Previously: Having exhausted all surgical avenues, the two Watchers have told Buffy and Spike of their findings, and now their choice about chip removal have narrowed to one. Oz and Angel had a run-in, and this picks up immediately after.
Book Two, chapter 25. Eye of the Hurricane.
Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane
Walt Whitman, To the Man-of-War-Bird
Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: It had to be!’
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’
Thomas Hardy, And There Was a Great Calm
The view from the hill looks bleak from where I stand
The waters are come in unto my soul
I can’t cry no more my eyes are bone dry sore
There’s a river of tears flowing down to the sea
I’m a desolate soul on a desolate shore
Destined to walk alone
Into the crucifix night
The storm of a cross
I live to love again and again
All my life
Oh eye of the hurricane
I walk away in the wind and the rain
Into the eye of the hurricane
Face to face
The Alarm, Eye of the Hurricane, 1990
“Look, I’m not chipper and cheery about this either. So not wanting to trust the Initiative, but Spike, it has to come out.”
They’d been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, not really fighting, as far as Wesley could tell, although there were moments when it was abundantly clear that Spike was not happy about using the Initiative. Wesley, thanks to some late night sharing over pints, had the background on the situation, probably even more than Giles had. Because Spike had been more forthcoming than usual that night, Wesley also knew what had transpired between Buffy and her former boyfriend.
And while Spike couldn’t remember specifically if Riley had been present during some of the more twisted “experiments” Wesley suspected Riley Finn had tested the vampire’s strength more than once. So his sympathies weren’t even in doubt in this situation. He didn’t want to subject Spike to more abuse at the hands of the military. Which was why he opened his mouth when there was a lull between verbal sparring matches.
“I’d like to be there to ensure nothing untoward happens.”
Both blondes looked at him, one confused and the other, it appeared, more than relieved someone else picked up on his apprehension and distrust.
“Why?” Spike sighed. Sometimes his woman was a bit too slow on the uptake.
Wesley’s answer was quick. “Because, like Spike, I don’t believe that the Initiative would just willingly let him go once they have him again.” Taking a deep breath and sharing a look over her head with his fellow ex-patriot, Wesley finished with, “nor do I trust that your former companion won’t seek some sort of revenge while Spike is incapacitated.”
The two Englishmen shared another look. Wesley’s support meant more than Spike was willing to admit and he was reassured by the idea that someone other than Buffy was going to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings. And not just someone. Spike had a healthy respect for Wesley that was more the beginnings of real friendship than anything else.
Buffy was about to speak when three cell phones simultaneously chirped.
Tara was in the library of UC Sunnydale, studying for her last final, head immersed in abnormal psychology and oblivious to anything else, when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, making it jump across the table.
Jumping a little herself, Tara grabbed her bag, and reached inside for the buzzing phone. Looking down at the voice mail message, Tara quickly packed up her things and with a quickly murmured “sorry” to her study group, she got up and left the building.
Giles was just settling down to read, after putting Connor down, when his cell phone rang. Fumbling for it, he heard Dawn’s door open, then the quick patter of her feet, and the thud of them hitting the stairs.
“Giles? Did your phone go off?” Seeing the item in his hands, Dawn held up a hand, “don’t bother. Its Oz. Something’s wrong, because he didn’t finish the message.”
“Yes I see that.” Giles checked his own, just in case, then snapped his head up. “Go upstairs and check Connor. I’ll get everything ready.”
“What do you mean everything?” Dawn watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was going to do.
“If he’s hurt, he’ll need transport to hospital. I’m going to get the car. See to the baby please.” Giles grabbed his coat, motioning Dawn toward the stairs.
“Wouldn’t it be safer if Connor and I stayed here?” She faced Giles from the stairs where she’d started ascending.
He thought for a moment, weighing the options. There was no way of knowing until they found out where he was, what the situation was. “Perhaps waiting might be best. Do you know where he was going to be tonight?”
Dawn shrugged. “Nope.”
“Right then. We’ll wait. Dawn, check on the baby anyway.” Giles motioned her toward the second floor, then shrugged out of his jacket.
Placated that he wasn’t going to rush out, Dawn headed up the stairs.
Moving quickly from the library, Tara hit automatic dialer and got Spike on the first ring.
“What do you know Glinda?” His voice was steady, no hint of anything going on other than him waiting for her phone call.
“He’s rehearsing.” Was her first statement.
“Where?” He motioned his companions to silence.
“Not far from the college, one of the old converted warehouses on the end of Main Street.”
“Which one?” He moved closer to Buffy, letting her listen in.
“Not sure. Never been to rehearsal with him.” Tara was using her intuition, letting her feet guide her in the right direction. “I’d do a locator, but it would take too long.”
