Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.
Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!
SAMARITAN Pt. 23 Just a Life
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Eddie flung open the doors of the Red Sunset Club, declared the first round on the house, and spent the rest of the evening pouring drink after drink with a free hand. Soon the joint was jumping with happy (good) demons toasting their human guests.
Bearing two overflowing pints of foam-topped, sable-brown Guinness, Spike made his way toward an archway separating the two main rooms.
"Here you are, granddad." He handed one glass to Angel, who stood in the shadows with his shoulders propped against the wall. "Rancid black muck straight from the Ould Country. That'll be four-fifty."
Angel looked outraged; at least, his brow furrowed more than usual. "For two pints? In a demon bar?" He felt in his pockets. "I don't know what this country's coming to. The first pint I ever had cost fivepence. In fact, it might have been a penny. Good home-brewed ale, too."
"S'pose you should expect some inflation over two hundred years," Spike said, sipping foam from the top of his drink. "I also s'pose you're spinning tales of the olden days to distract my attention away from the dosh you owe me. Pay up."
"I was going to—I've got a soul too, you know," Angel retorted defensively. He retrieved a bundle of neatly folded bills and carefully counted out four. "I'm out of coins; I'll have to owe you the rest."
With skillful fingers, Spike filched one more dollar bill from the roll heading back toward Angel's pocket.
"I'll owe YOU," he corrected. "Soul or no soul, Peaches, you're still the most tightfisted bastard I've met in 150 years, bar none. Give it a rest, why don't you?"
"I can't help it if my Da taught me thrift," Angel said moodily. This was their fifth pint, and the old man began to wax philosophical. "Nobody knows the value of a dollar nowadays—or anything else, for that matter. Seriously, don't you wonder about this century sometimes?"
"I'm sort of getting into it, as a matter of fact," Spike replied. "I mean, satellite TV, right? Can't say fairer than that. Digital cameras. Cell phones. Even thinking of getting a laptop."
"I hate that electronic crap." Angel's face grew darker still. "How about this for an example—a hundred years ago, it would have taken that cretin Finn six months to contact his brownshirt buds in South America. Now he's just hopped a supersonic jet, and..."
Spike sobered abruptly. The Spineless Tin Soldier was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight. "We threw a good scare into him, though," he said hopefully. "And, anyway, once those bloody eggs are destroyed with the rest of the Doctor bird's kit, there'll be no 'suoshashai.' No necromancy. No evil Initiative science."
"They can find more."
"Supposed to be rare and that, aren't they? Endangered."
"There are other things. Other ways to—"
"You saying we should've offed him?" Spike interrupted sharply. "Killed him for something he MIGHT do?"
Angel's eyes looked almost black as he gazed somberly into his Guinness. "I'm just saying—he'll be back. You can count on it."
Without replying, Spike turned to survey the happy crowd.
The Sunset really was nicer than Willy's; the bar itself was faux black marble, and the wall behind it bore a mural of a striking crimson sun sinking behind gently rolling hills. Strands of amber, vermilion, and hot pink colored lights crisscrossed the ceiling. No mirrors, of course, but there was a well-stocked jukebox, and nicely upholstered black leather booths and assorted drinks with little umbrellas were available for the ladies. Also, your feet didn't stick to the floor here.
In a booth across from the bar, Buffy sat squeezed in beside Zevra, Anya, Xander, Gunn, and Fred. A scattering of empty glasses decorated the table, and someone had apparently ordered a fresh round of Singapore Slings, as five tall, rosy glasses, set with fruit-studded swizzle sticks, stood before them. Spike saw with certain frisson of apprehension that the two Woman Warriors were developing quite a rapport; Buffy's golden head was bent close to Zevra's platinum one, and they seemed deep in conversation. He was all for an honest and open relationship in theory, but there were some features of his friendship with the Amazons that he'd just as soon not share with the slayer. As he watched, she threw back her head and laughed.
"You going to tell her? About the necromancy?" Angel's voice, very low, made him jump.
