Shards III: Guinevere
"So what's it gonna be, babe? Cooked or a little bloody?"
"Huh?"
Her husband laughed, waving the spatula at her teasingly. "Your hamburger. If you want it juicy it needs to come off the grill now."
Mrs. Riley Finn. I'm Mrs. Riley Finn. Something's seriously wrong with this dimension.
One of the bouncy kidlets rammed into her leg. "Oof!"
"Derrik, settle down. Your mom just woke up. She doesn't need thrown to the pavement."
Derrik? What a terrible name. And the name of your new son. Smile.
The little sprout hugged her kneecap in a vice grip. "Mommy! I don't like onions. Tell Daddy not to give me onions!" His round-cheeked little face beamed up at her. Weird.
"Uh, sure…Derrik. Don't give him any onions, Riley."
"Orders received, Private," Riley said with a wink to the kid and began to scoop up the steaming meat lumps and grilled onions onto a big Pyrex platter. Wedding gift? Oh, God, how long have we been married? "Can you put this on the table, sweetheart?"
Buffy stepped forward, dragging 'the Derrik,' and took the plate from her husband, then lurched it over to the way-too-cute plastic family picnic table. She set the platter down among the condiments, Jello and potato salad, peeled the child off with an uneasy smile and slid herself onto the bench. The kid climbed up next to her and started beating his paper plate on the daisy decaled surface. "I want Jello, Mommy!"
"Okay," she said, reaching for the big blue spoon.
"Uh-uh," Riley chided, coming over to add a giant bottle of BBQ sauce to the table. "Not until you eat a few bites of burger first."
"But Mommy said okay!"
"I know Mommy said okay, but she knows better." Riley gave her a 'you still half-asleep?' look and took the seat opposite, calling the girl to them. "Come on, Sunshine! Dinner's ready!"
The girl slid down the jungle gym slide, ran across the lawn and climbed up next to Riley. "I want lots of cheese!"
"You got it, baby-girl. Sweetheart, can you fix Derrik's plate?"
"Um, sure." Buffy tugged the paper plate out of the boy's hand and began to assemble bun, lettuce, tomato, cheese…
Riley grabbed her wrist. Buffy jumped. "What?"
"Have you lost it?" Riley said, looking shocked. "You're giving our son cheese?"
She dropped the orange square on the table with a 'glap.' "No…I…"
"Mommy! Cheese makes me puke all over the potty!"
"I was…making mine first. Sorry. Wasn't thinking."
Riley let her hand go and dropped the issue with a shrug.
Okay, this Mommy thing isn't as easy at it looks. Need to be smarter about it.
"Derrik, honey, why don't you tell Mommy what you'd like on your hamburger."
Buffy took stock of her situation during the meal - keeping her mouth full at all times to discourage her foot from flying into it. The air felt different here. It was warm but smelled faintly of barn. The trees were different, shorter and sparser. She didn't think she was in Sunnydale anymore.
No further dietary mishaps occurred, discounting the culinary ack! experience Buffy got from trying to eat a mouthful of the potato salad. "Aunt Ginny sent that over," Riley explained. Whoever the heck that was; she was a lousy cook. Riley loved it, though.
When they were finished, the girl got up and ran to the far end of the large yard to pull on the door of a locked wooden shed. "Can I let Angel out now?"
Buffy's heart froze.
"Sure, now that we're done eating," Riley said. He and Derrik both got up to join her at the shed door. A 'woof' came from within and Buffy relaxed as Riley let out a big loping black Lab. It ran around the yard, sniffing, keeping to the shade. It pissed on a rosebush and came up to lick Buffy's elbow. It stopped and looked at her with droopy brown eyes.
"Woof!" It said, taking a step back. "Woof! Woof! Woof! Woof!"
"Angel!" Riley yelled from where he was lifting the kids into the jungle gym's wooden fort. "Quiet!"
The dog obeyed and sat down. Buffy reached out to Angel with a slow hand. The dog knows what's up. Stay calm and let it sniff you. The lab sniffed her thoroughly, from hip to sandals. Then it licked her wrist. She'd do.
"Good dog, Angel," she said and scratched its ears. What possessed us to name the dog Angel? Unless… this is Angel mystically transformed into dog-shape. Nah, it's eating potato salad globs off the lawn. Would 'Spike' have been a more endearing choice? And while we're on the subject, why do vampires pick such good dog names for themselves? Except for Drusilla of course. This coming from the mother who named her son Derrik and her daughter Sunshine. Bleah.
"Buffy, why don't you go on inside and start packing? I'll clean up out here. We can let the kids play until it's time to go."
She looked around. Packing for what? Mountains? Beach? Hellmouth?
"Okay…Honey." She got up and just about sprinted for the safety of the house. All this family stuff was wigging her out.
Once inside she looked around hurriedly to try and gain some bearing. Kitchen. Calendar. What day is it? It was May 2007. How time flies when you're nestled in domestic bliss. Though, strangely, she saw unpacked moving boxes tucked here and there under counters and in corners. They hadn't been here too long. She read the dates. Here we go… Thursday through Saturday were circled in blue felt-tip. A quick look at the time/date clock over the kitchen table revealed it was indeed Thursday. No words of explanation graced the dated squares, but a quick flip revealed other brief periods of mysterious felt-tip 'vacation.' About once a month or so. Hmm…
"Mommy! I want you to pack my dun-dun!" Sunshine had run in from the yard all in a panic. "Pack my dun-dun, Mommy!"
