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The Demon in Me by Spikeschilde
 
Chapters 25 - 27
 
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Chapter 25


Spike growled loudly, shoving his way through the panicking humans that cluttered the hall. He could feel Buffy. Her presence was all around him, teasing him with its closeness yet eluding him when he tried to reach out for her. He couldn’t make out whether she was conscious or hurt and his demon raged beneath his skin to be let out and help its subconsciously chosen mate.

The entire upper floor stunk of magicks. The air was thick with it and without even extending his senses, Spike could tell that the Council had bumped up their schedule and the ritual had begun a night early.

The thought of Buffy being bound to anyone was enough to make Spike’s demon howl with fury, but the idea that she might be bound to someone within the Council ranks so that her power could be abused and used as nothing more than a weapon for their use…

He let the faint sounds of chanting and the thick stench of magicks guide him down the corridor as he concentrated on picking up some trace of her presence. The presence of the Watcher and her friends behind him went practically unnoticed as Spike finally came to stand in front of the door that he knew would lead him to her.

He reached down and tested the door handle—locked. So much for the element of surprise, he thought as he drew back his leg and kicked the door in, tearing it right off its hinges in the process.

His eyes immediately sought the familiarity of her form, looking for reassurance, for solid proof that she was alright. When they landed on her he felt for a moment like the floor had dropped out from beneath him, a jolt of unpleasant tingles pulsed once in his stomach, leaving him with a nauseated feeling as he gazed at her.

Buffy looked dead. Her skin that had once held a golden brown tan was so white that it almost looked blue, and her lips were void of any of their natural rose colour and instead they appeared as translucent as her skin. Her hair was limp, her eyes closed and her skin looked as if it had been stretched across her bones. She looked starved and weak as she lay motionless, completely helpless to what was going on around her.

Spike swallowed heavily and for a split second was frozen in place, unable to help her. Waves of fear threatened to bubble over and fully incapacitate him, but soon he was moving across the room in a blur to get to her.

His demon burst onto his face with a snarl that was equal parts enraged at what he saw and happy at finally being given control.

Without thinking, Spike threw himself at the bastard that could claim parental status over the Slayer, moving quickly to avoid being caught off guard and restrained as he had been when Hank had first taken Buffy.

Hank pulled himself out of the haze of his trance a moment too late to stop the fist aimed at his head from connecting with its target. The blow was brutal, a loud crack emanating through the air as the warlock fell to the ground with a dislocated jaw bone.

Hank moaned in pain as his hand came up to cup his face. His eyes were wide and held a fear in them he had never felt before as he looked up at a demon that he had left for dead and now was defenceless against—unable to chant, unable to whisper an incantation that would see him through this alive.

“You deserve a lot worse that what you’re going to get. But fortunately for you mate, I’m running on a schedule.” A booted foot was slammed down across Hank’s face hard enough to knock him out but not kill him.

Spike’s demon howled miserably from within, wanting to finish the job, but Spike turned away. As much as he wanted to drain the bastard dry, Buffy needed him and Spike wasn’t certain that she had as much time as it would take for him to finish the job properly.

Spike’s eyes fell on Travers as he turned to face the circle once more. The man was on his hands and knees halfway across the circle when he realised he was being watched. A sudden realisation burst into the fore of Spike’s mind upon seeing him and with it an almost overwhelming feeling of sickness as he took in the state of the man.

Sweat was beading across his forehead and dribbling down the side of his face with the exertion that was forced on his body as he became a conduit for the magicks being wielded. He was clad only in black silk pyjama bottoms and intricate designs had been painted in a thin strip down the centre of his chest. There was no random Council lackey to be bound to his Slayer. It was the head honcho himself.

A small snarl curled at Spike’s lips as he began making his way towards Travers.

“You sick bastard!” His voice was low and dangerous. Travers barely flinched though as he returned the vampires glare with his own steely gaze.

Travers slowly pushed himself to his feet within the circle so he could stare directly back at the vampire in a manner that had helped gain him the position as Head of the Watchers’ Council. If there was one thing Quentin knew he was good at it was intimidation.

