Kindred
By Sweetprincipale
Set in early Season Five. When Dracula called Buffy 'kindred'', he was doing a bit more than just saying they had a lot in common. Hungry for knowledge of herself and her power, Buffy didn't realize what kind of connection he had forged with her until he left town, and the damage was done. Hoping to break his hold over her, Buffy requests help from Spike. However, the way you break the hold of one vampire is to let another one possess you more fully. But, it'll only be temporary, right? Simple business, that's all…
Dedicated to:All the AWESOME readers and reviewers, and the kindly lurkers who favorite and follow but don't review (you can, I don't bite!). You make this crazy world better.
Part XXVII
"Hello?" Wesley answered the phone with a blurry voice, shaken from sleep. He hoped it wasn't Buffy again. She called him directly, not Angel, but he'd been in the office, and the whole thing was awkward. They wanted him to get to know the Countess better and judge her remaining bond with her sire. Discreetly, of course. They wanted to talk more, Buffy said, not clear on who the "they" was, but he knew. He told her they'd talk later, after office hours. It was hard to hear over the snarling, huffing, and slamming from the next room.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you."
He blinked. Not Buffy, not at all. "Countess?"
"Daniela, unless you'd prefer that I call you Mr. Wyndham-Pryce."
"No, no, of course not. I'm simply- startled to hear from you. It's um- rather late here." Wesley reached for his glasses and looked at the clock. After midnight. The day had been tedious. The night had been bloody and dusty. Angel seemed to be taking out his frustration on anything with fangs. Los Angeles might be quiet for a whole week after this evening. Wesley ran his hand over his face. Stubble scratched against his palm and tenderness swelled under his fingertips.
"I woke you? It's morning here. Sun is just coming up. The servants will be here soon. I prefer the drapes remain shut, but after so many years… I can feel the change of night to day."
So she's alone in her home. In her dark home. "Do you usually get up so early?" Wesley asked, trying to sound cheerfully interested, nothing more.
"I'm not exactly up. I'm still in bed." Daniela laughed her golden, chiming laugh as she lolled in her bed, blue-black hair flowing around her like inky waves, dim boudoir lighting picking up hints of onyx and sapphire.
"So am I."
"After the previous evening, I'm delighted to awaken without bruises, but rather disappointed to wake up without the curious Wesley in attendance."
Attending her. In the bedroom? No, good God, no, stop thinking like-
"What are you thinking? I'm very good at reading a man's silence, but I cannot decipher yours yet."
He blurted, "My experience with sociable vampires is limited and I find myself thinking far too many different things all at once when I speak with you." Oh dear. Did that sound rude? Speciest, if that was a thing? Incoherent?
Daniela laughed. "I like you, Wesley. You are so charmingly honest."
His face burned. He wasn't being entirely honest. He must get that information for Buffy, for Angel's peace of mind perhaps, for his own curiosity, that emotion that was becoming such a troublesome thing. He mustn't tell her the whole truth, not about why they'd met, nor about why he wanted to pursue knowing her better.
"To be fair, there are few sociable vampires. There are those of us who live in society, yes, but they tend to skulk and deal with the lower elements of humanity. It's easier to blend in there."
"Yet you have commanding rights to exclusive private jets and a house that should be featured on the cover of Parisienne."
"They've asked three times, I keep telling them no. Perhaps one day. I do admire persistence. Indomitable spirit."
He recalled how she broke that chain and freed her arm, how she survived on her own after 400 years of being someone's possession, to rise again, to the reclusive elite, if there were such a thing. "You are such a strong woman."
Daniela smiled. Once humans knew what she was, some could never call her anything but vampire. She liked this sorcerer more and more, even though she knew something was a tiny bit off. The test would be if he told her.
"Daniela?"
"Wesley?"
"Are you- coming on the plane, or simply sending it over?"
"Drat. You ruined my surprise. But again, you prove your intelligence."
"I did come first at university." Oh bloody hell, even tired, I brag.
