FIC: Perfect Vengeance - Chapter Three
Mar. 19th, 2005 10:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shipperxThe Kink: Time travel, specifically S6 Spike and Buffy in 1880s London.
Three other requests: Spike has "replaced" William, but only he and Buffy know; Buffy acknowledges real feelings for Spike (happily or reluctantly; it's your call); and Cecily eats her heart out when she realizes what she could have had.
Previous Chapters Archived Here
Rating: Currently PG, Eventually NC-17
Thanks so much to my betas![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenchurche , rahirah, and fishsanwitt
Three other requests: Spike has "replaced" William, but only he and Buffy know; Buffy acknowledges real feelings for Spike (happily or reluctantly; it's your call); and Cecily eats her heart out when she realizes what she could have had.
Previous Chapters Archived Here
Rating: Currently PG, Eventually NC-17
CHAPTER THREE
Buffy couldn’t believe that she had been stuck in servitude hell for a week. Blackmail and threats were supposed to work better than this.
After coming to grips with the whole time-travel thing and realizing that she had no easy way home, Buffy had twisted Halfrek’s arm until the demon had agreed not to throw her onto the street. The problem came with Halfrek’s awareness that Buffy’s options were limited.
“What would you do if I did not agree?” the demon had asked. “Kill me or expose me?”
They both knew that either choice sucked. If Buffy killed Halfrek, she’d be stuck in the past. And if she tried to expose Halfrek as a demon, she’d run the risk of being locked up in Bedlam. Yelling that someone was a demon led to people thinking you were raving lunatic.
Still, threats were Buffy’s only leverage. Caught in a stalemate, Slayer and demon had negotiated terms for a truce. Buffy could stay in the warm, dry house, but she’d have to be a maid … or at least pretend to be.
Now, a week later, Buffy carried freshly laundered sheets to Halfrek’s bedroom. She still didn’t have a way home. And she was no closer to figuring out who had cursed her or what the specific curse had been.
Pushing open the door to Halfrek’s bedroom, Buffy glimpsed Halfrek lecturing a squatty, blue demon. Halfrek looked flushed and anxious, and the blue guy looked fairly impervious to everything she was saying.
Stepping back into the hallway, Buffy quietly closed the door, leaving only a crack to spy through.
“Gorbach, how could you?” Halfrek threw papers down on her dressing table.
“It was just a small debt,” the blue demon whined.
“You lost three hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Pfft! Nothing. A pittance.”
Halfrek looked exasperated. “That is more than five times what most humans make in a year.”
He ducked his bald, blue head and mumbled, “I’m not human.”
“Thank Arash Mahar for small favors. But you are to pretend to be.“ Halfrek sat at her dressing table and drew a silver brush through her hair. “We have had this conversation before. Your uncle requested that you accompany me so that I could train you. To that end, you are to observe my work, while appearing as my father. My very respectable father.”
She turned on her chair in order to face him directly. “Look at you, walking around during the daylight in your normal face. You will frighten the servants.”
Gorbach scratched the tiny Stegosaurus-like plates that ran down the center of his bald pate. “Human hair itches.”
“You can endure. Remember, we must please your uncle.”
“I know!” Gobach bounced up and down and shifted his weight from foot to foot like a demented child who desperately needed to pee. He even began to walk in small circles, almost spinning in place. “Did you hear that last week Uncle incinerated a demon who displeased him? A burst of flames and whoosh! Didn’t leave anything behind. Not even ashes.”
Halfrek shuddered and placed her brush on the table. After a moment, she began twisting up her hair. “Your Uncle D’Hoffryn can be temperamental. You might remember that the next time you wager three hundred and fifty pounds on a chicken.”
“It was a cock fight.” Gorbach waddled slightly to the left and warmed his butt by the coal-burning fire. He must have warmed it too much because he suddenly hopped away and began fanning his rear. “Besides, Uncle would never harm me. My mother would kill him. “
“Gorbach, please.” Halfrek looked genuinely distressed. “I’ve spent the week dodging your creditors.”
“So that’s where you were.”
“Things became so desperate that I contacted your uncle.”
Gorbach began to look nervous, his pointy, little teeth worrying his lower lip. “You didn’t tell him… “
“That the money was for your debts? No, I covered for you. I simply said that we exceeded expected expenditures.” She secured her up-do with a jeweled, gold comb. “You must remember that we are here for business, not to enjoy ourselves. Now, change.”
Gorbach sighed and morphed into the guise of a portly, middle-aged man. “Just call me Papa.” He turned to leave.
Realizing that she was about to be caught eavesdropping, Buffy knocked. “I’m here to change the sheets,” she called, while thinking, =No way in hell am I changing the sheets.=
She heard Halfrek say, “Come in.” And Gorbach, who was now ‘Mr. Addams,’ exited the room.
