Becoming Me

Hi everybody,
Sorry about the delay... (I. Hate. School.) Also I apologize for the spacing of some of the scenes in this chapter...It pasted badly and I don't have time to fix it right now. I just want to get this baby out there :)

Anyway, formatting aside, enjoy! It's an EXTRA long chapter, to make up for the wait!

Disclaimer: same as always

29: DEMONS AND ANGELS

"Where the fuck are my shoes?" muttered Buffy, as she threw the comforter around in her frantic search. Suddenly, looking at her uncovered pillows, she remembered the previous night: hours of tossing and turning; wakeful energy that yearned to be up and about under the moon and stars and was only quelled by the enthralling scent of leather and cigarette smoke.

Buffy's hand darted under the pillows and pulled out the black duster coat. It seemed wrong to still have it. It wasn't hers and Spike wasn't a guy who should be giving things to her – it could give the wrong impression.

Not entirely consciously, Buffy slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the leather to close over her chest. I could wear this, she thought with intrigue. It doesn't look bad on me at all…It's fitted to a waist and everything, almost like it's a girls' coat…

Buffy dropped her hands to her sides and the duster swung open. The mini-dress she'd picked was a pale aquamarine and white and it made the coat look ridiculous as the one thing that didn't match. Like she'd gotten cold during her date and borrowed her boyfriend's jacket. In other words, completely unacceptable. Buffy reluctantly folded the duster and put it back at the bottom of the closet.

The doorbell rang. "Buffy!" called Joyce, "Door!" Buffy checked her hair in the mirror once more and dashed down the stairs.

Scott was waiting in the entryway, wearing a nice, ironed blue shirt and nice pants. At least there are men in the world who can dress for a date. I'd bet money that Spike – if anyone would actually ever dateSpike – would show up in those jeans he wears.

"Hi," said Scott.

"Hi, Scott," Buffy waited for Scott to say something, but when a long pause went by without him doing so, she asked, "So…you met my mom?"

"Oh…yeah. She let me in."

"Cool. So, um…ready to go?"

Scott nodded and led Buffy out to his car.

"Cool…you drive."

"Yeah. Do you?"

Buffy laughed awkwardly. "Not exactly." Not legally.

"Ah," replied Scott, and he started the car.

"So…where are we going? For dinner?"

"This Italian place I told you about? Luigi's?"

"Oh…right." Buffy smiled at Scott. "Sounds nice…Cool."

* * * * *

Spike had hoped that coming to Sunnydale might cure him. He'd counted on the memories of all the evil things he'd done to antagonize the Slayer to fix him. But he still couldn't help the gnawing, nagging unease that forced him to step between death and some innocent victim. "Thank you..." they'd say, "You...you saved my life!" And he'd want to rip their awed, grateful faces in two, hurl their helpless little bodies until every single bone was broken.

It wasn't right. It wasn't normal. He was a vampire, a fucking demon, wasn't he?

Wasn't he supposed to be proud of that?

Admiring a sexy Slayer - that was one thing. Nothing wrong with that, nothing unusual about wanking to the image of your nubile nemesis. But stepping in and helping her out with the work, when she doesn't even know you're doing it so there's no way in hell that you're benefiting from it or that you have some ulterior motive but you just can't stop -

There was something horribly wrong.

And he couldn't stop wondering if each little thing he was doing - kicking a squealing little rat in the sewer, scaring a little boy - were they wrong? Was it wrong - him and the Slayer? Was it wrong that he maybe, sort of, in a sense, loved her? Maybe enough that he hadn't wondered where Dru had gone or if she was alright? Maybe enough that it had become some inevitable terrible piece of him, so that no matter how hard he worked to stop and to hate the Slayer, to think of her as a foe and a good fuck and nothing more? Because he had tried. It had been a craze of mania and growls and loud music and bad poetry. And still.

Was he really a vampire in love with the Slayer? Had he become one of the things he had hated so much about Angel?

Outside the mansion, shadows had stretched until they covered the entire ground and the dark branches of the trees melted into the sky. Spike searched for his duster. He couldn't find it where he thought he'd left it, and he continued his search until it elevated to frantic pacing and tearing apart the room. Finally at his wits' end he kicked the unyielding stone wall and let loose a feral scream. Spike grabbed a plain leather jacket - one that had probably belonged to Angelus - and strode into the hallway. He hated always having Angelus's hand-me-downs.

