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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 23: Glimpse
 
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Author's Notes: To make up for the shortness of the last chapter, this one is extra long. Actually… it just worked out that way. Special thanks to everyone who reviewed, and you can thank Elfin_Miss and Science for telling me to go ahead and post this early.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains dialogue adapted from the episode "Crush" written by David Fury.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae







Chapter 23

Glimpse


In all the not-really-excitement lately I almost forgot that we have a test coming up in European Literature tomorrow. Haven’t really had time to read the book, plus I totally didn’t understand most of the first few chapters. I mean, who uses words like “cavalcade” and “bedezined”? And what’s a “burgomaster”?

So, I stopped off at the video store and rented the movie on the way to class. I can watch it tonight and then skim the book. Hopefully the versions aren’t too different. Hopefully the movie was filmed in English. And if there are singing/dancing gargoyles… bonus!

Okay, so I got both versions. Just in case.

"They could have the wedding right there. Beneath the very bell-tower where he labored thanklessly for all those years," Willow says, sighing dramatically as we leave the lecture hall.

"No, see, it can't, it can't end like that, 'cause all of Quasimodo's actions were selfishly motivated," Tara argues as we stop so she can buy a soda. "He had no moral compass, no understanding of right. Everything he did, he did out of love for a woman who would never be able to love him back. Also, you can tell it's not gonna have a happy ending when the main guy's all bumpy."

They ask my opinion, but, I'm not sure. On the one hand, ew, hunchback. But he loved her, I guess, and he did good things because he loved her, right? I'll have to watch the movie to be sure. Opinions can totally wait ‘til tomorrow.

We’re passing through one of the sitting areas when a newspaper headline catches my eye.

“You were done with this, right?” I ask the guy reading it.

Apparently there were several murders on the late night train at Sunnydale Station. Unconfirmed reports of one or more victims suffering from severe neck trauma. Great. Just what I needed. Another vampire.

***


I stop off at home to drop off my books and check on mom, then head over to the Magic Box. Giles is out on an errand, but Xander is there with Anya.

“I need to check something out at Sunnydale Station,” I tell him. “If you don’t have anything else to do, wanna come with?”

“We have plans tonight,” Anya reminds him.

“It shouldn’t take that long,” I tell them.

“Sure,” he says. “What kind of weapons do we need? Swords? Stakes? Crossbows?”

“Flashlights,” I tell him.

***


Thank God for car heaters. Why don't I have a car again? Oh. Right. You have to drive it.

“So demons take the train now?” Xander says, cranking the heat up around my feet.

“I’m pretty sure it was a vampire,” I tell him. “According to the paper it was the night train up from LA. Easy enough for them to board there and get off here without worrying about the burning ball of death in the sky.”

“Los Angeles. You don’t think it was…” he frowns, but I know what he’s thinking.

“No, I don’t think it’s Angel. I tried to call earlier, but he wasn’t answering his phone. I’ll try again later, but I really don’t think it’s him.”

I hope.

When we get there it’s still pretty light out, but the sun is starting to set. I’m not too worried. Whatever was here is long gone by now. It’s easy enough to get inside. When I go to break the yellow crime scene tape across the doorway, though, I’m hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu. It’s not quite the subway from my dream, but it’s pretty close. A shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature goes down my spine.

The train is pretty clean. All that’s really left are the taped outlines of where the bodies were and the blood the cleaning crews haven’t been able to get out of the upholstery.

“What are we looking for again?” Xander asks, shining his flashlight over the seats.

“Clues,” I tell him.

“Wanna clue me in on what kind of clues?”

“I just want to know for sure it was a vamp attack, and if so, how many.”

“Not much left,” Xander comments. “Sunnydale's finest didn't leave us a lot of stuff to examine … who knows how many people have traipsed through here.”

“There’s got to be something,” I say. We go up and down the aisles, sweeping the floors and seats, but there’s nothing to be found. Still, it feels like a vamp attack. I just hope we’re dealing with only one.

