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Love Sanctioned by slaymesoftly
 
Five
 
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AN: Because my beta and I both agree that Joss was probably having everyone on when he told an interviewer that William’s last name was “Pratt”, I have, at her request, changed it from that back to one of the names I’ve used in previous fics that were written before we knew that Joss had said that. One must keeps one’s beta happy…



Chapter Five.

As it had become her habit to do occasionally, Buffy took the long way home from school the following week, heading for Crawford Street and the mansion that she still thought of as Spike’s home. She gasped when she turned the corner to find trucks and vans parked in the driveway and construction workers going in and out. On the top of the building, roofers were nailing plywood onto newly installed wooden trusses. Packs of shingles were stacked neatly at the end of the drive, awaiting their installation. Buffy’s face crumbled as she watched the obvious renovations taking place in the old mansion.

With a quiet sob, she turned and raced home. (It’s just a building. It’s just a building. It’s just a--). She ran past her mother with a muffled excuse of having something in her eye, locking herself in the bathroom and turning on the water to drown the sounds of her soft crying. She sobbed softly for a short period of time, then splashed water on her face and left the bathroom. If Joyce didn’t believe her story of having something in her eye, she didn’t say so and they had a pleasantly normal dinner.

At that night’s Scoobie meeting, Buffy quietly asked Willow if she would get on her computer and see who had bought the old Crawford street mansion. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the information, but she couldn’t stand not knowing who was going to be living in “Spike’s house”.



It took Willow only a few minutes to come up with the name of the new owner, as well as the law firm that was handling the transaction. Giles had come over to see what had the two girls so intent and blinked when he saw what they were looking at.

“Wolfram and Hart is doing business in Sunnydale? That can’t be good,” he muttered. “What have they done?”

“They just bought one of the old Crawford Street mansions for somebody named…”Willow searched the page carefully before continuing. “William Carlisle.”

Giles listened to the name, glanced at the address of the house and made the connection before Buffy did. A muscle twitched in his jaw; the only sign that he didn’t like what he saw.

“Did you know about this?” he asked Buffy, his tone cold.

“Did I know about what? I just asked Willow to find out who bought the house that Spi- that we – that—“ Buffy stammered, not sure how to say that she thought of the old house as Spike’s, and, by extension, hers.

“It should be fairly obvious who has purchased the building,” Giles said tightly. “The owner’s name is William; he has used an evil law firm with demon clients to do the legwork for him; really, Buffy, how stupid do you think I am?”

Buffy’s expressions ran the gamut as she realized what Giles was implying. Anger at the way he was speaking to her, dawning understanding of what his words meant, and finally, joy that she made no attempt to hide. Willow stared back and forth between the two, her own realization gradually dawning. Buffy had given Willow and Xander a severely edited version of what had happened to her in that house, as well as finally sharing the fact that she and Spike had developed a friendship that she had not told them about at the time.

Only after Spike’s next visit to Sunnydale, had Buffy given Willow any reason to think that there was something romantic between the Slayer and the vampire who had come there to kill her. Willow’s firm “No!” when asked if she should tell Xander about the relationship only confirmed the slayer’s own instinct that the boy wouldn’t handle it well. Until her confession to Faith, only Giles and her mother knew the full extent of her relationship with Spike.

“He’s coming back!” Buffy couldn’t keep the elation from her voice and she resolutely ignored the thunderous look on her watcher’s face as she explained to Willow that William Carlisle was probably Spike.

In spite of the progress being made on the mansion, upon which Buffy checked religiously twice a week, there was no sign of the absent vampire and eventually the constant state of excitement began to wear off.

(He’ll be back when he’s ready. I guess he just wants to be sure he has a place to live. I wonder where he got the money to buy a big house like that? I hope he didn’t steal it…)

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

“Come on, man, I didn’t get this headache just so you could have an excuse to beat people up. Finish what you started and let’s get out of here.”

“You said I should I stop these wankers from finishing the ritual. Didn’t tell me I couldn’t enjoy doin’ it.” Spike’s response was a quick snarl as he dodged a sword aimed at his head.

“I said you needed to stop the ritual and set the captives free. The Powers didn’t say anything about taking on a whole freakin’ army!” Doyle shouted his argument from the branches of the tree into which he’d climbed to get away from the violence below. When his pleading had no effect on the vampire’s continued carnage, he added, “You’ve taken care of the last vision we had for LA events, and your house is probably finished now. We can go back to Sunnydale and tell your slayer that you’ve been chosen to help her.”

Two human/demon hybrids that he killed quickly rather than after a prolonged fight were the only sign given to indicate that Spike was listening; but it was enough. Quickly, Doyle went on, “Or, I could just go myself and tell her you got yourself dusted fighting just for the hell of it when you could have been on the road back to her.”

With a final growl, the vampire accepted the wisdom of what the Irish half-breed was saying. He threw the man he’d been fighting onto the pile of bodies growing in front of him and ran toward his old Desoto with Doyle already racing ahead of him. They sped away from the scene, laughing as what was left of the would-be world enders shouted curses after them.

They made a quick stop by his apartment to stuff some things in his duffle bag and to tell the landlord he wouldn’t be around for a while; then Spike pointed the Desoto’s nose in the direction of Sunnydale and drove through the night. After clenching his fists until they hurt, and pressing on an imaginary brake pedal until he was afraid he might go through the floor, Doyle decided the best way to deal with Spike’s driving was to close his eyes. In spite of the flutters of fear that went through him every once in a while, he soon fell asleep; leaving the vampire to speed through the night with no distraction from his thoughts.