Spike snorted. "'Course I am. I prefer to keep all my bits intact. Slayer doesn't exactly take to being kept in the dark for her own good, does she?"
Angel rubbed his jaw with a reminiscent smile. "Now that you mention it, no."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
After a celebration lasting into the early hours of morning, the slightly hung over members of the Greater Sunnydale Human/Demon Protective Alliance (tee shirts were already in the works) spent the following forenoon searching out the Doctor's remaining minions, freeing them with potions, and clearing every living thing out of the underground hideout and its environs.
As dusk fell, Buffy descended once more, with Spike and Angel for back-up. The chimera's corpse lay where it had fallen, limp, empty, and somehow shabby, like a discarded glove. The prized Suovolte eggs were discovered in insulated containers beneath the platform, where she could keep close watch on them, they supposed.
Feeling her stomach churn, Buffy took one last look around at the desolate remains of the high school gym, the storeroom doors hanging from their hinges, dusty mats rolled in the corners, and the climbing ropes (now bearing vile-looking stains) dangling from the ceiling. So much had happened here. Once, in this room, her heart had knotted with bittersweet joy at Angel's touch. Once—and only once—she had known the thanks of her peers. Once these walls had rung with chants, shrieks, and ululations—and those were just the cheerleaders. She shivered, and hugged herself, but soon the moment passed. It was truly all over.
"You know, it really DOES look smaller," she remarked, and, stepping over the carcass to the wall of still-humming Initiative equipment, pulled the deadly lever with a decisive yank.
Then the three of them ran like hell. A thundering boom pursued them through the warren of tunnels, and the lair of that triply formidable foe, the Doctor, shuddered into rubble at last.
All Sunnydale's incurious citizens ever knew was that there had been a sudden collapse of several abandoned warehouses near the business district. A range of public works projects to revitalize the area began to be debated at the very next Municipal Council meeting.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Now a cool, violet-streaked twilight fell over the town, and Buffy and Spike stood on the front porch saying goodbye to their friends. Angel's marlin-finned Plymouth, Gunn's customized SUV, and Wally's electric blue PT Cruiser were parked at the curb.
"So we expect you lot to give us a ring next time you need rescuing, right? Guess we owe you one, now," Spike said.
"Next time an invincible Big Bad hits L.A., you'll be the first ones we call," Angel promised. "Gotta maintain the ol' cosmic balance."
Under Spike's watchful but restrained eye, he bent to bestow a chaste kiss on Buffy's cheek, and started down the steps.
"You could just come to visit," she called after him. "Like a friend, or something."
Angel looked back over his shoulder.
"You know what? I just might," he replied. "I'd like to see how that Neighborhood Watch thing works out."
Though he smiled, Buffy saw something in his dark eyes that made her heart contract. The set of his shoulders spoke wordlessly of desolation as he moved away.
She opened her mouth to call him back, but just then Gunn, Fred, Wally the Merman, and Vinnie Teeth came bustling out the front door, trailed by Xander, who seemed to have something on his mind.
Gunn wrapped Buffy in a bear hug. "Whitestuff owes me this one, anyway," he said. Over her shoulder she saw Spike embrace Fred with singular gentleness, and heard him whisper, "See you soon, Brown Eyes."
After that the girls hugged, too, but Spike and Gunn contented themselves with a manly handshake and a few jocular punches.
"So you're saying three-card-monte's always a scam?" Xander demanded of Vinnie.
"Sure it is," the Loan Shark replied. "I'll admit, it was never my specialty—you need a lot of manual dexterity, you know what I mean?" (here he held up his blunt fins) "—but guys can make a good living right on the sidewalk. And you only achieve that regular cash flow we all appreciate so much if the game is rigged, get me?"
"But if a customer kept his eyes open..." Xander pursued.
"Nah. Take my advice, kid, stay away from street corners. Crime actually doesn't pay, as it turns out."
Wally slapped his brother-in-law's burly shoulder. "That's why Vinnie's going straight!" he announced.
