Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Through a circle that ever returneth in   

   To the self-same spot,

And much of Madness, and more of Sin,   

   And Horror the soul of the plot.

Edgar Allan Poe, "The Conqueror Worm"

Are you ever awake, if you live only during the hours of dreams?

Spike shifted on the bed. He felt trapped and yet barely tethered, a bloated corpse drifting in that languorous state that came of being gorged on violence. Maybe everything in the body can be at a wrong angle like the walls in a house.

There have been times where Spike didn’t see another creature other than Drusilla for weeks on end. When you create something, that thing is supposed to grow up and away from you. All the relations in their family fold back in on themselves. The ties that bind are vines growing over him, holding him in place. Eventually, the root festers. It makes the whole family turn on itself, growing twisted.

In their family, if you create something, it’s yours, and you have power over it, so you have to control it. Darla, Angelus, Drusilla and Spike don’t have the same genetics, but they have the same blood. They’ve been made wrong, only acceptable to each other. Only palatable to each other. Because of this, they multiply connections among themselves, familial and sexual. They feed off of each other emotionally like they feed off of humans physically. Sometimes, one or the other feels drained, but that lets the other feel full.

Now, they are just sitting on piles of corpses. There can be no true reproduction amongst their family, giving it a future, giving it room to breathe (and why should it? they don’t need to breathe). They don’t create a new life, but mangle one that already exists. Spike and Drusilla together kill more people than they would have apart. It’s the simple math of adding two destructive forces together.

There are knots inside a person. Intestines, motivations, regrets. One can get lost trying to trace the patterns, can lose themselves trying to change them. It limited your options, being a vampire. Couldn’t go out in the sun. Had to drink blood. No sense trying to change the basic facts of one’s life. 

He used to prize his soft underbelly: it gave him sensitivity. Where did that get him? Nowhere artistically. It didn’t help him find love. It’s unthinkable now to have that kind of weakness. He has sharpened every last edge of himself, until the spectacle of violence had been repeated so often that it became monotonous. If Spike sometimes wanted a quiet night in with his Princess, well, that was just an echo of his weak past self. Lately, though, Spike's been feeling like he has dry rot. One day, someone's foot will go right through the floorboards. 

How do you save yourself when you’re in a haunted house, but you’re the thing haunting it?

Chapter Text

Buffy hustled up the stairs to Giles’ office, slowing every time she passed someone going down. It had only taken one incident (if pressed, she would admit to it being three incidents) to realize that the publishing employees would not see her coming with their noses so buried in manuscripts and dust jacket mock-ups and quarterly figures and that she must take the responsibility for avoiding collisions. 

She had reached the top floor and was almost to the private office and its collection of monsterology texts when an unfamiliar man almost collided with her. 

It was a youngish man, blinking owlishly down at her through spectacles and clutching a sheaf of papers. “Good morning, miss. Forgive the interruption. I have an appointment with Mr. Rupert Giles.”

He was one of the aspiring writers who hoped, usually in vain, to be published by Giles’ imprint. And he was so flustered. Buffy just had to mess with him. “Goodness. With the great man himself.”

He blanched, then recovered well when he saw her grin. “I'm afraid so.”

Buffy read the man’s card when he offered it. “‘Sir William Pratt, Baronet.’ He'll be here shortly.” Giles had probably already heard Buffy’s approach from inside his office. Mrs. Chase loved to remind her that she stomped.

“Thank you.”

Buffy leaned against the secretary’s desk, looking at Sir William Pratt, Baronet chewing his lip. She couldn’t help teasing him more. Maybe it was his accent, similar enough to Giles’, that made her want to prod at him as she did her guardian. “You're not late, are you? He hates that.”

“Uh, not at all. In fact, I'm a little early.”

It wouldn’t be so easy. “Oh, I'm afraid he hates that, too.” Sir William looked exasperated, then a bit impressed.

~

Giles emerged soon after. “Sir William Pratt. Welcome to our fair city.”

