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Definitions:
1. The technique of using light and shade in pictorial representation.
2. The arrangement of light and dark elements in a pictorial work of art.
3. A series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan fictions, mostly about the Buffy/Spike relationship.
Rating: I’m not good at figuring out what people will find offensive, but the Chiaroscuro series is probably mostly R with some PG and some NC-17. To be on the safe side, please assume NC-17 unless I specifically note otherwise. By accessing this material, you are confirming that you are at least 17 years old.
Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots
and dialogue herein are mine.
Notes:
“He’s going to be late,” said Xander. “What are they doing?”
“Spike’s going away for a couple of weeks,” said Dawn. “What do you think they’re doing?”
“I don’t get it,” said Xander. “Not what they’re doing—with those two, that’s usually not too hard to guess. But why does Spike win the fabulous trip to England while all the rest of us, including Buffy, are stuck in the demonic hell of Sunnydale?”
Dawn dumped a bag on the floor of the hall and gave him a stern look. “We’ve been over this, Xander. There’s only enough money to send one of us. We have the lock, but we can’t close the hellmouth permanently without the mate to the sword Tara found. Giles is convinced the sword is in England. Spike knows the territory over there, and he knows how to identify the right sword. Also, the Immigration people, in their infinite weirdness, have decided that they won’t consider Spike to be in the country for real unless he leaves and comes back again. Apparently just showing up and standing in front of them isn’t sufficient proof that he’s here. They need an actual stamp on a passport. So it makes sense to send him.”
“When you explain it like that, the magical sword part makes sense. The Immigration part still has me scratching my head.”
“Don’t bother to try to understand the INS,” said Buffy, coming down the stairs. “Spike and I have both given up. Their logic does not resemble either human or demon logic.”
Spike followed her down and dropped a second bag next to the one Dawn had brought. “Yeah, when Freud used to worry about what women wanted, it was because he was afraid to tackle the really strange thought processes of La Migra.” He looked at his bags. “All ready, I think.”
Xander was about to help him carry the bags out to the car, but Buffy shook her head. She looked Spike over. He was wearing jeans, a red shirt, and a dark jacket. Overall, he looked more presentable than usual.
“Give me the jacket,” she said.
Spike complied without question. Buffy went through the pockets and tossed a stake and a set of picklocks on the dining room table. “That’s okay now,” she said, handing the jacket to Dawn to hold. “Arms out,” she said to Spike.
“Don’t you want me to assume the position?” he said, but, again, he complied with her order.
Buffy patted him down carefully, paying particular attention to his pockets. She confiscated a switchblade and tossed it beside the other objects on the table.
“Can we go now?” said Xander.
Buffy shook her head and pointed at Spike’s ankle. He put his foot up on a chair, pulled up the leg of his jeans, and unbuckled a sheath. He added the sheath and the dagger it held to the rest of the contraband.
“Is that everything?” asked Dawn.
Buffy looked at Spike. “They won’t let you on the plane with that kind of stuff. If you need toys, you can borrow some from Giles. Now, tell the truth, are there any more?”
“Want to do a strip search?” he asked.
Xander groaned. Dawn grabbed his arm and one of the bags. “We’re going out to the car,” she said to Buffy and Spike. “You two have five minutes. Then I’m coming back in to get you, and I am not knocking first.”
The door slammed. Buffy looked at Spike.
“There’s nothing else,” he said. “And I would have left all that stuff here.”
“I know,” she said. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You just couldn’t resist the chance to have me feel you up one last time, could you?”
“No,” he said. “And it wasn’t the last time. I’m coming back, remember?”
She put her arms around him and buried her head in his chest, listening for his heartbeat. “I know.” She let him go and reached into her own pocket. “This is to replace all the toys I made you leave behind.”
He looked at the braided chain. “A charm?”
“Yes,” she said, putting it on his left wrist. “
“I promise,” he said, touching it. “It’s a part of you, isn’t it? There’s human hair there—yours, Dawn’s and—” he frowned.
“Yours,” said Buffy. “I cut it from the back of your head while you were sleeping.”
“My, my Delilah,” he said. “But since you gave it back to me, I assume it won’t sap my strength.”
“The reverse, according to
“Did I say that?” He shook
his head. “Not at all. It wasn’t so long ago that no one at all
cared about my continued existence.
I’d treasure this even if I didn’t have confidence in
She moved to embrace him again, but backed away as an impatient hand rattled the knob of the front door from outside. “Time to go,” she said reluctantly.
Several hours later, Buffy reentered her house, trailed by Xander and Dawn. They stopped, and Xander saw that his surprise and puzzlement was echoed in Dawn and Buffy’s expressions.
“What’s that smell?” said Xander, sniffing the air cautiously.
“I’m not sure,” said Dawn slowly.
“Me either,” said Buffy.
“It’s—very different,” said Xander.
“Yeah,” agreed Dawn. “But it’s also really—appetizing.”
Tara emerged from the kitchen and smiled at them. “Hi. I thought you might not have time to cook after taking Spike to the airport, so I came by and made dinner. I found a really good recipe for biryani.”
“What’s biryani?” asked Xander.
“A kind of African vegetarian stew. I think you’ll like it.”
Buffy smiled wryly. “Thanks, Tara. I appreciate it. And I’m sure Spike does too.”
Tara raised her eyebrows as if in bewilderment for a moment before giving up the pretense. “All right, he did ask me to make sure you ate healthy foods while he was gone. But I would have done this anyway.”
“I know,” said Buffy, giving her a hug.