"Yeah, I decided to put my unique talents to work." Vinnie straightened his narrow raw silk lapels and shimmied his dorsal. "I'm joining Wally's in- ground pool business. Temp control, lights, custom grottos, whirlpools, fountains, automatic covers—the works. High-class clientele, strictly legit." His grin flashed an imposing array of blade-like teeth. "I figure sales is my forte."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Finally, the last vehicle turned off Revello Drive, taillight winking. Buffy still waved.
"Bye!" she called. "Drive carefully!"
"Yeah, so long. Bon voyage, and all that," Spike added. "Don't forget to write!" He turned to Buffy, pulling her close. "Thought I'd never get to say this, pet, but—alone at last! ...What?"
"Oh, my God!" Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, and stared at him, round eyed.
"What is it, love? Something wrong?"
"Omigod, I completely forgot! But we've been so busy!"
"What?"
"Giles and Willow—they're coming home. TOMORROW!"
"Well, that's not so bad... where are you going?"
Buffy flung a one-word reply over her shoulder as she hurtled through the front door. "Vacuum!"
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Um, so, I thought you should know all this before you get here," Buffy said nervously. "So you won't be, you know, too shocked."
She heard Giles sigh, and smiled at the phone as she imagined him cleaning his glasses.
"Buffy," he answered, his voice deliberately patient, "I understand that you've become—well, fond of Spike..."
She laughed. "Nice way to put it, Giles! But you'll understand when you see him, I promise. He's changed."
"My dear—you may believe that. And HE may even believe it. But vampires can't change, Buffy."
"You'll see," she replied.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Well, G-Man," Xander's voice sounded a bit thin over the telephone, but relatively chipper, all things considered. "I understand your concern. And I gotta tell ya, it's all true."
"You astonish me, Xander. And, please—never call me that again."
"I'm just as astonished as you are," Xander said. "Almost to the point of catatonia, in fact. It's just soooooo creepy. It all started when Spike and I had one of our little rowdydows and I shattered protocol by asking him to stop calling me names."
"Oh?" All started? What all started? "What happened then?"
"He stopped."
"Oh." Giles pondered that. He was chagrined to find that, somewhere inside himself, he would miss Spike's zingers at Xander's expense. If this WAS all true, of course. There was always the possibility of some kind of thrall. Perhaps even mass thrall. "What about his, ah, relationship with Buffy?"
"Absolutely stomach-turning," Xander said.
Aha! Giles thought. I knew there was something going on that Buffy didn't want to tell me about. Romantic entanglements with vampires were fraught with peril. Visions of horrid bondage games and erotic blood rites sprang into his mind, and he dismissed them hurriedly. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"They gaze at each other starry-eyed across crowded rooms." Xander's tone oozed disgust. "They stroll hand-in-hand down moonlit lanes, pausing only to dust a few vamps. Honestly, Giles, one of these days I expect to see pink and blue birdies following them around with flower garlands in their little beaks, like a Disney cartoon."
"Good lord! It does sound revolting. So you don't think Spike poses a threat at this time, then?"
"Not unless you get between him and the little old lady he's helping across the street," Xander replied. "I actually SAW him rescue a kid's kitten from a tree. I had to go home and lie down."
"Good lord!" Giles said again. That was rather—well, creepy. What on earth was going on?
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Dawnie, you sure you're okay with this?" Buffy said. "They'll be here in half an hour. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Spike took Dawn's hand and squeezed it. She smiled at him.
"Everyone deserves a chance, right?" she said. "I'm not saying I won't be nervous, but I've got you guys here to protect me if things get, uh, weird."
"Giles says Willow's different now—her powers are different," Buffy said. "He said they're 'fractured,' whatever that means. She couldn't do what she did before, even if she wanted to. And I'm, you know, sure she doesn't. Want to, I mean."
"Sounds to me like you're the one who's nervous," Dawn teased.
They were interrupted by a knock on the kitchen door. Xander and Anya stood on the back porch laden with colorful boxes.