(I wonder if she’s seen the house? Probably should have told her what I was doin’. Damn! I should have told her. Would have helped her believe that I’m coming back someday. Wonder if she cares if I do. Of course she does. Said she loved me, didn’t she? Buffy wouldn’t lie about something like that. But she’s so young. Can somebody that young fall in love forever? What if she doesn’t want me any more?)

He didn’t realize he’d spoken the last though aloud, until a disgruntled Doyle opened one eye to sneer, “Helluva time to think about that, wouldn’t you say? What with you having claimed her and all.”

“Shut up, you stupid Irish arsehole. How do you know about that anyway?”

The half-demon held up his hand, showing his crossed fingers. “Me and the Powers,” he grinned. “Just like that, remember?”

“Soddin’ powers. Ought to mind their own business, they ought. Don’t need to be blabbing about me and the slayer to every worthless seer that comes down the pike.”

Spike’s grumbling was more good-natured than his words would imply and Doyle just grinned again before shutting his eyes. “Anyway, you talk in your sleep,” he mumbled, just before he dropped off again.

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


Dawn was just threatening to break when the big black car rolled into Sunnydale, and Spike had no choice but to head straight for the mansion and it’s welcoming shelter. He pulled into the driveway just ahead of the emerging sunlight, dashing to the front door only to find that the workmen had conscientiously locked it behind them. While the demon watched in amusement, Spike raced around the building searching for an open window. He was happy to find that, per his instructions, the workmen had not touched the room he and Buffy had used as theirs and the window there was not locked.

He walked down the long hallway towards the front room, only to find Doyle standing there waiting for him, wearing a grin and holding a small lock-picking kit. With a growl, Spike stomped to the front door, assuring himself that it was not damaged before he spoke.

“You might have told me you could do that,” he grumbled, unwilling to admit that he was impressed, nor that he hadn’t thought to do it himself.

“That I could,” Doyle answered in his musical lilt. “But then I would have missed the fun of watchin’ you scamper around trying to get in before the sun popped out.”

“Bloody Mick wanker,” he muttered as he walked around pulling the drapes closed. He had not ordered anything in the way of furniture for the interior of the building, only insisting on the heavy drapes that now covered every window and allowed him to walk around the entire house regardless of the time of day. Doyle followed the vampire into the big kitchen and watched as Spike tested the light switch and smiled when the lights went on immediately. A quick twist on the faucet and Spike could see that the plumbing was also functioning and the vampire made a mental note to see that the W & H representative who had handled the renovations for him was well rewarded.

He pointed in the direction of the main bedrooms and waved Doyle that way, saying with a yawn, “Don’t know what’s left back there in the way of furniture, but I don’t think the fire got to all of it. You should be able to find yourself a bed for the day.”

“I’m no unbreathin’, night-loving’ vampire,” the man complained, half-seriously. “I don’t sleep in the daytime! And, anyway, I slept in the car, remember?”

“Suit yourself,” Spike headed for the small bedroom down the hall from the kitchen. “I’m going to catch some kip before Buffy gets home from school.”

He shut himself in to the familiar bedroom and fell facedown on the bare mattress. He was asleep almost immediately; completely confident that he would be undisturbed while the man he still refused to think of as a friend was in the house.

Across town, Buffy was just responding to her mother’s more and more impatient-sounding demands that she get up and get ready for school. Contrary to what her mother believed, Buffy was not lingering in bed because she was trying to sleep, but because something was making the marks on her neck tingle and causing her to be wide awake and edgy.

(Maybe I could just forget school today and go by the house – just in case…)

The quick memory flash that showed her Principal Snyder’s latest threat to expel her for missing classes changed her mind, and, with a tired sigh, she began to dress for school.

The barely visible marks on her neck tingled all through the day and Buffy had to fight the urge to rub them when anyone was watching. She shrugged off Willow’s curiosity about her obvious distraction, attributing it in an off-hand manner to “that creepy Mayor and his undead minions”. When Willow reminded her that they were to meet with the new watcher again that night, Buffy groaned aloud.

“I sooo don’t want to hear what he has to say,” she grumbled.

“Hey,” Xander offered cheerfully, having dragged an unwilling Cordelia over to join the conversation. “We could set up a betting pool. Sell tickets to people and let them guess where he’d fall on an evil-through-incompetent scale of one to ten. What do you say, Buffy? Sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like a nightmare. My nightmare.”

“I don’t know why you are all so negative about Wesley. He is young, rich and good looking.” Cordelia’s assessment of what she considered positive attributes in the new watcher brought nothing but an eye roll from the slayer and a glare from her sometime boyfriend. Willow and Oz did their best to hide their smiles at the brunette’s list of what she considered excellent qualities in a man. Buffy remembered Faith’s assessment of what was going on between Cordelia and Wesley, and silently groaned again.

To forestall a full scale fight about Cordelia’s obvious interest in the new watcher, Willow did her best to distract everyone with another reminder about that night’s meeting.

“Scooby meeting at 8:00 in the library, right, Buffy?”

“Yeah,” the Slayer sighed. “Scooby meeting at 8:00. Excitement all around.”

“Is Faith gonna be there?”

Buffy shrugged. “If she remembers that I told her about it. He’s her new watcher, not mine. But she’s been acting kinda weird lately, so I don’t know if she’ll come or not.”

“Lately?” Cordelia’s snort of amusement trailed behind her as she walked off to her next class.



 
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