Other Side 18: Silver Promises

The Other Side of the Door

Chapter 18: Silver Promises

Today

Sunnydale

“It’s not that I mind her raiding my closet,” Faith said as she led Spike down the basement stairs. “Except I kinda do. And since it looks like you guys might be here for a couple of days…”

“No need to rub it in, Slayer. Just show me which boxes.”

Tara looked up from the pair of camp cots she’d been dressing as the pair reached the bottom of the staircase. “I tried to make them up like one bed, b-but the way the frames stick out on the sides…” she gestured to the separately made narrow beds. “It didn’t work. S-sorry, Spike.”

He shrugged it off. “A lot of nights, we aren’t even in the same town, pet, let alone the same bed. Separate cots are fine. Thanks, though.”

Faith frowned at the scene. “Joyce left you to do them alone?”

“I-I offered. I’m trying to… keep busy, I guess?” Tara tapped the side of her head. “Lots of things spinning around in here.”

“I bet.” Faith pulled a box from one of the stacks beside the storage shelves, handed it to Spike, then reached for another. “You can help us fish through these, then. Bring a laundry basket with you.”

The three of them settled onto the sides of the cots, facing each other with the boxes between them and a laundry basket near the foot of the cot on which Tara sat.

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

“A couple of days worth of summer clothes for B. If we don’t find everything we need in these boxes…” Faith waved to the stacks from which the first two boxes had come. “There’s plenty more.”

Spike shook his head at the stacks. “I’d forgotten what a clothes horse she used to be.”

“She isn’t anymore?”

“Most of her work clothes are government issue, Slayer. Doesn’t take much to fill out a wardrobe when all she really needs is things for office-only days, weekends and special occasions. Even Buffy Summers can’t justify a packed closet for just three days of the week.”

Faith nodded to the stacks of boxes. “See the two big boxes at the bottom? Those are just her shoes. You mean to tell me she doesn’t have that much now?”

Spike studied the boxes in question for a moment. “Last relocation, I think she had about half that, including 3 pairs of Frandrey boots.”

Tara giggled at Faith’s incredulous expression. “People change, Faith.”

“Yeah, but Buffy the Fashion Junkie…”

“Grew up,” Spike finished as he opened one of the boxes. “Looks like I got the panty drawer.”

Faith looked worried. “Is this about to get weird?”

“Only if you don’t think I should know what will still fit, and what she’ll still like. Tara, kick that basket this way.” He nodded to the box Faith was opening as he began sorting through the piles of socks, underwear and bras that had been dumped into his box. “What’d you get?”

“Looks like closet stuff. Tops, mostly. We should find some useful stuff in here.” She looked up to find Tara staring off into space, and the laundry basket still sitting at the foot of the opposite cot. “T? Basket?”

“Oh!” Tara jumped out of her thoughts and blushed as she brought the basket closer to them. “S-s-s-Sorry. I was just thinking of Willow. I-I-I thought we were going to be like that, knowing each other well enough to pick out clothes for each other?”

“You don’t now?” Spike asked as he squinted at a faded label on a sports bra. “And when was Buffy ever a large in anything?”

Faith laughed. “I guess you don’t know everything, after all. Most sports bras run small.”

“And the sizing is really inc-c-c- inconsistent,” Tara complained. “Why can’t they use measurements for those, like they do every other bra?” She shook her head at the garment in question. “Skip it,” she recommended.

Faith nodded agreement. “It’s just not worth the guessing game on the size, man. Trust me.”

When Spike continued to look like he was waiting on Tara to say something, she answered his first question with a sigh. “I don’t know. I just thought… We m-m-messed up, bringing you here. That was really ob-obvious, really fast. I mean, by the time you guys left to come over here, I knew we had to undo it. It’s the only r-r-right thing.” She bit her lip. “Willow was too angry about not being told everything to listen, and I thought she’d calm down when we were alone. She got calmer, but she still didn’t listen. She still isn’t seeing what’s right, and won’t even listen to me try to explain it to her.”

Faith and Spike traded glances over the boxes of clothes, neither of them willing to say out loud the thought they clearly had in common. They both kept resolutely quiet.

Finally, Tara said it for them. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have to explain it to her.”

“Exactly.” Faith pulled out a slinky black halter top, shot through with silver threads. “Hey! I’d almost forgotten about this. She never even got a chance to wear it.”

*~*~*

Six months ago

Sunnydale

Faith glanced out into the corridor. “He must have slipped off to B. Dalton, ’cause now he’s chillin’ on a bench with a book in his hands. Who reads books at the mall?”