"Okay, sure. Can you find your suitcase for me?"
"What's a ootcase?"
"Uh, overnight bag? Backpack?" Trashbag? Help me here, kid.
"My Snoopy Pack!"
"Snoopy Pack! Yes, let's go pack Snoopy."
The girl found the Snoopy Pack and handed it to her along with 'dun-dun' who turned out to be a grayish well-loved donkey, maybe. Hard to tell with only three legs. Buffy opened the girl's pink and white dresser and started stuffing in clothes for a two nights' stay somewhere. When it looked like enough, she began selecting from the growing pile of toys the girl was tossing onto the bedcover.
"And I want my pretty flowers and my princess bracelet and my…"
They packed the Snoopy until it resembled a plush sumo wrestler and Buffy carefully worked the zipper shut. Then she shouldered it to go look for Derrik's room. "Come on, Sunshine. Can you take me to your brother's room?"
"Mommy! You don't call me Sunshine! Daddy does!"
She took the small girl's hand and let her tug her up the downstairs hall. "Well, what do I call you? Sunny? Shine?"
The girl stopped and looked at her grumpily. "No!" she said. "You call me my real girl name."
Sunshine's a nickname, dummy. Your own father used to call you that!
Buffy flipped the Snoopy around in her hands, looking for a tag. "Oh, that's just Mommy being silly, isn't it…..Emily?"
The little girl smiled and hugged her leg. Saved by Snoopy. God, I'm gonna blow it.
Packing for the boy was harder; he was still outside and it took Buffy twenty minutes just to find a zippered bag in the racing car and speed boat styled room.
"Emily, what does Derrik like to take to…the place we're going?"
"He likes cars, Mommy."
"Cars. Good. I think I can pack cars."
She found a ten-gallon pail full of little plastic cars, airplanes and boats. She made a random two-fisted pick of them along with jeans, socks and t-shirts with superheroes on them. It made her smile. These are my son's clothes.
She jumped at a rap on the door jamb. It was Riley. "Hey Pumpkin, I got Harry Potter on the TV. Want to come watch with your brother so your Mom can finish up?" We're running late, he mouthed at Buffy.
Emily nodded with a chirp of glee and scrambled out of the room past him. Buffy exchanged a smile with her husband who nodded at the gravid Snoopy. "Why are you packing all that? They're just going over to my Aunt's. They've got plenty of toys over there. Clothes are what they need. You know she hates her house filling up with crap."
Buffy sighed and shrugged. She unzipped the two bags and started to defuse them of 'crap.'
"I guess I can't do anything right tonight."
Riley stepped the rest of the way into the room and knelt down next to her, brushing her cheek with his big warm fingers. His touch gave her a strange feeling. She looked away.
"Hey, what's up with you tonight?"
"Me? I don't know. Just…out of sorts. Tired, I guess."
"Even after that long nap? Are you feeling like you're coming down with something? Do you want us to stay?"
"No! No. I want us all to have a good visit with your Aunt. It's fine."
Riley snorted.
"What?"
"You? At my Aunt's? Now there would be a memorable weekend. We're lucky she likes the kids well enough to take them while I'm away so you can patrol."
"Oh!"
"Oh, what?"
"Oh. Oh, I see. You're taking a trip." Somewhere. Special Ops ROTC? Weekend Demon Warriors?
Riley looked worried. "Yeah, like I've done every month for the past six years. Buffy, you've got me concerned, here."
Buffy laughed, a little too high and quick. "Got ya, soldier-boy!" Wink. "As if I'd give up a weekend all to myself."
"Oh! Oh! You're terrible. Come here!" Riley took the joke and pounced on her, pinning her neatly to the Hot Wheels rug. She squealed and kicked because that's what she would have done or did do back when they used to spar and…kiss. His mouth was on hers and she willed herself to soften, to accept it and summon up the warmth to return it. She put her arms around his neck and hung on while he slipped his tongue in her mouth, weaving it around. So strange to be kissing a warm tongue. It left her cold. She pinched him under his shirt and he let her go.
"Hey, that's playing dirty, Buffy."
"Don't you know it. Now go get packed, Rambo. I've got cars to put away."
She watched the sixth Harry Potter movie with her kids and 'Angel' until Riley came tromping down the stairs with a big black bag and a heavy weapons case.
"Okay, kids! Let's get going!"
"But Daddy! The movie's not over!"
"I want to stay with Mommy this time!"
"I know we all do, but Mommy has to go to work tonight and you guys need to go to bed as soon as we get to Aunt Ginny's."
"But, Daddy…!"
"No butts unless they're in their carseats, now come on!"
Buffy shut off the TV by hand. Not gonna even try to figure out those remotes. She helped peel the twins off the couch. Derrik got up but soon took a sulky run back up the stairs toward the master bedroom.
"Derrik!" Riley bellowed and looked to Buffy. "Dammit, that kid. Doesn't listen. I'm really late, babe."
"I'll go get him."
"Get their coats, too!" Riley said as he opened the front door.
"Why? It's warm. Are you sure they'll need them?" Please don't make me search like a dumb-ass for the coat closet.
