Ch-ch-changes - Part Five
Giles saw Buffy grab Spike's lapels, and he didn't bother to repress a groan. "Oh, you git. You haven't told her?"
"Told me that you have a, a--" she began.
"--Love, just hang on." Then Spike shot him a look as narrow-eyed and vicious as any in the Big Bad's pre-conscience arsenal. "Giles. Go, and take Anya with you."
Leaning on Anya's supporting arm, he got to his feet. Much as he enjoyed being this close to her, he was damn tired of the tottering-old-man moves. Also, his ribs stung, even though he knew Spike had tried not to break anything when saving his life. All in all, it wasn't the post-crisis image he had hoped to project, which lent an edge to his voice: "Keys then, mate."
"What?"
"Keys. I'm not bloody walking. Give me the car keys."
Spike jerked away from Buffy's pinioning arms, dug in his pocket, then hurled them hard, straight and over-arm. Should have guessed the little twerp was a fast bowler, Giles thought. Not being a fool, he didn't attempt a catch but let the keys fall in the dust behind him.
"I'll get them for you, Rupert." Anya bent down, a pleasing angle, and retrieved them. "Although I could always just have teleported--"
"No!" He had to take a breath, lower his voice. "No, dear, I'd prefer to drive." And he crooked his arm for her. "Would you care to accompany me?"
She looked at him for a second, then inclined her head and accepted his escort to the DeSoto.
***
When he heard the car pull away, Spike turned away from Buffy. There lay the ruins of what once had been Sunnydale High, deceptively picturesque in the moonlight. They had had their first real confrontation in those halls. He could almost hear the echoes in the still night: "As a personal favour from me to you, I promise I'll make it quick. It won't hurt a bit." And her soft-voiced "No, Spike. It's gonna hurt a lot."
He had had no idea how much, he thought. He really hadn't.
Then he was spun around hard, and Buffy grabbed the coat again. "Is it true? What Giles said? You have a soul now."
"Yes, although I'd prefer you not to call it--" She pushed him away with Slayer-strength, and he stumbled back several feet. "What the bloody hell was that for?"
"For you being you, stupid idiot! What did you do? What were you thinking? To go off... to make me... let me... oh God, I can't breathe--" and she fell to her knees, sobbing.
He cursed under his breath, then dropped down beside her. "Oh, love. Please. Please don't." She shook with the force of her tears, her body almost coming apart, and he couldn't bear it. Tentatively he put his arms around her-- she at once tried to crawl into his lap, but he wasn't situated quite right. The two of them struggled, almost toppling over, but he used his strength to balance and find a place for her.
And then he rocked her, murmuring "Darling, darling" into her hair as she let out months of accumulated pain in almost animal wails. He wrapped his hands around hers and held on.
***
Giles wrapped his hands tightly around the old steering wheel. Anya was sitting quietly in the passenger seat, looking out the cracks of the painted windshield, and he couldn't stop turning his head to make sure she was still there, still next to him.
"Giles, why do you keep looking at me?"
Well, it is Anya, he thought, he should expect the honest question. He would have to be honest in return, if he could just clear his throat of all the words (lies, compliments, lines, entreaties) choking him. "Dear, I'm happy that you're here. And I'm afraid you'll leave."
She didn't say anything. He sighed, then realized something. He had been driving for a bit, not actually heading in a specific direction, but apparently Ripper had been sending coded messages to his brain. They had reached his hotel.
He pulled into the parking lot, found a place, and turned off the car. Yet Anya said nothing. This wasn't like her at all. "Would you, er, like to come in for a drink? Celebrate teamwork, preventing the collapse of dimensions, another success? I'm not suggesting my room, but the hotel bar has a rather nice selection of--"
Her eyes wide and dark, she leaned across and put her finger on his lips. Well, then. He kissed the finger. And she lunged at him.
***
Buffy didn't cry as long as he'd expected. The tearing sobs soon subsided into hiccuping breaths, and now she sat quietly, cradled in his lap, her small hands surrounded by his. But of course that wouldn't last either. He started counting in his head: one, two, three, four--
And she pushed up and off, one boot digging into his shin as she moved. She was such a wounded creature, he thought, so far from the happy girl he'd first seen twirling, hands in the air, at the Bronze. But she was strong. And it was the strong Buffy who turned to face him now.
She had dashed tears away, but the tracks were still visible in the moonlight. Her face was set, but not cold-- a gain, a definite gain, he thought. Then she said something he hadn't anticipated: "Who did you kill?"
Fabulous. A trick question. "What? Pet, I didn't keep a list or anything. Well other than--" And for the first time in his long unlife he managed to bite back, literally, the completely stupid comment "of Slayers" which was coming next. He could taste the blood on his tongue.
