l'androise blanc

Chapter Two: The Seeker

"Xander?" Buffy called through the dim light of the tunnel. "Spike?"

"Over here, Buff," came Xander's voice in response. "Just keep heading forward, you'll find us."

The ground was a treacherous obstacle course of dirt, gravel, and shallow puddles of ancient, foul-smelling water, and somewhere Buffy thought she heard a rat squeak. She hurried faster to catch up to the men, relieved when she finally spotted their faint silhouettes. She stopped and caught her breath.

"You're coming with us, then?" Spike asked. He was backlit by an unseen light, face in shadow, just an intriguingly mysterious form, hair cutting through the gloom like a lighthouse beacon to which Buffy's proverbial ship was inexplicably drawn.

"I guess, for now," she answered softly. "Everybody else took off."

"This way," Xander said, continuing the trek. He walked ahead of them. "Just a little further."

Buffy stumbled slightly over a crumbling piece of rusted pipe-work, and Spike caught her easily around the waist, pulling her back to her feet. "Careful there, little one," he said. "You all right?"

His strong arms were still around her, and Buffy felt a flash of warmth blossom through her abdomen. "I'm fine," she assured him.

"Here, hang on to me." He held out his arm to her, and she threaded hers through it.

His suit smelled like mothballs, but there was a hint of musky cologne and tobacco hanging on him, too, she noticed. This probably isn't wise, she thought. He's the walking dead, a bloodsucking fiend, and I'm a vampire slayer… what the hell am I doing noticing how he good he smells?

Then again, what did it really matter? Having amnesia, even when you were informed who you were and what was going on, was a little bit like being drunk, she reasoned. Maybe, just for now, it didn't matter who they were or what was happening.

She tightened her grip on Spike's arm.

***

"Here ya go," Xander announced at last, "your swingin' bachelor pad." He reached up to the ceiling, pulled down a folding ladder, and climbed up to a trap door. Xander pushed at it for a moment, finally managing to pop it up and open.

A blaze of golden light spilled down into the tunnel, and Xander disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

Spike turned to Buffy. "After you," he said.

She released his arm and climbed the ladder. Spike started immediately after her, quite enjoying the view. How can I wrangle it so this poncy bugger leaves us alone for a while?, he wondered.

The crypt was actually fairly un-crypt-like, at least as far as Buffy had imagined it. Yes, there was a coffin, a large, polished mahogany piece with an unlit candelabra resting on the closed lid, but there was also a huge bed decked out in pearly white linens with ornate brass head and footboards.

"This is your downstairs," Xander explained. He jabbed a thumb behind him. "Upstairs you got your TV and fridge, where you usually keep some bagged blood handy, and the front door, which goes out to the cemetery. And don't even ask where your bathroom is, I have no idea."

Spike nodded, taking in the surroundings. A huge Oriental rug covered the stone floor, and an antique wardrobe stood open in the corner to reveal a spare number of black shirts and pants neatly lined on hangers. A long leather duster was slung over a hook mounted in the wall.

He looked down at the brown suit he wore, which seemed decidedly out of place amongst the rest of his clothing. "So, what the hell was I doing in this nancy-boy get-up, anyway?" he wondered aloud.

"Beats me," Xander replied with a laugh, "but seeing you look like such a dork for once? Well, that present's gonna last me all the way to next Christmas."

Spike smirked at him. "I'm taking it we don't get on very well."

"Aw, what gave you that idea?" Xander asked sarcastically. "And here I thought we were best buds. I am truly crushed."

Buffy wandered around the room, trying not to steal glances at the bed and think how soft and inviting it looked. She watched the flames in the candle sconces dance across the walls, allowing herself to drown for a moment in their hypnotic glow.

"So you all right?" Xander asked Spike. "I should probably go home to Anya. Somebody'll get back to you tomorrow, let you know what's up with the spell and everything."

"Be fine, thanks, really," Spike assured him.

"Okay. Come on, Buffy, I'll run you home now," Xander said.

Buffy kept her back to him. "Um, Xander… I'm really tired," she said. "I was thinking maybe Spike would just let me hang out here for a while. I can find my way back to the shop later."

