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Ring Around the Buffy - Conclusion by anaunthe
 
Epilogue One
 
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Epilogue One

The Scoobies were splayed out all over her living room furniture, eating popcorn and watching a movie.

Giles had returned only the night before, and entire day regaling the group with tales of how he had dusted the vampires who ran the slaver ring as well as the vampires that remained loyal to Anton’s memory. Apparently, he had tricked the two groups into toasting one another with a bottle of 200 year old cognac that each thought was a gift from the other faction, and which Giles had laced with holy water. Giles couldn’t get over how clever he had been, and wanted to be sure that everyone knew it.

Thus, the Auctioneer and his superiors were all gone, and there was little chance of them reorganizing again any time soon. But Buffy and her friends were tired of hearing about it.

The rest of the Scoobies were only too glad that the overly ebullient Watcher had finally returned to his own home and left the rest of them in peace to enjoy their chance to pretend that they were average teenagers on a Saturday night. As far as they were concerned, the incident was over, and best forgotten.

Just as the scene in the movie changed, Anya jumped up and pulled Xander with her.

“Wha…” the whelp stuttered. His belly full, he had been slowly drifting off to sleep. “Anya, what is it? If you wanted something all you needed to do was ask.”

“I DO want something. I want you and me to be in the kitchen right now.”

“Ahn, you know what I said. This isn’t the time or the place, Anya.”

“For once in your life I wish you would get your mind off of sex, Alexander Harris. This isn’t about me wanting a quickie in your best friend’s kitchen. This is serious.”

“Serious? What do you mean?” He looked around suspiciously for any sign of demon activity.

Impatiently Anya stamped her foot. “Right now. Or I swear, I’m cutting you off for a month. Well, maybe a week. Alright, one day. But please Xander, come into the kitchen with me right now.”

Finally complying, a bewildered Xander held Anya in his arms. Something had really upset her – he just didn’t have a clue in the world what it was.

“What’s this all about, Anya?”

“It’s that movie, Xander. I told you I didn’t want to watch it, but you said we had to because the majority voted. And so I sat there and watched it, even though I didn’t want to. But I will NOT sit through THAT SCENE again. I had nightmares for months after the first time. And I need to have you in here with me to keep my mind off of what is going on in there – because I if I think about it I’m going to scream.”

Xander was still clueless. “What are you talking about Anya? It’s Monty Python. It’s a comedy.”

“That’s what you say. And then they go and throw in scenes with gratuitous violence, spurting blood and …and killer BUNNIES. I tell you Xander, in my opinion that is one of the most horrifying scenes ever written. Far worse than that shower scene in Psycho you go on about. I mean, showers are nice fun places to have sex, but bunnies…that’s just wrong.”

Xander consoled his mate, taking her mind off the scene playing itself out on the TV in the living room. Anya was right, he really should have known that the bunny scene would affect her. Even the first time through – after all, he had known it was there.

**

Everyone else was laughing as the knights were demolished one by one by the killer rodent. Everyone except Buffy. She was remembering a dream she had had while they had been in Vegas. She and Spike had rescued Tara from demon slavers, and Giles had done clean up on the rest of the vampires. So what was still bothering her? Giles was home safe, the Slavers were dust, Tara was safe, and the entire episode was over and done with. Why then did she still occasionally have unsettling dreams about what had happened there?

And this recurring dream about the killer bunnies was the least of them. Others of her dreams were far more erotic, and vaguely violent, a combination that was disturbing in and of itself. But they were only dreams, weren’t they? Suddenly she was not so sure.

Standing, she announced to those still awake, “I’ll be back soon guys. I suddenly just feel an urgent need to go out and slay something. Don’t wait up for me.” Then she was out the door.

**

She was tentative, and quiet. No slamming crypt doors tonight. And that was unusual enough in and of itself to put Spike on his guard. “What is it, pet?”

“I wanted to ask you something. About what happened in Vegas.”

He tensed. Much as he reveled in his memories of that week, he really didn’t want to be discussing past events with the Slayer. In the week that they had been back home, they had never once discussed what had happened in Vegas, and Spike was content to let it remain that way if that was what the Slayer wanted. He liked all his bit and pieces where they were.