"Yes!"
Buffy found the coats in a closet by the kitchen and her son trying to hide under their upstairs bed. She flattened down to peer at him.
"What are you hiding for, sweetie?"
Derrik frowned. "I don't wanna go to Aunt Ginny's."
"Why not? Sounds like you're going to have fun over there."
"But can't you come, too?"
"I need to stay here and work, sweetie. I'm sorry."
"But if you stay all by yourself you'll make Daddy mad again."
"Daddy's not mad; he's just late. He needs you to come downstairs right now so you can get going."
"But Mommy… last time you stayed it got Daddy mad and then we had to leave Cal-for-na."
"I don't know what you're talking about, sweetie. Come on out. I'll get you a cookie." The cookie bribe always worked on Dawn. Worked on Derrik, too. Even if she had no clue where the cookies might be.
"Okay," the little boy sighed and wriggled out. "Just don't get Daddy mad again, Mommy. Promise?"
"I won't. I promise."
"Thanks," Riley said at the driver's side door, leaning out to give her a goodbye kiss. It was dark now. The kids were in their his and hers carseats - bags and coats all stuffed between them. Buffy wrote off the whole conversation with Derrik under the bed as child's fancy. There was nothing about Riley that was ever threatening or angry…for the most part. She kissed him back easily this time, relieved they were all leaving.
"No problem. Looking forward to having some peace."
"I'll call you when I get to the rendezvous. My Aunt will bring the kids back on Saturday morning. Crack o' dawn so get some beauty sleep Friday night."
Won't be around by then. "I will."
"Oh, and don't forget to feed Angel. I left some raw hamburger in the meat tray. Nice and bloody. Just how he likes it."
"Uh, okay."
Riley leaned close again but instead of kissing her, just looked her in the eye. The long searching gaze unnerved her. What? He pulled back. "Be careful," he said and got in the SUV, starting the engine.
Buffy waved until they were around the corner then went back into her strange home and fed the strange dog. After queasily watching Angel slurp down a half-pound of runny raw ground round - God, I hope you're just a dog—she flipped on the TV.
The 10 o' clock news was recapping the gory excavation of a collapsed strip mall in Greenview, a small farming town 70 miles south of Des Moines. Des Moines? Iowa? I'm living in frigging Iowa?
"Rescue teams are still searching for bodies now more than 72 hours after the incident. Aging cement supports are being blamed for the structure's collapse last Monday afternoon killing a confirmed 45 shoppers with 64 still reported missing…"
Lovely. Death was everywhere, even in Iowa. She shut off the TV and nudged the snoozing dog. "Wanna go patrolling, Angel?"
The dog kept at her side, sniffing the curb and peeing on trees, as Buffy walked the length of their small suburban neighborhood. It was after eleven by now, she guessed. Vamping hour - if Iowa even had vampires. She'd wasted a half-hour searching the house for a weapons chest. With the kids to protect, it was probably buried and locked a mile away. It was pointless to try and find it so she made a homemade stake from an old broom handle and headed out with her furry, possible-vampdog companion in tow.
She walked, humming a tuneless song, past the dark homes filled with happy sleeping Iowins (or was it Iowanns?) all tucked in their beds…until she realized she'd walked everywhere there was to walk, right to the far edges of the town where the asphalt crumbled into dusty cornfields.
Where the heck is the cemetery?
Frustrated, cold, and feeling more than just a little stupid, she headed back to the house. Some slayer I am. It was 1 a.m. by the time she got back to her 'home.' She shut off the lights and went upstairs. Angel curled up at the foot of the bed and went to sleep as she got undressed and stepped into the bathroom to take a shower.
Well, I really blew it in this world tonight, she thought later while drying off. She stood at the mirror in a towel combing the leave-in cream rinse through her hair - the expensive kind. Riley must make bank. Being married not so bad for hair follicles. The rest though… complete ball-up. Almost killed one kid with cheese and broke the heart of the other by forgetting her name. I guess calling it a night is the smartest thing you could do right now, 'Mommy', and then we're off for who knows…
Spike was standing in the bathroom doorway.
"Shit!" Her comb fell to the floor.
He didn't move, just glared at her.
"Jesus, Spike. Can't you knock? I can't see you in the mirror!"
He cocked his head slow. His eyes were ice. "S'posed to meet me, weren't you?"
"Meet you? Where?"
"It's comedy you're going for, eh?" His voice was as cold as his eyes. "Not in the mood for chuckles, pet."
"Spike, get out of my way. I need to get dressed."
He looked her up and down, his tongue moving behind his upper lip like it did when he was contemplating the urge to vamp.
Okay, here we go. Is he bad or good? Or ambiguous? My vote's for ambiguous tonight. From the hair and nails I'd say no soul, chip likely - given current husband and state of invite - but is the chip getting a read on my probably-not-been-resurrected body, or overriding on Buffy's once-was-dead consciousness? Which part came back wrong?
Spike vamped full-out and pinned her to the wall in a flash of leather. It hurt where her head hit the tiles, but maybe not quite enough to fire the fickle electrodes. Fangs hung bared an inch from her nose accompanied by a low growl. Still undecided.