Buffy dumped the sheets on Halfrek’s bed. “You know Spike.”
Halfrek frowned. “Excuse me? I know what?”
“Spike. Irritating, blond vampire. You know him.”
Halfrek reached for a pink, Venetian glass bottle of perfume. “I have no idea what you are prattling about.”
“At my birthday party, you knew him.”
“At your birthday party ‘in the future?’ ”
Buffy nodded.
“I do not know him now.” Halfrek dabbed the night jasmine perfume on both her wrists.
Okay, so Spike was yet another dead end. No surprise there. Sighing, Buffy sat on the bed. The mattress was so fluffy that she sank into it like a bean-bag chair. “Can I make a wish to counter the wish that cursed me?”
“No.”
“Why not?” She awkwardly tried to readjust herself in the quicksand of mattress, duvet, and sheets. “I legitimately want vengeance.”
“It is against the rules.”
“So? Who makes the rules?”
“I believe that you said that you knew him.”
“Oh, right. D’Hoffryn.” Buffy shifted impatiently. “Couldn’t you break the rules?”
“For *you*?” Halfrek laughed. “After what you told me will happen to Anyanka? Why, the very thought of being reduced to marrying a creature descended from primates …” She shuddered. “Humans are nothing more than monkeys with overly high opinions of themselves.”
“You seemed cool with the idea of hanging out with them.”
Halfrek frowned and silently mouthed the word ‘cool’ with questioning confusion.
Buffy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You were at the theater with a bunch of humans the night I showed up. You didn’t seem horrified then.”
The demon sniffed. “I didn’t say that I was horrified. Humans can be amusing.” She slid her feet into a pair of satin slippers. “How shall I put this? I have heard tales of humans cavorting with sheep; however, that does not mean they are insane enough to wish to marry one.”
“’Cavort’ how, exactly? ‘cause—ew! That’s disgusting.”
“Exactly.”
“So I’m stuck.”
“I believe we concluded that last week.”
“Nuh-uh. We decided I needed to think about it more, and that’s what I’ve been doing. Thinking.” At Halfrek’s impassive stare, Buffy added. “I’ll just go think elsewhere.”
“While you go, please remove the chamber pot and dispose of its contents.”
“Take the what and do huh?”
Halfrek pointed to a porcelain bowl beneath the bed.
Buffy’s jaw fell and she looked at the demon with disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me!”
But Halfrek looked as though she had never heard of a sense of humor, much less possess one.
Spike found himself fascinated by the way the carriage’s lamplight glinted off his mother’s bracelet as she anxiously twisted it around her wrist. He remembered how happy she had been the day his father had given it to her and the way that she had admired the intricate scrollwork of rose gold inset with seed pearls and sapphires. His father had always had a knack for bringing smiles to her face and showing her that she was cherished. He had always inspired her to feel secure.
Spike placed his hand over his mother’s gloved ones, stilling her unconscious expression of anxiety. “You look lovely,” he assured her.
She smiled sweetly. “You are my son and thus required to say that.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.”
She seemed to relax, and for the first time in a week, Spike felt something other than frustration and failure.
It had been seven long, buggering days of uselessness as Spike had done everything he could think of to speak with Cecily. But the bint had been infuriatingly elusive.
First, he’d called round to her house and left his calling card like a proper Victorian gentleman, only to be told that she was ‘not at home’ -- which could bloody well mean anything.
It could mean that she was at home but not accepting visitors. It could mean that she was home and not accepting a visit from a prat such as William the Bloody Awful Poet. It could mean that she was a demon, residing on some other plane, who only used her place of residence as a portal to visit London in order to curse some unfortunate bloke or parents or whatever her specialty was. Or, it could mean that she was simply not at home.
Having no luck at her door, Spike had tried the more subtle ‘just happen to cross paths’ approach and had haunted Oxford and Bond streets in the hope of catching Cecily as she entered a dress shop or gallery. That plan hadn’t worked either.
As a last resort, he had attempted to slip into her house, only to be forcefully reminded of the need for an ‘invite’ when an invisible barrier had smacked him in the face. Apparently, the invite rule still applied.
Spike leaned back against the tufted cushions of the carriage and looked out the window once more.
The week had been punctuated by moments where he’d found it necessary to determine which of the vampire rules remained in effect. It turned out to be a nonsensical hodgepodge, but each restriction that did remain proved that his inner demon was still in residence. He remained preternaturally strong with a near-miraculous ability to heal. He still craved violence, anarchy, and blood … only his human-half balked at the thought of drinking it. He had compromised on a few occasions by having his beef served extremely rare and sampling blood pudding, a dish that he had loathed in his original human life -- operative word being ‘original,’ because he was on his second life now.
