Chapter Three
Buffy blinked, then blinked again. As much as she willed it away, the vision of Spike in all his bleached-blond glory would not vanish.
Her brain wasn't computing.
Not Angel.
Not Angel, but Spike.
Spike!
Spike holding her close. Spike breathing ragged, unnecessary breaths in time with her own. Spike pressing his bare, muscular chest firmly against her very naked breasts. Spike in-fucking-side of her.
Oh God!
Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!
Buffy squirmed, aware of every inch of his hardened length as it filled and stretched her.
But…
But…
But she knew…knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she'd just made love to Angel.
Hadn't she?
She'd seen him, heard him, felt him. It had been Angel's face, Angel's voice, Angel's physique.
It had been…until it hadn't anyway.
The whole thing just didn't add up. She would never touch Spike, not with the Grinch's 39-and-a-half-foot pole, not with anything but a roundhouse kick to the jaw or maybe a fist to the face.
Her thoughts were flying around her brain, smacking together and ricocheting like several out-of-control boomerangs, all paths leading her nowhere. Angel. Spike. Orgasms – really good orgasms! – A spell, maybe? Spike. Fangs. Blood. A key-lime green tinted Spike wearing nothing but a Christmas hat and reeling her in by a flagpole.
Hold up. What? Oh, God!
Buffy extinguished the image and tried to concentrate. Other than her heaving lungs pushing out panicky, hysterical breaths, she was frozen, unable to move, speak, or disentangle herself from the nightmare that literally held her in his arms.
After what felt like ages of mutual, bewildered staring, Spike growled and pushed out of her, his sudden absence the remedy to Buffy's near-paralysis. She fisted the bedding and cried out at the loss, not realizing until it was gone that his touch had been grounding what little remained of her sanity.
Somehow, she maintained enough wherewithal to clamber to her feet even as she squeezed her eyes shut and fought the bile that threatened.
I'm the slayer. I can handle this.
Whatever 'this' is.
"Where's- where's Angel?" she managed, turning away from where Spike stood pulling on his clothes.
"In Hell, where you sent him, I s'pect."
"I- I- I don't understand." His cool nonchalance miffed, but she kept her eyes averted, gazing unseeing around the room, mind completely blanking until she heard the sound of a zipper.
Oh, I'm going to be sick.
Realizing her own nakedness, Buffy gingerly began gathering her discarded garments from the floor, the bed post, the lamp. She lifted the remains of her underwear on an index finger and released a strangled cry before tossing them away like a live grenade.
Urgency returning, Buffy rushed to pull on her jeans while keeping careful tabs of Spike out of her periphery. Until recently – very recently – he'd been just the vamp she played nice with out of necessity; the enemy of her enemy. An annoying convenience. She would've been happy to see him dust, or, if not exactly happy, definitely indifferent. She might have done him the honor of sweeping him into the trash.
As soon as she'd had the thought, a mental wall slammed, and the word 'NO' echoed loudly inside the cavern of her mind in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her own, only bitchier.
Weird.
Before she could fully process the experience, however, she saw Spike sneer and mutter, "As if I feel any less disgusted. The slayer! It's a bloody travesty. Unnatural, it is."
Fully dressed now, Buffy found her stake and brandished it at him. "What did you do to me?!"
"Oi, don' blame me. You're the one with the witch in tow. Seems I should be askin' what you lot did to me?"
"I- I- I didn't- I don't know what happened. I was with Angel!" She glanced around the room as if expecting him to appear out of thin air to validate her statement.
Spike's steely glare could cut glass. "Yeah, so? And I was with Dru…. Or thought I was, more like." Fully dressed himself now, duster and all, she watched him scratch the back of his head, single eyebrow raised in a perplexed arch, before reaching into the pocket of his duster and withdrawing a package of cigarettes. He freed one and placed it between his lips, letting it dangle, unlit.
