Chapter 2 – Scent

“I just love the ice-blonde highlights that they mixed in with that honey-blonde color. It is just so…you.”

Buffy set down her suede jacket, which she had been in the middle of packing, and looked over to her open doorway.

There stood a curvaceous, 20-something-year-old woman with sheer waves of crimson red hair and full, plush lips curved into an overenthusiastic smile.

Buffy returned the smile awkwardly. She never knew how to act towards the beautiful women that Hank seemed to exchange seasonally.

They were always young. Every single one of them could easily represent the epitome of feminine beauty. And they never lasted longer than six months.

Mandy Avister, in particular, was on month number two and looked like the buxom cartoon character Jessica Rabbit come to life.

Scandalously high slit dress and all, Buffy noted.

Buffy waited to see what Mandy wanted, but when all she did was stand there, Buffy turned back around and said over her shoulder, “Thanks…for taking me to the hair salon. It was…nice.” She hoped that gratitude was all that Jessica Rabbit’s twin wanted and that now that she had it—she would go away. The only reason that Buffy had agreed to go to the hair salon in the first place was so that she could get Mandy off her back.

Buffy really couldn’t handle anymore helpful hair/clothing/dieting advice from anymore superficial elitists. She had just gotten expelled on Monday because of one. She really didn’t need another one around, tempting her aggressive side like Christine had.

Mandy stepped into the room and made a ‘pffft’ sound. “Hey, no need to thank me. Thank Paolo, the stylist.” Mandy tittered at her own humor. Buffy was just thankful that she was facing away from the redhead so that she didn’t have to pretend to laugh. Mandy continued, “No, sometimes us girls just need to indulge ourselves, get dolled up…makes ourselves feel pretty.” Her next words were spoken tentatively. “Any time you need a girls’ day out, I’ll just be a call away.”

Buffy stared at the wall in front of her, remaining motionless, trying to keep her resolve to. Not. Get. Angry.

Where did this woman get the nerve? She had never—not once—tried to act all buddy-buddy with her before. Now today—her last day in L.A.—Mandy suddenly felt obligated to reconcile a friendly relationship between them? Not freakin’ likely!

Buffy refrained from voicing her thoughts and instead made a sound that could be taken as her assent.

Mandy pursed her glossy lips and swept kohl-lined eyes around Buffy’s room. “…Need any help?”

Buffy sighed inwardly as she realized that Mandy wasn’t going to leave her alone, then shook her head and resumed packing clothes into her luggage suitcase. “Thanks, but everything’s pretty much packed… I never really even unpacked after-“ She broke off and cleared her throat. “…everything that’s happened.”

There was an awkward silence before Mandy changed to a new topic. “That’s a cute shirt, Buffy. How come I’ve never seen you wear it?”

Buffy begrudged Mandy’s persistence—but took a closer look at the shirt she was folding none-the-less. She shrugged, “I just haven’t had the right occasion to wear it.”

She frowned when she realized that she had momentarily forgotten that she was angry, and guarded herself once again.

“Hmm.” Mandy walked over to stand next to Buffy and inspected the shirt further. It was a white silk v-neck that tied around the back of the neck with two woven straps. Fine Japanese cherry blossoms were the detail found on the white fabric. She’d never seen Buffy wear anything but black. “I see what you’re saying. The design and material would be too glamorous for school, while the deep V and bare shoulders and upper back miiight be a little too much for a family get-together.” After a beat of contemplation she declared, “Date shirt. Definitely.”

“Excuse me?” Buffy was surprised. Embarrassedly so.

Mandy turned to face her and widened her eyes in an ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ gesture. “This shirt would make great date wear… The guys would be foaming at the mouth if they saw you in this little number.” Mandy tilted her head to the side, assessing Buffy from head to toe. “I’d say with a pair of hip-hugger denims.” Then she added hastily, “Dark! Not faded… And boot-cut! Not belled.”

Buffy coughed, not quite sure what to feel. Irritation—that once again Mandy was giving her self-improvement advice. Or anger, again—because, well, that was the emotion that she had been going for…

She settled for a noncommittal, “Yeah…”

Mandy’s perfectly plucked brows drew together at Buffy’s disbelieving tone and coloring cheeks. “Hey, Buffy, you do know that you’re a very beautiful girl, don’t you?” When Buffy just shifted her gaze from side to side, Mandy cocked a hand on one hip. “Well you are. Trust me. I only give credit where credit’s due. Boys would notice you… If you just— put yourself out there, seemed more approachable.”