"In my day, women couldn't get an education. Then, times began to change, but Dracula didn't want us to pursue things outside of the castle, unless we were with him."
"Oh." Wesley recalled small but well-stocked bookshelves in the little office attached to her bedroom. "Your bookshelves show your intellect anyway."
Daniela smiled. "Anyone can put books on shelves, Sorcerer."
"But not all of them have broken spines, missing corners or covers, and wine stains."
"Not wine. And how perceptive. Yes, I like to read. I've also started distance courses through special arrangement at the Sorbonne. Business and economics."
"I had no idea the Sorbonne offered-"
"The dean is a dear friend. Was."
Wesley's brain hesitated and stumbled. "Did he… pass?"
"Oh no, we simply stopped seeing each other a few years ago, when it was mutually convenient. He got remarried. I got bored."
"Ah." Wesley admitted that his life was far from boring. But himself? Well, it wasn't like this would be more than a weekend's fact-finding trip. Buffy might have to do without further assistance from the Countess.
Daniela's voice dropped conspiratorially. "He had two interests. The female form and the current stock market fluctuations. If he'd only had a third interest, I probably would have kept seeing him for- oh, at least another two weeks."
Wesley laughed. "I believe I have a dozen interests. Perhaps more."
"Why, Sorcerer, are you campaigning for his vacancy?"
"What? No! That is, this was several years ago, you said. You must have erm- filled the position."
"Immortals are always looking for a recreation of the same old things or ever seeking the new things. I have been both. I'm currently seeking new talent."
Right. Passing fancies. He supposed that would be valuable for Buffy to know. Her "friendship" with Spike could recreate something old, from his past- disastrous. Or it would end and he'd move on. Wise to understand before starting off. Still, for his own knowledge, a walk in the rain in Paris, a ride on a jet to Paris… It was worth the experience.
"This silence is sad. Ahhh. You don't want to be the new talent. I understand."
"I simply wish that if I were- I wouldn't fade into the old talent. Not quickly, at any rate," he said quietly.
There was a long pause. Her voice sparkled at the end of it. "Honest, indeed."
"Actually, there is one thing I haven't told you, but I swear to you it isn't out of a desire to harm you. Perhaps in time I can share it. Just… not yet."
"Hmm. The curious Wesley arouses mine more and more. All right. One secret you can keep, in exchange for one confidence."
"That's fair." Please, please, please ask something simple.
Daniela's voice was frank and blunt, still quite melodious. She was too old to beat about the bush. She knew men too well. She wanted to know this one, but she wouldn't like to waste her time paddling in the wrong pool. "If we were friends, mutually inclined, would you ever become more than friends? Lovers?"
He made a quacking noise. Dear, fucking mercy, a noise like an actual duck, a wounded, startled, perhaps even flatulant duck! It was entirely unromantic and unsuave and all the other uns he could think of.
Daniela laughed heartily as he composed himself.
"I'm sorry. So sorry. Ahem." She kept laughing. He made a huffing sound through his scarlet face.
"You are so utterly charming."
"Farting ducks are charming?"
She laughed again, a fresh burst that he found himself chuckling along with. "Some men get very intimidated by powerful women. Especially if the powerful women are also lethal and immortal."
"Well… that's possible."
"They try to act so formal and so strong, manly, capable."
"Ah." He deflated.
"The key word is act, darling. You are very real. Down to the farting duck. You see why I had to ask? I would kick myself if I did not. And as your observant eyes have noticed, my heels would do a fair amount of damage, not to mention the replacement costs. So, answer, when you're ready. You have my number."
He owed her the answer. It was what allowed him to have a smudgy but mostly clean conscience about the deception he was harboring. "Yes."
"Yes?" In her room, Daniela slid up from her pillows, one long, excited stretch of skin and silk. Her heart didn't beat, but something in her raced and pulsed.
