Hell Is In the Details

Hell Is In the
Details – Chapter 11 – Truth Will Out

By the time Friday rolled around, Spike was a nervous wreck.
He’d bitten his fingernails down to the quick, and fidgeted so much that he’d
pulled the sheets off the bed at least three times before his host had
threatened to staple his ass to the mattress.

He was healing nicely on the surfeit of blood he had
available. His body mass was at its peak, having been well fed on human blood
for the first time in nearly a decade. The worst of his bruises had faded into
blossoms of dull purples and olive greens. The wounds from his ~style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>shudder~ piercings
had finally healed over into nothing more than angry pink scar tissue, and that
too would fade away in time. Physically, at least.

His upper body strength had returned somewhat. Fine motor
skills were good, and he could maneuver his body around on the bed, but his
legs… another story entirely. Not paralyzed, thank whatever powers listened to
the prayers of souled vampires, but they were unable
to bear his weight due to the nerve damage he’d suffered from being bound,
chainand and vamphandled for so long. Just a matter
of time, he hoped.

His hair was freshly bleached and cut; he’d had a manicure
(which he’d ruined) and even a pedicure. The little girl Lorne had called was
worth her weight in gold for the care she took with him.

Best of all, Spike’s throat and vocal chords were almost
completely healed, though the damage had left him with a slightly raw, husky
quality to his voice Lorne swore to him was guaranteed to tie the class=SpellE>undies of either gender into knots.

True to his word, Lorne had picked up some clothing for him
– his archetypical black jeans and t-shirt, and a brand new pair of Docs – though
he’d added his own unique flair via a silver studded black leather belt ador
wit
with a hobnail silver buckle.

The only problem left with getting properly dressed was…
well… Spike was still quite sore, and the harsh denim would rub unpleasantly in
all the wrong places. Especially taking into consideration
the lack of anything between the vampire and his jeans.

Lorne grinned as he brought in a fresh silk robe for his
recumbent guest. “Sorry, cutie pie. Guess you’ll just have to entertain your
Slayer in style. If she doesn’t want you, I might just make a serious play for
you, myself. I think you look absolutely delicious in grey silk.”

Spike’s face wore an answering grin. “Nah,
mate. As appealing as the offer is, I think I’ll see what the lady
brings to the table. Won’t say no to a snog
now and again, though. Nn> Nothing like a pair of demon lips to get a
bloke’s motor runnin’.”

“Oh, go on, you rascal!” Lorne scolded, but not-so-secretly,
he was charmed – and delighted with Spike’s progress. Four days. Four days was
all it had taken for the luscious creature on his bed to change from a bloody
bruise to sex incarnate. Four days to go from petrified to trusting to joking. class=GramE>And if he was hooked… Miss Buffy Summers didn’t stand a
chance.

~*~

Buffy was a bit on edge. Her last few days with Angel had
been – well – interesting. Moonlight walks that weren’t patrols and dinners in
fine restaurants, though she was the only one who ate. Several long class=GramE>stretches during the day where Angel was involved with
Wolfram & Hart business, and she was chauffeured to the beach via company
limousine.

And then… there was sex. After so long, there was Angel-sex
again.

Buffy slumped in her seat.

Yeah, she’d slept with him after that first night. It was
soft, and sweet – reminiscent of their first time, without the spectacular soul
losing results in the morning. Missionary position and over
after one go-round, which left her… well… lacking. What with Angel’s
vampire senses, she hadn’t dared to go to the shower and relieve herself. Being
told you couldn’t satisfy your lover was not
the way to start off on the road to happiness.

And that’s why she found herself in Wolfram & Hart’s
lobby, wishing she could find something to tear apart limb from limb.

A tall, bright green demon with red horns resplendent in Ralph
Lauren and silk, came into view, cheerily calling out
her name.

Lorne extended his hand in greeting as he approached. “Hey
there, cupcake, I’m Lorne – your host and chauffeur for the day. You must be style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>the Buffy Summers I’ve heard so much
about. Sorry I wasn’t at your little soiree the other night. Sick
friend and all that.”

Buffy was amused. Only in Los Angeles
would you be able to go out with the Jolly Green Devil, himself, and have
people brush it off as a publicity stunt.

“Time to fly, my little chickadee – your chariot awaits.”
Lorne extended his arm, linking elbows with his charge. “So, where do you want
to head first – somewhere to eat or somewhere to shop?”

She smiled. “What self-respecting woman wouldn’t want to go
shopping first?”

~*~

The car was a work of art – a true classic: a 1959 Cadillac
Convertible, all gleaming chrome and white, with black and white leather
interior.

Buffy was duly impressed. “Wow! Gorgeous
car, Lorne. I’ve never really been around old classics before… just
once, really.”

“Oh? Tell Uncle Lorne all about it, sugar… nothing like a
classic automobile to show yourself off in.”

She sighed. “Well, it wasn’t in good shape, class=SpellE>sorta banged up and battle scarred. But it was loved. It
was an old black DeSoto. Meant
everything to its owner. Called it his best girl.”

“Come on, chica – wipe that frown
right off your pretty face. A couple of hours at the Beverly
Center and you’ll forget whatever
it is making you so sad.” Grinning, he waved one of the company credit cards in
the air. “Especially since this trip is funded by the big guy, himself.”

