Chapter Thirty-One
“What are you getting him?”
“Josh?”
“Yeah. I am seriously low on ideas, here.”
Donna snickered and rolled her eyes and reached for the snow-globe Willow was studying with absent infatuation and placed it back on the display table. “Josh doesn’t expect anything,” she assured her. “It’s not like you two go way back.”
“W-well, I’m gonna feel bad if I get everyone something and leave Josh out.”
The blonde domed a brow. “You’re getting Toby something?”
Willow shrugged helplessly and looked down in embarrassment. “Sam thought it’d be funny to get him another bouncy ball. Something about how he never has enough of those.” At the mention of her dark-haired sweetie, her eyes warmed and her cheeks flushed. Then she stopped in a panic, disposition forgotten immediately. “Oh God. Sam! What do I get Sam? The first Christmas and I don’t know what to get my…well, I don’t know if he’s a boyfriend or not, but he’s definitely a boy and a friend…well, more a man and a friend, but I don’t think you should use the term manfriend unless you wanna get some serious looks of the bad kind and oh GOD, I’m a horrible person. I don’t know what to get him for Christmas!”
The other woman merely smiled. “You’ll find something for him. Really, Sam? Not the hardest guy to please.”
“B-but if I get him just anything, he’ll think I don’t care. It’ll be like, ‘Oh, Willow got me a tie. How—blah!’ And then if I get him something really, you know, personal he’ll be all, ‘Sheesh! I’ve only known you for a week and a half!’”
“Willow, I promise you, the last thing he’ll think you are is pushy. Or clingy. Trust me. I know him.”
“But…I…” She shook her head. “This is hopeless.”
“Not even. Look. Sam’s probably going through the same thing you are. You know?” She smiled. “I haven’t seen him like this in…well, I’ve never seen him like this. Thought he’d carried a torch for Mallory for a while, but he was never so open about it.” A shrug at that. “She played games with him. You don’t. And don’t get me wrong; I love Leo, and I think his daughter’s a gem…but you seem more like Sam’s type.”
Willow breathed a deep sigh and picked up the snow-globe once again. “Yeah. I…you really think I’m more his type?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do I really need to remind you how long you’ve known me?”
Donna frowned and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, pooh. I have an excellent sense when it comes to this stuff.”
The redhead arched a brow but kept her mouth shut. Obviously, her shopping companion couldn’t be on top of the vibe flow if she had yet to sense the evident sparkage between her and her boss.
“So what are you getting him?” she asked a minute later.
“Who?”
“Josh.”
Donna’s brow furrowed in thought, then she shrugged and began sorting through the four-way of shirts on the display near the wrap-desk. “Probably a tie.”
“A tie?”
“Some of the more jaded citizens might find ties to be bland and monotonous,” the blonde noted with a tone she usually reserved for Josh. “I’ll have you know that it’s a classic gift.”
Willow made a face. After years of Christmas shopping with Xander when he was piling up items for the assorted members of his crazy family, she had long established ties as being the sort of gift given to men when there was none other to give. “Whatever you say.” She hesitated a minute, glanced back to the display counter and retrieved the snow-globe Donna had confiscated. “I’m going to get Josh this. I-it’s not much, but at least he’ll know I wasn’t leaving him out.” She frowned off the look on the blonde’s face. “What? What? Yeah, it’s my first year Christmas shopping ‘cause—well—Jewish, but I’m making an exception this year. So cut the new girl some slack.”
“Hon, he’s Jewish, too. I guarantee he’s not agonizing over your Christmas present.” Willow shrugged and handed the salesperson the snow-globe anyway, not catching the small smile that quirked Donna’s lips. “My gift, on the other hand,” she continued, “is an entirely different matter.”
“He gets you Christmas presents?” the redhead asked as she digged through her purse and fished out a ten.
The woman at the wrap-desk smiled at them as they collected what few purchases they had made thus far and exited to the bulk of the Natchez Mall. The same mall that was nearly deserted save a few wandering patrons, and being so close to the most celebrated holiday of the year, the effect was more than creepy. Perhaps the citizens of the small town had finally caught wind of what was happening; there was simply no talk of it.