“All right. I’ll head over there with Buffy, an’ send Oxford for the wheels.” Clicking off the phone, Spike indicated to Buffy and Wesley what Tara hadn’t said. “We need to go now. Got a hunch dogboy could use a hand.” Pointing to himself and Buffy, he said, “we can get there faster without you.”
“I’d best go for the car then, in case we need to get him to Sunnydale Memorial. I’ll call Dr. Thomas, let him know we might be coming in.” Wesley headed off toward the cemetery’s entrance, Buffy and Spike just behind him.
“Oxford. Watch your back.” And with that the two blonds took off, running full out toward the warehouse district.
Tara closed her eyes after ending the phone call, inhaling deeply and centering herself. She was worried about Oz, knowing the quiet man wasn’t the type to jump and send messages that weren’t false alarms. He was more likely to downplay any danger.
Once she achieved a sense of calm, Tara thought to herself . . and realized how incredibly vulnerable she was in the nearly deserted area between the college and the warehouse district. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Tara immediately cast the sunlight spell, sending the ball of sunshine up and over her head. There. That will keep me safe for now.
Reaching out her senses, Tara started off toward her left, following her intuition.
Spike, on the other hand, was using his knowledge of two things, the musical underground and his sense of smell. Not quite on a level with a werewolf’s, Spike’s heightened sense was enough to lead him unerringly to the rehearsal building, once he had a general location.
Buffy was running alongside him, holding back because she was relying on his sense of smell, and she stole a glance over at him, noting he’d slipped into game face and was sporting a grimace.
“Angelus was here.” He ground out as they skidded to a halt outside a boxy-type former factory with a sliding metal door. Taking note of the light rapidly approaching from their right, Spike slipped out of game face. “Glinda’s here, pet.”
Buffy swung her head to look and ran down the alleyway to meet her.
Spike had slipped inside before they returned, leaving the door partially opened. The interior lights were on, illuminating a plain hallway running parallel to the door, with perpendicular hallways and doors leading away from the front. Spike was nowhere to be seen and not willing to speak out loud in case Angelus was still in the building, Buffy held a hand out to stop Tara and silently called out to Spike.
His voice sounded in her head, “to your left, kitten, third hallway halfway down.”
Motioning Tara to come with her, Buffy followed his instructions.
The room was a shambles. Destroyed amps and ripped cabinets littered the floor, electronic cables and speaker wires hanging from the ceiling. Sparks flickered here and there and Spike grimaced when he passed a destroyed Stratocaster and the remains of Oz’ bass. Stepping over the debris on the floor, he gingerly made his way methodically through the room.
A low pain-filled groan caught his attention and Spike picked his way over to it. Oz was on the floor, blood pooling beneath his injured leg, half morphed between wolf and man. Knowing he could smell his presence, Spike kneeled down, talking quietly. “All right mate, its jus’ Spike. Girls are on their way. Gonna get you to hospital.”
Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Slayer, need to get Oxford here.”
Turning his attention back to the werewolf beside him, Spike asked, “where else you hurt?”
Oz turned his eyes to Spike, growling softly and trying to get the words out, but could only gasp, “ribs . . .leg. . . . jaw.”
“Right then. Don’t talk.” Spike leaned over, checking the wound on his left leg. Grabbing Oz’ ripped shirt, Spike tied off the wound, slowing the bleeding.
Buffy and Tara were behind him, leaning over his shoulder, surveying the damage to Oz. Placing her hand on Spike’s shoulder, Buffy said, “Wesley’s almost here. He called Dr. Thomas, they’re waiting for us to get there.”
Tara knelt down on the other side, her hand on Oz’ injured jaw. “Relax. We’re gonna get you out of here.”
Lifting her eyes to Spike, Tara asked, “can you lift him without jarring his ribs?”
Obviously the girls had heard their conversation, and Spike nodded. “Can try. Should be okay.” Looking down at Oz, Spike queried, “you ready?”
“Yeah.” Oz barely nodded, but Spike was already lifting him up, trying not to jostle him overly.
Wesley pulled up in Joyce’s Jeep, the back seat already down and a blanket on the floor. He was waiting at the back when the four of them emerged from the warehouse. At first glance Oz looked nearly dead, but on a second look, he was alert and responsive. Spike carried him easily, the girls trailing behind him. Buffy jumped up into the back of the Jeep and Spike passed his burden off, then hopped up in beside her.
Hours later, when Spike crawled into bed beside her, Buffy rolled right into his arms, nuzzling against his bare skin. “How is he?”
“All right.” Wrapping his arms around her, Spike whispered, “well, he will be once he’s asleep.”
She had gone to bed before him, inexplicably tired, leaving the three Englishmen to sit up with Tara while she watched over Oz. Dr. Thomas had patched him up, setting his jaw, wiring it closed, then wrapped his ribs and sent him home after stitching up his leg. By mutual agreement and despite his aunt’s protests otherwise, they’d brought Oz back to Revello Drive.
