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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 19: Trust Me
 
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Author's Notes: A couple of quick notes, based on feedback from the last chapter. I made up Lydia’s last name, because canonically, she doesn’t have a real last name. I’m aware that fanon has her as “Chalmers” but… honestly, I don’t like it, and my Lydia and the common fanon Lydia have a few minor differences. So pretend mine is a completely different Lydia if you like—though I did base her off the one introduced to us in “Checkpoint”.

Second: in regards to the French (and any other languages that might crop up), I had awesome translators who actually speak the languages in question, who I discussed the translations with fairly extensively. If there are mistakes in the translation they are deliberate. The prophecy Lydia is referring to is mangled: translated first (poorly) from English to French and then back again.

Just wanted to clarify.

You’re all lovely, and your comments are lovely. For those of you who were looking for a little more Spike and little more Mr. Gordo, you’re in luck…

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: This chapter contains excerpts from Robert Service's poems "Moon Lover" and "The Cremation of Sam McGee”, as well as Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice"

Special thanks to Pika-la-Cynique for her help with French translations.

Betaed by Phuriedae

Banner by Phuriedae








Chapter 19

Trust Me




"Tomorrow's your birthday," mom says over breakfast, as if she needs to remind me. "I know, you'll be twenty and all grown up, but… I thought we could do something here at the house, maybe? Invite your friends over, have some cake? What do you think?"

"I think that if no one turns into a demon, dopes me up and tries to feed me to a crazy vampire, or gives me any gifts that include body parts, it'll be a miracle," I say. She laughs, not realizing that I'm serious.

"Let's try having a normal birthday party this year," she says.

"You said there could be cake?" I ask, pretending to think it over. "Can it be chocolate cake?"

"I think that can be arranged," she says with a smile.

A normal birthday. I don't think I've had one since I became the Slayer. It's almost like the PTB want to remind me that I probably ought to be dead by now. You'd think they'd be a little more, you know, giving to their Chosen One?

***


Willow, Tara, and Anya have been working together to track down information on the crystal. When I drop by before class they give me the scoop.

"Mostly it's… well, not much," Willow says. "We found a reference to Olaf and managed to track it to the original coven of witches that cursed him. They kept the crystal for almost two hundred years before it was lost. After that… poof," she says.

"Poof?" I ask. Poof's not good.

"Poof," she confirms sadly. "We'll keep looking."

Giles and Lydia aren't much more help. They spent most of the last night going over the prophecy and making a ton of notes that don't do me any good.

"The text… it's, well, it's quite garbled," he says. "The transcriber clearly did her best, but the…the translator wasn't used to translating, it would seem and couldn't quite keep up. Or perhaps the prophet skipped about. It's all in bits and pieces." He sighs and polishes his glasses. "Any luck asking around town?"

"Not really," I say, backing up to one of the heating vents in the floor and hoping it thaws me out a little. "I ran into Spike last night on patrol. I think he might know something, but he's not talking."

"Did you try hitting him?" Xander wants to know. "That usually works."

"I might go back in a day or two and try again," I tell Giles. "I'm going to try the other demon bars first. There's only so much Spike I can take in a twenty-four hour period. I just thought you should know."

"Excuse me," Lydia's head comes up from her book. "Are you… are you talking about William the Bloody?"

"Yeah, why? Do you know him?" I ask.

She's got a look on her face like Christmas. "I… well, I did some research on him, when I was studying to be a Watcher. He's quite fascinating. I wasn't aware he was… still in Sunnydale. Your last report to the Council—"

"Was several years ago," Giles reminds her.

"He came back," I tell her. "The army captured him and stuck a chip in his brain that zaps him whenever he tries to hurt humans. He's pretty much harmless now, which is the only reason he's still alive. Well, undead, anyway."

"A…chip?"

It takes a little while to fill her in, but when we're done she looks excited. "Would you… would you mind terribly if I came with you, when you go to speak with him? If…if you're certain that it's safe, that is?"