The redhead had seen enough, though, to refrain from surprise. And while she felt a nag of guilt for having bailed on the group research party, it was more than a relief to get away. Away where the demons outside could not reach her. There was little to be done today that had not been done yesterday or the day before. They were on a fast track to nowhere and the big would hit before they knew what it was or exactly what the repercussions would be.
And despite that, being with the others and pouring herself out over a stack of ancient text wouldn’t do any good. Not from where she was sitting. Besides, if Giles needed her, he would phone Donna’s cell and they would come running.
In the meantime, speed Christmas shopping for a bunch of people she hardly knew was proving to be the most relaxing activity she had partaken in weeks.
Donna was still talking about the bizarre relationship she and Josh had established in honoring their cultural differences when it came to holiday giving and receiving. “It’s more like seasonally advantageous tokens of his appreciation through thoughtful yet monetarily conservative gifts.” She shrugged. “I usually give him a list of which he is more than encouraged to choose several items to properly demonstrate said appreciation. If we get out of here, I want to learn how to ski.”
“Ski?”
The blonde nodded decisively. “Yes. I want to learn how to ski. So I gave Josh a list this morning of potential ski-related gift ideas that he might consider for me.”
“Yes, because that’s monetarily conservative.”
“We might die, so I decided money wouldn’t be an obstacle this year.”
“That’s very smart.” Willow grinned. “You really think he’s going to go out right now and buy you skiing equipment?”
Donna’s brows arched skeptically. “No. It’s Josh. Are you kidding me?” She smirked at the answering laugh that rang through the air; the girls exchanged a devious look that was so natural, it felt like they had been doing this for years. Known each other for years. “So,” she said a minute later. “What are you getting Buffy and Spike?”
There was a hefty pause at that as the redhead considered her answer. The fact that any gift for Buffy would automatically involve Spike was still very foreign. She had given up, though. Given up any charade in pretending that her best friend was not involved with another vampire, and that they had likely shut themselves up in their private cottage to spend the day making—erm, having sex.
Regardless of how much Spike seemed to care for Buffy; it would be a while before the Witch could safely call it love. Love was sticky business. It broke hearts, inspired tears, and was the root cause of every number one country hit of all time. No one, despite circumstance, could escape the heartache—the angst, the complete desolation of love’s namesake. The very best of men had rendered their ladies nothing but hollow shells. Oz. She didn’t know anyone better than Oz…or hadn’t until this trip. Oz was of the very best of men, and he had broken her heart. He had left her after betraying her, and then sent for his stuff without so much as picking up a phone. And Oz loved her. She knew he loved her. He loved her, and he had left anyway.
Spike was not of the very best. He was a vampire. A soulless vampire. Up until a couple weeks ago, he had tried to kill them on a regular basis. And now—suddenly—he and Buffy were snuggly wuggly? That didn’t work. Even if Spike did love Buffy, it would take a long time before Willow would be completely comfortable with the situation.
She wouldn’t object, though. She couldn’t. Buffy seemed happy, and despite her noted yet tacit objections, the redhead knew somehow that Spike would sooner walk into sunlight than deliberately harm her friend. More besides, Buffy was likely to get more than an earful from Xander and Giles on the matter. She deserved to have at least one hand of support from someone she had known longer than a week.
So, if she was going to do this, she might as well go all the way. Dual presents, his and hers towels, the full shebang. A contemplative frown crossed the redhead’s face. “I don’t know what I’m getting them,” she answered at last. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“I’m thinking toy store for them,” the blonde replied.
Oh God, she didn’t even want to know. The notion was almost appalling— especially from the blonde’s seemingly virtuous mouth. Did Natchez even have any novelty places like that? “T-t-toy store?”
“Yeah.” Donna pointed across the hallway. “KB Toys? I’m sure they have some cheap handcuffs or something that would serve as an effective gag gift.