Sir William juggled his papers before offering his hand to shake. “Sir. It's my pleasure.”

“I see you've already met my ward, Buffy.” 

Sir William’s eyebrows shot up, and Buffy shrugged from behind Giles’ back. The game of letting him think she was a secretary was over, but that was fine. The two men moved into Giles’ office. Buffy, still without her book, but caring more to eavesdrop than to study swamp demons (where were there swamps in Southern California, anyway?), leaned into the crack of the almost-closed door. 

It did not go well for the younger Englishman. Giles tore apart each piece that had been submitted.

“And this, this unfinished piece. I can think of five words that rhyme with gleaming, just off the top of my head. I’m sorry, it’s a definite no.”

Sir William tried to defend his works, but it was of no use.

It went on, to the point where Buffy actually felt bad for being hard on him earlier. Her guardian could be overly critical, as she well knew, whether he found fault with a writer’s use of em dashes or with how she chose to spend her time when not actively slaying. This man had poured his life into his poems. Shouldn’t that count for something?

~

“I do wish you'd change your mind and come along tonight. Mrs. Chase has gone to a lot of trouble. You can’t say you want a life outside of slaying and then refuse to have one.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I want more of a life than an evening at the Chase’s.”

“Little Lord Fauntleroy will be there.”

“You mean William Pratt?” Buffy didn’t think he was that ridiculous. 

“Sir William Pratt, Baronet,” Giles corrected mockingly. “Apparently, he's taken an interest in young Cordelia.” Giles turned to Buffy, looking fully at her. “I saw you spying on us.”

“Was his poetry so terrible as to merit such a harsh answer from you?”

“It wasn't his poetry, Buffy. It was him. There's something about him that I don't like. What, I don't know. And I don't like not knowing.” Giles frowned, lips pursed as he thought.

“Well, I don’t think your usual research methods will help you here. He’s not going to be in a list of demons active in the fourteenth century.” Buffy found herself wanting to defend the poor poet. “What I saw was a dreamer facing defeat. Did you see his suit? It was beautifully tailored, but at least a decade old.”

“I can see that you observed far more than I did.” Giles gave her a knowing look again. He was able to discern her feelings much more easily than either of her parents had been. “He wants to be a poet, but he doesn’t have the soul of a poet.”

“That’s pretty rich, coming from someone with the soul of a Watcher and a publisher.”

“Trust me that I have enough experience to know these things.”

“I trust you to understand monsters, not people. Besides, isn’t it enough to love poetry? To want to be poetic?” 

“Not to the shareholders, no.”

Buffy gave Giles’ collar a final adjustment and dropped the subject. He left, and she retired upstairs. 

~

Buffy was in her room when she heard the bell. Surely Giles hadn’t tired of the company at the Chases’ so quickly? If nothing else, the food was good. But no, the maid told her that it was Sir William Pratt, Baronet, at the door, and that he would not be discouraged from speaking with someone. 

Buffy met him in the entryway. Sir William’s hair was plastered to his head by the rain, making his sharp features stand out in the lamplight.

“Giles isn’t home,” Buffy told him. Maybe he was so desperate to become a real poet that he had come here with an appeal?

“Oh, I know. I waited in the rain for him to leave,” William replied. 

“Oh,” Buffy said, a bit taken aback.

“I know he's going to the reception at the Chase house, which is my destination, too.”

Did he want advice from Buffy before going to Giles again? Just because she’d been adopted by a publisher, didn’t mean she knew the trade. “But that's in a completely different neighborhood, sir. You're very, very lost.”

“That I am. And I desperately need your help.” Buffy’s help? Unless there was something to kill, she couldn’t offer much. She’d tried to change Giles’ mind, and she’d failed.

“My help with what?” She peered behind him. She doubted there was a demon infestation in the carriage waiting at the curb.