"Why?" I can't help but ask. Something about her interest in Spike is… kinda wigging me out. She looks like… well like Xander did back when Jonathan was the World's Most Famous Midget. Like she's got a crush. In fact, she's blushing.

"Well, the truth is…for all my research, I haven't spent much time in the field. Any, really. Thus, I've never actually, well, met a vampire. Or had the opportunity to talk to one. It… well, I think it would be fascinating, especially one as old as William the Bloody."

"Trust me," I tell her, "you're in for a world of disappointment."

***


Of all my classes this semester, the one I like the most, I think, is Introduction to Poetry. Professor Lillian makes it pretty interesting, even though I don't always understand everything he's talking about. But I like reading the poems, and talking about what they mean.

Sometimes in class I like to sit in the back of the room and just flip through the book, and see what catches my eye. Means I zone out a lot, but at least he doesn't call me on it like Baldy Prof in History.

Today's pretty much the usual, only the poem that catches my eye this time is a little different. It's titled "Birthday" which seems appropriate, and even though it's a poem about a guy being old, I notice that the date given for his birthday is only a few days before mine. It’s a funny little poem, and it makes me laugh. I don’t know if I’ll ever live to be seventy-five—my shelf life is supposed to be a lot shorter—but I hope I’m that happy if I do.

I flip back to see if there's more by this Robert Service guy, and sure enough there's a small selection of some of his other poems, including a morbidly funny one about a guy trudging through the snow to cremate the body of his dead friend, who turns out not to be dead, just frozen solid or something. I kinda know how he feels. Lately on patrol I feel less bendy and way more breaky.

But one of the others makes me pause and read it a couple of times. The first part is kinda… eh, and the last part is kinda depressing. But the middle part grabs me.

"I have a compact to commune
A monthly midnight with the Moon;
Into its face I stare and stare,
And find sweet understanding there.

As quiet as a toad I sit
And tell my tale of days to it;
The tessellated yarn I’ve spun
In thirty spells of star and sun.

And the Moon listens pensively,
As placid as a lamb to me;
Until I think there’s just us two
In silver world of mist and dew.

In all of spangled space, but I
To stare moon-struck into the sky;
Of billion beings I alone
To praise the Moon as still as stone.

And seal a bond between us two,
Closer than mortal ever knew;
For as mute masses I intone
The Moon is mine and mine alone."


Something about it makes me think of Mr. Gordo, so silent and patient. The way he sits there and listens to me talk about my days.

I know if I told Giles or Willow or Xander that they wouldn't get it. They'd want to figure out why I'm still having these dreams, why they're so real, what they mean. But… I don't want to share them. I want to keep them safe.

Maybe that's stupid, and maybe it'll come back and bite me, but… I like how that sounds: mine and mine alone.

***


I stop back by the Magic Box after my last class for training. The sidewalks are icy enough I wonder if I should start bringing my skates. I only slip twice, and both times I manage to right myself before I land on my butt. I swear, when I find whatever is causing this weather; I'm totally going to melt its ass. Super Slayer Agility and years of ice-skating help, but I've still got a couple of bruises in painful places.

"What's on the agenda today?" I ask when I get in. There's a few customers browsing up at the front, but Anya's got it covered. Giles is restocking shelves in the back, while Lydia pours over her notes at the table.

"I thought we might try working blindfolded again," Giles says. "I know it was never your forte, but your focus has improved markedly over the last few months. Perhaps it's time to try again."

"Okay," I say. Honestly, I've wanted to try this for weeks now, just to see if I've gotten any better. "Lemme just go change."

"No arguments?" Giles says, surprised.

"Since when do I argue?" I ask.

He only raises his eyebrows.

"I am totally non-arguing," I tell him as I head for the backroom and my change of clothes. "See me not arguing?"

"Is she always like this?" I hear Lydia comment behind me.

"Oh, no," Giles says, just as the door closes. "Sometimes she's worse."