He breathed in the night air, an involuntary breath which reinforced the unlikely truth that he was human again: living, breathing, walking-in-the-sunshine human. And he was somehow part vampire as well. Spike was something that had never been and probably shouldn’t be. He was a freak.
Spike shook his head.
Demons liked to call vampires ‘halfbreeds.’ He wondered whether he would be considered a ‘quarterbreed’ now -- or would the term be ‘quadroon?’
At any rate, after all of his efforts to contact Cecily had failed, Spike had attempted to slip into her house only to discover that he could not enter. Since Cecily was a demon, he could only assume that there were servants in residence. Still, no invite, no entry, no Cecily.
He had become so frustrated by the situation that he had almost decided to contact the Council of Wankers, especially when he remembered what he’d foolishly said to Cecily in The Bronze. He’d wished the Slayer into a less-than-happy situation, and he’d wished to be present to see it. That meant if he was in 1880 London, Buffy must be as well.
Grappling with the knowledge that he had fucked up yet again, Spike comforted himself that he would find Buffy, eventually. It was inevitable because it was part of the wish. He would simply prefer to do so before she reached the ‘cursed humiliation’ part.
A volatile mixture of contradictory emotions bubbled inside him. Frustration with the world warred with disappointment in himself, and both emotions made him want to stand up and do something, to change things, to make them better.
There really should be some rule against a vengeance demon taking a drunken fool’s words for an actual wish. But then, such a rule would take the evil fun out of it. And they were evil vengeance demons, after all, not justice demons.
Luckily, his mother had reminded him of a solution that had been at his disposal all along. The Addams’ were planning a soiree, and the invitation had arrived weeks ago.
Strangely, it was only now that Spike recognized that he had no memory of actually meeting Cecily or her father. William had simply known them. Looking back, Spike could only assume that it was demonic mojo, some magic which allowed a vengeance demon to insert herself into people’s lives without people ever noticing or asking difficult questions. The human was somehow coerced into believing that the demon had been part of their lives all along.
Spike wondered when William had taken the notion to fall for the bint. He frowned. His first real memory of her had been …
He remembered some sort of séance. It must have been the organized amusement at a party. Playing with the occult had been considered a popular pastime during this age; although at the time, William had not taken anything unnatural seriously.
He remembered an Indian who must have been the mystic in charge of the séance, and he remembered Cecily in tears. She had seemed heartbroken and lost, which William had assumed was due to the rumors of her father’s gambling debts. Seeing her in need had touched him, and William had wanted to care for her.
The mystic had tried to warn him. “She is not what she seems.” But William had dismissed the man.
Spike shook his head at his own stupidity. Of course, he had not listened. He was a blind fool once his affections were fixed.
=Pillock,= Spike thought as the carriage came to a halt.
After the coachman opened the door, Spike jumped down to the curb and looked back, offering his hand to his mother as she stepped down far more gingerly.
She nervously smoothed the ice-blue silk of her gown. “I do not usually attend these sorts of things.”
“You should enjoy yourself more often.” He smiled. “I know that you enjoy going out on the town.”
She lowered her eyelashes, but her small smile revealed that he was correct. Placing her hand on his arm, Spike escorted her into the townhouse.
A vampire invited to attend a party given by the Addams family.
=It’s a bloody TV Land joke.=
Buffy ducked into the library to avoid the crowd filling the grand entry hall.
She was beginning to feel like Cinderella the day before the ball, only without the singing mice or fairy godmother. Given her experience with ‘Sweet the Singing Demon’ and Sunnydale transformed into a demented musical, Buffy was glad to do without the singing mice. She wouldn’t mind a fairy godmother, though. Or a Prince Charming.
However, she was out of luck, as usual. What she had was a vengeance demon in a lilac silk dress with ostrich feathers in her hair.
As far as Buffy was concerned, feathers were always a fashion ‘don’t,’ regardless of whether they were worn by a Victorian lady or by Sarah Jessica Parker. Buffy sighed. Wearing an itchy black wool dress with a starched white apron, she’d hardly make the pages of Elle herself.
There were a lot of things that Buffy thought she’d wear in her life; an apron had never been one of them.
She felt a hand on her butt.
“Hey!” Buffy protested, turning to glare at a man who looked about as dorky as most of the men that she had seen lately. What was with the mutton-chop side burns? “Back off, Buddy.”
He smiled and no doubt thought he looked charming. “Call me Irving.”
“ ‘k. Back off, Irving.”
The guy backed her into a corner and leaning toward her with his mouth slightly open.
“Oh my God, are you coming onto me?” she demanded.
He tried to move closer. “I did not know that the Addams’ employed such appealing ‘help.’ ”
Buffy leaned back as far as she could. “Wasn’t hired for that. And what happened to Victorians being repressed and stuff?” She pushed at his shoulders. “Seriously, look into repression.”