"No. No, Spike. I mean, who did you kill so that you got cursed with a soul."
Bloody buggering hell. Bloody bollocks of a bog-trotting son of a bitch, the Poof struck again. Fired by a blast of sudden crackling rage, Spike leapt to his feet and roared, "No one! Not in a long time, oh, DAMN it!" He stalked forward. "See, this is why I didn't tell you. Besides that we got busy and I forgot. You had to bring him into it, didn't you? 'S never about Spike, no, it's all about HIM." He whirled, paced away from her so that he wouldn't unleash fist or fangs. He should have guessed, why hadn't he guessed.
She spun him around again, and he snarled. She didn't run. Got closer, hands on the duster, fingernails digging in. "Then how the hell did you get a soul, if not cursed? Wal-Mart? Buy-and-sell-souls-dot-com? 'Cause I'm really eager to know."
"Oh are you? Couldn't tell from over here. Been back two sodding days, haven't heard much in the way of inquiry about where I've been or what I've been doing. Why the bloody hell would I bother to tell you anything?"
"I saved you this morning! And I told you not to dust!"
"Yeah, 'cause you wanted to kill me yourself. God, Buffy." And the anger burned out as quickly as it had come. He put his hands over hers, holding her to him. This was going to be worse than the quest itself. "Right then. After I hurt you so badly... before, you know... I realized I couldn't stay the way I was. Torn up. So I heard about this spirit-caller half a world away, and I decided I'd see what there was to see. Find out if there was something else I could do or be." Her eyes were locked on him. He couldn't read them, though, and he swallowed hard. "Managed to get to the shaman, and he sent me inside myself. I won't tell you what I saw or did, but end result, a conscience and no chip." He managed a short, pain-filled laugh. "We're not calling it a soul for the very reason you just demonstrated. I'm not Peaches, nor was meant to be."
She looked at him for a long moment. Her fingers intertwined with his, pressed briefly, then pulled away. "Oh, Spike. You might not be Angel. But you keep changing on me." She brushed a butterfly kiss on his lips, then she walked away from him.
He stood there in the moonlight. Yeah, he had had no idea how much it was going to hurt.
***
"Damn it, that hurt!" Giles snapped, briefly coming out of his fog of lust. Almost stretched out in the front seat of the DeSoto, lips and hands fully engaged on top of the sweet-smelling and quite delightfully aggressive (if still unfortunately clothed) Anya, was a location next door to paradise. If only he didn't keep hitting the steering column whenever he moved.
"What? Wait. Wait. Giles, get off." And Anya pushed him back into the steering column, hitting right on the fresh bruise. Bloody buggery hell. Swallowing a more inventive stream of curses and firmly shoving Ripper (now growling in frustration) back into the mental box where he usually lived, Giles managed to scramble back to his side of the car. Breathe in and breathe out, old man. Think of tweed. Think of Travers.
Anya took her own series of deep calming breaths, settling back into the passenger seat. The two sat there a moment, separate, staring into black glass. Then Giles managed, his voice almost normal, "Anya? You all right?"
"I think so." His hand went towards hers, but she moved a bit further away from him. "Giles, would you say my name?"
"Darling Anya." Her brown eyes didn't waver from his. Oh, right. "Anyanka."
Those eyes filled with tears. "You don't want to be with Anyanka, do you? Not really."
Did he want to love a demon? He'd never imagined, even in his chaos-worshiping days, such a question posed to him. But he needed to answer it honestly. He took a moment to organize his thoughts, then claimed her hand. "I want to be with you. The vengeance part deeply troubles me, I admit; the idea of you hurting people throughout dimensions, well... But strangely, er, I don't actually mind the demon part." He risked a small grin. "At least when you're Anyanka, I'm the younger man."
"Are you worried about age? Because from what I can tell, you're far more skilled than, say, Xander, which--"
"Darling, stop right there. Please, no comparisons. Ever."
She squeezed his hand. "But you're better so far." He couldn't repress a laugh, and she smiled at him. Then her expression shifted, back to that thinking-hard face he'd seen a thousand times, over invoices or a question of demon history or that stock-market website she favoured, and his heart melted. Then she turned to him. "I have to go right now. I have something to do. But I'll be back soon."
She released his hand, then disapparated. He stared at the empty space beside him.
God, he needed a drink. Of his private stock.
***
Spike's right hand reached for his glass, and he took a swallow of extremely good brandy. As golden as the lamplight in which he sat, it warmed him a bit. Then he bent to his task again, his left hand moving across the page of his notebook.
The bell over the door rang, and he looked up to see Giles. "What are you doing in the Magic Box, Spike? And how did you get in?"