"I heard that!"

By the time I'm in my workout gear and wrapping my hands, Giles and Lydia have migrated to the back room.

"Do you mind if I watch?" she asks.

"Lemme guess," I say. "Never seen a vampire, never watched a Slayer train?"

She blushes. "I… was mostly administration and research."

"Yeah, sure, why not?" I shrug. Doesn't bother me. It's not like she can go back and tattle on me for doing something wrong, when she's not even supposed to be here. Giles hands me a thick piece of material to use for a blindfold, and I tie it on, then move into the middle of the room.

"We'll start with basic moves on your own, to test your balance," he says, then gives me a series of kicks, blocks and punches to perform. After weeks of training in the dark, this is pretty much a breeze. When he's put me through my paces a few times, we move things up.

It's a little different, working with Giles. I don't get the same vamp tingle that I get from Mr. Gordo. But Giles has other tells: he breathes, for one thing, and kinda loudly. He doesn't have that vamp fluidity, so the whisper of his clothes brushing together is pretty loud, too. He moves slower than Mr. Gordo, and his punches are clumsier. Also, Giles is left-handed, and Mr. Gordo is a righty.

I manage to successfully duck and block all of his attacks. "Good," he says, panting a little. "Excellent. Much better. Shall we try some offensive moves?"

"Okay," I say, bouncing a little on the balls of my feet.

His first swing is clumsy and I only duck slightly away from it, feeling his knuckles brush my shoulder. Almost instinctively I move into the position Mr. Gordo showed me, grabbing his arm, then twisting my other arm up and landing a solid punch against his chest, just over his heart.

Unfortunately, while that works on Mr. Gordo, who is strong enough to take it and stand his ground, it sends Giles flying back and landing with a crash. I push the blindfold up to see him slumped against the balance horse, clutching his ribs and wheezing.

"Oh, god, are you alright?" I ask, coming over and kneeling beside him. "Sorry, I… wasn't thinking."

"Well, then," he manages. "At least we know your instincts work. That was… remarkably…"

"Good?" I ask.

"Painful," he grunts. "I think we'll switch to the punching bag for the rest of today's session, while I try to locate my lungs."

***


After we're done and Giles has stopped wheezing like a leaky balloon, we move back out to the main part of the shop.

"That was… educational," Lydia says. "You're stronger than I'd expected."

"I was holding back," I tell her.

"Thank god," Giles says. "Next time, perhaps we'll use the…. padded suit."

"Oooh," I smile. "Are you going to be Puffy Giles?"

"I was thinking perhaps Xander might volunteer," he says with a wince, holding his ribs.

"So any luck on this prophecy thingie?" I ask, twisting the cap off my water bottle and taking a swig.

"We've made some progress," Lydia says. She starts rearranging her papers to show me. Clearly, she has a lot to learn. "According to the prophet, the femme de glace, that is the Woman of Ice, as he calls her, was banished from our world several centuries ago. Cast out, somehow, and exiled to a frozen hell dimension."

"Does it say what she is? I know it said demon, but… are we talking an actual demon or maybe an evil sorceress or witch?" I ask.

"It's... not very clear, I'm afraid," Giles says. "There are indications that she might be a bit of all three. That she's still alive after an extended amount of time in a hell dimension would seem to confirm that she is some sort of demon, however."

I wrinkle my nose. "I smell a research party coming on," I say. "I knew it was too much to hope for a normal birthday."

***


Luckily Giles promises that research can wait ‘til after my birthday tomorrow, but he still insists that I have to patrol tonight. Yay me.

Is it possible that it's even colder tonight than it has been? My breath feels like it's going to freeze in my throat, and my eyes water and sting whenever I turn into the wind. I keep my hands tucked deep in my coat pockets, and am glad for the extra layer of thermal workout pants beneath my jeans. Also socks. I really love socks.

