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Ready to Unwrap by slaymesoftly
 
One
 
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Chapter One

“Hello? Andrew?”

The voice was so strange, and at the same time so familiar, that she couldn’t speak for a full minute.

“Hello? Who’s there?” The touch of impatience told her that she didn’t have time to indulge in wondering where the voice was coming from.

“Sp-Spike?”

The silence now fell on the other end of the line as she waited to be told she was imagining things. Finally, the sound she’d thought never to hear again came back.

“Buffy? What are you doin’ answering Andrew’s phone?”

“It’s nice to hear your voice, too,” she said stiffly. Clearly he hadn’t wanted to talk to her. But then, I already knew that, didn’t I?

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice softened to that sweet rumble that she didn’t think anyone but her had ever heard. “ Of course I’m glad to hear your voice. I’m just a bit gobsmacked, is all. Wasn’t expectin’ to hear it now, was I?”

“So I gather. I’ll just take a message for Andrew then, and you can get back to...to...whatever you were doing before you called here. For Andrew.” Not for me. Didn’t call here to talk to me.

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the phone. “Don’t be like that, Slayer. You know I’d rather be talkin’ to you than that annoying little git.”

“Really? And how would I know that, Spike?” Righteous anger was taking the place of the flurry of emotions that had run through her at the first sound of his voice.

“Bloody hell, Buffy! How can you doubt it?”

How can I dou—Okay, you know what? I’m not going to play this game with you. If you wanted to hear my voice, you could have called me. Anytime. Anytime within the last five years would have been good. Yesterday would have been good. This morning, even. But don’t expect me to believe you’re glad to talk to me when the only reason you are is because I happened to answer the wrong phone!” The hand holding the phone was shaking with the effort it took for her to not throw it against the wall.

The only sound for minutes was the Slayer’s ragged breathing as she struggled to control both her temper and her tears. The growing silence on the other end of the line began to frighten her and she finally said, “Spike? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. ‘m here, Buffy,” was his quiet response; his voice was thick with emotion. “An’ I’m sorry, love. Thought I was doin’ the right thing – stayin’ out of your life. Didn’t want to complicate— Never mind, pet. I’ve been a git. You’re right. Should’ve called you a long time ago – before the whole dustup in LA. Should’ve let you know that I was back, just in case you...” There was a heavy sigh. “You knew, though, didn’t you? Didn’t the watcher wannabe tell you?”

“Not until after,” she said dully. “You let me mourn for you twice, Spike. That’s once too many. Give me a number where Andrew can reach you.” Her voice was flat, all emotion drained out of it as she waited for his reply. When he hesitantly gave her a cell phone number, she scribbled it down, repeated it back to him and then with a quiet, “Good-bye, Spike”, she placed the phone in its cradle.

Exercising more control than she’d had any reason to in years, Buffy jotted down a quick “Call Spike” above the phone number and put the paper where she was sure that Andrew would see it when he got home. She stubbornly refused to look at the number again, wanting to take no chance that it would go into her memory to taunt her with the nearness of his voice. She’d meant what she told him just before she ran for her life. Her proud grief after he used the amulet to pull Sunnydale down and close the Hellmouth was forever eclipsed by the gut-wrenching pain of learning that he’d returned, not wanted her to know about it, and had then perished again when he stood with his grandsire to face an army of demons.

By the time they learned that he and Angel had apparently survived the battle – attributing it to assistance from a being called ‘Illyria’ which Giles had tried to explain was something very old and powerful – her heart had a hardened shell around it specifically designed to keep out anything Spike shaped. If she was waiting for him to contact her so that she could coldly reject him, she refused to admit it; and eventually she quit expecting him to call or to show up on her doorstep, moving on to a string of forgettable boyfriends, none of whom interested her for more than a few months at a time.

Now she was faced with the deeply buried emotions that she had been sure were long gone.

He sounds just the same. He sounds like he still cares. But he couldn’t care. If he did he would never have let me think he was dead...twice. Even if he didn’t believe me, he had to know that I was grieving for him. That I would have missed him. Stupid vampire. I hate him!

Slamming the door behind her so hard that she winced and had to turn around to be sure she hadn’t broken it, she left Andrew’s apartment and went out into the chilly English night, determined to find and destroy every vampire she could find.

Bonus if I find a blond one! she fumed, heading for the nearest cemetery. So intent was she on her quest to find some newly-risen vampires upon which to take out her righteous anger at Spike, that she failed to notice that her vampire tingles were going off long before she got anywhere near the cemetery. She charged ahead, vaulting over the big iron gate across the drive and searching avidly for some sign of nighttime activity.

She shivered slightly, not having thought about dressing for slaying when she went over to Andrew’s to compare notes on the latest squabble among the rebuilding Council of Watchers staff. The cold damp London air went right through her thin coat and even thinner Italian leather flats. Too stubborn to admit it wasn’t a good idea to be trying to hunt when she was busy shivering, she jumped up and down a few times and tried to get her blood warmed up.