"Yes, if it felt right, I would like that. But- but I never have been one to- to be casual. So, perhaps we wouldn't be mutually inclined. You would of course, like to keep seeking new talent and I-"
She knew it was poor manners to interrupt, but the twisting of his heart was evident in his voice and she wanted to put him out of his pain quickly. "You believe I have intelligence, yes?"
"Pardon? Yes!" He frowned. What atrocity had his tired brain brain committed that made her suspect otherwise?
"I don't look for new things for the sake of getting rid of old. You've seen my home, briefly. It's a blend, is it not? Old and new?"
"Beautifully combined," he recalled the antiques, the crystal decanters, the leatherbound volumes next to a state of the art computer system, wet bar, and microwave.
"I don't cast off good quality for new rubbish. I know exactly how that feels," her voice became steel instead of silk. "I never treat a lover shabbily. Or a friend. I'm immortal. I know the value of having things that last."
He was hopeless. He was swooning already. "I can't wait to see you." Dammit. She said manly, not schoolboy salivation. Although, she did say honest and that was nothing if not the truth.
"I'll see if I can leave earlier. Would you be ready tonight, wee hours? I can't fly during the day, too risky." She clutched the phone, biting her lip. Stupid, stupid foolish brain and heart, to get so intrigued, so fast. Why bother, why take the risk?
Because you haven't gotten to be where you are by standing still, waiting to see what would happen to you. You've had enough of that.
"I'll start packing."
"I'll call you when I know details."
"Wonderful. Goodnight- er- good morning, Daniela."
"Sweet dreams, Sorcerer."
Wesley hung up. He held the phone to his chest for a few moments. His heart was beating hard, pre-battle hard, only with much less fear. What is this feeling? It's anticipation. Apprehension. Arousal. Something with an A.
Amazing. It feels… amazing.
I suppose we'll find out if that's honest, too. He put the phone down on the nightstand.
He picked it back up as he groaned. He called another number.
"'Lo?" The answering voice was male, gruff and ragged with sleep- or exertion, and not quite American, if he was to make snap judgements.
"Erm. May I speak to Buffy?"
"Hang on a mo'."
Wesley heard a whispered conversation, sleepy and muffled. Another voice- not Buffy's, just as groggy invaded his ear. "Summers' residence. Joyce."
"Joyce! Mrs. Summers. I'm so terribly sorry to-"
"Mom, I got it, hang up. It's for me."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, yet. Who is this?"
"Wesley."
"Is that the little Watcher?" Joyce slurred.
"That's the little Watcher."
"I'm not that short!"
"Shhh. It's late. Mom, seriously hang up." Click. "She's going to check."
"Window."
Wesley waited for thudding and scuffling to stop before he tried again. "Buffy, listen. I'm going to Paris with the Countess for a few days. Dear God. My life has turned into a play. A musical, maybe."
"Don't. We'll have some singing demon in Sunnydale if you start saying things like that." Buffy lay back on her pillow. "I knew you were. That was the plan. What's the call for?"
"If she does enjoy my company, I'll ask her to come back with me. But I don't want her near Angel. It might stir buried memories for one thing. Were you serious earlier about putting her up?"
"Like in a hotel, not my house. Um. Maybe you and she would like to be our guests in a few weeks?"
"Guest for what?"
Buffy hesitated. If this lady was still in contact with Drac, that'd be the best thing. She'd tell him, "Hey your future unwilling Mrs. is about to get married to another, get your fangy ass down there and save your honor." But if she did it too soon, they might not be ready. "A little party. Details to follow. Just see how she lives. Be careful. If you die on my account, I'm going to have guilt. We're not even that close. I don't need that kind of guilt, okay?"
He smiled. "I understand. I did have an enlightening conversation with her. She said something I thought you ought to know."
"About Dracula?"
"No- well, yes, come to think of it. He doesn't like his brides moving freely without him. He also disapproves of higher education for women. At least he did when she was married to him."
