While Buffy was on the phone with Willow, Spike stepped outside for a smoke, and to do some thinking. Not brooding, he insisted to himself for the umpteenth time; he wasn't going to let himself turn into the Second Coming of the Poof. But he had to admit that he had become more thoughtful lately. His relationship with the Slayer was far more fulfilling, now that it was based on mutual love and not just mindless sex. But it was far more complex as well, and it involved things he'd never done -- or felt -- before.
Despite Buffy's earlier protests, Spike knew she was glad when he kept her company during her long work shifts. Sometimes, though, he would be talking with her, or holding her hand, or making love to her, and it would suddenly strike him all over again: She really wants me around, she loves me, she wants to be with me. It would've taken his breath away, if he breathed.
He'd been an outcast for so long, he'd forgotten how wonderful belonging could be. And that was just one of the many things that he was still getting used to, not only with Buffy, but with the whole Scooby Gang.
He'd always considered Dawn his one real ally in Buffy's inner circle, and of course she often acted as if he'd always been a part of the group. But now that she was his student, there were whole new depths to their relationship. And she wasn't just the "Li'l Bit" anymore -- she was quickly growing up into a beautiful young woman. He never doubted that Buffy was the only woman for him . . . but in a little place deep down inside him, he had begun to envy the boy who would win Dawn's heart one day.
His friendship with Tara, on the other hand, was still surprisingly new and wonderful. It was a mixture of friendly practical jokes and bantering, with a lot of respect and a little trust on the side. And neither of them ever forgot the favors they had done for each other. Buffy and Dawn would always remain first in his heart, but Tara had quickly become a true friend, something that he hadn't had in a very long time.
Thoughts of Tara brought to mind her lover, Willow. She'd never been his friend, exactly, but they'd had an odd sympathy for one another, ever since Spike had kidnapped her three years ago. He'd always been surprised that she'd never held a grudge against him for that, or for the time he'd tried to bite her. She'd never formalized things by openly forgiving him . . . but she'd been the first Scooby to really try to accept him into the group. Then again, she had always been the big softie of the Scoobies, before her trip down Black Magic Lane. Now that she'd been magic-free for about two months, her usual bright and cheery self had re-emerged, and he was glad, not only for her, but for Tara's sake as well.
That left Xander and Anya. At first, things hadn't really changed a whole lot with them. Xander had kept on calling him "Evil Dead" or "Rebel Without a Pulse" for a few weeks after his proposal to Buffy, although the boy's jibes didn't have the same edge that they used to. And while Anya had volunteered to help with planning Buffy's wedding, she hadn't made any special efforts to become friendlier with Spike.
The turning point had come only last week, when Spike had been one of the ushers at their wedding. He still didn't know if it was a courtesy to him as the maid of honor's fiancé, or just because Xander had wanted some muscle around to try to keep the ceremony from turning into a drunken brawl -- which it eventually had, of course. He hadn't liked the "honor" much -- he'd hated having to wear a tuxedo -- but then he'd noticed that one of the supposedly human guests had smelled like a demon. One that Anya hadn't invited.
When confronted, the bloke had shed his disguise and tried to attack the bride and groom, ranting about something Anya had done to him when she was a demon. But he and Buffy had made short work of the ugly gatecrasher, and the ceremony had gone on as planned.
Since then, the cracks from Xander had stopped. And Anya had pulled him aside, and told him that she'd known about the Berber Weed and other assorted items he'd been stealing from the shop for the past year. She said that in return for saving her "special day," she'd be willing to supply him with all the magical herbs he wanted, "at a substantial discount" -- as long as he told her when he needed them, instead of just stealing them.
"It's not just about the cost," she said. "Berber Weed is a weed, after all, so it's very inexpensive. I don't even know why you bother stealing it! But I hate going into the basement and finding we're all out of something I just ordered a week ago!"
Truth be told, Spike had been nicking the stuff from the Magic Box just to keep in practice. He was tempted to keep on doing it, despite her offer -- buying things, even at a discount, took all the fun out of it. But he was smart enough to recognize a peace offering when he heard it.
