Love Wanders There - Chapter 3
Love Wanders There
Rated: Pg-13 (for now)
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Warnings: Spike/Other (implied)
Summary: Only beginning to rebuild her life the Slayer travels abroad for the holidays. It isn't peace she finds in the English countryside, but something she thinks she's lost. (I can't summarize for the life of me)
The rest of the story can be found here in my memories.
Three
She was severely underdressed, and that was putting it lightly. She didn’t know what had possessed her to assume that the “welcoming get together” would be informal. Standing there in jeans, and a dark burgundy sleeveless blouse Buffy felt like an abomination.
Rowena hadn’t blinked at her wardrobe when Buffy had descended the stairs thirty minutes earlier. Despite the fact that Rowena seemed to have deemed Buffy suitably dressed, Buffy could tell by the pointed glances that she was in fact, not. It didn’t help that Dawn was obviously more astute than her, and bouncing around the room in a very appropriate blue dress.
After being on the receiving end of several snide remarks from Isabelle (who was absolutely stunning in her sheer black gown) Buffy had fled to the corner of the drawing room to hide beside the buffet table. The entire situation was preposterous. Not just the party, but also the entire “holiday in England” thing. Despite the proof that Rowena was who she said she was, Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right. Maybe if she were actually enjoying herself she would be less inclined to jump to conclusions. But she wasn’t enjoying herself, and therefore had every right to assume anything she liked.
The drawing room had been transformed; Buffy barely recognized it from yesterday. Tasteful Christmas decorations were elegantly placed, the fire was roaring, and it was filled with too many well-dressed people.
Dawn seemed to be receiving the blunt of the “welcoming” from Rowena’s neighbors and friends. She was laughing and being fawned over by everyone she came into contact with. That was fine with Buffy; she would take on the role of the unsociable sister with open arms. Buffy was in the middle of shoving a third appetizer (she had no idea what is was) into her mouth when Rowena appeared beside her.
“Enjoying yourself dear?” Rowena was smiling, yet again. It was painfully hard for Buffy to continue to dislike Rowena on principle alone.
“Absolutely; swell party.”
Rowena chuckled at Buffy’s sarcasm and patted her on the arm. “I know it isn’t exactly what you expected, and that is my fault for not better preparing you. Nonetheless I see no reason why you can’t enjoy yourself?”
Buffy ignored the question; it was rhetorical. Rowena’s way of telling Buffy she was expected to be more engaging.
She’d only been in England two days and already she was beginning to feel like it had been years. This was supposed to be a vacation, but all she felt was tired. Tired of having to prove herself, tired of having to act like and adult, tired of having to think. She was supposed to get these people to like her, accept her, but she didn’t she the point. She’d be gone in three weeks and never see them again. How was this helping her relax?
“Have you met Mr. Pratt yet Elizabeth?” Buffy barely heard Rowena’s question as she shook herself from her musings.
“No.”
“Well I shall have to introduce you; he’s delightful, I’m sure you will get along marvelously.”
Buffy nodded as she watched Isabelle glide across the room and take the arm of a gentlemen who was more than happy to have her at his side.
“Mr. Pratt owns the estate right along the borders. Just moved here not three months ago. Interesting fellow, keeps to himself. I thought this party would be the perfect opportunity to introduce him to the community, along with you and Dawn.”
“Uhuh. Not matchmaking are you Rowena? Cause I’m really not one for those arraigned marriages you English seem to like so much.”
Rowena’s boisterous laugh drew attention to Buffy’s corner, and her face flushed.
“You are quite a character Elizabeth. We are going to have a wonderful time over the holidays, I can tell.” With that Rowena bustled away, leaving Buffy relieved and alone in her corner.
Buffy glanced out the window behind her. It had stopped snowing, and the moon was now out. Full, go figure. What a great night to patrol, if only she had a stake…
“BUFFY!”
She jumped as Dawn ran up to her. “Oh my God is this so much fun? I am so glad we came! I didn’t know English guys were so cute!”
“They aren’t.”
Dawn frowned at Buffy’s morose tone. “Have you looked around Buffy, seriously? These guys are hot!”