"Not like I'm heavy into academics, but that just shows he's not marrying me for my brains." Buffy heard her mother pad down the hall. She opened and shut a door- checking to see if Spike was in the guest room, probably. Thank goodness he had opted to travel the house by roof instead of hallways when he joined her in bed a few hours ago. "I don't like control freaks," Buffy continued softly.
"No, I know." Wesley wondered if he should get up and start packing. He couldn't sleep now. "She told me something else, her personal beliefs, perhaps, but you may find them interesting regarding vampires as a whole. She said immortals long to recreate something old, what they had. Now, that screams Dracula, doesn't it? Still sleeping in coffins of dirt, still creating castles and having terribly old-fashioned thoughts about the equal rights of women to their husbands."
"I'll say."
"If an immortal isn't clinging to the past- they're always searching for something new, Buffy. They grow bored and move on." His voice was gentle. "Spike… Spike is clever. Adaptable."
"His hair is so stuck in the eighties. Maybe even seventies. But um- we're not talking about him."
"I know who's helping you, Buffy. You don't have to tell me. I know from how angry Angel is that he's the one."
She swallowed. "Did he remind you that he stuck with one woman for roughly a century? What's that, clinging to new, or seeking out old?"
"I don't know. Perhaps it's moving on to new things together?" Yes. Let's hope that's a possibility. What did I say? Beautifully blended?
"I hope so." Buffy smoothed the empty space beside her, the thick silver band catching the moonlight from a hastily opened window. That's the way it has to be, for us. I don't think we can live without the other one now. Her voice was thick when she tried to thank him. "It's good information to have. Thanks, Wes. Maybe you can ask her some more questions? Like about how it feels when you're under someone's hold. If she still misses him at all. If she can tell where he is. I don't know you can ask those things, but you're the one with the big brain."
"I imagine we'll have some discussions on the subject of vampires and immortality. She admires my curiosity. Only, I don't want her to think I'm pumping her for information."
"What else would you pump her for?" Buffy asked innocently, smiling when she heard him start coughing and stammering.
"I want her to know I'm interested in her as a person."
"Person? You see her as a person already? Like, even though you've only met her once and she's a vampire?"
He blinked rapidly. Yes. He did. How odd. It could all be a show. Only, the details in her life, the little labeled pouches in the fridge, the battered copy of Chekov's Three Sisters on top of her computer chair, the things she revealed that he could check up on easily… "She's quite personable," he finally answered. "Now, Spike, on the other hand…"
Buffy considered. Past the haze of bonding and love, she had to admit that Spike did not seem to want to be the life of the party. The king of the party, the death of the party maybe. But… why? She could feel things she didn't necessarily know. "Spike likes people. People he knows are safe. Imagine thinking you were finally going to fall in love, you wake up promised eternity and being top dog- and you get taken home to live with Angelus. Now, Angelus seemed to like parties." She shivered through dim recollections of a dreamscape she'd once seen in his head.
"Parties are not people. All vampires like parties, it means easy pickings," Wesley said sourly. Probably why Angel liked to be left alone to brood. Fun was probably a reminder of things he should avoid if he wished to stay on the straight and narrow.
"I think Spike likes certain people, and to be fair, so do I. The main thing is… we like each other. Isn't that the main thing when you- you bond with a person?" The curtain rustled and the man in question slipped in, quietly to her side, placing a kiss on her forehead.
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"No, Wesley. It is. No suppose. No perhaps. No maybe with a side of Watcherly-caution. If you feel it, you feel it. Now, it's late and you have to sleep."
"I suppose I- yes. No. Actually, no, Buffy, I'm not going to sleep yet. I'm going to pack." His voice had a new sort of resonance and firmness.
"Atta boy. Safe travels. Keep in touch. You won't tell her about… specifics, will you?"
"No, I won't. And if she tells me anything personal but not relevant to your case, I will also withhold specifics. Reasonable?"
"Reasonable," she agreed with a smile. She hung up and turned to Spike. "Your mother-in-law checked on you, huh?"