A new wave of fury suddenly struck Buffy at the added advice. She left her anger unchecked in her voice this time. “Thanks, Mandy, for all of your help. You know? It really might’ve come in handy these last couple of months. That is, in between the times when I’m grieving over my dead mother, or dreaming of the nest of tumors that filled her brain and killed her. Yeah, wearing more pastels and approaching boys could’ve been just the cure… Aren’t you glad that you waited until the last minute? Does it make you feel like a better person? Like you’ve done your part?”

Mandy flinched at Buffy’s outburst, so riddled with pain and loss. “You just- I- It didn’t…seem like…my place to say. You just seemed so…sad. I didn’t know…”

Buffy huffed and refocused her gaze on the shirt that she and Mandy had been discussing; and instead balled it up rather than finished folding it and stuffed it in the bottom of her suitcase.

Hank walked into the room just in time to see Buffy’s heated action and raised his hands in a placating gesture when she turned with her suitcase to leave the room.

Buffy stopped to look at the real cause of so much of her pain. The entity that had created all of her doubts about love and trust and faithfulness. Her father.

In her mind she heard her relationship with her father reflected in voices, both new and old.

“Why did daddy leave?”

“I heard that she was so inconsolable after it happened, that her absentee father had to dump her in a clinic where she sat in a padded room for like a month. No doubt he just wanted some time alone with his latest flavor of the week and couldn’t be bothered with some teenaged nutcase.”

“I just don’t feel that anything is getting through to you. I don’t know how to…how to help you. I don’t know…what it is that you need…”

“Buffy? Why didn’t they live happily ever after? …What went wrong?”

Her sightless eyes refocused on the man who had never truly been there. “I’m ready to leave.”

..::~*~::..

The trip to Sunnydale was a silent affair. Something that Buffy was grateful for. Mandy had left the apartment to head back to her own place shortly after Buffy’s slicing words, while Hank had kept Buffy ten minutes longer to do a double check to make sure she didn’t leave anything behind. It was almost as if he wanted to make sure she’d never have a reason to return. Not once had his eyes met hers.

Sunnydale was pretty much what she had expected. Quaint little houses, with quaint little picket fences, that were complete with quaint little manicured lawns.

The house that Hank stopped in front of…was definitely not what she had expected. It wasn’t even a house.

It was a freakin’ mansion.

It was an old, ominous structure. Darkened with decaying foliage and cracked paint. It looked uninhabited. Something she imagined was perfect for stories about ghosts or mad scientists.

She kept her eyes on the mansion, so that Hank knew she was only acknowledging him out of necessity. “This is it?”

“Yes.” His reply was almost inaudible, as if he feared her reaction, and Buffy was disgusted by his cowardice.

Who is this man? she wondered. What did Mom see in him all those years ago?

For a moment, Buffy lamented the loss of having had a father who never cared enough to- Who never cared.

It made her heart sick.

“Buffy…I-“

“Don’t.”

“But I-“

“Just don’t.” Buffy turned to regard her father for the last time. “Help me take my bags out of the car. Then turn around and head back to L.A. Be sure to remind your secretary to send me a card on my birthday.”

“But what abou-“

“I’ll send Great Aunt Agatha your love and make sure she knows that something urgent came up, so you couldn’t stay.”

Hank’s stature crumbled and he gave a despairing sigh of defeat. “If that’s what you want, Buffy.”

What I want is my mother alive and well at my side. Loving me.

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

“Alright.”

It only took a minute to remove Buffy’s things from the trunk and soon her father was reseating himself in the car.

“I- I love you, Buffy.”

Don’t say things that you don’t really mean. “Goodbye, Dad.”

..::~*~::..

She was at the front double doors, clutching two of her bags at her sides while three others lay at her feet, wondering if she should just turn around and start her life on her own without setting foot inside.

The door opened before she could make her decision. She hadn’t even knocked.

“Oh my goodness, Buffy, is that you? You’re so grown up!”

A woman, who greatly contrasted Buffy’s blurred mental image, enveloped her in a fervent hug. Buffy was crushed against Great Aunt Agatha’s soft, plump frame; with a face full of white wispy hair in her view.

