Title: Buffy and the Beast
Pairing: Spike/Buffy, eventually
Rating: PG at the moment; will eventually be NC-17
Disclaimer: The usual–I don’t own them, Joss does, blah-de-blah blah blah…
Author’s note: In this ‘verse, Spike was never paralyzed by Buffy, although they did fight in the church. Drusilla was cured, Angelus did emerge, but Acathla was not found… however, Giles was kidnapped, for reasons yet to be revealed.
Buffy and the Beast Chapter 5
Chapter 1 can be found here
Chapter 2 can be found here
Chapter 3 can be found here
Chapter 4 can be found here
Buffy and the Beast
Chapter 5
Buffy looked down at Giles where he rested in the spare bedroom of her house. Bandages covered him spottily, from neck to groin. Her mother had been wonderful about helping her dress Giles’ wounds; she didn’t think she could do the ones on his penis, but her mother allowed her to leave the room when the dressings were needed below the waist. He had broken fingers that Buffy had easily set while he was still out. Buffy was actually more concerned with the mental damage that had been done to the man, but he hadn’t regained consciousness yet so she couldn’t check that out.
Still, it puzzled her. Why had Angelus decided to kidnap Giles in the first place? They knew all the particulars—Giles had been going home, Angelus had laid in wait until he was out of shouting distance from any assistance and had taken him to the mansion. No note, no clues, no reasoning and only his evilness as a key. Maybe Spike knew and maybe he would tell her. And maybe the sun would rise in the west tomorrow.
She still wasn’t sure if she could trust the master vampire. Sure, he’d given his word, but whoever heard of an honorable vamp? Vampires were notorious for their deal breaking. Somehow, she didn’t think Spike was that kind of vamp.
She went to her room and looked at the small bag that she’d packed. It was almost midnight and if she wanted to reach the mansion on time, she had better move. She almost went downstairs to say goodbye to her friends and mother and thought against it. They would never let her leave. She left the note on her mirror, and tossed her bag out the window, climbing down the tree. She would explain, if she could, when she returned home. If she ever did.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She approached the mansion, her guts twisting inside her. It wasn’t fear—she was the Slayer, she feared nothing. Or at least, didn’t admit to it. No, this was more nervousness. What the heck did Spike want her for anyway, if he didn’t want to kill her?
She approached the huge oaken door, and knocked on it. Pasting a blank look on her face, she started when the door opened. A minion dressed in a tuxedo swept his arm in a gesture for her to enter and she pressed her back against the wall as she passed, stake in hand. She was surprised at the look of hurt feelings and fear in his eyes, but put the surprise away as she entered the great room.
The room had been thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. Not a cobweb anywhere, even in the farthest reaches of the vaulted ceiling. There was a welcoming fire snapping cozily in the huge fireplace, comfortable furniture everywhere she looked. And the room was filled with vampires. That’s what the feeling was, she thought.
Spike stood to the right of the fireplace. He was dressed in his usual black, tight tee shirt and close-fitting jeans. his extended hand and hypnotic gaze pulled her to him. “Slayer.”
She stood before him, but would not take his hand. Disappointed, he let it drop to his side then said, “My minions have been instructed not to hunt and you are not to be harmed in any way. You will still have your weapons even here in my house and I would take your word you will stake no one unless it truly warrants?”
She was mesmerized by the change in his voice. The tone, the timbre, even the inflection of the streets was all gone; in its place was the voice of a stranger. “Who—who are you and what have you done with Spike?”
Unexpectedly, he grinned. “Slayer, I’m still here. I jus’ wanted you to know that you’re our guest. My guest. And nobody in this house will hunt or hurt you, including myself. But if any of ‘em step out of line, I expect you’ll dust them and I think that I’ve made it clear to them. P’haps you’d like to tell them?”
“No. No, I’m sure you’ve done it. Thank you.” She looked around, trying her best to quickly memorize the faces. “Uh—where do I sleep?”
“This way.” He took her bag from her nerveless fingers, and led her up the stairs to a room that faced the east. She was too overwhelmed by all the changes, both in him and the house to notice this room. She would have plenty of time in this room. “Is it okay? Do you like it?”
“Spike, the house—this room—how? Why?”
He squirmed under her confusion. “I—I wanted…. Bloody hell, Slayer, I don’t know. Except I want you to feel at home here. Good night.” He turned to leave and her hand on his arm stopped him.
“Thank you, Spike. For helping me. I…Giles is going to be okay, I think.”
“Good. You need your Watcher.”
“Where do you sleep?”
Her question rocked him to the core. Why did it matter so much to him to have her ask that? And why did he want to shout with the joy coursing through him? This girl had bespelled him, bewitched him with her golden aura of perfection, and it enraged his demon.
As the demon visage slid to the fore he growled deep in his chest. “What does it matter where I sleep? In the basement, for all you care. Vampire, remember?”
She backed away from him, stake in hand. “Spike, I don’t think that threatening me with the bumpies is gonna make me feel comfortable, do you? Please stop.”
He let his face reform, and his blue eyes were impassive. “I’m sorry, Slayer. Having trouble with the power surge and all, you know?”
“I understand, Spike. So, where do you sleep?”
He looked at his shoes, embarrassment on his face. “Across the hall. Why?”
When she didn’t answer, he looked up to catch her studying him. “Why did you make that deal, Spike? What did you want to prove? That you could—what?”
“I dunno, Slayer. I was gonna ask for Dru and me to spirit away to Brazil, and it just didn’t come out that way at all. I dunno what I was thinking, but I don’t go back on my word. When do you want to go patrol?”
“Patrol?” She shook her head to clear the confusion caused by his shifting moods and personalities. First he had acted all cultured and aristo-catty, and then he was a growling, raging vampire, and now he was just Spike. This was way too much to process after the day she’d had, and she rubbed her eyes and stared at the rollercoaster vampire. “No, I’m not going to patrol tonight. I think the entire vamp population was in the front room, don’t you? What’s with the Change-O Guy, anyway, Spike? One minute you’re this, the next you’re that, then you act like you again and I don’t—“
“I told you, it’s the power surge.”
“And why did you let me kill Dru anyway? That fight was too easy, Spike. Too easy by far.”
“I pulled a fast one, okay? I don’t always think with my cock, Slayer.”
An idea crossed her mind, and she started. “What did you do?”
He studied his nails, then yanked at his tee shirt. “I just gave the Watcher a little juice. Angelus and Dru drank it when they drank from him. They were sleeping it off, love. Barbiturates, not enough to hurt Watcher Boy, but just enough to affect two very evil vampires.”
She watched him in fascination as he twisted his fingers into his belt loops while he kept talking. “As for Dru—there was a lot going on there, Slayer, and most of it private. But whenever Daddy called, Dru ran, no matter what we were doing and where we were. I—I guess I was just tired of playing second all the time. Need to be first sometimes. A hundred years of caring for her, and she—nevermind that. Past and gone with the wind. Goodnight, Slayer.”
He was into the hallway before she spoke again. “Spike?”
He turned, and she was framed in the doorway of the room, her cheek resting on her hand and a soft look on her face. “Please, stop calling me Slayer. Call me Buffy.”
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/120477.html