A palpable breath of relief tackled the Witch senseless. “Oh. Those kind of toys. Okay. Yeah, sure that’d be good. Funny, even. What do you think? You get one for Spike, I’ll get one for Buffy?”
“You thought I meant a different toy shop?”
Willow’s cheeks reddened. “I—uhhh. Well, y-you never know w-w-with Spike, s-so I thought y-you might—”
There was a rich laugh at that, slightly shrill for the scandal tagged onto implication. “God, no. I’d feel weird buying CJ something like that even as a joke, and I know CJ. I don’t know Buffy well. I just figured they’re in the beginning of their relationship and it’s clear you and your friends aren’t very supportive of it…but I get the feeling that you’re not as likely to be as objectionable as, oh say, Xander.”
The redhead sighed. “That obvious?”
“Oh yeah. And then some.” A short pause. “So…whaddya think? Handcuffs?”
Willow glanced up thoughtfully, then slowly glanced to the conniving blonde, and they passed the motion with a syncopated nod and dual evil grins. “Handcuffs.”
The two tore down the corridor of the mall happily, conspiring on a vast assortment of similar gag gifts. The world for all its troubles melted around them. Books and demons forgotten. Just the joy of shopping for loved ones during the holidays while exchanging tales of holidays’ past and trading off family horror stories.
It was good. Familiar.
And it would be another hour yet before Donna’s cell phone would ring.
*~*~*
The sun was gone completely; the day caught in that delightful period that was not quite afternoon and not quite evening. It was growing closer and closer to night, and neither Buffy nor Spike had made an attempt to get ready, much less leave the townhouse and face the Scoobies. The hours spent between love making, talking, laughing, and more love making were occupied with desperate excuses listing the many reasons why not going anywhere was most definitely the better game plan.
They traded off responsibility and had talked each other out of leaving using a variety of techniques that would have made Buffy blush furiously were it with anyone else. With Spike, everything seemed natural. There was no reason to be ashamed when he looked at her the way he did.
Currently, they were stretched on the hide-a-bed, fully clothed for the impending patrol once the sun was completely down and happily ignoring the fact that sunlight had absolutely no chance of harming the vampire now. Spike was spooned at Buffy’s back, one arm draped around her middle, and they were watching CJ Cregg brief the press on CSPAN. It was growing increasingly difficult for her to poo-poo the questions about the shutdown in Natchez and the absence of three crucial members of the President’s Senior Staff, but she was holding the press off admirably. More than once, Buffy enjoyed the cool hum of her boyfriend’s chuckle as he murmured something about how reporters had a special place reserved in Hell.
The word struck her out of nowhere. Boyfriend. Spike was a boyfriend. She expected it to frighten her or at least drive her to some reckoning of denial. But no. No. She had already admitted to herself that she was in love with him. She was in love with him, so thinking of him as a boyfriend was not exactly a leap of faith.
The longer the day wore, the more apprehensive she became. Spending time with Spike was surreal in a wonderfully dreamlike way. Breaking down the barrier built on preconceived notions so many years ago—discarding what little she hadn’t forever. Half a dozen times, she had caught herself a heartbeat away from blurting her feelings only to bite her tongue.
The feeling that something terrible was going to happen would not go away. Despite the perfection of today, her inner Slayer was screaming that it was all too close to shattering. And even more than that, she was terrified of the burden of her love. Her love had destroyed before. Her love had caused the death of Jenny Calendar, had ripped the soul from Angel’s body and sent Sunnydale into one of the darkest periods a hellmouth could withstand. Her love was not a blessing.
Perhaps as long as she kept it to herself, it wouldn’t be able to strike. She wanted him to know more than anything. Especially after today and the love they had expressed with their bodies, she wanted him to know. The façade that it wasn’t perfect yet had faltered in less than twenty-four hours. No, she was terrified that admitting it would send whatever catastrophe was somersaulting their way headfirst into terrible capitulation and suffer the effects worse than they could have ever imagined. The bad was still going to happen—there was no doubt of that. But bad could happen without the ending breaking her heart.
