Finding the Way Home
by Sandy S.
Chapter 16
"You're going to apologize to Harmony before we all end up dying here." Jenn appeared between the two Spikes, hooking her arms at their elbows.
Both Spikes groaned at the same time.
"Look, Jenn," demon Spike said. "We're in the middle of strategizing here."
"And why should we apologize?" Spike added. "All that stuff between us happened eons ago."
"Hmph," Jenn huffed. "I still say you guys and L'Gant owe her something."
"After we're done stategizing," vampire Spike persisted.
Imitating the Spikes, Jenn surveyed the kranooks' headquarters. The air contained more moisture than the humid forests of Louisiana, and Spike almost felt as if he were inhaling water. The headquarters was deep underground. It was close enough to Stephanie's fortress that they had easy access to the enclosures she'd set up for them but hidden well enough that she hadn't found their personal space.
The Spikes and Jenn were standing at the edge of a cavernous room with high ceilings and lime-encased rock walls. Small private sleeping rooms were arranged in two stories across the room, but reportedly, they were rarely used except in emergencies. The kranooks tended to put up the façade that they were minding Stephanie's rules. As guests, L'Gant, the two Spikes, and Jenn each had their own private space. To Spike's right, Michael and Harmony were in the small food area, sipping blood from crudely fashioned mugs. Kranooks surrounded them, feasting from their own plates, their dinner a mess of something Spike couldn't quite make out. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were eating.
Spike eyed the kranook leader standing slightly apart from them. He was amazed by how different the kranooks appeared when he wasn't blindly fighting for his life in the middle of a dark throng of trees. Although they were covered in scales of varying shades of green, the structure of their faces was human and seemed to emerge from their reptilian skin as if they were wearing a costume. The kranooks' feet and hands were webbed, and their eyes were vampire yellow. When they moved, they emitted a distinctive noise that made them sound as if they were slithering. Every time Spike heard the signature noise, he shivered. He decided his reaction was instinctive, and he gave brief consideration to the notion that his feeling was the product of years of human evolution.
"We're not strategizing; we're waiting," the kranook leader suggested in a hoarse, guttural tone that was difficult to understand.
Jenn was ever impatient. "Waiting for what, Jon?"
Spike still couldn't get over how the kranook leader's name was so. . . well, so common. But he also understood. Spike had undergone a pretty radical change himself when he became a vampire, and although he'd changed his name, he'd kept it simple.
"We're waiting for reports on the riots and on the status of the dimensional key before we make our next move. Stephanie will be bringing the fight to us soon, and we must make certain she does not find this place for as long as possible."
"But what about Buffy and Angel. . . the good guys?" Jenn asked.
When they were still in Bizarro world and negotiating with the kranooks, Spike had asked the same question. Jenn had been at the Slayer headquarters gathering bags full of stakes and holy water and hadn't been exposed to. . . .
Jon's head shot around, and he hissed. His eyes flamed with anger, and his face became more reptilian than human. Spike half-expected a forked tongue to slither out from between Jon's parted lips.
And okay, so Jon was much gentler with the young woman. Spike's whole body still hurt from the kranook's. . . literal arm bending.
Jenn was startled but finished strong, "W-well. Um, we really should consider what they want with Buffy and Angel. And we should be trying to get them back. . . and soon before things start getting too out of control. Doesn't anyone remember the prophecy about the need for Spike, Buffy and Angel to defeat the vampires?"
Spike had protested the same way, and then, he learned that Stephan had been right about the kranooks' violent temper.
Before Jon could put on a repeat performance for Jenn, Spike nudged his way between the kranook and the Slayer-in-training, facing Jenn whom he knew would be more reasonable. "Let's not fight. We gotta save our energies for elsewhere."
Demon Spike took Jenn's arm and pulled her back from the imminent situation. "He's right, pet. We can't afford to fight amongst ourselves. We have a big enough battle ahead."
Jenn shook off her friend's touch. "Right. You're right." She straightened her shoulders in her leather coat. "I'm going to go check on L'Gant." To show that she wasn't really angry, she slung back over her retreating shoulder, "And I'm going to talk with him about apologizing, too."
"Stubborn," demon Spike returned.
"Look who's talking," she responded as she descended into the level where Harmony and Michael were chatting.
Spike faced Jon. "If we play this your way, nothing better happen to Buffy. . . or to Angel."
Jon glared. "You threatening me?"
"Let's just call it a warning."
xxxxx
A few hours later, Spike lay on a pallet in the small private quarters the kranooks had provided him. He was grateful that he didn't have to share a room with demon Spike; he wasn't sure he felt comfortable with the notion of sleeping with himself. The tiny fan was up full blast and provided some relief from the sweltering pressure of the heat and humidity. . . even if the blowing air was warm.
