herself_nyc (herself_nyc) wrote in herself_nyc_fic, @ 2008-02-29 09:43:00 |
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"I was thinking, Buffy. In the car."
They'd driven most of the night. It was early morning.
"What were you thinking?"
"I could look after you better if we were husband and wife. That would be the right thing. When we get to Vegas, we should do that, right off ... I mean, if you agree."
"Do ... "
He got up on one elbow. "I'm saying this all wrong. Buffy, I'd like you to be my wife. Will you marry me tomorrow?"
Spike was completely sober for the first time in weeks when he left the slayer's house. He slept, and woke up in the late afternoon knowing his drunk was over. Lying in the motel bed, aware of the aromas of the last thirty people who'd been there, he thought of Buffy, missing her with a greedy tactile yearning, for her restless little body, her rare laugh, the tones of her voice, her tears and bullying and aroma.
She was the strongest person he'd ever known. But so young and foolish.
She needed him. He didn't know why things had come about the way they did, but he was convinced that this slayer needed him and that before he'd choose to have his old merry existence back, he'd choose her. Choose to be hers, to serve her purposes. It was nothing to do with good or evilhe didn't care for being good, or anybody's good but hers, and her mother's.
She'd gotten inside him, her fierce little spirit danced in him, possessed him.
There was absolutely no question that he'd find her, that she'd realize he was for her.
She'd made him that way.
When he knocked on Joyce's door, he'd made himself as neat and presentable as he could, in a white shirt he'd stolen on the way over. He left his duster in the car, and carried a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, both of which he'd actually paid for.
She raised an eyebrow when he handed them to her. "I thought it was my daughter you were in love with."
"She takes after you, in every way," Spike said. "Well, 'cept in the runnin' off when things get tough way, but she'll learn better."
"Will she?" Joyce brought the flowers into the kitchen. He followed her through, past the rather formally-set dining room table, where she'd laid their places at right angles at one end. "Nothing is going the way it should. She's supposed to be finishing high school and picking a college, not disappearing on her own. Not getting involved with older men. Vampires or not, Angel was too old for her. You're too old for her. She's just a girl." Joyce was cutting the stems, arranging the flowers in a vase, her back to him at the sink.
"I know it. But that ship's sailed, missus. An' look at it this wayno chance with me that she'll end up up-the-spout, or with a dose of the clap. Not to be ... crude about it."
"Crude. Yes."
"I won't hurt her."
"Are you trying to make me laugh?"
"Her girlhood ended a few miles back. Can look at it different ways: when she became the slayer. Or when she died an' was revived. Anyhow, before she took Angel an' he betrayed her. She's in the thick of it now, an' there's no use thinkin' of depriving her of the compensations of the life."
"You think you're a compensation? You have a high opinion of yourself! Just like a man."
"Know I satisfy her, that's all. It's little enough for what she has to go through. What's comin' in her future."
Joyce brushed past him, holding the vase in both hands, back into the dining room. "Satisfy her." She sounded on the verge of tears. "For heaven's sake, the child is barely seventeen."
Spike followed. "You don't like to think of it, but the girl's got needs. An' I respect her, an' I'll lay myself down for her. I mean I'll part with my existence, to help her."
Joyce wheeled around. "Why? You're a vampire. She's the slayer. I don't understand why you"
Spike laughed. "Haven't you met her?"
Joyce moved past him again, back to the stove. "Not like you have, apparently."
She'd bought fresh cow blood, heated it in a double-boiler, and offered it to him first in a soup plate. He asked for a cup instead, and made short work of it, because it was clear that she meant to feed him a real meal as well, and he meant to make a show of appreciating every bite.
She'd assembled something like an English Sunday dinner; a roast of beef, very rare, root vegetables and potatoes, a Yorkshire pudding she broke open in a veil of steam. He hadn't seen the like in decades. She'd have been working all evening. He supposed it was a good distraction for her.
"I didn't think vampires ate food."
"Most don't." He didn't have to force himself; she was a good cook. "Lovely, this is. Let's see you eat yours." She'd filled a plate for herself, and barely touched it. Just like her daughter. "Go on. Need to keep your strength up."
Joyce stared past him. "What if I'm making another terrible mistake? Trusting you. This is crazy! You're a terrible monster, and you ... you ... I saw you, when ...."
"I am a terrible monster, me. But once I give myself to someone ... I don't change." He touched his chest, where his heart lay still and full. "I can't. I'm yours now, much as I'm Buffy's. Never hurt you. Will do all for you I can."