“I, ah, wouldn’t be doing that if I were you.” The Watcher spoke up as Spike moved to take a step inside the circle. Quentin’s voice was only slightly out of breath as he continued to combat the magicks that were pulsing through his system. There was no way he could even entertain the thought of taking the vampire in a fight in this state and he knew it, not to mention he didn’t have a stake anywhere on his person.

Spike paused and raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

“The ritual has begun and there is nothing you can do to stop it. One step inside this circle and you could risk killing us both,” Travers answered motioning to the inert form of the Slayer at his side.

Spike stopped abruptly at the edge of the circle just as he had been about to take a step in and let his eyes flick to the Slayer. “You’re bluffing.”

Quentin let a slow smirk slide onto his features. “Are you prepared to find out?”

Spike looked unsure. His instincts told him it was a bluff, but Buffy’s life hung in the balance so he remained hesitant.

“Yes, wouldn’t want to hurt your precious Slayer now would you? Hank told me all about you. William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers… willingly siding with the Slayer? Somehow that reality doesn’t fit the image I had of you.” Spike shrugged and remained unaffected by the goad as he took up a casual stance despite his tense state.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said offhandedly in response.

“I never said I was disappointed.” A tense silence settled over them following that statement. Spike’s eyes strayed to the Slayer once more wondering whether it was his imagination or whether she seemed to be getting bluer.

“So, how do you intend to finish your ritual, now? You seem to be one man down,” Spike noted, tossing his head in the direction of Hank’s unconscious form, aware that his time was rapidly running out.

Travers looked over Spike’s shoulder casually and shrugged. “He has played his part. The rest of the ritual can be done without his input. His chanting would have only emphasised the passing of magicks during the…act.” Travers grinned at him.

Spike snarled and went to take a step forward before looking down once more at the ring of dried blood marking the carpet.

“Wouldn’t want to do anything rash now would you, William?” Travers provoked as he walked casually across to the slayer and knelt down beside her as he ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “She really is very beautiful. If not a bit strong willed though, perhaps I can break her of the habit. After all, we will have all of eternity.”

Spike growled again and looked between Travers and the ring of dried blood. He could feel the magicks crackling in the air all around him. The Watcher’s heart was rapidly increasing in pace and his breathing was becoming laboured. His eyes drifted to Buffy’s motionless form once more and Spike made his decision.

“You know what, mate? I think you’re full of shit,” Spike retorted as he deliberately picked up one foot and stepped into the circle. Nothing happened.


***



“No!” Giles got as far as mouthing the word as he burst into the room in time to see Spike step into the circle. To his great shock, however—which was quickly followed by a rapid sinking feeling—nothing happened. Neither Quentin nor Buffy—as far as he could discern—were harmed in any way.

His stomach sunk even lower when he took note of the fact that Quentin’s upper body had been tattooed in an intricate design which would allow him to be the conduit for the magicks being wielded—markings that would allow him to override Buffy’s consent so that he might bind himself to her without opposition.

Giles watched, unable to bring himself to care as he witnessed Spike beat the man senseless. The Watcher turned to the two teens that had arrived behind him.

“Tie Buffy’s father up,” he said, pointing to the man passed out on the floor a few feet away.

“If you think for one second that I would allow something like you—” Giles watched on as Spike paused mid speech to send two closed fist punches across Quentin’s face in rapid succession, “—to lay even one hand on Buffy, you are sorely mistaken.”

Giles tried to stop himself from thinking about the significance of the fact that Spike had been able to enter the ritual circle without causing harm to those already within, as he watched Spike throw Travers out of the circle and head first into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Spike was by the Slayer’s side within seconds and it was in that moment the Giles realised with some measure of clarity that despite what he wanted, and what they had planned, a decision regarding his Slayer’s binding had been made.


***



Spike gently scooped Buffy up into his arms, wincing slightly as her head flopped lifelessly into the crook of his arm. She felt so cold, even against his own cool skin, which was only room temperature at best.

He narrowed his eyes affectionately on her as he pushed her limp hair out of her face gently. “Come on, kitten. Show me those pretty eyes of yours.”

He frowned when he got no response from her. His eyes searched her face looking for any sign that she had heard what he said but found none. Slowly bringing his wrist up to his mouth morphed into his demon’s guise and bit down so that his blood blossomed and began to flow freely from the wound.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered softly as he lowered his bleeding wrist to her mouth. “Show me you’ll be alright.”