“And too old for you Dawn.”
“Whatever. And that’s crap you know. Spike was hot, don’t try to deny it.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped at Dawn’s words. “What are you talking about? Why would you bring him up?”
Dawn’s smile died as she realized what she’d just said. “Oh damn, Buffy I’m sorry. I just... I was just saying Spike was English, and you said English guys weren’t hot. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
Buffy sighed as she took in Dawn’s deflated exuberance. “It’s fine Dawn, I just didn’t expect you to say that. You can talk about it, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother me,” she frowned at Dawn’s disbelieving face, “Really!”
Dawn switched gears, and turned to face the crowd with her sister. “Have you met Mr. Pratt yet? I heard Isabelle gossiping about him. Apparently, he’s young, loaded, and really cute.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I doubt very much Isabelle and I have anything close to the same taste in men.”
“Yeah, cause she’s not into vampires.”
Dawn snapped her mouth shut at Buffy’s glare.
“And no, I haven’t met Mr. Pratt yet and honestly I don’t think I’m going to. Not tonight anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
Buffy set down her glass of punch, and glanced toward the door into the hall. “I’m tired, I think I’m going to hit the hay.”
Narrowing her eyes, Dawn advanced on Buffy. “There is nothing to patrol out here Buffy. All the people are HERE, there aren’t any clubs or graveyards.”
“I didn’t say I was going to patrol, I said I was going to bed. Tell Rowena I wasn’t feeling good. Make something up.”
Dawn watched Buffy exit the room and rolled her eyes. Some things never changed.
***
He had come late purposely. Rowena Maitland had been badgering him for weeks about this little party, so it was only right that he made an entrance. Isabelle spotted him first; right uptight she was, but a knock out which suited him just fine.
The undeniable urge to rip off that tiny black dress and shag her senseless in the middle of the crowded room made him grin; social perversion at its best. Isabelle would have none of that though; she played the belle of the ball to perfection while in public. He’d had to wait till long after the party was over, and everyone was asleep before he could take advantage.
Spike’s interest was piqued when he heard the name Elizabeth dropped for the third or fourth time since he’d entered the room. Rowena’s goddaughter, here for the holidays. No doubt she’d fall at his feet as Isabelle had done; he swallowed the distaste the name Elizabeth brought to his mouth. A vision of Buffy’s smiling face danced in his mind. He grabbed a glass of champagne from the passing waiter and swallowed it one gulp. Wouldn’t do to start moping over the past again. He’d done quite enough of that.
“Williammm, darling,” Isabelle purred as she played with the sleeve of his jacket. “Would you mind fetching me some punch?”
“Right, sure thing.”
Spike wandered over to the luxurious buffet table, and began to search for a cup when he heard the laugh. The ladle clattered as it landed back in the punch bowl. He turned slowly, and froze as Dawn scampered through the room and over to Rowena.
Dawn.
Here.
It wasn’t possible.
He didn’t even notice Isabelle calling to him as he exited the drawing room. The front door slammed as he stumbled out into the snow, his hands frantically searching for his cigarettes. After what seemed liked forever he had it in his mouth, and drew in a large drag. He almost coughed as he exhaled; his fingers were shaking as he raised his hand to his mouth again.
Three months ago he’d woken up in Hartley Manor without any recollection of how he’d come to be there. His last complete memory was of Angel hanging from the wing of the massive dragon, sword in hand. Then there was nothing, only darkness.
He’d ventured downstairs to find servants greeting him in a manner that implied he’d been there for quite sometime. They call him Master Pratt, and after almost taking a chunk out of a scullery maid, he found that they’d been in his employ for about three weeks.
It made absolutely no sense. The only conclusion he could reach was that the Power’s that Be had rewarded him for services rendered, or some such nonsense. They’d made him human, given him Angel’s prophecy, and bestowed upon him a new life.
He’d ventured outside into the sun to prove his theory. Sure enough, standing and staring up into the blinding light he’d not see in over a hundred years, everything was perfectly clear. He was William Pratt once again, although, not the same cowardly fop he’d once been. He was a new man.
