His Childe

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His Childe

Kallysten

Disclaimer : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them sometimes.
Distribution : Sure, just tell me where.
Story notes : AU, set after As We Were and before Hell's Bells.
Warnings : Character Death, Bloodplay, NC-17 in future chapters
Feedback : Anything but flames kallysten_fr@yahoo.com As for most fanfic authors, feedback motivates me to write faster... (hint, hint)

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Normal Again (2)

After resting for a couple of hours on her bed, Buffy came back downstairs to prepare dinner, which that night consisted in ordering pizza. Despite her efforts, she hadn’t been able to find sleep, afraid that if she closed her eyes she would be back in that hospital again. Just as she was coming in the kitchen, Willow was hanging up the phone.

“Hey Will. Who was it?”

The redhead gave her a bright smile, and Buffy could tell she was very close to laughing out loud.

“That was Xander. Reporting on the first honeymoon days.”

“So how is Disneyland?”

Willow cracked up and giggled. “Full of giant rabbits, apparently! I guess we forgot to warn Anya about that!”

Buffy laughed a little too, imagining the ex vengeance-demon coming face to face with a cute but giant sized disneyish rabbit. Poor Anya. Poor Xander too, if he had to deal with her hysterics.

“Hey,” she said after a minute. “How come you're here? I thought you were gonna go see Tara.”

Willow’s smile only grew brighter if that was possible.

“I did. We had a long talk about everything. That was really nice.”

“Good for you two.”

Finding the pizzeria’s number, Buffy phoned in her order. When she turned back to Willow, her friend was still looking at her, an undecided look on her face.

“Anything wrong?” she asked.

“Well… There’s something I wanted to ask you. Are you really, really sure Spike isn’t messing with your mind?”

Tension and tiredness returned to Buffy’s body all at once. She didn’t want to think about Spike. Not at all. Thinking of Spike made the demon stir and plead for blood. It made other parts of her yell for his touch. It reminded her she hadn’t fed since the night before, but just thinking about the blood bags in the fridge made her nauseous.

“I am really sure, Willow,” she said with a sigh.

The redhead nodded, thoughtful. “I’m still not sure I trust him. But I trust your judgment. And if you want to… have him around, it’s none of my business. As long as he’s not doing his mojo on you.”

Buffy considered her friend with surprise. The day before, she had been ready to stake Spike on sight, and now this? She wondered what had brought the change.

“Talking with Tara reminded me of a few things,” Willow answered to the question. “How he’s been helping and stuff. And that it’s not my place to judge your choices. Like you never judged mine.”

With a shy smile, Willow briefly hugged Buffy. A thought was bothering the blonde though.

“Did Tara tell you… anything else?”

“Like what?”

Buffy shook her head, repressing a sigh. Of course she could trust Tara with her little secret.

“Nothing. I’m glad you don’t think I’m being manipulated any more. As for Spike… I’ve been too dependent on him since he turned me, I guess.”

She sat at the table, feeling exhausted. Willow patted her back gently.

“It’s ok, Buffy. It’s such a big change and all, it’s normal you needed someone to guide you in the beginning.”

Buffy smiled sadly. Willow did not understand. She couldn’t understand. It wasn’t guidance she needed. It was him. His touch to make her feel good. His smile to warm her. His blood to quiet the demon. He knew all that and he just let her do as she pleased. Just like he had let her use him before.

Before… Before was easy. No, not really easy, but a bit easier. He was a vampire, she was the Slayer. It was just wrong to care about him, to have any feeling at all for him, even to sleep with him. He was still a vampire, she was still the Slayer. But now she was like him. She knew the bloodlust and the hunger. She had become the creature of the night he had sometimes claimed she was. Above all, she was his Childe. And for all her efforts, she couldn’t decide whether she wanted, needed him only because he was her Sire or for more reasons than that.

