COME BACK TO ME

CHAPTER 27


Spike managed to drag his lips from Buffy’s long enough to open the door to her newly assigned room.  It was at the far end of the corridor away from Angel's - the one she'd been using since arriving in LA - and Spike flared his nostrils as they entered, glad that he no longer had to put up with the constant reminder of his grandsire’s presence permeating the air.  Alone at last.  He grabbed her round the waist and backed her against the door to slam it shut.  One leg came up to wrap around his hips, her hands tangling in his hair as she smashed her lips against his. When she came up for air, she reluctantly pushed him away.

 

“What now, love?  Got me an expiry date here I figure...condemned man ate a hearty breakfast and all that...”

 

“Ewww on the meal simile...or actually not so much ewww as yum 'cos of the bitey...and stop distracting me…no, don’t ever…argh!  Got to be good and you’re laying moves on me!”

 

Spike raised his eyebrow and shook his head.  He loved her, but there were times when he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about.

 

“Stop giving me that look!  You know I want you, more than anything... but Dawnie...shouldn't we...?”

 

Spike sighed.  He'd not forgotten his Bit, not for one second.  But he was terrified this could be the last time he'd ever get to kiss Buffy, hold her, make love to her, and he didn't want to miss a second.    It would be typical of the Powers to dangle his heart’s desire before him and whisk him off to hell without so much as a by your leave. 

 

“Buffy.  Fred’s with her; if anything happens, she’d find us.  I need to...feel you, make it real that I'm still here.” His voice faltered.  “This may be the only time...”

 

“DON'T!  Don't say it.  Just...don't...”

 

Buffy grabbed him again, climbing up him to wrap both legs around him.  She was every bit as desperate as he was to renew their connection, truth be told, to anchor herself again by reassuring herself that he was really here.  Their eyes met and held, hazel and blue swirling with deep emotions that needed no words to have them understand each other.  She could see the toll the last hours had taken on him.  Slowly her lips descended to his and she put into the kiss every emotion she couldn't express vocally; love, regret for missed opportunities, shame for the way she'd treated him, searing desire, promises for the future. 

 

Spike knew how she felt.  He felt it too. 

 

They may not have much time, but he was damn sure he was going to make every moment count.  He walked over to the bed and gently deposited her on top of the covers, stepping back to shrug off his duster and his boots.  His eyes never left her, devouring the sight of her as she deftly undid her blouse and her jeans, stripping down to her underwear.  Spike grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it over his head, smiling when he re-emerged from the garment to find her clad only in a miniscule thong and leaning back on her elbows grinning at him. 

 

"Slacker.  I can remember when your clothes practically melted off you at the thought of a lick from me.  Guess I'm wearing off, huh...eep!"

 

Buffy's breath was forced out of her as Spike pounced, knocking her backwards and covering her body with his. He was struggling to remove the thong at the same time as dragging off his jeans, and also trying to kiss her.  His usual grace had abandoned him, so anxious was he to show her just how much she wasn't wearing off, and as he raised one leg to remove his jeans he wobbled and rolled from the bed to land in a heap on the floor. 

 

"Bloody buggerin’ hell!” he grumbled.

 

Buffy sat up and peered over the edge of the bed, dissolving into giggles as Spike kicked and pulled at the tangled denim that refused to let go its grip from his leg.

 

“A little help, Buffy – please?"  God, he was almost pouting.  It was just too cute.  Buffy felt her heart swell just a little bit more, both their emotions already strung taut with all the angst and uncertainty that surrounded them, and this little bit of tenderness and just being able to relax in each other's company was like a jewel she wanted to grab and clasp to her forever. 

 

"Come here, baby."  Her voice was soft and full of love. 

 

"Can't.  That's the bloody problem.  Well...I could but big bad vamps don't hop."

 

"Oh, I don't know...I think I'd like to see Willie Wonkie...bob-bob-bobbing"

 

Spike quirked an eyebrow, and once again Buffy marvelled at the effect his slightest gesture had on her.  How the hell she'd managed to resist him for so long back in Sunnydale would ever remain a mystery to her.  When he turned his little boy lost eyes on her, she was a melting puddle of goo and jumped off the bed to help him. 

 

"I'm here, oh helpless one – let's get you nekkid and ...oh...” Spike had managed to rid himself of the denim and gripped her arms, hard.

 

"Hah!  Not quite as helpless as you thought, Slayer.  Now that I'm free of all restraints...you'd better run."