Spike had closed his eyes he didn't know how many times. But he had been unable to sleep. Instead, he'd been staring at the ceiling with his hands cupping the back of his skull. He'd tried pacing to relieve some of the tension that felt as if it were jumping through his muscles, but the room was small and the motion had done nothing but increase his irritability.
He was bored and definitely ready for something to happen.
He was worried about Buffy. . . hell, he was even worried about Angel and not just because Buffy and Angel were likely alone together. He hadn't realized how much he cared about his grandsire until he was gone. Over the years, he'd grown to trust the vampire. . . almost as much as he trusted Buffy. And he wasn't sure how he'd feel if something happened to Angel.
And if something happened to Buffy. . . .
That was it.
Spike had had enough. Clenching his jaw, he jumped up from the pallet, intent on going to Jon and insisting they do something. . . anything.
A small knock echoed from the other side of the door. Spike's eyes narrowed. Whoever was on the other side of the barrier better have news that he wanted to hear.
As soon as he swung the door open, his whole body instantly relaxed.
Buffy stood on the other side of the threshold, her hand raised to rap on the wood again.
Her hair was a tousled mess, her face was streaked with dirt and blood, and her clothes were torn in half a dozen places. Still, a smile overtook her face when she saw him.
Spike had never seen anything more beautiful.
Before he knew what was happening, she launched herself into his arms, holding him tight against her tiny form. She didn't say a word. . . just held on as if she would never let go.
Spike buried his face in her sweet neck. "God, Buffy, how'd you get here? What happened? I was so worried." Spike literally had to pry her arms from around his waist, so he could look her over again. "You're bleeding."
Buffy glanced at the gaping wound in her left arm and shrugged, remaining silent and looking up at him with big green eyes that threatened to swallow him whole.
Spike took her hand and drew her into his tiny cubicle room. He led her to the pallet and proceeded to rummage in his pack for his first aid kit. Withdrawing tape, cream, astringent, and scissors, he set them on the tiny stand next to the cot. As he turned to face her, he saw her shirt flutter to the floor in a white stream.
She smiled and snagged the loose cloth at the center of his shirt, pulling him forward.
Laying a finger over his gaping mouth, she swept it down over his bottom lip until her fingertip was under his chin. Gently, she closed his mouth and leaned forward, bringing her lips to his. He was so startled that he found himself melting into her embrace, allowing herself to tumble into the relief and happiness he felt at her safety. The kiss was simple and chaste, but Spike was aflame.
When his eyelids opened, he found her emerald eyes were lit with the same flame. "Buffy," he started.
"Shhhh," she murmured, focusing on his cheek and tracing her fingers over his face. "I need you to show me."
"Show you?" he managed, trying not to gasp as she trailed his fingers down his chest, tugging his shirt upward.
"Show me that things are different now. . . . That we're different."
Spike let Buffy sweep his shirt over his head, and her hand trailed over his abdomen, dipping lower to his tightening pants. Spike couldn't remove his eyes from her tiny hands that began circling his ribcage as she drew her naked mid-section toward his. He started to groan as her flesh pressed into his, but he was cut-off by Buffy's supple lips slamming into his with such force that he stumbled back a bit.
As her hand fumbled for his zipper, something clicked in the back of Spike's mind, making him think of a time years ago before he had a soul. . . a time when Buffy had used him. Taking a deep breath, he summoned all the willpower he had left and took her by the shoulders, being careful not to damage her arm.
Buffy looked startled at his reaction, and Spike waited for the cloud of desire to sweep away from her eyes. She took in his expression, and immediately, tears filled her eyes.
"What's going on, Buffy?" he asked, his words edged with a sharpness that faded as the tears trailed over her face.
Buffy's shoulders slumped slightly, and Spike led her to his pallet. She sank onto the thin mattress with her head bowed; Spike perched beside her and ran his hand over the back of her long hair.
"Tell me what happened." To give her time to gather her thoughts, he returned to his original task of assembling supplies to care for her arm.
"What do you mean?" she asked even though she knew what he was talking about.
"In Stephanie's fortress. What happened?" He met her eyes from beneath raised eyebrows. "Where's Angel?"
Tears flowed anew down Buffy's cheeks, and several seconds passed before she responded, "H-he's gone."
Not surprised by her revelation, Spike began dabbing astringent on Buffy's injury to cleanse the laceration. She squirmed and grimaced at the sting, and he mindfully blew on the cut, waiting for her to continue.
She finally said, "He's Angelus again."