If she protected Spike from her dangerous confession, she fared a better chance at not losing him.
Should she share these fears with the vampire, he would soothe her, of course. Tell her she was sweet for worrying, but nothing would or could force him away from her side. Take her face in his hands and draw her eyes to his, kiss her softly, and hold her in her worry. And she wanted that reassurance more than anything. She wanted it out there where she could fight it. Where she didn’t have to worry.
Sam had released the evil with words. Wasn’t it just as possible that her words could signal the evil to destroy them?
She would tell him. Loving Spike was the most liberating sensation she had ever experienced. She would tell him when she knew that the Powers That Be wouldn’t take him away in punishment. Until then, she would have to show him. Show him with everything that she was and hope that he could read her for everything she could not say.
“She has to be one of the best,” Spike murmured, his slow, sexy voice smashing happily through her reverie.
“Huh?”
He grinned and brushed a kiss across her temple, hand stroking her belly. “The bird, luv,” he said, indicating the television where CJ had effectively shut down another reporter for asking a question she had more than established her likelihood of answering. “’ve seen your bloody country go through a lot of press secretaries. Caught ‘em every now an’ then jus’ ‘cause it’s so bloody funny. She has to be one of the best.”
Buffy smiled and shifted so she could see his eyes. “That’s cute,” she jeered with a smirk. “You stop to watch press briefings.”
“Only when there’s somethin’ funny happenin’ in the news.”
“Do I wanna know your definition of funny?”
A shy smile crossed his face, and she found it adorable. “Prob’ly not, sweetheart.” He cast his gaze upward again, but briefly. “Granted, wasn’ much happenin’ when Curly took the stage not too long ago. That was soddin’ hilarious.”
“You mentioned that on the first day.”
Spike nodded. “The bird couldn’t make it for whatever reason, so Curly got up there an’ started yammerin’ on about the HUD Secretary callin’ a Republican a racist an’ ended up makin’ a secret plan to fight inflation. God, now that’s quality programmin’. Rupert an’ I were in stitches.”
“You watched this with Giles?”
He winked at her recklessly. “Like I said, luv, it wasn’ too long ago.” He nudged her back onto her side, teasing her earlobe with his teeth. “We better be goin’ soon, don’ you think?”
Buffy couldn’t help it; she grinned and snuggled deeper into his embrace. “Are we playing this game again?”
“Wish. Don’ particularly wanna get up. You’re warm an’ comfy.” A sigh fanned her face, his lips dropping to grace her throat with small, soft kisses. “But, an’ I can’t believe ‘m sayin’ this, we should patrol. Get out there, make sure no uglies are testin’ the waters jus’ yet.”
“And drop off the sheets at the cleaners before the Millers ask us why they’re drenched in syrup?”
Spike smirked and tickled her side, eyes brightening when her musical laughter touched the air. “An’ miss the look on your face when you explain how it got to the bedroom in the firs’ place? Don’ think so, sweetheart.”
“My face? You’re the one who—”
“Wound up drenched in maple goodness?”
A pout crossed her lips. “It made you taste yummy.”
Spike frowned, a mock-wounded expression settling upon his face. “Right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Now I’m guessin’ I need syrup to be yummy, ‘s that it?”
“Oh, don’t give me that look. I wasn’t the only one who got carried away with syrupy-fun.” Her nose wrinkled. “I think my stomach’s still sticky.”
“Really, pet?”
She knew that tone well now; it inspired shivers of anticipation down her spine and punched the squeal that sounded through the air when he flipped her over and attacked her mouth with his. All threats of leaving abruptly vanished with the softness of his lips, the sensual stroke of his tongue against hers. He formed words against her every time he kissed her. Poured himself into describing without sound how much he loved her, loved this. Words without sound—just action.
Buffy’s hands curled around his shoulders. She didn’t know if he could read her affections half as well, if at all. If he could tell that she loved him simply by sharing a kiss. If her kiss answered his silent vows. Answered his words with words of her own. If the depth of her feeling could be reached.