“Just a kiss.”
She squirmed away. “No. And while you’re checking out repression also try Tic-tacs or Altoids.”
He still pressed forward, so Buffy grabbed his hand and turned it over sharply. As he cried out, she pushed him into the wall and twisted his arm behind his back. “Back off, all ready!”
“How dare you.”
Buffy’s jaw fell. “Me?”
“Unhand me.” He pulled away, straightening his evening clothes. “Have you no idea of your station?”
Buffy’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You get all pinchy and grabby, and you say that I don’t know my place? That’s rich.”
“You would be best served trying to accommodate me.”
Buffy crossed her arms and glared. “Guess you’re flat out of luck then. I’m not accommodating to people I actually like.”
Irving massaged his injured hand. “The Addams’s will hear from me. I will see you sacked for this.”
“Oh, whatever.” Buffy blew at the stray strand of hair that fell into her eyes. “I should be so lucky.”
He ‘hrumphed’ and looked pissed. But, after a moment, he stalked out of the room.
Buffy sighed as a cloud of misery descended over her. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the mantle. Was this century ever going to be anything but a massive black-hole of suck?
A smooth, deep voice whispered in her ear, “You know you wanna dance.”
She jerked up, unintentionally head-butting him.
“Ow!” they said in unison.
“You!” She turned and punched Spike in the shoulder.
He staggered, tripped on the Persian rug, and fell onto the floor with a grunt.
Buffy stared in shock at the sandy-haired man in evening dress who lay on the floor. “Wha--?”
Spike sat up and dusted off his breeches. “Hullo, pet.”
She was nearly incoherent with fury. “You did this to me!”
“I can explain—“
“What were you thinking?”
“It’s all that bloody bint Cecily’s doing.”
“And what’s—“ Buffy gestured to his formal black evening coat. “What’s with the hair and the clothes?”
“You prefer me bald and naked?”
=Not a bad image. Oh. Wait. Bad thought.= “ No.” Buffy glared. “Why are you walking around looking un-Spike-like?”
“See, that’s a bit of an unexpected twist.”
She walked around Spike as anger overcame the unexpected jolt of happiness of seeing a familiar face and hearing a familiar voice – not that she would have admitted to any happiness. Nuh-uh. Might give Spike ideas. “How did you sneak up on me without a single Slayer tingle?”
A wicked smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “Never say I didn’t make you tingle.”
Buffy blinked and her eyes grew huge as the answer dawned on her. “Oh my God, you’re human.”
He looked uncomfortable, ducking his head and rubbing his neck. “Not exactly.”
“You’re human and you’re here!” Buffy looked around the empty room as if it had answers. It only took a couple of seconds until it made sense. “You’re from here.”
She stopped moving as confusion set in, her brows lowering in an angry scowl. “How do you know me?”
Spike continued to sit on the floor with one leg curled under him and his arm draped over his other. “Should know you. Been shagging you silly for the last six months.”
Suspicion curled like a tendril of smoke inside her. “So, you’re not like past Halfrek …”
He arched a brow, which crinkled his forehead.
“It’s you,” she said.
“I believe you said that before.”
Buffy dragged Spike to his feet. “Fix it!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
She shoved him away and crossed the room to crack open the library door. Outside, Halfrek’s guests continued to arrive. “We have to find Halfrek.”
“Name sounds familiar, but can’t quite place it.” The timbre of his voice seemed to vibrate inside her. “Who’s Halfrek?”
Spike moved close to her, too close. As she felt the caress of his warm breath against her neck, she suddenly found herself hyper-aware of his newly human status. She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the tingle – the non-Slayer tingle – that fluttered through her. She shouldn’t allow herself to be affected by Spike.
“Could you back up?” she asked. It suddenly felt very hot in the room. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not enough air here for two.”
She could almost hear the smirk in Spike’s voice. “I haven’t noticed a lack of it.”
Buffy kept her expression carefully blank, hiding the effect he had on her behind a look of impatience.
When she faced him -- oh yeah -- that sexy, obnoxious smirk of his was out in force.
She said, “If I choked you now, you might actually suffocate.”
He arched a brow. “That all you got?”
“Well… “ She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m stressed. And tired. And do you know, I had to empty chamber pots?”
She saw amusement glitter in his eyes.
“Laugh and you’re dead,” she warned.
“I’m all ready—“
“No, you’re not dead. Not any more. And is that how you did it?”
“Did what, luv?”
Why, why, why did she have heat up and tingle just because he was close? It was distracting, and she had to think before saying, “Halfrek said she couldn’t grant a demon’s wish.”
“And again I ask, who the bloody hell is Halfrek?”
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Are you going to try to sell the idea that the three of us ending up here is a *coincidence? Next, you’ll say you aren’t an international demon arms dealer called ‘The Doctor.”
