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Ancient shades by Kur
 
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Thanks: to my extraordinary beta Melissa!

NOTE: Victorian Language of Flowers:
Daffodils: “The sun shines when I’m with you”
White heather: Protection – Wishes will come true
Fern: Confidence – Shelter – Sincerity – Fascination
Sweet pea: “Thanks you for a lovely time”
Yellow Roses: Friendship.

CHAPTER 4

Buffy stretched on her bed like a golden cat. She felt so relaxed… As if something had pinched her butt, her eyes grew wider and she jumped from her bed running to the bathroom. How could she be so peaceful when The Owner of Hell was unleashed in the streets? How could she possibly fall asleep till… Didn’t know what time it was. Opening the taps she ran back to her bedroom. Three in the afternoon! Oh, God, she had certainly lost her mind. Too much alcohol. Made her oversleep. Made her fall on that bed as though she’d been knocked out by… Her eyes met her own reflection on the mirror. That creature couldn’t be she. Those heavy sleepy eyes surrounded by traces of make-up, gleaming with a strange, fulfilled glow… Her tongue glided over her lips. Swollen and a little redder with a half smile curving their corners as if they were sharing her little secret… Her hair was a mess. Or a nest, better said. Golden strands as yellow straw gathered aimlessly on the same spot. Her head. A purple bruise… a huge hickey on her neck. No. That was the…

“Oh, my God! I’m completely mad! He bit me! He bit me twice!!!” She shouted when her eyes fell to her breasts finding another little scar. “How on earth I’d let him? How on earth I could enjoy it that much!!! The wine… that made it. The wine and the shock and… I’m a twisted thing. I can’t miss him. I can’t trust him!” She kept on while rinsing her skin with a sponge. “I can’t feel I’m a new girl by only… He made me feel so good… Loved…” The sponge stopped on her stomach as frozen by a beaming gun. “No… I probably imagined it. I’ve imagined too many things lately when it comes to his annoying being. But he said it… Said… he loved me! He can’t love me!” The sponge began to rub the same spot over and over again. Her belly bottom seemed to have developed a strange rabid syndrome. “He can’t! I can’t! Can’t feel so happy! I’ve never felt this happy! Hangover. A serious case of post-wine-nog-Spikeness.” She poured so much shampoo on her hair that it looked as she was wearing a white turban. “What if he goes all grrr and starts killing people? What am I saying??? He goes grrr all the time. And he kills people!!! Okay, he’s not Ang… He’s not a monster.” She spitted the hot water along with the shampoo spume. “Well, he is a monster but not THAT monster. I know him… My mom likes him… My mom can’t be that mistaken… She will kill me!” She stopped in front of the mirror again, wrapped in an oversize blue towel. “As soon as she knows… ‘Cause… I can hide the bits and the hickeys and the whole lot but sure as hell I can hide this face. This… well-shagged face!!!” She hit the foggy surface.

“And I bit him!!! I remembered it pretty well. Made me feel so powerful…” Clothes flew out of her wardrobe and piled on the floor. “I’m a shrink case. I… I said it too!!!” The black turtle neck sweater stopped on her face. Mumbling noises came from beneath it. “No, I didn’t. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. No, no, no!!! I don’t love him! I can’t! I’m confused, that’s all. I’m stuck in that stupid past with that stupid man who is dead and was in love with somebody else and… I’ve to stop this. Tell him it was a mistake… don’t matter how much it hurts… But after… - she put on a pair of black boots, - when all this is over. I’ve more urgent things to deal with. My mom now and Giles later. Have to find out what happened… And have to avoid him, at least when we have no company around. Yes, that’s it. Better, I’m so much better.” She tied her hair in a ponytail. “But first… I’m starving!!!”

She was about to run to the kitchen but aimed for the phone instead.
“Giles? Yes… I did it.” Her eyes were fixed on the crystal vase filled with fresh flowers. “You won’t like… I want you to come to my house. No, - the world had minimized to a land of yellow roses, - I’m not leaving my mom out of this. Not this time. Yes, an hour. Can you call the guys? I’ve got something really urgent to do.” She crashed the phone on its cradle. “MOM!!!”

Joyce emerged from the dining room, sipping from a mug, which said “I’m a work of art” in black thin letters. She was carrying a book in one hand. Her middle finger disappeared in between two pages.

“Who brought these?” It didn’t matter how hard she tried to subdue her fear and sound casual. Her heart was stuck in her stomach.