When Great Aunt Agatha pulled back after a time, her warm, light green eyes gazed at Buffy adoringly.

Buffy noted that, though her face was aged with time, the creases only showed as deeper depressions of the laugh lines of a well spent youth.

“You look so much like her. Your eyes… I just- I look into them and I can see Joyce shining through.”

“I-“ Buffy stopped, overwhelmed by this exuberant old woman who had seemed so distraught and mean-spirited the first and only time she had seen her before. “…Thank you.”

She really should have known better than to judge someone’s character by how they acted at a loved one’s funeral.

But she was just…not what Buffy had expected. She had expected a mean or strict or boring or controlling or cruel little hag. Not someone who greeted people—who were more-or-less strangers—with hugs. This sweet, little, old woman couldn’t have been the reason why Joyce had resented Sunnydale.

Could she?

Great Aunt Agatha gave her yet another squeeze, rubbing her back affectionately. “Ohhh! It is so good to finally have you here! And now that you’re here, I am not letting you go, little miss!”

Buffy smiled awkwardly, unaccustomed to so much physical affection by anyone except her mother. “It’s good to be here, Great Aunt Agatha.” She didn’t let the twinge of guilt she felt at lying affect her voice.

The much older woman huffed. “None of this ‘Great Aunt Agatha’ business, dear… It makes me feel my age. Call me ‘Aggie’ or- or ‘Auntie’ if you like… Do you like to be called Buffy? It’s what Joyce called you as a baby. I thought you might prefer it over Elizabeth.”

Buffy unintentionally relaxed a little more into the embrace, something inside her softening at the obvious care and consideration that Aggie had put into her arrival. “Yeah, Buffy’s fine. It’s what I go by.”

“Oh good, good.” Aggie stepped back at arms length to look at Buffy. She gave a small smile of understanding when she took in Buffy’s appearance; obviously noticing what grief had done to Buffy’s small body, but not commenting on it…or the absence of her father.

It was something that Buffy was grateful for.

“Well. Let’s get you inside.” Aggie couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Show you your new home… I had your bedroom set up as soon as I knew you were coming!”

Buffy bent to pick up the bags that she had dropped when she’d been engulfed in that enormous hug, but Aggie stopped her before she could retrieve them. “No, don’t you worry about those, we’ll handle them in a little while. First I want to get some food into you and give you time to relax. If you’re anything like Joyce was as a teenager, then I know that you waited till the last minute to get ready. You must have been packing all morning.”

Buffy stood up sharply at Aggie’s insight, then dazedly let the old woman lead her inside the front doors. How was it that Aggie knew her mother so well, when Buffy hadn’t even known the old woman existed until recently. “But- I- We can’t just leave my stuff on your porch…”

Aggie chuckled, unperturbed, and ushered on. “This isn’t Los Angeles, Buffy. It’s broad daylight. They’ll be safe on the porch.”

Buffy followed along, not sure if she was reassured.

“I made you some of my famous hot chocolate. It’s actually a secret recipe that has been in the family for generations. Joyce use to love it!”

Three times. Aggie had mentioned Joyce’s name three times in the last five minutes. Yet the world hadn’t ended.

“Do you like chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy? If you don’t, I could always whip up something else for you.”

Before Buffy even realized it, she was seated at a dining table with a cheerful daisy patterned tablecloth and a vase of fresh tulips as the centerpiece set on it. “Um, no, that’d be fine.”

Aggie gave a pleased smile and started for the kitchen. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Excitable old lady…and fast, too, was Buffy’s thought as she watched Aggie retreat, her old-fashioned sundress gently swaying as she created her own breeze. She raised a brow when she realized that Aggie was barefoot.

Shaking her head in bemusement, Buffy turned her attention to her surroundings, taking in the cavernous ceilings that eerily echoed and amplified all sound and the once grand marble floor, which was now scuffed and cracked in some places with age. The inside wasn’t nearly as gloomy as the outside—but only because of personal touches like the photo frames set on the fireplace and knick knacks that were placed on dark cherry wood furniture.

Aggie came bustling back out of the kitchen, balancing two plates and a silver pitcher of steaming, sweet smelling liquid.

Setting it down on the table, Aggie clasped her hands in accomplishment. “There you go, dear.”

“Thanks.” Buffy turned to the plate set in front of her and then turned back. “Do you live here alone?” The question had been niggling at the back of her mind ever since she had found out that she had a Great Aunt Agatha from Sunnydale.

