Fumbling Towards Ecstasy
Lovesbitch91

Chapter Seven: Black & White

“Unravel me,
A distant cord
On the outside is forgotten
A constant need
To get along
And the animal awakens
And all I feel is black and white.”


The phone call came in the middle of the night, as she lay awake in her bed. She fumbled with it for a moment, brought it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Buffy? Is that you?” The familiar voice; dark and eternally guilt-ridden over a million different crimes. Yet her belly flipped, heart clenched.

“Angel?”

******

She was determined to make this one count. Before they had left Mr. Giles’ flat, she’d sworn to herself; “I will not fuck up.”

So now here they were, in the middle of Restfield, waiting for the vampire to rise. She stood at the foot of a fresh grave, kicking at the dirt with her sneaker-clad toe.

“It’s important to keep your head at this particular moment, before he rises. When he does he will be somewhat disoriented, and you can use that to your advantage.” Giles was pacing before her, as much filled with anticipation as she was. He was constantly checking the time, as if the rising vampire had scheduled an appointment, and when the dirt began to rumble beneath his feet he stepped back.

Which left Adia, stake clenched tightly in her hands, alone at the foot of the grave. Her heart was pounding audibly in her ears as the dirt-crusted hand broke through the soft soil. The vampire’s growls reverberated up through the ground, followed by a set of yellow eyes, a gaping maw of yellow teeth and then its torso.

Adia at once fell upon the vampire, executing punches and kicks, ducks and twists and tumbles as they fought hand to hand. For the first time, she truly felt the power running through her, felt her strengths. And when she stabbed the stake down into its heart it was with an accurate eye, and the vamp fell to dust beneath her.

Giles stepped forward, a small smile on his lips.

“Very good. But may I suggest…”

******


“Buffy, it’s really you?” His voice was just the same, and she closed her eyes to picture him, the way he’d looked to her when she was younger. Like a puppy dog that had tinkled on the carpet and was constantly trying to make up for it with hand-licks. Except Angel had murdered people, some of which had been her friends.

“I think so… I mean, yeah. Angel? This is really you?” Her voice took on a disgustingly large amount of whiny innocence, and she cleared her throat and sat up in bed. “I mean, what are you doing calling this late? It’s like three o’clock in the morning. Shouldn’t you be out killing things?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

******


It was already three o’clock in the morning, but Adia had staked seven vamps already. She sailed through the cemeteries with Giles lagging at her heels, high on her own self-confidence. The bandage she’d worn around her neck had been thrown away – the scars were hardly visible. And she was a Slayer. She was strong. She had power.

******


“No, actually. There’s a new Slayer.” Why was she talking about this? It wasn’t as if Angel really cared. But she was enjoying talking to him, especially as it had been much too long since she’d seen him. “But why are you calling?”

“I want to see you.” She thought rather violently of Spike, his little smirk beneath the slick smear of peroxide blonde hair. She saw him and Angel; his leanness and Angel’s heaviness. How Spike whispered so many dirty sweet things in her ear, and Angel was mortified of even touching her, for worry of his soul. And yet she ached just as much for one than the other, was equally scared of them both.

“Alright. When?” Her voice was unsure, hesitant. But Angel didn’t seem to notice, merely exhaled a long-held, unneeded breath.

“I’m actually driving up there now.”

“You’re what?” Her heart clenched, and she shot out of the bed. “Where are you?”

“Maybe an hour away. I’m heading straight for the mansion, though. I was hoping you’d meet me there.”

******


She managed to drag Giles towards the sea port, her hunger for violence driving her. The docks were mostly empty, a few dark ships tethered and anchored and the warehouses deserted. But she could feel the low thrum of life; humans slinking in the shadows, rats scurrying through alleys. And demons, lurking behind doors of empty storage houses, shuffling and growling at her presence. But she wasn’t repelled by this; her earlier fear had evaporated with her first kill, and she moved forward with brazen confidence.

“Perhaps we should head back now, Adia. I believe you’ve done enough for tonight.” Giles was looking around, distrusting of the area. But Adia turned to him, smiled.

“Just one more.”

******


A thin cloud of smoke wafted across the front porch when Buffy finally emerged, giving away Spike’s presence beneath the tree. Although the sky was beginning to fade from light blue into hues of pink, Spike was comfortably situated beneath the shady branches of the oak tree.

“Do you have to be so lurk-y all the time? You’re not Angel – it doesn’t suit you,” she confronted him irritably. He stepped out into the light that emanated from the porch light, flicking a spent cigarette.

“First off, I’m nothing like Peaches,” he scoffed. “And I wasn’t lurking. I was waiting.”

“For what, the sun? Shouldn’t you be underground like the rest of the sensible Undead?” She started off down the steps, headed for the road, and Spike fell into step beside her.

“Never was right in the head, was I? Fallen for the most impossible women, I have. And they always seem to love him best, anyways.”

Startled, Buffy stopped and looked at him. He was still walking, but paused to look back when he noticed her absence from his side. He stood away from her, hands down in the pockets of his duster.

