FicWad

Title: 'Til the End of the World
Author: Lillian Morgan
Pairing(s): Spike/Angel, Spike/Buffy, Spike/Angel/Buffy, Spike & Dawn
Rating: R (mainly for language and sexual situations)
Setting: post-/Not Fade Away/, the beginning of 2005, London
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Joss and ME do.
A/N: Thanks to yourlibrarian for the wonderful beta job.
Each character narrates his or her part and these are separated by their own unique idioms, because it's all in the first person.

'Til the End of the World

Part Three

03:32; Late Night Cafe; Farringdon, London

Buffy and Dawn's appearance had made Spike momentarily silent and recalcitrant. Two guesses why that was then. I sighed. Heavily. Sometimes the weight of my body and all the sins it contained was just too much to bear. But mainly because in that instant my biggest sin and my greatest salvation stood right in front of me, looking after the two girls with such a soft expression passing over his face.

Eh. Angelus would have loved to beat that one out of him then. I paused and waited, feeling the desire to control him ineluctably subside.

"It's hard to fathom," said Spike, softly, still staring out the glass door of the café, "but she's very good at that. Sayin' something and then running away from it. Backing it up with nothing, no more words, no actions, no definitions. Just here are my words, Spike - make of it what you will."

"What?"

"Whereas you, my dear, devoutly deviant Angelus, are almost the same. But the difference is, I know where I stand with you. A punch means a punch; a word of love means a punch is comin' soon, you're just gettin' warmed up, an' I should mind my p's and q's an' get in line. Did you teach her all about that? Or d'ya reckon she learned that all on her little lonesome?"

"Spike, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Just as well, probably. C'mon let's jet back to the hotel. Feelin' a bit like watchin' some tele. Maybe some highlights of the game'll be on."

He turned to leave, and I grabbed him by the arm, harder than I expected for I wanted the moment to be soft. But that was an anachronism too old and worn by time, I could never be that with Spike. "One of us will have to tell her, you know."

"About what?"

"The end of the world, Spike."

"Yeah, well, she won't believe me. Looks like that's your job, Peaches. Or maybe you should just bypass her and go straight for the Watcher."

I raised my eyes and stared hard into him, his blue eyes cascading emotion outward and upwards. Fear, mainly, a bit of defiance, solitude, disgust, desire, despair. My Spike.

"Let's get back. I need some rest." And I walked out of the café, not waiting for him to follow, but knowing he would. He hated to be alone, and even when he was most alone in the times he was with me, the fact that he could reach out and touch me, be tactile, spurred on his feet to follow after me, brushing his hand against mine, intermittently, on the long, silent walk back to the hotel.

**

My thought for the day: Recon-Action-Plan

The next day dawned not so bright, but I was still able to pull back the curtains and enjoy the world of London life below me. Dawn had warned that the winters here could be dull and depressing but even in the crisp, water-heavy morning, nothing could ruin my mood now that I was up and awake and had a new day ahead.

In which Spike was alive.

Of course, that simple sentence was about the only thing I'd let my mind consider. Anything further got me into headachy country and headaches and Buffy were non-mixy things. Unlike shoe shopping or teaching naughty vampires a very important lesson. Which was a totally different world, really.

But a world in which I had the visual that Spike was still alive. And I had to face that like an oncoming train.

And now, I wondered, would I have to make a decision?

I heard Dawn's first-moments-into-the-bathroom that joined our two separate rooms; lots of yawning, dropping of clothes or shower condiments followed by a bit of yelping before she finally turned on the shower and started singing. A cross between Gwen Stefani and Black Eyed Peas, maybe.

I looked out from the hotel window; bits and pieces of London that I'd otherwise have never even considered, like corners of buildings or pavement squares, made up the view. It was just boring enough to let my mind wander, nothing like the hotel in Florence that had been Giles' last exorbitant birthday treat.

