Finding the Way Home
by Sandy S.
“So, when are you going to tell us about Harmony and a certain poker game?” Buffy casually asked Spike while swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. They were her first words since being in the room Stephan provided for their housing. At first, the trio had sat in shocked silence, and now Buffy was breaking the ice with an attempt at Xander-esque lightness in the face of emotional overload.
Seated on the floor, Spike followed her lead and raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk. “All we’ve seen, and you want to discuss something that happened eons ago?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about all that crap while I’m eating dinner.” Buffy’s food remained untouched on her lap. Truth be told, she wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she felt the need to change the subject from the horrors they’d all witnessed.
Seated next to her on the bed, Angel regarded her thoughtfully. “I think we should save storytelling for later. We really need to discuss what’s going to happen next. . . what we’re going to do.”
Reminiscent of her feistiness in high school, Buffy pouted. “Fine. I just thought we’d have a nice meal.”
“You’re not eating anything,” Spike pointed out as he bit into his snack of crackers and cheese.
Buffy shrugged. “So?”
“Eat, Buffy,” Angel commanded.
“You’re not the boss of me. Besides nothing seems appetizing now. Not after. . .”
Angel sighed and looked down at his untouched blood bag. “I know.”
Spike stopped mid-chew, catching Angel and Buffy staring at him meaningfully. “What? I can eat anytime. . . no matter what. Like you said, gotta keep up my strength. Eat, sleep. . . it’ll all seem better in the morning.”
Buffy shivered. “I don’t know if it will.”
To the casual observer, Spike might seem callous and cold, but Buffy knew better. She’d seen his initial horrified reaction to what they’d been shown, and she’d also seen him tuck it away so that his thoughts and feelings were impenetrable.
Spike was doing that a lot lately, and she wished she understood. She wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but she was sure of one thing: the truth would come out eventually. And she was going to make certain she was present when that happened. Something tugged in her heart, but she dismissed the feeling.
“So, what did we see?” Buffy set aside her meal and dug in her pack for the tiny palm computer that Fred had supplied them to communicate their findings. Although they couldn’t directly contact the team at Wolfram and Hart due to the shift in dimensions, they were expected to record things on the device for perusal later.
“Right. Let’s catalog it.” Spike popped the last of his meal in his mouth and moved next to Buffy on the bed.
Buffy’s nose picked up his familiar scent and was disconcerted that it mingled with Angel’s. Was this how Oz felt with his wolf-y senses? She shook her head. Because she had become used to her enhanced senses, she hardly noticed them until particular moments. And how surreal was it to be sitting between two ex-boyfriends? Even though they’d been together for several days, she was still blown away with the thoughts and feelings that accompanied their presence.
“Buffy? You going to type that in or not?” Spike asked.
“Oh, what?” Angel and Spike were staring at her. . . brown and blue shone into her mind. She glanced down at the computer screen at a loss. “Right. What should I put? What did Michelle call it?” Buffy asked, chewing on the end of the stylus.
“Roxy,” Spike corrected.
Buffy frowned and tapped her lips with the tiny stick. “What?”
“Michelle prefers Roxy.”
Angel crossed his arms. “I hardly think that matters, Spike. And she called it the ‘Vampire Domestication Project.’”
“It matters to Roxy.”
Buffy chose to ignore Spike’s mutterings. “Vampire *Domestication* Project. That’s a laugh. Don’t think you can count euthanasia and putting people in comas as ‘domestication.’”
Led by Stephan and Roxy, the trio had toured Stephan’s domain for several hours. The two elements that stood out the most were the human “hospital” and the central bloody supply. The hospital was filled with humans who weren’t aware that they were in a facility run by vampires. The humans had either been charmed or were so ill that they weren’t able to tell or care that their “doctor’s” hands were cold, that mysterious deaths by neck wounds often occurred, and that there wasn’t a place to eat in the facility.
Actual physicians who had been turned by Stephan’s team ran the pseudo-hospital. Each and every human in the “hospital” was mortally ill with some disease or another. Stephan’s team of physicians had found a way to remove the negative effects of disease from the humans’ blood. The blood cleansing didn’t cure the humans, but it served a purpose for the vampires: it allowed them to eat the humans.
On the tour, Stephan had framed the situation to mean that his “hospital” allowed humans struck by mortal illness to die with increased dignity and decreased emotional and physical pain. The staff even went so far as to return the bodies to the families and arrange memorial services in the neighboring dimension.