"Why weren't you waitin' for me, bitch?" He had caught both her wrists in one hand and held them up over her cream-rinsed head while the rest of his night-cooled fingers slid under her towel and up between her legs. She shivered. "Not even wet for me?" he hissed though his teeth. "What good are you to me, then? Ought to drink you right now, leave you limp on the bloody floor." His fangs grazed her neck, but she didn't flinch. She knew him too well to know when he was boasting. His cock was a rock up against her thigh. God help her, she'd be wet soon.
"Spike, let me go."
He ran his tongue up her throat. "No."
"Let me go or Riley'll…"
Wham! The ceramic cracked as Spike's fist hit the tiles next to her head. "Never. You never say his name to me. You think I don't dream every night of ripping off his head and crunching it to pulp under my boots? Do you?"
Shit, what the hell was this?
She struck out, kicking Spike across the small bathroom floor and into the sink cabinets, giving them a good cracking to match the opposing damaged wall. "You're going to back off, Spike! Right now. Or so help me, I'll…"
Spike's bitter laugh stopped her. He was in human face again, laughing at the scuffed linoleum between his sprawled legs. "Stake me? You gonna off me, Buffy? First night in sodding months you get alone with ol' Spike and you want to spend it hurling wooden pointies at my chest? You go right on, then. Be better for both of us."
"Spike, what the hell are you talking about? This is my home." This is Iowa…what the fuck is Spike doing in Iowa?
"Well, love. What'd you expect? You don't come knocking on my door…I come, well, not knocking on yours."
"Fine. Play games. I couldn't come to you tonight because…" Are you going to tell him you got lost? The slayer couldn't find the cemetery. Vampires of Iowa beware! Your free wheeling nights of Jiffy-popping popcorn are about to come to a sloppy end as soon as the slayer buys a Thomas Guide.
"Oh save it, Buffy. I don't want to hear it." Spike said, getting slowly to his feet. His fury was dissipating as he brushed grout dust from his coat. "Your domestic excuses mean sod-all to me anymore."
Angel, the dog, trotted in and went right over to Spike, wagging its tail and sniffing Spike's boots before raising up on hind legs to accept a good head-scratch. "Least Peaches is always happy to see me. Stupid git dog."
"Spike, what do you want?" she asked, though she already knew.
He raised the scarred brow at her. "What do you think I want? Drop the bloody towel and fuck me, Slayer, or else I'll be off gettin' rat-arsed at the corner bar with the rest of armpit America."
He had her over the end of the bed, his feet on the floor, her face in the sheets with her rear up between his hands. His hips struck her ass in hard wild thrusts. His cock felt huge, jammed up as far in as she could take it in this position. He was brutal, ruthless, growling. And God, it felt good.
"Haven't had you in forever," he groaned in agonized delight as he fucked her. "Neither has vanilla shake, has he? Don't smell him. Don't smell where he's been parkin' his prick. Been taking long showers has he?"
"Spike, shut the fuck up."
"Very well. Don't like to talk much when I'm having my bit of rough. Turn over."
He pulled out and she flipped onto her back. A thick dribble of come ran out of her while she waited for him to lift her legs up and jam a pillow under her ass. Two orgasms gone already and he hadn't softened a bit for all their spurty gusto. He must not be much for the long showers himself. Just as well, she was just getting warmed up.
"Spike, catch that mess, will you?"
He was already loaded back in, ready to ride. "Huh?"
"Your drippings. I don't want them staining the bedsheets."
"That's what you call it now when I cough-up outta your quim? Drippings? How very Midwest. Live with it. Like you're too good to scrub the marital linen with Spray-n-Wash."
"Asshole."
"Oh, you'll be getting some drippings there, too. Mark my words."
Sore, yet drenched head to painted toes in exhausted bliss, Buffy rolled over in the wide bed and listened to Spike rummaging around the dark room for his pants.
"Bloody, buggering…you take my lighter again, Buffy?"
"No," she mumbled from the pillows. She'd have to burn some of the slip covers for all the mess they'd made on them. Part of her knew this-world-Buffy would be appalled at her hijacked-self's carelessness, but then she'd been the one to invite the vampire in, not her.
You were supposed to meet me. What did they usually do, fuck between the tombstones?
"Here it is. Under the stinkin' bed. It's a fucking disaster under here. Kid toys, dog chews. You ever clean around here?" The lighter flickered and illuminated his sharp pale features as the cigarette took flame. She sat up.
"Are you insane? Take that thing outside!" Come stains were one thing. Cigarette smoke, that was as hard to hide as blood.
"Was gonna," he said and helped himself to the already opened bedroom window. He climbed out and had himself a seat on the sloping roof, naked but for his half-buttoned jeans.
"Pig," she muttered and got up to flip on the bedroom light. There were bruises, of course, fading already on her arms and yes - oh, yes - between her thighs where he'd forced her apart to devour her throbbing sex. Her ass still burned from the stinging blows he'd brought down on her cheeks, much to her begging, hollering abandon. Worse, for all their untamed mating, she still ached deep inside for more and more. God, I'm a slut.
She wiped herself down in the bathroom before coming back out to dress and follow her demon lover out the window.
Spike was on his third cigarette when she joined him, sitting on the opposite side of the bedroom's lamplight where it broke out over the shingles and across the backyard lawn to the emptiness beyond. Iowa.