So I was in the same city as Spike and Angel. And they were pretty pally. And that was...weird. I'd never thought of them as other than separates; there was a box in my head and my heart for Angel and another for Spike. But they didn't do a hell of a lot of socialising in and out of their drawers. When was the last time I'd actually seen them together? Angel's last visit to Sunnydale had been mercifully devoid of a Spike confrontation, jealous after-jibes notwithstanding.

Why does this always have to be about them? Which one is right? Which one is wrong? Why can it never be about me, about what I want? Instead, it's Angel my first love who I once would have died for, I think, but who I did actually kill, only for him to come back from the great hellish beyond and walk off to LA and other people; and then there's Spike, who never left me, devoted every last drop of his being to love me, even when I was so broken inside I could never - and might never - love back. But he still got something out of it for him, which was someone he could devote himself to.

Last night had been uncomfortable, but I tried to convince myself that it had been really good to see them. They were alive and they were still beautiful and strong and snarky and clever and both had that defiant streak that meant they could stand up to me without fear of retribution. Hey, I'd killed both of them once already.

No-one did that to me anymore, except maybe Dawn but she was only really going through the motions like she was just barely maintaining her sisterly right to vocally hair-pull. I was now the Senior Slayer, who'd faced eight apocalypses. I was like a relic we'd seen when Dawn dragged me around the British Museum. Which I'd actually quite enjoyed but felt really I had to uphold my end of the bargain and complain about missing precious shoe-shopping hours. All the young Slayers and Watchers ooohed and aaahed over me and took my word as gold, set in stone. No-one called me a doofus or said my plans were lame or challenged me. Until last night.

I smiled.

It'd been nearly two years since I'd seen either of them and all I could think was that they still looked hot. Even Angel looked a little less portly than in Sunnydale, and Spike was lean and mean as ever. Except for the hair; that was ...I searched in vain for a word, but shrugged when nothing came to mind.

And ok so maybe they did look hot together....but, and the killer was that I knew it was shallow, but then why wasn't I involved with all this hotness?

Resting my forehead against the window, the cold sharpened my thoughts. Why was it that when I looked at them, I could only /feel/? All thoughts headed southwards, I can't think straight and I'm swimming - drowning - in emotion.

It was like we'd piled a dozen lives into that short period I'd spent with both of them and now...I was mega-confused. Like wigged, old skool Scooby style. Totally. I felt like I was on Blind Date or something, and I was having to make the final decision for the date of my life. I'll take Contestant #1, thanks, because he'll take me ice-skating; I'll have Contestant #2 because we'll have all sorts of hot vampiric sex in weird places and...

No, that wasn't fair on either of them.

"Hey Buffy, breakfast's gonna close in like fifteen minutes. Are you ready?"

I turned to Dawn and in a semi-optimistic voice said, "Do you think we can just all be friends?"

Her face just said 'Huh?' and then I nodded. "Breakfast, yep."

I ran my finger over the back of the chair as I stepped away from the window, and somehow caught it on a nail. I let out a little sharp cry and realised I'd drawn blood. Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Way too much thinking.

"Maybe Spike was right, all those years ago?" I said to Dawn as I munched on a croissant, in the hotel breakfast room, ten minutes later.

"What's that?"

"Maybe vampires do get me hot."

"Come on Buffy," said Dawn, not hiding the exasperation in her voice, "what's this all about? Talk to me. And while you're at it I also want to draw your attention to our Summers' pact, made at the end of last year. Remember? No more vampires for me!"

"What?"

"Oh, come on! You're wigged aren't you? Seeing Spike and Angel again and alive? Even I'm finding it hard to go beyond like 'WOW!' Because, hey, weren't we supposed to have moved on from them? But you've been thinking, haven't you? Probably all last night and all this morning and then the one thing you say, I'm expected to have the perfect answer."

"No that's not-"

"Buffy, it's fine. I'm joking. Kinda. Only explain to me how you got to agreeing with Spike about whatever it is that vampires do and I can take it from there."

I refused to answer her question, trying to glare at her instead but not really succeeding and went for the option of, "So only a few more days visiting you in London. What shall we do today?"