"We brought appropriate foodstuffs to welcome Willow home. Because that's what we all plan to do, right?" Anya's smile was determined.
"Welcome, eat, relax, check," Xander said. "Forgive and forget. Mellow out. Check."
"Since we've all tried to kill each other at one time or another, it makes sense for us all to forgive each other," Anya pointed out. "It would be socially awkward, otherwise."
"Honey, you are the Hellmouth's own Emily Post," Xander declared.
Buffy laughed. "Come on in, you guys! They'll be here soon."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Technically speaking, I never tried to kill Buffy," Anya said. "But I'm very sorry for any discomfort I might have caused."
"That's okay, Anya," Buffy said, "it's over, and we're all friends now."
"I hope Willow sees it that way." Anya's voice was still rather tense.
"She's probably just as sorry as we are, pet," Spike put in. "But let's not crowd her, all right? Once you start apologizing it's hard to know where to stop. Gets a bit boring for the onlookers."
Without replying, Anya clutched Xander's hand. There was a lull only partly filled by the crunching of chocolate-dipped butter cookies (with sprinkles) fresh from the bakery, and, after a few moments, they heard a vehicle pull into the drive. Then two car doors opened and shut. Then there was another pause, and the doorbell rang.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Willow said. With a pang of sympathy, Giles saw that she was trembling ever so slightly.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. In fact, he too felt a bit unnerved. The guardians of the Hellmouth seemed to have scraped through the latest crisis without any major disasters, but he could only imagine what dreadful situation might have developed between Buffy and Spike. How on earth would he get her to see reason?
But he'd HAD to leave when he did. Willow risked serious damage from magical overload, and only the Devon coven could help her. After all, it was his responsibility—if it hadn't been for his carelessness, she would never have begun even the simplest spell. Thank goodness, his instinct had been correct; as soon as they arrived at the rambling, apotropaic country manor, shaded by ancient trees, the good denizens had welcomed her with honest warmth. Who could comprehend the temptations of abundant magical power better than these, twelve of the most powerful white magic adepts in the world? Their strength and understanding had pulled her through this crisis, he was sure of it. But he could hardly just drop the girl with a group of strangers and scurry back to his slayer, much as he might have wished to.
And, after all, he thought rather waspishly, one would have imagined that Buffy's first disastrous experience of vampire amours might have taught her some caution, at the very least. Apparently one would have been wrong, however.
He got out of the rental car, and opened the trunk to get his bags. Later this evening he would drop Willow off at her parents' house, and the Summers home would be his headquarters for a few days. Golden, welcoming light streamed from the unshaded windows, illuminating the dark street. Giles frowned. That seemed a bit careless in this town. Willow joined him on the path to the front porch, but hung back as he rang the bell.
When the door opened to reveal Buffy's smiling face, Giles forgot his reservations for a moment, and reached out his unencumbered arm to gather her close. How he had missed her!
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, squeezing his ribcage with rather perilous enthusiasm. "You won't BELIEVE the changes around Sunnydale!"
Suddenly he felt his right hand freed, and Spike's voice said, "Welcome back, Rupes. Let me get that for you."
Giles drew back in surprise as Spike took his bag and stowed it against the wall by the stairs. Well. That was certainly odd. But there would be time to go into it later. Right now...
"Welcome home, Will," Buffy said warmly. "We're so glad you're back."
"Come, my dear," Giles said, taking Willow's hand and gently drawing her across the threshold. She looked so timid, poor girl, with that little half- smile on her lips.
Willow's looked from one face to another. "Hey, guys."
"Come on in, Will!" Xander waved a paper cup. "We've got the tropical fruit punch of hospitality, here!"
"And cannoli!" Anya added brightly.
"Well, who could refuse..." Willow began. Then she staggered, and gasped. "Oh, my God," she said, her voice shaking. "Oh, my God!"
TBC
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,—just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
Emily Dickenson
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Grak, Garg, and the rest of the demon gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul takes Spike places no one expected him to go.
Setting: Hey, it's the Samaritan-verse!