The second element that shocked Buffy, Spike, and Angel was the central blood supply facility. Buffy wasn’t sure if it was more or less awful than the “hospital.” The facility or C.B.S. was where they’d lost Mary, and that was what disturbed Buffy the most. The C.B.S. was a warehouse of sorts that supplied blood to the citizens of Vampire Villa. . . or at least, Stephan’s portion of the city.
The C.B.S. crew managed thousands of human bodies. . . living human bodies. In a Matrix-like fashion, the humans were piled on top of one another, each hooked up to an individual monitoring and blood withdrawal system. Each was in a coma-like state so that they were not aware of their surroundings.
Designated sections of humans gave blood on certain days. This was done in a rotating cycle so that no individual human was completely drained and had time to replenish his or her resources before the next round was taken. The retrieved blood was pumped to a filtration system and then channeled throughout the city, so vampires could have hot and cold running blood. There were even blood banks where vampires could deposit and withdraw blood.
Although Buffy was inclined not to believe him, Stephan had reassured them that the humans in the warehouse had all “chosen” to be part of the project. He’d continued his tale by saying that each human that was part of C.B.S. had been trying to escape some unhappy part of his or her life. They all had different reasons, but all were without hope. The assurance of coma-induced dreams was enough to make any number of people volunteer.
Stephan had noted that vampires outside his portion of the city were less regulated about the way they handled their blood supply, which explained the humans in the closet at the motel. As Stephan was describing this problem, Mary had perked up, and when he had asked her if she wanted to be a “helper,” she’d gladly accepted before Angel, Spike, or Buffy could stop her. Helpless to do anything to save Mary from her “chosen” fate, the three had watched the entire process of her induction into the C.B.S.
After observing that particular atrocity, Buffy had run around the corner to dry heave. Being more attached to Mary than the rest of them, Angel hadn’t been able to go after her, but Spike had been there, gentle hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. After she had ceased trembling, Spike had engulfed her hand in his and softly kissed her temple as he helped her to her feet. She and Spike had rejoined Stephan without fanfare, and the tour had continued.
Fred and the others were going to be floored by the truth about Stephan’s portion of the city.
“It seems to me that Stephan is going to great lengths to make sure that we approve of him and his little projects,” Buffy observed. “There’s something we’re missing.”
“I agree,” Angel said, nodding. “He has presented us two vastly different stances. One, he doesn’t want vampires. . . or his city. . . to be part of our dimension as Stephanie does because it would interfere with the vampire way of unlife they have here. On the other hand, he seems very concerned about what humans think of the city and ‘his’ vampire projects.”
“He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knew we would be horrified, but he also knew that of the two alternatives: city stay here or shift dimensions into the light, he would rather have the city stay put. Like he said, he’d lose power if Stephanie got her way. As far as what his other possible motives are, your guess is as good as mine, but vampires gathering this much power is not a good sign,” Spike concluded, putting his usual dead-on spin on the issues.
“Right.” Buffy sighed. “We just have to figure out a way to figure out what Stephan is really playing at, find the other piece of that dimensional key that he wants us to keep away from Stephanie, destroy the city and the kranooks, and save the humans trapped here.” She inhaled. “Damn. That’s a lot of stuff to accomplish with just the three of us surrounded by the enemy.”
Buffy and her male companions discussed Stephan’s plan to garner the other dimensional piece, alternative strategies, the prophecies, and the things they’d seen until Buffy’s eyes began to drift shut. Despite protests, Angel ordered them to get some sleep.
* * *
“Buffy, wake up!” the voice whispered urgently in her ear. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a small shake.
Her green eyes flew open. “W-wha. . .?” she mumbled blearily. She was filled with an easy sense of safety when she saw the familiar soul peeking out from behind chocolate brown eyes. Large fingers brushed the tousled strands of her hair out of her face. Blinking deliberately, she struggled to separate dream from reality.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Angel murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I-I was?” Buffy tried to grasp the rapidly fading tendrils of her dream. . . a dream that brought her a great sense of peace in the moment but now. . . now, she wasn’t so sure. “About what?” she asked even though she knew. She seemed to be dreaming a lot lately.
“You were happy,” he stated simply. He knew what she had been dreaming about. It was the same dream that he’d had on countless nights. . . their dream.
Buffy offered him a smile and pushed his chest gently, so she could have some space. “Then, why’d you wake me, silly?”
“Your volume was the problem.” His eyes sparkled. “Don’t want the wrong people to hear.”
Turning her head quickly, Buffy breathed in relief. Spike was still asleep on the bed across the room. The emotion that rippled through her in that moment was different from what she had felt in her dream for. . . .