***


Patrol is, as is becoming far too usual, cold. I'm not sure why I start with Restfield but Spike is nowhere to be found. In fact the whole night is eerily quiet, as if waiting for something. It's giving me the wiggins. I take the rest of patrol as fast as I can, almost relieved that my fights are limited to a single vamp way out in Oak Grove.

I’d asked around at the local demon bars earlier to see if anyone had heard of anything in town strong enough to beat up Spike—but nobody knew anything. Actually, some of them laughed about it, at least until I threatened to shut them up permanently. None of them had any idea what came in on the train either.

I can’t help but feel like there's something I'm missing. Guess I should check Restfield one more time.

When I get there, it's as if even the dead are holding their breath, which… yeah, I know, makes no sense, but you get the idea. Spike's crypt is quiet and I don't feel him anywhere nearby, but still… can't hurt to check it out, right? Maybe he really is up to something. Or maybe there's some kind of clue as to what beat him up. Or… maybe he knows something about the mess on the train.

Instead of kicking the door, I ease it open. "Spike?" I call, glancing around the dark interior. Only my voice echoes back. The TV is off, and his chair is empty, and he's clearly not sleeping on one of the stone coffins like he normally does. Still, you'd think a place like this would feel abandoned, but it doesn't, even with all the dust and cobwebs and bits of paper scattered around and… hey… I never noticed that before.

There's a stone slab in the back of the crypt, and when I lift it, light filters up from the hole below. A wooden ladder leads down into what looks like some kind of cavern. Suddenly I remember seeing Spike hauling rubble out of here last summer… maybe this is what he was doing? Carefully I go down the ladder, then grab a torch off the wall. There's a couple of chambers here, it looks like. One off to the left is full of busted up coffins, their residents long gone. Or maybe that's where he found the skulls that are decorating the place.

Ugh. Could he be any more cliché?

The other chamber, however, is a total surprise. This space is lived in. There's a desk of some sort, covered in random weapons, scraps of paper and old books. When I look at the spines I'm even more shocked to see that most of them are poetry books, though there's a few on spells and curses—which is also weird since I know Spike hates magic. Huh. Past that is a great big king sized bed, covered in red and black sheets, that looks wickedly comfortable. Nightstands at either side of it are also covered in books and weapons. I wonder if he sleeps upstairs sometimes just to hide the fact that he's got a vampire's dream bed down here?

Also, I really like some of his weapons. I wonder if he'd miss this dagger? Or let me borrow it sometime, only then I'd have to explain what I was doing in his bedroom and… that's a conversation that I'd really like to avoid. I leave the dagger. For now.

A shelf off to the side holds a stereo and a bunch of CDs, mostly punk but also a pretty decent collection of classic rock and some more modern stuff, too. A trunk tucked in the corner opens to reveal Spike's clothes. Five or six pairs of black jeans, a ton of black T-shirts, and some colored button downs tossed on top. And I'm only going through his clothes because there might be something evil hidden in there.

I mean, I hide stuff in my underwear drawer so it stands to reason that Spike would, too, right? Only, I'm not finding any underwear in here.

And ew, I can't believe I'm seriously thinking about Spike's underwear.

But the only thing I find aside from clothes are a few more weapons and a small velvet bag that contains a very, very old woman's ring done in a fine gold filigree, which I put back carefully. If this went missing, I get the feeling he'd notice. I wonder whose it was?

A corner of the room opens into a tunnel, and when I poke the torch in, I can see water and sewer tunnels down at the end. This must be how he gets around town. There's even a niche in another corner that he's turned into a makeshift sort of shower using an exposed overhead pipe. Huh. Spike shampoos. Weird. There's a thing of hair bleach, too, and soap that, when I sniff it, smells like… well, like Spike.

Huh.

I mean, I know Angel showered regularly, but somehow the thought of Spike in the shower never really crossed my mind. Only now it is. Really is. And whoa… time to think of something else fast because suddenly I'm remembering his bare chest at Christmas and how he felt dancing with me Friday night and thinking about naked Spike and bars of soap and running water is really, really not…

What was that?

My Slayer sense prickles at the back of my neck. Vampire upstairs, but… it doesn't feel like Spike. It's familiar, sort of. Kinda like how Mr. Gordo is familiar only… not. This is muffled too, mostly by distance, but it's getting closer, and clearer.