SAMARITAN Pt. 23 Just a Life
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Eddie flung open the doors of the Red Sunset Club, declared the first round on the house, and spent the rest of the evening pouring drink after drink with a free hand. Soon the joint was jumping with happy (good) demons toasting their human guests.
Bearing two overflowing pints of foam-topped, sable-brown Guinness, Spike made his way toward an archway separating the two main rooms.
"Here you are, granddad." He handed one glass to Angel, who stood in the shadows with his shoulders propped against the wall. "Rancid black muck straight from the Ould Country. That'll be four-fifty."
Angel looked outraged; at least, his brow furrowed more than usual. "For two pints? In a demon bar?" He felt in his pockets. "I don't know what this country's coming to. The first pint I ever had cost fivepence. In fact, it might have been a penny. Good home-brewed ale, too."
"S'pose you should expect some inflation over two hundred years," Spike said, sipping foam from the top of his drink. "I also s'pose you're spinning tales of the olden days to distract my attention away from the dosh you owe me. Pay up."
"I was going to—I've got a soul too, you know," Angel retorted defensively. He retrieved a bundle of neatly folded bills and carefully counted out four. "I'm out of coins; I'll have to owe you the rest."
With skillful fingers, Spike filched one more dollar bill from the roll heading back toward Angel's pocket.
"I'll owe YOU," he corrected. "Soul or no soul, Peaches, you're still the most tightfisted bastard I've met in 150 years, bar none. Give it a rest, why don't you?"
"I can't help it if my Da taught me thrift," Angel said moodily. This was their fifth pint, and the old man began to wax philosophical. "Nobody knows the value of a dollar nowadays—or anything else, for that matter. Seriously, don't you wonder about this century sometimes?"
"I'm sort of getting into it, as a matter of fact," Spike replied. "I mean, satellite TV, right? Can't say fairer than that. Digital cameras. Cell phones. Even thinking of getting a laptop."
"I hate that electronic crap." Angel's face grew darker still. "How about this for an example—a hundred years ago, it would have taken that cretin Finn six months to contact his brownshirt buds in South America. Now he's just hopped a supersonic jet, and..."
Spike sobered abruptly. The Spineless Tin Soldier was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight. "We threw a good scare into him, though," he said hopefully. "And, anyway, once those bloody eggs are destroyed with the rest of the Doctor bird's kit, there'll be no 'suoshashai.' No necromancy. No evil Initiative science."
"They can find more."
"Supposed to be rare and that, aren't they? Endangered."
"There are other things. Other ways to—"
"You saying we should've offed him?" Spike interrupted sharply. "Killed him for something he MIGHT do?"
Angel's eyes looked almost black as he gazed somberly into his Guinness. "I'm just saying—he'll be back. You can count on it."
Without replying, Spike turned to survey the happy crowd.
The Sunset really was nicer than Willy's; the bar itself was faux black marble, and the wall behind it bore a mural of a striking crimson sun sinking behind gently rolling hills. Strands of amber, vermilion, and hot pink colored lights crisscrossed the ceiling. No mirrors, of course, but there was a well-stocked jukebox, and nicely upholstered black leather booths and assorted drinks with little umbrellas were available for the ladies. Also, your feet didn't stick to the floor here.
In a booth across from the bar, Buffy sat squeezed in beside Zevra, Anya, Xander, Gunn, and Fred. A scattering of empty glasses decorated the table, and someone had apparently ordered a fresh round of Singapore Slings, as five tall, rosy glasses, set with fruit-studded swizzle sticks, stood before them. Spike saw with certain frisson of apprehension that the two Woman Warriors were developing quite a rapport; Buffy's golden head was bent close to Zevra's platinum one, and they seemed deep in conversation. He was all for an honest and open relationship in theory, but there were some features of his friendship with the Amazons that he'd just as soon not share with the slayer. As he watched, she threw back her head and laughed.
"You going to tell her? About the necromancy?" Angel's voice, very low, made him jump.
