His Childe

Chapter 11 - Remembering

The next morning, following her brand new plan to become the kind of sister she had wanted to be for Dawn ever since their mother had died, Buffy managed to get up early to make pancakes for breakfast. Dawn, as well as Giles and Willow, appeared pleasantly surprised, and praised her cooking, which was an all times first. She tasted one of her creations, and indeed it wasn’t too bad for something she had cooked by herself.

After they left, Giles for the Magic Box and the girls to school, she gave in to her instincts and crawled back into bed. She made sure however to set her alarm in order to be up for Dawn’s return. They spent the end of the afternoon together, playing board games and chatting girly talk, catching up for the months of depressed-I-don’t-want-to-talk-Buffy that had been followed by sick-I-can’t-talk-Buffy.

Night finally came, and with it, Angel. As the evening before, they went out for to patrol – and to make out like teenagers. She didn’t ask again, though, and he didn’t propose.

She was a bit uncomfortable at the idea of crossing path with Spike. Why he had been in that cemetery the previous night, she had no idea. It wasn’t * his * cemetery, so what was he doing there? And why was she worrying about that when Angel’s mouth was devouring hers?

They were returning to her home, a couple of hours before sunrise, hand in hand, when she asked the question that had been bothering her for a couple of days.

“Angel… What is it like to be a Childe?”

He looked at her, his face filled with confusion.

“Why do you ask?”

She shrugged and feigned indifference. “You were Darla’s Childe, right ? Just wondering.”

His face softened for just a second, so quickly that she thought she had imagined it. He took a few steps in silence, then started talking, his voice at times almost reverent.

“Being a Childe is a wondrous thing, Buffy. It’s feeling loved, feeling like you belong, and that you have a purpose... Don’t get me wrong, Darla was a bitch. But every now and then, there were these moments, these looks, these touches, that made the whole world cease to exist. There was just us, and…”

He seemed to suddenly remember who he was talking to. “And I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he finished, remorsefully.

“Why not?”

“First, it’s really a bad idea to tell the woman I love about another woman. Second, it’s wrong to describe to you something you’ll never have.”

She frowned at that remark. Why did he think… Well, of course. He didn’t know. She hadn’t told him, or anyone. It didn’t seem to matter to Spike, so why should it matter to her?

“What is it like to have a Childe?” she asked quietly.

“Buffy, don’t…”

“Please,” she interrupted. “I’m a vamp now. And even if I’m never going to turn anyone, I just want to know.”

For a moment, he seemed to ponder her words, then acquiesced. “To have a Childe… It’s almost like to be in love. Almost. Or maybe like an addiction…”

His voice faded, as if he was getting lost in memories. She brought him back to the present by asking : “Why would you want to be addicted to someone?”

“Because I knew I could ask anything from them. Anything at all. It’s an immense feeling of power. And the pleasure…”

Again, he stopped abruptly and looked at her almost shyly. “I really don’t think I should be telling you this.”

Troubled by his words, she nodded and didn’t try to probe any further. Was it what it was like for Spike? Probably not. He hadn’t asked anything from her. He hadn’t shown much concern at all after the turning. Except maybe when he let her feed from him.

After a while, a thought struck Buffy. “Who are ‘they’? I thought Dru was your only Childe.”

He squeezed her hand briefly, his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“She wasn’t the only one. Only one still around, though. With Spike.”

She frowned, almost forgetting to keep walking.

“But he told me once that Drusilla turned him.”

“She drained him. But it’s my blood he drank.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t find anything else to say, puzzled by all that she had just learned. Angel, however, continued in a quiet voice. “It was the hardest thing I ever did, leaving them. Leaving Darla was hard enough, but leaving my own Childer… Even with the soul, I still loved them. They were still mine. But they were still killers, which I was not any more.”

“You loved them?” Buffy repeated softly.

He stopped walking and slid his arms around her waist, his gaze meeting hers.

“Not like I love you. I have never and will never love anyone else as much as I love you.”

He leaned in to kiss her, and her thoughts were swept away by a twirl of sensations.

“Sleep with me tonight?” she asked when he pulled away.

For an instant, she was almost sure her heart was pounding in her chest as she waited for his answer.

“What about… waiting?” he replied gently.

“Just sleep. Just hold me.”

She initiated another kiss, sweet and slow. After a few seconds, they were back to walking toward Revello Drive, hands clasped together.

Through the window of her bedroom, Spike could see shadows. The small one, he had often watched in the past from his observation point under the tree. The other one… he didn’t want to think about.

He had been following the couple for about an hour. He had stumbled upon them by chance. Truly, he wasn’t out to look for them. Her, maybe, but certainly not him.

Engrossed in each other, they hadn’t even noticed they were being stalked. If he had wanted, he could have dusted them both easily. That angered him. She had to be more careful.

He had been able to hear all of their little conversation about Childer. It had been a double shock for him. The poof didn’t know that Buffy was his Childe, and she hadn’t corrected him. That hurt a lot, for reasons he didn’t even want to reflect on. But then, the second shock had been even more unpleasant. Angel and his Childer. Angel who, even ensouled, had loved his Childer. It had been easy to hate the poof for abandoning them. It might be harder now that Spike knew just how painful it must have been.

It’s only when the imminence of sunrise became unbearable that the vampire stopped staring at the curtains behind which lay, together, his Childe and Sire.

Cool chest pressed against her back. Definite hardness too. Cool fingers sliding under her top. Against her skin. Along her side. Across her stomach. Up the valley between her breast. Quiet moan. His or hers? The fingers hesitated slightly, then circled first one globe then the other, barely touching.

Buffy’s still sleepy brain told her she had to stop him, quickly, before it got too far. If they started again they wouldn’t stop until one of them passed out. As usual.

“Stop,” she mumbled, a bit surprised when he complied. Since when did he listen to her?

“Sorry,” he whispered. Now, that was new. An apology? She was the one who usually made excuses at this point.

“I gotta go.”

Sitting, she forced her legs out of the bed, her eyes still closed.

“Where are you going?”

“You know I have to go home.”

In just a minute, she would. Just as soon as her eyes consented to open. Unless he asked very nicely. If he asked, maybe she would stay. Just this time. Just for a…

“Buffy, you are home.”

Her eyelids shot open, and she looked around her, blinking in confusion. She was in her room. Not the crypt. It was Angel in the bed. Not him.

“I’m not sleepy any more,” she lied. “I’ll go see what Dawn is up to.”

Before going down though, she took a shower. A cold shower. It didn’t make much difference, but it was an habit she had developed in the last few months. Spike dreams equaled cold shower.

For years, she had dreamt of being in Angel’s arms again. And now that she was, she dreamt of another. Admittedly, Spike had given her more to remember than Angel ever had a chance to. But still… Cold shower. Bad Buffy.