Buffy didn’t look up from the rack of clothes in front of her. “Uh, a watcher? Ooh! They have a small!” She held up a black halter top with horizontal silver threads shimmering through it at irregular intervals. “Check this out.”

Faith frowned at the draped neckline and slightly shiny fabric. “That’s more you than me, B.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. But Mom wouldn’t mind if we got just one thing for me while we’re shopping for you, right?”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“So maybe we buy it for you, and I can take it off your hands later, when you decide you don’t like it?”

“I’ve been awake all of four hours, and you’re already trying to get me back into trouble. I thought I was supposed to be the bad one?”

Buffy gave her fellow slayer a pleading smile. “You know you wanna break the rules, Faithy.” She held the top in front of her face and twisted it from side to side on its hanger, making the silver threads catch the fluorescent lights above. “Look into my shininess. You want to put me on Mom’s credit card, take me home, and give me to Buffy. The pretty shininess compels you to–”

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep before that dream woke you up, did you? ‘Cause you’re getting silly.”

“Not really. I had kind of a late night, worrying about my boyfriend -he’s had some stuff going on- and then the wrecking ball woke me up early.” The top was momentarily lowered. “Next stop, coffee shop?”

“Sounds good. …And you definitely need it.”

The top turned and twisted again, shimmering in Faith’s face. “Buy me for Buffy… Buy me…”

Giving up, Faith snatched the hanger and stacked it with those of the clothes she’d picked out for herself. “Look Ma, I’m totally reformed,” she grumbled.

Buffy laughed. “And yet, still totally corruptible.” She steered them toward the cash register. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. If Mom thinks we spent too much, she won’t say a word to you about it. She’ll just put me on Saturday morning grunt work at the gallery for a month, like she did the last time I went nuts with her credit card. You’re safe. I might be paying for our upcoming girls’ night out in an awesome new top by opening crates full of weird paintings in a dusty storage room.”

Faith’s laugh was cut off by her realization that Buffy was casually assuming they’d be hanging out together, and generally talking to her like they were going to be… friends. Unsure how to react, she decided to roll with it. “You sure you wanna debut this slinky little number on a girls’ night? Don’t ya wanna save it for that boyfriend you were talking about?”

Buffy shook her head as she dug her mother’s credit card out of her pocket. “He wouldn’t appreciate it. He’s kinda… conservative. Silver and slinky isn’t really his thing.”

*~*~*

Vereen City

One month ago

The light from the cut glass chandeliers caught on her curves, and the silver cocktail dress shimmered a little with every movement. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her while she held an animated conversation with a pair of young Deputy Counselors to the Royal Advisory and an aging high court judge.

When she caught him staring, she broke away from the group and walked over to him, smirking at his lusty expression. “If you’re bored, I can introduce you to the new Education Advisor. She’s right over there, the one in the cream-colored suit.”

Spike didn’t give the Advisor even a glance of acknowledgment. “Or…” He couldn’t resist the urge to wrap a hand around her waist and pull her shimmering body closer to him.

She shook her head, feigning disappointment. “What is it about these political events that always makes you so desperate to find a nice, isolated broom closet?”

His fingertips skimmed over the silver dress, tracing her curves. “Well, you’re never in uniform at these dos, for one. And this particular dress? It’s killing me, Slayer.” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “But this time, we have a posh little hotel suite… right upstairs. As handy as a broom closet, and a helluva lot roomier.”

Buffy pressed her face into his shoulder to muffle her laughter. “Ok, the dress is a winner. Noted. But I really should do a little more mingling before we disappear. The Frandrey doesn’t pay for us to come to these things just so I can look pretty and check out the broom closets, you know.”

“Pity.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “One more hour, ok? Then I’ll do the luncheon tomorrow, and we’ll be home, messing up our own bed, by tomorrow night.”

He glanced toward the ceiling, indicating their suite two stories above the ballroom. “And tonight?”

She leaned in close to his ear to whisper, “I’ll leave the dress on as long as you like,” and was sauntering off toward the Education Advisor before he could formulate a reply.

“Lucky fellow,” came a voice from behind him.

Spike turned around to find a thin, middle-aged human man in a bow tie was also watching the silver dress shimmer away.

“Your Katyan?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I’ve seen her at a couple of these events. Frandrey, isn’t she?”

Spike nodded. “Naval Liaison.”