Spike snorted. "'Course I am. I prefer to keep all my bits intact. Slayer doesn't exactly take to being kept in the dark for her own good, does she?"
Angel rubbed his jaw with a reminiscent smile. "Now that you mention it, no."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
After a celebration lasting into the early hours of morning, the slightly hung over members of the Greater Sunnydale Human/Demon Protective Alliance (tee shirts were already in the works) spent the following forenoon searching out the Doctor's remaining minions, freeing them with potions, and clearing every living thing out of the underground hideout and its environs.
As dusk fell, Buffy descended once more, with Spike and Angel for back-up. The chimera's corpse lay where it had fallen, limp, empty, and somehow shabby, like a discarded glove. The prized Suovolte eggs were discovered in insulated containers beneath the platform, where she could keep close watch on them, they supposed.
Feeling her stomach churn, Buffy took one last look around at the desolate remains of the high school gym, the storeroom doors hanging from their hinges, dusty mats rolled in the corners, and the climbing ropes (now bearing vile-looking stains) dangling from the ceiling. So much had happened here. Once, in this room, her heart had knotted with bittersweet joy at Angel's touch. Once—and only once—she had known the thanks of her peers. Once these walls had rung with chants, shrieks, and ululations—and those were just the cheerleaders. She shivered, and hugged herself, but soon the moment passed. It was truly all over.
"You know, it really DOES look smaller," she remarked, and, stepping over the carcass to the wall of still-humming Initiative equipment, pulled the deadly lever with a decisive yank.
Then the three of them ran like hell. A thundering boom pursued them through the warren of tunnels, and the lair of that triply formidable foe, the Doctor, shuddered into rubble at last.
All Sunnydale's incurious citizens ever knew was that there had been a sudden collapse of several abandoned warehouses near the business district. A range of public works projects to revitalize the area began to be debated at the very next Municipal Council meeting.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Now a cool, violet-streaked twilight fell over the town, and Buffy and Spike stood on the front porch saying goodbye to their friends. Angel's marlin-finned Plymouth, Gunn's customized SUV, and Wally's electric blue PT Cruiser were parked at the curb.
"So we expect you lot to give us a ring next time you need rescuing, right? Guess we owe you one, now," Spike said.
"Next time an invincible Big Bad hits L.A., you'll be the first ones we call," Angel promised. "Gotta maintain the ol' cosmic balance."
Under Spike's watchful but restrained eye, he bent to bestow a chaste kiss on Buffy's cheek, and started down the steps.
"You could just come to visit," she called after him. "Like a friend, or something."
Angel looked back over his shoulder.
"You know what? I just might," he replied. "I'd like to see how that Neighborhood Watch thing works out."
Though he smiled, Buffy saw something in his dark eyes that made her heart contract. The set of his shoulders spoke wordlessly of desolation as he moved away.
She opened her mouth to call him back, but just then Gunn, Fred, Wally the Merman, and Vinnie Teeth came bustling out the front door, trailed by Xander, who seemed to have something on his mind.
Gunn wrapped Buffy in a bear hug. "Whitestuff owes me this one, anyway," he said. Over her shoulder she saw Spike embrace Fred with singular gentleness, and heard him whisper, "See you soon, Brown Eyes."
After that the girls hugged, too, but Spike and Gunn contented themselves with a manly handshake and a few jocular punches.
"So you're saying three-card-monte's always a scam?" Xander demanded of Vinnie.
"Sure it is," the Loan Shark replied. "I'll admit, it was never my specialty—you need a lot of manual dexterity, you know what I mean?" (here he held up his blunt fins) "—but guys can make a good living right on the sidewalk. And you only achieve that regular cash flow we all appreciate so much if the game is rigged, get me?"
"But if a customer kept his eyes open..." Xander pursued.
"Nah. Take my advice, kid, stay away from street corners. Crime actually doesn't pay, as it turns out."
Wally slapped his brother-in-law's burly shoulder. "That's why Vinnie's going straight!" he announced.
