[A/N: I’ve had a couple of weeks from hell. Literally. I’ve been unable to type, the pain in my arm so intense that nothing’s been helping it. I’m so sorry about not being able to update. I feel so badly about it. I promise to make it all up to somehow. Please don’t be angry with me. The title is from Aristotle as quoted by Diogenes Laertes in Lives of Eminent Philosophers, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]
Previously: Drusilla is in Sunnydale with Angelus. Spike and Buffy have claimed each other as Mates. This is three weeks after their encounter with Drusilla.
Book Two. Chapter 24. Hope is a waking dream.
What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton, Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1
There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.
Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House
And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,
out of which springs hope and consolation.
Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life
She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs. Everything was normal. Well, as normal as their lives were.
That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumpies or fangs. Nope. Nothing there.
Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines. She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, but that was only a matter of time.
He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics. Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”
Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Long enough, goldilocks.” His eyes held a spark of mischief. “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think its gonna happen.”
‘Why not?” She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird that was. “Um not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, um, not so nice, but how come?”
Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him. The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy. He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him. There was something about her that was different, newer. . . .
“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”
“No?” She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.
“Not bloody likely.” He ran a finger over her lips. “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way. . . warm and . . . “ he nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose. “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine. Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”
Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her. “Delicious?” His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass. “Me?”
“Fuck yeah.” His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue. “Yeah, richer, stronger. Fuller. . . .” Spike sniffed her again, this time not with the intent of seduction. Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.
Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply. He’d smelled something like this before. . . Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes. He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.
“Spike, what are you doing?” His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts. ‘Spike? What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”
The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor. Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.
“Christmas is less than a week away. Do you know what you’re gonna get him?” Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.
“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.” Dawn scrunched up her face. “But I gotta get Buffy’s too, and something for Giles. I’m done with everyone after that.”
Janice sighed, grousing. “You suck. I haven’t even started. Not fair. How come you’re nearly done?”
“Spike gave me money over the weekend. Figured I might as well get it done. It was easy shopping for him.”
“Yeah? Whadidya get him?” Janice was curious.
Dawn snickered. “I got him music. The essential Clash and um. . The Buzzcocks.”
“Cool.” Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her then sat down. “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”
A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him. “Sure. I can do that.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything was cold. She was cold. Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away. Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken. Her once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly. Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry and every nerve ending was dulled and aching. Her left wrist was sore. There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved. Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.
Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the bed she was tied to. But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling. She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.
There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up; no way of remembering what had gone on before. She was nothing. There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood. Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. . . was it days? I don’t remember.
Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. . . Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone. She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.
I’m gonna survive this. Gonna. . .not going to let this kill me. Not going let either of them kill me. A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.
Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant. Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail. The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound. There was no hiding.
Not even her mind would go away. . . . leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.
She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captors arrival. Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh. Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.
Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.
Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes. She stilled, knowing something was different. . . . he was different right now.
Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat. No . . . no . . .no . . no. . . not this. Not now. . . she wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a god that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul; for a moment of compassion that would never come.
Rough calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrunk away from him. Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands. Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.
The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth. No no no. . . her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her. .
Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale. The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant. It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer. He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea. Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting. His guard had been up, his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue. So that was one avenue of chip removal that he refused to pursue further.
According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs. Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.
She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe. Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets. Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos. But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days; which just increased Wesley’s distraction.
The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact, the last surgeon on their list, refusing to remove the chip. They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.
“Do we have a way of contacting the Initiative?” Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.
Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him. “I believe Buffy knows how to. I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”
Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them. Might as well be tonight.”
Rupert grimaced. “Happy bloody Christmas.”
“Indeed. I take it this will not be received happily.”
“Not likely.” Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall. Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, but she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed. Doesn’t matter any now. Don’t care. Need to see her. To feel her. She’s mine. My girl.
The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering and going about their day. Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know. Placing a hand up, Willow muttered “mute” and all the noise receded.
“Hello Tara.” Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.
“Willow. How are you?” Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group. Realizing it wasn’t natural Tara stared at Willow, then said, “release them Willow or this discussion will never get started.”
Chastised, Willow complied. “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”
“What’s there to talk about? You’ve changed, Willow – you aren’t the same girl I fell in love with. And I’m not the same either.” Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.
“I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right. I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.” Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.