"Thank God you made me wear these awful sweatpants."
"Oh, I like them for the sake of modesty in front of Mom," Buffy breathed out, hand reaching inside the waistband. "But I love them because they're easy access. No more jeans and belts for you," she teased, starting to stroke him.
"In which case, no more knickers and pants for you. Just skirts."
"I'll flash everyone when I do roundhouse kicks."
"An' sweat pants'll fall down with all the weapons I carry in 'em."
There was mutual pouting. "At home, we wear skirts and sweats?" Buffy suggested, gripping him more firmly.
His hand snuck between her thighs. "At home, nothing."
"Compromise. Bathrobes. Matching his and hers?"
"Yes! Brilliant Slayer!"
"Shhhh!"
"Buffy?" Joyce's voice made them tense up. "Are you off the phone?"
"Yeah!"
"Is Spike in your room?"
"Well- he wasn't but he is now. I had to tell him something important. I promise, I'm not doing anything inappropriate. I swear it on your life, may lightning strike me dead if I'm lying," Buffy said calmly.
Spike's eyes went comically wide and he hastily yanked her farther from the window, as if lightning would be sneaking its way in at any moment.
Joyce also seemed to be waiting for the sound of a sizzle and fry. Nothing. "Good night, you two."
Spike slipped from the bed. "I wish you'd promise that sort of thing either before or after this little problem has been seen to," he hissed, gesturing to the thick white crown an inch above the waistband of the sweatpants.
"I am. Husbands and wives are one flesh. They even have husbandly and wifely responsibilities. It's written down." She laid back, slipping off her pajama shorts and splaying herself to his shocked, hungry gaze. "We can make sure you're on top, though. Just in case me riding you until you pop counts as 'inappropriate' marital sex."
Spike came over to her and kissed her, feeling her softness open up eagerly around his hand as he smoothed her silky slick flesh. No ka-boom. No dead Mrs. "'Cause we're properly, if not legally, wed, you an' I." he waited for the lightning to take him instead. Nothing.
"Duh," she whispered, biting his lip. "Now get inside and let me take care of the not at all 'little problem.'"
"I have a problem. I need to figure it out. It's not hard," Xander muttered and paced.
"Let me help?" Anya stopped making the morning coffee and eggs.
"I have pineapples, bananas, oranges, apples…"
"I want one of the bananas with my toast."
"Just one."
"Why so greedy?"
"Not greedy! The opposite. Giving." Xander pulled out a basket. "Did you know if they stuff the fruit in the basket it's like fifty bucks? I got a basket off of my parent's porch- I just dumped the dead petunias out of it- and the fruit came to like fifteen buck at the store. Here's the problem… where do I take it? And how do I keep the stuff at the bottom from getting nasty and squishy?" Xander looked at all the fruit he had laid out on the table as if this were a challenging equation. "I'm not that stupid."
"I know. His crypt seems logical?"
"What if Riley has one of his army buddies casing cemeteries? If it were a bouquet, okay, I'm the bereaved, but edible stuff? Probably a demon and then investigation and then best friend sobbing hysterically."
"You could take it to Buffy's house."
"Joyce. Questions. Questions with practiced guilt-inducing Mom-stares. I'll take it to Giles'. Guh. Then I have to give it to Spike in front of Giles. I don't want anyone to see. I want to leave it and run away." He suddenly snapped his fingers and started cramming things into the basket. "The pineapple takes up so much room. The oranges are sturdy, they can go on the bottom."
"You're babbling like Willow. Is it because you both went to the same nursery school?"
"No, I think it's because we shared so many near-death experiences." Xander balanced the apples on top. They fell off. As he went to retrieve some, more fell. The basket toppled and fruit bounced to the floor, some of it bruising on contact. "Why isn't this easier? Shrink wrap! Argh! The fifty bucks pays the salary of the girl who works the shrink wrap machine!" He kicked the table leg.