He waited a beat. Two beats.

Then he felt the sluggish swipe of her tongue against his skin as she parted her lips to allow the blood entry into her mouth. Relieved, Spike released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding, as she slowly started to drink from the wound.

“There’s my good girl,” he whispered more to himself than anyone else, as his free hand soothingly stroked her hair from her face.

He almost moaned out loud when he felt the sharp sting of her fangs entering his wrist, quickly followed by the pleasure that always came with a bite that was becoming more and more familiar. The shock of it cause him to let out a soft rumbling purr as he turned his gaze back towards hers to find her eyes open and staring at him intently.

“Hey there,” he said softly. She held his gaze for a moment longer before moaning as she shut her eyes, the borrowed blood beginning to slowly bring her body ‘back to life’.

A weak little hand came up to hold his wrist to her mouth and Spike broke out in a smile knowing that it was a sign—at least for him—that she would be able to make a full recovery.

“Spike,” she said softly as she let go.

“Shh, kitten,” he said as he ran the pad of his thumb down the curve of her cheek and across her lips, swiping up the small crimson stain she’d left.

“Don’t ‘shh’ me,” she said with a hint of her usual spunk making its way back in her voice. Spike grinned down at her.

“Why, is there another way you would prefer me to shut you up?” he asked with a playful leer.

“Maybe,” she replied as she drew his head down to her own.




Chapter 26


Spike’s lips lowered to meet Buffy’s without resistance. They touched hesitantly at first, nudging as if to test, before his firm cool lips finally settled over hers.

The kiss stayed gentle and chaste in a slow slanting of lips across the others’ mouth. But it held a promise that was echoed in their eyes as they drew back from one another.

Buffy’s eyes fell shut as Spike lifted his hand slowly to run it down the side of her face again, sweeping her hair back and behind her ear with a soft smile.

“I’m okay,” Buffy mumbled, as if to herself. Her eyes drifted open and locked with the blue of the vampire’s holding her securely in his arms as she looked up at him with shimmering eyes. “You came for me.”

Her smile was watery and Spike returned it with one of his own. “I came.”

Looking up, Spike noted the fact that the Watcher had both older men tied up and gagged before he looked back down at the Slayer in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” Spike looked down at her with a frown at the quietly spoken apology.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, pet.”

Buffy shook her head gently, squeezing her eyes shut again at the pain that lanced through her with that small movement. “I should’ve…but he was…and I didn’t…I just couldn’t…”

“It’s okay, I understand. But you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You did what you thought was best to ensure the safety of those that you care about. Never apologize for that,” he said, smiling when she nodded gently. “Time to get you home, pet.”

He hoisted her up into his arms as gently as possible—one arm under the bend in her knees and the other under her back as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He stood slowly, careful of the bundle in his arms, before stepping out of the ritual circle with her.

Everyone in the room watched as it glowed faintly for a moment before disappearing completely.


***



The living room was silent as its three occupants sat lost in their own thoughts. If the plan was a success, Buffy would soon be safely back in their midst. Only once she was returned, someone would need to inform her of the fact that she was then going to be married off to Xander Harris—and Joyce knew that someone would have to be her.

Joyce sighed. Xander was their only option after all, yet looking at him absently stuff corn chips down his throat, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was a better option. Because you have so many of those. Don’t be stupid, Joyce

At least with Xander, Joyce knew that her daughter held some affection for him—and he for her in return—even if it was only the kind one felt for a friend. Given the chance, it could blossom into love one day… hopefully.

Countless scenarios had been playing out in her mind of her daughter being bound to some brainless lackey that the Council controlled. Where she was locked up and used only as a power source for their needs. No, she thought as she shook her head softly, better that she is married to Xander than the Council.

Still, even with these thoughts running through her head, Joyce couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied with the idea of her only daughter being married to Xander. The boy was certainly nice enough—if not a little close minded, bigoted and lacking in table manners—but Buffy held a fire that he couldn’t even begin to match.

Match. That was what was bothering her. Xander was most certainly not Buffy’s match.