 

"Oh...help me, help me...save me from the big bad vamp..." Buffy fanned herself, trying – in vain – to look like a damsel in distress.  Spike growled and vamped out, raising his arms in classic 'grrr' mode, and proceeded to stalk her to the bed, Buffy giggling and mock-fighting him off until she tumbled backwards onto the satin covers.

 

Tickling whatever he could get his hands on, Spike worked his way down her body until he was settled firmly between her thighs and blowing cold air on her lace-clad mound.  Buffy shivered in anticipation of delight, and lifted her hips from the bed so that he could remove the final barrier that lay between them. 

 

"You’re my heaven, Buffy," he murmured, dropping a soft kiss on her dark curls, finishing with the lightest tracing of his tongue that had her gurgling in her throat.  He lapped at her juices, holding on tight so that she couldn't squirm away, and breathing in her essence.  Buffy's eyelids fluttered as she fought to keep control, but cool vampire tongue and the achingly painful grip of his fingers digging into her hips was too much for her, her body going rigid as she lost herself in absolute pleasure.  She was barely aware of Spike as he crawled up her body to press his aching cock inside her slick channel.

 

And they were both totally unaware of the drama unfolding elsewhere inside the LA law firm.

 

+ + + +

 

"I'm sorry...who is this?"

 

Xander sighed again, rubbing his aching eyes.  "Harris.  Xander Harris.  I'm a friend of Buffy Summers...well...I was...look, just put somebody on who knows about Spike and Dawn.  It's important."

 

He listened with mounting irritation to a sequence of nameless voices giving him the run-around, before losing it.

 

"Look, I know the score!  Spike’s about to meet his staker, and when he does Dawn Summers'll make a miraculous recovery.  What I don't know is where your boss is – and I'm betting that you don't either..."

 

Silence.

 

"That's more like it.  So...is somebody gonna come and get me and take me to your lair?  Because I know you can't take me to your leader.  Good.  I'm...well, you know where I am at least.  Oh, and bring some vodka.  Angel's cupboard is bare."

 

+ + + +

 

Angel awoke in familiar territory, his jaw aching, bringing his recollection of Spike's punch forcibly to the forefront of his mind.  He reached around to soothe his pain, but the jerk of the chains that anchored his hands to the headboard cleared the final fog from his brain.

 

This wasn't a bad dream.  This was the now.

 

A growl.  "Watcher.  I think I liked it better when it was you that was all tied up and me with the toys to entertain you.  Good times"

        

Giles took a step towards him, grinding his teeth as memories of agonising torture and humiliation skittered through his mind.  "Angel.  I'd like to say I'm glad to see you awake but we both know that’d be a dreadful and totally unbelievable lie.  Make yourself comfortable.  You're not going anywhere for a while."

 

Angel didn't make a sound, merely fixed Giles with a hate-filled glare and bared his teeth in a terrifying rictus grin.  Despite the chains and the magical restraints Willow had set before she headed back to Fred's lab, Giles took an involuntary step back.  Angel had menacing down to a fine art, and Angel with the optional 'us' was almost too much.

 

"Yes!  I have it!" Wesley closed the heavy book on his hand with a slight wince, jumping up from the leather couch and rushing to Giles' side.  He shot a glare at Angel when the vampire bared his teeth, turning his back to talk to Giles.

 

"See here – the original ritual.  There is room for a little artistic licence – where the ritual dagger is used to pierce the sire and the childe.  Do you see?"

 

Giles grinned, his voice excited.  "Yes, yes.  I see it.  So...it is possible to ... to...save Spike.  And did I actually just say that?  Please be a sport and don't tell him, and if you can't manage that for god's sake don't tell him that I said it with a smile.  I’ll never hear the end of it."

 

Wesley grinned in answer.  "He does have a tendency to get beneath your skin, doesn't he?  I know Fred holds him in high esteem.  And of course, Buffy and Dawn..."

 

Giles regarded his fellow Englishman with suddenly serious eyes.  Buffy and Dawn, his wards in all but legality.  His daughters even.  And the vampire they both loved.  He'd always had a grudging respect for the contrary and unpredictable being -- well hidden from all, obviously -- and knowing that Spike had sacrificed everything that he was for Buffy and the world did tend to give him a 'get out of jail free' card.

 

"Yes...Buffy and Dawn.  Well then.  I suppose we should deliver the news to the group.  What shall we do with...?"

 

"Hmmm.  Tricky.  Willow assures me that there's no way he can escape from either the magical or actual bonds, but I don't trust him."