Tara went back into the kitchen, and Buffy turned and looked at Spike’s “toys,” which were still lying on the dining room table. She reached out and stroked the sheath of the dagger, a nostalgic expression on her face. Then she picked it up, set one foot on a chair, and buckled the sheath to her own ankle before sliding the dagger into it. She wandered off to the living room disconsolately.
“I guess it makes her feel closer to him,” said Dawn uneasily.
“Okay, deeply weird,” said Xander. “But I’m dealing.”
“Hooray for you,” said Dawn.
Xander had the impression that his mental health wasn’t her main concern at the moment. He finally noticed the deep sadness in her blue eyes. “What’s wrong, Dawn?”
“Having Spike gone isn’t exactly fun for me either, Xander,” she said quietly. “And your attitude isn’t helping.”
Xander cursed himself quietly under his breath, but couldn’t help expostulating, “What is it with you two girls? Why are you so hung up on the most annoying guy on the planet?”
“And just why do you find him so annoying, Xander? What has he done to you lately that’s so horrible? Besides saving your life, I mean?”
Xander opened his mouth to retort and closed it again. The words, “Spike offered to be my friend not two minutes after I said I despised him,” hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely refrained from uttering them. They would clearly make him sound insane. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and tried to sort out his feelings.
When Buffy had announced her intention of locking down the hellmouth and forcing its demonic emanations deep into the earth, Xander had signed on for the battle immediately. For a few minutes, it had seemed like old times. The Scoobies would fight to save the world, and he would have a role in the battle. Perhaps it would not be as prominent a role as Spike’s, but Xander knew that he could hold his own in a fight. Then he had realized how important Dawn’s role as the key would be, and the small knot that had formed in the pit of his stomach turned into a case of permanent indigestion. To make things worse, almost everyone except Xander seemed to have important work to do in planning for the attack. It particularly rankled that Spike was on a mission abroad while Xander was left to console the womenfolk. The fact that Spike would much rather not have gone away from Buffy and Dawn made no difference to Xander’s feelings of resentment.
Tara came back out of the kitchen. She was holding an envelope. “Where’s Buffy?” she asked.
Dawn pointed to the living room, and Tara went to hand the Slayer the envelope. Dawn and Xander heard the words, “. . . held up with a refrigerator magnet.” Buffy smiled and turned the envelope over in her hands thoughtfully. Slowly, she stood up and went out to sit on the steps of the back porch. The others watched her from the kitchen.
“I’m going to stay here and help Tara,” said Dawn to Xander. “You can help with dinner or go watch TV. Just don’t try to talk to Buffy just now, okay?”
“I wouldn’t,” he said. “Trust me, there’s no way I want to know what kind of sex-crazed message that guy left behind for her.”
Buffy ran her fingers lightly over the envelope before opening it. Spike had obviously gone to the extra effort of buying good-quality stationery for this missive; most of his notes were written on the backs of PTA flyers and old traffic tickets. This paper was heavy, and she could see lines of linen running through it. There was some kind of watermark; she thought it looked like a lion.
She didn’t want to go back into the house to retrieve a letter opener, so she used Spike’s dagger to carefully slit the envelope. The cream-colored sheets slipped out into her hands. She didn’t focus on the words at first; she just admired the swoops and swirls of his handwriting. This was a part of his humanity so ingrained that over a hundred years as a vampire hadn’t served to alter it. The careful penmanship that had been drilled into the boy William more than a century before was more natural to him than breathing.
Love,
A wise man and a good poet once
wrote:
Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drowned the whole world, us two; oft did we
grow
To be two chaoses, when we did
show
Care to aught else; and often
absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us
carcasses.
By all rules of justice and logic, I should
be no better than a dead thing, a pale shadow drifting in the darkness. But, somehow, thanks to
you
I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death; things which
are not.
Love, if we could survive that trial, the
need for this little separation shouldn’t be more than a passing
annoyance.
You’re not one for taking orders, but I wish
you will listen to me this once. There’s little enough time for happiness in any
life worth living. So don’t
squander our time apart on tears, even if this trip should last longer than we
have planned. Instead, “when I am
gone, dream me some happiness.”
You are surrounded by love and friendship,
and I am on an adventure to serve the needs of the ones I love. What better reason could we have to
rejoice?
I can hear you laughing at that. All right, I’m a bloody liar. Being close enough to shag you is the
best reason for rejoicing I know.
But if we can’t rejoice, we can at least smile. It will cheer me in the land of fog and
drizzle to know that somewhere in California my sun is still
shining.
It’s been a long time since I’ve written a
letter like this, and my first thought was to prop this on the mantelpiece, as
would befit a missive to a proper Victorian lady, but then I remembered you were
none of that hellish breed. I’ll
leave it where I know you will find it—on the fridge. Think of me while you’re looking to fill
your belly, and eat well for your own sake and Joy’s. And, Buffy, be patient until I can come
home and feed your other appetites again.
I know I’ll be impatient enough for us both.
Be happy.
Your William
P.S.
I promised myself I wouldn’t say it again, but I can’t stop myself. Love, if you must fight, be
careful.
It was not signed, “Yours, William,” Buffy noted. Just “Your William,” to reinforce that he belonged to her. She read the letter through a second and a third time before folding it carefully and putting it back in the envelope, wondering how much it had cost him to put down on paper the kinds of words he was usually only able to utter at the most intimate of moments. Had she needed any more reassurance that there was nothing he would not do for her, this letter had provided it. She sat quietly in the growing darkness until Tara called her in to dinner.