He’d thought of her first of course. He the urge to call her had been overwhelming, but he had squelched that. She’d have moved on by now, and it was obvious, that he was meant to do the same.
In his over eagerness to enjoy all the profits of being human again, Spike had sought out a crucifix within the massive walls of his mansion. He grasped the iron cross, and it was only when the smoke began to rise from between his fingers did he realize that it was burning him.
He’d shifted into game face then at the pain, and when he approached the mirror, his reflection was absent, as it had been for so long. He was still a vampire, his desire for blood hummed through out his body. He was still a vampire; yet, he could walk in the sun.
Finding blood hadn’t been difficult at all. It seemed his butler Henry was keen on Spike’s condition, and it was supplied to him through a refrigerator in his room, that always seemed to be stocked.
Spike didn’t question the odd turn of events that had led him to this place. Maybe in a few years he would search Buffy out, present himself to her, and she would fall into his arms. He kept that little daydream in the back of his mind. She wasn’t his to claim, and even her expression of love didn’t change that. She didn’t love him, and as far a she was concerned, had burned up in the Hellmouth.
For now though, he had a manor, an obscene amount of cash, and a chance to start over. He’d ceased dying his hair, and let it grow out. He closely resembled the man he had once been, in physical appearance only. He’d made acquaintances with some of the locals, and from the bits and pieces he got from his staff, concocted a brief history of his life.
He knew his servants perceived him as odd, and that didn’t bother him. He was paying them, and money, was always the best form of loyalty. He existed in a sort of peaceful limbo for months. Enjoying the sun, and the leisure that came with being a man of wealth. He took physical pleasure that was offered to him by Isabelle Maitland, and he bided his time.
His perfect little world of denial crashed down around his ears at the sight of Dawn. Where there was one sister, there would be the other. He hadn’t seen Buffy in the drawing room, and neither her or Dawn could have spotted him, or he’d been under full attack right now.
The possibility that this was just a coincidence was just too unlikely. Maybe it was a test, from the PTB. He didn’t know. All he knew was, the Slayer was poison, she would be his downfall, and he had to stay away.
TBC
Rated: Pg-13 (for now)
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Warnings: Spike/Other (implied)
Summary: Only beginning to rebuild her life the Slayer travels abroad for the holidays. It isn't peace she finds in the English countryside, but something she thinks she's lost. (I can't summarize for the life of me)
The rest of the story can be found here in my memories.
Three
She was severely underdressed, and that was putting it lightly. She didn’t know what had possessed her to assume that the “welcoming get together” would be informal. Standing there in jeans, and a dark burgundy sleeveless blouse Buffy felt like an abomination.
Rowena hadn’t blinked at her wardrobe when Buffy had descended the stairs thirty minutes earlier. Despite the fact that Rowena seemed to have deemed Buffy suitably dressed, Buffy could tell by the pointed glances that she was in fact, not. It didn’t help that Dawn was obviously more astute than her, and bouncing around the room in a very appropriate blue dress.
After being on the receiving end of several snide remarks from Isabelle (who was absolutely stunning in her sheer black gown) Buffy had fled to the corner of the drawing room to hide beside the buffet table. The entire situation was preposterous. Not just the party, but also the entire “holiday in England” thing. Despite the proof that Rowena was who she said she was, Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that something just wasn’t right. Maybe if she were actually enjoying herself she would be less inclined to jump to conclusions. But she wasn’t enjoying herself, and therefore had every right to assume anything she liked.
The drawing room had been transformed; Buffy barely recognized it from yesterday. Tasteful Christmas decorations were elegantly placed, the fire was roaring, and it was filled with too many well-dressed people.
Dawn seemed to be receiving the blunt of the “welcoming” from Rowena’s neighbors and friends. She was laughing and being fawned over by everyone she came into contact with. That was fine with Buffy; she would take on the role of the unsociable sister with open arms. Buffy was in the middle of shoving a third appetizer (she had no idea what is was) into her mouth when Rowena appeared beside her.
“Enjoying yourself dear?” Rowena was smiling, yet again. It was painfully hard for Buffy to continue to dislike Rowena on principle alone.
“Absolutely; swell party.”