And I'm sort of trapped in Spike's bedroom. Not good.

Who the hell is visiting Spike? I hear soft footsteps nearing the ladder and try to think fast. Dust them as they come down stairs? Or hang out and see what they're up to?

I stick the torch in a sconce and move back into the tunnel to the sewer so I have an escape route, in case I need it. I've also got a decent view of the bedroom, though the area around the entrance is blocked from sight. There's some loose rubble to the side of the tunnel, tall enough for me to crouch behind. I wait.

The vamp is coming closer, and now I can hear it humming. I realize who it is before she steps into the light.

Drusilla.

Ugh. She's as skinny and skanky as I remember, though her hair is a little shorter and more modern, and her dress is uglier, showing off her scrawny arms. Someone should really tell her that purple makeup is not her color, too. I guess this answers my question about who came in on the train last night.

She moves around the room, not being as careful as I was, touching Spike's stuff curiously. Suddenly her head comes up and she sniffs. Crap. I forgot she can probably smell me. But the scent of the sewer behind me ought to be strong enough to drown it out. Maybe?

Only not, because she's moving this way, swaying a little like a snake, her head swiveling from side to side as she sniffs delicately at the air. She starts to hum a little as she comes closer, then sings softly.

"The lion and the unicorn
were fighting for the crown.
The lion beat the unicorn
all around the town…"


She takes a step into the shadows, lifting her head and singing softly into the darkness.

"Some gave them white bread,
and some gave them brown;
some gave them plum cake
and drummed them out of town."


A noise from above makes her freeze, then a slow sly smile spreads across her lips. "Shhhh!" she whispers into the darkness. "You think you are the sparrow, but I know you now, little dove." She straightens and turns back into the bedroom and then glides out of sight.

A moment later I hear Spike call out. "Who's there?"

"Look who's come to make things right, my pretty Spike," Drusilla croons. I can't see either of them at this angle, but I don't dare move. I don't know if she knows I'm here or not, or if it's just that she's completely nuts, but no way am I going to chance it. Besides, if I listen maybe I'll figure out what Spike is hiding, right?

"Dru," Spike says. "What are you doing here?" Okay, so Drusilla in town wasn't expected. And Spike doesn't sound too happy about it either.

"I've come to make us a family again. Mummy has come back to us now. Only now I'm the mummy," she says, giggling. Ugh. How the hell did Spike put up with this nutcase for a hundred years? Also, 'mummy'?

"Darla's dead, Dru. Angel dusted her himself," Spike says, and I hear his footsteps approaching before I see him come around the corner. He’s all healed now, only the littlest bit of yellow around his eyes show the bruising I saw the other night. He stops by the foot of the bed, frowning at the wall. I can't see Dru, but I hear her moving around.

"But she came back," she singsongs. "She tasted of magic and sin. I drank her all down and made Mummy my own darling girl." She finally steps into view, doing her little snaky dance thing up to Spike who doesn't look like he's buying it at all. "Daddy was not pleased. But he will be. Soon he will be one of us again. Just like you, my pretty Spike."

I kinda hate the way she says his name. It's like she's saying "Spoike" which just is annoying and weird. She cups his cheek in one skinny hand and I watch with revulsion as Spike leans into it for a minute. Then he frowns and sighs, moving his head away.

"So, let me get this straight. Darla got herself mo-jo'd back from the beyond, you vamped her, and now she and you are… working to turn Angel into his old evil self again?"

"Mmm hmmm," she says, moving around him and stroking his hair. He doesn't look like he's enjoying it, which is weird, because I thought Spike was all about Drusilla. Shouldn't this be like his dream come true? And clearly I need to give Angel a call. What the hell is going on in LA?

"Sounds fun," Spike says, though his tone indicates he thinks it's anything but. Looney Tunes, however, doesn't seem to get sarcasm because she just smiles and giggles.

"It is. Like lollipops at the circus. Although… didn't care for Angelus setting us on fire." She rubs her chest and I realize she's got burn marks on her chest and face. Go Angel. Pity it didn't take. Spike doesn't look like he's moved at all by her injuries.

