|Chapter Title:||Betrayal, Chapter 4|
|Time line:||Mid-May, 1998.
About 12-15 hours after sending Angel to hell; Buffy is a Junior in High School, (but has been expelled before completing 11th grade.)
Spike shows Buffy the truth of Angel and his obsession for her.
|Rating / Warnings:||
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, violence, sex and adult themes which may include rape, attempted rape, blood play and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY. Parents, it is up to YOU to control what your children are reading.
Spike wrapped his arms around Buffy and pulled her body against his as she deepened the kiss, their tongues probing, tasting, their bodies responding to the aching need they each felt, pressing into each other. Suddenly, the image of Angelus’ mocking eyes from her dream came to her, his words echoing in her head, “God, Buff, you really do know how to take the soul right out of a guy.”
Buffy immediately pulled away, pressing her palms against Spike’s solid chest, “No, NO! Stop! The curse, Spike, STOP, LET ME GO!” He released her and she tumbled backwards off the bed onto the floor before scrambling to her feet and backing against the wall, as far away from him as she could get within the small room.
“BLOODY HELL, SLAYER! You're gonna change your mind now?!” He was up and stalking slowly towards her.
“No – Spike, please, I’m sorry, the curse, your soul, I can’t!” she tried to explain.
Spike stopped and considered her. She was shaking in fear, eyes down on the ground in shame, arms wrapped around her body as if to stop herself from going further with what they, correction, what she had started.
“Thought we’d already been over this. I’m. Not. Angel.”
“Yes, yes I know that, but the curse is the same - your soul, Spike!”
“Didn’t ask for the bloody thing, don’t need it – not really sure it’s even true. Don’t feel any different; no overwhelming urge to sit in the dark and brood.”
“Oh, so you’re in the habit of rocking your mortal enemy to sleep while you sing her a lullaby?” Buffy retorted.
Bloody hell, she heard that, did she? He had hoped she was too out of it to hear or remember that display that was so very William and so not Spike.
“Wouldn’t say it was a habit, no. If you ever breathe a word of that to anyone, I will kill you, soul or not!”
Buffy couldn’t help but smile. Big Bad’s reputation was in danger. “I won’t tell, if you won’t tell that I let you, or that I liked it. It was a comfort.”
“Yeah? You liked it?” Spike tilted his head to consider her answer and his dead heart seemed to fill with . . . with something – what was it? Bloody, fucking horniness is what it is! He thought to himself. Nothing more than her getting him all worked up and leaving him high and dry, literally.
“Yeah,” she murmured almost too low for even a vampire to hear. “Did you just make it up?”
“No, it was a lullaby my Mu . . .” he stopped short and started over. “It’s an old song.
“Come over here and sit down.” Spike moved to the bed and sat back, leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, his erection still all too apparent in his jeans. She eyed him warily and didn’t move.
“Sit on the end of the bed, come on, I’m not going to bloody bite you! I think you need to know some things about your beloved Angel.”
Buffy moved slowly to the bed, crossing her legs Indian style and sitting as far away from Spike as she could. She saw Spike’s nostrils flare and his body tense when she sat down and thought she saw a flash of gold in his blue eyes before he closed them. Then she realized: her jeans were soaked through with her juices and he could obviously smell her arousal. Stupid, gross vampire smelling, she thought as she changed positions, tucking her legs under her and keeping her thighs pressed tightly together.
“About Angel,” Buffy started, sure that would break Spike from whatever depraved thoughts he was having right now. His eyes opened and took her in. He realized she had changed positions and felt sorry for the loss of that sweet aroma, but was also touched that she knew what it was doing to him and did what she could to minimize the torture.
“Why do you call him Angel, anyway?” she continued.
“S' his name, innit?”
“Well, yeah, now it is, but when you knew him he was Angelus, right?”
“Call him what you want, Angel, Angelus, Liam, Ponce – all the same person, just different sides to the same coin.”
“Coins don’t have that many sides,” Buffy pointed out.
“Right then, different sides to the same coin if coins were shaped like pyramids,” Spike scoffed.
“It’s not true, anyway. Angel and Angelus are completely different –night and day, evil and good!” Buffy retorted.
“Bollocks! Liam, Angelus, Angel, they’re all the same person, luv. He just plays the game differently depending on the name he chooses that day. Angelus is always in Angel, Angel is always in Angelus and Liam is the base of it all. You don’t just lose your personality when you become a vampire, pet, it’s augmented. Some parts are strengthened, some parts minimized, but it's still there. If you fancied virgins as a human, you’re still gonna fancy virgins as a vampire, luv.” Spike leaned forward to look into Buffy’s eyes, to make sure she understood what he was saying before he continued.
“Did Angel ever tell you anything about his life before he was turned?” he asked her.
“He said that he killed his whole family and pretty much his whole village . . ." Buffy replied softly.
“No, that’s after he was turned, what about before?” Spike pressed his question.
Buffy thought about it hard. “No, I guess not,” she finally acquiesced.
“Well, I can tell you. He was a pathetic lay-about who enjoyed living off his father’s silver and squandering it on booze and women. And when I say women, I mean young women – thirteen, fourteen-year-old virgin-type women.” He emphasized the last part to make sure she got his meaning.
“How would you know? You didn’t even know him then – you weren’t even born then!” Buffy retorted in defense of human Angel, no, Liam, she reminded herself.
“Heard enough about it from Peaches' own lips, and Darla’s. Seen plenty of it myself, too. Was always bringing home the young ones to play with, he was, for him and Darla. Said virgin’s blood was second only to Slayer blood in potency. ‘Course, they weren’t exactly virgins when he was done with them, now were they? What do you think got that curse put on him in the first place? That gypsy girl couldn’ a' been over thirteen when he ravaged her. I’ve seen more than one girl torn up from the inside out by him, Slayer, and I don’t mean her heart being broken.”
Spike was determined to get her to see what her beloved Angel truly was, soul or no soul, so he continued. "Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she'll die? Angel knows, he taught me. You see, the trick is to drink just enough to weaken them but sill keep them conscious so they'll cry when you rape 'em. I’ve seen it more than once. He'll tell you, it's just not worth it if they don't cry."
“B-b-but, that was Angelus, not Angel!” she stammered back at him.
Spike rolled his eyes. This wasn’t working. He started a different tack. “Right, so, when you were, say, fifteen and living in L.A. just as you were getting all Chosen, Angel wouldn’t have had any interest in you at all.”
“I didn’t know Angel then . . .” Buffy replied, confused about where this was going.
“Com’on, Slayer.” Spike jumped up and grabbed her hand, pulling her off the bed, out the door, and down the hall towards the bathroom. No, not towards the bathroom, towards the room ACROSS FROM the bathroom, the room from her nightmare.
She pulled back trying to break his grip. “Where are you taking me?!” she demanded, trying to find something to grab onto stop him from pulling her along the hallway. When he swung the door open to what she surmised was Angel’s room, since that’s where he had been in her nightmare, she latched onto the doorjamb and stopped him from dragging her inside.
“What the fuck, Spike?!”
He pulled harder on her arm, trying to dislodge her, but she had a firm grip on the doorjamb now and was not budging. He dropped her arm and stomped over to the bed, pulled an old trunk out from under it and shoved it towards her.
“Go on then, take a look at what your precious souled-up Angel has in there!”
Buffy backed up into the hall as the chest came sliding across the floor at her, it hit with a hard thump against the molding around the door. The latch was facing her, it was locked. “It’s locked," she said, "whatever’s in there is private.”
“Sod private, Slayer. He’s fucking gone!” Spike reached over the trunk and yanked on the clasp, breaking it cleanly. He pulled the top open to reveal the contents of the trunk to Buffy. Without touching it, she could see a bunch of photos to one side, some letters tied with a string were stacked neatly in one corner, and there was some clothing that appeared to be blood stained tossed unceremoniously in the center. However, what really caught her eye were the lilac papers, trimmed in gold, folded neatly on top of the clothing.
She gingerly reached in and pulled the papers out and opened them. As she recognized her own handwriting on the pages her eyes widened in shock. They were pages from her diary! Reading quickly, she realized they were all her ramblings about her feelings and fantasies about Angel.
He said he hadn’t read my diary that day he was stuck in my room, that he would never do that! When had he taken them? It must have been after he had turned into Angelus, before I had Willow disinvite him.
She quickly refolded the pages and stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans before she reached in to pull out some of the clothes from the trunk. She knew them immediately. They were all hers - mostly tops, but some pants, as well, that had gotten blood, her blood, on them during various demon fights. He must have picked them out of my trash! Clothes with Slayer blood on them, in his bedroom; her mind stopped her before it went any further with the implications of that.
These could have been put here after he turned into Angelus. Angel wouldn't have had my bloodied clothes!
Dropping the clothes, she picked up the stack of photographs. Scanning through them quickly she realized they were all of her, and not just from recently, either. There were several from L.A.: Buffy sitting on the steps of her old school, Buffy with her old watcher, Buffy in her old bedroom dressed in just her PJ's. The last was taken with a telephoto lens, but it was clear enough to see that it was her, and it was her bedroom in L.A.
Buffy felt bile building in the back of her throat. She dropped the photos back into the trunk, whirled around and lunged toward the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before the first heave of nausea overcame her.
Spike had watched her reactions to the items in the trunk. Angel had shown them to him one time while gloating about shagging the virgin slayer and about how he’d had her in his sights for a long time. That was one of the big differences between Angel and Spike: Angel could make a plan and follow it for years to fruition, reveling in the small details as it all came together. Spike’s longest plans were more along the lines of, “I’m gonna kill you on Saturday, Slayer,” and even then not having enough patience to wait.
Spike shoved the trunk out of the doorway and made his way over to Buffy where she sat on the floor in front of the toilet, still leaning over it as dry heaves wracked her. He held her hair back away from her face, but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? I told you so?
When Buffy felt like she could finally move, she got up and leaned over the sink, running cool water into her hands to splash her face and rinse out her mouth. She again wondered if she shouldn't be thankful there were no mirrors in this bathroom. She couldn’t imagine how horrible she looked, if how she felt was any indication. Spike had backed out into the hallway and was leaning against the wall waiting for her to finish.
When she came out, he stepped out in front of her and took her hands in his. Holding them together between them, his larger hands covered hers as if to protect them, protect her, from the reality he'd shown her. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”
Buffy nodded and willed her voice to be steady. “I’ll be back later to collect that trunk and everything in it.”
Spike pursed his lips and simply nodded.
“Willow and Oz should be dropping off your blood anytime. You gonna be okay here by yourself?” Buffy finally met his eyes, which she had been avoiding until now.
“Right as rain. Been here pretty much alone since you dropped that church on me and burnt us out of the factory.”
“I didn’t drop a church on you, Spike, it was just an organ! Exaggerate much?” Buffy tried to lighten the mood and Spike played along.
“Other organs I can think of would be much more pleasant to have you drop on me, Slayer,” he retorted with a sly grin as he raked his gaze down her body. “Maybe get a rain check to finish what you started earlier?”
“Because you don’t need a ‘sodding soul’,” Buffy tried to mimick his cockney accent, but failed pretty miserably. “And ‘our William was always the sensitive one’?" she repeated Angelus’ words from the previous day.
“Yeah, somethin' like that.” Spike smiled; not his usual smirk, but an honest, open smile.
“Doesn’t rain much in California, you know.” Buffy smiled back at him.
“I can wait.”
With that, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and pulled away from his grasp, heading back to the bedroom to retrieve her shoes.
He leaned against the wall, lit a cigarette and watched her retreat. “Yeah, I can wait,” he murmured to himself.
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