Aggie gasped, as if just the thought of being alone was unfathomable. “Oh no, dear girl! I could never manage being alone in this place by myself. It’s much too big. Spike lives with me.” The name seemed to trigger a memory, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Which reminds me, would it be alright with you if I went to fetch him?” In an exasperated air she continued, “He’s always a grump if you wake him up this early…but I know he would be even grumpier if he didn’t get to welcome you.”

Buffy cocked her head back in surprise. “Oh, so you have a dog?” She looked around curiously, expecting a ball of fur to come into view at any moment.

Aggie opened and closed her mouth in surprise, a giggle suddenly bursting past her lips. “He has definitely been called one a time or two…amongst other things.”

Buffy just stared when she didn’t get what was obviously a private joke.

Aggie stifled her laughter and went to explain, “Spike is a friend of the family. Thinks it’s his noble duty to care for me now that I’m…” She grimaced. “elderly. Sixty-eight is not that old. You’re as old as you feel, as the saying goes. So if anyone asks…I’m twenty-five.” She winked, said, “I’ll be right back, sweetie,” then walked across the dining room to an adjacent hallway.

Buffy could hear the echo of Aggie’s footsteps become fainter and fainter the farther she went.

She turned back to her plate when the sound died —and smiled in amusement. Aggie had dutifully cut up her chicken fried steak into bite sized pieces and had made a mashed potato volcano—complete with gravy lava—just for her.

Buffy gasped and lost her grip on her fork when she realized that it had been her first real smile since before her mother had gotten sick…

“Bloody hell, gran, that soddin’ hurt!”

Buffy whipped around to see what was going on down the hallway. There was a sound of struggle…like someone was hopping on one foot.

“I told you that Buffy was coming today! What if I had asked her to come with me to get you up? You should be ashamed of yourself! The poor girl would have been traumatized if she had seen your- your…naked backside!”

“Oi!”

There was a loud thwacking noise. Followed by, “Stop hittin’ me with a newspaper you abusive old bint!”

“Old?!!”

Thwack!

“’m dressed, ‘m dressed! Now stop hittin’ me already!”

For a moment all was silent. Then, “What about a shirt?”

There was an aggravated sigh. “Let me go bloody look for one. I’ll be out in a mo’.”

Buffy turned back to her plate when she heard Aggie’s returning footsteps, and busied herself with mixing her gravy into her mashed potatoes.

“How is it?”

Buffy started guiltily, having yet to eat a single bite. “It’s, um, good. Thanks…for making it.”

“Oh you’re quiet welcome, Buffy. William will be joining us for lunch in a-“

“Now.”

This time Buffy really did jump enough to cause notice.

It was the man from the funeral—sans leather coat. He was wearing all black. And if she was the sort of girl who would care about that kind of thing, she would be self-conscious that they kind of matched. But only if she were that sort of girl. Which she wasn’t. Taking her eyes away from their combined together fashion faux pa, she looked up into his face—and suddenly she wasn’t just mildly curious about what the unusual English guy, who said some pretty weird words, might look like. She was fully absorbed in the reality.

He was leaning against the wall of the open hallway with his head resting to one side. He was squint-glaring at Aggie with a petulant scowl on his sharply angled face, and his bleached locks were tousled into an appealing disarray that she vaguely felt wasn’t his usual style. He pressed his bowed lips firmly together, which hollowed out his already defined cheekbones.

“’s William is it now, Agatha? …Wot? You don’ like me anymore?”

Aggie fidgeted and sniffed. “You knew that Buffy was coming to stay, and you still kept that- that inappropriate habit off yours even though I asked you to stop.”

Buffy looked back down to the table, her cheeks flaming now that Spike’s attention was on her.

“’s called a lock, gran. I promise from now on I’ll use it and you lady’s won’ have to hide your blushing eyes for fear of catchin’ a peak-a-boo of my bits.”

Buffy’s blush spread to engulf her whole face and neck.

Spike straightened and started walking into the dining room, heading over to greet the petite blonde who was currently burning a hole into the table with her eyes... It wasn’t until he was halfway across the room that he took in his first breath of the day, breathing in the delicious aroma of the sweet smelling chocolate cocoa that he so loved-

But there was something else there. Something…overpowering.