But he was curious to know if she really didn’t remember, or if she was just pretending that she didn’t. Not that it mattered much in the long run. As long as the Slayer thought of him as a thing and not a person, they could never have the relationship with her that he wanted.

“I’m starting to remember,” she continued, “At least I think I am. I’m not really sure.”

Spike relaxed a fraction. She didn’t really remember. If she had, she wouldn’t have been so tentative. She’d either have come to his crypt with stakes and crossbows, or else come prepared to admit the truth, that she really had wanted him too.

That she didn’t trust her memory, came as no surprise. A person’s perception while under thrall was greatly reduced, and most had only vague idea of what might have occurred. But that she’d come to him asking for confirmation, that was bloody ironic. Luckily he never had been the type to kiss and tell.

“Spike. It’s just…I just saw something, and it reminded me of something else. I thought it was a dream, but now I’m not so sure.”

Spike could tell the Slayer was upset. She kept saying the same thing over and over again, without really telling him what was on her mind. Plus she was worrying the locket around her neck back and forth as if she was trying to saw through a chain. She almost never displayed nervous habits like that. Moving to quiet her, Buffy held up her hand to stop him.

“No, let me finish, Spike. When we were in Vegas, you and Willow did this mind talky thing. And somehow, you and I were able to do it too. And… and…when our minds touched... it was only a flash. Kinda like a slayer dream, only I swear I wasn’t asleep at the time. But the vision I got, it was powerful, and I wanted you to know. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know that I know. And that, well, I think I understand.”

A lot of things ran through his mind then but he couldn’t seem to make sense of it. What was she talking about? It was almost as if she was afraid of telling him about it.

But he was the one who remembered everything that had happened, with a perfect clarity that kept him awake nights. Both with longing for what he had once had and could never have again, and with fear that she might recover her memory one day and decide to stake him for the role he had played in their little adventure. Even if it hadn’t really been his fault, and despite the fact that he had given her every opportunity to say no.

“It was just a flash,” Buffy continued. “But I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. I keep seeing that stage, or one very like it. And I see your face, but different, your hair was longer, and darker, and you were covered in blood. There were other vampires there too, and they held you by some kind of poles attached to the collar around your neck. So you couldn’t strike back at them, you know. You tried to fight… you knew it was hopeless, but you tried to fight. Your face was so full of rage and betrayal, I’ve never seen it like that – not even back when we were fighting, when you wanted to kill me. And I, I just wanted you to know that I know that it was hard for you too, Spike – to be on display like that. I know it terrified you too, and that’s why you tried so hard to keep me from having to face that ordeal.”

He looked up at her and their eyes met briefly.

“You do remember,” he whispered. “Buffy, I…”

“Its all right. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I saw it from the other side, only not really.” It was her turn to whisper. “I think, during the mind link thingy, when our minds were touching, when I could hear your thoughts… I saw – You’d been there before, Spike. At an auction like that. Only…” she hesitated again. “You were the one in the collar, Spike.” She couldn’t look him in the eyes anymore, had to look away. “Vampires…they don’t sell their own kind – do they?”

He had gone even paler as she spoke, turned and sat down on his one chair – hard. It was a memory so old, and buried so deep, but still permeating every aspect of his unlife, no matter how hard he’d tried to forget it. The rage and hatred still burned as strong as ever.

He raised his head and tried to meet her gaze – so open, so caring. He could lose himself in those eyes.

“You know they do, Buffy. You know they do,” he whispered.

Only half acting, he let her see the tears well up in his eyes – trembling as he got the response he hadn’t dared hope for. Buffy had decided to comfort him by enveloping him in her embrace. She smelled delicious. But then she always smelled delicious, and suddenly he found real tears were wetting his face and his shirt.

While the memories that she brought to the surface were still surprisingly painful, it was worth almost any price to be able to be close to Buffy again. Her arms were strong and warm around him, and his tongue was just inches away from her left nipple.