“Miss Summers, the language, for one thing. As you can plainly see, I do not speak a word of American.” His joke was feeble, but it told her that he had come here for her. For Buffy, not for the Slayer or for his career. It made her want to hear what he had to say. “Tell me, why would you want to stay here? All alone,” he asked.

Suddenly, Buffy didn’t. She ran back upstairs to change, then allowed William to give her a hand into his carriage, and away they went.

~

When they arrived in the Chases’ ballroom, William brought Buffy over to a corner of the room, where a woman in a deep red gown stood by the piano. 

William introduced them, “Buffy, this is Lady Drusilla Pratt. My sister.”

“I'm delighted to meet you, Miss Summers. You've managed to delay my brother quite a bit.” Her words were friendly, in a teasing way, but Drusilla’s manner unsettled Buffy. She wasn’t much with the blinking.

Buffy smiled awkwardly as the siblings kissed, Drusilla whispering something in William’s ear. 

Mrs. Chase drew the attention of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, please make some space. The baronet would like to demonstrate for us the waltz. European style.”

William nodded politely and faced the group. “The waltz. Not a complicated dance, really. The lady takes her place slightly to the left of the leading gentleman. Six basic steps, and that's all.” William was different here than when they had met at the publishing house, or when he had appeared at Buffy’s door. He was confident, speaking as if he was an actor reciting lines on a stage, and this wasn’t the first performance. “However, it is said that the true test of the perfect waltz is for it to be so swift, so delicate, and so smooth that a candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer. Now, that requires the perfect partner. Would you be mine?”

William stopped directly in front of Buffy after finishing his speech, holding out his hand. She didn’t even have to look over at Mrs. Chase to know she must be reacting with disbelief and affront. No one had ever called Buffy the perfect partner, the perfect anything. She wasn’t even a perfect Slayer, and she had been Chosen for that. Buffy groaned internally and was about to refuse the dance when she hesitated.

There were three reasons to say yes instead. Firstly, to prove to Mrs. Chase that she could be a desirable member of society. Secondly, because she had already come all this way in the rain. And thirdly, because it was William who asked. 

Buffy took his hand.

~

“Why are we doing this?” She asked him once he’d pulled her close. 

William didn’t answer the question. Instead, he replied, “I've always closed my eyes to things that made me uncomfortable. It makes everything easier.” 

“I don't want to close my eyes. I want to keep them open,” Buffy argued. Her discomfort wasn’t the issue. She wanted to know his intentions.

~

As they danced, Buffy felt light in a way she hadn’t since she’d become the Slayer, but as in control as she had dusting any vampire. She and William moved towards one goal six steps at a time.

Just when Buffy was feeling swoony, a crash broke the rhythm of the song Drusilla was playing.

A demon, one of the really ugly ones that probably had a name Buffy wouldn’t be sure if Giles was making up to test her or not, ran across the room and grabbed Cordelia, who duly shrieked.

There was nothing to be done. Secrecy and propriety were well and good, but they wouldn’t save Cordelia’s life. Buffy pulled her skirts out of her way the best she could and kicked out at the demon, knocking him off Cordelia and towards the center of the room, still cleared for the waltz.

At first, Buffy had moved between William and the demon, kicking it and using her free hand while she kept the man behind her, but William proved useful in the fight, moving forward and landing a solid punch right at the base of one of the demon’s horns. The struggle continued, with William working in concert with Buffy such that she felt as if they were still dancing. She moved in, and again, and then William struck. Repeat.

Buffy wasn’t sure who initiated the movement, but their clasped hands moved towards the demon, and it burst into flames. 

After the demon was no more than a stain on the parquet of the ballroom, Buffy realized that her left hand was warm. She looked over and found that she still held William’s hand, the candle ever burning in their grip.

Chapter Text

It was a game. A droll little game that he and Dru were playing. They didn’t need to work so hard for a meal, or for money, really, but Drusilla craved the extravagance of a scheme, and Spike craved the chance to put on a good show for his girl. She’d been down, lately, and she missed her sire, even though she’d killed him. So, they’d traded bloodbaths for marriage plots. Spike could deal with that. For a time. 