Joyce fixed him with a fiery eye. "Including give her up? If I asked you to? For Buffy's own good?"
Spike forked up another bite. "Can talk about that when we've got her back."
When Buffy woke, she was alone. She knew it even before she opened her eyes; the room felt hollow and still around her. She scrambled up. Not again. Notagainnotagainnotagain.
But the cream-colored sheet of paper on the pillow caught her eye before she could get too excited.
She'd never really seen Angel's hand-writing. It was old-fashioned, not very illegible. Taking care of a couple of things. Back soon. I love you. A.
Soon? What was soon? She took a shower. Sat around watching TV for an hour, then went out to the restaurant across the road from the motel. Her stomach was screaming with hunger, though she was so keyed up she was barely aware of an appetite.
She thought of Las Vegaslots of mental images from movies and TV shows, but she'd never been there, and wondered if it really could be as glitzy and bright as all that, or if the reality would be quite different. Less.
Maybe not. In her experience, life didn't tend to be less than anticipated. If anything, it was more. Or maybe the word was worse.
But she'd taken a turn now. Angel was restored to her, and with him, things would be right. She would be fulfilled. And in Las Vegas, there would be plenty for herfor both of themto do.
Back in the room, the prime-time TV shows gave way to Letterman and Leno, and then Jimmy Kimmel. Angel was still out. She went out again, a stake in her waistband. Unlikely to be any vampires around here, within walking distance. She tried hitching into the center of Calgary, but no one stopped for her, and it was cold, so she retreated back to the room. She didn't know what time it was when she fell asleep; the jangling phone on the bedstand woke her.
Angel said, "You okay?"
"Where are you? What time is it?"
"I'm a little held up, but I'll back soon."
"You've been gone ... it's tomorrow now." She was confused, didn't know if it was still night, or morning, or maybe afternoon. She'd been sleeping so heavily.
"Just a little longer. Getting some details fixed up. Anyway, it's better for the man and the girl to be separated before their wedding night, right?"
She sat up, ran a hand through her hair. Cradled the receiver closer. "I didn't say yes yet, as you'll recall."
"You didn't say no."
"You really want to marry me?" Buffy said. It was irksome that he wasn't here, but on the other hand, she was enjoying this chance to flirt gently down the phone. They'd never done that, back in Sunnydale.
"You know I do."
"I don't even know your name, Angel. Who will I be, if I marry you?"
There was a silence on the line. She heard noise in the background, it sounded like he was calling from a barroom. Music and voices.
"Have you forgotten your name?" she teased.
"Sometimes I do. Did. Will you take my name?"
"That depends on what it is."
"Will you?"
"Yes. Of course I will."
"You'll be Mrs O'Connor."
"Mrs O'Connor."
"Will you?"
"When are you coming back? What's the time?
"I'll be back by morning. You can be patient, can't you?" His voice was low, gentle; he was whispering to be heard beneath the background din. Maybe to be unheard by whoever else was around. She wondered what details he could be taking care of in a place like that, but before she could ask, he said, "I'll see you before you know it. Goodbye, Buffy."
The line went dead. She hung up the phone, and lay back. "Mrs O'Connor." She tried it out. "Mrs Angel O'Connor. Buffy Anne Summers O'Connor, the Vampire Slayer."
The next time she woke, he was quietly pulling the magazine from under her cheek. She'd dozed off surrounded by them: Brides, Martha Stewart Weddings, Modern Bride. He smiled as he loomed over her. She opened her arms to him. He was ready for her; she opened and he slid inside.
"You're so wet."
"Dreaming about you."
"I'm going to make love to you every day. Every day for the rest of our lives."
It was better this time, waking out of sleep to receive him, warm and languid, rocking. He smelled like cigarette smoke and tasted of beer, but she didn't mind that. It made him feel manly. "You get everything done?"
"We're all set."
He smiled into her eyes, laying kisses on her face, all around her mouth.
"Set how?"
"For our new life. For me to take care of you." He lowered his mouth to her breasts, kissed each one with worshipful thoroughness.
She wrapped her legs around him, and swiveled.
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Author's Note: Some readers commented on the last part about the logistical difficulties of some of the action. I just want to point out that in the Jossverse canon, all kinds of logistical difficulties were skimmed over or ignored altogether, and ask you to read this story in that great tradition of La La La.