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Dee Bradfield
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com.
TIMELINE: AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (happy, happy, joy, joy - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).
SUMMARY: Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?
DEDICATION: To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie.
Buffy blinked at the transformed demon.
"Okay, what gives? What's with the girly-speak?"
"Direct link." Spike disclosed, his voice purring in her ear and sending an exhilarating ripple of shivers up her spine. "He's just tapped right in."
He seemed peculiarly entertained by the concept, a patented Spike-smirk playing across his lips. Then he actually laughed outright and the attendant Scoobies looked at him like he'd gone off his trolley.
"Oh come on! He's the bloody PTB's satellite dish," he gleefully explained to their blank faces. "How idiotic is that?"
Buffy giggled then, though it was obvious she was fighting the urge. Some part of her realized the importance of this and wanted to know how it fit in with her destiny as the Slayer.
"Lower beings," the voice intoned, managing to sound both annoyed and amused. "I am Herald, Supreme Oracle of the Powers That Be. You will heed my words."
"Yeah, hang on, love," Spike wiped a tear from his eye. "Let a fella get his sodding breath."
Herald was startled. She had never been spoken to in such an informal manner. Where was his honor, his respect? Surely this being realized the magnitude of his destiny, of his status in the Aftertime?
"You have not yet found your place," she said.
Spike frowned.
"My place is with the Slayer," he said matter-of-factly, his arms tightening reflexively around Buffy. "Figured that pretty much covered it."
Buffy smiled.
That was sweet. Uber-freaky, but sweet.
"That is true," Herald agreed. "But you are also to be a player in the Aftertime. You are to be a Guardian." She sounded puzzled. "Are you not aware of this?"
Spike snorted. "Listen, pet, right now I could be Arthur or bleedin' Martha and wouldn't give a toss, so give us a break and cut all the cryptic stuff."
Herald was silent. She was listening to something outside their perception, although no one present could quite grasp how they knew that.
"I am bid to explain," she said after a moment, her serene voice continuing to come from the Keratos demon. "But only what is necessary for your imminent challenge. The remainder is not yet for your knowledge. I was misinformed about this, I am ... sorry."
"Some Supreme Oracle," Buffy scoffed. "Gets her wires all crossed and spills the wrong info. Now we'll spend ages worrying about what the Aftertime is."
"But hey, I'm gonna be a Guardian," Spike boasted. "That's gotta be good, right? Won't be roastin' on some griddle in the fiery pits, at least." He scowled suddenly. "Does this mean I'm one of the white-hats now?"
Buffy tipped her head back to peer at him. "You've got the hair for it."
Spike leered at her and then melodramatically buried his face in the exposed curve of her neck, snarling savagely. He even went so far as to nip her skin with his blunt human teeth.
Buffy wasn't impressed and coolly stomped on the toe of his boot.
They both groaned at the same time.
Willow stepped forward, keeping one of her hands locked with Tara's for moral support. She seemed somewhat scandalized by Buffy and Spike's behavior.
"I - Um, look, Oracle Lady? I'm just a little confused about what's actually happening here. Are you saying that Buffy's supposed to..." she gestured vaguely. "...Be with Spike."
"It is ordained," Herald said. "He is her counterpoint, her balance. They are the convergence of light and dark in this world, the fusion of good and evil."
"Yeah, me 'n the Slayer, we're the picture of co-existence," Spike said sarcastically. "All sweetness and light. We're a bloody Rockwell painting we are."
"Spike, shut up," Buffy elbowed him in the stomach. "This is important."
Spike rolled his eyes in a see-what-I-mean sort of way.
"See what I mean," he said.
Herald fell silent once more. It was a disapproving silence.
"Now you've upset her," Buffy complained.
"Did not."
"Did too. It is so your fault. You're being all grumbly and annoying."
"Annoying?" Spike scowled. "What happened to 'sweet'?"
"I'm going to forget I thought it," Buffy snapped.
"Yeah ... well ... me too." He was so irritated he couldn't think straight enough to respond properly.
The argument was escalating and they separated, facing off.
"That's a real smooth comeback, Fang-breath," she taunted. She shook her head in disbelief. "And the PTB have ordained our togethery-ness? What the hell are they thinking?"
