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Kallysten
Disclaimer : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them sometimes.
Distribution : Sure, just tell me where. When the story is finished, I will
post it on my website at http://www.geocities.com/kallysten_fr/
Feedback : Anything but flames kallysten_fr@yahoo.com
Story notes : This is a sequel to my story His Childe. If you haven't read it,
I strongly suggest you stop right here and go read it first, some things in
here will make more sense if you do.
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Buffy’s rest was quiet and peaceful, no dreams or nightmares disturbing her mind. Even while asleep, some part of her was aware of the strong arms protecting her, making her feel safe. She woke slowly, purring at the comforting presence against her. The purrs stopped when she shifted slightly and the blisters on her chest and stomach made their painful reminders to her. Her eyes fluttered open, finding the worried face of her Sire only inches from hers. He smiled, very faintly, uncertainly. She wondered why he was so hesitant, then remembered that she had almost killed him. Of its own will, her hand rose to his face, and he leaned into her touch.
“Hey, you,” he whispered. “How do you feel?”
She gave him a half smile. “Better. Hungry.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I know, luv. Ready to go home?”
She nodded, then frowned. “What time is it?”
“Sun set a couple of hours ago,” he replied as he brushed a strand of hair off her face.
Sunset? Already? That meant she had slept almost for a full day and night.
“You should have woken me,” she protested weakly.
“You needed to rest.”
He sounded apologetic as he said this, but she knew it wasn’t about letting her sleep the day away. He confirmed her thoughts by saying:
“I’m sorry, Buffy. I should have…”
She placed a finger across his lips to silence him, and he kissed it lightly.
“Don’t. I rushed to her, knowing she was dangerous.”
His face was suddenly expressionless. “Do you remember what happened?”
Again, she frowned, and rubbed her cheek against him, breathing in that comforting scent that was purely him.
“I just came to talk,” she said, her voice muffled. “She did her mojo on me…made me see…made me believe…”
Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to know that it was him she had seen torturing her. But he didn’t give her a choice.
“Made you see what, luv?” he insisted. “Let it all out. Tell me.”
“You,” she whispered at last. “She had your face when she…that’s why I tried to…”
She let out a dry sob and he hugged her tighter.
“Oh Buffy…pet…”
He rocked her lightly, and she was almost falling asleep again, when a question invaded her mind.
“Where is she?” she asked uncertainly. “Did she run away?”
“Shh… Don’t worry about her. She can’t hurt you anymore. She won’t come back.”
The words alone could have let her believe that Drusilla had simply left once and for all. But the tone of Spike’s voice added a precision to his reassurance. She wouldn’t come back because she was dust. He had killed someone he had loved for a century. For her. She didn’t know what to say. She was happy that the insane vampiress was out of the picture, but she could imagine only too well what it had been like for him to kill her. She knew, because she had been in his place. Except that she hadn’t dusted her ex-lover, she had sent him to hell. In this same house.
As if summoned by her grim thoughts, Angel chose that moment to enter the mansion, a travel bag in each hand. He didn’t look very surprised at seeing them in his home, but rather somewhere between annoyed and amused.
“If I had known you two use the mansion as a love nest, I would have asked for…”
His half smile disappeared and his eyes widened as he walked in front of the couch and looked at the huddled couple. Buffy was suddenly very conscious that her top was in shreds, exposing the many burns that marred her skin. Spike seemed to realize the same thing, because he shifted her in his arms so that she was facing him, her chest pressed to his, his arms tight on her back.
“What the hell happened?” Angel asked harshly.
From where she was lying by his side, Buffy could only see half Spike’s face. She realized he looked tired, so very tired… Had she taken too much of his blood the night before? She hadn’t been very lucid at the time, and could hardly remember. She could also see the anger slowly taking him. That didn’t surprise her. More and more often, when he and Angel were in the same room, it ended with shouting and murderous glares. But she wasn’t in the mood for another round of their games.
“Spike, let’s go home now, please,” she requested softly.
His eyes left Angel, and he brushed his lips on her cheek. “Yes, luv.”
Cautiously, he rose from the couch, holding her in his arms still. He let her feet down to the floor, making sure that her back was still to Angel. Apparently, the older vampire was getting angry at not receiving an answer to his question, because he growled:
“Spike! Tell me what is going on!”
Spike was still silent, though he was scowling. Buffy watched him shrug out of his duster and take off his shirt, exposing pale and perfect skin. He helped her slip it on over her ripped top, and carefully buttoned it for her. Only then did he look at Angel over her shoulder, and said blandly:
“Drusilla. Remember her? Your other non-Childe? The one you didn’t torture into insanity?”
Buffy shook her head, catching Spike’s attention, and pleaded silently with her eyes for him to stop. He seemed to understand and took a deep calming breath.
“Do you want my duster too, luv?” he proposed softly, once again ignoring Angel.
She was about to accept, more to be surrounded by his scent than for the protection of the leather, but she suddenly remembered her own duster was somewhere around. She voiced the thought, and saw Spike wince.
“I’ll find it, just give me a minute.”
He placed a quick kiss on her lips and walked by her, toward the bedroom. Feeling a bit weak, Buffy sat down on the couch, finding Angel right in front of her. He looked very upset, even anguished.
“Buffy…are you alright?”
She nodded, though she could tell he didn’t believe her. He seemed to hesitate for a second, then turned his back on her and walked the way Spike had gone. She gave a deep sigh, and made the mental wish that they wouldn’t jump at each other’s throat once more, because she really didn’t feel up to stepping between them.
* * * * *
With the conscious effort of not looking at a certain part of the floor, Spike’s gaze swept over the bedroom, quickly finding Buffy’s duster in the corner behind the bed. Carefully walking around the spot he still wasn’t looking at, he crossed the room to retrieve the piece of leather.
Torture her until she likes me again.
When he turned back, his eyes were finally drawn to Drusilla’s ashes, and he froze. He had staked countless vampires, both before and after meeting his Slayer, but these few ounces of ashes were painful to look at. A century, reduced to dust. Had he not insisted so stubbornly that they become Mates, all those years ago, would she have come back for this?
Kill her for princess?
Shaking himself out of his torpor, he took a step toward the door, and only then noticed Angel standing by the doorway. His gaze was on the same dusty spot on the floor, and slowly moved up to meet Spike’s.
“Did Buffy…?”
He made a small gesture toward the floor, completing the question silently.
“No. I did.”
Despite Spike’s wish to appear impassive, there was a hint of his pain in the words. He had killed Dru. Him. He had killed his own Mate, choosing his Childe over her. And he would again, a million times if necessary. But it would never stop hurting.
Right person. Person I loved. I'd do it.
“I am sorry,” Angel said softly, and there were tears in his eyes.
“Sorry for what?” Spike replied, and this time he managed to make his voice expressionless.
Angel surprised the younger vampire by his answer.
“Sorry for not knowing what you expect from me.”
Spike gave a short laugh that was anything but joyful.
“I don’t expect anything from you,” he said with a shrug. “Nothing good, that is.”
Angel shook his head, but did not comment. His eyes were back to the floor, and Spike had the clear feeling that he would grieve for Drusilla, despite whatever she might have done to Buffy, despite the fact that he would have staked her too, had he been in Spike’s place.
I'm gonna prove something. I love you.
Trying not to think about either vampire anymore, Spike walked past him and out of the room. Forcing a kind smile to his lips, he helped his Slayer slide her duster on, before putting on his own to cover his bare back. Then he led her out of the mansion, aware that Angel watched them leave. The ride home was done in silence, with Buffy resting against his shoulder. Spike still felt too numb to think, both from what he had seen and what he had done, and was grateful for the quiet.
I'm nothing without her.
When they reached Revello Drive, the Watcher practically pounced on them, blabbering excitedly. Spike left his Slayer in the living room to deal with the small talk with him, Dawn, and Steven (the latter two in a comfortable teen tangle on the couch), and busied himself in the kitchen with warming blood. Two bags each, to begin with. From what he overheard, no one commented on their absence the night before. Spike being shirtless might have given them an idea of why they hadn’t come home earlier. Instead, the frenzied conversation involved Giles prattling on about finishing the translation, the Nibblet talking about the Witches coming back early from their trip, and Steven talking about “Daddy” coming from LA so he could hear about the prophecy along with everyone else. Which, apparently, would be the next day. General Scoobies meeting, nightfall at the Magic box. Bloody wonderful.
You're all covered with her. I look at you...all I see is the Slayer.
Buffy was mostly quiet during the assault, only mentioning, briefly, that Angel was already in town. When Spike came in to give her the first mug of blood, she smiled at him gratefully before drinking it in one long gulp, and suddenly the Watcher was very quiet. He still hadn’t gotten over the idea of her being a vamp, apparently. Which, of course, explained why he had been so excited ever since he had heard she would soon be human again. Spike couldn’t blame him, really. He knew the man loved his Slayer like his own daughter, and wanted the best for her. In the Watcher’s mind, of course, the best didn’t involve drinking blood, having fangs and being undead.
I’ll dance with you, pet. On the Slayer’s grave.
Once Buffy had emptied her cup, Spike replaced it with another full one, which she drank more slowly. That, at last, brought some comments.
“Are you OK Buffy?” Dawn asked, a bit worried. “You never drink that much unless you’re hurt.”
His courageous little Slayer gave her sister a large smile.
I knew ...before you did. I knew you loved the Slayer.
“I’m fine, Dawnie. Just hungry.”
“And tired,” Spike added for her.
Buffy frowned slightly, but confirmed his words. “Yes, tired too. I’ll just go rest now.”
It was just one more clue that she wasn’t well that she hadn’t protested about not patrolling. Spike had seen the after effects of the thrall often enough to know that they varied every time. Sometimes, people shrugged off the experience as if nothing had happened to them, and sometimes they felt like they had run three marathons in a row. No way to predict beforehand which it would be.
We can love quite well. If not wisely.
He helped her up the steps as inconspicuously as possible, wrapping an arm around her waist as if flirting. Once in their bedroom, he undressed her. She protested that she could do it alone, but he didn’t let that stop him. Next he prepared a nice hot bath, full of vanilla scented bubbles, just as she liked it. He stepped in the tub with her, cradling her against him, massaging her skin gently until she was purring. He coaxed her into taking some blood from him, with the idea that nothing would make her feel better faster than her Sire’s blood. She fell asleep with her mouth to his shoulder, still in game face.
Effulgent.
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