Any amusement on Spike’s face disappeared. His blue-eyed gaze grew cool and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked pissed off. “And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” She stood toe-to-toe with him. “Especially when you were caught red-handed.”
“Right. You and —“ He seemed to struggle for words. Then, frustration got the better of him. “Ugh!”
And somewhere in the bowels of the house, a woman screamed.
Chapter Four
After coming to grips with the whole time-travel thing and realizing that she had no easy way home, Buffy had twisted Halfrek’s arm until the demon had agreed not to throw her onto the street. The problem came with Halfrek’s awareness that Buffy’s options were limited.
“What would you do if I did not agree?” the demon had asked. “Kill me or expose me?”
They both knew that either choice sucked. If Buffy killed Halfrek, she’d be stuck in the past. And if she tried to expose Halfrek as a demon, she’d run the risk of being locked up in Bedlam. Yelling that someone was a demon led to people thinking you were raving lunatic.
Still, threats were Buffy’s only leverage. Caught in a stalemate, Slayer and demon had negotiated terms for a truce. Buffy could stay in the warm, dry house, but she’d have to be a maid … or at least pretend to be.
Now, a week later, Buffy carried freshly laundered sheets to Halfrek’s bedroom. She still didn’t have a way home. And she was no closer to figuring out who had cursed her or what the specific curse had been.
Pushing open the door to Halfrek’s bedroom, Buffy glimpsed Halfrek lecturing a squatty, blue demon. Halfrek looked flushed and anxious, and the blue guy looked fairly impervious to everything she was saying.
Stepping back into the hallway, Buffy quietly closed the door, leaving only a crack to spy through.
“Gorbach, how could you?” Halfrek threw papers down on her dressing table.
“It was just a small debt,” the blue demon whined.
“You lost three hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Pfft! Nothing. A pittance.”
Halfrek looked exasperated. “That is more than five times what most humans make in a year.”
He ducked his bald, blue head and mumbled, “I’m not human.”
“Thank Arash Mahar for small favors. But you are to pretend to be.“ Halfrek sat at her dressing table and drew a silver brush through her hair. “We have had this conversation before. Your uncle requested that you accompany me so that I could train you. To that end, you are to observe my work, while appearing as my father. My very respectable father.”
She turned on her chair in order to face him directly. “Look at you, walking around during the daylight in your normal face. You will frighten the servants.”
Gorbach scratched the tiny Stegosaurus-like plates that ran down the center of his bald pate. “Human hair itches.”
“You can endure. Remember, we must please your uncle.”
“I know!” Gobach bounced up and down and shifted his weight from foot to foot like a demented child who desperately needed to pee. He even began to walk in small circles, almost spinning in place. “Did you hear that last week Uncle incinerated a demon who displeased him? A burst of flames and whoosh! Didn’t leave anything behind. Not even ashes.”
Halfrek shuddered and placed her brush on the table. After a moment, she began twisting up her hair. “Your Uncle D’Hoffryn can be temperamental. You might remember that the next time you wager three hundred and fifty pounds on a chicken.”
“It was a cock fight.” Gorbach waddled slightly to the left and warmed his butt by the coal-burning fire. He must have warmed it too much because he suddenly hopped away and began fanning his rear. “Besides, Uncle would never harm me. My mother would kill him. “
“Gorbach, please.” Halfrek looked genuinely distressed. “I’ve spent the week dodging your creditors.”
“So that’s where you were.”
“Things became so desperate that I contacted your uncle.”
Gorbach began to look nervous, his pointy, little teeth worrying his lower lip. “You didn’t tell him… “
“That the money was for your debts? No, I covered for you. I simply said that we exceeded expected expenditures.” She secured her up-do with a jeweled, gold comb. “You must remember that we are here for business, not to enjoy ourselves. Now, change.”
Gorbach sighed and morphed into the guise of a portly, middle-aged man. “Just call me Papa.” He turned to leave.
Realizing that she was about to be caught eavesdropping, Buffy knocked. “I’m here to change the sheets,” she called, while thinking, =No way in hell am I changing the sheets.=
She heard Halfrek say, “Come in.” And Gorbach, who was now ‘Mr. Addams,’ exited the room.
Buffy dumped the sheets on Halfrek’s bed. “You know Spike.”
Halfrek frowned. “Excuse me? I know what?”
“Spike. Irritating, blond vampire. You know him.”
Halfrek reached for a pink, Venetian glass bottle of perfume. “I have no idea what you are prattling about.”
“At my birthday party, you knew him.”
“At your birthday party ‘in the future?’ ”
Buffy nodded.
“I do not know him now.” Halfrek dabbed the night jasmine perfume on both her wrists.