The drive was pleasant, the company
affable – nothing like a little girl talk about fashion and inane gossip
about celebrities to ignore the traffic and eat up the miles to your
destination. Lorne tuned the radio to an ‘all music, all the time’ station and
let it play low in the background.

Buffy stared out her side of the car, lost in thought. It
was a beautiful day, hardly any clouds in the sky, and she began to hum along
with radio – the tune hauntingly familiar. By the end of the last stanza, she
was singing the lyrics softly to herself:

o:p> 

The silence of a falling star

class=GramE>Lights up the purple sky.an>style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>

And as I wonder where you are

style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>I'm so lonesome I could cry.

Lorne almost drove the car off the road from the pain and
sadness he felt pouring off the girl.

Buffy turned to Lorne, pout in full evidence. “Hey! I know
I’m not all diva-ish, but I’m not so bad that you have
to kill me to shut me up.”

“Sorry, kitten. Just got a bit
distracted.” With a grin, the empath asked,
“Do you mind if we have a slight change of plans? I forgot that there’s
something I need to tend to at home. We can go out afterwards, if you’re up to
it.”

“Not a problem for me. I’m all flexible-girl these days. No
schedule, no job, no unattended little sister to rush home for. Take me away –
I’m all yours.”

“Your wish is my command, cupcake. Let’s see if we can’t
make all your dreams come true.”

~*~

Lorne ushered the petite blonde into his home. “Listen,
crumpet – I’m going to be in the kitchen for a bit. Why don’t you take the nickel
tour upstairs, and I’ll join you as soon as I can. Oh, and I’ve got a friend
staying in one of the bedrooms – sorta bed-ridden at
the moment. It’s part of why I wasn’t at your soiree the other night. He’s just
dying to say hello to you. Pop on in and give the boy a thrill.”

Buffy frowned. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to disturb
anyone. What if he’s sleeping?”

“Never you mind, missy. You walk on
in and make with the greetings. I’d do anything for the kid. He’s had a really
bad year.” He gently pushed her towards the stairs. “Now go, you! Spread some
happiness and explore.”

God,
awkward much? Practically stomping up the stairs, Buffy couldn’t
imagine her day getting any weirder. First, she was shunted off to the Jolly
Green Giant who’s apparently on ‘distract girlfriend with shopping’ duty, then style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>he sent her upstairs to be on ‘boyfriend
cheering’ detail.

Peering into a couple of empty rooms, Buffy quickly guessed
which would be the occupied guestroom, and knocked gently on the door before
cracking it open and slipping in. She walked over to the bed, trying not to
disturb the sleeping man. Her internal diatribe continued unabated. What was
she supposed to say to this guy? “Hello,
sorry to wake you up, but Lorne told me to barge on in ‘cause you wanted to
meet…”

She froze, eyes glued to the bed. Her mind refused to
process what she saw, pinning her in place – unable to move forward or back;
unable fall down.

He looked like Sleeping Beauty – if Sleeping Beauty were a
hot, gorgeous guy with bedhair in a grey silk robe,
reclining against a mountain of magenta pillows. Pale skin, long pretty lashes
curling over impossibly sharp cheekbones, full pouty
lips... everything that she remembered paled next to the reality of what she
saw before her.

~It can’t be~ He
was dead… dusted, her mind screamed. Vanished practically
before her very eyes. He’d refuted her long sought after confession as
he forced her to leave him there, in unspeakable pain, trying to do the right
thing for the world – and her.

Buffy felt two strong hands on her shoulders and in her ear,
Lorne whispered, “Go to him, kitten. Be gentle,
though. He’s not as strong as he seems.” With a swat to her rear, he pushed her
forward. “Standing here ain’t gonna
break the spell.”

Her paralysis broken, Buffy made her way to the bed, unable
to believe that Spike ~Spike! class=GramE>would let anyone ~her~
so close, leaving himself vulnerable… open to attack and probable death –
without awakening.

Buffy’s anger got the better of her. “You bastard!” she
whispered. “All this time I’ve mourned your passing, honored your sacrifice and
tried to move on with my life and you’ve been lying here on your ass in the
fucking lap of luxury, dressed in silk?”

She leaned over the bed, ready to shake the sleeping vampire
until his teeth rattled for keeping her in the dark, when he shifted slightly. His
robe gaped open at the neck, revealing the last of the bruises and cuts that
decorated his pale chest.

A small cry escaped her lips and she sat down heavily on the
bed. “What happened to you, Spike?” she murmured, ghosting her hands over his
marred chest. “Who could have marked you this fucking badly?” Her eyes closed,
and tears fell silently down her cheeks.

Then, without a sound to warn her – the
touch of another. Buffy gasped at the feel of Spike’s cool hands
covering her own. She opened her eyes to the glorious sight of the vampire’s
unabashed adoration.

“You’re here,” he rasped, his voice husky and raw, laced
with overwhelming emotion and the last of the damage.

“Here,” she whispered – before she realized that she was
livid, and tried to snatch her hands away. “Where the hell else would I be, you
idiot! How long have you been back? When did you get hurt? Why the fuck wasn’t
I told about this?”

Buffy turned to the door where the empath
was unobtrusively lurking. “Hey, green boy! I think you’ve got some heavy duty
‘splainin’ to do. How long has Spike been here? And
why haven’t you told Angel?”

Shit!

Spike’s grip tightened on her hands. “What makes you think
he doesn’t know, pet?”