“I can’t believe we’re actually trying to follow these crazy instructions,” said Xander as his eyes skimmed the list he held.
“They’re not crazy,” said Dawn, dropping a container of yogurt into the grocery cart. “Spike just wants to make sure we take care of Buffy while he’s gone.”
“Yeah, because she’s so helpless,” said Xander. “She’s a Vampire Slayer, Dawn. Does she really need someone to monitor her calcium intake? Or make sure she doesn’t forget to buy toothpaste? I especially like the ranking of that piece of advice—it’s right after, ‘Don’t let Buffy investigate activity around the hellmouth alone,’ and just before, ‘I took her favorite axe out to be sharpened. Pick it up on Thursday.’” He shook out the paper in his hand as he followed Dawn down the supermarket aisle. It was covered on both sides with Spike’s elaborate scrawl. “Do you see how long this is?”
“It’s shorter than the email Buffy sent to Giles and—to Giles about how they were supposed to take care of Spike,” said Dawn.
Xander’s irritation was increased by the way Dawn avoided mentioning Anya’s name. All the other Scoobies avoided mentioning her around him, as if they expected him to start acting like some kind of idiot if he was reminded that she was apparently now shacked up with Giles. Which was grossly unfair, because it was clearly Anya and the old Watcher guy who were acting like idiots.
Dawn continued her investigation of the dairy case as she spoke. “And you should have heard the phone conversation Buffy had with Giles. You would have thought she was sending a hothouse plant over there, instead of a guy who’d knocked around the world for a century or so.”
“Just because they’re both crazy doesn’t make it right. And dealing with this list of his is taking all of the fun out of having Spike gone.” Xander cursed himself when he saw the dismay in Dawn’s face, but it was too late to take his words back.
Before she answered him, they were both distracted by an ear-splitting scream. They turned to see a small child, his face contorted with rage, shrieking at a calm-faced woman.
“I hate you, Mommy! Do you hear me? I hate you!”
“I hear you. But the answer is still ‘no.’”
“I want it! It’s the perfect one I need. Nathan has a red one, and I want a red one too!”
“No.” The woman was calmly putting boxes of cereal into her cart. “But you are about to earn a long time-out when we get home if you don’t stop screaming.”
“I won’t stop screaming!” The voice emanating from that tiny body had reached an incredible pitch.
“You just earned that time-out. And if we have to leave this store because you don’t stop, I will take all your cars away from you for the rest of this week.”
This was obviously a dreadful threat, because the shrieking stopped. “I still hate you,” muttered the boy, his chest still heaving.
“I’m sorry to hear that, because I love you, but I’m very unhappy with the way you’re acting right now.” She pushed the cart around the corner, and the child trailed her sulkily.
“I’m surprised she didn’t just whack the kid on the side of the head and tell him he was a little monster,” said Xander, rubbing behind his ears.
Dawn looked appalled. “But what good would that do?” she said.
Xander shrugged. “That’s what my parents would have done.”
He was astonished by the look of compassion on Dawn’s face. “You mean that’s what they did do. That’s the way they treated you.” Her voice became angry. “Xander, do you know how often I feel like going to your parents’ house and kicking them both where it would really hurt? And giving them a piece of my mind?”
He shifted uneasily. “It wasn’t that bad. I mean, how many people could stay calm when a kid acts like a brat?”
“My mother could. She would have done just what that woman did. Besides, just because you don’t stay completely calm all the time doesn’t mean you hit a kid or tell him he’s a monster.”
“And what that lady did was that much better? Think how annoying it must be for that kid. He just screamed his heart out at her, and she didn’t even give him the satisfaction of letting him know he got to her.”
“No, but she said she loved him. When he calms down enough to think about it, that’s got to make him feel better, Xander. To know that she cares about him, even when he’s at his worst. That’s what a good parent does. She reminds her kid that he’s better than the way he’s acting. I don’t think your parents ever did that for you, and that’s why you never give yourself enough credit. You’re not your parents, Xander. You’re the guy who would do anything for his friends, and that’s why I care about you. You’re better than the people that made you. But sometimes, when you talk like your father, you really piss me off.” She pushed the cart around the corner, leaving him standing there.
Xander stood
stock still for a full ten minutes.
He suddenly felt about five years old. It was only fair; he now realized that
was just the way he had been acting.
Spike slouched along a dark street, his hands thrust in the pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders hunched against the chill. He looked oblivious to his surroundings, but his senses were alert to any danger, demon or human. However, this block, like the ones before it, was deserted. Recent stories of strange attackers and random murders had cleared the streets of this neighborhood after dark.
Since he had come to Bath to stay with Giles, Spike’s restlessness had increased and sleeping had become a chore. During the day, he could manage more or less appropriate human behavior; well, at least, he could pass muster with Anya and a man who was in love with an ex-vengeance demon. But at night, he found that keeping a human face was almost impossible. He felt an almost irresistible impulse to jump into his other skin, so that he could sate his restlessness in hunting and killing.
But even if he found a demon to slay during one of his forays out on the streets, his longing for his family would not let him rest afterwards. It wasn’t just Buffy’s presence he missed, although the sight and touch of her would have soothed him as nothing else could. Dawn’s constant chatter, interspersed as always with insults and demands, would have been almost as calming. Tara’s gentle, sane conversation, leavened by her occasional sly remarks, would have steadied him. Willow’s irony, or, damn it, even Xander or Jonathan’s idiotic chatter would have been welcome.
When had he
started to rely on other humans so much?