“Don’t say that,” Buffy said quietly, looking up at him.

“S’true,” he retorted, anger crossing his feature. Instinctively, he reached for another cigarette. They stood for a moment in silence, broken by the sharp snapping of the Zippo closing. “Know you’re going to see him, luv. Heard you up there, making small talk.”

“Not lurking, huh? Anyways, Angel’s a friend, and if I want to see him you don’t get to be the jealous boyfriend and go all crazy on me.” Buffy’s mood had turned sour in an instant, and she crossed her arms haughtily as she glared across the empty space at Spike.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled a thick cloud of acrid smoke and looked crossly at her.

“Already told you, love. The two of you will never just be friends.”

******


This was glorious.

She’d cornered a stray demon in the alley between two hulking warehouses, and had immediately begun her assault. It was fairly man-shaped with thick green skin and reddish scales across its face. It had raised webbed hands in defense, marked by the same red scales, and emitted a high pitched screech as she attacked.

But the battle itself gave her the greatest high, the feeling of her fists pounding against its flesh, her roundhouse kicks meeting their marks and sending him flying backwards. It was almost too easy, the way the demon’s flesh bruised beneath her punches, and how he fumbled his few moves at defending himself. And when the demon lay in a pulpy lump beneath her, she ripped a sharp board from a nearby empty crate and used it to sever the head.

Giles, who had hung about near the entrance to the alley came forward now, bent close to the dead demon. Adia herself was exhausted, and braced herself against the wall as she took in a few deep, refreshing breathes. Giles looked up at her, then back at the beheaded creature.

“This demon was an Ignumfarii,” he said softly, and Adia thought she imagined the brief flash of pity crossed his face.

“So?” She didn’t understand why he seemed so disturbed as he closed the unstaring eyes of the dead demon.

“So they’re harmless. I should have known when he didn’t fight back.”

“What do you mean, harmless? It was a demon, wasn’t it?”

Giles blinked at her slowly, shaking his head in disbelief. “If only everything were so simply black and white as that.”

******


Over the last few years the mansion had begun to fall into a state of serious neglect. The stone was worn and crumbling at the corners, several of the larger windows smashed and covered in ivy. But the front door was cleared off, and a shiny convertible parked outside.

Buffy was hesitant as she stepped towards the door, Spike’s last words turning over in her mind. He had stalked off afterwards, cursing under his breath. And though she felt with almost certain clarity that he was right, she’d still come

She raised her fist to knock on the heavy door, but it at once swung inwards. And there was Angel, smiling at her. He hadn’t changed over the years, as Buffy had so blindly expected. His was the same face she’d fallen in love with when she first came to Sunnydale.

Without words being spoken she felt herself being wrapped up into his kiss, his arms encircling her. She stood on tiptoe to present her mouth to his, and for the moment all she saw and felt and knew was him.

Yet, almost as quickly as he’d pulled her to him, he pushed her away, wiping his mouth and staring darkly at her. She stared, confused, back at him, feeling a tight knot of dread form in her belly.

“What is it?” she asked weakly. But his eyes were fixed to her neck, horror evident on his features. She realized what he was staring at instantly, and her fingers flew to the shiny pin-prick scars there. Her face fell at once, and she stepped forward to touch Angel on the arm. “Angel, please, listen-”

“You let him feed from you, touch you, Buffy?” He was staring at her with disgust, drawing back from her touch. “I can smell him, all over you. What you’ve been doing.”

“Look, it’s not like that,” she said desperately. “Spike’s good now, he has been for awhile. Since before I died, he’s been helping and doing the right thing.”

A short, barking laugh escaped Angel’s lips. “So, what, he’s got a soul now? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, no. But still, he’s been there for me, okay? A lot more than anyone else.”

“So you’ve been fucking him cause, what, he was there for you? ‘Cause he’s nice to you?” He was staring at her, disbelievingly, his mouth twisted up in rage. “Spike is not a good guy, trust me. I’ve only known him, been with him, for nearly a hundred plus years.”

“You made him what he is,” Buffy said quietly, looking into his eyes. “Even if that’s not who you are anymore, you’re the one that taught him. And that’s not Spike, either. He’s changed.”

“Do you hear yourself, Buffy? There’s no gray matter in this! I changed because I got a soul. If Spike’s any different it’s because of the chip. You think he’d hesitate to kill you and your friends if he could get rid of it?”

“If he wanted to kill any of us, he would have. He could kill me if he wanted – I’ve given him the chance.” She bared her neck to him, and he averted his eyes. She could feel his repulsion towards her; it was coming off in waves. Reaching out a hand to touch his arm, she offered a conciliatory smile. “He’s changed Angel, and for the better.”

“Spike doesn’t change,” Angel said finally, the words coming out strangled with emotion. Buffy shook her head – it was obviously a mistake to come here. She stepped back, turned to leave.

“We can’t be friends, Angel. Spike was right, when he told us that. You think this world is black and white, good and bad. I used to, too. But its not, and there’s a million different shades of color in this world.”



“And all I feel is black and white
And I’m wound up small and tight
And I don’t know who I am.”