"And this has… what? Got you all nostalgic now, has it?" he asks, arching his scarred eyebrow.

"I want us to be a family again, my William," she says, leaning close and whispering something in his ear.

Crap. I can't let that happen. Between the three of them I'm sure Darla, Drusilla, and Spike can find a way to make Angel lose his soul again. This has disaster written all over it. And why wouldn't Spike go? Drusilla's the big skanky love of his unlife. It'd be easy enough for her to feed him her leftovers. He could be rolling in blood and death without having to even lift a finger.

Only Spike isn't looking all that tempted.

"To Los Angeles? I've done the whole LA scene, Dru. Didn't agree with me. Besides, I've got a nice little setup here. Decent digs and all the tasty townies I can eat." He smirks proudly.

WHAT?

That chill from earlier is crawling back up my spine, prepared for another slide down. Since when has Spike been able to feed? Could he have gotten the chip out after all? Could he have been faking it all this time? Or part of this time? Lulling us into a false sense of whatsis so that he can kill all of us? Why—

"Naughty!" Drusilla says, frowning at him the way you would a badly behaved child. "Needn't make up stories. I know why you're not coming. Tin soldiers put little knick-knacks in your brain. Can't hunt. Can't hurt. Can't kill." She puts her hands to her temples and mimics Spike getting shocked. "You've got a chip," she says, reaching for his head. He jerks out of her reach, angry.

"Right," he growls. "So you've heard. Poor Spike's become a cautionary tale for vampires. 'You better be good kiddies or they might wire you up someday!'" With a snarl he kicks at the nightstand and glares when a bunch of stuff falls off.

I breathe a little easier. Okay, so I don't have to worry about Spike eating people. He's still chipped, and still ticked about it. Good to know. But Dru's not done yet.

"I don't believe in science," she says. I roll my eyes. Science isn't something you believe in, dimwit. That's like saying I don't believe in trees or something. "All those bits and molecules that no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone." She moves closer to Spike, then grabs his hand and presses it up against her skinny chest, moaning a little. Oh, ew. If I have to watch vampire sex I'm so dusting both of them. Spike, however, is still frowning.

"Do you know what mine is crying out?" she says. "You're a killer. Born to smash, and bash, and bleed… like beautiful poetry. No little tinkertoy could ever stop you from flowing."

I can't help but study Spike's face. It helps that whatever he's thinking tends to play out across it, and right now he's got this odd look, half hopeful, and half resigned. He pulls his hand away from her, shaking his head. "But you don't understand. The pain, luv, it's searing… blinding."

He means it, too. His expression is so open and… vulnerable. For the first time I wonder what it must be like, to have something in your head zap you hard every time you do something it doesn't like. I mean, I get that what it's keeping Spike from doing is kinda necessary, cause killing is definitely of the bad, but…

"All in your head," Drusilla says, petting his hair. "I can see it. Little bit of plastic, spider webbing out nasty blue shocks. And each of them is a lie. Electricity lies, Spike. It tells you that you're not a bad dog, but you are."

She growls playfully, but the look in Spike's eyes is bleak. For a long moment he just stares at her, and I watch as the muscles in his jaw tighten, then relax. Emotions dance across his face, but none of them I can really put a name to. Finally he seems to come to a conclusion, and he draws himself up straight, pulling away from her again and putting some distance between them.

"Maybe. Maybe it does lie. But I'm not what I was, Dru. Not anymore. I can't go back."

Huh?

Spike is… turning her down? But… why? And what does he mean he's not what he was? What does that mean? He's a vampire. A demon.

Suddenly I remember Tara, months ago. 'Maybe he's changing…'

Could it be possible? Could the chip have really changed him so much? I'm so shocked it takes a minute to process that Dru is talking again.

"You're so cold, my William," she says reaching out to touch his chest, then snatching her hand back as if burnt. " But your heart burns, like dandelions in the sun. It's burnt me all up and all I am in you is ash." The look on her face is a parody of sadness, like a mime. She starts to step back, then notices something on the floor by her feet. A battered leather book of some kind. "What's this?" she asks, picking it up.

Spike's face has gone tight, and there's this weird look of … hope? in his eyes. "Just a journal," he says, his eyes riveted to her. She opens it and starts flipping through, then suddenly tosses it across the room with a shriek, burying her face in her hands.

Okay, note to self: Spike's writing must be REALLY bad. She's whimpering something softly, but I can't really hear her. And he's staring at her as if she's grown another head. Finally she backs away from him, as if frightened. "My poor, poor William. So trapped. So cold. She will put out your fire, then put out the sunshine and all the world will be cold."

Hello Mr. Shiver. Welcome back.

Cold. She. Putting out the sun sure sounds like world-endage.

"What are you prattling about?" Spike asks, looking confused and tired at the same time.

"Poor Spike, so lost. Not even I can help you now," she says sadly.

Oooookay.

"You should go," Spike says. Now he just seems tired. "If the Slayer finds out you were here… about the train, Dru… you're not strong enough to fight her."

Yeah, he's right, and I should dust her right now, only… that means letting Spike know I've been spying on him. Crap.

"You wouldn't let her," Dru says. She's stepped out of my view now, but she sounds sad. "I know your heart. If it came to that, you'd kill me first."

Spike doesn't look like he's going to disagree. Instead he just looks sad. "Get out of here, Dru. Leave Sunnydale. Don’t come back. I'm not your Spike anymore."

I hear her footsteps retreat, then go up the stairs. Spike runs a hand down his face and sighs.

Me? I'm definitely confused. Part of me wants to believe that Spike is just up to his old tricks again. But… he doesn't know I'm here, so why would he do this? Why would he turn away Drusilla when he spent more than a year moping and crying over her? It doesn't make any sense… not unless I believe that he's changed. And that's not possible and even if it were… why? There's nothing in it for him. He doesn't have a soul, so it's not like he's capable of figuring out right and wrong. So what gives?

He bends and picks up the stuff off the floor, putting it back on the nightstand. With a shrug he slides his duster off his shoulders, then sits on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, knocking his curls loose.

"Bloody women," he mutters just loudly enough I hear it. He glances over at the ladder, head tilted to the side as if listening. He shakes his head, then bends and undoes the laces on his boots, kicking them off and then peeling off his socks, flexing his bare toes with a groan of pleasure.

Huh? What is he doing? His button down shirt is the next to go. It takes a minute for my brain to put things together. Oh. God. He's getting ready for bed and… whoa. Grabbing his t-shirt at the hem he peels it over his head, giving me an eyeful of pale, rippling muscles, chiseled abs and an absolutely lickable ches—-

My brain comes to a screeching halt.

Did I just think of Spike as lickable? And oh god he's unbuckling his belt and pulling it through the loops and unbuttoning his…

I make a noise. A squeak maybe, or a gasp, or—please god let me have gagged. Spike freezes and his head snaps up, looking in my direction. Abandoning his jeans—which leaves them unbuttoned, if still zipped, thank god, but only precariously clinging to his hips and oh god he's got those ridgey muscle things over his hips and now I know why there weren't any underwear because he clearly isn't wearing any and please let his jeans stay up, please let his jeans stay up, pleaselethisjeans—he tilts his head to the side again, listening.

Then he sniffs, and his eyes narrow.

He takes a slow step in my direction, his head lowering a little, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. Spike the vampire, on the prowl, only he seems way more dangerous without the duster and the shirt and the boots. Bigger somehow, more masculine, and his jeans are riding a little lower on his hips and this time I know I catch my breath because somehow I feel like if I can just hold it a little longer it'll keep his jeans up, which makes no sense, I know, but babbling Buffy brain is in control and the Slayer has left the building for the moment.

He sniffs again.

"I'll take olfactory senses for five hundred, Alex." he says softly. "Coconut. Strawberries. Sunshine. What are three scents that don't belong in my bed chamber?" Another slow step forward, then another. He pauses at the tunnel entrance, the light behind him casting his front in shadow and outlining all that pale muscle from behind. With a soft snort, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares into the darkness. "I suppose there's a good reason why you're lurking about down here, or were you just playing Peeping Slayer?"