Rowena chuckled at Buffy’s sarcasm and patted her on the arm. “I know it isn’t exactly what you expected, and that is my fault for not better preparing you. Nonetheless I see no reason why you can’t enjoy yourself?”
Buffy ignored the question; it was rhetorical. Rowena’s way of telling Buffy she was expected to be more engaging.
She’d only been in England two days and already she was beginning to feel like it had been years. This was supposed to be a vacation, but all she felt was tired. Tired of having to prove herself, tired of having to act like and adult, tired of having to think. She was supposed to get these people to like her, accept her, but she didn’t she the point. She’d be gone in three weeks and never see them again. How was this helping her relax?
“Have you met Mr. Pratt yet Elizabeth?” Buffy barely heard Rowena’s question as she shook herself from her musings.
“No.”
“Well I shall have to introduce you; he’s delightful, I’m sure you will get along marvelously.”
Buffy nodded as she watched Isabelle glide across the room and take the arm of a gentlemen who was more than happy to have her at his side.
“Mr. Pratt owns the estate right along the borders. Just moved here not three months ago. Interesting fellow, keeps to himself. I thought this party would be the perfect opportunity to introduce him to the community, along with you and Dawn.”
“Uhuh. Not matchmaking are you Rowena? Cause I’m really not one for those arraigned marriages you English seem to like so much.”
Rowena’s boisterous laugh drew attention to Buffy’s corner, and her face flushed.
“You are quite a character Elizabeth. We are going to have a wonderful time over the holidays, I can tell.” With that Rowena bustled away, leaving Buffy relieved and alone in her corner.
Buffy glanced out the window behind her. It had stopped snowing, and the moon was now out. Full, go figure. What a great night to patrol, if only she had a stake…
“BUFFY!”
She jumped as Dawn ran up to her. “Oh my God is this so much fun? I am so glad we came! I didn’t know English guys were so cute!”
“They aren’t.”
Dawn frowned at Buffy’s morose tone. “Have you looked around Buffy, seriously? These guys are hot!”
“And too old for you Dawn.”
“Whatever. And that’s crap you know. Spike was hot, don’t try to deny it.”
Buffy’s jaw dropped at Dawn’s words. “What are you talking about? Why would you bring him up?”
Dawn’s smile died as she realized what she’d just said. “Oh damn, Buffy I’m sorry. I just... I was just saying Spike was English, and you said English guys weren’t hot. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
Buffy sighed as she took in Dawn’s deflated exuberance. “It’s fine Dawn, I just didn’t expect you to say that. You can talk about it, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t bother me,” she frowned at Dawn’s disbelieving face, “Really!”
Dawn switched gears, and turned to face the crowd with her sister. “Have you met Mr. Pratt yet? I heard Isabelle gossiping about him. Apparently, he’s young, loaded, and really cute.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “I doubt very much Isabelle and I have anything close to the same taste in men.”
“Yeah, cause she’s not into vampires.”
Dawn snapped her mouth shut at Buffy’s glare.
“And no, I haven’t met Mr. Pratt yet and honestly I don’t think I’m going to. Not tonight anyway.”
“What are you talking about?”
Buffy set down her glass of punch, and glanced toward the door into the hall. “I’m tired, I think I’m going to hit the hay.”
Narrowing her eyes, Dawn advanced on Buffy. “There is nothing to patrol out here Buffy. All the people are HERE, there aren’t any clubs or graveyards.”
“I didn’t say I was going to patrol, I said I was going to bed. Tell Rowena I wasn’t feeling good. Make something up.”
Dawn watched Buffy exit the room and rolled her eyes. Some things never changed.
***
He had come late purposely. Rowena Maitland had been badgering him for weeks about this little party, so it was only right that he made an entrance. Isabelle spotted him first; right uptight she was, but a knock out which suited him just fine.
The undeniable urge to rip off that tiny black dress and shag her senseless in the middle of the crowded room made him grin; social perversion at its best. Isabelle would have none of that though; she played the belle of the ball to perfection while in public. He’d had to wait till long after the party was over, and everyone was asleep before he could take advantage.