 

"Good call, Wes.  Don't trust the evil vampire.  Oh, that wouldn't be me, would it?  You wound me! After all that we've been through together." Angel smirked, relishing his teasing. 

 

Wesley ignored him, having toughened up to the barbed taunts and threats.  Angel would be saved, whether he deserved it or not, and then they could all go about their lives and leave LA and Wolfram and Hart far behind them.

 

"Ignore him, Wesley.  He's impotent and wants to wound."

 

"Oh, don't worry.  It’s water off a duck’s back.  In fact, I think we should ask Faith to sit with him.  Even she won't put up with his mouth for long, despite the affection she seems to have for him."

 

Angel laughed, rattling his chains.  "Oh, it's just too much!  Another needy little Slayer desperate for a real fuck?  Priceless.  Have her bring a good Irish whiskey for my after dinner digestif and it's a date."

 

Both watchers ignored him as he continued to spout off about his imaginary liaison with Faith, quite proud that they got through his sick fantasies of blood and twisted limbs without reacting.  A telephone call secured Faith's attendance, the two men whispering quietly to her when she arrived, and leaving as she shut the door behind them.  Angel was still tied up on the bed, his mouth twisted into a smirk and his eyes mocking her as she moved to stand at the side of the bed.

 

Faith's mouth was set in a stern line, the warring emotions that had her in their grip plain to see.  "So, Angel... there’s two ways this can go.  You shut your mouth and play nice and I'll be over here minding my own business, or you can just go right on pissing me off and I can stick this son of a bitch through your chest and get back to my man."

 

Faith had a stake gripped tight in her fist, raised to strike and looking like she was searching for a reason not to.  Even in his altered state, Angel recognised immortal danger when he saw it.  In a rare moment of common sense, Angel swallowed down his acidic retort and turned it into a glower of resignation.

 

"That's better.  No talking.  No moving.  No looking in my direction.  B's all too happy to stake your sorry ass, and I'm leaning that way myself, so do yourself a favour and lay still.  It won't be long now before Spike passes his final trial then it's just a quick blood-letting and you can go back to whatever deluded game you thought you were playing at this law firm.”

 

Faith gave him a final glare and made herself comfortable on the leather couch, idly flicking through the magazines and research papers strewn on the coffee table in front of it.  Eventually the unnatural silence, save for the creaking of the leather couch and the rustle of covers on which Angel lay, got to her and she jumped up to stand in front of him, demanding answers.

 

“Okay.  Let’s play another game – twenty questions.  First one being – why, Angel?  You get off on torturing B?  I mean yeah – I’ve been inside your head, well Angelus’ head, and I’ve seen all his weird shit, but you?  What happened to the white knight, saviour of lost causes?”

 

Angel smirked.  “Taking a long overdue vacation right now.  Seems that helping the helpless is a big pain in the ass.  I’ll be sure to tell him you were asking though.”

 

“Cut the crap, vampire.  I’m not buying it.  I know you.  This isn’t you.  But then you’re not Angelus either.  Something or someone is playing you and I’m not about to give up on the champion I know.  There must be a reason you agreed to take the helm here, weird though it is.  Hell, I’m the first one to stake first and ask questions later, but this is different.  You helped me.  When I had nowhere to go, you gave me a reason to wake up in the morning.  I almost killed Wes and still he helped me.  That’s what the white hats do, and guess what?  I’m a white hat, fully paid up and proud to be wearing it.  And yeah, the rim’s a little grey around the edges, but I get to play in some fucked up arenas so I figure that’s allowed.  And you will come back from this, like it or not.”

 

Faith was inches from him, her eyes burning with intensity.  She was searching for the little chink in his armour that would show her that Angel was still there and still fighting for the right side.  And just for an instant, she thought she saw it.  A flicker of doubt or guilt or something in his eyes, something other than disdain and cruelty.  Gone now.  But she’d seen it.

 

“Thanks for the lecture, Slayer.  You should think about doing stand-up.  I especially liked the grey hat simile; I spend hours thinking about your...rim.  And seeing as we’re so up close and personal, what do you say we renew old friendships and let me have a suck on those tits you’re so fond of flashing.”

 

Faith steeled herself not to react to the way his eyes were sweeping over her, making her feel dirty.  In her past incarnation as Bad Slayer, she’d have jumped him in a second, riding him hard then staking him harder just to see what the big deal was about having a dead, cold lover.  But now she simply smiled and folded her arms.  

 

“Oh in your dreams, Angel.  This booty is spoken for, not that you ever had a hope anyway.  I like my men fully functional, beating heart and all.  And besides, you’ve got the whole soul with a loophole thing going on.  And don’t even pretend that I couldn’t give you a happy.”