And when had he started to think of them as “other humans?” You’re flattering yourself, my lad. You’re no more human now than when you
were a vampire. It’s Buffy who
clings to that sweet illusion about you—and about herself. You know better.
This evening, Anya and Giles had tried to make conversation with him, but Spike found himself slipping back into his old sarcastic and uncommunicative habits. Finally, his hosts had gone to bed, but not to sleep, and Spike had fled the flat. He couldn’t help knowing what was going on in the next room, and he couldn’t bear lying in bed with his imagination filling in any gaps that his residual vampire senses failed to fill.
Now, on the prowl for something to kill, he turned the corner on to another street. He sensed both the creatures present almost simultaneously. There was the vampire, its hunger almost palpable and horribly comprehensible to Spike. He had felt that same need thousands of times. The thing had not fed for days. It must have been thwarted in its last attacks and would be merciless now.
The woman was
middle-aged, healthy, and an obvious target. Spike stomach turned. He was sickened with the knowledge that
once he would have shared that other creature’s hunger. I
can’t bear it anymore, he thought.
I know what I have to do, but I
can’t stand to feel like this right now.
So he did the one thing that he knew would put an end to the guilt
and self-hatred.
The woman was hurrying home, nervous and afraid. She had read about the attacks in this neighborhood and had tried to be home before sunset each night. But today she had been delayed at work.
She kept to the better-lit routes, eyes flicking from the shadows behind a parked car to the dark places beyond the glow of the street lights. She didn’t see anything suspicious. She certainly didn’t see the thing that grabbed her until it had taken hold of her, pulling her into an alley.
She opened her mouth to scream, but all the breath had been forced out of her by the amazing force and speed of that attack. She was held by the huge hands of a muscular man in dark clothing. Then she looked up into her attacker’s eyes, and her heart almost stopped beating. Unkempt black hair surrounded a distorted and inhuman face with glowing yellow eyes.
She pulled herself together enough to try to shove the creature away, but she knew immediately that the effort was hopeless. This thing was incredibly strong. It held her almost carelessly, pushing her face down and to one side, its attention focused on her neck. She waited in horror for the sensation of its breath against her flesh, but she felt nothing until its teeth began to scrape her skin.
And as suddenly as the monster had grabbed her, it was gone. She dropped to her knees in the dirt and stared up in bewilderment and dawning hope. She didn’t know whether to despair or cheer when she saw that there were now two of the creatures in the alley. The new arrival was also clad in dark clothing. But it was smaller than the first, with a mane of light brown hair.
Although it was the much larger of the two, the first beast seemed terrified by the newcomer. It was backing away and looking around as if seeking some escape. But the smaller creature uttered an animal sound that could almost have been a laugh and launched itself forward.
Suddenly, there was a snarl of pain, followed what seemed to be a cloud of dirt that flew in her face. When she brushed it away, the atmosphere in the alley had changed. It was now still and quiet, as if the almost palpable evil that had hovered there had fled.
“All right?” The question was almost casual.
She looked up and saw a young man in a dark jacket and jeans standing beside her. He was reaching a hand down to help her up. Cautiously, she took it, and let him pull her to her feet. The two monsters were gone.
“Did you chase them away?” she asked uncertainly, and then realized how ridiculous that sounded. This man was slightly built and not much taller than she, although he was remarkably good looking in spite of his careless grooming and long, untidy hair. His expression was ironic, as if he too saw some absurdity in the idea that he had chased away two wild creatures. For some reason, it crossed her mind that he was dressed very similarly to the smaller of those two animals.
“Where were you going?” he said without answering her question.
“Home,” she said. “Just a few streets down.”
“I’ll walk you there.” He took her arm to guide her out of the alley. Once her steps steadied, he released her but continued to walk by her side.
She was anxious enough to get to safety that she accompanied him without argument, but she felt compelled to comment, “We should call the police.”
“Yeah.” He seemed to think this over. “No problems with that. You can do that when you get home. Tell them some nasty bugger in a mask grabbed you—I think there’ve been other reports of that this week.”
She was somewhat reassured that he had no objections to the authorities being called, although he wasn’t treating the prospect with much enthusiasm either. She watched his profile. He seemed distracted, but not agitated in any way. It struck her how strange it was that he had not exclaimed or commented much about her experience, since he had obviously seen those two animals—those two men in masks—fighting. It was almost as if he regarded the night’s bizarre activity as commonplace.
She did not speak again until they turned the corner. “My flat is in that building.”
He nodded and stopped on the sidewalk, watching as she hurried up the steps and unlocked the door. She turned before going in. “Thank you.”
“Get inside,” he said. “And don’t invite any strangers in.”
It seemed a strange thing to say. Did he think she was planning to invite him in? Somehow, he didn’t seem to be referring to himself. “Thank you,” she said again, and went inside. She went to the window next to the door and drew the curtain. He was standing there, as if waiting for something. She threw the bolt to secure the door and saw him nod and move off. He had been listening for that sound; his hesitation had merely been to assure himself that she was safe. She watched as he wandered down the street, his hands thrust into his pockets. It was not the walk of a man who fears an assault by masked assailants. He moved as if he were assured of his own safety—almost as if he believed that he were the most dangerous thing on the street and that nothing else would dare to attack him.
Slowly, she went to call the police. She would tell them about the masked men who had fought and run off, she decided. But she wouldn’t mention the young man who had walked her home. She couldn’t say why, but she was sure that keeping him out of it was the right thing to do.