Spike’s interest was piqued when he heard the name Elizabeth dropped for the third or fourth time since he’d entered the room. Rowena’s goddaughter, here for the holidays. No doubt she’d fall at his feet as Isabelle had done; he swallowed the distaste the name Elizabeth brought to his mouth. A vision of Buffy’s smiling face danced in his mind. He grabbed a glass of champagne from the passing waiter and swallowed it one gulp. Wouldn’t do to start moping over the past again. He’d done quite enough of that.
“Williammm, darling,” Isabelle purred as she played with the sleeve of his jacket. “Would you mind fetching me some punch?”
“Right, sure thing.”
Spike wandered over to the luxurious buffet table, and began to search for a cup when he heard the laugh. The ladle clattered as it landed back in the punch bowl. He turned slowly, and froze as Dawn scampered through the room and over to Rowena.
Dawn.
Here.
It wasn’t possible.
He didn’t even notice Isabelle calling to him as he exited the drawing room. The front door slammed as he stumbled out into the snow, his hands frantically searching for his cigarettes. After what seemed liked forever he had it in his mouth, and drew in a large drag. He almost coughed as he exhaled; his fingers were shaking as he raised his hand to his mouth again.
Three months ago he’d woken up in Hartley Manor without any recollection of how he’d come to be there. His last complete memory was of Angel hanging from the wing of the massive dragon, sword in hand. Then there was nothing, only darkness.
He’d ventured downstairs to find servants greeting him in a manner that implied he’d been there for quite sometime. They call him Master Pratt, and after almost taking a chunk out of a scullery maid, he found that they’d been in his employ for about three weeks.
It made absolutely no sense. The only conclusion he could reach was that the Power’s that Be had rewarded him for services rendered, or some such nonsense. They’d made him human, given him Angel’s prophecy, and bestowed upon him a new life.
He’d ventured outside into the sun to prove his theory. Sure enough, standing and staring up into the blinding light he’d not see in over a hundred years, everything was perfectly clear. He was William Pratt once again, although, not the same cowardly fop he’d once been. He was a new man.
He’d thought of her first of course. He the urge to call her had been overwhelming, but he had squelched that. She’d have moved on by now, and it was obvious, that he was meant to do the same.
In his over eagerness to enjoy all the profits of being human again, Spike had sought out a crucifix within the massive walls of his mansion. He grasped the iron cross, and it was only when the smoke began to rise from between his fingers did he realize that it was burning him.
He’d shifted into game face then at the pain, and when he approached the mirror, his reflection was absent, as it had been for so long. He was still a vampire, his desire for blood hummed through out his body. He was still a vampire; yet, he could walk in the sun.
Finding blood hadn’t been difficult at all. It seemed his butler Henry was keen on Spike’s condition, and it was supplied to him through a refrigerator in his room, that always seemed to be stocked.
Spike didn’t question the odd turn of events that had led him to this place. Maybe in a few years he would search Buffy out, present himself to her, and she would fall into his arms. He kept that little daydream in the back of his mind. She wasn’t his to claim, and even her expression of love didn’t change that. She didn’t love him, and as far a she was concerned, had burned up in the Hellmouth.
For now though, he had a manor, an obscene amount of cash, and a chance to start over. He’d ceased dying his hair, and let it grow out. He closely resembled the man he had once been, in physical appearance only. He’d made acquaintances with some of the locals, and from the bits and pieces he got from his staff, concocted a brief history of his life.
He knew his servants perceived him as odd, and that didn’t bother him. He was paying them, and money, was always the best form of loyalty. He existed in a sort of peaceful limbo for months. Enjoying the sun, and the leisure that came with being a man of wealth. He took physical pleasure that was offered to him by Isabelle Maitland, and he bided his time.
His perfect little world of denial crashed down around his ears at the sight of Dawn. Where there was one sister, there would be the other. He hadn’t seen Buffy in the drawing room, and neither her or Dawn could have spotted him, or he’d been under full attack right now.
The possibility that this was just a coincidence was just too unlikely. Maybe it was a test, from the PTB. He didn’t know. All he knew was, the Slayer was poison, she would be his downfall, and he had to stay away.
TBC