The Penny Series

Ficlet 22) Bad Penny Always Returns
Summary: Tea party anyone?

In the two weeks since Buffy had moved in, life had been chaotic, noisy, and eye opening. An utter delight. He constantly found himself enjoying something old or new from her perspective. Pleasant evenings were spent lounging in front of the fireplace and reading the many stories of Celtic legend and other Irish lore he had on the shelves. He was vastly pleased by Buffy’s enthusiasm in the subject- not enough to let her take one of the antique volumes from the mansion to read during school though, despite her luscious pout.

Other evenings they trained. He helped her form in tai chi, guiding her through the long, drawn out motions. They held mock fights that ranged the whole length of the mansion, most times ending with their lips locked together and tongues entwining heatedly. He worked to condition her mind to anticipate an opponent’s next move, and had had jokingly asked if it would only work on him since she knew him so intimately that even without the ctiontioning she could predict him. Just for that comment, he had dragged her out to the cemetery and made her use it out there. Needless to say, she didn’t rib the conditioning anymore but took to it with a vengeance.

Occasionally he’d help her with her homework, though he abstained from math and science, offering to let Oz or Willow come by to help her instead. When it came to her history course, he was her dream come true because he easily gave her insight and interesting facts to keep her attention from wandering off the subject that had at first seemed dreadfully dull. Of course, he did quiz hveryvery now and then on what he’d been helping her study, which they both found pleasurable, because he would kiss her for every correct answer.

He would tuck her in every night, curling around her sleeping form until she drifted off into dreams. It was then that he would disentangle himself from her with a heavy sadness and leave the room to go downstairs to read or draw her exquisite features. She was his in every sense but the one he craved most, and in the quiet moments of predawn he would acknowledge that it could never be. Then dawn would come, and a few hours later he’d wake her up with slow, wet kisses and find himself falling in love with her all over again. The worries of the night would just disappear, leaving him free to be as happy as he could be, doing all the things that made getting up worth it.

But lately the Mayor and his actions had been fizzing the air out of their happy recluse. More and more, Buffy would go train with Giles or spend longer hours out with Faith in the thirteen cemeteries this town had. She’d been gone all day, and he’d yet to hear from her. When night had fallen and she still hadn’t showed, he had written a note and left to go have a chat with Willy, thinking it was time for a more direct approach to the mayor’s movements. And who better to know than Willy the sneaky bastard himself?

What he had learned from that frustrating experience was that Willy wasn’t an infallible source. The wily bastard hadn’t a clue that the mayor was into the shady side of the town and remembered quite clearly that he had voted him into office because of his charming personality and winning smile. The most unsettling part of the evening had come right after leaving Willy’s, when he had run into someone from his past. Again.

Just then he heard Buffy enter the mansion, knowing intimately in which direction she was going. He heard her go up the stairs, probably to drop something off. With a quick grin, he wiped his hands on the full length apron he was wearing and organized the grilled chicken, salad ingredients, and from-scratch, canncanned, soup into a neat arrangement.

He knew the moment she walked into the kitchen, feeling the tickle at the base of his spine he always felt when she was near. A secret smile curled his lips as he heard her rummage through the cupboards. It was wonderful to have another person around; the place wasn’t as quiet as a tomb. Even less so with Buffy as a companion. He would have thought that as a slayer, she’d be as quiet as he was in the mansion, but she made a racket wherever she went when she wasn’t hunting.

Patrolling. Same diff.

He heard Buffy open a bag and start munching casually before she ambled in his direction. His back twitched as she stood directly behind him, trying to peer over his broad shoulders to see what he was doing. When Buffy found that it wouldn’t work, she got closer and kissed his neck, seeing then that he was cooking.

“I didn’t know you could cook. How come you never told me you could cook?” Buffy pouted softly, biting the back of his neck lightly with her teeth.

He smirked, pleased. “You never asked. Besides, after our training sessions you were always so grabby, needing on hand re-energizer snacks. You’ve been too impatient to wait for me to cook you something, Buffy.”

Her hands encircled his waist, and her chin rested on shoulder. “What’s cooking, doc?” she mumbled lazily against his shoulder, watching his hands stir the spoon in the thick white soup.

“Grilled chicken and cream of mushroom soup,” he told her, stirring in the opposite direction now.

Impishly, Buffy smiled. “Can I have a taste?”

Carefully, he held the spoon out for her. She nibbled on the end, watching him, her eyes green and full of mischief.

“Hmm, good,” she mo sen sensually. “Is that bad? I try cooking and it fails miserably, but you, a vampire of a couple of centuries, cooks better than me? It’s very ironic.” Buffy frowned for a moment then shook it off.