Spike slouched along again, unsatisfied by his kill. He wished he had found the creature before it had snatched its prey. Then he wouldn’t have experienced that flood of memories when he sensed the vampire’s thrill at the smell of human blood.
It had cost Spike an effort to return to human form after dusting the vamp. Everything had been so simple when he was in the grip of the Otherness. He didn’t care about that poor creature huddled in fear on the ground. He didn’t feel any guilt for what he had once done to her kind, either. She was simply a food source that no longer appealed to him. He had traded up on the food chain one more time, and that was all there was to it.
But the human part of him never really slept even when the Other was awake. Not anymore. And it had intervened. It whispered that he couldn’t leave the woman to find her own way home after that experience. She had been shaken and horrified; she needed the immediate reassurance of a human presence. So he had forced himself into the guise of a bystander; he let her feel the touch of his hand and hear the sound of his voice. It had done some good. He could tell that it had, even though he had been unable to say or do the things that he knew most humans would have under the circumstances.
Buffy climbed into bed and looked at the clock. It was too early to call England. It was still about an hour before dawn there. She thought of Spike’s letter, but she knew it by heart, and reading it again would only make her feel more alone.
She had started patrol at dusk and come home planning an early bedtime. Either her pregnancy or the flood of trivia that had made her day hellish had left her tired and drained. But when she entered the house, she found two brief messages from Spike on the answering machine, and she cursed herself for missing his calls.
She pushed thoughts of bills for household repairs, petty annoyances at work, and phone calls from Dawn’s counselor out of her mind. Unfortunately, this left her plenty of mental energy to contemplate the empty space beside her on the bed. The thought was not conducive to sleep.
Before she could brood too much, the phone rang. She snatched it up eagerly. “Hello?”
“Hello, love.”
“William. I’m so glad.”
“Why?” His voice sounded worried. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing, except that I’m missing you.”
“Oh. You frightened me, love. I’ve been lying here imagining nasty things and wondering when I should try to call again.”
“It’s late for you to be still up over there,” she asked. “Is it a rough night?”
He was silent for half a minute before responding reluctantly, “Yeah.”
It was as eloquent an explanation as she was likely to get. “What are you doing now?”
“Nothing much. Your Watcher and I need to see a man about a sword, but we can’t meet with him until afternoon. I was going to go out and wait for dawn, but it’s still too early, so I thought I’d try to catch you again.”
“I’m glad you decided to call,” she said. “I needed to hear your voice.”
“Oh?”
“It’s been a rough day for me too,” she admitted. She didn’t want to burden him, but they didn’t keep secrets like that from each other any more.
“How so, love?”
“Long, and bright, and full of little things that don’t seem worth the attention.”
“Your day and my night. They won’t last forever, love, these nights and days.”
“No. We need to fill them with better things.”
“Yeah.” He sounded at a loss.
She shivered. Usually he had the energy to look to the positive. If he were beside her, she would know what to do to change his mood. Suddenly, she said, “What are you wearing?”
“What—uh, jeans.”
“No shirt?”
“No. I started to get ready for bed, but there didn’t seem much point in getting undressed all the way when I was going out again at dawn.”
Buffy didn’t need to ask why he was still dressed. He had been prowling the streets. No matter. He was back safe, and there was no point in indulging in retroactive fears for his safety. “Where are you?”
“Lying on the bed in a tiny spare room in Giles’ flat.”
“Alone?”
“Of course.”
“Unzip your pants.”
She listened and heard him comply. “Touch your cock. Are you hard?”
“Yeah.” His voice was pitched lower now. “What are you wearing?”
“Sweatpants and a shirt. I had just crawled into bed when you called.”
“Which shirt?”
“The red one with the thin straps.”
“Pull it off over your head. Use both hands and do it slowly.”
“I have to put the phone down. Wait.” She removed the shirt as he asked and picked up the phone again. “It’s off.”
“Are you under the covers?”
“I was. Now I’m feeling warm, and I’ve kicked them off.”
“Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes, but not from cold. They’re darker than they used to be, you know. From the pregnancy hormones.”
“I know,” he said. “Slip your hand inside your pants.”
“I’m touching myself. What is your hand doing?”
“What do you think?” He laughed.
“I’m thinking about taking as much of your cock as will fit into my mouth and wrapping my tongue around it.”
“Not so fast, love. You’ll have me so excited I won’t be able to wait for you. I’m still thinking about your breasts. I want to touch them first with my hands, then to tease them with my tongue. Sometimes, when I touch the skin underneath them, you shiver with pleasure, you know. And other times, you start to giggle like a little girl.”
“I’m ticklish there. And I know where you’re ticklish too.”
“Don’t be naughty, love.”
“I thought we were both being naughty.”
“I thought we were both being very nice indeed. You know, when I slide my hand between your legs, sometimes I can feel you come just from the anticipation.”
“And from the memory of your previous performances. Besides, we women have all the advantages. You have me nicely spoiled, and I expect you’ll make me come more than once. So I don’t have to feel guilty if I don’t wait for you.”
“I can hear from your voice that you’re way ahead of me. Do you know how exciting that is, when I see how much pleasure you’re taking just from the stroke of my hands?” His voice continued, lowering almost to a growl, as he described exactly how he would pleasure her.
Her voice too grew huskier as they continued their conversation. Finally, neither could wait any longer, and Spike’s words broke off in a long gasp.
Buffy lay listening to his panting breath, smiling gently as her own body relaxed after the intense orgasm she had just felt. “Are you sleepy now?” she asked after a time.