"Yeah, I decided to put my unique talents to work." Vinnie straightened his narrow raw silk lapels and shimmied his dorsal. "I'm joining Wally's in- ground pool business. Temp control, lights, custom grottos, whirlpools, fountains, automatic covers—the works. High-class clientele, strictly legit." His grin flashed an imposing array of blade-like teeth. "I figure sales is my forte."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Finally, the last vehicle turned off Revello Drive, taillight winking. Buffy still waved.
"Bye!" she called. "Drive carefully!"
"Yeah, so long. Bon voyage, and all that," Spike added. "Don't forget to write!" He turned to Buffy, pulling her close. "Thought I'd never get to say this, pet, but—alone at last! ...What?"
"Oh, my God!" Buffy clapped a hand over her mouth, and stared at him, round eyed.
"What is it, love? Something wrong?"
"Omigod, I completely forgot! But we've been so busy!"
"What?"
"Giles and Willow—they're coming home. TOMORROW!"
"Well, that's not so bad... where are you going?"
Buffy flung a one-word reply over her shoulder as she hurtled through the front door. "Vacuum!"
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Um, so, I thought you should know all this before you get here," Buffy said nervously. "So you won't be, you know, too shocked."
She heard Giles sigh, and smiled at the phone as she imagined him cleaning his glasses.
"Buffy," he answered, his voice deliberately patient, "I understand that you've become—well, fond of Spike..."
She laughed. "Nice way to put it, Giles! But you'll understand when you see him, I promise. He's changed."
"My dear—you may believe that. And HE may even believe it. But vampires can't change, Buffy."
"You'll see," she replied.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Well, G-Man," Xander's voice sounded a bit thin over the telephone, but relatively chipper, all things considered. "I understand your concern. And I gotta tell ya, it's all true."
"You astonish me, Xander. And, please—never call me that again."
"I'm just as astonished as you are," Xander said. "Almost to the point of catatonia, in fact. It's just soooooo creepy. It all started when Spike and I had one of our little rowdydows and I shattered protocol by asking him to stop calling me names."
"Oh?" All started? What all started? "What happened then?"
"He stopped."
"Oh." Giles pondered that. He was chagrined to find that, somewhere inside himself, he would miss Spike's zingers at Xander's expense. If this WAS all true, of course. There was always the possibility of some kind of thrall. Perhaps even mass thrall. "What about his, ah, relationship with Buffy?"
"Absolutely stomach-turning," Xander said.
Aha! Giles thought. I knew there was something going on that Buffy didn't want to tell me about. Romantic entanglements with vampires were fraught with peril. Visions of horrid bondage games and erotic blood rites sprang into his mind, and he dismissed them hurriedly. "What do you mean, exactly?"
"They gaze at each other starry-eyed across crowded rooms." Xander's tone oozed disgust. "They stroll hand-in-hand down moonlit lanes, pausing only to dust a few vamps. Honestly, Giles, one of these days I expect to see pink and blue birdies following them around with flower garlands in their little beaks, like a Disney cartoon."
"Good lord! It does sound revolting. So you don't think Spike poses a threat at this time, then?"
"Not unless you get between him and the little old lady he's helping across the street," Xander replied. "I actually SAW him rescue a kid's kitten from a tree. I had to go home and lie down."
"Good lord!" Giles said again. That was rather—well, creepy. What on earth was going on?
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Dawnie, you sure you're okay with this?" Buffy said. "They'll be here in half an hour. You don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Spike took Dawn's hand and squeezed it. She smiled at him.
"Everyone deserves a chance, right?" she said. "I'm not saying I won't be nervous, but I've got you guys here to protect me if things get, uh, weird."
"Giles says Willow's different now—her powers are different," Buffy said. "He said they're 'fractured,' whatever that means. She couldn't do what she did before, even if she wanted to. And I'm, you know, sure she doesn't. Want to, I mean."
"Sounds to me like you're the one who's nervous," Dawn teased.
They were interrupted by a knock on the kitchen door. Xander and Anya stood on the back porch laden with colorful boxes.