"Dunno, Buffy but, hey why not answer my question? Besides," continued Dawn, her eyes slitting in a way that meant she was about to tell the truth, but wasn't sure I'd be happy to hear it, "it's kinda weird that this isn't all about you, right? I mean hello? Spike's here. He didn't call you the minute he got back from wherever that amulet sent him, and now you're what? Wigging?"

I'm big enough to admit that I sulked. Big time. But Dawn relented, and tried a softer conversational way-in. And so we talked and then we talked some more and then the breakfast staff at the hotel started clearing away tables and coughing surreptitiously so we went for what Dawn said we must now refer to as 'a stroll' and talked more. And I slowly let out to her that seeing Spike and seeing Angel reminded me of what I was then and what I was now. And how the gap was way too big and would I ever get back there? And did I want to? And wasn't life simpler now? And plainer? And darker? And, ok yeah, boring? And as we sat down to a lunch of salad and fries, Dawn said, with her just-into-adulthood enthusiasm, that everything could be solved by dancing and promised to arrange a night out with Angel and Spike. These conversations were easy; like we were learning to be friends and I got little snippets of why Spike had cherished her so much.

And I hated the fact that a little voice crept into my thoughts telling me that it was a long time since I'd let Dawn boss me about, and why was I just going with the flow, and not taking command like I always used to? Maybe because I just really didn't want to crawl into a ball, as if it had been three years ago; maybe because this was a test, and I wanted to take it, even if I failed and Giles gave me the "what to do if you've failed" speech.

Dawn exited the bathroom for the second time that day leaving a trail of mist and perfume, once we'd returned back to our room and were preparing for the night out. I was contemplating black dress and strappy sandals, or black pants, golden haltertop and kick-ass Italian ankle boots (something the Italians really are the best at, among a few other things not worth mentioning right at this juncture) and sighed.

"Which one?" I worried, swinging my hand between the two.

"What's the statement you want to make? And, secondly, how are we getting there? By cab, dress is fine. Any part of a walk, and you'll have to go with the trousers," Dawn replied.

"Must you be so serious about this whole thing?"

Dawn laughed. "Must you, Buffy, dearest darling sister about to face impending doom with two exes?"

"To hell with it. Show 'em what they're missing. Clingy black dress it is."

I'd always loved dancing; but it was another one of the sacrifices that seemed to overtake my life once Mom got ill and I stopped having any one to dance with. And I truly meant the dance floor kind; the other was, rather more memorable, on reflection, but back in that dissolving Hellmouth I never thought anyone else would take Spike's final one away from me. I'd always thought that was wholly mine.

So as I looked out onto the club, smoothing the crinkles in my dress in a nervous gesture I hadn't got control of, and watching the people shimmy their way into the groove of the music, I turned and smiled at Dawn. It looked like pure, unadulterated fun. Dawn stepped out already, dragging me by the hand, to go join the rest of her college friends. The lights dimmed but my impressions hummed and then thoughts gave way to sensation; not with Slayer senses at the ready, purely about the demon, but more in a hybrid way that combined the two parts of my being. Those parts that rarely fit in Sunnydale, but that I'd been working on, in secret, ever since things had stopped being all about me. Heat hung in the air, cloaking me; the bass pumped from the ground, the walls and the atmosphere; and people jostled around, hips swaying, arms raised, eyes connecting on a realm of experience.

The music was jarring, the song cut up into beats and bumps, fractured like me, like a very large mirror that had broken and all the bits and pieces were trying to put themselves back together.

And then I felt a familiar tingling in the base of my spine that said "Vampire near" or more specifically "My vampire, near" and I spun my hair in their direction. And I clung on to the hope that the evening would last beyond this evanescent moment; this pure, perfect drop of feeling.