"Hey, you're the one doin' the protesting on that score. Wasn't me bein' all 'there is no us' and 'I don't love you' and 'get off me you disgusting pig'."
"I never said that once!"
"Oh right." Spike's eyes widened incredulously.
"Well, I didn't!" Buffy asserted, then amended the statement. "Not recently. Not out loud at least." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "Anyway, you're the one that's trying to fob off the thing about us connecting before the Serpiente even happened. You great big ... avoidy coward."
"Coward?" Spike puffed out his chest. "Me? You're one to talk. Should change your stupid name to Cleopatra, you should. Bloody Queen of Denial."
"That was lame." Buffy scoffed. "You're so pathetic."
Angel looked back and forth between the two, noting how alike they were in both temperament and strength. This could get interesting.
"I'll take twenty on Buffy," he said to Willow.
She stared at him like he'd suddenly turned into Angelus. "Are you insane?" she hissed. "They're gonna kill each other and wreck the whole meant-to-be thing."
"They won't kill each other," he said confidently. "They've both had plenty of chances before and never acted on them. This is all for show."
"The Warrior, Angel, is indeed correct." Herald had apparently realized that outraged silence wasn't going to get her anywhere. "It is merely a manifestation of their passion."
"Oh," Willow peered at the couple. The dispute had descended into wordlessness and they'd resorted to fiery glares and contemptuous scowls. The tension in the air was palpable. "Passion," she repeated slowly. Then, "Ew, too much information. I just had this horrible visual."
"Yeah," Angel looked pained. "I didn't need to know that. I mean, I knew that's what it was but you didn't have to spell it..." He glanced up eagerly, having latched on to something. "Hey, did you say that I was a Warrior? Is that an Aftertime thing?"
Willow blinked at the sudden change of subject and turned her attention back to Herald-Apollyon. The demon's funny eyelid-thingies were starting to flutter. "Um, guys? I think you're about to lose your PTB connection."
Buffy and Spike were nose to nose at this point. At the observation they whirled to look at Willow.
The red-haired witch took a step back, hearing Tara's soft gasp behind her. This was a mega-yikey situation, even more than the morphing demon had been.
Their eyes were glowing.
Not a creepy, all-out alien sort of glow, but a subtle electric glow. Like static, or fireworks - the exploding sky-rockety Fourth of July kind.
Constant warmth radiated from behind Spike's irises, the cool blue heated with power. Curiously, his aura was composed. Buffy, on the other hand, was all vibrant energy - her eyes imbued with flashes of sparkling emerald green.
The bright colors seemed to alternate, the irises of Vampire and Slayer generating iridescent tones of both shades - then they kind of ... combined in a swirling aquamarine crescendo and disappeared. It was incredibly beautiful.
"The link is complete." Herald spoke in hushed tones, as if even she were awed. "They are one."
"And while arguing too," Angel observed, his lips curving in a melancholy smile. "It's kind of poetic."
He was a little surprised at his sudden lack of antipathy. When did he become one of the unopposed?
"That was excellent!" Willow blurted, channeling the absent Xander.
Tara peered at her, a bit daunted by the unusual outburst.
"What happened?" Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously.
They looked at each other in surprise and tried a second time.
"It was..." Again with the sameness.
"That isn't..." Ditto.
"Wow," Willow breathed. "They're like, almost the same person."
"Don't think so, Red," Spike disagreed.
It took a shift in consciousness that could easily become second nature, but his basic personality remained separate - the rest had merged seamlessly with the Slayer. In reality, it was not much different than the active link, and was actually a step back from the level of closeness they'd already reached. The main distinction was the latent knowledge that this was a permanent, indestructible bond. This was for life.
Or unlife, as the case may be. He still wasn't all that clear on where he stood in the mortality scheme of things. The by-product heartbeat was still thumping away at Buffy's pulse rate and the need to breathe was still pressing. If it weren't for his dust-inducing sensitivity to the light of day, he'd say that he was almost the male equivalent of a Slayer.
"You will no longer be susceptible to the sun," Herald informed him, reading his thoughts. "You have risen a step above and are now past certain pitfalls of your earthly existence."
Spike stared, rendered speechless by the announcement.
"What?" Buffy croaked, struggling to accept the full significance of what was happening. This fresh tidbit of news was a bit much coming on top of an introduction to the heart of Spike's essence.
And 'heart' was definitely the operative word. There was no doubting it now - he was truly, madly, deeply in love with her. And he was right about something else too. William was still in him. He'd been shunted back into some secluded corner of Spike's psyche, but he was there, a teeny-tiny remnant of pure shiny goodness in the dark.
Angel was deliberately ignoring this latest development and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, staring at the Oracle.
"Are you gonna do the big reveal or not?" he asked bluntly. "'Cause there's still the small matter of a missing Watcher."
"And a missing ex-demon," Willow went on. "And a missing ... guy." She frowned at that last, feeling that Xander somehow deserved a better rap. He was more to them than just a guy.
"N-not to mention the deranged vampire with the boosted vision-giving gift," Tara put in.
"Hey," Spike complained, having finally found his voice. "Hold up. Thinkin' that maybe this ... 'us'-ness is a tad more important."
Buffy was finding that his tendency toward selfishness wasn't quite as aggravating to her now. She could see where it was coming from. And though insecurity wasn't something she'd previously associated with him, it explained a lot.
"Or maybe not," she retorted. "Seems to me that part was supposed to happen." Ignoring the mockery inherent in Spike's raised brow, she continued on. "The PTB set us up. All the other wiggy stuff going down is a defecty side-effect that they didn't count on."
Spike grimaced. "Bloody stupid, stinkin', hellmouthy Hellmouth."
He sighed and canted his head to one side, his lips twisting thoughtfully. "It's gonna be light soon," he commented seemingly offhand, casting a furtive glance at the shop's front window. "Wanna try for a quick stroll 'round the neighborhood?"
"There won't be any more big scaredy runaways on my watch," Buffy told him. She raised her eyebrows. "The name Drusilla ring a bell? Or Giles? We need to focus here." She eyed the Oracle-occupied Keratos demon intently. "Okay, you, Heraldy Girl, make with the bean spillage."
"As you have already ascertained, the presence of the Hellmouth was, as you say, a spanner in our workings?" Herald's voice contained a smile. "What has transpired has resulted in the release of the vampire demon. It is operating as a separate entity outside of its vessel."
"Are you sayin' that my demon ain't in here with me?" Spike scowled. "That can't be right. I'm still with the liquid diet."
"Yes, that ... quirk will remain with you. However, when was the last time you underwent transmogrification?"
"Huh?" Buffy wished that these Oracle things came with a built-in big-word translator.
"She means when did I last go game-face," Spike simplified. He folded his arms and considered the question. He was silent for a full minute. "And, believe it or not kiddies, I can't recall. The only one goin' all fangy and 'Grr' recently was Giles."
Buffy carefully thought back over the short time that he'd been back in Sunnydale. She couldn't remember either. Even before he'd left for his Mexican jaunt, his game-faciness had been a rare occurrence.
"You don't even get bumpy when you're feeding anymore, do you?" Buffy gazed at Spike, her face displaying a kind of wonderment. She became aware of the dreamy expression, frowned, and adopted a more casual demeanor. "I mean, not that you'd need to, drinking from a mug and all." She tipped her head at Herald. "Is that chip-related?"
"The Initiative were allowed to operate here on our indulgence," Herald told them. "Because the implantation of the chip itself was necessary. William was not going to have sufficient control without our intervention. He needed guidance. His waiting period had drawn out long enough and you had already been called."
"Hang on," Angel held up a hand. "You said William. You don't mean his soul? Not that William?"
"Which other?" Spike jeered. "You and Dru did something wrong, you know. He's been in here since I was turned. Bugger never left."
"He wasn't meant to," Buffy stated with sudden insight. She didn't even glance at the vampires, keeping her eyes on the demon. "He was supposed to stay behind. Spike was turned wrong on purpose."
Angel frowned at that. "But I don't remember anything going that drastically wrong. Other than you putting up one hell of a fight when we..." he trailed off, his complexion becoming suddenly even more pale.
"When we what?" Spike demanded. "What the hell did you do?"
"You'd have to go into the vagaries of vampirism," Angel murmured. "It can't be that common an occurrence... I mean, I'm sure the Old Ones would have records of something similar." He didn't seem to be addressing anybody specifically, the hushed commentary making sense only to him. "Maybe Giles would be able to explain the details better, but if I'm remembering it correctly..."
"I do remember some of it," Spike inserted. "It's not exactly the clearest of memories, but still ... special, you know." He drifted into reflection, a wistful smile crossing his face. "Dru was so different. She came to me spoutin' all manner of fancy things. Swimming fish and glory and walking in unimaginable worlds..." He blinked, coming out of his reverie to a gaggle of vacant faces.
He blushed. "Right. So, you figure she could see the future goings-on then?"
Angel sighed, disregarding the question in favor of recounting his story.
"Dru had been wanting to make herself a playmate, and she had her heart set on Spike from the moment she laid eyes on him." He shrugged. "There's no accounting for taste, I suppose, but she is insane."
"You can insult me later, you poncey git," Spike broke in. "Just get on with tellin' the tale."
Angel gave him a formidable glare but continued on.
"Dru had no business trying to turn anyone. She was still a fledgling really, only twenty at the time. Darla and I shouldn't have allowed it."
He shook his head. The enormity of his own past arrogance never ceased to amaze him.
"There's a period that comes in the draining when you know the soul has left the body. It's a change in the taste, like a plateau, or the eye of a storm..." He faltered, wincing at the inanity of his description. "Kind of a difficult thing to put into words. The Time of Sanguinary Blessing, the Old Ones call it. That's when the intended is supposed to drink from you. I'd assumed that Dru had already reached that point when she first attempted the feeding, but looking back, I can see that William hadn't completely left." He glanced at Spike. "That's why you woke up in the middle of it and scared the daylights out of her."
"Now, personally, I would have taken that as a big, flashy neon sign that something was wrong," Buffy stated blandly. "Of course, that would be dumping a load of sane into the mix..."
"Dru called for me to come and help," Angel said, ignoring her. He had become distant, lost in his recollection. "You were fighting her off when I arrived so I..." He lowered his eyes guiltily. "I held you down while she tried again."
"Bastard," Spike muttered, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He made no further comment, not trusting himself to stay calm enough to hear the rest if he did. He almost didn't register the Slayer taking a supportive hold of his hand.
"It happens sometimes, the fighting, but not usually as ... enthusiastically."
"Tried?" Buffy prompted. "What, the second time didn't work either?"
"No."
"Well, how many times did she bloody well try?" Spike was horrified at the turn the story was taking.
"Three times," Angel said. "Or was it four? None of them were successful. As I said, it was probably because William was still present. We didn't realize that then," he asserted. "I didn't realize or I wouldn't have..."
"And this is the part where you stepped up to be the Daddy, right?" Spike drawled flatly. "Oh joy of joys. Lucky me." He was so tense he was surprised his tendons weren't snapping.
Buffy pulled him into a comforting embrace then, abandoning the cursory hold on his hand to mash her face against his chest and bury her arms inside his duster to enfold his taut body.
He stood stiffly, not taking his eyes from his Sire. He didn't want to be comforted - he wanted to smash something. And Angel's face was looking like a good place to start.
"I'm sorry, Spike, we didn't know," Angel persisted. He could no longer meet his Childe's eyes. He realized that there was no way he could make up for this.
"Drusilla was well aware of her role," Herald told them, breaking into the strained atmosphere with her calm tones. "She was the sole demon who was able to heed our call, the harbinger of William's salvation."
"You mean, she was the only one mad enough to cock it up," Spike growled.
"Her ... instability has been used to our advantage, yes." Herald didn't seem have a problem with that. "She was someone for you to care for, an outlet for your devotion. Without her, you would never have been able to love the Slayer as you needed to."
"So, this is Dru's fault then?" Spike's skin was flushed with his anger. It was an uncomfortable, prickly heat and he hated it. It was way too hard to look cool when you were sweating bullets. "Convenient for you, is it? Makin' her the scapegoat?"
Buffy smothered an inappropriate smile against the front of Spike's T- shirt. She'd picked up the stray thought about looking cool, and it was so out of place amid the drama, it was funny. And he really was developing quite the shiny surface. Made him look kinda ... lickable.
Ew, gross! Likable Spike! Spike lickage! That was just too... Actually, it sounded downright intriguing. Her mind should do the wandering thing more often. It arrived in the most interesting places.
Spike peered down at the top of Buffy's head. She hadn't let up on the hugging and he could still feel the comfort thing going on, but her thoughts had suddenly veered off on a fascinating tangent. It was distracting him.
He smirked. Lickage, huh? The girl's mind worked in the oddest way. He closed his arms around her, resting his hands against the small of her back.
Willow scowled at the Buffy and Spike huddle. Something wiggy was going on under the surface there. Her scowl deepened as Buffy tilted her head back to bat her lashes at Spike in mock innocence, her lips curved in a subtle, almost seductive smile. The vampire's tongue curled behind his teeth and he raised his eyebrows at her in a really suggestive way. She responded with a tinkling laugh and burrowed closer against his chest. It was weird and sort of indecent, but somehow not so large with the surprisiness.
"They are meant to be together, aren't they?" Willow wasn't expecting an answer. She was stating a fact. A completely fait accompli-ish fact.
"All that has taken place in their pasts has lead to this moment," Herald sounded almost reverent. "They are united as equals. Equal in love, in hate. In strength and weakness, in all things. No other shall rend them apart, it is an eternal bond meant to endure long beyond their passing."
"Wow. So they're actually like, married? In a spiritual sense, I mean," Willow was captivated now. Maybe the link wasn't so ooky after all. Married was good. Married was ... safe. She could think of them as married. If she didn't let herself think too hard, that is. "That's cool. I'm down with that."
"Me too," Tara put in. "Way down."
She had been feeling a little left out of the proceedings. Most of the people being mentioned were unknown to her, but Buffy and Spike? She knew them. And she knew how perfect they were for each other. She had understood where they were headed from the moment she first saw them together. Karmic destiny was great that way. She'd felt the same pull when she first met Willow.
Angel had moved away from the living sculpture that was the transmuted Keratos and was sitting at the study table, toying with vision inventory that he'd written earlier. It was probably obsolete now. "So, what about Giles?" he asked.
Buffy's head snapped up from its cozy resting-place against Spike's chest.
Oh God, Giles! He'd completely slipped her mind. Bad Buffy, bad, bad, bad...
Herald seemed to sigh. "This is more difficult to explain. What developed when the Watcher made contact with William was..."
"'Spike', love," Spike interrupted. "Call me Spike. I don't hold with usin' that simpleton's name. Haven't gone by it for a good while, and I don't bloody plan to start up again now."
"But you're listed in the Watcher's Diaries as William the Bloody," Buffy noted, her attention momentarily diverted from the Giles problem by Spike's unusual request. She wasn't going to forget her Watcher again, but, "Hey, did they call you that because it's like, every second word that comes out of your mouth?"
"I hate that sodding name," Spike grimaced. "Doesn't exactly come from a happy period in my life, you know."
"You mean 'unlife'." Buffy corrected.
"I meant what I said, pet. That unfortunate moniker hails from my delightful pre-vamp days."
Buffy's eyes widened and he could sense her diving in for a quick look-see at their combined memory banks.
Tara blinked at him. She hadn't heard anyone call him anything other than Spike. "Were ... Were you a serial killer or something?"
Spike laughed at how very wrong that was. Laughed until tears came to his eyes.
Tara looked mortified. "I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"Oh love, you gave the ol' funny bone a proper ticklin' there. Serial killer," he snorted. "God, how I wish..."
He suddenly realized that Buffy was staring at him like he'd sprouted another head - a particularly ugly one ... with horns. Or, judging by the look in her eyes, maybe a halo. She'd discovered his deep dark secret then. Thankfully, she wasn't mentioning it to the others. Not for the moment, anyway.
"You realize that we will be into some serious former-life conversage later," she informed him via the link. "'Cause I want in on the embarrassing details."
"Now, that's a date." He grinned at her, twirling a silken lock of her hair around his fingers.
Buffy sighed and snuggled back against his chest. The guy could do double- duty as a pillow he was so comfortable. She smiled. A big softie that's what he was. A big, romantic, poetry-writing softie.
"Okay, can we get back to Giles now?" Angel was getting impatient, and he had the feeling that Herald wouldn't be able to keep the connection open for much longer.
"Yes, as I was saying," Herald sounded relieved to be continuing her explanation, "When, ah, Spike initiated contact with the Watcher, his demon must have sensed an opportunity for freedom. As a result of the chip, the demon has been repressed, and in the Watcher, it has found at least a small outlet for its bloodlust."
"So Giles was like a psychic escape hatch?" Willow frowned. "That is just plain wrong. Evil and wrong and a bunch of other bad words that I can't think of right now." She pondered that for a moment. "Which, I guess, is the whole point..."
"Jeez, poor Giles," Buffy lamented, her voice muffled against Spike's shirt.
He gave her a gentle squeeze that she returned in kind. He was pretty touchy-feely for a vampire. She couldn't seem bring herself to let him go and she was beginning to find that somewhere close to frightening.
Spike sensed the tiny panic attack and reluctantly drew back. He placed a brief kiss on her forehead and turned her around to face Herald, managing to keep one arm curved over her shoulder from behind.
"Listen to the fairy-story then, pet," he murmured in her ear. "We've got all the time in the world for the other."
Buffy smiled. She could feel it spreading into a big, sappy lovesick grin but she didn't care...
Oh my God, lovesick? Sick with love? Since when?
Since always, you doof. That peppy little voice-of-reason popped up when she least expected it, but it always spoke the truth. She loved Spike. Okay, no big. She loved Xander too - a nice platonicky kinda love.
Right, so was she in love with Spike?
She was. She really was. How in the hell had that happened?
Her mind seemed to freeze, trying to process the bombshell. Her heart went into a frenzied squeeze-and-release routine that was almost painful.
When had she gone from hating his guts, and most of the rest of him, to not wanting to be apart from him ever again? This was going down too damn fast for her taste. It smacked of some kind of interference, like some kinda of love mojo had been sprung on her. It was Willow's 'will-be-done' spell all over again.
Spike understood every last bit of what was going on in her beautiful head, could feel it in the churning of his gut and the tightening of his chest. It was one doozy of an internal battle and she was reeling from it.
Buffy was in love with him.
Him, Spike, the guy who had not so long ago headed the list of people that she would most like to see dead. She'd finally admitted it to herself. He felt like breaking into song or screaming around the room in full-fledged hysterical joy. Of course, he couldn't allow himself to do that. Not yet, not until she was coping with the admission. And judging by the stunned expression on her face, that was gonna take a while.
She wrenched away from him, trying to put as much space between them as possible, and sat at the study table next to Angel. The older vampire watched her with concern in his dark eyes, knowing that something was up, but not sure if he really wanted to ask for the details.
Spike folded his arms, resisting the urge to follow her, his chiseled face betraying nothing of his own inner turmoil. He was happy and frustrated and a handful of other things all at once, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. William, the sentimental prat, had taken over and he wasn't letting the opportunity go to waste.
Herald's voice broke into the awkward atmosphere, but it was not the smooth tone that they had become accustomed to hearing. She was either breathless, or her fragile connection to this dimension was breaking up. As if in confirmation of the idea, Apollyon's eyelids fluttered and he swayed a little, his tentacle-wings rippling.
"My time draws short," she said. "All that remains is for you to rid the Watcher of his demonic possession. The text you need will be made available to you."
At her words, a thick book miraculously appeared in mid-air and thudded to the ground at Willow's feet.
"Like an exorcism?" The witch was surprised. She sat down on the floor to open the book, but it flipped to the correct page of its own volition. She peered curiously at the spell it revealed. "I'd never thought of vamps as being possessed before, but that's kinda true, huh?"
"He won't get all vomity and Linda Blair on us will he?" Buffy pulled a face. She'd always hated that movie. Buffy and vomit were unmixy things.
Spike gave her one of his genuine grins. There was that oddball humor of hers again. It was one of the things he loved about her, her ability to laugh in the face of extremely intense situations.
She threw him a look of furious dislike. She didn't want any love vibes coming from him right now. No love for Buffy, and definitely no love for Spike.
He quirked the scarred eyebrow at her, his grin evaporating.
She was fighting this too hard.
It was losing battle, couldn't she see that? The feelings were there. The fact that she was even angry with him revealed the magnitude of those feelings. She'd admitted it, and she knew that he knew that. There was no denying it - not now, not ever.
Confessions of the heart were never pretty, especially the deep dark secrety ones, and he understood the painful repercussions of that kind of exposure only too well. He'd gone through the same thing himself, had struggled with his own feelings for months, years. But this? This was out and out rejection.
"What about Dru?" he asked Herald, not breaking eye contact with Buffy. The Slayer's quiet, determined avoidance was starting to piss him off.
"Yeah, about that," Angel put in. "How has she been sending these visions if not with your consent?"
"Our consent was granted," Herald informed them. "Though your Seer's vision is true, we enabled a heightening of Drusilla's power in order to draw you here, manifested illusions that all that came to pass was of her own making. You needed to be present, to bear witness to the Slayer's union with your Childe. It is an event that will have consequences in your own life and, indeed, in the lives of those close to you." She sounded very pleased with herself. "It is for the greater good. Everything we do is to that end."
Spike snorted. "Oh yeah, you higher-ups are great at the altruism. Not to heavy with the personal sacrifices though."
"Explain," Herald's manner was annoyed now. She was not used to her motives being questioned.
"You expect us lower beings to do what you want, when and how you want it, right? But you don't do a hell of a lot in repayment. So little Spikey's got a soul? I'm so bloody honored that you care."
"It can easily be revoked," Herald's voice was beginning to cut in and out. Apollyon's eyes opened a fraction.
"Seeing as it was such a chore to keep it here in the first place, I don't see how that's gonna happen, love."
Spike knew he was pushing it, messing with the PTB, he just hadn't aggravated anyone for a while - he needed the rush. Plus, the pain from Buffy's rejection was looking for a way out and he didn't think she'd appreciate him belting the crap out of his Sire, which is what he really wanted to do.
Buffy was glaring at him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, her displeasure into his head.
"Quit it, you moron," she scolded via their link. "She'll fry you or something."
"Then I'll fry." At that moment Spike didn't particularly care. "Don't feel that I'm cut out for this Guardian thing, anyhow. And it's not like anything's gonna come of this link business. Not while you're being Denial Girl."
"I am not in denial!" Buffy snapped aloud.
"Denyin' that you're in denial," Spike observed dryly. "Now that's rich."
Buffy's gaze grew dangerously narrow, and both of them experienced a slight twinge as the chip threatened to activate.
"I hate you," she asserted. "I mean, I really, really, really hate you."
"Okay, you hate me," Spike conceded. "I get it, Slayer, alright? You've made your point." He sighed, seeming to sag as the fight went out of him. "You win. I'm done tryin' to convince you otherwise. It's the worst kind of torture ever. Even Peaches couldn't do better."
Angel frowned then. "I resent that. Some of my best..." He stopped, suddenly realizing what he was saying, and smiled ruefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."
"Right." Spike huffed. "I haven't got the scars to prove it either."
The Keratos demon chose that moment to come out of his transformation, lapsing back into his Apollyon persona with a loud whistle-grunt. His double tongues flicked in and out rapidly.
Willow glanced up at him from the spell book. "Oh, you're back."
"All will better be," the demon warbled happily. "Powers restore balance."
"Balance?" Spike spat skeptically. "You know where you can shove your sodding balance, mate." He stalked away to set himself atop the counter.
Apollyon's tentacles curled defensively. "Messenger I am only," he returned. "Do not be shooting me."
Spike's only response was a testy snarl followed by the mechanical flick of his lighter as he ignited a cigarette.
"So, we have the basis of a plan right?" Angel asked, taking on Giles' usual role of Commander-In-Chief. "We have the exorcism spell. And if Willow says it's do-able, I'd say a rescue mission's in order." He raised his eyebrows. "All those in favor?"
Willow absently thrust her hand in the air, still avidly reading from the book. Tara smiled shyly and did the same. Spike refused to look at them, blowing a cloud of smoke in the opposite direction.
Buffy cast a grateful smile at Angel as she raised her own hand.
He was right. Her Slayery-ness was needed now. It was time to focus on the important stuff - Giles, Xander and Anya and the current crisis. She would deal with the whole Spike-related craziness later.
Much later.