The first few cemeteries are dead, and I only take out one vampire at the third. By the time I hit Shady Rest, my nose is numb and I'm reciting some of the poems I remember from class just to keep myself from thinking about the fact that I can't feel my ears anymore.

"There are strange things done, in the midnight sun, by the men who… something… for gold. The Arctic trails have their… something… tales, that would make your blood run cold."

Okay, so I can't remember all the words, sue me.

"The Northern Lights have seen strange sights, but the strangest they ever did see… was that night… er… that night… crap…"

"'That night on the marge of Lake Labarge, when I cremated Sam McGee'," Spike finishes, stepping out of the shadows. He's got an odd little twist to his mouth. "And it's ‘queerist’, not 'strangest', pet."

"Don't be a pig, Spike," I tell him. "And since when do you know poetry?"

"Robert Service. Morbid bloke, but not as depressing as that poncy Poe chap. I liked him." He props himself against a gravestone and eyes me, then starts to recite, his deep voice and accent making the words darker and more dramatic.

"There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows — O God! how I loathed the thing."


A shiver goes down my spine. So unfair that a voice like that is wasted on a vampire. I roll my eyes. "I know how he feels," I tell him. "Want me to start a fire? I could get rid of at least one corpse tonight. Think you'd burn long enough I could get my hands warm?"

He just smirks and lights a cigarette. "You should be inside, Slayer. Gonna freeze your nose off and wouldn't that be a bloody shame."

"What do you want, Spike?"

"It's after midnight," he says, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Thought I'd wish you a happy birthday."

I snort. "Yeah, well, I know how much my continued existence makes you miserable, so of course it's happy."

He frowns a little and sighs, smoke streaming from his nostrils and turning blue under the moonlight. "You're a piece of work, you know that, Slayer?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Can't a bloke wish you a happy birthday without you getting shirty?" he asks, arching a scarred brow.

"I am not being shirty… whatever that means," I say, stepping closer and scowling. Stupid vampire. Can't even speak English.

"Are so," he grins.

"Am not," I say, knowing we sound like third-graders, but not really caring. I go to punch him, but he blocks it easily, grinning.

"Not nice to hit people bearing gifts," he says, tsking at me.

"People?"

"Well, so to speak," he says, watching me through narrowed eyes.

I watch him right back.

For a long time we just stare at each other. In the moonlight, his eyes are nearly black, like a bottomless … thing. Maybe it's the poetry or maybe it's the moonlight or maybe I'm just in a weird mood because I feel like there's something prowling in the dark behind his eyes. Something hungry. Only I can't tell what it's hungry for. There's this weird tension between us, and the longer we stare, the stronger it gets until I realize I'm starting to lean toward him.

Toward Spike.

I jerk back at about the same time as he hisses, flicking his cigarette away and sucking on his burnt fingers.

"I so don't understand why you smoke. Aren't you a little…combustible?" I say, trying to break the tension. It doesn't work.

"Thrill of danger, luv," he says, straightening and stepping into my space. I hold my ground, but he comes closer still. His voice drops to a throaty purr. "Being so close to something that could kill you. Holding it in your hands, feeling it burn. Breathing it in. Tasting it on the tip of your tongue…" His finger brushes the fur of my coat collar. "I'm addicted."

I slap his hand away. "If you want to keep all your parts attached, back off, Spike," I warn him, but it's not as forceful as I want it to be. God, he gets under my skin. Stupid, irritating vampire.

He smirks. "Maybe next time you'll say it like you mean it, Slayer," he says, but he backs up a step.

"It's too cold to waste my energy fighting a neutered vampire who can't even hit back," I tell him. He growls, not a human growl, but the low rumbling growl of a big cat on the hunt.

Then his head whips up and he sniffs the breeze.

"What?" I ask.

"Feel that?" he asks quietly. I try to block out all the tingles his proximity is causing and tune into the area around me. Demons… or… something like. I'm not really sure what they are, just that there are several, and they're coming this way.