She sighed. No words. Not much changes, does it?
"So, get on with it," Spike said, taking a sharp drag.
"Huh?"
"Get on with your reparations and resolutions and regrets. I've got a few cigs in me. I'm ready."
"I…don't…"
"Yeah, you bloody well do, every time. This is it, Spike. No more, Spike. Don't ever come around again, Spike. If my husband finds out again, Spike…blah, blah, bleedin' blah. Your mouth says No, but your cunt always says, Right here, right now. Shag me rotten."
"I'm sorry."
A bitter chuckle left his chest as he killed the butt on the roof tile. He wasn't looking at her: the stars, the endless fields, the charcoal grill and swingset below, yes. Her, no. "You're not sorry. Not deep down, anyway. It's what gets you hot, all this playin' hide and seek with the vampire."
"Then why did you follow me here? To Iowa of all places?"
Spike drew his lips tight and shook his head. "Couldn't do it, Buffy. Couldn't let him win. Take you away like that. Like he thought he could. Like he forgot I could track you. Over land no less. Some brains that boy's got. Didn't even think to take you away by air. But even then I'd've found you. I'd've crossed every state line in this sodding country to find you - nose to the dirt, sniffing you out. You call to me, Slayer. You always do. And I can't seem to do a bloody thing about it."
So that's how it was. Riley had found out about their affair at some point. Moved them, the whole family, away from California, Spike, the Hellmouth, to here where he had family. A fresh start. How very sad for them. And here she'd waited, standing in the cornfields, calling silently into the night for the demons to come slinking right after her.
"We have to be careful," she said.
Spike laughed again, mirthless. "Here it comes. There's my girl, gettin' all skittish now." He turned to look at her and his coldness chilled her through. His lips were set at such a cruel line. He was hating her, yes, but hating himself even more. They hadn't kissed tonight. Not once.
"The children, Spike. You need to understand. I can't …risk them." They're not even mine. Not really.
He looked wounded. "Understand? Everything I did was for those bloody kids. Keeping an eye on them while you and Captain Cardboard went off trotting through the graveyards lookin' for nasties. I traded the hunt and the kill for a chance at something real - to prove myself to you, that you could trust me. Always. With your most precious……fuck." His voice had softened to a whisper and he was near tears, though he fought them back. "Shame on you. You made those babies with him, but then you put them in my dead arms to keep them safe - because he wasn't strong enough to protect them. That you did. You heartless bitch. You know how I miss those little ducklings, and now, all's I get to see when I crawl through the window is the sodding dog."
"Uh…speaking of the dog…it isn't…?"
A pop and a whizzing sound cut through the air. Spike brought his hand up to his neck. "Ow! Bleeding mosquitoes…."
Buffy crossed the window light. A small black dart with a red tail was stuck in his neck. She yanked it out and threw it to the ground just as Spike began to go limp in her arms. "Spike! Oh, God. We need to get you inside, now!"
"Huh? Bloody hell, slayer, put me…"
She held him and braced against the slanted roof with her bare feet as another pop and whiz shot past them, pinning itself to the roof trim, narrowly missing Spike's leg. They're aiming for him. She grunted and gave a huge shove, pushing Spike in through the open window and onto the bedroom floor. She followed after, landing in his limp arms.
She lifted his head. His eyes were open, but he'd lost all control of voluntary movement. "What the hell is going on!" she demanded.
"They're heeere," Spike said.
"Who's here…?" A thunderous crash from downstairs cut her off as an ear-splitting shatter came from the bathroom window. Masked men in black Initiative suits and tazers came pouring into the house, crashing down doors and glass. Buffy threw herself over Spike, ready to fight for both their lives if she had to.
One of the men approached, aiming a stake-loaded crossbow at them. "Step away from the hostile, ma'am! Now!"
"No! What do you think you're doing? This is Agent Finn's home!"
"We know ma'am, now step away from the hostile or we'll have to secure you."
"I'd like to see you try."
Three more men kicked in through the bedroom door and more could be heard now shouting out in the backyard. They'd sure come on fast. Like they'd been lying in wait, like they'd…oh, shit.
The tallest of the masked men put down his gun and came to stand over them sprawled on the floor by the foot of the tousled bed. The mask came off, peeled back like a black cowl.
"Hi, honey. I'm home."
Spike was bound now as well as drugged. Propped up against the wall, he looked about the room with an air of resigned inevitability. The serum had zapped his muscles, but his mind appeared to be intact. He seemed to understand with every bit of clarity how phenomenally screwed they both were.
Riley barked orders at the men in a stern controlled voice. He had them surrounding the place in the offhand chance Spike sprouted bat wings and managed to fly out the window - which now housed a sniper. The dog was kenneled in the bathroom, where the occasional snuffle and 'woof' emanated from under the door.
Buffy sat on the end of the bed, her hands in her lap. This was such a gianormous mess. She felt remarkably bad for the real Mrs. Finn who she knew wouldn't find this Greek tragedy the least bit off the map. No, this-world-Buffy had made this bed. She'd just been the one to lie in it - for the better part of a panting, grunting three hours. Spike used to go for five. Must be the Iowa pig's blood. If there was a butcher to be had in this no horse town. She hadn't seen one on her aimless slaying march earlier.