There are times when I really, really miss Southern California, she grumbled silently as she did a few more jumping jacks. At least there, if it was cold at night it didn’t seep into my bones like this. You’d think if it was going to be this cold in England in the winter, it would at least have the grace to snow and look pretty…

Before she could allow her common sense to overrule her intense desire to kill something, she was gratified to see the ground shaking over a newly filled grave, and she hurried over to stand watch. Stake in hand, she shook off the memory of the vampire who had instructed her to always have a weapon and waited for the vampire now struggling to emerge from the damp soil.

Rather than stake him immediately while he was stuck half-in and half-out of the grave, she waited until he was standing on the ground and brushing the dirt off his burial suit. She could see the instant that it dawned on him what he was and what his body was craving. Amber eyes zeroed in on her neck and he leapt forward so quickly she almost didn’t get out of the way in time.

But she did; she dodged his clumsy attack and waited for him to spin around and charge again. She quickly tucked her stake into her waistband and met his attack with a foot to his mid-section, causing him to double over. She followed up with a right uppercut to his easily reached jaw and a flurry of shorter jabs to his face. With each punch, she was saying, her voice getting louder and louder, “That asshole! Who does he think he is? Acting like it was just yesterday that he saw me! Like I have no right to be angry or hurt that he didn’t want to see me when he came back. Like I would have lied to him about my feelings!” She paused, giving the dazed vampire a minute to regroup and try to focus on the small blonde woman who had been punching and yelling at him for the past long, unpleasant minutes.

“’ey, listen, lady. I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t even know you – and I sure as ‘ell haven’t done anything to you. I don’t know where you get off calling me an arsehole.”

Buffy stopped her rant to stare at him in disbelief.

“You just tried to eat me!”

“Well…yeah…but there was nothin’ personal in it, was there? It’s not like I gave you any reason to yell at me. I never called you a liar, did I?” He glared at her in righteous indignation, eying the stake that was now clutched in her hand. “Tell you what, miss. I’m a reasonable sort of bloke; I’ll just be one my way and we’ll forget this whole thin--”

Buffy stared at his dust, muttering to herself, “That didn’t make me feel better at all.” She sighed and dropped her hand to her side, the stake dangling loosely from her fingers. “It did warm me up, though. I guess that’s something.”

With another loud sigh, she turned around and walked back towards the exit. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that pummeling the newly-risen vamp, as easy and as uncomplicated as it had been, actually had taken the edge off her anger. At least to the point where she could think about going home and having a chance at getting a night’s sleep.

She paused once to turn around and scan the street when the back of her neck told her there was a vampire somewhere in the area, but the signature was too faint and too far away for her to have any hope of finding it. With a silent wish that the vamp would encounter a gang of slayers-in-training before he could make a kill, she rejected the idea of searching for the source of the tingles and hurried towards her flat and the warmth waiting for her there.

~~~~~~~~

The following morning, before she had even finished her coffee, the bell rang and a pleasant-looking young man asked, “Miss Summers?” Buffy nodded and automatically reached out to take the box he was holding. She smiled absently at his wish that she have a “lovely Christmas”; then closed the door and stared at the long flat box he’d handed her.

She pulled off the card, setting it on the bookcase by the door while she opened what she was beginning to realize was a florist’s box. Inside were a dozen long stemmed red roses, nestled in a froth of white tissue paper. Taking care not to prick herself on the thorns, she carried them into the kitchen and carefully placed them in a bowl of cold water.

On her way to search for a suitable vase, she picked up the envelope containing the card and examined it curiously. The little holly leaf with berries in the corner of the envelope was a reminder that Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and she grimaced at the thought.

Another wonderful Buffy Christmas – Dawn will parade her latest boyfriend around, Willow will bring her latest flame, Xander will…Xander probably won’t come…again. Giles will try to pretend that he’s not wishing he and Olivia had gone away for the holiday. And everyone will feel sorry for Buffy because she doesn’t have a man in her life. A fun time will be had by all.

She opened the envelope, watching the card slip out and fall to the floor.

I wonder who sent me roses? Maybe it’s that good-looking artist-guy that I met last week. He seemed interested. I hope he doesn’t think that because my mother owned an art gallery, I know anything about art!

She knelt gracefully, picking up the card and turning it over. She read the short message there and toppled over to sit down with a small thud.

“I’m sorry.”

No signature, no name, just two words. Two words that could only have come from one vampire.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said aloud, even as she clutched the card with its elegantly lettered message. “It’s not that easy, Spike.”

With a determined shove, she pushed herself to her feet and stalked into the kitchen. She grabbed the flowers out of the bowl - crying out when she pricked her fingers on the thorns – and carried them to the window where she threw them out into the drizzle. She watched impassively as they fluttered to the street below, cringing when cars and buses began to run over them, quickly churning the beautiful flowers into unrecognizable street debris.

She tried to throw the card into the trash, but it wouldn’t seem to leave her fingers and she ended up putting it into the small drawer beside her bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wearing a large, oiled leather hat with a brim that hid his face, and a long leather coat that defied the drizzle, a man stood across the street from the building watching the flowers rain down into the street. He gave a rueful smile and shook his head.

“Alright, Slayer,” he whispered. “We’ll try something else next time.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time Buffy had emerged to go to her job at the new Council building, the man was gone, safely away from any break in the clouds that had made it safe for him to walk around at ten o’clock in the morning.



 
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