Still, even more than the comfort of her embrace, on some level he needed to tell this story. He had to trust that Buffy would understand, and never mention it again.

“I’m so sorry, Spike,” the Slayer sympathized, pulling back a little and letting her hands run through his hair. “I should probably go. I’m sorry I said anything. Unless… do you want to talk about it? I know, sometimes, talking helps. It doesn’t make much sense, but sometimes it does.”

She was being so nice to him, so caring. He wished she’d be like this more often. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her this particular story – especially as he thought about how Buffy might take it. He wasn’t the hero of this tale. He wasn’t even the villain. He was just a pathetic petulant childe whom his elders had decided needed to be punished. So he found himself saying, “You don’t want to hear it.”

Perhaps he would be content to simply remain in her embrace after all. Perhaps he could turn it to his advantage. He didn’t want to tell her this particular story. And he hadn’t been lying. Buffy would not enjoy hearing it.

“It involves Angelus, pet. The good old days,” he sneered, perversely unable to stay quiet. “Are you sure that you want me to tell you?”

“Yes, I want to know. What happened? Would you tell me, please?”

“Don’t have to, pet,” lifting his head he whispered into her hair. “You saw it.”

Unable to take the embarrassment, broke from her embrace and stood facing the stone wall of the crypt. “Bastard sold me. His own flesh and blood; his own family. He’d threatened it often enough, when he got tired of my lip.” His hands were clenched, his body stretched tight as whip. If the Slayer touched him now, he’d probably deck her, he was that tightly wound.

“He knew by then that tales of the Slayer didn’t frighten me any. So he’d threaten to be rid of me in the most painful and humiliating way possible.” He closed his eyes and waited a few moments before he could continue.

“One day he decided to make good on the threat.” He tried to shrug it off like it was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing. He had known that then, and he knew that now. “When vamps sell their own its not all nice and civilized, like the auction we were at.”

Her eyes widened. That was civilized? Although he wasn’t even looking at her, on some level he must have anticipated her reaction.

“Think about it, Buffy. All the humans on the block are under thrall, docile and happy, blissfully unaware of their fate. But the vamps aren’t under thrall. See, it’s not about pleasure, or profit - it’s about power – and revenge. How much pain and humiliation one being can force another to endure before finally deciding to let him die…”

He struggled to regain control of his voice. “If I’d been given the choice, I would have rather dusted than be hauled up on that stage. I had just the barest inkling of what was in store for me; Aurelians were well hated back then - still are in some circles.”

He wanted to pace in the small space, but he was afraid that if he turned the wrong way he might unwittingly meet the Slayer’s gaze. He didn’t think he could stand her pity just now. He was uncomfortable enough talking about this, but if she looked at him, saw just how utterly worthless he really was… He swallowed hard before resuming his tale.

“I don’t think you can imagine torture on that scale. Torture with no hope of the release of death. Or perhaps you can, if you remember the slightest bit of what Anton had in mind for you. It would have made punishment at Angelus’s hands seem like a love tap, and believe me, that’s saying a thing or two. At least with Angelus there was the faint hope that if I didn’t screw up, if I didn’t anger him, I’d be left in peace. Or that he’d just give it up as a bad job and dust me once and for all.

“In the end it was Drusilla that saved me. Somehow she got wind of what Angelus was up to, and she bought me. Do you understand, Slayer? She deliberately defied Angleus’s edict, and she bought me back at auction. She owned me.

“Of course we both left Angelus after that, Angelus and Darla both, for however long that lasted. I don’t think it was long after that, Angelus disappeared again off the face of the bloody earth. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving son of a bitch.

“But I always loved Dru just a little bit more after that, you know. She never once treated me any differently – even though now I was not just her childe, but her property as well. I still shudder to think what could have happened, had Dru not done what she did.

“So you see I’ve a reason to love my lunatic Sire, and a reason I will always hate Angelus. I try my best to forget – but it’s a part of me. Ingrained so deep I sometimes convince myself I’ve forgotten the reason for it, for years at a time. But still, everyday I feel it.”