Okay, so Spike was yet another dead end. No surprise there. Sighing, Buffy sat on the bed. The mattress was so fluffy that she sank into it like a bean-bag chair. “Can I make a wish to counter the wish that cursed me?”
“No.”
“Why not?” She awkwardly tried to readjust herself in the quicksand of mattress, duvet, and sheets. “I legitimately want vengeance.”
“It is against the rules.”
“So? Who makes the rules?”
“I believe that you said that you knew him.”
“Oh, right. D’Hoffryn.” Buffy shifted impatiently. “Couldn’t you break the rules?”
“For *you*?” Halfrek laughed. “After what you told me will happen to Anyanka? Why, the very thought of being reduced to marrying a creature descended from primates …” She shuddered. “Humans are nothing more than monkeys with overly high opinions of themselves.”
“You seemed cool with the idea of hanging out with them.”
Halfrek frowned and silently mouthed the word ‘cool’ with questioning confusion.
Buffy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “You were at the theater with a bunch of humans the night I showed up. You didn’t seem horrified then.”
The demon sniffed. “I didn’t say that I was horrified. Humans can be amusing.” She slid her feet into a pair of satin slippers. “How shall I put this? I have heard tales of humans cavorting with sheep; however, that does not mean they are insane enough to wish to marry one.”
“’Cavort’ how, exactly? ‘cause—ew! That’s disgusting.”
“Exactly.”
“So I’m stuck.”
“I believe we concluded that last week.”
“Nuh-uh. We decided I needed to think about it more, and that’s what I’ve been doing. Thinking.” At Halfrek’s impassive stare, Buffy added. “I’ll just go think elsewhere.”
“While you go, please remove the chamber pot and dispose of its contents.”
“Take the what and do huh?”
Halfrek pointed to a porcelain bowl beneath the bed.
Buffy’s jaw fell and she looked at the demon with disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me!”
But Halfrek looked as though she had never heard of a sense of humor, much less possess one.
Spike found himself fascinated by the way the carriage’s lamplight glinted off his mother’s bracelet as she anxiously twisted it around her wrist. He remembered how happy she had been the day his father had given it to her and the way that she had admired the intricate scrollwork of rose gold inset with seed pearls and sapphires. His father had always had a knack for bringing smiles to her face and showing her that she was cherished. He had always inspired her to feel secure.
Spike placed his hand over his mother’s gloved ones, stilling her unconscious expression of anxiety. “You look lovely,” he assured her.
She smiled sweetly. “You are my son and thus required to say that.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.”
She seemed to relax, and for the first time in a week, Spike felt something other than frustration and failure.
It had been seven long, buggering days of uselessness as Spike had done everything he could think of to speak with Cecily. But the bint had been infuriatingly elusive.
First, he’d called round to her house and left his calling card like a proper Victorian gentleman, only to be told that she was ‘not at home’ -- which could bloody well mean anything.
It could mean that she was at home but not accepting visitors. It could mean that she was home and not accepting a visit from a prat such as William the Bloody Awful Poet. It could mean that she was a demon, residing on some other plane, who only used her place of residence as a portal to visit London in order to curse some unfortunate bloke or parents or whatever her specialty was. Or, it could mean that she was simply not at home.
Having no luck at her door, Spike had tried the more subtle ‘just happen to cross paths’ approach and had haunted Oxford and Bond streets in the hope of catching Cecily as she entered a dress shop or gallery. That plan hadn’t worked either.
As a last resort, he had attempted to slip into her house, only to be forcefully reminded of the need for an ‘invite’ when an invisible barrier had smacked him in the face. Apparently, the invite rule still applied.
Spike leaned back against the tufted cushions of the carriage and looked out the window once more.
The week had been punctuated by moments where he’d found it necessary to determine which of the vampire rules remained in effect. It turned out to be a nonsensical hodgepodge, but each restriction that did remain proved that his inner demon was still in residence. He remained preternaturally strong with a near-miraculous ability to heal. He still craved violence, anarchy, and blood … only his human-half balked at the thought of drinking it. He had compromised on a few occasions by having his beef served extremely rare and sampling blood pudding, a dish that he had loathed in his original human life -- operative word being ‘original,’ because he was on his second life now.
He breathed in the night air, an involuntary breath which reinforced the unlikely truth that he was human again: living, breathing, walking-in-the-sunshine human. And he was somehow part vampire as well. Spike was something that had never been and probably shouldn’t be. He was a freak.
Spike shook his head.
Demons liked to call vampires ‘halfbreeds.’ He wondered whether he would be considered a ‘quarterbreed’ now -- or would the term be ‘quadroon?’
At any rate, after all of his efforts to contact Cecily had failed, Spike had attempted to slip into her house only to discover that he could not enter. Since Cecily was a demon, he could only assume that there were servants in residence. Still, no invite, no entry, no Cecily.
