Scenes from the Past by Denny – Chapter III, Spike

Here’s part III of my seasonal_spuffy  story.

WARNING: THIS STORY HAS ADULT CONTENT AND IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, PLEASE DO NOT READ.

Title: Scenes from the Past
Author: Denny
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (of course) 

Scenes from the Past by Denny
Chapter III – Spike

So let go, jump in
Oh well, whatcha waiting for
It’s alright
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
So let go, just get in
Oh, it’s so amazing here
It’s alright
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown
Frou Frou, Artist

London, England, Buffy and Spike’s Apartment – October 2007

“Spike, what are you doing?” Buffy’s tone held the usual boredom of a question asked without any interest in his answer.

“Writing.” Spike closed the lid to the laptop and turned his chair to face her. She was hovering in the doorway, the sunset beaming over her shoulders, its golden rays bouncing off of her honey-colored hair. He kept the sigh in his throat from his lips. It never ceased to annoy him how she could still take his breath away. “What else would I be doing at this time of evening, love?”

“What else, indeed?” She made a gesture with her hand as if clearing cobwebs from her path. But she remained in the archway.

“How was your night?” Now it was his turn for the usual question. He drummed his fingers on top of the desk waiting for her reply. Several moments passed and he realized she hadn’t answered. He raised his head.

She was looking directly at him, and Buffy didn’t do that. Not anymore, or at least not often. Something had changed since he’d seen her that morning. He examined her clothing. No torn fabric, no holes, or signs of blood. She was dressed for slaying. Black leather pants, high-heeled black boots, an oversized wool sweater, fashionably thick with extra long sleeves, a scarf double-wrapped around her throat, smart for mid-October in London. Then he saw it.

Her chin was quivering.

“Bloody hell, Buffy. Are you going to answer me?” He sat upright in his chair. “If nothing else, we’re still sodding polite. We don’t just ignore each other.”

Still nothing. He pushed his chair away from the desk. “I asked how was your night? Did something happen? Something go wrong?”

She shifted her gaze from him to the row of bookcases lining the far wall of his office. “How many Watchers’ Chronicles have you written in the past two years?”

“You know how many.”

“I know I do.” Her voice trailed off as she strolled into his office and made her way to the bookcases on the opposite wall. As she passed by, her fingers danced over his books and the loose sheets of paper strewn over the long, low tables.

Spike stood up, watching her. She hadn’t been in his office in a year. They lived in the same house, slept in the same bed—most nights—but she hadn’t walked into his office, just like he didn’t patrol with her anymore. They had their domains, and she was violating his. “Tell me what the hell happened?”

“I saw Willow.”

Spike sat down on the corner of his desk. “Where?”

“At the cemetery, while I was patrolling.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked a favor.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “We don’t do favors for Willow. You agreed to that.”

“She needs help.”

“The all mighty Willow doesn’t need anything from anybody.”

“She asked for help Spike. That’s huge for Willow—to ask.”

For a moment he saw the old Buffy, the one who was earnest and eager when she talked about helping her friends.

“If you want to do this for Willow, go ahead.” He found his glasses on the desktop and placed them on the bridge of his nose.

“She needs both of us.”

“That’s too bloody bad.”

“Spike, this is important.” Buffy was at his side, her hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t certain it would make all the difference in the world.”

He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “You honestly want me to help Willow?”

“I want you to help me.”

“Okay then,” he sighed. “Tell me exactly what she wants, Pet.”

“Promise you’ll listen without interrupting?” Buffy insisted.

“I’m listening.”

“Willow’s going to give us a box,” Buffy started. “And we’ve got to take this box to the future, and then find her in the past and give her back the box.” Buffy half-smiled. “See. Easy.”

“Sounds simple enough…” Spike cracked his neck to the side. “Except for the time traveling part, and Willow not telling us what’s in the sodding box?”

“Don’t get mad, and don’t interrupt. You promised.”

“I thought you were done.”

“I was giving you the big picture.”

“Sounded like you were telling me everything you knew.” Spike leaned forward.

“I’m going to leave if you don’t stop interrupting.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I said I’d listen.”

“I just know if we do this, it will change things,” Buffy said. “We’ll find Dawn.”

He knew it, that bitch Willow had convinced Buffy that the impossible was possible. “How can we change the present by changing the future,” Spike said. “I didn’t think it worked that way.”

“Spike, I miss her…” Her voice cracked. “We have to at least try…please.”

Bloody hell.

“When do we leave?” Spike asked.

“I think tonight,” Buffy replied. “Willow will call us tonight.”

~The branches of the trees were bending, the wind had picked up speed. It was going to rip the garden apart and tear the building from its foundation, and all Buffy could do was watch. She knew no Slayer strength or stake could do anything about what was brewing in the garden. This was magic, big magic and she’d made a promise and had to trust her instincts.

Buffy had slipped on her long wool coat over her sweater and black leather pants, and taken a seat in the chair next to the window. On the floor at her side lay her backpack loaded with stakes and crosses and a canteen filled with holy water.

Spike had pulled one of his leather dusters out of a bag she’d hidden in the back of the bedroom closet. Now he was standing by the bookcase, thumbing through one of his chronicles on Willow.

“You think you’ll be a vampire in the future?” She had to ask.

“I don’t know what I’ll be, but whatever it is, it will be better with my coat.”

The phone rang.

Spike cleared his throat and tilted his head at Buffy.

“I wonder who that could be?” She said aloud.

He frowned at her. “Why not answer it Pet and find out.”

Buffy shrugged. “No,” she replied. “It’s better if you do it. Might not be Willow. Could be Giles and he doesn’t like talking to me.”

“That’s not true.” Spike said. “You don’t like talking to him.” He snatched the phone from its cradle. “Hello.” Spike covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and looked at her. “Not Giles. It’s Willow.”

“Okay then,” Buffy said. “It’s time.”

Spike hung up the phone. “She says we’ve got to go outside now.”

Buffy locked the front door behind her and led the way to the garden at the rear of the apartment building. Resting on a ledge near the fountain was a white box. “Willow said the only way this will work is if we don’t open the box until we find her in the past.”

“What do we do with the box when get to the future?” Spike asked.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“I have a bad feeling, Buffy.”

Buffy raised a sympathetic eyebrow. But she wasn’t going to admit she had that same bad feeling. Instead, she just walked to the box and picked it up, while struggling to hold on to her canteen and stay on her feet as the wind caught her in the chest and shoved her into Spike. He held onto her and pulled her close to his side.

“You ready,” he shouted.

The portal was spinning in front of them, swirling wildly with dirt and debris and grass and leaves, and Spike was holding her hand, but Buffy didn’t mind.

She looked at him and he nodded. Then they stepped into the portal.

to be continued…

btw, Heroes was deceit tonight!!!

(I should post another chapter in an hour. I think I’ll be posting this throughout the night:).

 

Feedback is essential. Please let me know what you think.

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/213218.html