"I'll take that crossbow, Agent Tailor. Okay, men, clear out. Leave us. I've got the room under control." Her husband stayed in 100 GI Joe mode until the men filed out and the sniper at the window slid the glass shut. Then his eyes turned to her and for the first time in her life with Riley - wholesome, kind, Riley - Buffy felt a little afraid of him.
Please Mommy, don't make Daddy mad.
"Riley, I…"
"Shut-up, Buffy."
"But this isn't what you…"
"What? You think I'm as stupid as he is?" Riley said with a nudge of the loaded crossbow in Spike's direction (who, in spite of his drugged state, seemed for once to know when to keep quiet). "I don't need to be a vampire to smell what went on in here tonight. God! It reeks of you two!" He took two booted strides over to the bed and held up the still-damp sheets as evidence.
"You set me up," she said coldly. "You had no intention of going off to play war games. This was a trap from the very start!"
"You're damn right it was a trap!" he said, pacing the bed. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Wouldn't decipher the hint of bruises here and there, the fang points dotting your skinny neck? You told me you got all those in a fight. But I suspected. I've seen those marks before."
She lowered her eyes. All she felt now was a need to get through this, keep it perking along long enough until the old Buffy came back. She couldn't even begin to fix this; it wasn't her fault; it wasn't her life, dammit! Yeah, because in your world you were such a stellar girlfriend you managed to run both of them out of town in a fit of Buffy-made crazy. But at least there weren't children involved. Oh, God, the kids! Think about the kids! This-world-Buffy must love them, I know she does!
Riley was still talking - voice hard and even like he'd been rehearsing. "You promised me, Buffy, that if I let it go, let it all go - the cheating, the lies - you'd let him go and move away from California and all the bad memories and start over again if I promised not to kill him. And I did. I took us someplace safe where a vampire is a vanishing species, and still you couldn't stop yourself from inviting him in! Into our home, and into our bed!"
"I'm so, so sorry, Riley. I promise, this is it. Never again. Never." The kids, those poor kids.
"I've heard that line before, Buffy. Now give me another. Give me the line where you tell me this was all a lie - our marriage, our family. Give me the line where you tell me you never loved me. That I was never good enough for you because I'm just less of a man. A soul makes no difference to you, does it? You didn't want a husband. What you wanted was a monster. And I've figured it out, Buffy. You want the monster because you are a monster."
Her eyes shot up at him. "That's not true!"
"Isn't it? Then explain it to me, babe. How is it that I can't leave our home for a few hours before you're spreading your legs for this sick, disgusting beast?"
"Maybe because you weren't meant to be the long-haul guy, mate."
Spike's voice made them both jump. Riley crossed the room and proceeded to beat Spike's head in with the heavy butt of his crossbow. Wham! Wham! Wham! Blood hit the wall behind Spike's slumped body, and all he could do in his own defense was laugh.
"Riley! Riley! Stop it! Stop it now! You want me to confess? Give you a line? Okay, I will! You're right; I don't love you! Okay? You hear me?" Wham! Wham! "Woof! Woof! Woof!" "I don't love you!" "Woof! Woof!" Wham!
Riley stopped. "Quiet, Angel!" The dog quit barking as Spike slid to the floor in a mass of blood.
Buffy felt tears leaking from her eyes. All my fault. All of this.
Riley ignored the gurgling vampire and came back to stand before her, face calm, loaded weapon still held across his Spike-spattered chest. "Now that both of the animals are silent, go on. I'm listening."
Buffy wiped the tears from her face. "You're right, okay? There is something wrong with me. Is there? I can't love like normal people should. I try but I just can't. I wish I could stop this thing with Spike, but it won't stop, it just won't." I wanted a spell for me, Buffy. I wanted something, anything, to make this feeling stop. I just wanted it to stop… "I want him. I do. God, look at me! Covered in bruises and bites and…what kind of mother fucks a vampire the second her husband and children leave the house? How, how would this happen if there wasn't something wrong with me?" Her eyes returned to Spike who lay limp in the floor, like a lump of bloody hamburger waiting to be eaten by vampire dogs.
Riley stared down at her with revulsion and pity. "I told you if I ever saw his disgusting face again, I'd kill him."
She nodded. "I know." She did know, didn't she?
"But this time, I'm going to make that threat stick." He went for the crossbow now, loosening the tension and disarming it. Oh, thank God. She'd said the right thing. He took the pointed projectile in his hand and held it out to her. "You're going to do it. After all, it is your calling."
Her hands shook. "What?"
"The kids. I told you they were going to Aunt Ginny's. I lied. They've been put on a plane. They're long gone. Far away. Someplace you'll never find them again. Not even a vampire could track them. They'll be told you're dead and buried and in time learn to forget you. Unless…" He inched the blunt end of the stake closer to her.
Sickness crawled up in her gut and she swallowed it down. This was worse, so much worse. "You can't," she said.
"Can't? It's already done. You like getting these second and third chances, Buffy. I know you do. You just keep on coming no matter what life throws at you. It's why I married you. It's why I loved you. You never give up. But that's all in the past now. I don't give a damn about you. It's the kids I care about, the ones who have my heart, my loyalty. It's why I took you back. But now, it's the kids who need second chances, not you." She didn't need to ask him if he was serious. She knew he wouldn't be swayed with more lies and prostrated promises. His mind was set, had been for a long time, she could see it in his cold dull eyes. She'd been killing Riley for months, maybe years - a long chronic disease.