And was it wrong, he wondered, to leave him like that? Chained to the wall, hungry and naked and insane?

Surely it would have been wrong to not capture him, to leave him roaming free where he could tear the necks of innocent children.

Surely it was wrong, to keep this secret. To not tell Buffy that her dearly beloved was back.

How had the Slayer been stupid enough to forget? He was a demon.

It was right to be wrong.

* * * * *

"Amber, hun, everyone in San Fran's worried about you."

Amber pulled her eyes away, wishing she could lose herself in the loud, pounding music of the Bronze. "God! What are we now, the fucking Corleones? Why is everyone in my business?" She noticed that her fellow vampire looked bewildered. "Aw, c'mon! The Godfather? Mafia? What, did ya die in like 1900?"

"1906, actually. Turned in the aftermath of the earthquake. But Amber, you know the vampire mafia is run by ancient lines, families of vampires. The thing about us is, we're all alone except for each other. Most vamps would have a Sire to look out for them, Amber, but you don't. That's why all the Revolvers are here for you."

"Don't make me sick," Amber muttered, looking out into the moving mass of people on the dance floor. "I'm fine," she said more loudly.

"You will be fine, I'm sure. My personal guess is, maybe you haven't been drinking enough. Malnourishment can do all sorts of bad to vampires - 'course, I don't blame you for not knowing that. It's only understandable, a fledgling like you, in a Slayer town." Amber's interest was suddenly sparked, and she looked back at the other vampire.

"Yeah. How do I kill her?"

The other vampire laughed. "Kill who, the Slayer? Don't make me laugh." Oops, too late, thought Amber derisively. "Slayers kill vampires, we don't kill them. That's why they're called 'Vampire Slayers.'"

Amber bit her lip as she tried to think of a biting remark that would fully express her disdain. "Spike kills Slayers," she said. "Or he has."

"Yes," said the other vampire, with what Amber thought was an inappropriately condescending smile. "But you aren't Spike, honey. And you aren't his Childe. He's in a whole different league of evil, Amber, and you're not there yet. And that's why I'm here - to help you. Truly evil hearts stop at nothing," she told Amber, as if reciting a common platitude.

"Yeah. Yeah. So whatcha say your name was, again?"

"Fe. It's Spanish." Amber was motionless and silent; after living at Lilia's house, she knew what it meant. Fe went on. "Yeah. It means 'faith.'"

"Cool," said Amber after a pause. "C'mon, lets go kill something."

* * * * *

"Well I thought it was pretty good…But Zorro's fighting needed work. I mean, realistically, I don't think there's a way he could have made it through everything he did with such weak stage fighting skills."

Scott nodded. "Yeah," added Buffy, agreeing with herself.

"Hey, Buffy? Do you remember where we parked the car?"

Buffy looked around. "Dunno. At least a few rows away from the movie theater, though."

Gradually, Buffy became aware of a tingling sensation, like the hairs raising on her arms and the back of her neck. Vampire. "Uh…Scott…I'm gonna look around over here. You keep over there and call me if you find it."

Usually the "spider-sense" didn't tell her where vampires were…but oddly, Buffy felt pulled by her intuition towards a specific place. Suddenly the familiar black body of the DeSoto loomed out of the night. From close behind her, Buffy heard a soft, purring British voice. "Now what brings a sweet little Slayer to a place like this?"

"Spike." Buffy greeted with exasperation. "Didn't we agree you're not part of my life anymore?" She spoke without turning to face him.

He growled. "Fine. So I'm not here because I'm part of your life, I'm here by chance. Serendipity…if you will." He forcibly turned her around. "Because you miss me."

"Buffy?" Scott called out loudly. "I found the car!"

"Who's the little boy?" questioned Spike, locking Buffy's eyes in penetrating gaze.

"He's my date, Spike." She fiercely pulled her shoulders out of hisgrip. "He's my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend."

"Not a very good one, is he? If you can't help yourself from cheating - "

"Shut up!" She began to walk away from him.

"Slayer..." he teased.

"Buffy?" called Scott. "Are you ok?"

She turned to Spike, watched him glow under the spotlight of her fury. "Mansion," she told him with finality. "Just...be there."

* * * * *

"Thanks...Scott. I had a great time." Buffy smiled beautifully from the doorway.