He didn’t much fancy re-entering society, but he could go through the motions of courtship and marriage. That mortal rot didn’t mean anything to him anymore. What he had with Dru was better than human conjugal bliss could ever be. 

He didn’t even have to do much once he got them back to the manor. He didn’t have the patience for psychological torture, so he holed himself up, pretending to write. Dru was no Angelus, either, but, between spousal neglect and prophecy talk, the brides usually cracked pretty quickly. After that, it was just a matter of draining them and then their bank accounts.

Spike picked up one of Dru’s dolls. He’d memorized their names like he’d memorized those of the great writers.

“Why Sunnydale?” Edith’s painted-on eyes did not even blink at the question. Spike wanted to clench his fist in frustration, but it wouldn’t do to crinkle the fabric of the doll’s dress. He flopped down on the bed instead, clutching the toy to his chest.

The game felt different this time. Confusing. His reasons for playing now seemed insufficient. Why’d they stop killing whole villages and dancing ‘round the bodies? Surely he could cheer Dru up in some less complicated way, and they could stop this.

He didn’t feel as in control as he should when he looked at Buffy. She seemed to steer their interactions as much as he did. He should shift his efforts back to Cordelia Chase, capitalize on saving her at the ball, but he hesitated.

~

When he and Drusilla went to promenade on an overcast day, he sought out Buffy, not Cordelia. 

“I’m surprised you want to be seen with me. I’m sure the ladies in England don’t behave like I did the other night,” Buffy said as he walked beside her, trying to keep to the shade without being obvious about it. 

“Buffy, you were incredible.” It wasn’t what he usually complimented a young lady on, but he was working with what he had. And she had been incredible. He didn’t know many humans who would have been able to defend themselves in that situation. 

Buffy grimaced, not convinced. “I thought no one at the party would ever talk to me again, that it might even hurt Giles’ business, but everyone’s acting like nothing happened, as if I just helped calm someone down who’d had too much to drink.”

“When people can’t handle the truth, they aren’t honest with themselves.”

“But you can? Handle it? You were incredible, too.” It hadn’t been that much of a feat for a vampire, but it did feel good to be complimented in turn. 

“I can handle a little rough and tumble.” Let her imagine a scrap among school scums if she wanted.

Buffy looked at him for a long moment. He had no idea what she was imagining.

~

Spike watched as Buffy went to sit next to Dru, who was picking up a chrysalis from the grass, a parasol in her other hand. 

Drusilla liked to do her part reeling the girls in. It was no fun waiting until they were back in England to start playing with her food. 

Buffy asked, “Is it a butterfly?”

“No. But it will be soon,” Dru said, turning it over in her hand.

“Oh, I hadn't seen them.” Buffy leaned close to Dru to examine it further, their hats almost touching.

“They're dying. They take their heat from the sun, and when it deserts them, they die.” 

“That's sad,” Buffy pouted. 

“No, it's not sad, Buffy. It's nature. It's a savage world of things dying or eating each other, right beneath our feet.” 

Buffy didn’t seem to mind the morbid turn in the conversation, but neither did she accept Dru’s pronouncement. “Surely there's more to it than that,” she argued. 

Dru had found a live one, and she held it against Buffy’s face so that she could feel the brush of  its wings. “Beautiful things are fragile. At home, we have only black moths. Formidable creatures, to be sure, but they lack beauty. They thrive on the dark and the cold.”

Buffy captured her own, and held it as she thought. “What do they feed on?”

“Butterflies, I'm afraid,” Dru smiled wide, and Spike warmed to see it. Everything was well. This would be fun. 

~

“Spike, I don’t want that girl to play our game with us. Something wrong with her. Won’t be tasty at all, no she won’t.” 

They were in his hotel room, the only one they’d actually occupied during their stay.