He had become so frustrated by the situation that he had almost decided to contact the Council of Wankers, especially when he remembered what he’d foolishly said to Cecily in The Bronze. He’d wished the Slayer into a less-than-happy situation, and he’d wished to be present to see it. That meant if he was in 1880 London, Buffy must be as well.
Grappling with the knowledge that he had fucked up yet again, Spike comforted himself that he would find Buffy, eventually. It was inevitable because it was part of the wish. He would simply prefer to do so before she reached the ‘cursed humiliation’ part.
A volatile mixture of contradictory emotions bubbled inside him. Frustration with the world warred with disappointment in himself, and both emotions made him want to stand up and do something, to change things, to make them better.
There really should be some rule against a vengeance demon taking a drunken fool’s words for an actual wish. But then, such a rule would take the evil fun out of it. And they were evil vengeance demons, after all, not justice demons.
Luckily, his mother had reminded him of a solution that had been at his disposal all along. The Addams’ were planning a soiree, and the invitation had arrived weeks ago.
Strangely, it was only now that Spike recognized that he had no memory of actually meeting Cecily or her father. William had simply known them. Looking back, Spike could only assume that it was demonic mojo, some magic which allowed a vengeance demon to insert herself into people’s lives without people ever noticing or asking difficult questions. The human was somehow coerced into believing that the demon had been part of their lives all along.
Spike wondered when William had taken the notion to fall for the bint. He frowned. His first real memory of her had been …
He remembered some sort of séance. It must have been the organized amusement at a party. Playing with the occult had been considered a popular pastime during this age; although at the time, William had not taken anything unnatural seriously.
He remembered an Indian who must have been the mystic in charge of the séance, and he remembered Cecily in tears. She had seemed heartbroken and lost, which William had assumed was due to the rumors of her father’s gambling debts. Seeing her in need had touched him, and William had wanted to care for her.
The mystic had tried to warn him. “She is not what she seems.” But William had dismissed the man.
Spike shook his head at his own stupidity. Of course, he had not listened. He was a blind fool once his affections were fixed.
=Pillock,= Spike thought as the carriage came to a halt.
After the coachman opened the door, Spike jumped down to the curb and looked back, offering his hand to his mother as she stepped down far more gingerly.
She nervously smoothed the ice-blue silk of her gown. “I do not usually attend these sorts of things.”
“You should enjoy yourself more often.” He smiled. “I know that you enjoy going out on the town.”
She lowered her eyelashes, but her small smile revealed that he was correct. Placing her hand on his arm, Spike escorted her into the townhouse.
A vampire invited to attend a party given by the Addams family.
=It’s a bloody TV Land joke.=
Buffy ducked into the library to avoid the crowd filling the grand entry hall.
She was beginning to feel like Cinderella the day before the ball, only without the singing mice or fairy godmother. Given her experience with ‘Sweet the Singing Demon’ and Sunnydale transformed into a demented musical, Buffy was glad to do without the singing mice. She wouldn’t mind a fairy godmother, though. Or a Prince Charming.
However, she was out of luck, as usual. What she had was a vengeance demon in a lilac silk dress with ostrich feathers in her hair.
As far as Buffy was concerned, feathers were always a fashion ‘don’t,’ regardless of whether they were worn by a Victorian lady or by Sarah Jessica Parker. Buffy sighed. Wearing an itchy black wool dress with a starched white apron, she’d hardly make the pages of Elle herself.
There were a lot of things that Buffy thought she’d wear in her life; an apron had never been one of them.
She felt a hand on her butt.
“Hey!” Buffy protested, turning to glare at a man who looked about as dorky as most of the men that she had seen lately. What was with the mutton-chop side burns? “Back off, Buddy.”
He smiled and no doubt thought he looked charming. “Call me Irving.”
“ ‘k. Back off, Irving.”
The guy backed her into a corner and leaning toward her with his mouth slightly open.
“Oh my God, are you coming onto me?” she demanded.
He tried to move closer. “I did not know that the Addams’ employed such appealing ‘help.’ ”
Buffy leaned back as far as she could. “Wasn’t hired for that. And what happened to Victorians being repressed and stuff?” She pushed at his shoulders. “Seriously, look into repression.”
“Just a kiss.”
She squirmed away. “No. And while you’re checking out repression also try Tic-tacs or Altoids.”
He still pressed forward, so Buffy grabbed his hand and turned it over sharply. As he cried out, she pushed him into the wall and twisted his arm behind his back. “Back off, all ready!”
“How dare you.”
Buffy’s jaw fell. “Me?”
“Unhand me.” He pulled away, straightening his evening clothes. “Have you no idea of your station?”
Buffy’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Are you kidding me? You get all pinchy and grabby, and you say that I don’t know my place? That’s rich.”