"What are they?" I ask.

"Other than smelling revolting, I don't know," he says, stepping around me so that we're shoulder to shoulder, him on my left, with one of the bigger crypts at our backs. "Got any weapons?"

"The usual," I say, sliding my stake out of my coat pocket. "You?"

"Usual," he says, flashing me a fangy grin, his yellow eyes turning back toward the dark graveyard.

The first one slides out of the shadows beside a crypt, the second and third emerge from the tree line, the fourth seems to materialize out of the shadows of a tall grave stone, and the fifth comes from behind a clump of bushes near the fence. They're small, slightly shorter than me, mostly human looking, but with solid black eyes, lank black hair, and nasty pointy teeth. Their skin is a pale, wet looking blue gray. Most of them are skinny, but one or two are a little chunkier. They're also seriously in need of some shampoo, cause… ew… greasy much? These guys make Willy the Snitch look almost hygienic.

"Any ideas?" I ask.

"Not a bloody clue," Spike says. "Tiny little twigs, ain't they?"

"What do you think they want?" I ask.

"Sssssslayer," hisses one of the creatures on my right. "You're the sssslayer?" It giggles.

For the record, giggling demons really wig me out.

"Ssssssoooo ssssmall," hisses another.

"Tasssssty, perhapsssss," says a third.

"Dinner," Spike mutters, to answer my question.

"Great," I can't help but groan. "Why am I always on the menu?"

He flashes me a grin, still in demon face. "Cause you're bloody gourmet, pet."

"Way to be gross, Spike," I say. He just shrugs, unrepentant.

"Which ones do you want?" he asks.

"I'll take Grumpy and Dopey," I say.

"Good," he says, baring his fangs at the evil little dwarf things. "I want Tasty."

He meets my eyes for just a moment, and something passes between us. Then there's nothing but the fight.

They're tougher than they look, but I manage to stab Grumpy with my stake and he goes down, bleeding black all over the place. Dopey, the giggler, starts to circle me, joined by one of the fat ones. I do a flip over their heads, landing back to back with Spike again, and lashing out at the closest with a foot.

Bashful trips, but springs back up, just as the other one dodges in and lands a blow to my stomach. Okay, stronger than they look, too. The pain makes the Slayer part of me come forward, ready for battle, shunting the Buffy part of me off to the side. Then it's nothing besides kick, punch, block, dodge, kick.

My slayer sense is tracking the remaining demons, and Spike as well. When the demons move in for a more coordinated assault, I realize suddenly that we're working almost in tandem. I push Bashful over to Spike, who takes over, breaking his neck while I'm punching Dopey in the face. I manage to kick Dopey hard enough that he flies backward into a gravestone, his head hitting with a sickening crunch. He doesn't get up.

We're down to just two now, and Spike and I break apart, each taking a different opponent. As tough as these little guys are, they aren't much of a match for the two of us. When I finally manage to get a hold on Happy, I push him roughly up against a gravestone and pin him there.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

He giggles, too, through bloody teeth and a grin. Extra creepy. I repeat the question, raising my fist.

"Kill the sssssslayer," he says. "Promissssed, we did."

"Promised?" I ask. "Who did you promise?"

"Ssssshe," he gurgles a bit from the force of my hand around his throat.

"She who?"

"Goddessssss," he hisses. "Queen. Promissssed."

"What do you know about The Slayer's Night?" I ask.

The demon's all black eyes flicker strangely. "Not to touch," he says. "Is herssssss alone."

Touch?

Suddenly he lunges forward, breaking my grip for a second and biting at my arm. I manage to knock him loose, then, pissed, I backhand him hard enough to break his neck. "Dammit." I'd hoped to get more out of him. Maybe Spike's is still…

Only when I look over Spike has his demon by the back of the neck and is slamming it mouth first against the edge of a gravestone, muttering to himself the entire time. "Spike?" he doesn't respond, so I step closer. He's still in demon face. "Spike!"