Buffy's gaze followed the action, snagging on his mouth before letting her focus roam. She was just assessing. She was most definitely not admiring his form. Not his chiseled cheeks or his angular jaw or his expressive brow; and most certainly not his kissable lips. Nope.
He noticed her attention and held the pack toward her in offering, "Fancy a fag, pet?"
"I- I don't smoke," she said, turning her head quickly and rebuking herself for getting caught staring.
Her guilt-riddled eyes came to rest on the open doorway and what lay beyond, bringing on yet another round of mental reproach.
Willow!
Her very best friend, her confidant, one of the only people helping hold her together after everything, still lay unconscious in the other room. Concern for her friend and horror at herself battled for dominance inside her head. Oh, God! Willow! The spell! She passed out. And I just, just….
"Jus' ran off to get a leg over your boy without even a second thought to your mate?"
Buffy had been halfway to the bedroom door, but Spike's words made her pause. Did I say that out loud?
"What?"
"Not like you, that. Not giving a rat's arse 'bout your mate. Bein' too randy to even check she's of the livin'."
"But Angel said…"
"The Big Poof said, did 'e? Well, he weren't really 'ere, was he?" Spike finally struck his lighter and cupped his hand around the flame. When it was lit, he waved it at her. "An' I'm willin' to lay dosh on it that Red had something to do with the presto chango. Can blame her for your sudden lack of inhibition, I'd wager. If I were a bettin' man, that is," he added with a wicked grin before taking a puff.
Buffy sighed and rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder. Her thoughts may have been a tangled mess at the moment, but she knew Spike was right about Willow. It was the only explanation she could think of. All the clues fit.
"You better fucking believe I'm right."
Buffy's head shot up. It wasn't the words themselves that both surprised and terrified her. She expected such sentiments from Spike, and she didn't necessarily disagree either. No, what left Buffy slack-jawed was something altogether different.
"I heard that," she said, voice shaking. This whole thing was really starting to freak her out, and she lived on a hellmouth and fought demons on the daily, dammit.
"Heard what, Slayer? Red waking up? S'not. I would've heard."
"No," she huffed. "'You better fucking believe it,'" she mocked. "I heard it…up here." She tapped her middle finger against the side of her head.
He squinted at her, and his perplexed expression was almost cute.
"Oi! I am not cute!"
Buffy made a "you see" gesture with her hand and waited for Spike to catch on.
It only took a minute.
"Bollocks," Spike said, hand shooting to a mark on his neck. When he rubbed it, she shivered.
Buffy's breath caught. She'd forgotten about the bite, but…could she have really done that to him? She would never! Yuck!
But she had.
Spike glared but kept his lips firmly closed. Still, Buffy heard. He wasn't speaking, but she heard. His voice came in snippets, clear and precise, as if a little version of Spike were sitting inside her brain and chatting the words directly into her auditory cortex.
"Claimed."
"Permanent."
"Forever."
"Bloody buggering fuck!"
Buffy didn't understand what was happening; moreover, she didn't know if she wanted to. She already felt too overwhelmed with the whole Angel-back-from-the-dead thing – Only, not, apparently – and she didn't need to add mind-reading to the list of problems to be solved.
Or did mind-reading trump mystical sexual intercourse?
Because it was mystical, wasn't it? The differences in the sex that she'd only vaguely noted at the time started asserting themselves, taking on a whole new light in the aftermath.
At the time, she'd chalked it up to desperate need, but now…Buffy never would have left Willow alone when she was hurt, not even for Angel, regardless if she thought she'd never see him again, and Buffy believed that a souled Angel would never have asked her to.
And the sex itself? It had been rougher, hungrier, greedier. Not even a little bit timid or careful.
Passionate.
Not like Angel at all.
Like Spike.
And she'd loved it. Every minute.
What? No.