The lone holdout was Giles. The Watcher had reluctantly accepted that Spike was going to be a permanent part of the lives of both Slayers, but he still acted as if he expected the vampire to suddenly turn on them if he had a chance. And while he could cheerfully ignore Giles' glares of suspicion, he knew how hard it was on Buffy to believe that the Watcher disapproved of her choice. She hadn't yet had the nerve to ask him -- as she had during the spell-induced engagement of two years ago -- to be the one to give her away.
Spike only hoped that his latest pet project would earn him a little slack from the Watcher.
* * *
As Willow hung up, Dawn came back into the living room. "You know, you don't have to keep Buffy informed of my every move."
The redhead rolled her eyes. "You know that she would only worry about you anyway, Dawnie. At least this way she can get the worrying out of her head and think about other things."
Dawn smirked. "Like if there's a broom closet at the college she can drag Spike into?"
Willow gasped and blushed.
Seeing Willow's reaction, the teen apologized, "Sorry, I forgot. I bet that brought back memories of Xander and the Homecoming Queen from Hell."
"Dawnie, I know you had a terrible crush on Xander back then. So did I. And at the time, I hated Cordelia more than you could possibly know. But you know, I saw her . . . last summer," she paused at the painful memory of her trip to L.A, "and she's changed -- somewhat. She still sometimes acts like Miss Rodeo Drive, but she's really committed to being one of the good guys. When Angel fired them all last year-"
"Another of my favorite people!" Dawn muttered.
The anger in Dawn's voice brought the hacker up short. "Dawn, that's something I never understood. Why do you dislike Angel so much? I mean, Xander never liked him -- I think he never really got over his jealousy that Buffy chose Angel over him. And Giles never forgave Angel for the things he did when he went bad . . . but he never did anything to you. And Buffy forgave him for what he did."
Dawn frowned. "I never did. I saw what he put her through, and I couldn't stand it. But to be honest, I didn't like him much even before he went bad. I always got bad vibes whenever he was around. It was like my psychic stuff . . . only I wasn't having visions yet, was I? And I wasn't a Slayer yet, so I didn't have that extrasensory whatsis that Buffy uses to spot vamps."
Then her eyes widened. "Oh, wait a sec. The whole reason the Watchers use the souls banished to the Ether as the basis for the Slayers is to create warriors who have an instinctive, soul-deep hatred for vampires, right? Well, I bet they would have a particular hatred for the vampires that originally killed them! And Angel turned Drusilla . . . and I got her soul."
Willow cocked her head to one side as she thought about that. "Hmmm. You may be onto something there. I mean, Buffy told me that she'd always had a bit of a phobia when it came to Drusilla, even though she didn't consider her as dangerous a fighter as Spike. That would be the same relationship that you have with Angel . . . "
Dawn smiled. "Chalk one up for the new girl!"
Willow returned the smile, and high-fived her. Then she turned serious again. "Still, Dawn, I think you're going to have to learn to get along with Angel and Cordelia. I mean, we don't see each other that often anymore, but they're only two hours away."
Dawn groaned. "I just wish I didn't have to do it so soon . . . Willow, do you know why I have a headache?"
She frowned. What does that have to do with anything? "I figured it was those psychic exercises Rachel was putting you through this afternoon. I remember Cordelia said she gets terrible headaches when she has visions-"
"Well, according to Rachel, I shouldn't ever have that problem. Cordelia's visions are a bit different than mine. But I did have my first full-blown vision; and I got a headache because I had this irresistible urge to bang my head against the table after the vision!" She made a face at Willow's surprised expression and continued, "I was going to wait till Buffy and Spike came home, so I'd only have to say it once, but I guess I might as well tell you.
"I had a vision about Angel and Cordelia. And two other people I didn't recognize, a big, tall black man and a smaller woman with long, dark hair."
