felt the sting of tears starting, and flung her arm across her eyes for a moment. She didn't want to see brilliant sunlight right now, or hear birds tweeting in brainless happiness; if only she could have that beautiful darkness back, just for a few more minutes.
But she knew she had to answer.
"Okay, Dawnie, I'll be right down," she said.
* * * *
"I do have books that mention thrall," Anya said. "Up there, Dawn, on the second shelf down, at the far end."
"Okay," Dawn said, starting up the library ladder to fetch them, happy to be an official part of Spike's project.
As she climbed, Anya turned to Buffy.
"Is everything okay?" she said, in a lowered voice. "You seem sad."
Feeling herself blush, Buffy bent her head. Why did love always make you feel like such a fool? Oh, God. "When we saw Spike last night there was this girl demon there."
"Was she pretty?" Anya said, striking right to the heart of the matter, as usual.
"Gorgeous!" Buffy burst out, "she had black skin and beautiful white hair, and this fabulous figure - I mean, J-Lo fabulous. You know - curvy. And you could really see it, too; she wasn't exactly wearing a lot. Spike said she's an Amazon."
"Hmmm. Must be a Zantip Amazon. Well," Anya said practically, "they have no objection to, you know, flings, but they don't believe in permanent mating, if that's any consolation."
Buffy sighed. It really wasn't. Funny how she could talk about flings with Anya without angst; but that was different. She knew Anya didn't want Spike for herself.
"And not only that, I found out some things - well, that I wish I hadn't."
"Not about Spike?" Dawn said anxiously. Drat! She'd been so busy conferring with Anya that she hadn't noticed Dawn come back with the reference books. She didn't mean to tell her sister about the worryingly attractive Amazon; she hadn't sunk THAT low. Yet.
"No, not about Spike at all. About Riley, in fact, and the Initiative. And Sam. Riley lied to me - a lot."
"Humph." Dawn was unimpressed. "I could've told you that. I don't see how you could have swallowed that 'Spike is an international arms dealer' stuff; he doesn't even have a phone."
"I didn't think Riley would lie," Buffy said glumly, pushing her hair back with both hands. "I wonder if he ever told the truth about anything, now."
* * * *
The three girls sat around Anya's makeshift table (she had a new, improved model on order for the grand re-opening) skimming reference books and marking anything useful with post-it notes. It was boring, but they all wanted to help Spike out, and tacitly agreed to do it without involving Xander or Riley. Or, as Anya put it, 'we don't need any stupid men.' Buffy wished, though, and not for the first time, that Giles were here; as research girl, she was pretty sure she sucked. But what else could they do?
They'd been at it for a couple of hours, and already downed innumerable Diet Cokes, when the shop bell rang. All three faces turned, blinking, towards the door.
In the entrance stood two people none of them had ever seen before, and after a blank moment Buffy realized who it must be and sprang up to greet them.
"Hi! Come on in - you must be Gunn, and you must be Fred!" she said. "Welcome! I've heard so much about you!"
"Thanks, I think." Laughing, Gunn shook her hand. "And I'm guessing you are Buffy, the Vampire Slayer."
"It's so nice to meet you!" Fred said, beaming. "We've heard a lot about you, too! Well, not from Spike - or from Angel, for that matter - but we have, anyway! Is he here?"
"Spike should be here anytime now," Buffy said, untangling this without difficulty; she felt she was getting the hang of Fred. She led them down to the main store area. "This is Anya, the owner of the Magic Box, and my sister, Dawn."
"Hi! This shop is great," Fred said, looking around, "you have so many hard-to-find things! Basilisk scales! And Cimmerian sand! You wouldn't have Rhine Pearls, would you? 'Cause I couldn't find a one in LA."
"Thank you very much, I'm glad you like it! I do have the pearls, right over here," Anya said proudly, showing Fred a display case. "I have all summoning objects in this area - "
"She's a live-wire, isn't she?" Buffy said, smiling at Gunn. "We weren't expecting you guys."
"Spike called last night. We've got to talk to him, and this Initiative guy, too. There's some bad stuff going down; we dug up some pretty scary information about what those boys are doing now."
"They're not working for any government agency, are they?" Buffy said.
"No way in hell, to put it bluntly. At least no government we know about."
They were distracted when the bell rang again. It was Spike.
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Fred streaked across the room and threw her arms around him, and Buffy watched his face light up in a way she'd never seen before. He lifted Fred up and swung her around in an ecstatic half-circle.
"I'm so glad to see you!" Fred said. "Are you okay? Did you ever get all warmed up again? What did you do with Captain Jack's shirt? How did you like the boat, wasn't it great?"
"Hello, darlin,'" he said. "I love the boat; it's in a place of honor in my parlor. Right over the telly."