"Liked me shaggin' ya raw, did ya?" Even if it hadn't sounded like Spike, she would have known the crude thought belonged to him. As the words permeated her brain, his tongue curled behind the back of his teeth in a familiar leer and his free hand grazed slowly from his pecks to his abdomen and further. He may have continued if Buffy hadn't forced herself to look away.
"You're a pig, Spike."
"Oink, oink."
Buffy shook her head almost violently, trying to clear her thoughts and dislodge the tiny Spike in her head. She didn't have time for this. She needed to check on her friend.
She was loath to turn her back on the evil vampire in her midst, but she'd wasted enough time with this nonsense already.
"I can't hurt you; you know? It'd hurt me to hurt you."
Her hand involuntarily raised to the matching wound on her own neck. She felt the truth in his statement, radiating there, but Buffy didn't have time to dissect it, choosing instead to be annoyed by yet another mental intrusion. She had enough of her own voices bouncing around without adding Spike's to the mix.
"Use your words, Spike," she said as she spun and stalked purposefully to Willow, choosing to believe, at least for the moment, Spike meant what he said and couldn't hurt her.
Buffy felt her guilt ease somewhat as she neared Willow and saw her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. She dropped to her knees beside her friend and shook her gently. "Willow? Willow, are you alright?"
Buffy could feel Spike's eyes on her like a weight as she tended to Willow, but she ignored him, even as delicious tingles traveled up and down her spine and radiated outward until goosebumps erupted on her flesh.
Come on, Willow. Come on. I need you.
"Need a buffer, do we?"
Buffy nearly cried with relief when, after some gentle coaxing, Willow began to stir.
"Buffy? Buffy, what happened?"
Willow let Buffy help her into an upright position, leaning against her sturdy shoulder for support as her own head swam. Stars danced across her vision, so vivid she swore she could pick out individual constellations if she concentrated hard enough.
"Willow?" Buffy touched her shoulder, and Willow tried to focus. "Willow, what did you do?"
Do?
"The spell, Willow. What did you do?"
Oh! The spell! Yes!
"The spell," Willow said aloud, gaining enthusiasm now. "Did it work?" She gripped Buffy's hand. "Did- Did Angel- Did he come back?"
Buffy pulled away abruptly, standing in a fluid motion and staring down at her friend with watery eyes. Willow stumbled to her feet as well, a bad feeling rising in her chest. Buffy shouldn't be crying. If her spell had worked, then shouldn't Buffy be hugging her and singing her praises?
Before she could ask, though, she sensed movement coming from across the room. Angel? Was he here after all? Maybe Buffy's tears are happy ones! Willow craned her neck, expecting to see the vampire she'd attempted to bring back from the dead.
When a bleached-blond head appeared instead, Willow freaked.
"Spike! Buffy! Buffy! There's Spike!" Willow pointed wildly a few times before crouching and hiding her head under her hands, as if removing the vampire from her line of sight would somehow protect her from him.
When Willow didn't hear any signs of a scuffle, she peeked between her forearms.
Buffy wasn't reacting the way Willow expected. She didn't seem startled at all. She didn't lunge or kick or punch. She didn't so much as look over her shoulder.
Willow tried once more, pointing a limp finger. "Buffy, did you hear me? There's Spike."
Buffy nodded, taking Willow's hand and helping her to her feet once more. "Yep. Spike. And I think your spell brought him here."
"Oi! It did not!" Spike finally spoke up from his position against the door jamb. Willow followed the lit tip of his cigarette as he gesticulated wildly. "I brought myself 'ere. Was gonna kill you, I was." Then he stalked closer, pointing an index finger at Willow. "S'everything else that you're to blame for."
Willow bravely stood her ground, although she might have flinched a little. "Wha- What exactly do you mean by 'everything else?'"
Spike counted each of Willow's failures on his fingers, sounding so bored he might as well have been reading off a grocery list. "The wonky sex, for one. The claimin'. Slayer's voice in my 'ead, drivin' me batty. Starting to ring any bells, Red?"