"I'll wash the fruit off, you eat your eggs. We'll repack it and wrap the whole thing in plastic wrap, okay?"
"I'm having a hard time with this," Xander admitted.
"But you're doing it. I wouldn't like people who kidnapped me or tried to murder people at my high school initially, either. But people change. I haven't ripped out entrails in almost three years." Or tried to kill people at your high school- indirectly- in that long, either.
Xander blanched and decided eggs were not compatible with his life right now. "I have a feeling this doesn't go away."
"The Dracula problem?"
"No. The Spike situation. Once we get rid of Dracula, can you honestly see Buffy telling him to get lost? She loves him. He saved her life."
"Then why should he get lost?" Anya took his eggs and traded him her toast, which was less gross if he decided to vomit.
Xander stopped brushing dead leaves out of the bottom of the basket. Why would I tell Buffy to get rid of the guy she loves, who saves her life?
Because Angel.
Spike hates Angel. Angel is… really not much like Spike. Angel saves Buffy when it's personally convenient. And Spike doesn't have a soul to lose, so… "You're really smart, you know that?" Xander leaned over and kissed her on the lips as she hastily swallowed.
"Thank you! People don't notice that enough- including you."
"I'm seeing a lot of things more clearly, okay? I don't really love all the stuff I see, but I'm seeing it."
Dracula pushed aside the dark burgundy curtains. The day was as dark as night where he was residing. His grand illusions were less grand and his hunger went more unsatisfied than it hand in many years. He had recovered from being staked before. He enjoyed the look of surprise on the face of the victor-turned-victim when he reappeared from ashes and sank his fangs into their necks. But staking twice in one evening, within minutes? That was unheard of and much more difficult to recover from, magic or no. That, and trying to keep a hold on the slippery will of the huntress. It had been fading steadily. At first, he thought it was his weakness. The distance. He couldn't find her at all now.
He tried again.
Fog.
A glimpse- an outline of a figure?
No. Mere fog. Trying to look past something he could not push through. He needed to claim her again, bite her again, thrall her.
Only, he realized something had happened that had never, ever happened before.
Someone broke his control. Not weakened it. Not evaded it. Not escaped while it was still in place. Broken it.
He roared in the silence of the snowy peaks and brought his current wives, tense and fearful, rushing to his side. They fawned over him, seeking his attention, which he had been unable to provide lately. They were so… cloying right now. None of them wanted to leave their master and yet with the addition of the Slayer to his household, one would go. He hadn't made his decision. He liked the extra efforts it spurred, hated the venom and tears it might also spark.
If only they'd had as much elegance as Daniela, who'd asked so elegantly for her freedom for so long, her despair deeper with each change he made to his triad of brides. He hadn't thought of her in months. Part of him berated himself for letting her go.
The Slayer will be worth it. Breaking her would be the achievement that made him the legend of legends. No other Slayer would dare approach him, though his new bride would certainly defend him if they did. Watching her fight for the darkness would be so entertaining. Teaching her to use her adrenaline for his pleasure would be even more so.
Like every good gift, it takes time to perfect.
As soon he were a bit better, he would return to kill this usurper. That grating voice, the misty figure in her head- indicating he had been granted access, the access he'd had to trick her into… His hand tightened and broke off one of the carved mahogany armrests where he reclined with a sudden, vicious snap. The Slayer of Slayers, wasn't it? Hadn't they met once? In the 1880s, he believed, but no matter. William the Bloody would die, another layer to his legend, that the one who killed the hunters was dead at his hand.
That would remove the hold, but Dracula knew he would still have to restore his own. The world would marvel at his turned Slayer, his dutiful, beautiful, powerful pet.
To be continued...
End note: I'm so excited! You an' Me Against the World (CrossRealms: You an' Me Against the World that is) comes out in two weeks! Check out S.C. Principale's page on Pat-reon or Amazon for updates and sneak peeks of the cover :)