“I suppose that’s an admission, but really Willow, its not enough.” Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, and there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.
“What would be enough?” Willow was at a loss.
Tara was shaking her head. “Until you figure that out Willow, I can’t be around you.” Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit. “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”
With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “you hurt a lot of people, those same people that care. You need to figure out what’s more important.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery. Daytime sex with Spike was the best she decided. Didn’t matter really what time of day, but there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.
She was flat on her back, Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively. He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was. This was so comfy. . . Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank. She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.
His low voice rumbled out of him, “wha’s wrong?”
She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “nothing. Go back to sleep.”
“You sure kitten?” His voice was so sleepy. I love that sound.
“Ahuh. Pretty positive.” She hugged him closer. “Nothing’s wrong here.”
“Mmmm.” He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.
“Spike? What do you want for Christmas?” Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.
“Nothin’. Already got more than I hoped for. Don’t need anythin’.” She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.
“Not about what you need, silly. Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.” She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.
“Sunshine. Got all that. Got everythin’ I want right here.” He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.
“C’mon Spike, there has to be something you really want.” Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking. . .
Spike lifted up to look down at her. “Buffy. Isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.“ He paused, his eyes intent up on her. “Wha?”
There was a look he’d never seen before on her – hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes. “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”
Oh, she’s got something on her mind. “All right, what is it?”
She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now. “Never mind. I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”
“You sure?” Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again. “C’mon sunshine, tell me.”
“Nope. Its gonna be a surprise.” Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her. Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.
“Hey.” His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.
“Hey.” He could see she was upset, but knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out. His patience was rewarded not moments later.
“Ran into Willow just now. I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t. I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.
“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it. What she did.” Tara sighed, smiling sadly. “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”
“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.” Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.
“I guess. Its just hard watching it.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.
“Always is.” He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was hours later, when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.
Just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them. Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them. He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt. He never voiced it, but Buffy knew he was thinking of two things, her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them. So she didn’t balk – much.
They were heading out when Giles stopped them. “Buffy? Can you wait a moment? I’ve got some news.”
“What’s up?” Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail. Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.
“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada. I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here. I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.” He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again. “We could use a normal surgeon.”
The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret. Their silent communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.
It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them. “How long have you and Spike been mated?”
Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “how? When? Why didn’t you say something?”
Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking. Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “about three weeks ago.” Then she giggled and said, ‘okay it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”
“Ah.” Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense. “And you kept this to yourselves because?”
“Its private, Watcher. Not somethin’ for the masses.” He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set. Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, but Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive. Giles had expected something like this – been waiting for it actually and wasn’t really all that surprised.
“Have you noticed any changes?” He couldn’t help asking. Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive. Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.
“We can sorta talk to each other.” Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “okay, Spike can talk. I’m still working on the verbal. But I can do pictures and emotions. Go me!”
“Spike, is that normal?” Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at the other Englishman’s answer.
“Dunno. Never done this before.” Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.
“Never done this? Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?” He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads. Well that was bloody news. He’d thought for sure the two had been mated. “But the Watcher’s Diaries state that.”
Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.
“Should know by now Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate. Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.” Spike stepped closer to Buffy. “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”
Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “indeed. The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”
“Not sure I trust them at all.” Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “no reason to. Haven’t done right by you at all.”
She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair. His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation. “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”
“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.” Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.
Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation. “Fine. Call them. ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”
He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation. “C’mon, if you’re still comin’. Night’s still young.”
And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings. It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented. Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.
Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed. Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whomever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.
Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.
There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.
Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf. His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’ last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.
Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment. Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows. A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought. Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.
The vampire hadn’t expected this – hadn’t remembered this about the human at all – had imagined this one would be less of a challenge. But he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.
The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake. Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, but he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.
Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further. But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.
Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his finger’s into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh. Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.
Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.
Okay, so, please leave a review and let me know what you guys think of this one. Coz, me, I kind of liked it, but hey, I'm not always the best judge of my own writing.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm going to take a minute here to do a favor for a friend. Addie Logan, another author here, just recently had a death in the family and she's not up to writing or even thinking about writing at the moment. Please take a moment to spare her a kind thought and bear with her as she gets through the grief. On another note, my thanks to everyone who has been patient with me on the updates. Hopefully this one will make up for it. My thanks also to every single one of you that takes a moment to review. You have no idea what it means to the writer. Slainte, Nia.