It was nearing daybreak when Spike came up to bed and Buffy hadn’t slept well or deeply, tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite the fatigue that was weighing down her muscles. Connor too, had spent a fitful night and he was back in his own bed after spending a few hours in with Buffy.
“Go back to sleep, kitten.” Spike ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip, raising gooseflesh in his wake.
“Don’t wanna sleep.” She nibbled at the hollow of his shoulder, her hands holding onto him. “Spike?”
“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky, his hands making idle patterns on her skin.
“Hold me please?” She sounded like such a little girl, like she had months ago when she’d first come back, that it shook him out of his lethargy.
“You okay sunshine?” Angling down to look at her, Spike saw the fear she was doing her best to hide. “What’s this then?”
“Dunno. Just thinking about when you got hurt, I guess.” She shrugged, hiding her eyes from him.
Spike licked his marks, his tongue raspy against her soft skin. “Don’t need to be worryin’ ‘bout me, ‘m fine an’ once this bloody chip is gone we’ll be fine.”
He heard her sniffles then felt the soft wash of a few tears that slid down her cheek. Spike wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted this reaction from her, but it wasn’t something he’d expected. Rolling her onto her back, Spike hiked up the flimsy slip of lace she was wearing, his hands strong and firm around her hips. Nudging his way between her hips, Spike slid inside her warm depths.
Silken heat surrounding him, Spike thrust slowly in, then pulled out a bit. Buffy whimpered at his retreat, her hands holding onto his ass, forcing him back in. “Love you, kitten. . . I do.”
“Me too. . . “ she stared up into his eyes, smiling a little when he licked the tears from her skin, letting small wisps of laughter escape when his fingers tickled her sides. “Spike, stop. C’mon.”
Grinning down at her, he surged up inside her, hitting the spot that made her breathing hitch and gasp. The pressure built slowly, murmured words mixed with drugging kisses, her legs wrapped around him, holding him there. . . “oh. . . “
Rolling through them the orgasm grew until they were both gasping for air, cool lips soothing the raging heat of her body. “Spike . . . oh god. . . “
“Stay with me love . . . come with me. . . “ his hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into tender skin, his forehead resting on hers. “Need you . . . always. . . fuck. . . oh god. . . “ he groaned into her mouth, breathing with her.
“Now. . . tha’s it . . . fuckin’ . . . “ Buffy whimpered, tightened around him, her entire body convulsing, contracting, arching up into his. Spike ground into her, pumping hard, gasping out her name, exploding in her depths.
Angelus limped his way back to the mansion, battered and bleeding from his battle with the werewolf. Well that had been a surprise. Not a pleasant one either. He didn’t remember if he’d ever heard about the boy being a werewolf.
Drusilla was waiting for him, lounging against the fireplace, her latest pet bound at her feet, both women naked and waiting for him. “What happened Dearest? Did the nasty doggie get you?”
He slumped against the wall, blood congealing down his chest and throat, thick and clotted. “Dru. . . “
His raspy voice was harsh, the sounds alone enough to hurt. “Come here Daddy, I’ve got what you need.”
Tugging on the chain that held the girl in place, Drusilla stood up and closed in on Angel. “Poor Daddy. . . all battered and torn.”
“Shall I clean you?” Suiting action to words, Drusilla dipped her head and licked a path through the clotted mess at Angel’s neck. “Mmmmmm lovely messy.”
The girl at her feet whimpered, drawing their attention. Angel growled, his need for fresh blood overriding his need to have Drusilla writhing beneath him. Pulling on the leash in Drusilla’s hand, Angel brought the girl to her feet. Grinning, yet reeling from the blood loss and pain, Angel fell on the girl’s neck, his fangs sliding easily into her jugular.
Nearly draining the girl dry, Angel let her drop from his hold, stepped over her slumped form, then, with Drusilla trailing behind him, Angel strode from the room.
Bypassing the bathroom, Angel walked into his bedroom. Looking at the girl tied up in his bed, the big vampire smiled, his grin stretching across his features and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “hello Cordy. Miss me?”
Connor woke her not long after Spike had fallen asleep, his cool body wrapped around hers protectively. Spike was so very . . touchy feely, affectionate even. He was spoiling her rotten, if she thought about it for a minute. Every time he went out, he came back with something, even if it was just something she liked to eat. Come to think of it, it was mostly chocolate he brought home, even on poker nights. And he brought home something for the other girls too, at least once a week.
Lifting Connor up from his crib before his cries could escalate into earsplitting howls for his bottle, Buffy made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still fairly early, barely seven thirty in the morning, well, early if most of the household were nocturnal, which it was. Dawn had gotten up on time and left for school, as her note and lack of presence indicated and Tara was still downstairs, watching over Oz. Wesley and Giles must have gone back to the apartment they were sharing, although as she peeked out the back door, she spied Wesley sleeping on the lawn furniture, so Giles must still be around.