Angel’s deep eyes captured hers again. How was it possible that she was always able to meet his eyes directly with no trepidation? And how many times had she asked herself this question with the inevitable companion question?
If she was able to be utterly herself with this person before her. . . if she loved him so unabashedly, why wasn’t she with him? Why hadn’t she moved heaven and earth to be with him even if she had to sacrifice sharing his bed? What was holding her back? She wasn’t the type to give up when she wanted something; she and Faith had had that much in common.
Somehow she knew the answer all these questions, but she wasn’t able to admit it to herself. . . not yet.
So, she spoke the only words she knew she could speak without consequences she wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet, “Thank you.”
Angel soft lips found her forehead. “You’re welcome.”
“You weren’t sleeping?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.
“No. You know me. I rarely sleep, especially when something is imminent.”
“I remember,” Buffy breathed. She also remembered how Spike always seemed to sleep with the trust of a young boy when she was in his arms. She shifted away from Angel, and a flicker of hurt crossed his face for an instant. Catching the nuance that lingered in his eyes, she reassured, “I’m sleepy though. Think you could try to get some sleep with me?” She tilted her head just a bit to indicate that he should go back to his bed.
With great reluctance, Angel removed his arms from her middle, pausing to caress her cheek without shame. “You’re beautiful.”
“I am?” Buffy would have blushed if she could have in her vampire guise. “Even as a member of the undead?”
“Yes, even as a member of the undead,” he echoed, winking at her.
Her reluctance to be with him rushed forth once again. She was no closer to understanding the feeling, so for now, she accepted and relished the warmth of his love.
Buffy remained awake long after Angel had fallen asleep. Somehow, he had transferred his sleeplessness to her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it, so she tossed and turned. Nothing was coherent in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to view Spike, so she lay with her back to him. Angel’s solid back filled her vision, and she was safe.
Then, without reason, she sprang from the bed, and before she knew what she was doing, she was kneeling next to Spike, fingers millimeters from touching his skin. With the frank openness with which she examined Angel, she allowed Spike to fill her senses. Tingles she couldn’t control or name poured over her own epidermis, raising an army of goose bumps.
Part of her wished he would open his eyes, but the other part of her was terrified of what she might find out about herself if he did so. If he was unaware of her, she was safe. (Safety was apparently most important at the moment.) As she studied the innocence of his features, a truth overcame all other thoughts.
Since her arrival from Cleveland, she hadn’t been able to look at him. . . not truly. Her mind worked as she studied the dark concave of his cheek and the way his lashes splayed across his pale skin. She tried to imagine the blue depths of his eyes penetrating her green ones but failed. She couldn’t recall when she’d last stared into his eyes without holding herself back.
Even when they had been together before he obtained a soul, she hadn’t allowed herself to really *look* at him. She’d been too ashamed of herself. And even after he had a soul, she’d only found herself *seeing* him a handful of times. . . most of which she had been so wrapped up in her own overwhelming feelings that she couldn’t focus on him clearly. One of those times had been the evening before when she had slept in the same bed with him. . . when she’d shared her recurring dream about him. She decided that was the closest she’d come to letting him inside.
And she absolutely couldn’t. . .*couldn’t* allow that to happen again.
But she wasn’t sure why.
Was she too afraid to let anyone in? Jonathan would probably chide her on this matter, asking her why she was choosing to close herself off when doing so wasn’t what she truly wanted.
Sharing herself with Angel was easy when she allowed it. What was the difference between Spike and Angel? She used to be able to open herself fully to Spike the vampire. Maybe the better question was why wouldn’t she allow herself to open up to him now? Did his humanity have anything to do with it?
Liquid splashed over her lower lashes, and she blinked and shook her head. She didn’t understand everything yet, but she knew that when she was close to Spike, there was something there. . . something alive. . . something that she knew couldn’t be contained if she opened herself to it completely.
With a low sigh, he stirred then, rolling onto his back so that her fingers brushed over his bare arm. She shivered and resisted the urge to voluntarily touch him.
Reality came crashing back, and she found herself longing for the safety of her bed. With the expert finesse of someone who knew the ins and outs of denial, she packed away her thoughts and feelings, pulling and tugging back the dream she’d just had about Angel and their life together.
The dream was familiar. . . something she’d clung to for a long time. It was simple and not at all confusing. . . a remnant from times when things were easier, more black and white.
As such, she felt safe with the dream of a life with Angel. . . like it was a security blanket, and she retreated to her bed to wrap herself in sleep once again. Maybe tomorrow she would try to figure out the confusing web of today.
* * *