“The boy from the flower store, who else?”

“I mean, who sent them?” And please, don’t tell me they came in a black box…

“Oh, - Joyce dug in her pocket. Her soft smile never left his face, - here” She handed Buffy a card. A neat, old-fashioned handwriting sailed on its white satin surface. “The sweet pea confused me a little at first but then I remembered this wonderful book and… What?” She finally asked when her eyes jumped from the bunch of roses back to her daughter’s face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, Spike. Doesn’t he have a different name?” She walked back to the kitchen, followed by an agitated Buffy. “‘Cause frankly, I don’t feel too comfortable with that…”

“MOM!!! HE IS A VAMPIRE!!!” If the whole neighbourhood weren’t aware of that fact now, they’d probably die ignorant to everything.

Joyce whirled her waist to look at Buffy as if she had just arrived from Pluto. “Of course he is. Either that or he’s got the most serious case of sun allergy of the whole medical history. Besides, he wouldn’t know the fantastic meaning of flowers unless he weren’t at least one hundred years or more. That was a Victorian skill, did you know that?”

“And you don’t care?” Buffy was truly stunned. “Well, picture me confused here! You hate Angel!” She grabbed the mug Joyce offered, never leaving the threshold and watching in horror when her mother sat at the kitchen island. She swallowed the hot coffee and it burnt her tongue. She didn’t even notice it.

“That’s completely different.” Her mother’s back was a rigid line. “There’s something horrible in him. Maybe his eyes…” Her fingernails, pink and glossy, tapped on the book cover. The Victorian language of flowers on gild letters. “Or the fact that he never smiles. Have you noticed that? No, probably not. You’re so blind about him…”

“Blind?” Buffy dared to take two steps into the kitchen. “I am blind? Well, you aren’t the… What’s that?” She pointed at a small bouquet that adorned an empty marmalade jar. Beautiful daffodils trimmed with fern and white heather wrapped in a lace doily and tied with a dark red satin. It was the most elegant and loveliest little bunch of flowers she had ever seen.

“Yours.” Joyce hid a wide grin when Buffy leapt to the island.

“Give me that book!”



In spite of the soporific state in which he had fallen into, Spike had only slept one hour. Another of those weird dreams had woken him up. Nothing as crazy and startling as the previous one, though. He was walking with his mother along the Kew Gardens. Not as William but as Spike. His true self. Or at least the only one that mattered to him. She wasn’t in the least terrified by his appearance. On the contrary, she really seemed to be enjoying his natter on a certain golden girl. A pleasant, peaceful dream. Not a thing he’d never admit in a loud voice, having sissy dreams about his old lady. He spent five minutes staring at the opposite filthy wall of the sewer till he realized he was doing exactly the kind of thing he’d forbidden him to do. Storming along the narrow, damp corridors he found himself opening a little back entrance to the local mall. A quick stroll wouldn’t hurt. Kept his noggin out of stupid thoughts. ‘Sides the chicks were worth the twitch in his eyes due to the bright lights.

A little shop window caught his gaze. Victorian flowers. How silly of these modern people to have this wish of past things. His heavy boots stopped at the shining glass and a variety of smells and perfumes attacked his nostrils. A forgotten portion of the dream leapt to his mind. He was no longer in the Gardens but in some London street with his cousin Lawrence, who was giving him his advice on which would be the appropriated Tussie- Mussie to win Cecily’s affections. Lawrence, at his twenty-one, had been a specialist on the ridiculous hidden meaning of flowers. Odd thing was that Lawrence never knew about Cecily. He had been killed in a brawl near the Tower Bridge in a dreadful, dirty inn he, in no way, could have gone to. At least not the Lawrence they all knew.

Spike found himself picking two bunches of flowers and paying for them. It didn’t count he had nicked the notes three days ago at Willie’s. He’d have bought something useful, like two bottles of Jack or some fags. Not even… He’d have skanked those things as well and kept his dough instead of buying some poxy prezzies. Such a prick… He was really screwed…



The house had never been so silent. If it hadn’t been for the crumps that fell from the half-eaten biscuit Xander was holding on his still hand, she could have sworn that time had stopped. Like in those movies where people got frozen by some alien invaders. Willow and Oz were sitting on the sofa and Buffy had a brief moment to feel glad for her friend. In no way she was going to think about their non-to-sure-future. She had beaten Angel once; she could do it again.