Willow nodded. "The man sounds like Gunn, a guy that works for Angel. The woman might be . . . Fred was her name? I only met her briefly; they said they rescued her and Cordelia from a demon dimension."
"Well, we're going to need them. The vision told me, as clear as anything, that we need them for this fight that's coming up. Tomorrow morning, we're going to have to call," she paused dramatically and scowled, "Angel Investigations."
* * *
It had all started when Buffy told Spike about her humiliating experience in European History class at UC Sunnydale. He had delighted her by confirming her theory about many of the Prussian generals being vampires -- he hadn't known about Rasputin, Russia wasn't exactly his forte -- but she'd clammed up after he tried continuing the discussion. Curious, he'd had some private conversations with Buffy's friends. And he understood now why Giles had left Buffy on her own -- even if he still thought it was a bloody cruel thing to do to her.
He'd always respected Buffy as a canny opponent and a witty banterer, but he'd never quite realized that there was real intelligence hiding beneath that mane of California Girl Blonde. On the other hand, both Willow and Giles had known for years how smart Buffy really was; Willow had commented to him that Buffy might've gotten some Ivy League offers if she'd been more focused in high school. But neither her best friend nor her Watcher had ever been able to convince Buffy of her own capabilities. She considered herself stupid -- probably because so many teachers over the years had interpreted her lack of concentration as a lack of intelligence.
So Spike had gone to Buffy with an offer: he would help her get ready for when she began taking courses again. She had viewed the offer with suspicion at first, even after he'd promised to treat her with the respect her professors had never given her. And when she chose a subject, he'd been sure it was a deliberate attempt to test him, to see if he would back out on his offer.
She'd asked him to help her with Modern English Poetry, which would be offered in the first summer session.
" . . . And what rough beast, its hour come 'round at last / Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" He paused. "Not very cheery, wot?"
Buffy frowned. "No. But . . . I get it. I mean, I think I do. It's about . . . the loss of faith, and hope for the future. The fear that things will only get worse."
He'd avoided poetry for decades, remembering only his shameful experiences with Cecily and Victorian London society. But he'd found that he still remembered everything he'd learned in his old school days, and that he could discuss poetry, as long as he didn't write any.
The discussion on Yeats' "The Second Coming" continued for several minutes. She isn't always a hundred percent correct, but she does put things together very quickly. Damn her teachers, why's it up to a vampire to show the Slayer the joys of learning?
Then Buffy gave him a look, and he knew she was about to change the subject on him.
"Spike . . . what's your real name?"
His brow wrinkled in confusion. "William. You know that, Buffy."
"I mean your full name." She paused for a moment. "I . . . I've been thinking . . . I want to take your family name."
He was struck completely dumb. Where did this come from?
When he didn't answer her, she continued. "Spike, please. I don't know why, but I really want to do this. Maybe because it's the one normal thing I can do when we get married. Maybe it's just that I don't want people calling me 'Mrs. Summers,' like I know they will if I keep my last name." She paused, and Spike frowned. He knew that every now and then, Buffy would get phone calls for "Mrs. Summers," and it would tear her heart out all over again to have to say that Mrs. Summers had passed away.
Then his eyebrows rose as she continued. "Maybe I just want to have a real, concrete change when we're married. I know that unless Willow gets even better at hacking than she is now, you won't ever have a legal identity in this country. We won't get a license from City Hall, or sign any papers together . . . and we won't have children together . . ." She blinked, then her lips thinned as she got control of herself. "But I could still legally change my last name to be yours. And I'd like to do that."
He stared at her, moved more than he could ever say. And so the words just came out, and he spoke the name that he'd hoped to bury over a hundred years ago. "Bradley. William Thaddeus Bradley."
She smiled, and her eyes went misty as she murmured to herself, "Bradley. Buffy Anne Summers Bradley. Buffy Bradley. William and Buffy Bradley" She spoke louder as she said, "I like it. It sounds . . . right to me. Makes me wish we were planning on a formal ceremony, just so I could see the name on all the invitations."