Xander frowned. "What? But, Buffy, Dawn's gonna be worried about you, and --"
She spun around slowly, but kept her eyes on the floor. "I don't really feel much like… seeing anybody else just now," she said, her voice breaking a little. She was suddenly exhausted, and despite any other more prurient motives she had for staying, Buffy honestly wasn't up to the task of dealing with people just then. She was a nicely blank little slate, and she didn't want to start getting written upon with more harrowing information, not tonight, anyway.

Spike studied her carefully. He could tell how she felt. The whole evening had been patently bizarre, and no one else could fully appreciate what the two of them were going through. A few hours ago, he'd thought he was a normal bloke called Randy Giles with a bookish father and a spunky friend who, for some strange reason, could fend off the denizens of hell without breaking a nail. Now he was Spike, a vampire with a computerized leash under his scalp, with no clear idea of much of anything else, except that Buffy was getting close to tears, and no matter what else, that certainly would not do.

Spike strode to Xander. "She's upset," he whispered to him. "Let her stick 'round here, I think you can't quite get how bloody strange it is for us right now. She and I… we kind of need each other."

Xander glared at him, considering this carefully. "If you hurt her," he finally said through gritted teeth, "if you touch her, I swear to God I'll kill you. You got it?"

Spike nodded. "Wouldn't dream of harming one hair on her head," he assured Xander. Spike's voice was quiet and sincere, but Xander still felt a more than a little wary.

"I'll call Dawn and tell her where you are," Xander said to Buffy.

"Thank you," she replied.

He gave Spike one last look of warning, then left the room, shaking his head as he walked upstairs to the front door. This isn't good, he thought bitterly. This isn't good at all.

***

Buffy looked nervously at Spike. "Thanks," she said softly. "I just…" She stopped, heaved a sigh, and leaned against the coffin.

He approached her slowly. "I know," he said. "It's insane, the whole lot of it."

"It's too much, you know? I don't want to try to think or try to register the stuff they're telling us. What if it isn't true? What if this is all some crazy dream? I mean, vampires and demons and everything?" She let out a small laugh. "It's nuts!"

"We could both do with a bit of shut eye, luv," he murmured, "been one helluva night." He reached over and stroked her hair gently.

She turned to face him. Her green eyes shimmered with a hint of tears around the edges. "And you," she said. "You're not even human. That's got to be pretty damn freaky."

He frowned. "Not gonna give it too much thought at the moment," he told her. "'Fraid I'll go off my nut a bit, and that wouldn't be a pretty sight." He grinned, pushing away unpleasant matters. "Unlike this dashing ensemble," he said, straightening his lapels proudly. "Now, this is a pretty sight. Bet I cut quite the figure. You'll have to be the judge, 'cause I suspect I'm the sort who doesn't have much luck with mirrors."

Buffy giggled.

"Ah, there we go, that's much better," he said with a smile.

He was standing very close to her now, and Buffy's eyes darted across the angular planes of his face, taking in his sharply chiseled cheekbones and the tender flesh of his lips. She reached out a trembling hand, and in one languid motion, his bow tie was undone.

"I don't want to be me tonight," she whispered, "I don't want to think anymore." Before Spike could protest, she pulled him to her, and their lips met in a blinding, passionate crush.

***

Dawn hung up the phone. What was Xander's problem?, she thought. So Buffy wanted to hang out with Spike tonight, big deal. Xander didn't need to freak out and act like that meant something sinister. It had been a weird night for everybody, but those two were the ones left out in the cold, so why shouldn't they want to talk alone without everybody bugging them?

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was almost 4 a.m. She had school in only a few hours, so sleep was probably a necessary evil.

She lay her head down on her pillow, and before she got to the tenth fluffy white sheep jumping over the little fence in her imagination, she was asleep.

Across the hall, a sickly pea green glow oozed out from under the door of Willow's bedroom. It grew brighter as it spread out along the walls of the hallway, down the stairs, and out into a laser-thin beam through the keyhole of the front door.

It found its targets with ease and speed, and when its work was done, it tightened itself into a tiny sphere of lightening and split apart into a spray of gold flames like a fizzled-out firework. This feisty sparkler, however, packed a little more punch than a black-market Fourth of July backyard lightshow ever could.

In Willow's drawer, the dark crystal exploded with a crack and a pow, gunshot-loud, but neither Willow nor Dawn stirred from sleep. The totem dissolved, leaving only a smudge of ash and a scorch mark on a pair of rolled-up argyle socks in its wake.