Buffy glanced toward Anya and Dawn, who had moved to stand beside her, and observed a singular expression on both their faces. She knew just what that expression meant, because she knew her own face wore it, too - it meant 'hey, strange girl, hands off my vampire!'
"Wait a minute, man, I think that belongs to me," Gunn said.
"Special delivery package for Mr. Gunn." Spike handed Fred over and shook hands. "That was quick, mate."
"Yeah, well, we picked up some info that really needs confirming. We need to talk to this Initiative guy ASAP."
"They're both at Harris's flat, right, Slayer?" Spike said - finally looking at her, but in a purely professional manner. "I can take you to him, but after that he's all yours. I DON'T need to talk to the giant nitwit again, thank you very much."
"Great - sooner we get started, the better; my van is completely vamp-friendly, blackout windows and everything - not that the Big Guy ever uses it. Prefers his own wheels."
"Can you give 'em a call to say we're coming, Slayer? I'll drop these two shamuses off and meet you back here in twenty minutes, if that's all right."
"Okay. I'll be waiting." She said, with composure; she could almost hear Anya's mental 'atta girl.'
"It was so great to finally meet all of you," Fred said warmly.
As they moved toward the door, Gunn said, "Shamuses?"
"That's what you lot are, isn't it?" she heard Spike reply. "You're lucky I didn't say dicks."
* * * *
Buffy sat down at the table and opened a particularly grubby volume, turning over ancient, musty-smelling pages that threatened to crumble beneath her fingers, and wondered if she was even able to talk to Spike alone without saying something stupid. Since he came back her record on tact wasn't exactly impressive. Or before he left, for that matter.
She didn't need to ask herself why anymore; she knew why. And, judging from Dawn and Anya's reactions, they knew, too. How long had she been in love with him? Always? Why had she been so blind? So dishonest? And how could she have been so - so cruel?
She knew what she'd done. Something had clicked into place the very first time she saw that jaunty figure and that bleached head gleaming against the darkness, as if she'd always expected him and there he was. Right from the beginning she'd known him so well. She spotted his weak point, the chink in his armor, the minute she saw him, fearsome as he appeared.
It was always love.
She'd told herself over and over that he couldn't love, but she knew it wasn't true; his love for Drusilla had allowed her to defeat him again and again. Then when she learned of his love for her - when he'd proved his love for her - she finally used that against him, too, as surely as if she had planned all along to annihilate him with it. Looking back, she didn't see how she could have hurt him more. Lucky for him he left when he did, really. Loving her was a sure formula for destruction.
"Well, they seemed nice," Anya said brightly after a few minutes, startling her out of her gloom. "Dawn, would you like to help me, uh, count some inventory downstairs?"
"Eeew, no, that's the most bori - I mean, sure, that'd be great," Dawn replied, responding with aplomb to an elbow in the ribs.
As they started downstairs, Buffy clearly heard Anya whisper, "We should leave your sister alone with Spike, you know."
* * * *
Buffy tried to make sense of the page she was reading. But soon - before she was ready - the bell over the shop door jingled again, and she jumped. Almost apprehensively, she looked toward the entrance.
Angel stood awkwardly on the step.
"Hey," he said. Well. She probably should have expected that.
"Come on in," she said. "I'd say I'm surprised to see you, but so much has happened in the last few days that I can't even feel it anymore. How are you?"
"Okay," he said. That was Angel all over, she thought irritably; Mr. Communication. (You never had to pry SPIKE'S feelings out of him with a crowbar.) He didn't look okay; he looked thin and strained, and somehow shadowed. She found that something inside her still cared if he was unhappy, and she wanted to make him feel welcome, though she didn't suppose offering him a Diet Coke would do it. Angel never was much of a one for people food.
"Come in and sit down. I'm sorry about what happened, with you and - and Spike," she went on, in sympathetic tone. He came down the steps toward her. "I mean, I heard about it. He told us."
"He did? Well, then you know what I owe him - everything, I guess," he said, smiling faintly for the first time. "I'm lucky he was there to help."
"It must feel sort of weird to say that." Sure she was fishing shamelessly. But she didn't care. If he could give her a clue about why Spike was acting this way, as Dawn had put it -
"Believe me, it does." Angel smiled again, but rather stiffly, as though he weren't quite used to doing it anymore; but he seemed a little more at ease, and sat down beside her at the research table. "As a matter of fact, I know it sounds stupid, but - well, I'm kind of proud of him."
"You're proud of Spike?"
"You know, what he's going through. He's sure handling it a lot better than I did - the whole soul thing. I guess I must be the only one who really knows how hard it - Buffy? Buffy, are you okay?"
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd,
Thus much I at least may recall,
It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd
Deserved to be dearest of all:
In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee."
George Gordon, Lord Byron