Buffy ran a comforting hand down his arm, somehow understanding how much this admission hurt his pride. Still holding him from behind, so that he didn’t have to look at her, she laid her cheek on his shoulder. Forcing himself to stillness, Spike permitted the touch, and allowed the Slayer to think she was comforting him while he breathed in the scent of her golden hair, felt her breasts pressed close against his back, and recalled the last time he had held her body so close to his. He’d told her more than she needed to know. But it was worth it, to feel her warm body cuddled up against his, her head cradled against his back.

Fleetingly, he wondered if he should tell her the rest of his suspicions, but finally decided that doing so would only show him at worse advantage. Especially without all the facts to back it up. Buffy would want proof, and he didn’t have any to offer.

All he had were his own suppositions. He wasn’t sure of the exact timing of events. Even if Buffy knew to the day when it was that Angelus had been cursed with his soul, that wouldn’t prove a thing one way or another. When one is a vampire time is fluid – the seasons, years, places and events, all melt together. So it could be that he was wrong. But he didn’t think so.

He’d told Buffy that the foursome had broken up soon after Spike’s auction. He’d implied that it was the curse of his soul that had driven Angelus away, or perhaps just that he and Drusilla had been so appalled by their Sire’s actions, that they’d just picked up and left him. What he hadn’t mentioned was that that hadn’t been the first time the four of them had broken up, and it wasn’t the last either.

Back then he hadn’t been privy to the finer points of his family’s affairs. He hadn’t known that Angelus had been cursed with his soul until almost a century after it happened.

All he knew at the time was that Angelus and Darla had quarreled, but that was nothing new. After a while Angelus would come back, until the next quarrel. He had come and gone from their company several times.

Despite his supposedly acquiring a soul somewhere around the turn of the century, he hadn’t seemed any different to Spike. He’d been a bastard to end, still only grudgingly including Spike as an equal, even after he’d managed to kill his first Slayer in China. At the time, Spike had been happy that the wanker had quarreled with Darla again and disappeared once more, or he knew he would have been in for a beating from his Sire for his great triumph. If for no other reason than that Angelus needed to prove that he was still king of the hill.

So to Spike’s way of thinking, it was entirely possible that his Sire had already been cursed with the soul when he’d brought his irritating childe to auction. After all, he’d threatened to sell Spike a thousand times before, but he had never actually done it.

In the beginning he had tried to tame William’s rebellious nature with tales of the Slayer, but over time Angelus had made no secret of the fact that he felt that his fledgling was too stupid to be scared of the Chosen One. Eventually he’d figured out that as long as Spike was free to fight, his fledgling wasn’t afraid of anything. But being helpless, that was what terrified the younger vampire. And so the cautionary tales had changed over time, but the intent behind them was still the same – to force Spike to bow to his Sire’s rule.

In all the years they’d been together, despite all the talk and all the threats – Angelus had never once actually appeared to be serious about selling his childe. Until the moment that he actually did, for an infraction that had barely earned him a mild rebuke the year before.

Spike had always wondered what it was that made Angelus decide to go through with his threat that time, when he never had before.

Looking back on it, Spike was virtually certain that it had been the newly souled Angel who no longer knew how to handle his insolent fledgling, and not Angelus at all.

It was Angel who had tried to sell him into slavery to Anton when he was little more than a fledgling.

No wonder the Poofter was a moody guilt-filled good for nothing sod. It wasn’t the crimes that he had committed while he’d been Angelus that weighed so heavily on his new soul. It was the crimes he had continued to commit even with it.

Hell, the bloody wanker had had the soul for most of a century before he had decided to do anything worthwhile with it.

Spike couldn’t be sure, but if he was ever cursed with a soul, he didn’t think it would take him one hundred years to figure out how to act like a man again, instead of a monster. Hell, he was doing a fair imitation of it now, and he didn’t even have a soul to help him, only a chip which despite his claims didn’t keep him from being evil, it merely kept him feeding.

Closing his eyes he turned and buried his face in Buffy’s hair. She already knew more than she ever needed to know. Why burden her with anything more?

 
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