He was not her equal in any sense of the word. Where she was brave, he was cowardly. Where she held warmth of fire and passion, he was lukewarm at best. She was a supernatural creature that would live forever, Xander was most certainly not.

Joyce highly doubted that the prophecy had been written about Buffy and Xander. It just didn’t fit, and the more she thought about it the less sense it made.

Joyce could imagine their life together in a few years’ time. Xander—belly-up on the couch like some beached whale—overweight from lack of exercise and too much junk food, and drinking at one o’clock in the afternoon—with a beautiful wife who looked as young as the day he married her.

Rationally, Joyce knew that it probably wouldn’t end up like that between them—not with Xander’s parents being alcoholics—but, she glanced over at him, where he was on his second packet of chips from her cupboard and barely stopping to breathe as he practically inhaled them. She could no more help the wrinkling of her nose at the sight than she could stop a sneeze.

If she could have any say in it, Xander would remain nothing more than a close friend. But the ritual needed to be completed if her daughter was to live, and Xander appeared to be the only viable candidate. Therefore, he would be married to Buffy—and likely before sunrise that morning.

Joyce was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway, and she felt a burst of nervous butterflies in her stomach. Joyce watched as Xander and Willow perked up at the sound and she got up as they all quickly made their way over to the door.


***



A horrified gasp rang through out the night as the door was opened in front of them. Joyce stood temporarily paralysed to the spot at the sight of her daughter’s less than stellar condition.

“Let me through, Joyce, I need to get the Slayer up to her bedroom.” Joyce stepped back immediately at the softly spoken request from the vampire. Spike wasted no time in stepping over the threshold and disappearing up the stairs with Buffy in his arms.

Joyce turned back to watch as Giles made his way through the door with a still-unconscious Travers slung over his shoulder.

“Wha—?” Joyce began, only to stop as Giles’ entrance was immediately followed by that of Oz and Cordelia, dragging in the form of her ex-husband. “Oh my God! Are they dead?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Buffy’s mother turned confused eyes toward the Watcher in question.

“Unfortunately?” she squeaked out.

“Oh thank GOD!” Cordelia interrupted as she dropped Hank’s legs the minute she stepped inside the door. “Do any of you realise how heavy that guy is? I’m going to get man muscles in my arms if I carry him any longer!”

The small group watched as she flounced out of the room to dramatically flop down on the couch.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Giles supplied, when all except Oz looked back at him for answers, “but first we need to tie these two up in the basement before they come to.”


***



Spike let the voices coming from the others downstairs fade into the background as he made his way up the stairs, kicking open the door to Buffy’s room. It was the first time he had entered it and as he looked around at the things with which she surrounded herself, he decided that it told him absolutely nothing about the girl that he held in his arms.

The room was the room of Buffy Summers the girl, not the Slayer. This was the room of the face she presented to everyone—a normal 17-year-old girl on the cusp of becoming a woman. There were hints of the child she had been in the few toys that were still randomly dispersed throughout the room, posters of her favourite bands stuck up on the wall, and a large double bed with virginal white sheets still stretched out across the mattress. But it was as if time had stood still once she had been called.

If Spike looked closely though, he could see hints of the Slayer he knew her to be. The multitudes of crosses hanging from her dressing table, the small bottle on her nightstand that he knew didn’t contain plain water, but rather holy water meant to be used against his kind, the tee shirt thrown into the corner of the room that was stained with traces of her blood. Those items belonged to the Slayer.

Crossing the room quickly, Spike laid Buffy out on the bed trying not to jostle her any more than necessary, and slowly peeled off his duster that he had wrapped around her small frame to try and bring some warmth back into her overly cold skin.

“There you go, sweetheart.” She made a small murmuring sound in response as he brushed a light kiss over her forehead.

“Stay,” she mumbled softly. He smiled and ran his hand down the side of her cheek.

“I’ll be right back, kitten. I need to go get some blood.” He hovered over her for a minute longer as he watched her fall back into the limbo between consciousness and oblivion.

Sighing, Spike took a step back and turned to see Joyce standing in the doorway to the Slayer’s room. Her hand was covering her mouth in shock as she gazed at her little girl stretched out on the bed and looking to all the world as if she were dead.