The man’s eyes widened. “That’s Captain Summers? The Navy detests her.”

“A fact she wears as a badge of honor.”

“As well she should. Difficult joint services matters may not make my life easier, but Frandrey independence is a vital component of the New Salem Territory retaining some degree of its own. With guard dogs like Summers, the coven elders and all us middle-management fellows below them know we still have enough power to maintain the territory on our own, should political circumstances ever require us to return to an independent condition.”

“Leverage.”

“Insurance. A strong Frandrey is evidence of a strong New Salem the Rasheeni can see, which keeps the government at large from attempting to take advantage.”

Spike raised an eyebrow at the man. “Lawyer or politician?”

“Neither. Legal and Historical Researcher for the Territorial Relations Advisory office.” The man offered a small bow. “Iago Weaver.”

“Spike.” He gestured in the direction Buffy and the Education Advisor had gone. “She does what she does for the Frandrey itself, you know. She doesn’t have any particular ties to New Salem, or the tangled politics of a partially integrated territory.”

“She doesn’t have to.” Weaver smiled. “But she will. You both will. Soon, I think.”

Spike’s eyebrow rose again.

“I’m a reader of more than books,” he explained. “My sole inheritance from ancestors who were notably powerful witches is occasional glimpses into the futures of those in whose eyes I can see. You and your Katyan will grow to care more about New Salem when your first acquaintance from the territory meets with your last from Terra’bo.”

The eyebrow dropped as the entire forehead furrowed. “First New Salem acquaintance… Polly? And the last person I met in Terra’bo? The other slayer?”

“You will understand.” Weaver offered another bow, ending the conversation, and then strolled off to the snack bar as if they’d been discussing nothing of significance.

Spike went immediately in the other direction, toward a clump of Royal Advisors and Coven Elders, who were having one of those less-than-subtle conversations that were trying to appear to be cocktail party chit-chat while being obviously about policy. “Elder Jessup?” he asked with forced politeness. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Excuse me, friends. It appears I’ve been negligent in my mingling duties.” Polly Jessup hooked her arm into Spike’s and let him lead her away, leaning in to whisper, “My thanks for the rescue!” as soon as they were out of earshot.

“No one forced you into politics, pet.”

“No one warned me becoming an Elder would be so boring,” she countered as they stepped out onto the veranda. She slipped her arm from his to close the door behind them. “But I know you well enough to know you didn’t charge into that den of double-talking nonsense just to liberate me. You want something.”

“Polly! I’m insulted! I’d never–” Spike gave up with a wave of his hand. “Forget it. I can’t even fake that. Need to pick your brain about a couple of things.”

When he paused to look into the ballroom through the windows, she waved him toward his point. “If you haven’t noticed, Vampire, one of us is getting older.”

He dragged his gaze away from the window. “Sorry. It’s just… Have you seen Buffy tonight?”

“We spoke for a few minutes earlier, before we were pulled in opposite directions… Oh.” Polly chuckled when she caught the subtext. “You mean have I looked at her tonight? That dress suits her well.”

Spike’s eyes began to drift back toward the window. “It’s bloody fantastic.”

“I’m sure you say that about every piece of finery in her closet.” She pulled him toward a pair of chairs that had their backs to the windows. “What else is on your mind?”

“There’s a fellow in there.” Spike gestured back toward the ballroom as they settled in. “Name of Weaver. Looks to be some mix of librarian and weasel. Works down here with the Territorial Advisors. And is apparently a seer.”

“Oh, that he is. The Weavers were among the strongest family lines in New Salem. Usually, when power fades in a family, it’s a slow process, each generation having slightly less than the one before, until you have the population we have now: most humans have only minor abilities that they can trace back through their ancestral line like they would eye or hair color, that otherwise aren’t really of much interest or import.

“The Weavers, though… That was different. They’ve always been seers, every generation had at least one born with the knack of it -usually more- no matter how powerful or not their Katyans’ family lines. Weaver Seers were one of those things our society could always count on having. Until a few generations ago. The power and abilities dropped away abruptly after Iago’s great-great-grandmother and her cousins were born. It was as if someone had spun a dimmer switch, drastically lowering the power levels of the family all at once. Every Weaver since has had extremely limited innate access to magic. No one knows exactly why.”

“This Weaver’s sight doesn’t seem all that limited.” Spike went over his exchange with Iago, ending with, “He’s sure about it, too. Trust me on that. I know seers. Spent a century and change with one. This Weaver bloke wasn’t guessing.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps he saw just enough to send a message to you and Buffy, hinting you should have long ago begun to participate in the political life of your adopted homeland, beyond the confines of the issues you are forced to confront professionally.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t drag you out here so you could nag me to vote.”