It took bare minutes to fill and warm Connor’s bottle and the entire time she kept up a running monologue to the attentive infant. He really was a cute baby, thankfully looking more like his mother than his father. Buffy wondered what on earth she might have been thinking with that. . . . Angel was not really a gorgeous man, not that looks were everything but . . . he wasn’t bad looking either. And yet, in a comparison between the vampires she’d loved, Angel came out a way distant second. The vampire sleeping upstairs was far and away the better man and not just looks wise.
Before she jumped, before Glory, life, at least hers, had been bathed in absolutes – colors of black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, sometimes charged with red. Since returning – since she’d been ripped from heaven, life had been. . . all about shadings, nuances – everything in the in-between. The grey. Nothing was absolute anymore, nothing carved in stone. . . well, there was one constant, one thing she could rely on and trust that it wasn’t going to disappear. . . to fade in the harsh light of day or disappear under the glow of perfect happiness.
Buffy brushed a kiss over Connor’s forehead, words tumbling unchecked from her lips, unaware and uncaring that she’d garnered an audience. “Yup. Your real daddy is a jerk, you know, just a big old dumb jerk. Can’t love without a soul, kinda makes you wonder what he was like when his heart beat. But we’re not gonna think about him, nope. Nahuh. Coz he’s just not worth it.” Another kiss dropped down on his head and Buffy swore he smiled at her around the nipple.
“Oh, but your new daddy. . . . I guess the real one . . .” Buffy’s voice faltered for a moment, then went on, “he’s different. Crazy, but different. Don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do. . . . he didn’t leave when I was gone . . stayed to take care of our Dawnie. And he doesn’t need a soul to do good things. How come he doesn’t? I think . . . dunno what to think sometimes. . . . he just . . he takes my breath away. He loves me so much. . . he loves all of us so much, even you.”
Connor’s hand reached up toward her mouth, his fingers pulling and touching her and Buffy automatically kissed each one of the tiny digits. “Promise you won’t tell anyone? It’s a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”
In the back of her mind, Buffy knew how ridiculous it looked, carrying on a conversation with a two month old infant, but she didn’t care. Lifting him higher, Buffy whispered her secret against his skin, too low for anyone else to hear, even the vampire watching her from the shadows of the hallway.
“See why you had to promise? That’s my good boy. I knew I could trust you.” A watery giggle escaped from her when Connor looked up at her and smiled. “Oh you did. . . you smiled at Buffy. Yes you did. C’mon give mommy Buffy another one, c’mon Connor boy, you can, yes you can.” Her voice lost its serious tone, lilting with almost laughter.
To Spike’s ears and eyes, Buffy looked happier than he’d seen her in a very long time. Completely alone with the baby, she dropped the defenses she always carried, the worries and cares of just being the Chosen One.
The tiny nightshirt she wore over the minuscule nightgown did nothing to decrease his need for her, in fact, it just served to whet his appetite, but he was content to just watch her, to listen to her with their surrogate son.
Didn’t matter how Connor came into their lives, he was theirs. They’d both claimed him it seemed, if going by her statements to the baby were any indication. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes intent upon the two in the kitchen. She wasn’t even aware of his presence, her every sense focused on the baby in her arms. He’d never have pegged her as the maternal type, but thinking about it, it made a weird sort of sense. What set her apart from the other slayers he’d known was the depth of her heart – her love – her capacity for it.
She might’ve feared, just after her mother had died that she was losing her heart, but the truth was, it wasn’t that she couldn’t love, it was that she was afraid to love. Buffy loved with everything she had and when it wasn’t reciprocated fully she was hurt in equal measure. He was brought back from his musings by the sound of her light laugh and her words.
“There’s daddy Spike’s big boy. You burp like a champ.” She giggled again and the sound was pure sunshine.
He must’ve moved or made some sort of sound, because she became aware of him, standing there watching the two of them. Turning around to look at him, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. Spike was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, black jeans riding decadently low on his hips, the buttons only half done, arms crossed over bare chest, eyes sleepy and curls wild and disheveled, tousled from his short sleep. And all that is mine. . . . gah.
She gasped for air, her eyes drinking in his form. “How . . . how long have you been watching me?”
“Woke up missing you.” Was all he said as he pushed away from the wall.
Buffy met him halfway, drawn to him by the love in his bottomless blue eyes. His hands flexed around her hips, his breath washing over her. His voice, when he spoke, was husky, raising gooseflesh and sending her every nerve into overdrive. “Come back to bed with me, sunshine.”
Without waiting for her response, Spike lifted them both up into his arms, heading back upstairs.
Okay, there it is, the next installment. Lemme know what you think, coz reviews feed the muse. So does blood and sex, but I don't think anyone's going to be sacrificing any virgins for me. Kind words will do nicely.