"We brought appropriate foodstuffs to welcome Willow home. Because that's what we all plan to do, right?" Anya's smile was determined.
"Welcome, eat, relax, check," Xander said. "Forgive and forget. Mellow out. Check."
"Since we've all tried to kill each other at one time or another, it makes sense for us all to forgive each other," Anya pointed out. "It would be socially awkward, otherwise."
"Honey, you are the Hellmouth's own Emily Post," Xander declared.
Buffy laughed. "Come on in, you guys! They'll be here soon."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Technically speaking, I never tried to kill Buffy," Anya said. "But I'm very sorry for any discomfort I might have caused."
"That's okay, Anya," Buffy said, "it's over, and we're all friends now."
"I hope Willow sees it that way." Anya's voice was still rather tense.
"She's probably just as sorry as we are, pet," Spike put in. "But let's not crowd her, all right? Once you start apologizing it's hard to know where to stop. Gets a bit boring for the onlookers."
Without replying, Anya clutched Xander's hand. There was a lull only partly filled by the crunching of chocolate-dipped butter cookies (with sprinkles) fresh from the bakery, and, after a few moments, they heard a vehicle pull into the drive. Then two car doors opened and shut. Then there was another pause, and the doorbell rang.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
"Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Willow said. With a pang of sympathy, Giles saw that she was trembling ever so slightly.
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. In fact, he too felt a bit unnerved. The guardians of the Hellmouth seemed to have scraped through the latest crisis without any major disasters, but he could only imagine what dreadful situation might have developed between Buffy and Spike. How on earth would he get her to see reason?
But he'd HAD to leave when he did. Willow risked serious damage from magical overload, and only the Devon coven could help her. After all, it was his responsibility—if it hadn't been for his carelessness, she would never have begun even the simplest spell. Thank goodness, his instinct had been correct; as soon as they arrived at the rambling, apotropaic country manor, shaded by ancient trees, the good denizens had welcomed her with honest warmth. Who could comprehend the temptations of abundant magical power better than these, twelve of the most powerful white magic adepts in the world? Their strength and understanding had pulled her through this crisis, he was sure of it. But he could hardly just drop the girl with a group of strangers and scurry back to his slayer, much as he might have wished to.
And, after all, he thought rather waspishly, one would have imagined that Buffy's first disastrous experience of vampire amours might have taught her some caution, at the very least. Apparently one would have been wrong, however.
He got out of the rental car, and opened the trunk to get his bags. Later this evening he would drop Willow off at her parents' house, and the Summers home would be his headquarters for a few days. Golden, welcoming light streamed from the unshaded windows, illuminating the dark street. Giles frowned. That seemed a bit careless in this town. Willow joined him on the path to the front porch, but hung back as he rang the bell.
When the door opened to reveal Buffy's smiling face, Giles forgot his reservations for a moment, and reached out his unencumbered arm to gather her close. How he had missed her!
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, squeezing his ribcage with rather perilous enthusiasm. "You won't BELIEVE the changes around Sunnydale!"
Suddenly he felt his right hand freed, and Spike's voice said, "Welcome back, Rupes. Let me get that for you."
Giles drew back in surprise as Spike took his bag and stowed it against the wall by the stairs. Well. That was certainly odd. But there would be time to go into it later. Right now...
"Welcome home, Will," Buffy said warmly. "We're so glad you're back."
"Come, my dear," Giles said, taking Willow's hand and gently drawing her across the threshold. She looked so timid, poor girl, with that little half- smile on her lips.
Willow's looked from one face to another. "Hey, guys."
"Come on in, Will!" Xander waved a paper cup. "We've got the tropical fruit punch of hospitality, here!"
"And cannoli!" Anya added brightly.
"Well, who could refuse..." Willow began. Then she staggered, and gasped. "Oh, my God," she said, her voice shaking. "Oh, my God!"
TBC
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
I never saw before
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business,—just a life I left,
Was such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
Emily Dickenson