"Yeah. I did too. Do you want to - "

"Buffy, Mr. Giles - " Her mother appeared in the entryway. "Oh, Scott...Nice to see you again. Just a few more minutes, Buffy."

Buffy turned back to her boyfriend. "Ok. I mean, sure, I'd love to."

Scott nodded. "Great. We could go see another movie, sometime. Or, you know, a concert or something."

"Yeah...Cool. Well, goodnight, Spike."

Scott frowned. "Spike?"

"What?" asked Buffy hurriedly. "No. I mean, I said Scott! Not...I think you heard wrong, I kind of mumbled."

Not looking at all convinced, Scott sighed. "Yeah. That's probably it. Anyway, see you tomorrow."

Buffy smiled and closed the door. She sighed, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed on the sofa, exhausted.

"How was your date?" Joyce asked.

"Nice. What did Giles want?"

"Oh...He just wanted to talk to you tomorrow. He'd like you to stop by. Something about vampires and...Well, this summer. He talked to Willow about it, I think."

Buffy's heart raced. He had talked to Willow? Not that people talking to Wil was exactly an unusual occurrence, but the way her mom talked about it...If Giles and Willow had been talking about vampires, did that mean Giles knew about Spike?

No one, except the people who'd been there, could possibly understand about Spike. That was why, Buffy assumed, she'd felt so resistant to mentioning the vampire when recounting her trip to L.A. Sexy vampire, Buffy added.
Stupid vampire, she amended immediately after.

And how long was he going to wait for her, anyway? Sometimes she thought he needed her. That was why he'd come back after running off, why he kept turning up and pursuing her. But then she wondered if maybe that was completely wrong, if maybe she didn't know him at all, if maybe he would always appear when she least expected him and then take of when she expected him to stay.

He was a demon. She knew that was important to him; it was how he defined himself, she realized that. But she didn't want to believe that was it - she'd been in L.A. with him and it hadn't been like imprisonment in the castle of Count Dracula. Wasn't it possible to be a demon, and more as well?

Or was that only when you had a soul?

* * * * *

"Spike?" Buffy called. The click of her heels on the tiles echoed from the many rooms in the mansion. The air felt thick. Buffy began to dread when she would find Spike. Would he have blood running down his chin, fresh human blood, still warm from the kill?

I'm stupid, she told herself. Of course he feeds. He's a vampire, isn't he?

She wandered deeper into the mansion. Maybe he feeds but doesn't kill. No, that's ridiculous! It's not like he has a soul, Buffy...

Maybe I should leave now, get out of it while I can. No harm, no foul. Her vampire tingles suddenly kicked into overdrive - she was close, Spike was probably only in the next room, she couldn't leave now. She walked through the doorway.

And suddenly she saw it: the body, the chains, the blood spilled all over the floor. At first she thought the man was naked, but then she realized the coiled muscles and slick, sweaty flesh of the torso had fooled her into overlooking the pair of black, leather pants tightly clinging to the man's legs. There was something evocative about this being, something that made her long for patrols and the Bronze and that time with Spike, in the shower.

As she walked closer, she stepped into something vaguely round; for an awful second she imagined her foot had crushed through the back of a skull, and she withdrew her foot with a gasp, causing a loud clatter of metal on stone. Looking down reflexively, she realized she had only stepped on a metal bowl, but all along the bottom clung the crusty red-brown flakes of dried blood.

For a second, the only sound in the room was her rapid, shallow breathing. Then the man spoke, in a raspy, fearful voice. "You're not..."

Buffy's gaze snapped up off the floor and she stared at the vampire in front of her. No...it can't be...

"You're not...Spike...

"Oh my God," Buffy murmured, taking several steps backward. She had forgotten how to breathe.

"I remember you..." whispered the tortured voice, and Buffy turned and ran. As the stone walls of the mansion loomed up in front of her, forcing her to turn left and right, she could hear the whisper reverberating after her. Buffy...Buffy...Buffy...

And then she was out in the cold night air, hearing the comforting background noises of families and television sets and nighttime animals. But she still remembered his evil smirk, the surprise in his eyes as she'd run him through with the sword, still heard his lips forming "Buffy" from every shadowy corner of the mansion, stinging with betrayal.

He was back, and Spike knew about it.

And he hadn't told her.