“You would be best served trying to accommodate me.”
Buffy crossed her arms and glared. “Guess you’re flat out of luck then. I’m not accommodating to people I actually like.”
Irving massaged his injured hand. “The Addams’s will hear from me. I will see you sacked for this.”
“Oh, whatever.” Buffy blew at the stray strand of hair that fell into her eyes. “I should be so lucky.”
He ‘hrumphed’ and looked pissed. But, after a moment, he stalked out of the room.
Buffy sighed as a cloud of misery descended over her. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the mantle. Was this century ever going to be anything but a massive black-hole of suck?
A smooth, deep voice whispered in her ear, “You know you wanna dance.”
She jerked up, unintentionally head-butting him.
“Ow!” they said in unison.
“You!” She turned and punched Spike in the shoulder.
He staggered, tripped on the Persian rug, and fell onto the floor with a grunt.
Buffy stared in shock at the sandy-haired man in evening dress who lay on the floor. “Wha--?”
Spike sat up and dusted off his breeches. “Hullo, pet.”
She was nearly incoherent with fury. “You did this to me!”
“I can explain—“
“What were you thinking?”
“It’s all that bloody bint Cecily’s doing.”
“And what’s—“ Buffy gestured to his formal black evening coat. “What’s with the hair and the clothes?”
“You prefer me bald and naked?”
=Not a bad image. Oh. Wait. Bad thought.= “ No.” Buffy glared. “Why are you walking around looking un-Spike-like?”
“See, that’s a bit of an unexpected twist.”
She walked around Spike as anger overcame the unexpected jolt of happiness of seeing a familiar face and hearing a familiar voice – not that she would have admitted to any happiness. Nuh-uh. Might give Spike ideas. “How did you sneak up on me without a single Slayer tingle?”
A wicked smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “Never say I didn’t make you tingle.”
Buffy blinked and her eyes grew huge as the answer dawned on her. “Oh my God, you’re human.”
He looked uncomfortable, ducking his head and rubbing his neck. “Not exactly.”
“You’re human and you’re here!” Buffy looked around the empty room as if it had answers. It only took a couple of seconds until it made sense. “You’re from here.”
She stopped moving as confusion set in, her brows lowering in an angry scowl. “How do you know me?”
Spike continued to sit on the floor with one leg curled under him and his arm draped over his other. “Should know you. Been shagging you silly for the last six months.”
Suspicion curled like a tendril of smoke inside her. “So, you’re not like past Halfrek …”
He arched a brow, which crinkled his forehead.
“It’s you,” she said.
“I believe you said that before.”
Buffy dragged Spike to his feet. “Fix it!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
She shoved him away and crossed the room to crack open the library door. Outside, Halfrek’s guests continued to arrive. “We have to find Halfrek.”
“Name sounds familiar, but can’t quite place it.” The timbre of his voice seemed to vibrate inside her. “Who’s Halfrek?”
Spike moved close to her, too close. As she felt the caress of his warm breath against her neck, she suddenly found herself hyper-aware of his newly human status. She closed her eyes, determined to ignore the tingle – the non-Slayer tingle – that fluttered through her. She shouldn’t allow herself to be affected by Spike.
“Could you back up?” she asked. It suddenly felt very hot in the room. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not enough air here for two.”
She could almost hear the smirk in Spike’s voice. “I haven’t noticed a lack of it.”
Buffy kept her expression carefully blank, hiding the effect he had on her behind a look of impatience.
When she faced him -- oh yeah -- that sexy, obnoxious smirk of his was out in force.
She said, “If I choked you now, you might actually suffocate.”
He arched a brow. “That all you got?”
“Well… “ She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m stressed. And tired. And do you know, I had to empty chamber pots?”
She saw amusement glitter in his eyes.
“Laugh and you’re dead,” she warned.
“I’m all ready—“
“No, you’re not dead. Not any more. And is that how you did it?”
“Did what, luv?”
Why, why, why did she have heat up and tingle just because he was close? It was distracting, and she had to think before saying, “Halfrek said she couldn’t grant a demon’s wish.”
“And again I ask, who the bloody hell is Halfrek?”
Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Are you going to try to sell the idea that the three of us ending up here is a *coincidence? Next, you’ll say you aren’t an international demon arms dealer called ‘The Doctor.”
Any amusement on Spike’s face disappeared. His blue-eyed gaze grew cool and a muscle jumped in his jaw. He looked pissed off. “And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” She stood toe-to-toe with him. “Especially when you were caught red-handed.”
“Right. You and —“ He seemed to struggle for words. Then, frustration got the better of him. “Ugh!”
And somewhere in the bowels of the house, a woman screamed.
Chapter Four
Thanks so much to my betas
fenchurche , rahirah, and fishsanwitt