Buffy took the stake from her husband and got up on numb legs. Spike lay on the floor, still conscious though blood dripped from his wounds down over his beautiful face. She knelt beside him, tears flowing again from the depth of her traitorous heart. He looked helpless, defenseless, abused. And not just by the butt of a crossbow.
His lips moved into a cruel red grin. "So it's pointy stakes between us after all tonight, eh, Slayer? Only right after the drilling I gave you, I suppose. Do it, Buffy. Give it me good. I'm the piece that doesn't fit. You know it. End this miserable cock-up. Come on!"
Buffy raised the stake up, clenched it tight in her fist. She looked deep into those blue blue eyes. Beneath all the brazen bravado lay the endless expanse of his desperate longing for her, which he'd clung to long past any hope. Hatred and love turned on a knife's edge, cutting him to shreds. Only one way out. She cried out and let the stake fly, behind her, and into the meat of Riley's left leg.
"Dammit, Buffy! Men! Secure the scene!"
More glass and doors crunched and shattered as the troops came bursting back in. Riley was no idiot. He knew he couldn't take her alone.
Pinned down under a dozen or more steely boot heels, Buffy felt her wrists and ankles being tied behind her and tightened. She couldn't move. They left her on the floor lying next to Spike who spit big globs of blood out of his mouth each time he tried to breathe to speak. They'd beaten him some more, just for good measure.
"Married life's a bitch; innit, Slayer?"
She closed her eyes. "Spike, please shut up."
Riley was ordering people around again, assembling a new strategy. This time he was leaving men in the room. His leg was bandaged. He'd live, of course. The kids needed a dad, too. Even if he was proving to be a complete lug-head.
"Sit her up," he ordered and she was sat up, two men to either side of her.
"Are you happy now?" she asked. "Is this how you treat your wife?"
He motioned to his bleeding leg. "Is this how you treat your husband?"
Maybe the kids would be better off without either of them.
"So what, you're gonna kill us both now?" she asked bitterly.
Riley came down on his good leg to look her in the eye. "If I wanted Assface dead, I'd have done it myself long ago. But he did us a favor once, for the kids. So I gave him a second chance, too."
"Awful bloody kind of you - ow!"
Riley punched Spike in the gut. "Call it folly on my part. The problem here isn't whether or not Spike gets killed. The problem is getting you to see why he needs to be killed."
She shook her head. "You'll never convince me. You know it. I'm sure I've told you a hundred times. I don't care what he's done in his past. He's changed; he's not that man anymore. What he's done for me and my friends and my family - it changes all that. It gives him a chance."
Riley clucked his tongue. "That so? Then explain this to me." He nodded to one of his men who produced a photo. Riley held it in front of her face. It was a surveillance shot of a demolition site. A bowl of broken concrete and exposed girders and in the middle of it all, bodies. Dead, or nearly dead, twisted and broken bodies - children, too. It was awful. She turned away.
"Look," Riley said, grabbing her chin to face the image. "Upper left."
Spike was in the photo. She hadn't realized it at first because he was covered in concrete dust, but not his mouth. Oh, no, not the mouth. It was…glistening.
"Mall collapse, the one on the news? Some of my men were called up to Greenview to help locate the bodies. They found some that were still alive, thank God, some not so alive, and others, well, missing a lot more blood then they should have been. He got caught on camera, Buffy. That's how I knew he was back. What I didn't know was if you'd let him in our front door yet or not. Now I've got all the answers I need."
Her heart stung with the cruel reality she was seeing in the photo. Spike feeding on victims? It couldn't be. It was a set-up, a doctored photo to get her to…
"Impossible, Riley. He can't. The chip. He can't. He's harmless." She shot a glance at Spike, but his eyes were closed. Possibly passed out from his injuries or the drugs.
"Right, the chip," Riley echoed. "The HST Behavior Modification Project was decommissioned eight months ago. Chip's been out of service for a while now, Buffy, and you knew it. How else was Spike able to get these bruises on you?" he said, pointing to her thighs. "You thought rough sex didn't count? The chip doesn't know any better."
I must have thought it was just me. If I died. Did I die here? In this world. Why has no one mentioned Dawn?
"But, Spike can't. He wouldn't. This is just another trick! You're trying to get me to kill him, for your own sick pleasure and I won't! I won't!"
Riley tapped his fingers on his knee. He looked bored. "Why don't you ask Spike where he's been getting his buffet dinners the past week? There's no butcher for 70 miles around here. This is a corn-feed processing town. No meat processing or packing allowed - flies, Salmonella. Could contaminate the stock. Corn's what keeps this town alive. Not so for vampires."
Buffy wriggled in her bonds to face her demon. Spike's eyes opened slowly but he wouldn't look at her. He'd been awake the whole time.
"Spike," she said, her voice thickening with dread. "Tell me what's going on."
He didn't speak at first, just stared into the carpet with red-stained eyes. "Thought they were dead, Buffy," he said.
She felt sick. "…what?"
"Chip didn't fire, I thought…" His voice failed and he coughed up another mouthful of blood. Human blood. Victim's blood.
"But…you can hear their hearts…you would know, Spike."