She stood motionless beside the armchair in which her mother was sitting. Her hand was on her shoulder as if by touching her she’d get some serenity to deal with this noiseless bomb she’d just thrown above all their heads.

Giles finished his tea and put the cup on the coffee table. Slowly, quietly. As though there was nothing wrong and they were having a tea gathering at the next country club. Buffy knew that was a bet she wouldn’t have lost. He’d be the first to speak. “Something magical did it, you said. How are you so sure?”

“Well, it was in the air…” Why did he always have to aim for the worst spot? She had just wanted to tell them the news without extra details. It was impossible. Five pairs of eyes pierced her with the same unspoken, puzzled question. Buffy inhaled. “Okay, Spike was there with me. He actually… sniffed it.” There. Her fingers pressed Joyce’s shoulders unconsciously.

“Spike?!” Xander shrieked and bounced on the armchair. Another won bet. “Are we talking about the same guy that had wanted to kill you thousands of times? Not to mention that he kidnapped us?”

Her fist snugged against her chest. “Yes, and that’s not the topic here.”

“Not the topic!” Xander’s eyes travelled across the other’s faces. “Well, what’s the topic then? That we’ve got TWO freaks out there to be worried about?”

“Only one. If Spike hadn’t been there I wouldn’t be talking to you but tasting your neck. He… saved me.”

“Saved you from what? Angelus? He didn’t want another fiend to win the big prize?”

“If you let me explain…”

Some people’s lives were so simple… She had nearly dropped that stupid and out-of-the-way dream of being an ordinary girl. She was a chosen one, after all. Had to have some benefits… Not the regular pushing, the unvarying doubts, the constant explanations… Maybe some support, maybe some faith in one, just one of her decisions…

Xander was out of control. Perhaps it was the lack of other’s reactions. They were as carton faces, only their eyes moved to jump from his red face to her pale one as if they were watching a tennis match.

“Explain what? That once again you’re going to put all of us in danger for your twisted ideas of one, no! make them two now, favourite vamps?!”

“ENOUGH!” Even Joyce was taken aback by Giles’ roaring. “She is right. I don’t think…” There was a long pause. Buffy could almost see the gears in his brain adjusting to whatever he was going to say. Seemed a hard task, though. Something he wouldn’t have ever done if she hadn’t been who she was. “I must admit that I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for him. I mean, for the truce he did with you.” His eyes had a tender spark she had never seen. Her eyes watered. “Besides, if this situation is due to black magic, I think we should waste our energy in research rather than fighting each other.”

Xander scowled at him and snorted. “Yes, and in the meantime we can wait in a comfy chair and wait for…”

Joyce stood up so quickly that Buffy lost her balance. “Hasn’t she proved, enough times, that she’s worth your trust, Xander?” That was a really angry voice. Soft and controlled. Buffy had always admired that peculiarity in her mother. How did she manage? No shouts, no screaming around. Xander sat down again, looking like a beaten puppy. Amazing. “If she says we can trust Spike, I will. In fact, it makes me feel a little more relieved to know there’s somebody out there who helps her instead of putting a spoke in her wheel.”

“I think she’s right.” Oz gave her one of his sweet and supportive looks. She smiled a little before finding herself enfolded in Willow’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Buffy. This must be so awful to you! Have to deal with all this again. I won’t, and I’m totally promising here, put anything in your wheel! Hey, I’ll help pushing it if I’ve to! Even if I get all muddy!”

“I guess it’s enough if we don’t go out alone. Stick together. Whatever we have to do we can go with someone else. And Giles is right. We have to investigate this. See if we can find what did it. ‘Cause that will lead us to who did it. Who could possibly want Angelus back?”

Well, that had been tough. Friendly dragons he had said. Accurate. She did understand their feelings. The fear, the anger, the pain. She understood too much lately. Pitiful thing was she couldn’t apply it to certain aspects of her life. Not to those which came to a bleached sexy vampire who had her awake night after night, staring at her window, waiting for the bell to ring or the door to be yanked or some thread of his British voice chatting with her mother downstairs. Nothing. In two weeks. Daffodils were now a wilted bunch she had placed with extreme carefulness inside the D of The Victorian language of flowers. Maybe it was better. Gave her time to think. After all, she’d labelled it as a mistake. Something she shouldn’t have done. Perhaps he’d realized about the same thing. She knew of heart scars. They healed. Time healed everything. But if this, whatever was they had together, had taken a century… This wound would take a millennium.

tbc...
 
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