“All human adults are eligible to participate in Elder elections, no matter where they live, Spike.” Polly shut down his attempt to argue with a stern look. “From a purely legal standpoint, that includes you. Did you or did you not process your immigration through New Salem?”

“Yeah, but that was set up by you and Pete–”

She cut him off with another look. “So vote.” Her expression softened and she leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. “Apologies. That wasn’t the point I was trying to make. This job is rapidly turning me into an opportunist.”

“And yet you’re running for re-election.”

“If I win, I think my second term should be my last. I find I’m beginning to look back fondly at the last Calan war.”

“You slept through half of it.”

“Precisely.” Polly opened her eyes and turned to look at him. “My point, Spike, is that Iago’s prophecy could as easily be about the past as about the future. That is, if you’re sure you met no one else that night.”

Spike shook his head. “Met the other slayer maybe an hour before she and I both met you. But he seemed right sure this was something that was coming.” He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “If he’s right, and she’s coming to New Salem… One of them will have to go back. If she won’t…”

“Buffy will,” Polly finished.

“You know we can’t, Polly. It’s just been too bloody long, at this point. No matter what sense of duty might cloud up her thinking if… Especially now that we’ve met Aaron.”

“I know,” she said quietly. She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever Iago Weaver saw certainly involved me at least as much as it involves you and Buffy. We’ll sort it out together when the time comes. I’ll be right there with you.”

*~*~*

Sunnydale

Today

Tara looked from slayer to vampire as they silently studied each other, with the silver-accented halter top between them. “Uh, guys?”

“It was you,” Faith murmured.

“It wasn’t you,” Spike said at nearly the same time. His gaze drifted to Tara.

She looked back at both of them, thoroughly confused.

Faith pulled the retail tag off the halter. “You were who she was really hoping would see her in this. She said her boyfriend wouldn’t go for it, but she wanted to wear it on a night out. Two slayers, out together, and a vamp with your rep hanging around in town. She had to have been counting on you turning up. You like her in silver and black, don’t you?”

Spike’s mind was still elsewhere. He lifted the top from her hands and tossed it into the basket beside Tara. “See her in dark grey more often, but close enough.”

Tara blushed at his continued focus in her direction. “D-did I do something?”

“You’re fine, pet.” He turned his attention back to the box of underclothes before him. “You and Buffy had a night out planned?” he asked Faith, in an effort to keep the conversation in motion while he sorted through his thoughts.

“I thought it would be like old times, you know? Like the few good months we had as friends before I ruined… well, everything. Turns out, all I got was a few hours to daydream about it, and then there was a witch and a demon bleeding on the ground in the middle of Restfield, and everything changed.”

“Demon,” Spike murmured, still sounding distracted. “Haven’t thought in those terms in a long bloody time. We just call Drav’s species Rasheeni. That lot across the Pritinga Ocean are the Jorosi. It’s just them, the humans, and me, more or less.” He gestured for Tara to move the basket closer to him, and dumped a handful of items into it. “Actually caught me off-guard, hearing that word so much from you lot tonight. Joyce, especially. When she saw some snaps I have of Persh and the boys, and little Kreena… Odd how you get used to things being a certain way.”

“Who’s Kreena?” Tara asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind saying.”

“Our niece, Tray and Neela’s sprog.” Spike vetoed a top Faith held up from her box with a shake of his head. “We met Traygo during the war. Both got friendly with him, but he and Buffy got a lot closer, then and after. He took her as a sister sometime around the end of the war, but I can’t get either of ’em to say exactly what it was got them bonded so tight.”

“Hang on. Are you saying B’s got a demon friend who’s like a brother to her?”

“Not like. Is.” He tried to wave it off. “It’s just how the culture is. If you feel like family with someone, you’re actually called family. The word isn’t limited to blood ties.”

“That sounds nice,” Tara whispered.

“You don’t have to deal with Tray’s uppity relatives. His mum’s alright, but the rest of ’em…” Spike shook his head. “If that obnoxious a great aunt of his weren’t at least as old as I am, I’d gladly use her for target practice.”

Faith burst into laughter. “So you’re saying you guys have in-law problems? Like normal people? But with Buffy’s demon family?”