"I…can bite or hit if it doesn't harm…it's why I can hurt you when we… I thought…" he said something else but she wasn't close enough to hear it. She struggled at her wrist bonds.
"Dammit, Riley! Let my hands go so I can hear him!"
Riley nodded and her hands were freed. She wriggled close and held his face to hers so he couldn't look away. "Tell me."
"Thought if I didn't feel the pain, they must be too far gone. No help. No chance. The blood, it got hold of me, Buffy…could smell it for miles and miles…couldn't help it …poor things…hardly nipped 'em..."
Her hands pressed into his injured face and he moaned. She loosened her grip. "But you know better, you know it's wrong. Spike, my God. They're people. It wasn't the chip you were supposed to trust to guide your conscience, it was your…"
"Soul?" he choked with a red-toothed grin. "Sorry, pet. Fresh out."
"I was going to say love. Love of me."
Spike's bludgeoned gaze cut at her. "Bit one-sided now, wasn't it?"
She closed her eyes and let him go. Good or bad, are you decided, now?
"You gambled it all on a dead heart, didn't you, Buffy?" Riley said. "Did you think the promise of your body would be enough to turn a monster into a man? That sex was all there was to it? That it was all any man or thing would ever need from you? I don't know who's more to blame here. Beauty or the beast."
She turned on him, hatred flashing through her. "Take a good look at what it's done to you. Kidnapping your own children? Yes, these are the many powers of my charms. I turn men into animals and animals into…"
The dog was barking again. "I can't stand it! Will somebody just tell me if the goddamn dog used to be a vampire?"
Riley answered her by placing a stake back in her hand and backing slowly away. He signaled the men to back off as well. This was her final test, a last chance to get it right. Why did this have to happen now? It's not my fault. I'm not the one who fucked this up so badly. Am I? Because I couldn't make a choice - didn't have the heart to love Riley or the guts to love Spike, so I screwed them both.
She started to weep. Spike's eyes were on her, clouded with terrible shame and love, always love - no matter what. She reached for him again and pressed a kiss to his bleeding mouth. He tasted like death.
"Do it, Buffy," he said when they parted, all pride and ego stripped away to the frightened, tormented soullessness within. "Bastard's right for once. I am a monster. Can't help it. I tried, God knows I tried, but you're not. He's wrong about you. I know it. You'll make this right. You'll make it good again. Do it for your babies…our babies," he whispered. "Please, Buffy. They can live without me, forget me. Probably already have. I was no good. Never was. But they can't get on without you. Do it. God, please just DO IT!"
Her arm came up; quick and deadly instinct took over and she struck. The stake broke through the pale skin and drove cleanly into the silent heart. Spike's eyes shot wide for one piercing second and then closed and collapsed into a silver cloud of heavy dust.
A wave of shock took her. Her fingers dropped the stake and reached forward into the carpet, parting a path through the soft fresh remains. Spike's remains. Dust to dust, never to return. Big gulping sobs welled up in her, threatening to break her chest apart, though they'd never come. Not all of them. Not enough tears in the world for the pain this brought. This was my fault. I did this. He'll suffer in hell now, just like Angel suffered, and all for me. Because I put my babies in his arms and asked him to love them, protect them forever. Who will protect him now?
She wept as she clutched the ashes in her hands, rubbed the gray silk over her face and knees, through her hair. My lover, my heart, my knight in black leather. I wish I could have done better. For you and for her, the Buffy who will wake to this nightmare and go broken to the broom closet, to fetch the Dirt Devil, forever cloistered in this hellish life.
The wages of sin are death—they say. And damned if she didn't know how to make bank.
In the bathroom the dog barked and barked. Someone let it out and Angel came to her side, sniffing the dust on the floor. It sneezed and wagged its tail, laying its head on her knee, waiting to be scratched as the scene faded and Buffy fell away into blackness.
Buffy woke with the terrible pain of loss still in her throat. Her face was dry of tears, but her body felt bruised and tired. Not by love, but by battle. She'd been in a hell of a fight. Someone lay next to her in the bed. No, on top of it. She struggled to open her eyes, heavy with bone-deep exhaustion. The air smelled funny and the light was wrong. Orange and dull.
Spike was sleeping beside her, his face etched with healing scars and burns. Her heart leapt in shock and she sat up. Oh yes, that's right. Another world. Another chance. Oh, thank goodness. Spike. She slipped out of the covers and crawled up next to him, wrapping her arms about him in deep relief. He stirred and woke, sleepy blue eyes regarding her closeness with quiet wonder. His arms were shy, shifting to hold her delicately as if she'd break or else break him with her clinging.
"What is it?" she asked.
His lips were dry. He looked hungry, though he kept it at bay. Easily. His soul was in his eyes. Oh, she'd forgotten how beautiful it was when he let it show. Here there was no doubt, no failure to read his heart. His goodness.
"We're alive," he said, daring to touch her cheek.
"Yes we are. Of course." He looked so sad. "I'm so glad. Shouldn't we be glad?"
Outside came the sounds of distant thundering and under it the moans and cries of suffering. Red light filtered though the dirty shuttered window of the hotel room.
"What's happened, Spike?" she asked. "What's going on out there?"
"Armageddon," he said.
"Oh."
To be continued in Series…