"What?" he pauses, looking up at me with wide golden eyes.

"I think it's dead," I say.

He twists it around like a doll, its limbs flopping and lifeless, to examine his handiwork. "Oh," he says, his vamp face sliding away. "Right." He tosses it aside easily, then looks around. "That the lot, then?"

"Looks like," I say. "Though I probably ought to finish patrolling. See if there are any more." I flex my cold fingers.

"Right," Spike says, kicking at one of the corpses. "I'll tag along," he says. "If they're traveling in packs, you might need another set of hands, yeah?" When he glances up at me there's something oddly… hopeful in his face. I remember him on Christmas, standing there in his bare feet, bare chested, hair a mess of curls and telling me that he hates feeling useless.

And as annoying as he is, he's right. An extra set of hands wouldn't hurt.

***


It takes us another two hours to finish up patrol, but we don't find any more of the evil little dwarves, which is good because my fingers are so numb by that point I'm afraid they'll shatter if I hit something. Spike and I bicker, which helps keep my mind off it, and at some point he starts reciting dirty limericks… which is totally irritating but… weirdly funny.

Of course, everything about Spike is weird.

In some ways he's totally a cliche for a vampire. In others…

By the time we get to Revello Drive I'm tired, half frozen and ready for bed. There's just one thing that's bothering me and I've pretty much decided not to say anything about it—right up until he gives one of those little shrugs, a half mocking wave, and starts to saunter off.

"Wait," I say, then catch myself. Crap. I hadn't meant to call him back.

"Yeah?" And now he's turning back and staring at me, one eyebrow raised.

Dammit.

"It's just… you said…” I say, not sure how to word it so he won't get the wrong idea.

"I say a lot of things, Slayer. Wanna be more specific?"

"You said… you said you had a present for me," I say. His head tilts to the side.

"I did," he says, with the sort of look on his face that I bet sharks get when they smell blood in the water. Crap. Note to self: add 'that I pay attention to stuff he says' to the List of Things Never To Tell Spike.

I roll my eyes. "I don't want it. It's probably stolen and disgusting and … you should just take it back to wherever it is you looted it from." Only not before showing me what it is first. Not because I want it, of course. I just want to be sure it's not something evil, or dangerous, or… whatever it is Spike might think would make an appropriate gift.

"Can't," he says, his eyes narrowing.

"Why not?"

"Not that sort of present," he says, slowly. "But since you don't want it…" He turns and starts to walk off again, and before I think about it I've grabbed his arm and jerked him back around.

"What is it, Spike?" I demand.

He stares at my hand on his arm, and I let go of him. With a sigh, he gives me an indecipherable look. "Never mind it, Slayer. Wasn't anything you'd want. Should've known…" He gives me a hard look. I return it. Equally determined.

"Bloody hell. Look, I just…I just thought you might like the night off tomorrow night. That's all. So you could, you know, hang out with your mates. Eat cake. Make merry. Whatever it is you bloody humans do to celebrate getting older." He scrubs a hand through his hair and scowls.

I blink. "The night off?"

"Yeah. Figured I could… do the rounds for you. Hit the cemeteries. That sort of thing. Not like the cold bothers me, and you know I don't mind a spot of violence." He doesn't quite meet my eyes.

For an evil demon, Spike is such a bad liar.

"You want to patrol?" I ask, unable to keep the suspicion out of my voice. He hears it. His head comes up and his eyes flash gold for a second. "Why? So you can get me out of the way while you do something evil?"

"No," he growls.

"Sorry if I don't buy that, Spike, but we both know we're enemies. You, vampire. Me, Slayer. Remember? The only reason you'd offer to patrol for me is so you can … go do something twisted and evil without me catching you. How dumb do you think I am?"

He's pissed, probably because I did catch him at something. For a moment his jaw flexes and he sucks his cheeks in.