“Joyce?” Spike called softly, trying not to startle her out of the dazed state into which she seemed to have fallen. She didn’t respond to him, unable to tear her eyes away from her daughter’s body and the clothing that usually fit her curves snugly now hanging loosely around her body.

“Joyce?” This time she turned to look at him with horror in her eyes as he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It looks a lot worse than it is. I’ll have her right as rain in no time.”

“She…she looks…” She didn’t seem to be able to finish the thought that she was forming as her eyes were pulled back to her daughter. Spike frowned and gave her shoulder a light squeeze.

“Why don’t you sit with her while I nick down to the kitchen and pick up some blood packets, yeah? She floats in and out, but once I get some blood into her she’ll be more alert.” The woman nodded and moved further into the room.

Spike hesitated in the doorway for a moment, unwilling to leave either of the women alone before logic won out and he turned and made his way out the door.

He could hear the hushed tones of the witch and the cheerleader talking in the lounge as he made his way down the stairs and the sound of Giles talking to the other two in the basement as they dealt with the wankers who were responsible for his Slayer’s state.

Spike let out a small growl as he thought about visiting them later. But not now. The Slayer needs you. Despite the circumstances, that thought sent a rush of pleasure through him and brought a reluctant half smile to his lips.

He ground to a halt as he entered the kitchen, finding Xander sitting on the bench rather than down stairs like the others. Spike eyed him warily, his demon snapping and raging within him to deal with the thing that was stopping him from taking the Slayer as his own. The urge to challenge him over his rights was strong but he was well versed when it came to suppressing such urges. If being with Drusilla for over a century had taught him anything, it was control.

Briefly, thoughts of his sire danced across his mind as he wondered where she was now that her daddy was finally dust. Angelus had been everything she lived for; he influenced everything she did and Spike couldn’t imagine Dru being able to live in a world where Angelus no longer existed. In his mind, the most plausible theory was that she had dusted herself after she had felt him disappear; but, Spike knew it not to be true for he still felt the deep-seated connection he held with her through the childe/sire bond.

“How is she?” Spike was pulled from his musings as the whelp addressed him and once more he had to fight down the urge to slip into his demon’s visage. He didn’t know what he had been expecting from the boy, but he hadn’t been expecting the subdued tone that rang through clearly.

“She’ll be fine as soon as I get some blood into her,” he replied tightly as he made his way over to the fridge, his ‘big bad’ persona in full swing.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy just nodded solemnly, looking down at the hands that rested in his lap. “So, how do you feel knowing it’s you?” he asked finally.

Spike frowned and turned to look at him. “It’s me?”

“Yeah, what with being able to step into the circle and all.” The boy wasn’t making sense—of that much Spike was sure—but he had the feeling that he needed to hear what was being said.

“I tried to tell Giles originally that you guys felt something for one another, but he turned into Mr. Denial Man and told me to shut up. Guess he can’t ignore this, though.”

“Ignore what, exactly?” Spike asked as he absentmindedly closed the fridge.

Xander looked up at him and frowned. “You don’t know?”

“Would I ask if I bloody well did?” Xander grew silent suddenly and couldn’t meet the vampire’s eyes. “Whelp?”

“The prophecy. It’s talking about you. You’re the one that is supposed to be bound to Buffy. Not me”




Chapter 27


Spike paused outside the Slayer’s room and took a deep breath to calm his suddenly frazzled nerves. Unexpectedly, what had seemed impossible only a few minutes ago was becoming reality—he was the one that was getting married to the Slayer.

It was what he wanted. It was what the demon wanted. He just didn’t know if it was what Buffy wanted. The possibility of rejection loomed, and Spike didn’t know if his heart—still the heart of a poet and romantic—could withstand being rejected once again.

If anything, the Slayer was one who liked to have as much control as possible over the events which occurred in her life because of the fact that she had no control over those related to her calling. Being told that she had to marry someone was enough to make her balk on its own. Add him into the mix…

The conversation with Xander was replaying in his head as he tried to force himself to come to terms with what the boy had told him.


“You’re sure?” Spike couldn’t help but ask again, the tone of disbelief more than evident in his voice as he stared at the whelp suspiciously.

“I got it from Book Man himself,” Xander promised. “Apparently you being able to enter the circle without killing Buffy or Travers is significant somehow in Giles-speak, I didn’t really catch the particulars.”