“Yeah. The sun’s up here. I can see it outside my window. I don’t need to go out and look now.”
“Your voice is fading. You need to hang up the phone.”
“Hanging on your every word, love.”
“Never mind my words. If we don’t hang up the phones, we’ll fall asleep like this, and Giles or Dawn will come in to find out why the lines are tied up.”
“Bloody hell. You’re right, love. Good night.’” His voice was slurred.
She waited a few seconds. “William. You’re still on the line.”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. She was going to have to use her Slayer voice. “Spike, hang up the phone,” she said in a severe, authoritative tone. She heard the click on his end and reluctantly put down her own receiver. She smiled gently. He had been genuinely sleepy and relaxed, at the end. Buffy snuggled down into the bedclothes. She was very drowsy too now, and it seemed to her that she was not entirely alone in the big bed as she faded into sleep.
“You look rested,” said Dawn the next day.
“Yes, I am,” said Buffy as she set a plate down on the kitchen counter. “I slept surprisingly well. No tossing and turning, and no nasty prophetic dreams.” She looked up and realized that Dawn was still regarding her keenly.
“I heard the phone ring again last night.”
“It was Spike. He tried calling one last time, and we—talked for a while.”
“Everything okay over there?”
“I think so. He and Giles were going to try to find the sword again today. He didn’t actually tell me any more details.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“We talked about—other things. And he was pretty tired. The time difference, and jet lag, you know.”
“Uh huh.” Dawn’s tone and expression were knowing.
Buffy blushed and let her hair fall across her face as she bent over, intent on preparing her toast.
“You’ll get jelly in your hair if you keep doing that,” said Dawn. “And the fact that sex has entered your relationship with Spike is hardly news to me. If I hadn’t figured it out when I found you two in bed together, the news that he’d knocked you up would have done it.”
“You don’t call it being knocked up when you’re married,” said Buffy. “And, yes, we did get—get romantic on the phone last night.”
“Good. As long as you weren’t glooming and dooming. That was obscene, back when the two of you used to stare at each other or at nothing at all as if your world was about to come to an end. Things really improved after you two started, uh, getting romantic.” She rolled her eyes at the euphemism.
“No, Dawn, they didn’t.”
Buffy’s tone, as much as her comment, caught her sister’s attention. “Excuse me? I seem to recall that after he saved me from that dragon and you two went all starry-eyed, things got a whole lot better around here.”
“That wasn’t when we started, uh, getting romantic. That was just the first time you caught us.” Buffy wondered why she felt the need to admit to this now. Perhaps it was because her recent experiences had shown her how damaging secrets could be.
“No shit!” Dawn put her hand over her mouth guiltily. “Sorry. I mean, wow! I wondered sometimes. You were always gone, and even Sunnydale doesn’t have that many demons to hunt or hamburgers to flip. But you acted like you hated him. I couldn’t figure it out. I mean, Willow gets into an accident and breaks my arm, and you get mad at Spike instead of her.”
“I couldn’t figure it out either. It happened way too fast, and way too soon, and it almost killed us both. We were trying to figure out something huge, and it wasn’t easy. I think we were doing okay until Xander used that stupid talisman to call up that dancing demon.”
Dawn grimaced. “Yeah, Xander’s attempt at a quick romantic fix caused a lot of trouble all around, and it didn’t help him and Anya much. But I didn’t realize that you and Spike—”
“That spell made us both admit—or croon—feelings that we weren’t ready to handle. Especially me. I wasn’t ready to admit what I really was. I couldn’t face the fact that I was sleeping with a vampire—again.”
“But he loved you so much. It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“As far as just the sex went, it was fantastic. But starting an affair with someone who’s even more messed up than you are doesn’t get you un-messed up. No matter how much he loves you. Nothing else went right between Spike and me until after I got a grip on my own problems. And after I realized how far he’d come in resolving his own—‘issues’ is kind of an inadequate word for what he went through, but you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, you’re in Cliché Land. You have to be good for yourself before you can be good for someone else, sex is evil—”
“Sex isn’t evil, Dawn. It isn’t good either. Well, it’s good in the sense that—never mind. What I mean is, it’s the reasons you have sex and who you do it with that says whether it’s right or wrong.”
“But Spike was the right guy.”
“But it wasn’t the right time. Or I wasn’t the right girl. At least not then. Not yet.” Buffy sighed. “This is too complicated, and I probably shouldn’t be saying it to you anyway.”
“Yes, by all means, keep protecting poor baby Dawn from the truth.”
“I know you’re not a baby. But you’re not all grown up, either.”
“Keeping me in the dark about this stuff isn’t going to help me grow up, Buffy. I don’t need to know everything about you and Spike, but we are family, and you can’t protect me from everything any more. And it helps me to understand just why things were so miserable around here last year.”
“I wish—” Buffy stopped herself. That was a dangerous phrase in Sunnydale. “Let’s just say that things might have gone better for Spike and me if Xander had learned his lesson about using magic to fix his romantic problems the first time a spell went wrong.”
“Yeah, but you know Xander. He has issues,” said Dawn slowly.
“Yes, he’s certainly on the list of people who have a lot of growing up to do,” said Buffy. “Lately, Xander seems about ready for enrollment in kindergarten. I used to think he was finally ready for marriage and a grown-up future, but after the melt-down of his relationship with Anya, I can’t see that happening for a very long time.”
“No.” Dawn stood up and kissed Buffy on the top of her head. “I’m going to the magic shop after school. Tara’s going out of town again today, so I’ll be there until closing. Wanna stop by so I can help you patrol after I lock up?”