"But- But that's not- Wait. You had sex with Spike?" This last was directed at Buffy.
"Course, that's what she clings to," Spike said, rolling his eyes.
Buffy gave him her best if-looks-could-kill glare before directing her answer to Willow. "I don't know. Maybe." She shrugged. "It's a little confusing." Buffy's eyes remained on her shoes as she spoke.
"Can you try to explain?" It was an understatement to say that Willow definitely had a case of the wiggins. She had gone over the spell again and again, had attempted to work out worst case scenarios even, but nothing had prepared her for this. Still, if she really was to blame, she would need more information if she were to attempt a fix.
Which she totally could.
I think.
"Slayer thought she was boinkin' The Great Poof. I thought I was ridin' high with my dark princess. Blood and vows were exchanged thusly. Though' I was finally getting' everything I ever wanted. And then, kaboom…" Spike mimed an explosion. "I opened my eyes to find meself balls deep in the slayer."
Willow blinked.
Buffy cleared her throat. "That- That…uh…about sums it up."
Willow tried to ignore the graphic images invading her brain space, the space she reserved for computer programming, calculus equations, and red-headed werewolves with nimble fingers – that he used on his guitar…cough, cough – not for biological processes between her best friend and their undead mortal enemy. Eww.
"So, Angel was here? Where'd he go, then?"
Buffy shook her head. "That's just it, Will. I don't think he actually was. Not really."
Willow bent and picked up her spell book, quickly rifling through the pages. When she found the spell again, she pointed emphatically. "That's impossible. He was supposed to be here. To stay! It says so right here."
Spike approached, yanking the book from her hands without preamble. He began perusing the text, a sneer on his face.
"It's in Latin, but I translated it."
"Bloody witches messin' with bloody magicks better left well enough alone," he mumbled under his breath, but Willow still heard. She bit her lower lip and her forehead crinkled in guilt.
After Spike had been looking at the book for a few minutes, Buffy asked, "You read Latin?"
Spike looked up then, staring intently at Buffy for a moment, before returning his attention to the spell.
"Wow," Buffy said, seemingly at nothing.
She turned to Willow. "He speaks loads of languages, including some demon ones."
"How- How do you- What?"
"He just told me." Buffy pointed to her head, as if that explained everything.
"Told ya. Slayer's voice in me 'ead. Works both ways."
Willow blinked again.
"Anyone verify your translation, Red?"
"No," she said, shoulders slumping. "But I cross-checked it using several texts and the web."
"Let's see it, then?" Spike said, holding out his hand in a "gimme" gesture.
Willow looked around dumbly, finally spotting a piece of loose leaf among the detritus. She thrust it at him, hovering over his shoulder as he read.
Spike snorted when he saw the paper, the bubbly print nearly glowing in neon pink. "Interestin' penmanship, innit, Red?"
"Hey! I worked really hard on that. So what if I wanted to make it pretty."
Buffy rubbed Willow's arm comfortingly, and Willow smiled, appreciating the reassurance. At least Buffy didn't seem too angry with her. Still, she wrung her hands together as they waited for Spike to finish looking over the two versions of the spell.
"Well?" Buffy asked eventually, foot all but tapping a divot into the stone floor.
"'Assero,' here," Spike pointed, holding the book out toward Buffy whose only response was to look at it as if it contained demon guts. Spike sighed and directed his attention to Willow instead. "You translated 'assero' as 'free.'"
"Yeah," Willow said, nodding and snatching her paper back. "'Free' as in 'free Angel from the pits of Hell and return him to his love."
"No. 'Assero' can also mean 'claim,' you nit. As in, what happened between me and Buffy. Words can have multiple meanings. You've buggered it all by not doin' a proper check. No tellin' what else, really, as my Latin's a little rusty. 'Spect the watcher can help sort it."
