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Title: Roundabout Author: Devil Piglet Rating: R Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: This is set post-‘Hell’s Bells’, and while it overlaps some themes of ‘Normal Again’, for my purposes, that events in that episode haven’t occurred. Feedback: This installment brought to you by Diet Pepsi and toasted pieces of white bread dipped in ranch dressing. I’d appreciate reviews: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 12: Released Buffy climbed out of the steamy embrace of the tub. She’d scrubbed herself raw for twenty minutes, then soaked until the water turned lukewarm. Pulling on a hotel bathrobe, she wondered if she’d ever feel clean again. She breathed deeply and pushed open the sliding door to the bedroom. “Here. Put these on.” Dawn tossed her sister a pile of folded clothes. Buffy caught them without thinking, then looked down. “Are these yours?” Dawn snorted. “Right. You went crazy, Buffy. You didn’t get taller. Know what? If I were Choosing a Slayer, I’d pick one who could reach the top of the refrigerator without standing on a chair.” Sprawled on the huge bed, she kicked her own long legs proudly. “How tall do you think I’ll be before I stop growing?” Her face darkened. “Do you know what Spike told me? He said that maybe I’ll never stop growing, that I’ll be like the fifty-foot woman or something. He said that the monks probably forgot to magic that in, ‘cause they were expecting me to be all temporary.” She scowled, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of worry. “He’s just being stupid, isn’t he?” “Guys like to say stuff like that,” Buffy answered, and heard her own matter-of-fact, soothing tone as if it came from afar. “He may be undead, but Spike’s still a guy.” Mmm-hmm! BadBrain agreed wholeheartedly. Buffy hugged the clothes to her chest and shook her head. Dawn eyed her, and Buffy made a show of inspecting the garments. “You didn’t let Spike pick these out, did you?” “Nah. We stopped at a strip mall in Kingman. Arizona,” she added. “He went to the bookstore while I was at Ross.” “Oh.” It was rapidly becoming Buffy’s response of choice. She went into the bathroom and quickly changed into the undergarments, blue jeans and peasant blouse. No new shoes, so she was stuck with the backless heels she’d been wearing…earlier. “Can we go now?” Dawn called from the bedroom. Buffy wasn’t sure if she should be eating at a revolving restaurant just yet – she wondered if there was some sort of guideline about this sort of thing. Do not swim within one hour of eating. Remain on stationary surface for twenty-four hours after reclamation of body from evil morality-erasing spell. But Dawn hadn’t eaten yet, and Buffy knew from experience that a hungry Dawn was a screechy, irritable Dawn. When she emerged from the bathroom, she found the younger Summers counting the bills Spike had left with Buffy. “Look what you found,” Buffy said drily. Dawn grinned but didn’t look up. “If I have to eat any more fast food, I’m going to kill Ronald McDonald, Wendy, and Jack in the Box.” She bit her lip. “Should we wait for Spike? He’s been gone, like, three hours. How long does it take to make a phone call, anyway? And why couldn’t he call from here?” Because he knew I’d hate hearing all this described to Giles. “He had to pay Clem’s cousins, too,” Buffy reminded her. “They probably went to get something to eat themselves.” The meal was quiet and uneventful. Buffy ordered a hamburger, and then worried about her sudden craving for red meat. Did it have some sort of sinister meaning? Should she now be afraid of her inner carnivore? When the waiter brought her diet soda, she asked him for two aspirin. Dawn seemed fine – too fine, and Buffy worried about that as well. She appeared to have no lingering issues over the fact that her sister had recently attempted to carve her like a Thanksgiving turkey. Buffy searched Dawn’s gaze for disgust, or fear, or hatred, but there was none. Had a month on the road with Spike completely reset Dawn’s moral compass? Well, if she starts knocking over liquor stores I guess I’ll know. Which was a lie. Buffy knew already; knew that her sister was a good, kind person who – in this case, at least – found forgiveness effortless. Of course, the next time Buffy grounded her there’d be hair-flipping and door-slamming. The waiter returned and Buffy downed the aspirin. “Look!” Dawn gestured excitedly. She had acquired a disposable camera at some point during her journey, and was now squinting as she maneuvered it. “I can