“Hmm,” he agreed absently, with a raised brow, before returning to cooking the soup.

“I’ll set the table.” Buffy told him, her hand squeezing his hip before she drew away.

“No need,” he called to her as she ambled toward the silverware drawer. “I laid out a picnic before the fire. Some French bread should be warming there with butter nearby if you can’t wait.”

Buffy gave him a hundred watt grin. “Bread, yummy!”

After she left, he finished the soup and took it off the heat. With more care than it probably deserved, he laid the spoon on the counter beside the cooling cream of mushroom. Quickly he tossed the varied ingredients of her salad together and liberally poured ranch dressing over it.

He could hear Buffy humming mindlessly in the other room, which made him shake his head in amusement. A racket, as if she couldn’t stand the quiet. Shaking his head again, he poured the soup over the chicken he had grilled earlier when she was out training with Giles.

With a flourish, he garnished her plate, put the rest of the cream of mushroom soup in a bowl, grabbed the cheese he’d forgotten to put next to the bread by the fire, and poured her a glass of grape juice that she could pretend was red wine. He juggled a little bit but made it out to the den without a problem, where he set the meal before his ravished slayer. She smiled warmly up at him and motioned him to take a seat.

“I’ve got to nuke my dinner first,” he murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, refusing her gesture as he turned back to the kitchen.

Impatiently he watched the so-called seconds tick down on the microwave. It seemed to take too long for forty-five seconds to go by, but maybe that was just him. Cautiously he pulled out the plastic bag when the infernal beeping sounded.

At the memory of burning himself in his haste one time, he grimaced, recalling clearly how the bag had burst all over the inside of the microwave. He had touched the hot, scalding blood, and he didn’t want to do it again. Drinking scathingly hot blood was one thing, but it was quite another to burn oneself on it.

On his way out of the kitchen he grabbed a mug and bit viciously into the edge of the bag, guzzling a few swallows before removing it from his lips. The blood warmed his throat on the way down, and he released a small shudder. By then he was behind Buffy, who was happily glutting on the meal he had prepared.

She made a happy noise and held out her hands. He grabbed one of the flailing hands by the wrist and let her pull him to the floor, where he folded his long legs and sat on the edge of the blanket.

Buffy chatted about her training session with Giles and apologized for not calling because the day had gotten busy and it had slipped her mind until she had gathered her stuff to come home. He mumbled mostly, and occasionally injected a comment into her energized conversation of what she had done that day: how she wasn’t understanding her calculus and how the teacher never taught and just how grateful she was for Willow’s tutoring skills. Buffy also talked about the training session she had had with Giles, working to use her other senses besides her eyes.

“Haven’t you mastered that?” he had asked quietly then, holding the cooling mug between his hands.

Buffy plowed onward, telling him more about the session as she answered his question. “Willow used spells to take away the other senses, like hearing, or smell, or sense of touch. The touch one was very weird; I wouldn’t like not to be able to feel things on a permanent basis.”

“You didn’t go patrolling then?” he asked.

Buffy shook her head, and swallowed, smiling brightly. “Nope, I convinced Faith to go alone so I could spend some quality time with you.”

He took an idle sip of his blood, watching her eat heartily for a moment. He was contemplating how to approach the subject of who was back in town; he licked his lips once and started after a long pregnant pause with Buffy’s eyes locked on him. “While you were out I went to see Willy about the mayor.”

“Did that slimy little man have anything good?” Buffy asked earnestly, picking at the salad and wrinkling her nose.

“Just that he voted for Mayor Wilkins because he was a charming man with a good personality,” he muttered dryly.

“Not very noteworthy then,” Buffy commented, stuffing a forkful of lettuce into her mouth.

He agreed with a nod of his head. “It was what came afterwards that’s more of note.”

She quirked an eyebrow, silently encouraging him as she set the barely touched salad down on the blanket and picked up the loaf of French bread. As Buffy smoothed butter over the loaf of bread, he handed her the Swiss cheese. The firelight diffused her countenance with a golden orange glow, coloring her cheeks a soft flushed color as she plucked off a piece of bread and put it into her mouth.

With a cough, he focused back on the subject at hand. “I ran into Drusilla in one of the cemeteries, dancing over the grave of one of her new minions.”

Buffy swallowed quickly and demanded angrily, “Why is that fruitcake here?”

“You know how Dru is; she’s always muttering crazy sounding things,” he offered, hiding behind another sip of blood.

“Yeah,” Buffy said wryly, “and it’s usually after something happens that those ramblings make sense. What did she say to you?”