I stand up, brushing off my pants. There's no use pretending he doesn't know I'm here anymore. "There was no peeping," I tell him. "Besides, how was I to know you were gonna…" I gesture vaguely at his rippliness, glad he's half in shadow at the moment, because I think his jeans slipped another half inch and I really don't want to know exactly what his natural hair color is.

"Go to bed?" he supplies. How does he manage to make it sound both innocent and dirty at the same time?

"Strip," I say, blushing furiously.

"If that's what you were after, should've kept quiet, Slayer. You missed the grand finale. I prefer to sleep naked," he says, stepping back into the light and hooking his thumbs in the empty belt loops of his jeans, dragging them even lower.

Brown.

Well. His eyebrows should have been a hint but some people dye their eyebrows and he bleaches his hair so it's not entirely unfair to assume that he might have dyed his eyebrows for effect but it's clear that he doesn't because, yeah, brown and dark and ohmygodi'mstaringatSpike'scrotch.

I jerk my eyes back to his face just in time to see the smirk there. Slowly he reaches for his fly, and suddenly I'm having a hard time swallowing as his big hands grip the fabric, and I watch, fascinated—no, horrified—as his black tipped fingers move to his zipper and…

…tug it back up where it had started to slip, then fasten the button at the top.

Huh.

With a cocky hitch in his step he moves back to the bed and scoops up his button down, pulling it on but leaving it unbuttoned, which in some ways is a relief and in others… really not helping. Still, hanging out back here in the tunnel strikes me as cowardly, and there is no way in hell I'm going to let Spike think I'm a coward, so I plaster on my best determined face and stalk back into his bed… chamber-thingy.

"I wasn't trying to see you naked, Spike," I tell him, frowning.

"Yeah? So what were you doing? Snooping about hoping to find some evidence of my grand evil plan? Hoping I'd wander in here and have a long chat with a minion, revealing everything I'm up to?" He rolls his eyes. I make a face and he smirks. "You were, weren't you?" Clearly amused he gives me a grin, his tongue rolled obscenely behind his teeth.

"No," I say. He smirks again. Stupid smug vampire. "Well… maybe the first one."

"Find anything evil, Slayer?" he asks, leaning back against the footboard.

"Just your decorating style," I grumble. He laughs, and I'm surprised by how genuine it is, almost warm. Somehow tonight is not going to plan. "Aren't you going to ask how much I overheard?"

"Don't need to ask," he says. "I'd wager you've been here the whole time. Heard every word, didn't you?"

"Almost," I admit. "Not that any of it made sense. I don't get it, Spike. Why didn't you go with her?"

He looks thoughtful. "Which reason do you want, pet?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You want the real reason or do you just want the one you're gonna believe?"

"I want the truth, Spike."

He sits down on the bed again and rakes his fingers through his hair, then reaches for a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand only to find it's empty. With a sigh, he tosses the empty box into a corner and finally looks at me, bracing his hands on either side of his thighs and giving me a great view of his abs.

Wait. No. Bad Buffy. No looking at Spike abs. Evil Vampire, Evil Abs, remember?

"The truth…” he mutters. "Truth is… I'm changing, Buffy. I know, you don't think that's possible, and it sounds daft to me too, but there you go. I'm not what I was."

"Spike—"

"Look, Slayer. I don't know if it's the chip or if it's… being around your do-gooder lot all the time but… I've changed, and it doesn't matter whether you believe it or not. It's true." He looks sincere, but it doesn't make any sense. And I can't believe it. Before, at Christmas, I'd thought I could, but now, confronted with this… I can't.

Because if I believe it's possible for Spike to change without a soul it means that Angel…

Down that path lies badness, so instead I focus on the problem at hand.

"Spike, you haven't changed. You don't have a soul. That chip in your head… it's just holding you back. You're like a serial killer in prison—"

"Then why didn't I go with Dru?" he asks, softly. "Chip only keeps me from hurting or killing. I can feed on the already dead. Be easy enough to let Dru take ‘em down and feast on the remains."

"Ew."