“That would be nice,” said Buffy.
“You could stop by earlier and drop off some dinner,” said Dawn hopefully.
“Count on it. And I’ll stick around to help you eat it.”
“Even better. If you’re
eating with me, I know it won’t come from the Doublemeat.”
Buffy watched Dawn walk out the back door. When had her little sister become so mature? Was she too mature? She hadn’t seemed shocked or overwhelmed by Buffy’s revelations. Buffy wondered uneasily just what Dawn was thinking about boys on her own behalf. Her sister hadn’t been dating anyone seriously, as far as Buffy could tell. So why did her attitude seem to reflect the wisdom of someone whose own heart was being tested?
“I guess it’s true about pregnant women,” said Willow.
“What is?” Buffy turned away from the delicatessen counter to look at her friend. It struck her that Willow looked healthier and more self-assured than she had in a long time.
“Eating weird food. Since when do you like tuna fish with mustard?”
“I don’t. It’s disgusting. That’s for Dawn.”
“Oh. I should have guessed.” Willow laughed and helped Buffy collect their purchases. As they walked towards the magic shop with the bags of food, Buffy felt compelled to broach a subject that she had only touched on briefly with her friend over the past few weeks. “How are you, Willow? We haven’t talked alone very much since the day that Watcher came after Spike.”
“I’m good. Like I told you, I’ve been talking to Saffron, my magic tutor. And, just lately, to Xander. I meant it when I said that I’m not bottling up my feelings anymore, Buffy.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah, it was time to talk. Spike was right, I had to get past the guilt and back into my life at first. But now I need to think about what I did some more, so that I can figure out how not to repeat my mistakes. I mean, it’s not like the first time I ever had to say I was sorry for letting my magic get out of control. It was just the worst time. But the good news is that even I can start to get the message once I’ve managed to almost ruin my friends’ lives, nearly kill someone, and chase away the love of my life in the process.”
Buffy heard an extra edge of bitterness on that last statement. “You still miss Tara.”
Willow’s voice was rough. “It’s harsh. Especially when I hear the other witches talk about her and realize how much they admire her.”
“It must be hard, being around someone you still have feelings for.”
“It’s worse than that, Buffy. I’m finding out things about Tara that I never realized when we were together. Back then, I was so wrapped up in exploring my own powers that I wasn’t seeing anyone else clearly. Now that I can’t do magic by myself, I’ve been compelled to really examine what other people are capable of. Do you know how hard it is to find out that the person you alienated is even more amazing than you thought she was when you were crazy in love with her?”
“Willow, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, but there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s dating someone else now.”
“I don’t know how serious that is. I could try to find out—”
“No. I’ve lost the right to barge into that part of her life, Buffy. And if she’s happy with this person, I don’t have the right to jeopardize that relationship by playing silly games. I’ve caused her enough trouble without that.”
“I suppose so,” said Buffy.
“But there’s no harm in trying to find out what people are feeling. Or, at least, there’s more harm caused
when feelings are hidden. It’s time
to give up on secrets.” She pushed
open the door to the magic shop.
“Speaking of which, Willow, there’s something I have to tell you. About Spike and me. Dawn already knows, and Tara’s magic
clued her in a long time ago.”
“This is kind of fun,” said Willow. “Like old times.”
“Yeah,” said Xander. “Patrolling in dark, creepy cemeteries with the threat of death all around us. This definitely reminds me of the good old days.” However, in spite of his sarcastic tone, he really was enjoying himself. He smiled at Dawn and turned to watch Buffy. She was far enough ahead of them that they would have lost sight of the figure in black if it hadn’t been for her mane of blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. “She seems to have cheered up a little, too.”
“She’s kind of in a hurry, though,” said Willow.
“She wants to get home early in case Spike calls,” explained Dawn. “But I hope she gets to dust a vamp first. I think killing something is just what she needs to settle her nerves.”
“Well, then, bring on the monsters,” said Xander.
Ahead of them, Buffy froze. “Get back!” she called to the others.
They moved towards the shelter of a large mausoleum. “You’d think I’d have learned not to say things like that by now,” said Xander, just as he tripped over a dark form huddled against the wall. “Yow!”
The demon would have looked like a small bear if it hadn’t been for the weird feathers. It wasn’t very large, but it had four rows of very sharp teeth, most of which were latched onto Xander’s sturdy work boot. He tried to pull away, but wound up dragging the creature along with him.
Dawn jumped forward, bringing the axe she held down on what she hoped was the thing’s neck. A moment later, it lay still, and Xander was able to kick his foot free of its jaws.
“Are you okay?” asked Willow.
“I think so,” said Xander, bending over and trying to recover his breath.
“What is it?” said Dawn, dropping the bloody axe. “Besides dead?”
“Norwegian blue,” said Xander. “Beautiful plumage.”
Willow ignored this. “I’m not sure, but---whoa! I think that’s its mommy,” she said, turning to see a much larger version of the demon heading for them.
Xander grabbed Dawn and pushed her behind him, looking for a weapon. Dawn raised her axe and stepped out in front of him again. Just before the enormous creature reached them, a small, agile figure tackled the demon. The monster fell to the ground, snarling, and started to struggle back up onto all fours.
“And here comes the Slayer, just in the nick—” Xander stopped, staring at their rescuer. For a moment, he thought he beheld a vampire. But there was something different about this creature, in spite of its bared fangs and yellow eyes. This thing was wilder than any vamp he had ever seen, and weirdly beautiful. Then his gut churned as he recognized its bright hair and dark clothing.