"Fine then," he says. "Forget I said anything. Told you you wouldn't want it." He starts to walk off, then turns and stalks back toward me. "Since you like poetry so bleedin' much, here's one for you."

He steps into my space again, his face bare inches away, so I can see all the heat in his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, and he doesn't just recite the words… he means them.

"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice."


For a moment we just stare at each other, Spike hotly furious, and me freezing inside and out with a tiny flame of anger deep inside of me starting to burn. His nostrils flare, and his lashes dip slightly, shadowing his already dark eyes, and I feel like I did outside the Bronze that night when we fought. We're poised once more on the edge of a knife, and it doesn't matter which way we go, one of us is going to bleed.

Finally he backs up. Just an inch. Maybe two. "Happy birthday, Buffy," he says, a little bitterly. Then he turns and walks away.

When I can't feel him in range anymore, I relax and realize that, at some point, I stopped breathing.

***


Spike's words rattle around in my head long after I fall asleep. When I wake up in the dream room, I immediately get up and start pacing back and forth.

What was that?

A… warning? A threat? Or just… a really pissed off Spike?

And why should he be pissed off? He knows I don't trust him.

Last year, when we trusted him, what did he do? Worked behind our backs with Adam and almost got us all killed. And… with the doctor and Riley I'd even paid him and he still betrayed me. Helping when I can keep my eye on him is one thing, but just trusting him to go off and do something on his say so? So not gonna happen.

Ugh. God. Stupid, irritating, moody, sneaky, twisted vampire. With his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid accent and stupid leather coat and his stupid, stupid, stupid need to stick around Sunnydale and make my life hell. Why can't he just…

Grrr.

Some days I really hate Spike. Why is it that when all the men I love leave, the one that I can't stand is the one that insists on sticking to my side like glue? It's not fair that he's still here and Angel is gone and Riley is gone and Spike is…

Such a jerk.

When Mr. Gordo shows up I'm so ready to hit something I actually back away from him.

"I'm not in the best mood right now," I tell him. "I spent the night freezing in graveyards, getting attacked by evil dwarf demons and I'm pretty sure my oldest enemy is once more trying to trick me into trusting him while he's secretly plotting behind my back. I'm tired, and cold, and cranky and it's my birthday which means that today is pretty much guaranteed to be hell and if we spar right now I'm probably going to hit you really hard…. just… you know…so you know."

He just waits patiently.

"Can we walk?" I ask. "Instead of sparring, can we just… walk?"

He's still, then gives an odd little snort. Yes.

So we walk. He stays to my left, keeping pace while I wander through the dark. After a couple of minutes I start filling him in on my day. I tell him about talking to Giles and Lydia, about my poetry class, about running into Spike and the evil little demon dwarves, even about Spike's bizarre "birthday gift" offer.

"He's got to be up to something," I say irritably. "Everything Spike does is for his own good. That truce over Acathla was just so he could get his ho girlfriend back. When he came to us after the chip it was only because he couldn't feed and wasn't strong enough to protect himself from the Initiative. Him helping Giles when he turned into a demon was for cash, and … and then that whole thing with Adam… Honestly I'm totally amazed he's even trying this tactic again. He knows we don't trust him. He's a monster. It's like rule number one in the Slayer handbook or something. Don't trust soulless demons."

He stops walking, and it's not ‘til the tingles feel farther away that I realize it. I turn back.

"What?" I say, frowning in his direction. He huffs a sigh, then taps three times.

I try to think back over whatever I was ranting about.

"Um… don't trust soulless demons?" I guess.

Yes.

"What about it?"

He moves. He moves as fast as he does when we spar, and before I know it he's pressed against me from behind, one cool hand gently holding my head to the side, the other wrapped around me. I gasp slightly as I feel his lips brush against my throat. There's a low, soft growl vibrating against my skin as he taps clearly, three times, against my waist with a finger.

My arms are free. I could break his grip easily. I know it. He knows I know it. He's not even attempting, really, to hold me in place. My pulse is racing, and my Slayer sense is sending tingles up and down my skin. It's screaming a reminder: vampire!