He rolls his eyes and stands, striding toward me and stopping only a few feet away. "Remember what I told you before? There's me, and the demon and… what's left? The demon… it wants blood. Always will. I'll always be a vampire. Can't change that. But I… it's not like it was. I'm not like I was. I can be good, Buffy."

"Spike—," I begin, not even sure what I'm going to say, because what do you say to that? There's nothing in the Slayer Handbook about what to do with chipped vampires who think that they're not evil anymore. At least, not that I remember. It's not like I read the whole thing. Have you seen how big it is?

"I can," Spike insists, and I can tell his temper is fraying a little. "And if you weren't so bloody blind you'd see it, too."

He growls, frustrated and stalks away, muttering under his breath about "bloody women" and something about lapdogs and sex toys that I really don't think I want to know about.

Nothing about this night has gone like I'd thought. Or like I would have thought if I'd taken the time to actually, you know, think about it. I'd half expected to find evidence that Spike was working against me when I'd come in here, and instead I get… what? Skanky ex-girlfriends and Spike strip shows that I'm totally not still thinking about and … and… weird vampires who don't want to act like vampires. I'm so confused right now I'm surprised I'm not dizzy.

Spike's given up on the pacing and now he's just standing there, watching me with an unreadable expression in his eyes. I can't… I can't figure this out right now. It's too much.

"I should go," I say, lamely. "It's late."

"Right," he says, his brows drawing together. His jaw works for a minute, as if he wants to say something else, but then stops himself. I'm glad. I don't think I can take much more in the way of Confessions of a Former Serial Killer right now.

I turn to go, then look around.

"Word of advice?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want me to take you seriously about the whole not-so-evil thing? Lose the skulls. They're creepy."

He grins, but it's not mocking, it's friendly. "Still a vampire, pet. S'ambiance."

"It's creepy," I tell him, and climb up the ladder.



***


Only when I open his crypt door I'm surprised to be greeted by a wall of white swirling flakes and a gust of wind so cold that it chills me straight to the bone. "Crap."

"What's the matter?" he asks, climbing out of the hole and coming up to peer around me. "Oh. Bloody hell."

Just what I needed tonight. I'm tired and confused and I just want to go home. "I can't walk home in that," I grumble. Spike slides me a considering look.

"Could wait it out, I suppose," he says.

Here? With him? Uh… no. I tuck my hands under my arms to warm my fingers. The cold doesn't seem to bother him, even though he's standing in front of the open door in nothing but his jeans and an open shirt. "In case you haven't noticed, Spike, it's almost as cold in here as it is out there."

"Not downstairs," he says with a shrug.

Downstairs there is a really big bed. A tiny little voice in the back of my head points out that I'm already sleeping next to one vampire every night, and it's not like Spike can hurt me. I tell it to shut up.

"The sewers!" I say, grasping hold of safety with both hands. "There's a sewer entrance not far from my house, right?"

"Right," Spike says slowly.

"Okay, can you take me there?"

"It's three in the bleedin’ morning, Slayer and you want me to walk you home through the sewers?" There's something wrong about incredulous vampires.

"Yep," I say, determined not to spend the night in Spike's crypt. He rolls his eyes as if to say that I'm the insane one… as if he didn't just have a conversation with the Queen of Toontown only half an hour ago.

"Suit yourself," he says and leads the way back down the ladder.

I turn my back while he gets dressed again, and when I turn back around I'm relieved to see that he's fully clothed minus the duster, which he leaves behind. "Come on then, Slayer."

"Wait a minute," I ask, halting at the tunnel entrance. "Don't we need a torch?" He gives me a measuring look.

"Plenty of light," he says. "I can see just fine. A little trust wouldn't be amiss here, Summers, since I'm doing you a bloody favor. Besides, I'm not carrying a flaming torch through the sewers like a ruddy beacon." He raises his eyebrows in challenge.

Okay. I can do this.

I follow him into the tunnel. He pauses at the end of it, where it opens up into the sewers, giving me time for my eyes to adjust. I'm relieved to see that I can… see, that is. Barely. A little light filters down through the grates overhead. Spike's pale hair and face seem almost ghostly in the dim light, but at least I can follow him.