Of all the things he expected her to say, Spike hadn't anticipated that Angel had lost his soul. . . well, he wasn't sure what he expected her to say. "How?"
Her eyes fluttered up briefly to meet his, but despite his reassuring touch, her next words came out in a disjointed manner, "Roxy. . . and Stephanie. Angel was bitten by a kranook. It was the only cure. A-and it was horrible how they did it. It felt like part of me w-was being sucked out."
Spike's face wrinkled up in his confusion. "Okay. Let's start at the beginning."
Buffy nodded and hiccupped a little.
"What happened first after you and Angel were taken from the battle with the kranooks?" Spike returned to bandaging her arm.
"Well, Angel was unconscious because he was bitten by one of the kranooks. And I was knocked unconscious." Buffy handed Spike a moist cloth to wipe the excess cream off his fingers. "A-and when I woke up, I was in a cell in Stephanie's palace. And man, did that suck. She didn't even have a toilet in her prison! What kind of person doesn't have a toilet in their prison?"
"A vampire?" Spike asked, and he was rewarded with the beginnings of a smile at the corners of Buffy's lips.
"Uh huh." Her face grew serious again, and she explained the rest of the events that had transpired until she reached his door.
Spike listened silently, feeling a plethora of emotions from anger to disappointment to tenderness to finally understanding why Buffy had done what she had when she knocked on his door. Without realizing what he was doing, his hand had gone from holding hers to nestling around her waist. By the end of her tale, Buffy was in his lap on the narrow cot.
When she ceased talking, Spike took a few moments to gather his thoughts before he burst out with what was in his heart.
Buffy wasn't used to such restraint from Spike, and she looked up at him from his chest, with expectation written on her features. "So?"
"So, what?" he asked, averting his eyes.
"So, why aren't you saying anything? You know, how you're disappointed in me that I tried to use you again or something."
Spike bit the inside of his cheek and inhaled deeply. "Buffy, I'm not going to change. If you let yourself lo. . . have feelings for me, I'm not going to disappear. I'm not going to change and become someone else who will abuse you. What you see is what you get with me. Haven't you learned that by now?"
Tears filled Buffy's eyes, and she hid them by burying her face against his chest. "I know that."
Spike felt tired. "I'm not Angelus; I'm not Angel. I never will be. You just have to decide what you want. . . and sort through your fears." He halted for a moment before continuing, "I can't do it. I can be here while you do, but I can't fix it for you."
Buffy moved her hand to the top of his, pressing the tips of her fingers in the crevices at the base of his fingers. Her words came out a little hoarse, "I know."
"So, it's really up to you. You have to decide what you want. I know you, Buffy. When you make up your mind about something, you go for it, and you get it. That's something I admire; it's what I strive to be. And if you knew what you wanted, then, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You'd already be going for it."
Buffy sniffled, but Spike wasn't going to back down now that he finally had words for what he was thinking and now that he had her undivided attention away from the distractions of their mission. "I don't buy what Angelus said about neither of us changing. We've both changed. I know that I'm not changing back to the way I was when I was soulless. I know that I can't possibly make up for what I've done in the past. But I can move forward. And Buffy, you've changed, too. You've dealt with the loss of being the only Slayer; you've dealt with the loss of friends and lovers. And so what if you still have some of the same fears. Because you've dealt with them before, it'll be easier to deal with them again. And bloody hell, stop me while I'm ahead! I'm starting to sound like your shrink. . . what's the sod's name? Oh, yeah. Jonathan."
Pushing away from and offering him a grin and a giggle, she agreed, "You do sound like a shrink."
Spike rested his chin atop her head, inhaling the scent of vanilla shampoo and blood. He wasn't sure how he felt about adding the next part, but part of him couldn't resist, "You don't have to decide everything today." He wished she could. . . would decide.
Her shoulders lowered even more; he hadn't realized how tense she still was. In a voice as small as a child's, she agreed, "Okay."
Spike patted her leg, readjusting to the situation at hand. "Let's get you cleaned up, love. Can't have you running around covered in blood. Then, you'll definitely attract the vamps."
"Right." Buffy moved to one side, allowing Spike access to the medical supplies. Pulling her hair around her neck to allow better exposure to the wound in her arm, she added, "And after you finish, I need to talk with Roxy."
"Want company?"
She smiled. "Company is welcome."
"Good. I'd like to get some answers." He drenched another bit of cotton in astringent and pressed the material to Buffy's wound.
Buffy sucked on her bottom lip at the sting. She needed distraction and fast. . . before he got to the stitches part. "So, tell me what you've been up to. How'd you get here?"
Spike lifted an eyebrow at her. "I've got tales for you."
TBC. . . Sorry for the long wait. . .