I'm aware of everything. Of the hard chest against my back, and fact that he's deliberately not pressing his hips against me, of the iron strength of the arm banding lightly across my waist and the gentle grip he has on my hair, and the way his mouth can't seem to help pressing very, very softly against my throat, his lips deliberately closed.

I could move away.

I should move away.

I want to move away, only this is the first time he's done this when we're not sparring and that suddenly strikes me as odd. For the last seven or so months, I've spent every night laying beside Mr. Gordo, talking to him, sparring with him, and this is the first time he's touched me like this, outside of sparring. And because it's odd, maybe, I can't seem to do what I know I should.

He taps again, three times. A question.

I know what it is, now.

"You… want to know if I trust you," I say.

Yes.

He doesn't break his grip.

"You're… you're a vampire," I say, my brain a little muddled. Somewhere in my head, a little Xander voice is dryly saying 'way to state the obvious, Buff.'

Yes.

"Do you… do you have a soul?" I ask, realizing that I should have asked this question ages ago, but for some reason it never occurred to me.

No.

His answer is emphatic. He nuzzles my throat.

"Do you have a chip?" I ask, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel. It's fear, causing this reaction. I'm almost sure of it.

Of course, once the question is out of my mouth I realize how dumb it is. Possibly even dumber than the two before. "Nevermind," I say, before he can answer. "You've been hitting me for weeks. Guess the answer to that is pretty obvious."

His nose and lips glide up the length of my throat, and I realize suddenly that I'm trembling. Or he is. It's sort of hard to tell. Why would he be trembling?

Oh… yeah. I'm the Slayer. I could, well.. it would be hard to kill him but I could hurt him and… this is probably a definite no-no in the Vampire Handbook. If there is one. And I think my brain is babbling but I'm not sure how to shut it up because there's this vampire at my throat and he's not tearing it out, instead he's… nuzzling and almost kissing it and it feels … it feels… not good, because this shouldn't feel good. This should feel bad. Very bad. And scary. Which it is, and that's why I'm trembling. And it has nothing at all to do with the fact that he's found that spot just behind my ear that's super sensitive and he's rubbing his nose against it. Nothing at all.

Nope.

Nada.

He taps three times on my waist again.

What was the question?

"Huh?"

His mouth trails down, pausing just over the place on my throat where my pulse is throbbing hard right at the surface. Oh god.

Then he does something he's never done before.

He opens his mouth.

The edges of his teeth are blunt as he nips very, very gently against my skin. Then he opens slightly wider, pressing his teeth against my throat. All it would take is for him to vamp, and his fangs would slice right into my throat. One tiny shift of cartilage, and whatever it takes for his fangs to descend.

It doesn't come. He just waits and taps again. Three times. A question from the soulless demon at my throat.

Do you trust me?

I shiver in his grip. "I… I don't know how to answer that," I say. There are so many things rushing through my brain right now, and none of them are slowing down long enough that I can understand them. "You're… a vampire. But… uh… well, this is a dream, right? And you've… never hurt me, except, you know, sparring and you… with the sleeping it's been, and… oh, god, I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't. Only…"

I know I have a brain. It's in here somewhere. I just have to… find it.

"Can I?" I ask, finally.

He doesn't respond immediately. Instead he closes his mouth and presses a single, cool kiss to my throat. Then he lets me go, slowly, almost reluctantly. First the hand in my hair, then the one on my waist. His hands settle at my shoulders and turn me to face him. He sighs. Then he takes my hand, turns it over, and lifts it to press another soft kiss against my wrist.

Yes. He taps against my skin.

Oh.

Okay.

I take a deep breath, and realize that my lungs have been starving for air.

"Do you promise?" I ask. "Promise me that I can trust you. That you'll never do anything that will… hurt me?"

Yes. No hesitation.

"Okay, then," I say. "Okay."






 
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