He noted the protective gleam in her glare, and his heart warmed, despite the memory of Drusilla clinging to him and telling him with her most coy glance about how grandfathers, fathers, and sons are all one and the same, and like spiders nemeses are closer than they seem. The mention of spiders had made her laugh and tell him how she wanted to be bathed in cobwebs and dew so that the moon would sparkle on her.

His lips thinned as he pressed them tightly together, frustration clearly evident in his tone. “Something about three generations of men being the same and that our enemies are closer than we think. After that the newbie sprang up and Drusilla sicced her on me, and by the time I dusted the vamp she was gone.”

“I’ll buy the villains being closer than we think, but not the other.” Buffy said with a hint of disdain. “Do you think she was talking about physical distance to us or closer to completing something dire?”

“I think it may be both. The questions now are who is closer to us, and what are they about to do. Though Dru could have just been talking about herself; it doesn’t seem likely though.” He frowned in thought, wracking his brain for the answers to them.

A piece of bread hit him on the nose and plopped into the remaining blood in his mug. Confused, he glared at it bobbing there on top of the red liquid before sinking underneath the surface. His nose crinkled in disgust, and he heard a gusty laugh from the woman beside him.

“You shouldn’t frown like that,” she chuckled breathlessly, bursting into another fit of hysterics at his glare. “It will give you wrinkles! Then your real age with be known quite clearly.”

Surpd, hd, he accused, “You threw that bread at me?”

“No, Invisible Bob did,” Buffy denied, casting the blame elsewhere.

Perplexed at her answer, he looked around. “We can’t have a ghost in this mansion. It isn’t that old, and no horrible accidents have ever been reported.”

Buffy choked, hitting her chest, spluttering between laughs. “No, he’s just a figment of people’s imaginations. It’s always Bob, and he’s always invisible. You‘re so gullible at times, Angel.”

By now he was giving her an eyeful of the ‘I am not amused’ glare, which to his consternation only made her go at it again. “I don’t see why that’s so funny, you threw bread at me!” He glanced down at the contaminated blood. “And it’s in my blood!”

“Ah, poor baby,” Buffy giggled, tossing another bite of bread in his direction.

It hit him in the face and he grabbed the offending bread as it fell down. He didn’t think but flung it back at her. Buffy gasped and tore off another hunk of bread, larger than the last pieces, chucking it at him and knocking the smirk off of his face. With a growl, he lunged at her, smugly enjoying her shriek of terror as she scrambled away.

His hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, pulling her back towards him across the blanket. “Get back here, you little minx,” he growled affectionately.

Buffy kicked out at him, gasping as she struggled out of his tight hold. “No way! I want a cookie first!”

Her foot landed with a solid thud against his chest, and he let her go. His teeth elongated, the ridge of his forehead becoming more pronounced as he shifted features. A light playful growl escaped his curled lips, before he lisped lightly around the fangs. “Come here and you can have a cookie.”

The response he got was a peal of laughter as she shook her head, crouching into a fighting stance. “No way, buddy, I know your tricks.”

Suddenly, without forethought, he leapt at her, intent on overpowering her, but Buffy easily sidestepped him, giving him a push in the process to use his momentum against him. With a dull thump he landed against the wall beside the fireplace, barely catching himself on the walls. Pushing off, he spun around and kicked her in the shoulder with his bare foot. He almost grinned when Buffy held the unpicked apart end of the French loaf in front of her and wiggled her fingers for him to come nearer.

And nearer he went, until she attacked. They shared punches and volleys of well aimed kicks until for the first time one of them had the clear upper hand. Buffy started to favor her right foot, and he exploited that, tossing her to the floor. Air puffed into his lungs unnecessarily as he gazed down upon her with golden flecks in his eyes glinting victoriously.

Buffy moaned softly, curling her leg up to her chest, and instantly he was beside her. He crouched over her, his features slipping back into his human visage, a look of worry etching his brows until the scent of her ambrosia drifted up to him. Doing a push up, he held himself up with his arms and grinned down at her, bending down to kiss her upturned nose.

Unfortunately, Buffy was expecting him to do that and he found himself tossed over her diminutive form, the pressure of her foot still hovering over his chest. He looked up at the ceiling, stunned but unwilling to admit defeat even as Buffy did a kick-up, which brought her into a standing position.

Warily he climbed to his feet. He hesitated for a moment before lunging at her with a wide punch that she easily ducked. Her petite form allowed her to lithely escaped him and return with a decisive final attack. She kicked him in the small of his back and rode the motion out, following him to the ground where the proverbial wind was knocked out of him.