At the mention of her watcher, Buffy groaned. "Do we have to tell Giles? Can't this be our little secret? No harm, no foul, right?"
"No har –" Spike took a step toward Buffy, dropping the book with a thud. Willow cowered. "You're not serious? Got little Buffies whisperin' your every thought in my brain, and you think, 'no harm?' Are you daft?"
Buffy shuffled her feet.
Willow found her courage. "Is it- Is the claim really that big a deal? What is it, exactly? Just hearing each other's thoughts?"
Spike huffed. "I don' have time for a lesson. 'Sides, you silly bints didn't bring your slates to class." He spun on his heels, duster flaring, and glided out of the mansion.
"Where- where're you going?" Willow asked.
But he didn't answer, not aloud anyway, and Willow was left staring nervously in his wake.
"So," she said, "I'm all for not telling Giles if you are."
Buffy worried her lower lip. "Unfortunately, Will, I don't think we have a choice."
"Poop. I was afraid you were going to say that."
The walk to Giles' apartment was made in near-silence, at least to the casual observer. Buffy tried to keep her senses focused outward, listening for danger. This was Sunnydale, after all. Anything could happen – as tonight clearly exemplified – and she couldn't afford to be distracted; still, here she was, unable to turn off the inner dialogue between herself and Spike, no matter how unwanted.
Back at the mansion, when Willow had asked where Spike was going, he hadn't answered, but his voice had sounded in her head. "You do your research, and I'll do mine."
At that point, Buffy had been too muddled to respond or even wonder at his comment. She certainly hadn't thought to argue at his hasty departure. But in the quiet, Buffy's brain began to wonder. You'd think he'd at least want to hear what Giles has to say.
"And be greeted with a stake when he hears about all the shagging. I think not."
Ok, so maybe he had a point.
She heard Spike snort, then, "'Sides, you hearin' it's the same as me hearin' it. An' I got different sources, don' I? Avenues your watcher chap wouldn't consider."
"Like what?"
"Demon, aren't I? Our lot tend to know a bit more 'bout the demon world than you white hats. Don't hafta look it up in a book, either. Jus' gotta know who to ask."
"Buffy!" Willow's voice was shrill as she tugged Buffy to a stop.
Buffy immediately fell into a fighting stance. "What? Where?"
"No, it's nothing. It's just…I've said your name, like, ten times."
"Oh. Sorry, Will," Buffy said even as Spike chuckled inside her head. This needed to stop. Now.
"You were talking to Spike, weren't you?"
Buffy suddenly found the street sign very interesting. "Um, yeah. I mean, kinda can't help it." She shrugged. "He's just there."
Willow grimaced on her behalf but resumed walking, and Buffy gratefully followed along, more determined to keep her attention on the friend talking to her using actual words and not on the fiend with the freaky disembodied mind-voice. It was the stuff best left to wacky sci-fi shows of the Xander variety.
"Star Trek's not bad. I like that bald bloke. Fellow Brits an' all."
"Captain Picard," Buffy brain automatically supplied.
Damn. She just couldn't help it, and it was so frustrating. Buffy stomped her foot and released a high-pitched growl that had Willow jumping beside her. When Buffy didn't offer any explanation, however, Willow ignored the outburst, saying, "I- I was going to ask what all you wanted to tell Giles…like, the whole story? Just bits and pieces? You know…so we're on the same page. I don't let something slip I wasn't supposed to."
Buffy rolled her shoulders back and, as gracefully as she could manage, caught up to Willow. "I think we're going to have to tell him everything. Just…maybe we don't have to be uber specific."
"Got it. Details are to be of the minimum."
Buffy nodded succinctly and turned into Giles' courtyard, taking a deep breath to steady herself. This night had already been hell, and it was only going to get worse. Visions of what lie ahead played on a loop in her head: the admonishments, Giles' disapproving face, the research. Ugh!
With one last fortifying look at Willow, Buffy approached the door, raised her fist, and knocked.