“Dru, you’re the one who wanted to find the next one in California. What’s the difference between one girl and another?”

“There’s too much noise around her. The stars, the wind, they all have so very much to say about her.” Dru wrapped her arms around herself. 

“Don’t I take care of you?” Spike walked over to where she sat in one of the chairs. He took her hand, pulling her to standing and holding her close. “She’s different, but that doesn’t matter. She’s still human, so she’s still a plaything. Might put up more of a fight, but that’ll just make it more fun, yeah? I won’t let anything go wrong, stars be damned.” Just that morning, he’d been about to suggest abandoning the whole thing and going back home. He didn’t understand why he was suddenly digging his heels in. 

“I do like fun…” Dru’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Of course you do. That’s my girl.” Spike considered. It was best to wrap up this first stage of gameplay. It was getting too confusing for the both of them. He pulled back a little and looked at her. “I will need the ring.”

Dru frowned, despite him asking this of her every time before. “The ring's mine. I earned it. I will want it back.”

“Then you'd better hope I'm successful. Now, ducks,” Spike said, moving towards the door. “Want to go eat some orphans?”

“Oh, Spikey. It’s only fun if they have parents to mourn them.”

~

Spike’s next move was all decided, so of course another player had to come and muck it all up. 

It happened as he approached Buffy at a dinner hosted by her and Giles. 

“Buffy, may I have a word?”

“Just one moment.” She was barely looking at him. The nerve! She moved away, leaning into a doorway off the hall. “Giles. Everybody's waiting.”

“I'll be there shortly.” The man sounded just as distracted as his ward. 

Maybe Spike could just get it over with quickly. “Miss Summers. Buffy. I really have no right to ask this, but...”

Giles appeared beside them. “Sir William. May I speak with you in my study, please? You and your sister, if you would be so kind as to fetch her. Buffy, please tell our guests that we will join them presently.” 

Maybe he realized Spike’s intentions and wanted to offer his blessing? Not bloody likely; he seemed to have no kind feelings for his countryman. Whatever it was, Spike and Dru would handle it, and then Spike would get back to the plan. 

Spike brought Dru into the study. 

“Now, Sir William, the first time we met, I imagine it wasn’t hard for you to realize that I didn't like you.”

“You made that clear enough, sir. But I had hoped that now, with time...” 

“Your time, Sir William, is up.”

Drusilla entered the conversation. “Could you speak plainly, Mr. Giles?”

“Plain I will be, missy. Plainer than you might like to hear. In the past few days, your brother has deemed it fine enough to mix business with pleasure by repeatedly engaging socially with my ward. My daughter, really.” Oh, no. Parental concern? Not threatening to the long-term playing of the game, but a useless hassle in the meantime. 

Spike broke in again, hoping that, even if the man didn’t like him professionally, he could convince him to tolerate him personally, at least until the wedding. “Sir, I'm aware that I have no position to offer, but the fact is...”

“You are falling in love with her. Is that it? You play the part well.” Giles looked at him with contempt. “The other day, Buffy asked me why I didn't like you. Honestly, at the time, I had no good answer. But now, I do. That document there gave me my answer.” Giles gestured to some papers on the desk. The stupid human had managed to dig up one of the marriage certificates from a previous round of the game. Spike scowled, realizing they’d have to switch to the blunt force trauma part of proceedings more quickly than usual. Not very diverting for Dru, but it would still be nice. “That's the first honest reaction I've seen from you,” Giles said, narrowing his eyes.

“Does she know?” Spike asked. 

“No. But I will tell her, if that's what it takes to send you on your way.”

“Sir, I know you will find this hard to believe...” Spike tried the desperate lover act one more time. 

“You love her. I know. You're repeating yourself.” Giles rolled his eyes and brought a slip of paper out from a drawer. It was a check for an impressive amount. “Now, you, you seem to be the more collected one, dear.” Giles turned to Drusilla. Spike’d never heard that one before. “It's overly generous, I know. But if you want that check to clear, there are two conditions. There's a train for New York City leaving first thing tomorrow morning. You and your brother better be on it. Do we understand each other?”