Before she knew what was happening, Spike had whipped her shirt over her head and lowered his attentions to her stomach. “Mmmm,” he hummed into her skin. “Yeh, pet. A li’l sticky. But nothin’ like…”
He tugged on the waistband of her pants.
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Spike, no. We can’t. We have to be—”
A hand, heedless of her half-hearted protests, delved inside and cupped her warmth. “Christ,” he gasped, wrestling a hungry kiss from her lips. “You drive me absolutely outta my mind, you know? Never gonna get enough of you, baby. God, not even ‘f…jus’ never.”
“Spike—”
He bunched her panties to the side to tease her wetness for a few delicious seconds, then abruptly withdrew and brought his hand to his own mouth to lick away the dew shimmering on his skin. “I know,” he replied, smiling at her expression. “We need to go. Let the ranks know we’re still in, give the cemetery another look-see, then come back an’ let me make love to you till the sun comes up.”
The Slayer released a trembling sigh. “So…” she said slowly. “You decided to get me hot and bothered now?”
He grinned wickedly.
“Spike!”
“Screamin’ my name a li’l prematurely, luv.”
“Dammit, you suck!”
“Very well, I might add. Or do you need another demonstration?”
Buffy whined petulantly. “I hate you.”
“Do not.”
Well, that one she couldn’t argue with. Not if she wanted to. She was too in love with him to hate him, no matter how aggravating he was. “So?”
“So what, baby?”
She coyly cocked her head to the side, flashing a small, shy grin. “Think we have time for a quickie?”
The emotion that stormed his eyes almost did more to bring her under than anything else. God, but she wasn’t used to being looked at like that. Like something precious. Like anything more than a Slayer. It was simply like that with Spike. With every glance, every kiss, every touch, he conveyed how much he loved her. Conveyed in such strong, fortuitous tides that it shocked her that she hadn’t seen it before. That it took his words to summon everything to the surface.
“God, you’re amazin’,” he gasped ardently, commanding her lips in another desperate kiss. “I love you so much.”
Oh yeah. She loved the words. She could lose herself in them as easily as she did his caresses and the feel of his lips against hers. His body pressing hers into the makeshift mattress, his denim-clad erection rubbing her through layers of clothing. Arousing her to levels she hadn’t believed to be real.
“Spike…”
It would have been so easy to lose herself in his arms all over again. To cast aside time for the sake of his body against hers. To shove priorities for tomorrow, to face the consequences of today when she was certain of this. When she knew that whatever happened would be tempered with the promised time of a day’s trip to paradise. It would have been so easy. So easy.
And that was the problem. Nothing was ever easy. Ever.
It took the shrill of the phone to stop them from rising to heaven all over again.
*~*~*
Three beepers had sounded in unison, jarring everyone into a second wake. It took less than two minutes to locate a phone.
“It’s Giles,” Sam told the others, cell pressed to his ear. They were seated as they had been the day before at the Eola Hotel. A semi-circle comprised of Josh, Toby, Xander, and Anya. A pile of open text in the middle they had scoured thoroughly to no avail. “He needs us all to meet at the Wensel House.”
A short pause settled over the group at that.
“The Wensel House?” Toby echoed incredulously. “He’s upstairs, for God’s sake. Why do we need to go the Wensel House?”
“Smaller. More private.” He glanced around the large lobby and arched a brow. “And his room is too small to hold everyone.”
“What’s this all about?” Josh demanded. “What’s going on?”
“An all-nighter study session?” Xander suggested.
“No, no.” Sam shook his head, muttered something into the phone, then cut the call with a shudder. “No. It’s Faith. He’s figured it out. He knows what’s wrong with Faith.” A sigh pressed through his lips and he trembled again. “He knows what’s wrong…and according to the book, we don’t have much time to stop it.”
Toby paused and licked his lips. “Meaning?”
“Meaning it’s over. Giles has figured it out. And if I know anything about these sort of meetings plus that crypt-o-gram gram, it really is the end of the world,” Xander concluded with a deep breath. “Again.”
TBC