The newcomer did not spare him a glance. With single-minded intensity, she attacked the demon. She did not hold a weapon, and she fell upon her prey viciously, as one animal attacks another. The demon’s snarls changed to whimpers as it tried to retreat into the woods. The thing that wore Buffy’s clothes charged after it, and more cries of pain were followed by a howl of triumph.
Dawn grasped her flashlight and led the way into the woods. She raced a few yards down a path and
stopped, staring at the body of the demon. Xander heard Willow’s footsteps
behind him as he ran to Dawn. He
reached her just as the beam of her flashlight caught a dark figure with golden
hair retreating into the darkness.
The Slayer growled in hungry anticipation as she stalked through the woods. That first kill had been amazingly good fun, but her instincts told her that there was still more prey available. She sniffed the air. There was excellent hunting in this place. She would enjoy this evening.
“What was that?” said Xander.
“The Slayer’s true face,” said Dawn. She saw his expression and stamped her foot. “You know that a vampire has a human face and a game face, Xander. Well, the same is true for the Slayer. When Buffy’s like that, she’s stronger and faster, but she’s still Buffy. That is still my sister out there.”
Willow was staring out into the darkness. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know,” said Dawn uncertainly. “We should try to find her. She may have been hurt.”
Xander was shaking and his voice was hoarse. “Dawn, when you said Buffy had changed, I had no idea you meant—”
“Pull yourself together, Xander,” said Willow. She also looked shocked, but she had been better prepared than Xander for this moment, and her face was determined. “Let’s go find Buffy.”
They followed the path that the Slayer had taken through the woods and came out on a dark Sunnydale street. There was a cemetery nearby, and, since that seemed to be the obvious place to look, they entered its gates. The first thing they noticed was that the cast iron grate in front of one of the mausoleums had been twisted and wrenched off its hinges.
“Gee, I wonder who could have done that?” said Xander. His words were flippant, but his voice was grim.
They crept up to the mausoleum cautiously, but there proved to be no need for stealth. The place had been occupied recently, apparently by creatures without much concern for housekeeping, but it was almost empty now. There was a young man huddled in one corner, clutching his bleeding neck.
Dawn dropped down on her knees beside him and pulled his hand away to check the bite marks. “Vamps,” she said unnecessarily. “More than one. But he’s still breathing.”
“Vamps?” The boy’s eyes were glazed. “They grabbed me and dragged me here. They started biting me, but then another one came—” He shuddered. “She was wilder than the others. They tried to go after her, but they just—exploded. When she was done, I thought she’d tear me apart, but she just stared at me for a second with these weird yellow eyes and left.”
“That’s not like Buffy,” said Willow. “Even if she thought there were more vamps around, she’d try to take care of a wounded human.”
“Buffy’s not in charge right now,” said Dawn. “The Slayer is, and her priority is hunting. Xander, take this guy to the hospital. Willow and I have to find Buffy. It’s even more important that we look for her now.”
“Why?” said Xander. “We know now she wasn’t hurt badly. Not if she could take out a whole nest of vamps that fast.”
“I’m not worried that she’s hurt,” said Dawn. “I’m worried that she doesn’t know how to change back.”
The Slayer was confused. Something inside her told her that she should have done more at that last place. But she had killed all the vampires, hadn’t she? There had been the familiar, thrilling shock as she had staked each one and absorbed its energy. And then she had gone away, because there was nothing left to kill. But she kept remembering a pair of wide brown eyes staring into hers. There was something she should have done about that boy. But he wasn’t prey. And he wasn’t her mate. What should she have done, then? What was there besides killing, feeding, and copulating? Her feral mind struggled to envision another option for interfacing with the world.
A small voice in her head was whispering something about friends and warmth and laughter. As she struggled to understand these strange words, a huge form appeared in her path. The Slayer smiled as the soft voice faded away. This creature presented no dilemmas whatsoever, but it did demand her full attention.
“You and Buffy told me this has happened before,” said Willow. “Buffy had to change back then, didn’t she? Why can’t she do it now?” They had decided to methodically investigate each and every cemetery in Sunnydale, and they were marching down the street. Dawn was setting a very rapid pace, and Willow had to struggle to keep up.
“I’m not sure, but I think she’s always had Spike with her when she changed. Maybe he knows the way back, or they can figure out how to get back together but not separately.”
“She never explained to you how it works?”
“Not that part. She got all weird and blushy, now that I think about it, just the way she does when— Damn it, Willow, do you think it’s like a sex thing with them?”
Willow looked horrified. “Dawn, I refuse to think about that at all. It’s bad enough thinking about your normal friends’ sex lives without— But, if you’re right, then what on earth can we do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the outstretched hands of friendship and sisterly love will compensate for the lack of –bloody hell!”
The sound of Spike’s curse out of Dawn’s mouth brought Willow up short. Then she saw that the other girl had almost tripped over the body of a demon. It was about seven feet tall and very, very dead. Dawn sighed and whipped out her cell phone. “We can’t get sidetracked by her leavings,” she said as she jabbed at the buttons. “Jonathan, this is Dawn. I’m on Mistral Avenue. I need you to find someone you can trust and get down here to clean something up for me.”
The Slayer stared at the clear, shiny surface that barred her from the thing she needed. She was about to thrust out her hand when the voice at the back of her mind began whispering again. This time, its message was not abstract or complex, and the Slayer understood. Instead of breaking the glass with her bare hand, she found a brick lying nearby and threw it through the window. She thru