**

I met a lady in the meads/Full beautiful - a faery's child/Her hair was long, her foot was light/And her eyes were wild

She really was a picture; flowing golden locks spinning round her head, arcing higher and higher, as her body got hotter and hotter. If I were Californian, I'd picked up enough of the vernacular to know that I'd call her bitchin' but the Victorian poet nipped at my heels. She, instead, was illumination incarnate. Chances are the bint probably knew she was a picture and was parading the fact. And to think that she was actually dancing for me, rather than prancing about for some bloody pasta munchin' fool, well that got things stirring around my body.

I glanced at Angel, a quick one hoping to skim under the surface of Angel's own Buffy-intense radar, and Angel seemed more relaxed about life; until he caught my expression and tensed. Gauntlets at the ready, let the battle commence.

"Why don't you get us a drink Spike?" called Angel, as he stepped toward the floor.

But Buffy had already moved toward us, arms raised about her head, swaying her hips and flaunting her hair. "Which one of you wants to dance?" she cooed, but giggling a bit. It wasn't difficult to pick up the supersonic rate of her heartbeat either, like the nerves or excitement were going to explode right on out of her. Sniffing the air, I also caught that other vibe. Well, what could you expect with two good-looking vampires at the ready?

And, bloody hell, was that Jack I could smell too?

I elbowed Angel in the chest, and smirked. "Don't mind if I do. Been savin' my card for just the right girl. Besides, you know the old goat hates to dance, pet." And in that moment I didn't know if it was all about wanting to please her and touch her and caress her, or just all about the need to persuade Angel he should be fighting for something.

She led me onto the floor and immediately started doing a very good rendition of the bump and grind with my crotch. I didn't think I'd be able to keep up the indifference much longer.

"You been on the piss, luv?" I said, leaning the words into her ear.

"What? Ewwwww!" she said screwing up her nose and pulling an exasperated face. Hmmmm. Cute. "I mean, oh! That's one of those English things isn't it? Nooooo. This is deadly serious. Awww, c'mon Spike. Dance with me," she continued and fluttered her eyelids toward me. "You know you wanna."

Christ, was this a dream coming true? Only every time she giggled and wiggled I wondered if this was real or just her giving over to exhibition. In the cold, harsh, light of day things would be different, just like they always were.

And, as she twirled her body around mine, I could feel Angel prowling around the edges, looking at us, knowing one of us had taken what was his.

"Where's Dawn?" I asked, as she revolved eagerly on the heels of her godawful pointy shoes, the music getting louder and louder.

"There," waved Buffy in the direction of the rest of the dance floor. Bloody brilliant, Buffy; thanks for highlighting the fact that there were so many Happy Meals on legs, their blood pounding at my senses. I made out Dawn's sinuous form, surrounded by a group of other gangly young ones. I raised my hand to wave, but she only smiled and turned her back.

There was a time when she'd have come running to my arms, but maturity changed a person didn't it? Buffy had seen far too many maturing events in her short, compact life; it was a wonder she hadn't completely broken down, that she still clung on every day. I hoped in some small way I'd taught her some of that fighting instinct. Life was for simple pleasures: cigarettes, alcohol, pretty women, a bit of culture, some tunes and a lot of bloody good fucking.

And speaking of, Angel appeared at her shoulder. "Are you alright Buffy?"

"Is it your turn now, Angel?" she said, smiling far too sweetly at him, but then ruining the effect by spinning once too often on her heels and crashing into him. She patted his body. "I remember this chest. It's nice and big. Perfect for laying your head on and having a little snooze."

Angel kept her in his arms, of course, but looked at me. "Is she drunk?"

"'Fraid so."

"Great," he muttered, "well we can't exactly leave her here, can we?"

"She's a Slayer, can take care of herself." And I flipped a cigarette into my mouth, lit it and grabbed the folds of my coat around me.

"You ever seen her drunk?"

"Once or twice."

"She take care of herself then?"

"Ah. I see. P'rhaps we should take her back to the hotel, then. I'll go explain to Dawn and her minions about the state of affairs."

TBC

A/N: The poem that opens Spike's part is John Keats' "La Belle Dame Sans Merci"