Buffy knew that if she didn’t turn around when someone was approaching to greet her it would be rude, so she sucked up her stupid…whatever-they-were feelings and stood to face Spike.

He had stopped walking about eight feet away from where they were, and was just facing them. But his gaze was directly boring onto her. Buffy took a step back without meaning to and his eyes seemed to assess it. She almost felt as if he…was watching her every move; calculating how fast he could get to her before she could escape. His chest was rising and falling harshly with ragged breaths and every muscle in his body seemed taut; ready to spring. Wild ocean blue eyes skittered up to keep her gaze captured within his.

Aggie spoke with concern, “Spike? Are you feeling alright, dear?”

Spike’s whole body jerked and his eyes snapped in Aggie’s direction. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeh. I jus’…remembered somethin’ that I have to go do… Now.” He quickly turned around, ready to bolt out of the room.

“Spike! You can’t leave, you haven’t even said two words to Buffy!” Aggie admonished reproachfully.

Buffy shakily looked over to Aggie, fully wigged about the way Spike was acting, and her reaction to him. It was like her head had grown heavy and her mind had gone foggy. The only thought that had seemed to make any sense to her was…Don’t move. She rushed to quietly say, “No, its okay Aunt Aggie. If Spike’s gotta go do something now, I’m sure we can always catch up…later.”

Aggie would be having none of it. She addressed the tensed figure that was turned away from them. “William, you need to be the gentleman that I know you are and turn back around, right now, and greet Joyce’s little girl.”

Buffy watched, uneasy, as Spike turned back around. He stiffly walked up to her and Aggie, making sure never to make eye contact with her. She could practically feel the restraint he used. His muscles were quivering with unused energy and his jaw was clenched. She didn’t want to know what he was holding back from.

A full minute passed before he finally turned to Buffy. “I…’s good to have you here, Buffy. ‘s about time that Aggie had another bird around to talk to.” He gave a tight smile. “Cos as you can see, ‘m not very good company until I’ve had my caffeine.”

Buffy nodded numbly and croaked out, “Nice to meet you,” and then hesitantly added, “Spike.”


Spike gave a curt jerk of his chin. “’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Buffy.”


Aggie frowned at their reserved welcoming, but shook it off and turned to the table. “Well, here, Spike, have some cocoa. Why didn’t you just say that you weren’t feeling too well?” She handed a mug to Buffy who was closest. “I forgot the marshmallows, I’ll be right back.”

Buffy looked at the mug, then looked up to Spike and hesitantly extended it to him. His throat seemed to convulse as he carefully reached out to take it.

When their fingers accidentally brushed his reaction was swift, almost violent.

“Don’t touch me!” he roared as he snatched his hand away.

Buffy backed into the table, watching as Spike stormed out of the room. His mug of cocoa lay shattered at her feet.

Agatha briskly came out of the kitchen, clutching a bag of marshmallows. “What happened?”

Buffy kept her eyes directed down the hallway Spike had turned to. “I don’t know.”

..::~*~::..

Spike slammed his back against his closed door, breathing so hard that he thought his lungs might burst.

That scent.

He couldn’t get away from it.

It was everywhere. All around him. He was fucking drowning in it.

It had been so long since- He didn’t remember what it- He hadn’t wanted-

There had never been anything like it.

Her blood smelt of everything designed to tempt him. Taunt him. Consume him whole.

Sweet laced poison filled with her innocence.

*And to have her would be the most delicious sin.*

He jerked his head to the side, as if to turn away from the thought.

No. He must not hurt the girl. Her blood was not his to have.

*But it could be. She could not match my strength. I could drain her dry before she even-*

No. Its Joyce’s little girl, and Agatha…It would kill her.

He looked down to see blood smeared across his palms, and realized he’d clenched his fists so hard that he’d broken the skin with his fingernails. And didn’t care.

He lent his head back and closed his eyes as an image of the girl he had barely known for two minutes pervaded his mind’s eye. Her big, sparkling, green, doe eyes and soft looking pink lips. Her cascade of golden blonde tresses. Her lilywhite neck pulsing with hot, crimson paradise-

His cock throbbed painfully in his pants, already imagining the heat of her body surrounding him, even as her blood coated his throat.

He opened his eyes.

“Fuck.”

TBC


Author’s note: So…any questions, comments, concerns? Haha. Please review so I can be all vague and side-steppy.