It's not a long walk. At least not above ground. Down here we have to take several twists and turns and nothing seems to go in a straight line. It’s like a Labyrinth down here. I’ve used the sewers before but it’d be easy to get lost in them. Some of them seem older than Sunnydale itself.

Still, Spike seems to know where he’s going. He doesn’t even pause to consider the turns. Which makes me wonder just why he knows the way to my house so well.

“You know these tunnels pretty well,” I say, narrowing my eyes at his back.

“Gotta get around during the day somehow, Slayer,” he says. “Can’t exactly go for a stroll topside.”

“Where do you go during the day?” I ask. “I thought you slept.” Maybe its a trick of the light, but I could swear the muscles in his back tense.

“I do,” he says. “But if I wake up early I nip down to Willy’s for a drink, sometimes. Or the cinema. Or the hosp—er, the uh, hospice center.”

“We don’t have a hospice center in Sunnydale,” I remind him.

“Balls,” he mutters.

“Tell me you’re not stealing bagged blood from the hospital, Spike,” I say.

“I’m not stealing bagged blood from the hospital, Slayer,” he says, mockingly. Then he looks me in the eye. “Anymore.”

I roll my eyes. “If you want me to believe that whole ‘I can be good’ thing? You better not be,” I tell him. "Are we there yet?"

He nods at a grating just up ahead. "Almost.”

When he lifts the cover off, snow falls down through the hole and more is blowing in. As dark as it is, there's a weird sort of half-light reflecting off the snow, but the result is still blinding. Crap. I don't think I can see in that. I might have to go back to his crypt and wait it out after all.

I wonder why I'm not more disturbed by that thought.

"Come on," he yells down, climbing out. Or, you know, I could follow the crazy vampire out into the blizzard.

"I can't see!" I tell him when I get to the top of the ladder. He grabs my elbow in a gentle grip and leans close to my ear so I can hear him over the wind.

"I've got you," he says. "It's just that way, about fifty feet." He gestures with his free hand, but he might as well be pointing up for all the good it does. "Let's move," he says, keeping his grip on my elbow and leading me into the storm. It's like being in my dream room again, only white instead of dark. Through the stinging flakes trying their best to blind me I can see Spike beside me, barely, his hand on my arm the only point of contact I've got with the world. I should hate being so dependent on him, but it's weirdly comforting, knowing he's there.

Almost… familiar.

I frown, trying to place the sensation.

It feels…

Like Mr. Gordo.

I freeze suddenly, staring hard at him through the swirling flakes. He spins to look at me. He's vamped, and the glow of his gold eyes shines through the snow. "You alright?" he asks, and it's a weird phrase to hear around his fangs, but he's not acting hostile. Maybe he can see better through the snow when he's in game face. I nod slowly. "Then let's go, you daft bint, before you turn into Slayer on a Stick." I let him lead me forward. I can worry about whether or not he's Mr. Gordo later.

The snow that looks so fluffy and soft usually has turned into stinging needles against my skin, sliding down under my coat and clothes. The cold seeps through my thick snow boots and socks, and my fingers, even in gloves feel frozen and numb. My nose and ears hurt they're so cold, and I can't see a thing. Even my footing is bad, as we wobble through the deepening drifts. Spike's fingers on my elbow steady me and guide me forward, at least until I slip. Then, without protest, he wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me up against his side, anchoring me there with vampiric strength.

It seems like it takes forever, but soon we're stumbling up some steps and there's a light ahead, only a few feet away. Spike bangs on the door and it's thrown open to reveal my mom standing inside, looking worried as hell. "Buffy!" she says, catching me as I slip slightly when my icy shoes hit the tile floor. "Oh, I was so worried."

"I'm fine," I tell her, and I am, now, even though the blissful warmth of the kitchen is almost painful on my freezing skin. My teeth are chattering so hard they're rattling my skull. Mom hugs me tight and pulls me further into the kitchen.

"How did you get home?" she asks, pushing my wet hair back from my face and staring at me in concern.

"Spike—," I say, turning toward the door.

But he's gone. The doorway is empty, except for a white wall of falling snow.






 
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