“We do. What is the second condition?” Drusilla asked. 

“That concerns my daughter.” He turned to Spike. “Tonight, you must thoroughly break her heart.”

~

They went into the dining room, and Giles set Spike up to make a toast. Spike didn’t pay attention to the drivel coming out of his mouth. Americans lap up anything an English gentleman says. He would be happy to leave all of them, at least, even if he somehow couldn’t get Buffy to marry him. 

He did notice Buffy fleeing the room in the wake of his words, though. 

He caught up to her in the hall. “Buffy.”

“You're leaving us.” She looked so young when upset. 

“We must return home immediately and attend to our interests. And with nothing to hold us in America...”

“I see.” She tried to pull together a little dignity, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders.  

Right, time to get on with it. A part of him didn’t actually want to hurt her, which made the rest of him want to hurt her even more. 

“Did you think I could marry a girl who behaves so boldly in company? Hoists up her skirts and kicks things?”

“But, I thought you said I was incredible.” She might actually cry. Oh, if only Angelus could see his grandchilde following in his footsteps. 

“I was just placating you so we could keep flirting. That’s all a girl like you is good for, you know.”

“That’s enough!”

“I’m not finished! If you thought there was something between us, you clearly haven't lived at all. You're nothing but a spoiled child!” Buffy turned around and fled up the stairs, just when Spike was really getting going. 

He stared after her for a second, then stalked out of the house. He drained a pair of lovers on his way back to the hotel.

~

All right. That was a setback, but Spike wasn’t ready to give up. He had his pride, and he’d set his sights on using Buffy for the game. 

He had to bring her back around. He’d broken her heart, but young hearts could be mended. The issue was that he just wasn’t used to having to solve interpersonal problems, at least not without violence. He could simply kill any human, and his family members were meant to sharpen their claws on each other before they turned them to the world at large. At least they had been, until Dru heard the tides sing that Angelus and Darla needed to be taken out. 

While Dru went out in the early morning hours of the next day to kill Giles, Spike wrote Buffy a letter. He used all the prissy, cliched words he would have used as a human, really pretending to pour his heart into it. 

Dear Buffy.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Your father made evident to me that in my present economic condition I was not in a position to provide for you. And to this I agreed. He also asked me to break your heart. To take the blame. And to this I agreed, too. By this time, surely I have accomplished both tasks. But know this. When I can prove to your father that all I ask of him is his consent and nothing more, then, and only then, will I come back for you.

Yours ever,

William.

Brilliant. That’ll get her. 

~

And it did. Worked like a charm. For some reason, all the girls in the game had fallen for Sir William Pratt, Baronet. Maybe well-off girls had gotten easy since he’d died, or maybe some of the vampire magnetism shone through even the pathetic poet disguise. 

When Buffy ran into the hotel room, he clasped her gloved hands in his own. “Buffy. Drusilla has gone. Your father bribed me to leave. I cannot leave you, Buffy.” Here, he looked soulfu—well, deeply into her eyes. “In fact, I find myself thinking of you even at the most inopportune moments of the day. I feel as if a link exists between your heart and mine. And should that link be broken either by distance or by time, my heart would cease to beat, and I would die. And you, you'd soon forget about me.” Spike desperately hoped she did not realize he was paraphrasing Jane Eyre .

“Never. I would never forget you.” Perfect. Obviously not a big reader. 

~

Buffy was devastated when she heard about Giles, of course. It was easy to get her to agree to a quick wedding, and then they were away to England.

Spike felt a surge of satisfaction in getting her. He did not examine it as closely as he should have. He was simply glad that he and Dru could now play with their new toy away from all those sodding society people. 

The silly bint would be dead before the ground thawed, and then he might be able to convince his princess that he could keep her entertained without games.