She scrambled to grab the baguette from the blanket where it had fallen during the fight and rolled back toward him. He moved slowly onto his back as Buffy straddled him at the waist. He bit back a groan as his eyes fluttered shut, only to open the minute the bread touched his chest

“I win,” Buffy whispered smugly, leaning down to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

“You win,” he conceded when she pulled away a hair’s breath.

At that she grumbled under her breath, “Damn straight I win!” Then she proceeded to kiss him senseless.

Handsands curled into her hair, fisting in the perfumed tresses, yanking her closer as he ceded his will to hers. Who was he to say nay to her demands? What demands, too! Mindlessly, he broke away from her sweet kiss and trailed his lips along her neck to hover over her rapid pulse. The heat singed his tongue as he licked and nibbled there gently. Buffy moaned, raining openmouthed kisses over his throat and collarbone, until he thought he’d melt into the floor beneath him.

An annoying chirp broke into their passion, shrill, loud, obnoxious. An angry growl escaped his clenched teeth, as he rolled from under her prone position on top of him and scrambled to the kitchen for his cell. Damn fucking thing too.

Punching the talk key, he barked, “What?”

It was Willy. “H-hey, Angel. Ther-there’s a man here, and he wants to say hi.”

“So you called me?” He sighed, then nodded. “Put him on.”

There was a scrambling noise and a muffled voice before a man grunted into the receiver.

“This better be good,” he forewarned, displeased.

“Why, Angel! What a pleasure it is to be talking to you again. You may remember me; I’m--”

“Ethan Rayne-” he supplied with narrowed eyes. “What business do you have in Sunnydale?”

Buffy strolled in from the other room with her dishes in hand and quietly made her way to the sink. He wasn’t fooled; she was listening in, being conveniently close with a good excuse. At the moment he didn’t care; having Ethan on the phone and in Sunnydale was yet a new nightmare to add to their growing repertoire.

“Now Angel, you and I both know Rupert is asleep. Otherwise, I’d be calling him. Besides I hear the Slayer is living with you. Aren’t you glad to hear from me?” Ethan asked, putting a pout in his words. “How is Dru, by the way? Mad as ever? We’re both here for the same reason, you know. Can you guess?”

He shot a glare at Buffy, before looking at the damn phone in his hand with renewed frustration and anger. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“Now that spoils all the fun.” Rayne murmured. “But since you’re such a good sport, I’ll tell you anyway. The mayor! Isn’t that something?”

“Wonderful,” he commented sarcastically. “You’ve made my night. Now would you care to tell me what you’re up to?”

“Now why would I do that?” Ethan smirked. “That takes all the fun out of you guessing. I’ll tell you one thing. It’s going to be fun. A nice happy little reunion between us all. Tell Rupert hello for me now.”

The phone went dead, and he jabbed thttontton to turn it off.

“So that was?” Buffy asked from the sink.

“Ethan Rayne,” he bit out.

Buffy made a hmm-mm sound. “Well Drusilla hit the nailthe the head then. Enemies are closer than we think.”

“I wonder if that repugnant man was there earlier when I was at Willy’s. Why didn’t he come out from hiding then? Drusilla and Ethan are up to something, and it’s for the mayor,” he told her, as he cuddled her from behind.

He plunged his hands into the soapy water and curled his fingers around hers. Her fingers curled up into his palms, but he turned them over and used her hands to pick up the sponge. The arch of her neck drew his attentions as he nuzzled her neck and pressed his erection into the luscious curves of her bottom.

“Mm, so what’s our game plan?” Buffy asked breathlessly, the simple chore of washing the dishes too extraneous a job when he was pressed against her.

He purred softly against her throat, rocking her against the counter, so that she was sandwiched between two hard edges. “Mm-mm,” he whispered, running his soapy hands over hers as they finished the last dish and set it aside on the drainer. “Ready to be tucked into bed?” he asked sensually.

Buffy was asleep before her head hit the pillow, and he sat on the edge of the bedspread. He was worried; three foes were working on something that he and Giles hadn’t a clue on. One was dangerous, another annoying, and the last mysterious- all three were out there. The thought upset his stomach, and he launched himself off the bed and out of the room.

Trampling down the stairs he grabbed his coat and fled the house. There, out in the night air, he felt a measure of calm. Taking a deep breath into his unused lungs, he smelled the crisp clean scent of the night before veering left toward the cemeteries.

Dru was making minions; he’d just drop by and sort of dust them for her. A nice present from sire to childe. She wouldn’t mind. He did a mental eye roll and tucked his hands into his coat pockets. When he arrived at the third or fourth cemetery he found Drusilla coaxing a newbie from the ground, causing him to grimace.

“Buttercup, I’m afraid we’ve got company. It’s of the bad sort,” Dru singsonged, joining him at his side. She tiptoed her fingers up his forearm to the crease of his elbow, where her surprisingly sharp nails bit into the jacket.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and through clenched jaws, acknowledged his childe. “Dru, what are you up to?”

Dru tossed her hair over her shoulder as she glanced behind her at the boy in his late teens who stood up and shook himself off. “Making playmates! My dollies aren’t enjoying my games anymore.”

“Now Dru,” he told her patronizingly, “if you go around breaking them, they won’t want to have tea parties with you. You should stop being such a bad penny and straighten up a bit, and maybe then you’d get a few more playmates.”

“But they can have crumpets and scones!” she whined, clinging to him. “And with all the ladder climbing, I’m going to need partiers for my fun little games that happen when day is night!”

“Dru baby,” he crooned, disengaging himself from her grabby hands. “You’re not making any sense to me.”

“Daddy?” Dru begged plaintively. “Tell me about the day when darkness descends over the sky!”

The newly made vampire tried to slip away, but it was unfortunate that he just happened to stake him by accident.

Drusilla stomped her foot angrily, wailing loudly, lamenting the loss of her new toy. “He was to be the sacrifice! For Jacob’s climb! I’m shaky, Angel; hold me?”

“Sorry, Dru,” he grimaced, “but I’ve got better things to be doing right now. Try to be a good penny.”

“You’re going to regret what decisions you make on what you can’t have.”

He gave her a look, lifting a brow. Unconcerned, he turned and left her standing there with arms akimbo. The hair on the back of his neck stood up on end, when his childlledlled out chillingly.

“Daddy will be my playmate tonight since he’s taken out my new toy. He’ll want to play with me-- we can have a tea party.”

Tea party was lingo for holy water and manna, which would burn like acid on the tongue of a vampire. Holy foodstuffs. Dru liked torturing people; it got her hot.

Greatly disturbed, he took off at a lope. As a vampiress, Drusilla was better than Darla. More of everything- brains, wits, creativity, speed, and strength--- granted a little crazy, but Angelus had picked her well, and right now he wished all those things away. It would not be good if he got caught by his childe. Especially since she harbored hatred for his soul.

A wicked cackling echoed from somewhere to the left of him. He veered right, cutting across the University campus toward the high school. Drusilla popped up in front of him on the right with a Cheshire cat grin illuminating her pale face. Abruptly stopping, he changed tracks and went past the Starbucks in the opposite direction of his loony childe.

Drusilla walked out of the alley that he was about to pass. “Come to play with me, my Angel! I’ll give you scones and pastries!”

Fuck.

“Dru, go home,” he warned.

“My home is at the mansion. Daddy bought it for me to play house in.”

“And he kicked you out,” he replied with a terse growl.

“But the slayer had him all confused. He isn’t confused now, is he, my Angel?” Dru whispered softly, raising her hands into the air.

All the way toward the mansion she mocked him, telling him he couldn’t escape her. But it was he whd thd the last laugh in the end. Sprinting the last fifty yards, he outpaced Drusilla with his long legged stride as he dashed up the steps and crossed the threshold of the mansion.

Once inside he grabbed a wooden torch from the stone wall and held it out, ready to stake his childe with it.

Drusilla stilled on the front porch steps, wavering with indecision before she smirked. “You’d never hurt me; you’re too cowardly for that.”

A broken laugh bubbled out of him hysterically as he watched Drusilla try to enter the mansion. Her face was plastered against the invisible barrier, and he couldn’t stop laughing at her predicament. At his. Had Buffy not moved in, he would have been caught for his own sheer stupidity tonight in seeking Dru out.

The makeshift stake dropped out of his hands, and he closed the door on Dru’s face, laughing out loud. His legs buckled, and he collapsed in the chair beside the kitchen counter. After awhile he made himself some comfort food and drank it slowly.
iligilight was edging over the horizon by the time he made it up to where Buffy slept, blissfully unaware. It took a long steamy shower followed by many minutes staring into the empty mirror before he pulled himself together and went to his sleeping mate.

Her warm sleepy scent wrapped around him as he cuddled beside her softly snoring form. He was rattled and relieved--- but one thing was clear… the benefits of Buffy living with him outweighed the bad. She was his unknowing savoir. He contemplated waking her up, but he decided that today she deserved a break. Today she could skip, and he wanted to hold her for awhile. Breathe in her desire, her spicy blood, her perfume, and the sleepy cadence that clung to her.