"Didn't want to go home. Came through the basement." He returned to his notebook. Giles walked over to the table and picked up the bottle of brandy. Spike didn't need to look up to know that Rupert's eyebrows were up around his (receding) hairline: poor Watcher hadn't realized Spike had found the good stuff months ago. Then Giles fetched another glass, came back to the table, and sat. He poured his own, then took a sip.
Spike finished the sentence he was writing, then drank again. Giles scrutinized him, but at least it wasn't the Ripper stare he'd used to terrorize Xander. He took another drink.
Giles mirrored his action, then put his glass on the table. "So what happened with you and Buffy after Anya and I left?"
"Bollocksed everything up. And you?"
"Almost got shagged." The two burst into shared laughter, which dwindled into chuckles, until the Magic Box was silent.
Giles spoke again. "What are you writing?" Spike pushed the notebook across the table. Giles adjusted his glasses and read through the page, then flipped back a page or two more. "This is very good. Very clear, detailed."
"I started keeping records on her fights after you left. Well, as many as I knew about. Got the rest back at the crypt."
"The Watcher's Council would be interested in these."
Spike snorted. Yeah, he was sure the Council of Wankers would just love a vampire's field reports. "I appreciate the praise, Rupes. But I think they'd prefer an actual Watcher's comments, yeah? And now that you're back--"
"Sunnydale's not my home any more." The words fell into a hush. Spike thought Giles had rather surprised himself with them. "I'm still connected here, still tied. I won't cut myself off again, as I did this past year. But I don't live here."
"Y'know, I felt like that in London." Giles raised his eyebrows, and Spike shrugged. "I love the old girl, I really do. Have a favourite spot, in fact: nighttime, obviously, on the terrace of Somerset House, overlooking the river. The weight of the stone behind me, the sound of traffic and water below, the lights on the South Bank opposite. Time passes sweetly there." He picked up his glass again, swirled the brandy around the bowl. Giles did the same, meditatively. "But Sunnyhell is where my heart is."
The bell of the door jangled again, and Buffy came in. Spike nodded across the table. "As you see."
Giles drained his glass, then stood. "I've still got the car, Spike." He walked to the door, then gave Buffy a hug. She clung to him for a moment, then they let each other go. He smiled down at her. "Don't let Spike bollocks it up again. And don't you either, my dear." And he left them alone.
Spike was thankful he didn't have to breathe, because he wasn't sure he could. Buffy hesitated, her eyes on the floor, then she came to him. Not all the way, though; she hovered just out of reach. "You weren't at the crypt."
"No."
"I was afraid you were gone."
"Again, no. Just came back, didn't I."
She nodded. And, with a sudden swirl of air, she sat on his lap. He crushed his lips to her hair-- God, he loved her hair-- and waited. She wound her fingers through his, and said with a rush, "The thing I forgot tonight? When you told me?" He tightened his grip. "Change isn't always a bad thing."
And her mouth was on his.
***
Giles stood in the shadows of the alley besides the DeSoto, jingling his keys. Good to know that someone would be happy tonight, even if once again it wouldn't be Rupert Giles. He was bloody tired of being left out, but there it was. He wished it wasn't.
"Rupert." He turned to see Anya standing in the moonlight, just outside the alley. She took one step toward him, then another. "I had to see D'Hoffryn. Because I'm not sure I want to be human again, what with all the pain and confusion and the dying, but I know I want to be with you. So I had to check with D'Hoffryn, to see if I could quit but not actually quit, if you see what I mean--"
He didn't remember moving, but he was there and she was in his arms. He fisted one hand in her hair, thrust a knee between her thighs, kissed her as deeply as he had dreamed about in those long and lonely months. Then he swung her around, maneuvered her. And it was Ripper's voice that came out of his mouth: "We'll bloody talk about this later."
"Oh, Rupie," she moaned as he lowered her to the bonnet of the car.
***
For the moment as giddy as the girl she had been when he first met her, Buffy swung Spike's hand. He closed the Magic Box door behind them, and she pulled him into the moonlight. "I guess I haven't been the brightest star tonight in the now-safely-Toller-free sky, have I."
"You get no argument from me."
She thwapped him on the shoulder, then snuggled close as they started to walk. "I do have to check on Dawnie and Willow, but then--" she smiled at him-- "let's see if we can manage not to break any furniture." His lips trailed down her neck and further, then she pushed his head away and put a finger to his open mouth. "Do you hear something?"
From the alley opposite came the sound of a muffled thud, thud against metal, then mingled, synchronized gasps. "No, I don't hear a damned thing. Walk with me, love, walk with me." She rolled her eyes but followed as he pulled her more quickly down the street.
He smiled at her, thinking, Tosser's going to pay if he makes any dents.
THE END