 

She was mouthing off automatically, her own time-honoured defence mechanism, the barbed remarks giving her time to think. 

 

“Don’t think you need to worry about the soul, Slayer.  We’ve seen the last of that. Why don’t we skip the foreplay and get right to it.  Go on, you could call it a last request -- just bend over and spread’em.”

 

“Wow – way to go with the sweet talk, bet ya say that to all the girls.  Tough call – but I think I’ll pass.”  Faith smirked, “Oh you’ve still got the soul, Angel.  Don’t worry – you’ll be back to being king of doom and gloom in no time."  Angel's brow creased, his gloating leer wavering to disbelief then confusion. 

 

"Surprised?  Did you think your self-loathing was gone forever?  Didn’t you wonder how you’d ditched the hero gig without the fucking?  No?  Not your doing, bad boy.  The boss of this little fantasy law firm isn’t you Angel – it was never you.  You’re being played and you don’t even know it.  Must be embarrassing, a former master vampire and now you’re somebody’s errand boy, but we’ll make it right again.  Just hope you can live with yourself when we do.”

 

“You’re bluffing. The soul’s gone...it must be...I can’t feel it in me...it’s...”

 

“Now that is what I like to see; a little bit of doubt.  Gives me something to work with.  Angel, I’m going to help you, like you helped me.  And if you kick and bite me all the way, as I did to you – all well and good.  Girl’s got to work out to keep in shape.”

 

+ + + +

 

Xander raised his head and turned his bloodshot eyes towards the door of Angel's office, as it swung open to reveal an unremarkable flunky in a suit – and one not bearing gifts.  The man stood at the doorway, obviously waiting for instructions.  Well, Xander was in no mood to stand on ceremony.  He wanted answers, and he wanted a drink – and it was toss-up what he wanted more.

 

"Okay, look – I'm not impressed with your lack of clinking bottles but I'll let it pass so long as you stick a glass in my paw once we're seated and chatting.  After you, whatever your name is."

 

"It's…"

 

"Not interested.  Just take me to where I need to be to find out what's happening and to get things moving along.  I'm owed by your boss."

 

"We've been unable to locate Mr Angel, sir.  But he's probably out doing whatever it is he does and didn't want to be followed.  He's very...strange.  But good!  Definitely good, sir – wouldn't want you to think I'm being disrespectful.  He does things differently than the previous CEO.  Follow me – we need to hit the dungeons.  That's where Demon Domination is situated.  The senior partners insist we maintain the corporate image..."

 

The sleek elevator doors closed, Xander's companion keying in the number of the floor, the smooth hiss of the elevator as it descended and descended and descended the only sound.  Xander's head was throbbing – he was close to being sober, the first time in days, and he didn't like the feeling one bit.  He wasn't numb, for one.  Either inside or outside, and without the alcohol taking the edge off, all he could see were images of Anya lying dead in the ruins of the school.  While Spike lived...

 

"Are we nearly there?" he barked, rubbing at his eyes.

 

"A few more floors sir...almost...there.  This is it."

 

Xander followed the young man out of the elevator and down a cavernous hallway -   quite literally cavernous, as in carved out of a cavern.  In the distance he could hear chanting, wisps of smoke heavy with incense and other smells drifting around them as they neared a dimly lit room.  There was no door, just an archway bearing chisel marks, the air hot and heavy with the undeniable glow that came from a huge fire illuminating several hooded figures slowly circling what appeared to be a girl of about seventeen or eighteen, naked, gagged, and bound. 

 

Xander smiled wryly, turning to his guide.  "Good to see the old customs are being upheld.  Virgin sacrifice, right?  And there's has to be a goat round here somewhere, maybe an enchanted sword?"

 

"I'm not sure what ritual is being performed, sir.   I can ask...?"

 

"Nah forget it.  So...Angel.  No sign of him here and no sign of him upstairs.  But maybe I can help you with that.  I mentioned the deal we had?  Yeah, well.  I've got this feeling that something's gone wrong with the big man so it’s down to me to make sure that things pan out the way we discussed it.  I've got a lot riding on this, hell of a lot.  So...who do I need to talk to?"

 

A shadowy figure stepped forward, his features eerily lit by the flickering sconce firelight behind him.  He spoke in a clipped English accent that had goosebumps rushing along Xander's flesh as he recognised the voice.

 

"That would be me, Mr Harris.  I've been expecting you..."

 

TBC...