“So he wasn’t bluffing,” Spike seemed to speak to himself.

“Who? Giles?” Xander asked suddenly lost on who they were talking about.

“Never mind,” Spike said after a beat. Swiping the packets of blood off the bench he let his usual cocky mask slip effortlessly over his features. “I have a Slayer to feed,” he said as he turned and swept out of the room just as the basement door opened and Giles stepped through.

“Was that Spike?” the blonde heard his fellow Brit ask even as he made his way up the stairs, his feet carrying him quickly away from the kitchen.


Spike shut his eyes against the fact that he had run away from the Watcher and the questions that he knew he would have to face eventually. He needed time. He had to process what he had just heard and prepare himself for the rejection that was more than likely to occur when the Slayer found out she had to get married.

Knocking lightly on her bedroom door, he was surprised when he opened it to find the Slayer’s eyes open and alert. Joyce was sitting on the edge of the bed and gave her daughter’s hand a small squeeze as Spike walked in before getting up and moving out of the room.

Spike watched her leave, only turning to the girl before him once the door had closed and Joyce was no longer left in sight.

“Hey,” he said softly as he came to take up the position her mother had just vacated.

“Hey,” she said softly in return. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes as he placed two of the blood bags on her bedside table as he drained the third quickly.

“Here,” he said, holding his wrist out to her.

Buffy looked for a moment as if she were about to say something, a question already poised on her lips, but she swallowed the impulse. Grasping the proffered wrist in her cold hands she lowered it to her mouth, her lips skimming over the vacant pulse point gently before her tongue swept out and followed its path.

Spike fought the urge to let his eyes roll up into the back of his head as he let out a breathy moan. She was being overly sensual by letting her lips run across his skin in the barest of caresses and he had to wonder what she was up to.

Finally settling her mouth over the place she wanted, she slipped into her demon features.

Spike felt her change run through him and he opened his eyes to look at her when the expected bite didn’t come. The moment her eyes locked with his, she bit down on his wrist letting the rich blood spill into her mouth and slide down her throat.

A hoarse groan was pulled from his throat at the sensation and his eyes slammed shut in pleasure.

Buffy never let her eyes leave his face as she watched the myriad of emotions settle over it. Knowing that she could bring him such pleasure with nothing but her bite made her feel feminine and powerful and she relished the feel of it.

Spike blindly reached for another blood bag and tore into it as Buffy continued to drink from him. Little whimpers emanated from his throat that he couldn’t control, nothing beat the feel of her teeth lodged deep within him, drawing life from his death.

He let her drink for as long as possible, draining the final blood bag much the same as he had the second until he felt that she had consumed as much as he could give her without growing weak himself.

He let out a soft growl, warning her to pull back and was amazed when she did so reverently, swiping her tongue over her mark before leaving a soft kiss on top of it.

He opened his eyes to gaze at her through a haze of lust and love as she pulled herself into a sitting position. The blue slowly fading from her skin as his blood went to work on her body, bringing her back to life before him as it lent her the strength she needed to recover.

“Better?” He asked in an embarrassingly breathy voice as he fought to reign in his rampant desire for her and the erection that was straining painfully against the material of his jeans.

“Did you know?” she asked, simply ignoring his question completely.

Buffy smiled softly when he tilted his head at her in a silent request to elaborate.

“Did you know about the…hand fasting? With Xander?”

Spike swallowed as he looked away from her frank expression. To tell her or not to tell her? Did he want her to reject him now or later? Did he even believe what the whelp had told him?

“Yes,” he said finally as be brought his eyes up to hers again. “The ritual—if you don’t do it you could die, pet.”

Buffy began to worry her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked down at his hand, which was resting on the doona covering her legs.

“If I had a choice—,” she began, slowly bringing her eyes up to meet his again, “if I had a choice it would have been you.”

Spike’s eyes widened in shock at her confession, before narrowing affectionately on her “Buffy—”

“I know how you feel about Dru, and that you don’t see me in that way, but I still would’ve wanted it to be you.” His mouth curved up in a small smile as he brushed her hair out of her face.