* * * * *

Irritated, Spike set down the paper bag he was carrying on a bench and lit a cigarette. He had had a bad feeling ever since he left his crypt at sundown to go to the hospital. That was usually his time to check on Buffy and make sure her patrol went well, but he was completely out of blood bags and his supplier had asked him not to come after 9 pm. How he was going to find her now, he didn’t know, especially if she was patrolling residential neighborhoods like the previous night.

Of course, if she just walked to him as she was doing right now, he wouldn’t need to go look for her.

“Hey pet.”

A frown was the only acknowledgment of his salute.

“Why did you tell Dawn I was sick? Now she’s all worried about me.”

Tilting his head, he took a long drag on his fag. She did look sick, paler than usual if it was possible.

“You don’t look too well to me. Why don’t you go home? I’ll do your patrol for tonight.”

There. He was doing it again. Offering her help she hadn’t even asked for. Opening himself up for one more painful rejection. Even more pathetic than the poof.

“I can patrol,” she said stubbornly. “I am the Slayer.”

Just as the words passed her lips, she staggered as if drunk. Spike reached out to hold her and prevent her from falling, cursing at the glazed look her eyes had just taken. It was just like the night before. And she claimed she could patrol…

* * * * *

“I am the Slayer.”

Buffy needed to blink several times to clear her vision. She didn’t feel very steady, and was grateful for Spike’s support. Except… it wasn’t Spike. She stared at the unknown man in front of her. Doctor, her foggy brain told her. He was looking at her with concern in his eyes.

“Buffy? Can you hear me?”

At his words, she stiffened. Looking around her, she recognized the room as the same one she had been in her previous flashes. Hospital. No, not hospital. Mental institute. Her breathing accelerated and she started panicking. Her fear grew even worse when she realized she actually needed to breathe.

“Buffy,” the man insisted gently. “Do you know where you are?”

“Sunnydale.” Her voice was coarse, her throat dry.

The doctor placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her. At her reaction, he backed away slowly, obviously trying not to scare her more than she already was.

“No, Buffy None of that is real. None of it. You're in a mental institution. You're ill. You've been with us six years now, do you remember?”

Her whole being screamed that this was wrong. Unconsciously, she started backing away slowly until her back was against the wall. She heard the door opened, but couldn’t make herself look away from the man who was still talking to her as if to a frightened child. Which was exactly what she was.

“It's gonna be okay. Look...Look who's here.”

He moved slightly to the side, revealing to Buffy’s eyes the most incredible sight. Her mom and dad. Together. Her mother, alive and smiling, if hesitantly. They started approaching, and Buffy was torn between the desire to rush into her arms and the instinct to back away as far as she could in the corner. The latter eventually prevailed.

“Buffy?”

Her beating heart almost stopped when she heard her voice.

“Welcome home, honey.”

Buffy looked all around the room, though she couldn’t have said what she was searching. Eventually, her eyes fell on her mother again. She was crying. Tears of joy.

“Mom...?”

She knew it wasn’t possible, knew her mother was dead, knew it just was not real. And yet if only it could be…

The voice of the doctor encouraging Joyce to keep talking brought her out of her thoughts. She barely heard her father talk. Her father was in LA. Or somewhere in Europe on a business trip. Not here. Not with her mother. Her mother was dead. And still she was pleading with her.

“Buffy? Stay with us, plea…”

She felt an arm wrap around her as she staggered. She blinked, clearing her vision, and discovered Spike’s concerned face. She looked around, finding herself back in the cemetery. She instinctively brought a hand to her chest. Her heart had stopped again.

“Spike…”

“Buffy? Are you okay?”

He called her Buffy. He never did that unless he was being dead serious. Feeling her knees start to buckle, she grabbed the arm that was holding her.

“I'm… I'm... fine,” she managed to mutter.

The vampire snorted.

“Yeah, you’re just ready to take a dozen vamps by yourself, aren’t you luv? Let’s get you home.”

She was about to protest, just for the form, but in truth if he took away his arm she would just fall to the ground. She still felt a bit dizzy. The memory of her mom, right there in front of her, alive and worried, was all she could think of.

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