Spike suddenly found himself thinking mushy wedding-invitation type thoughts. I was wrong. Big Bad Spike has become a Big Fat Poof! And the Hell of it is, I don't care. As long as she loves me, I don't care a bit.
* * *
Needless to say, the couple's happy mood was spoiled when they got home and heard the news from Dawn. Spike fumed and cursed, and Buffy grumbled as much as Dawn had. But Dawn insisted that the vision was definite: they needed Angel for whatever was coming.
* * *
That night, Spike was quite definitely brooding as he watched Buffy sleep, and he lay perfectly still as only a dead man could.
He loved to watch her sleep.
He didn't know why. She was beautiful when she slept, no doubt about that; but she was beautiful all the time. So why did he lie there and stare at her, like she was an angel come to Earth, and brood?
Bloody Hell! he thought to himself for the millionth time. The Poof's never gonna recognize the new Buffy-whipped Spike when he comes to visit -- after all, he can't see himself in a mirror to compare! He shook his head. No, actually I bet I look even Poofier than the Poof these days. At least ol' Tall, Dark, and Stupid probably still dresses all in black.
He glanced over at the closet. Along with Buffy's variegated wardrobe, there were a few recent additions. A few red shirts and two pairs of black jeans, of course -- they was still his favorite colors, and even Buffy admitted that he looked really good in that combination. But there were also shirts of maroon and powder blue. And blue jeans . . . and a lone pair of tan khakis.
He remembered that day in the store, when she had insisted he try the khakis on before leaving. He hadn't been able to see himself in the mirror, but he'd been sure he looked like a stupid wanker. He'd been about to say so, when Buffy just gave him this look, and said he looked "yummy." And that was that.
He sighed. Goodbye Zipperhead, hello Gap.
The hell of it was, he was Buffy-whipped and he knew it, and he didn't care. He hated to admit it, but he was almost beginning to like the 'new Spike.' He hadn't let himself revert to being William again -- the pathetic tosser who wrote bad poetry and never got his nails dirty was dead and gone. But so was the contemptuous, hate-filled, thrill-seeking brawler he'd made himself into after he was turned.
She'd turned his existence inside-out and upside-down, and still he loved her more and more every day.
It wasn't just that she loved him -- though that would've been enough. But far more than that, she trusted him. Just two months ago, he'd been sure that all the trust had been burned out of her long ago. But ever since the day their special connection had been revealed, she'd learned that she could let herself rely on him. And they both knew that after that night on Glory's tower, he'd die before he let her down again.
"I can feel you watching me, you know."
He started as his lover's murmur broke his train of thought. "Sorry, luv. Guess the Slayer sensitivity to vampires never goes away?"
"Nope." She opened her eyes, and turned to him. "Especially when that vampire is lying next to me and thinking naughty thoughts." She wiggled a little under the covers to emphasize her point.
"I wasn't-" Then he paused. Whatever his mind had been doing, his body was quite definitely reacting to Buffy's, in the same way it had for a long time now.
Buffy glanced at the clock. "Six-thirty. About time I woke up anyway." Then she reached for him and smiled. "But I don't think I need to get out of bed for a while."
Bloody Hell! Sometimes I think she came back as a succubus! He smiled as he sank into his lover's embrace. Not that I'd complain. There are worse ways to go than gettin' shagged to death . . .
|
|
|
|
Rave
Barbie Girl (Becca)
biscuit07
Filmtheory (Jim)
Malice (Jess)
MebbtheScribe (MichaelB)
Reset (Allie)
Shay (Marrisa)
somnambulist29 (Shea)
Stephanie Loss
Wendyness (Wendy)
Questions?Contact Us
|
|
All stories on this site have been archived with the authors' consent. Do not copy these stories for your own uses without the express consent of the author themselves. Buffy the Vampire Slayer TM and Angel TM are © UPN, WB, Fox and its related entities. All photos on the site are © UPN, Fox, Warner Bros, and/or their respective owners. No profits are being made by use of these images.
Powered with the assitance of eFiction.
|
|
|