“Honestly? I doubt she’d get in the way if I decided to take a swing at ol’ Vellga, unless she wanted to steal the first punch. Neither of us will, for Tray’s mum’s sake.” He shook his head. “But sometimes, it’s tempting.”

Tara couldn’t help but join Faith in laughing at him. “She’s right! It’s just like the bickering in-laws you see in movies! Do you have a holiday like Thanksgiving?”

“Not exactly, but there are more than enough get togethers without it.”

*~*~*

Vereen City

One month ago

Buffy zipped her silver dress and Spike’s black suit into the garment bag while she continued her phone call. “I’m sorry, Mother Kreena, but it’s my sacred duty as the official Cool Aunt to buy something stupid, frivolous, and preferably loud. If everyone else is getting little Kreena practical and educational birthday gifts, that’s all the more reason for me not to.”

Spike snickered at the extreme eye roll that was turned his direction while Buffy listened to the reply.

“I’m not saying Great Aunt Vellga is wrong. I’m only saying that four-year-olds like toys, and not all toys have to teach them something more complex than ‘this noisy thing makes my parents crazy.’” She sighed. “Tell Vellga I will clear my gift with Neela and Tray before I buy it. I see no reason to get anyone else’s approval.”

Spike pantomimed strangling Vellga while wearing an exaggerated expression of rage, complete with fangs, causing Buffy to have to turn away as she struggled to keep from laughing in her caller’s ear.

“I’m not trying to start a fight, Mother, but you know as well as I do she has no business getting this deeply into the birthday planning. Neela is perfectly capable– …Yes, I remember Harvo’s wake quite well, actually. But I don’t think leaving us alone on the porch and washing a few dishes absolves her of–”

Buffy sighed again. “I promise I’ll make every effort to keep the peace, but you’ve got to get her to stop doing this stuff. Acting like Tray and Neela don’t know what they’re doing as parents isn’t going to make either of them like her any better. If Vellga doesn’t back off, she’s going to alienate Neela as much as she’s already alienated me. And if Neela and I are both in favor of cutting her off, you know Tray will do it. I don’t mean to make that sound like a threat. I just mean… Talk to her? Please?”

She turned back toward Spike, and gestured for him to finish packing. “Ok. I’ll talk to you soon. … We will, I promise. … We haven’t so far, even when we lived here for a year. I think we’re fine. … I’ll tell him. Bye.” She ended the call. “Mother Kreena says ‘hello.’ I had to promise we’d be careful going home, and not to get pick-pocketed while we’re in the capital.”

Spike stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” She stepped into the bathroom to pack her toiletries. “Remember that wonderful, golden time when we first came to Rasheen, and didn’t have anybody mother-henning us?”

“You mean that first hour or so, before we met Pete?”

“Point taken. But he has never been like Kreena is. And then there’s Great Aunt Vellga, here to make everyone regret making family ties with anyone…” Buffy’s groan of frustration could be heard from the neighboring room. “It wouldn’t be so bad if Kreena would just be consistent. She stands up to Vellga occasionally, but then she backs down, and starts making excuses. ‘Vellga’s old.’ ‘Vellga means well.’ ‘This is how she shows she cares.’ ‘I wouldn’t want to upset her.’ Etcetera, etcetera. It’s driving me crazy!”

“Price of family, love. Putting up with some of ’em for the sake of keeping together the lot. Not that I don’t want to knock out the old bat now and again, but Kreena’s right to try to smooth things out around her.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Buffy poked her head out of the bathroom to catch his eye across the suite. “What the hell are we thinking, trying to drag Aaron into all this?”

“That he’s gonna have more family than either of us ever did?”

She wrinkled up her nose. “I’m not totally sold on this being a good thing.”

He gave her an evil grin. “Vellga of Carvgralla can’t live forever.”

“You’re terrible. Ready to check out?”

“Just about. You?”

“Almost. After I get through this stupid luncheon, I want to swing by Sixth Street–”

“Of course you do.”

“–and then I’ll be ready to hit the road. What are you going to do while you wait on me?”

“Eh, putter about downtown. I’m sure I can find a way to kill a couple hours.”

*~*~*

When Spike finally found Iago Weaver’s office, he didn’t waste time on preliminaries. “When you were reading me at the party last night, did you see anything about a little boy? Three years old, blond hair–”

“Grey eyes,” Weaver finished. “There was one image: I saw the man who will carry him out of the group home.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say… It wasn’t you.”

<Chapter 17: Dough Girls
Chapter 19: Big Brother>