In that moment she reminded him very much of the 17-year-old girl she was underneath it all. Her innocent confession was touching and he found it lending him the courage to reassure her that it was what he wanted as well.

“Dru’s not part of my life anymore, kitten,” he said as he leaned down to press his lips gently to hers. “I would have wanted it to be me, too.”

And with any luck, he thought as she responded to his kiss, her lips meeting his in rushed desperation to feel as much of him as she could,what the whelp said will be true and it will be me.


***



“Joyce, do you have a moment?” Joyce nodded and let herself be led into the dining room away from the rest of the occupants in house.

“What is it?” she asked as she pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

“It’s about the ritual. I’m afraid Xander can’t be the one to take part in it.” Her eyes went wide as she took in what Giles was saying before they narrowed on him suspiciously.

“I hope you’re not insinuating what I think you are. Apart from Xander, Mr. Giles, you are the only other option we have on our list.”

If she hadn’t been so serious, the way Giles recoiled from her would have almost been comical.

“Good god, woman! No!” he said as he practically tore his glasses off his face in his rush to polish them, dropping them in the process. “To even think such a thing is unspeakable! Buffy is like a daughter to me, to even consider her in that manner—”

“As long as we understand each other.” Giles’ eyes snapped to Joyce’s, and he felt a shiver pass down his spine at the dangerous look she held in her eyes. It spoke of a world of pain and he couldn’t help but feel slightly afraid of her.

“Yes, quite.” An uncomfortable silence seemed to settle between them for a moment as neither spoke a word, unable to move on from what had just been said.

“So, the ritual?” Joyce finally prompted.

“Yes, well as I was saying…If you remember back to our research we did on the ritual, you’ll remember the part stating that no being may enter the circle after the ritual has been started as the it disrupts the flow of magicks and almost always is fatal to the pair being bound.”

Joyce nodded. “Yes, go on.”

“There is an exception to that rule.” He paused and took a deep breath before pulling out the chair beside her so he could sit and bring himself down to her level. “Magick can do a lot of things, both dangerous and wonderful. It can build worlds, fabricate entire memories, form flesh for that which has none, coerce people into believing things or doing things that the wouldn’t otherwise even dream of doing, but the one thing it can fabricate or force is love. True love—the kind that is real, and deep and goes beyond just the surface attraction that most feel.”

He paused to check if she was following, and at her quick nod, he continued.

“When we got to Buffy—or when Spike got there, rather—Hank and Travers had already started the ritual. Travers planned to bind your daughter to himself, and the strip of markings that are drawn on his chest are symbols that hold the power to override certain magicks of the ritual so that Buffy need not have any input for it to be completed.”

“That son of a bitch! I ought to rip his head off and shove it—” She went to push herself away from the table so she could storm down into her basement, but the soft hand on her forearm stayed her movements and she returned herself to her seat to finish listening to what Giles had to say, silently vowing that she would rip the Council head a new one after Giles had explained.

He gave her an empathetic smile as she begrudgingly motioned for him to continue.

“Regardless of that fact, none of us should have been able to enter the ritual circle that had been marked out onto the floor without potentially killing both Buffy and Travers. Spike did though, and that indicates that not only does he feel more than just a simple… affection for your daughter, but she reciprocates those feelings too.” Giles sighed as he placed his glasses on the table and ran his hands over his face tiredly. “Joyce, I cannot in good conscience bind Buffy and Xander together when there is a chance that she will find greater happiness in someone else’s arms—despite the fact that he is a vampire.”

“Oh thank God,” Joyce sighed as she slumped back into her seat and closed her eyes. “Xander’s a good boy but he just isn’t right for Buffy.”

Giles gave her a smile and rested an understanding hand on her shoulder. “I know. And as much as I will vehemently deny this if you breathe a word of it to anyone—Spike is a good match for her. She is more than just a human with super powers now, she is immortal and needs someone who won’t leave her to live out the rest of her days alone after we have all passed on.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Joyce said with a relieved smile.

“Someone will, of course, need to inform them both. Let us hope that they won’t prove stubborn on this point,” Giles remarked, as he stood up from the table once more.

Joyce followed suit, letting out an unladylike snort at his comment. “Buffy not stubborn? Oh look, I think a pig just flew past our window!”

 
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