see the Hollywood sign.” Hollywood…Hollywood…Hyperion. “Dawn,” Buffy called, but it came out a croak. “Hmm?” Dawn took one last photo, then skipped back to the table. “Did I – Angel –" Buffy didn’t know how to ask it. Dawn’s smile faded. “Yeah. Um, do you remember…?” Angel’s expression of shock and horror; Cordelia running, clutching something to her breast; two strangers flanking her as if they could somehow prevent the bloodshed… “Are they…” Buffy swallowed. “How bad was it?” “They got away,” Dawn answered, and Buffy closed her eyes in silent relief. “You took a bite out of Angel, though.” “Oh, God. What did I do?” Dawn frowned. “You took. A bite. Out of Angel.” “Literally?” “That’s what Giles said. You told Angel it was payback.” “But everyone else is fine?” Dawn shifted uncomfortably. “They booked it out of town real fast, I guess. They’ve got, um…a lot of stuff going on there.” “And everyone in Sunnydale?” “Last I heard, they were in the hospital. Giles…I think he’s kept in touch, but he hasn’t said much.” Buffy was troubled by that. Should she have spoken to Giles herself? Was there any chance that the waiter had Valium? Get over yourself, Buffy, she thought. You’re going to face this – all of this – with your eyes open. Apparently, she’d been successful in blocking out parts of her rampage so far. Buffy knew that when they arrived in Sunnydale, it would all come back. Every swoop of the blade, each scream of a familiar voice. Their food arrived. As the plate was slid in front of her, Buffy found she wasn’t hungry after all. When they returned to the room, Spike was there. Buffy sensed him before she saw him, and then he stepped out of the bedroom. He’d been cramming clothes and God knew what else into a battered duffel bag. He’d showered; beads of water clung to his skin and his feet were bare. Dawn bounced up to him. “Dawdle much? Can we still get Krispy Kreme before we leave? You promised…” He scratched the back of his head. “Did you eat lunch?” “Yes!” “Good.” He thrust the duffel at her. “Pack your stuff, monkey. We’ll get Krispy Kreme on the way out.” Dawn trotted off, and Spike and Buffy were left alone. “You were gone a long time,” she said lamely. “Had to hunt down Josh.” “Josh?” “Clem’s cousin.” “Oh. Right.” There were so many things she wanted to say to him and she didn’t even know where to start. Thanks for saving me? Thanks for protecting my kid sister? Sorry about the way I beat your face in the last time you did me a favor? She remained silent. Everything in this hotel room seemed strange and sterile, Spike included. He might be sharing space with her, but his body was tense and his face deliberately distant. He was so wary of her, this Spike who once thought nothing of invading her personal space and her home and her heart. Now he was miles away. Was he afraid she’d go off again? Valid, but she couldn’t think of a good way to convince him – or anyone else – that she was really and truly herself again. She suspected that wasn’t it, anyway. She'd kicked his ass plenty over the years, but Spike could take care of himself. And Dawn, as he’d proven. No, there was something else. He was battening down the emotional hatches, and for Spike that was a painful task indeed. He’d always been so open to her, his devotion laid bare for her to examine and explore and ultimately reject. No more. Why? He was giving up on her. The conviction rose up in her like a panic, even as Spike’s face remained impassive. Her lips parted, and she was ready to plead with him, for him. “All done.” Buffy gasped. The voice was Dawn’s; her sister stood in the doorway of the bedroom, foot tapping impatiently. “Let’s go! I’m ready!” “Slayer?” They were waiting. Buffy smiled weakly. “Home, sweet home.” *************************************** Could she tell? She’d looked at him, just now, like…like she’d suddenly seen her bleakest future. Did she think he’d hurt her now? Would he? She couldn’t be sure, anyway. No way to tell on the outside. Spike had expected to spend the afternoon in bleeding agony – really bleeding. But there’d been no scalpel and gauze and squishy sounds of a brain being probed that had turned even his stomach, that last time. Nope, just a room full of computers and the occasional person, engrossed in their electronic endeavors. He and Kehoe stood behind a young woman while she typed efficiently, bringing intricate circuitry up on the screen in front of her. The final clack of the keyboard, a whoosh in his head and then -– Release. Part 13: Mercy Street| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |