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Warning Signs
Chapter 1: Warning Signs
“Coffee!” Willow chirped as she entered the Magic Box carrying two cardboard trays. She passed around to-go cups from the Espresso Pump to Xander and Anya, leaving two more on the table. “Hot chocolate for Dawn.” She handed the younger girl her beverage.
“What took you so long, Will?” asked Xander.
“There was this incredibly annoying guy ahead of me.” She took a sip of her own coffee, made a face, and took the lid off to add cream and sugar. “I really thought the girl behind the counter was going to shove a baguette down his throat.” She shrugged. “Too bad she didn’t. It promised to be amusing.” She glanced over at the training room. “Buffy and Tara still at it?”
“Your girlfriend has more stamina than Xander,” Anya said from her usual perch behind the cash register, where she was flipping through Modern Bride magazine. Xander looked slightly perturbed at this observation.
“So, you know that coffee table I wanted?” Willow took a seat at the research table with Xander and Dawn. “My nice, cheap table from Ikea? They wanted $350 for shipping!”
“Are they shipping it from Sweden?” asked Anya, tilting her head to the side and examining a photo spread of a wedding dress.
“That’s what I wanna know!” Willow said. “Three hundred and fifty dollars!” She looked to Xander for sympathy.
Which Xander was more than willing to give, but he was also able to read between the lines. “All this is a long-winded way of telling me you want me to build you a table, isn’t it?”
“It’s either that or driving all the way to L.A. just to buy furniture.”
“Will…”
“Please? Pretty please?”
Xander shook his head. “I dunno, Will. Anya’s got me building a freakin’ gazebo for the wedding.” He shot a glare in his fiancée’s direction, but she was so preoccupied with her magazine that she didn’t notice.
“It’s elegant,” Anya replied without looking up. “And it’s not like we’ll be having a church wedding. Half the guests wouldn’t be able to touch anything for fear of being incinerated.”
“Where would you put a gazebo?” asked Dawn.
“Right now, it’s looking like your backyard, kiddo,” Anya told her. Dawn raised her eyebrows. She wondered if the ex-demon had run that by Buffy yet.
“Hey, Ahn,” Xander started, sparked by the incineration comment. “You think maybe we could talk about the number of demons you’re expecting at this wedding? I mean, my family’s not exactly the most open-minded…”
*****
“Psst! Spike!”
Spike turned away from his place at the bar and looked at the demon trying to get his attention. “Clem?”
The flop-eared, saggy-skinned creature made a surreptitious gesture beckoning him. Spike stopped himself from rolling his eyes, because Clem was the closest thing he had to a friend. With a nod to Willy that procured him another blood-and-bourbon, Spike left the bar and took a seat at Clem’s table.
“What is it, Clem?”
Clem glanced around, presumably looking for eavesdroppers, and then leaned across the table towards Spike. “Listen, I’ve got some advice for you.”
“What?”
“Get out of town.”
Spike just looked at Clem, starting to lose his patience. As if he needed another reason to leave town. Having his heart smashed to smithereens on a weekly basis by the resident Slayer wasn’t enough, apparently. “Why?”
“I dunno, dude. Just something I heard.”
“From who?”
Clem shifted in his chair. “I don’t know.”
Or wouldn’t say. That was bloody useful. Could you vague that up a little? Spike thought bitterly. Then, he rolled his eyes at himself. Look at him, starting to talk like a Scooby. “Piss off, Clem.”
Clem didn’t leave – perhaps because it had been his table to begin with, not that Spike was concerned with that sort of propriety. “Look, Spike, I’m just trying to –”
Spike growled and vamped out. Clem jumped backwards, nearly falling out of his seat.
“Hey! Don’t kill the messenger, Spike!”
“Oh, why the hell not?” He shook his demon face away and sighed. “Sorry. Bit on edge lately.”
“As well you should be!” Clem leaned forward again, speaking in a confidential tone. “I think someone might be trying to kill you.”
Spike snorted. “Who’s not, these days?” He pushed his chair back and left the table.
*****
The doorbell jingled as a customer entered the shop. “Welcome to the Magic Box!” Anya greeted him cheerily. “Please let me know if I may be of assistance in the spending of your money.”
The customer – a tall, attractive man in his mid-forties – nodded with an amused grin. “Thank you,” he replied, running a nervous hand though his curly salt-and-pepper hair. He was well dressed – a businessman in a three-piece suit. Not the usual Magic Box clientele. “Actually, I need a – this is going to sound ridiculous – I need a magic carpet.”
“Like Aladdin?” asked Xander. “Genie and the lamp kind of thing?”
“Not a flying carpet, a magic carpet,” Anya scolded him.
Xander looked confused. “What’s the difference?”
“When a magic carpet is made, it’s bestowed with a magical focus,” said Willow. “It helps you do spells.”
The man nodded, looking from Willow to Anya. “Do you know where I could order one?”
“Here.” Willow ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook and scribbled something down. “The Eye of the Cat does them, custom made.” She handed him the paper. “That’s their website.”
“Thanks.” He seemed relieved that his request had been received without mocking. He extended his hand to Willow. “I’m David. You seem pretty familiar with the magicks. Are you a practitioner?”
Willow gave him a modest smile and shook his hand. “Willow. I dabble.”
“Will!” said Xander. He turned to the inquisitive customer. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a first-rate witch.”
“Is that so?”
Willow blushed. “Well, I – I mean, I’ve pulled off some big stuff, you know, in a clinch, but I can’t always control… Sometimes things go wrong.”
“Like what?” he asked. He seemed genuinely interested, which startled Willow. She wasn’t used to discussing her magic with anyone other than the Scoobies.
“Like…” She sighed. “Not too long ago, I tried to do an anti-love spell, and it kinda backfired and the two people involved ended up, you know…”
“Utterly besotted?” David said. “That happens sometimes. Best way to keep an anti-love spell from reversing on itself is to use black walnuts.”
“Black walnuts. Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Willow smiled and blushed again.
“Can we help you find anything else today?” As much as Anya enjoyed magical conversation, she’d much prefer it if her customers would spend money in the store.
“I’ve actually got a list here – looking for some supplies.” David pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Anya.
She read over the list and nodded approvingly. “Mmm-hmm, yes, of course,” she said, scurrying from shelf to shelf, selecting the items he needed.
“So, you seem pretty into the magicks yourself,” said Willow.
David smiled at her. “Kind of a secret hobby. Doesn’t go over too well in the boardroom.” He glanced down at his clothes in explanation. “But my mother was a Wiccan, so I learned a lot of it from her.”
“This eruzile,” said Anya, “did you want the incense or the oil?”
“Ah, incense,” responded David, picking up a large stone and examining it.
“Eruzile is used for compelling spells, isn’t it?” Willow asked, narrowing her eyes a little.
“You really do know your stuff. Yes, my son is having a little trouble focusing on his schoolwork these days. I was hoping to give him a bit of, erm, encouragement.” He gave Willow a self-indulgent “surely you understand” look.
He glanced back at Anya and held up the stone he’d been looking at. “Is this an Osiris stone?”
“Oh, not a real one,” she told him. “That’s just an imitation. We keep the real ones in the glass case. Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
Anya nodded, going back behind the counter to unlock the case. “They’re somewhat volatile. Be very careful not to drop it. Or set it too close to the blood of a slaughtered animal. In fact, I’d keep it away from any raw meat, just to be safe.”
“Will do.” David chuckled and handed Anya the cash for his purchases. “Thanks so much. And good luck with your spells,” he said, winking at Willow before grabbing his bags and heading out the door.
“Thank you, please come again!” Anya called after him. The bell jingled again as he left, and this time it caught the attention of Buffy, just coming out of the training room. “Is someone here?” she asked hopefully.
“Customer,” said Anya. Buffy’s face fell.
“Still no Giles?” asked Tara, following Buffy and looking a little worse for wear. “Because I for one can’t wait until he gets back.” She plopped down next to Willow and reached for one of the extra cups of coffee. “Training the Slayer’s hard work.” She poked Xander. “Your turn tomorrow.” He just groaned in response.
“I appreciate it, you guys,” Buffy told them.
“You should get Spike to train with you,” Dawn said.
Buffy’s eyes flashed with anger. “Dawn…”
“He’s stronger than any of us. Even if he can’t hit you, he could still –”
“Dawn!” Buffy’s hand went up to her forehead to conceal her watery eyes, and she looked dangerously close to a breakdown. “We’re not talking about Spike, okay?” She hadn’t spoken to the vampire since she ran out on him the other day. He’d been gone by the time she got home from work, and they’d managed to avoid each other when she went out patrolling.
She hadn’t told anyone about the dream – or the make-out session that had preceded it – but none of the Scoobies questioned her reasons for cutting Spike out of the group. They just assumed she’d gotten fed up with his cagey behavior about Jacob. Willow, at least, knew about the love spell, but the way it had gone horribly wrong gave Buffy enough reason, in the witch’s eyes, to be uncomfortable around him.
Buffy paced around the shop, the tension she felt seeping into her facial expression. She needed Giles. She needed him to be here. “He should be back by now, don’t you think?” She looked at each of them in turn. “Don’t you think Giles should be back by now?”
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” said Willow. “Maybe he’s getting lots of info from his wizard friend, and he’ll have something useful for us when he does come back.”
Buffy sighed. “I just don’t have a good feeling about this. I can’t help thinking that something bad is about to happen.”
“Hello?” Xander replied. “It’s Sunnydale. Something bad is always about to happen.”
Buffy shot him a glare. “Not helpful.” She stalked around the room and kicked at one of the bookshelves displaying merchandise. “I want Giles to come back.”
They all glanced at the door as Giles burst in. Buffy looked down at her kicking foot with interest. “Huh.”
“I’m sorry I took so long.” Giles dropped the bag he was carrying and shrugged out of his coat. “I had to do some investigating.”
“So, what did you find out?” asked Buffy. “Was your wizard guy any help?”
His face clouded over. “No. He was dead.”
The others gaped at him in shock. “Dead?” Tara repeated.
“Like, dead dead, or like, Buffy dead?” Xander clarified. “Cause I bet we could –” Willow smacked him on the arm. “Ow.”
“What happened?” asked Buffy.
Giles sank down in a chair and took off his glasses, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know. When I arrived, there was no one at the house. The place looked as though it had been ransacked. While I was looking around for any sign of Robert, someone set the place on fire.” He opened his bag and brought out two texts, several notebooks, and a few loose pages that appeared to have been singed. “I salvaged what I could, but I don’t know if it will be helpful.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?” asked Tara. “Maybe he just…”
“No,” Giles replied. “I know for certain.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what looked like an autopsy report. “He was killed – murdered – and then his house was burned, presumably to prevent any of his work from falling into our hands.”
Willow reached for the autopsy report and starting looking over it. “Limbs severed at the… Disembow – oh, eww. Who would do this?”
Giles put his glasses back on and ran one hand through his hair. “Someone who desperately wanted Robert’s knowledge to remain a secret.”
“Not to mention someone with kind of a sadistic streak,” Xander said, looking at the autopsy report. “We’re talking big hard-on for bloodshed here.”
“So, who do we know who fits that description?” asked Anya.
Just then, Spike walked in the door, stopping short at the sight of everyone gathered around the research table staring at him.
Buffy jumped up from the table so suddenly that she knocked over one of the coffee cups. “Shit!” The others all scrambled to save the research materials from the expanding puddle of coffee, while Tara and Anya scurried off to get paper towels.
“I’m sorry, Will,” Buffy said, collecting papers off the table. “I’m a spaz.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve put the lid back on.” Even though it was too late now, Willow looked around for the lid to her cup, but couldn’t find it anywhere.
“Am I interrupting something?” asked Spike. He glanced at Buffy, but she turned away from him and focused on the stairs leading to the upper level.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Deadboy, you’re not welcome here,” said Xander.
“Shop’s open for business, innit?” He held up a $10 bill. “I’m a paying customer.”
*****
“Look, it’s complicated, Bit,” Spike said as he walked the younger Summers home from the magic shop. He’d gone in looking for burba weed, hoping Buffy wouldn’t be there, but no such luck. Their interaction had been uncomfortable at best, and he’d jumped at the chance to take Dawn home, glad of the excuse to make a hasty exit.
Should have just gone in through the basement and nicked it, saved himself the headache. But he supposed some part of him wanted to run into the Slayer. They had to do it sometime, didn’t they? The first meeting since That Day. They couldn’t avoid each other forever.
Of course, he’d been hoping it’d go a little better than that. She, apparently, was relying on the blissful ignorance this town so heartily embraced, and was going to pretend like she hadn’t been ready to shag him senseless before her stupid slayer dreams reminded her that Slayers and vampires shouldn’t be together.
Not that the ignorant act helped. Because he knew – and she knew that he knew – he’d tapped into her darker urges, he’d seen beneath that hardened slayer exterior, where she clearly harbored some pretty intense feelings for him. She’d been so close to admitting it, damn it, until that dream set her off on her whole “this is wrong” song and dance. Now she was all boarded up again, emotions withdrawn inside her, locked away where she didn’t have to deal with them, didn’t have to make the hard decisions.
“But you still love her, right?” Dawn tugged on the sleeve of his leather duster, bringing him back to the present.
“Course I do.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
“And she loves you.”
Spike blew smoke out his nose. “Only she knows for sure, pet.”
“And you’re just going to let a stupid dream screw that up?” Dawn went on as if he’d just said yes.
If only Buffy could see things as simply as her sister. “Slayer takes her dreams very seriously.” He fought back the bitter thoughts about Angel that were surfacing in his mind.
“Just because some of her dreams turn out to be prophetic –”
“Dawn!” Spike hissed, suddenly on edge as his senses picked up vampire activity nearby. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him, scanning the surrounding area. Nothing in sight, but Clem’s warning lingered in the back of his mind.
“What is it?” Dawn was frightened by his change in demeanor. He released his grip slightly, but doubled his pace as he started walking again. Dawn had to run to keep up with him.
Suddenly, several vampires jumped out of the bushes into their path. Spike pulled Dawn in an about-face, only to discover that they were surrounded on all sides by at least twenty vamps, far more than Spike could fight off alone. Dawn screamed and clutched Spike’s arm as the vampires closed in on them.
“Coffee!” Willow chirped as she entered the Magic Box carrying two cardboard trays. She passed around to-go cups from the Espresso Pump to Xander and Anya, leaving two more on the table. “Hot chocolate for Dawn.” She handed the younger girl her beverage.
“What took you so long, Will?” asked Xander.
“There was this incredibly annoying guy ahead of me.” She took a sip of her own coffee, made a face, and took the lid off to add cream and sugar. “I really thought the girl behind the counter was going to shove a baguette down his throat.” She shrugged. “Too bad she didn’t. It promised to be amusing.” She glanced over at the training room. “Buffy and Tara still at it?”
“Your girlfriend has more stamina than Xander,” Anya said from her usual perch behind the cash register, where she was flipping through Modern Bride magazine. Xander looked slightly perturbed at this observation.
“So, you know that coffee table I wanted?” Willow took a seat at the research table with Xander and Dawn. “My nice, cheap table from Ikea? They wanted $350 for shipping!”
“Are they shipping it from Sweden?” asked Anya, tilting her head to the side and examining a photo spread of a wedding dress.
“That’s what I wanna know!” Willow said. “Three hundred and fifty dollars!” She looked to Xander for sympathy.
Which Xander was more than willing to give, but he was also able to read between the lines. “All this is a long-winded way of telling me you want me to build you a table, isn’t it?”
“It’s either that or driving all the way to L.A. just to buy furniture.”
“Will…”
“Please? Pretty please?”
Xander shook his head. “I dunno, Will. Anya’s got me building a freakin’ gazebo for the wedding.” He shot a glare in his fiancée’s direction, but she was so preoccupied with her magazine that she didn’t notice.
“It’s elegant,” Anya replied without looking up. “And it’s not like we’ll be having a church wedding. Half the guests wouldn’t be able to touch anything for fear of being incinerated.”
“Where would you put a gazebo?” asked Dawn.
“Right now, it’s looking like your backyard, kiddo,” Anya told her. Dawn raised her eyebrows. She wondered if the ex-demon had run that by Buffy yet.
“Hey, Ahn,” Xander started, sparked by the incineration comment. “You think maybe we could talk about the number of demons you’re expecting at this wedding? I mean, my family’s not exactly the most open-minded…”
*****
“Psst! Spike!”
Spike turned away from his place at the bar and looked at the demon trying to get his attention. “Clem?”
The flop-eared, saggy-skinned creature made a surreptitious gesture beckoning him. Spike stopped himself from rolling his eyes, because Clem was the closest thing he had to a friend. With a nod to Willy that procured him another blood-and-bourbon, Spike left the bar and took a seat at Clem’s table.
“What is it, Clem?”
Clem glanced around, presumably looking for eavesdroppers, and then leaned across the table towards Spike. “Listen, I’ve got some advice for you.”
“What?”
“Get out of town.”
Spike just looked at Clem, starting to lose his patience. As if he needed another reason to leave town. Having his heart smashed to smithereens on a weekly basis by the resident Slayer wasn’t enough, apparently. “Why?”
“I dunno, dude. Just something I heard.”
“From who?”
Clem shifted in his chair. “I don’t know.”
Or wouldn’t say. That was bloody useful. Could you vague that up a little? Spike thought bitterly. Then, he rolled his eyes at himself. Look at him, starting to talk like a Scooby. “Piss off, Clem.”
Clem didn’t leave – perhaps because it had been his table to begin with, not that Spike was concerned with that sort of propriety. “Look, Spike, I’m just trying to –”
Spike growled and vamped out. Clem jumped backwards, nearly falling out of his seat.
“Hey! Don’t kill the messenger, Spike!”
“Oh, why the hell not?” He shook his demon face away and sighed. “Sorry. Bit on edge lately.”
“As well you should be!” Clem leaned forward again, speaking in a confidential tone. “I think someone might be trying to kill you.”
Spike snorted. “Who’s not, these days?” He pushed his chair back and left the table.
*****
The doorbell jingled as a customer entered the shop. “Welcome to the Magic Box!” Anya greeted him cheerily. “Please let me know if I may be of assistance in the spending of your money.”
The customer – a tall, attractive man in his mid-forties – nodded with an amused grin. “Thank you,” he replied, running a nervous hand though his curly salt-and-pepper hair. He was well dressed – a businessman in a three-piece suit. Not the usual Magic Box clientele. “Actually, I need a – this is going to sound ridiculous – I need a magic carpet.”
“Like Aladdin?” asked Xander. “Genie and the lamp kind of thing?”
“Not a flying carpet, a magic carpet,” Anya scolded him.
Xander looked confused. “What’s the difference?”
“When a magic carpet is made, it’s bestowed with a magical focus,” said Willow. “It helps you do spells.”
The man nodded, looking from Willow to Anya. “Do you know where I could order one?”
“Here.” Willow ripped a piece of paper out of her notebook and scribbled something down. “The Eye of the Cat does them, custom made.” She handed him the paper. “That’s their website.”
“Thanks.” He seemed relieved that his request had been received without mocking. He extended his hand to Willow. “I’m David. You seem pretty familiar with the magicks. Are you a practitioner?”
Willow gave him a modest smile and shook his hand. “Willow. I dabble.”
“Will!” said Xander. He turned to the inquisitive customer. “Don’t listen to her. She’s a first-rate witch.”
“Is that so?”
Willow blushed. “Well, I – I mean, I’ve pulled off some big stuff, you know, in a clinch, but I can’t always control… Sometimes things go wrong.”
“Like what?” he asked. He seemed genuinely interested, which startled Willow. She wasn’t used to discussing her magic with anyone other than the Scoobies.
“Like…” She sighed. “Not too long ago, I tried to do an anti-love spell, and it kinda backfired and the two people involved ended up, you know…”
“Utterly besotted?” David said. “That happens sometimes. Best way to keep an anti-love spell from reversing on itself is to use black walnuts.”
“Black walnuts. Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Willow smiled and blushed again.
“Can we help you find anything else today?” As much as Anya enjoyed magical conversation, she’d much prefer it if her customers would spend money in the store.
“I’ve actually got a list here – looking for some supplies.” David pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Anya.
She read over the list and nodded approvingly. “Mmm-hmm, yes, of course,” she said, scurrying from shelf to shelf, selecting the items he needed.
“So, you seem pretty into the magicks yourself,” said Willow.
David smiled at her. “Kind of a secret hobby. Doesn’t go over too well in the boardroom.” He glanced down at his clothes in explanation. “But my mother was a Wiccan, so I learned a lot of it from her.”
“This eruzile,” said Anya, “did you want the incense or the oil?”
“Ah, incense,” responded David, picking up a large stone and examining it.
“Eruzile is used for compelling spells, isn’t it?” Willow asked, narrowing her eyes a little.
“You really do know your stuff. Yes, my son is having a little trouble focusing on his schoolwork these days. I was hoping to give him a bit of, erm, encouragement.” He gave Willow a self-indulgent “surely you understand” look.
He glanced back at Anya and held up the stone he’d been looking at. “Is this an Osiris stone?”
“Oh, not a real one,” she told him. “That’s just an imitation. We keep the real ones in the glass case. Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
Anya nodded, going back behind the counter to unlock the case. “They’re somewhat volatile. Be very careful not to drop it. Or set it too close to the blood of a slaughtered animal. In fact, I’d keep it away from any raw meat, just to be safe.”
“Will do.” David chuckled and handed Anya the cash for his purchases. “Thanks so much. And good luck with your spells,” he said, winking at Willow before grabbing his bags and heading out the door.
“Thank you, please come again!” Anya called after him. The bell jingled again as he left, and this time it caught the attention of Buffy, just coming out of the training room. “Is someone here?” she asked hopefully.
“Customer,” said Anya. Buffy’s face fell.
“Still no Giles?” asked Tara, following Buffy and looking a little worse for wear. “Because I for one can’t wait until he gets back.” She plopped down next to Willow and reached for one of the extra cups of coffee. “Training the Slayer’s hard work.” She poked Xander. “Your turn tomorrow.” He just groaned in response.
“I appreciate it, you guys,” Buffy told them.
“You should get Spike to train with you,” Dawn said.
Buffy’s eyes flashed with anger. “Dawn…”
“He’s stronger than any of us. Even if he can’t hit you, he could still –”
“Dawn!” Buffy’s hand went up to her forehead to conceal her watery eyes, and she looked dangerously close to a breakdown. “We’re not talking about Spike, okay?” She hadn’t spoken to the vampire since she ran out on him the other day. He’d been gone by the time she got home from work, and they’d managed to avoid each other when she went out patrolling.
She hadn’t told anyone about the dream – or the make-out session that had preceded it – but none of the Scoobies questioned her reasons for cutting Spike out of the group. They just assumed she’d gotten fed up with his cagey behavior about Jacob. Willow, at least, knew about the love spell, but the way it had gone horribly wrong gave Buffy enough reason, in the witch’s eyes, to be uncomfortable around him.
Buffy paced around the shop, the tension she felt seeping into her facial expression. She needed Giles. She needed him to be here. “He should be back by now, don’t you think?” She looked at each of them in turn. “Don’t you think Giles should be back by now?”
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” said Willow. “Maybe he’s getting lots of info from his wizard friend, and he’ll have something useful for us when he does come back.”
Buffy sighed. “I just don’t have a good feeling about this. I can’t help thinking that something bad is about to happen.”
“Hello?” Xander replied. “It’s Sunnydale. Something bad is always about to happen.”
Buffy shot him a glare. “Not helpful.” She stalked around the room and kicked at one of the bookshelves displaying merchandise. “I want Giles to come back.”
They all glanced at the door as Giles burst in. Buffy looked down at her kicking foot with interest. “Huh.”
“I’m sorry I took so long.” Giles dropped the bag he was carrying and shrugged out of his coat. “I had to do some investigating.”
“So, what did you find out?” asked Buffy. “Was your wizard guy any help?”
His face clouded over. “No. He was dead.”
The others gaped at him in shock. “Dead?” Tara repeated.
“Like, dead dead, or like, Buffy dead?” Xander clarified. “Cause I bet we could –” Willow smacked him on the arm. “Ow.”
“What happened?” asked Buffy.
Giles sank down in a chair and took off his glasses, rubbing his hand over his face. “I don’t know. When I arrived, there was no one at the house. The place looked as though it had been ransacked. While I was looking around for any sign of Robert, someone set the place on fire.” He opened his bag and brought out two texts, several notebooks, and a few loose pages that appeared to have been singed. “I salvaged what I could, but I don’t know if it will be helpful.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?” asked Tara. “Maybe he just…”
“No,” Giles replied. “I know for certain.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out what looked like an autopsy report. “He was killed – murdered – and then his house was burned, presumably to prevent any of his work from falling into our hands.”
Willow reached for the autopsy report and starting looking over it. “Limbs severed at the… Disembow – oh, eww. Who would do this?”
Giles put his glasses back on and ran one hand through his hair. “Someone who desperately wanted Robert’s knowledge to remain a secret.”
“Not to mention someone with kind of a sadistic streak,” Xander said, looking at the autopsy report. “We’re talking big hard-on for bloodshed here.”
“So, who do we know who fits that description?” asked Anya.
Just then, Spike walked in the door, stopping short at the sight of everyone gathered around the research table staring at him.
Buffy jumped up from the table so suddenly that she knocked over one of the coffee cups. “Shit!” The others all scrambled to save the research materials from the expanding puddle of coffee, while Tara and Anya scurried off to get paper towels.
“I’m sorry, Will,” Buffy said, collecting papers off the table. “I’m a spaz.”
“No, it’s my fault. I should’ve put the lid back on.” Even though it was too late now, Willow looked around for the lid to her cup, but couldn’t find it anywhere.
“Am I interrupting something?” asked Spike. He glanced at Buffy, but she turned away from him and focused on the stairs leading to the upper level.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Deadboy, you’re not welcome here,” said Xander.
“Shop’s open for business, innit?” He held up a $10 bill. “I’m a paying customer.”
*****
“Look, it’s complicated, Bit,” Spike said as he walked the younger Summers home from the magic shop. He’d gone in looking for burba weed, hoping Buffy wouldn’t be there, but no such luck. Their interaction had been uncomfortable at best, and he’d jumped at the chance to take Dawn home, glad of the excuse to make a hasty exit.
Should have just gone in through the basement and nicked it, saved himself the headache. But he supposed some part of him wanted to run into the Slayer. They had to do it sometime, didn’t they? The first meeting since That Day. They couldn’t avoid each other forever.
Of course, he’d been hoping it’d go a little better than that. She, apparently, was relying on the blissful ignorance this town so heartily embraced, and was going to pretend like she hadn’t been ready to shag him senseless before her stupid slayer dreams reminded her that Slayers and vampires shouldn’t be together.
Not that the ignorant act helped. Because he knew – and she knew that he knew – he’d tapped into her darker urges, he’d seen beneath that hardened slayer exterior, where she clearly harbored some pretty intense feelings for him. She’d been so close to admitting it, damn it, until that dream set her off on her whole “this is wrong” song and dance. Now she was all boarded up again, emotions withdrawn inside her, locked away where she didn’t have to deal with them, didn’t have to make the hard decisions.
“But you still love her, right?” Dawn tugged on the sleeve of his leather duster, bringing him back to the present.
“Course I do.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
“And she loves you.”
Spike blew smoke out his nose. “Only she knows for sure, pet.”
“And you’re just going to let a stupid dream screw that up?” Dawn went on as if he’d just said yes.
If only Buffy could see things as simply as her sister. “Slayer takes her dreams very seriously.” He fought back the bitter thoughts about Angel that were surfacing in his mind.
“Just because some of her dreams turn out to be prophetic –”
“Dawn!” Spike hissed, suddenly on edge as his senses picked up vampire activity nearby. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to him, scanning the surrounding area. Nothing in sight, but Clem’s warning lingered in the back of his mind.
“What is it?” Dawn was frightened by his change in demeanor. He released his grip slightly, but doubled his pace as he started walking again. Dawn had to run to keep up with him.
Suddenly, several vampires jumped out of the bushes into their path. Spike pulled Dawn in an about-face, only to discover that they were surrounded on all sides by at least twenty vamps, far more than Spike could fight off alone. Dawn screamed and clutched Spike’s arm as the vampires closed in on them.
Bad Dog
A/N: This story starts out a lot darker than the previous stories in this series, and the next couple chapters contain some potentially disturbing scenes. *Please* note the warnings listed.
*****
Chapter 2: Bad Dog
Spike felt Dawn’s grip being dragged down his arm as vampires grabbed them both and pulled them apart. He reached out his hand, trying to hold onto hers as long as he could, while beating off the vamps with his legs and his free arm.
“Spike!” Dawn kicked at her attackers as her hand slipped from his.
Spike knew he was outnumbered. He could probably take down most of them – but even if only one was left, that was all it would take to kill Dawn.
He stopped fighting. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want,” he pleaded. “Just don’t hurt the girl!” If they accepted his offer, they showed no indication of it. Spike’s vision started to blur as he was punched repeatedly in the face, and he doubled over with blows to his gut. Okay, bad idea, he thought, thrashing violently in a renewed attempt to escape the vampires holding him. Back to plan A. But by that time, it was too late, and the last thing he saw before the vamps descended on him was Dawn struggling to break free. He felt himself being dragged away, and then a kick in the head rendered him unconscious.
Dawn screamed and screamed as Spike disappeared into the crowd of vampires. The group surrounding her slowly dissipated as they broke off to follow the ones who had taken Spike.
When there were only two vampires left holding her by the arms, she took the opportunity to kick first one, then the other, in the crotch and sprinted as fast as she could back to the Magic Box.
When she burst in the door, Willow, Tara, and Xander looked up from the books they were flipping through, and Anya came around from behind the cash register.
“Dawnie?” Willow hurried to the battered girl. “What happened?”
The commotion brought Buffy and Giles out of the training room, and both came rushing to Dawn.
“They took Spike,” Dawn sobbed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. “There were so many…”
Buffy cradled her sister in her arms. “Shhh, it’s okay. Who took Spike?”
“Vampires,” Dawn said in between gasps. “Lots of them.”
“But they didn’t take you?” asked Giles.
Dawn shook her head. “They had me, but I broke free and ran away.”
Buffy led Dawn over to the table and sat her down. The Scoobies gathered around her, offering her comforting words and caresses, while Buffy moved to stand next to Giles. “We have to go after them.”
“Now, Buffy, let’s think about this,” said Giles. “Why would they take Spike and not Dawn? Why wouldn’t they kill her?”
“I don’t know, Giles! What difference does it make?”
“Maybe they wanted Spike for something,” Xander offered. “He probably owes somebody money.”
“What if it’s the next stage of the plan for whoever’s been summoning those demons?” Buffy glanced at the autopsy report still lying on the table. “We all know what they’re capable of.”
“Buffy, we don’t even know if Robert’s death was related to the demons, and we won’t know that until we’ve had a chance to review his work.” Giles pulled out a handkerchief and began polishing his glasses. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. What we do know is that any group that could overpower a master vampire could surely dispatch a teenage girl. Whoever it was, it appears they wanted Dawn to come back here and tell us.” He put his glasses back on. “Buffy, you must be careful. You may be doing exactly what they want you to do.”
Buffy turned and stared at him. “What are you saying? That I shouldn’t go after him?”
“This could very well be a trap meant to lure you to your death.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“Buffy –”
“No!”
“Buff,” said Xander. “I have to say, I’m with Giles on this one. I mean, it’s Spike. Is he really worth risking your – ”
“He fought beside you all summer, and this is how you repay him?” She stared them down, first Giles, then Xander. As her gaze fell on the girls, they lowered their heads. “He’s a part of the team now, whether you like it or not.”
“Is he, Buff?” Xander replied. “I thought he was out of the picture.”
Buffy wavered for a moment. It was true; she’d retreated to the training room not twenty minutes ago just to avoid him. But in her heart, she knew it was much deeper than that. Images flashed across her vision – Spike, bruised and broken at Glory’s hand, gazing at her with wondering adoration when the kiss broke; his hands, gently cradling hers, bloodied from bursting out of her grave; his strong arms, wrapped around her as they collapsed on the cliff’s edge; the expression of undiluted pain as he kicked her out of his crypt after the love spell gone wrong. She felt a swell of emotion rise unbidden in her chest, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have to. He’d do it for me.”
Buffy grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair. “I’m going to find out who took Spike. You all can sit here and decide whether you’re going to help me get him back.” With that, she stormed out of the magic shop to beat information out of some demons.
*****
When Spike regained consciousness, he was in a dark cave. He could feel the weight of manacles on his wrists and ankles, and a sharp tug provided the rattle of chains, confirming his shackles. His feet barely brushed the ground, putting all of his weight on his arms, which were spread out on either side of him. His shoulders ached from the strain, and he stretched his legs, trying fruitlessly to shift his weight to his feet.
He had been stripped of his shirt, and bruises were blossoming where he’d been kicked in the chest and stomach. He felt a trickle of thick liquid run down his cheek and surmised that one of his multiple head wounds was still bleeding.
A door was pushed aside somewhere in the dark on the other side of the cave, and a figure entered. Spike recognized her scent before he saw her face, and he heard his own words from so long ago echo in his head. I'm gonna do what I shoulda done in the first place: I'll find her, wherever she is, tie her up, torture her until she likes me again. He’d never actually done it – torture was more Angelus’ style, whereas he’d always been the tender, doting lover. But she vacillated like the wind, nuzzling affectionately one minute and delighting in her victim’s agonized screams of pain the next. She could be childlike or deadly, amorous or enraged, docile or crazy as a loon. He groaned and pulled at his restraints.
“My darling boy is happy to see me,” Drusilla cooed as she emerged from the shadows, gliding toward him like a fallen angel. “He misses our dance, doesn’t he?” She came right up to him and stroked his cheek, then licked his blood off her fingers. “Mummy’s missed you, too.”
“Dru…” he murmured, trying to retain control over his body. He knew he didn’t love her anymore, but a hundred years of her by his side had created a Pavlovian reaction within him.
“Yes, he’s back, he is.” Dru gave him a wicked smile, running her hands down his bare chest. “He wants to dance with his dark princess,” she said in a singsong voice, swaying side to side.
Suddenly, she stopped and her eyes grew dark and hard. “No more of the Slayer,” she spat, her palm connecting sharply with his cheek. His head whipped to the side with the force of the blow.
“You reek of her, darling,” she said, in a softer, sadder voice again. “She’s all around you… hovering, haunting. But we’ll get rid of her.” She raked her fingernails down his chest, as if she could scrape the essence of Buffy off his skin. Spike gasped as her nails dug into him, leaving parallel trails of blood.
He wondered why she was even here at all, why she would bother to try again to reclaim him. He thought he had made things pretty bloody clear when he tied her to a post and offered to kill her for Buffy, but maybe being insane meant Dru could forgive something like that. Of course, now he was the one tied up, and that had him more than a little unnerved.
“What has she done to you?” Drusilla ran her bloody fingers through his hair, her dark eyes locked on his. “The stars whisper in my ear… telling me of all the awful things she does. She’s made you all… housebroken, like a little dog that’s no good to eat anymore.” She ran her tongue along his jawbone, licking blood off his cheek. “Where’s my naughty puppy? Where’s my Spike?”
“I’m not a puppy, Dru.”
She whimpered then, her face crumpling as she let out a series of mewling noises. Spike groaned. Bloody hell, he thought. He had to be the only prisoner ever to make his captor cry. “Oh, come on, Dru.”
Then, a slow, knowing smile crept onto her face, and she giggled. “Oh, you’re a bad dog. Grrrr!” She slid downward, unbuttoning his fly and releasing his aching cock – damn traitorous thing; he didn’t want to be turned on. A small moan escaped his lips as she bit down on his erection – with her blunt human teeth, thank Christ – and shook her head, growling like a dog with a bone.
His head jerked back against the wall as his entire body went taut. He couldn’t bear to watch, but he felt his length disappearing into her soft, wet mouth. He let out a guttural groan. “Fuck, pet. Oh… oh, fuck…” She knew just what to do, had been pleasuring him for so many years that she could make him come so hard his head would spin.
He bucked against his chains as her teeth scraped the base of his cock and the head nestled in her throat. She slid all the way back until her lips kissed the tip, let her tongue follow the ridge around to the underside, then took him in again down down down and – bloody fuck but it was so good – and her hand slipped into his jeans and palmed his balls, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
He was thrusting into her face and – fuck, baby, oh yes pet, please, please more – and he’d forgotten what a girl could do when she didn’t need to breathe and now she – oh God oh God oh God – with her teeth and he was trying to resist – Buffy, Buffy, Buffy – but she was all around him. Her fingers were magic and her tongue was quicksilver and he was coming and coming – and then he was crying, sobbing, screaming “Buffy!” in a voice so painfully hoarse it hardly sounded like his own.
Then her dark raven eyes were boring into his, flaring with anger, specks of amber becoming solid as her brow crinkled into game face and she rewarded him with a punch that knocked his head back against the stone wall, causing him to slip out of consciousness again.
*****
Buffy entered Willy’s and was greeted with caution and suspicion from the demons gathered there. She didn’t blame them, after her last attempt at information gathering. If Spike hadn’t been there, she’d probably have beaten her way through every patron until she found out what she wanted to know. This time, she ignored them all and took a place at the bar, waiting with an innocent expression on her face.
Willy glanced at her a few times out of the corner of his eye, and she smiled sweetly at him. After he’d avoided her as long as he could, he approached. “I don’t know nothing,” he said, before she even opened her mouth.
“Well, I’m convinced. Guess I’ll go home.” Buffy stared at him, unmoving.
He withered a little under her gaze. “What d’you wanna know?”
“Spike –”
“Haven’t seen him.”
He answered too fast to be telling the truth. Buffy’s hand rested on the bar, and she closed it into a subtle but threatening fist.
“Okay, okay. He was in here earlier. By himself for a while. Talked to Clem and then he left. That’s all I got.” Willy held his hands up in a gesture of innocence.
“Who’s Clem?”
Willy pointed to a door at the end of the bar. “Back room. Lots of skin.”
Buffy frowned at the description, but headed into the back room. She saw four demons sitting around a card table playing poker. Kittens were gathered on the table, mewling and nudging each other, and whenever one wandered too close to the edge, one of the demons would pick it up by the scruff of the neck and plop it back in the center of the table.
Buffy targeted the demon with excess skin hanging in folds. “Clem?”
The demon nodded. “You’re the Slayer.”
“Buffy. Can we talk outside?”
Clem put his cards facedown on the table and slid them back to the dealer, and then followed Buffy out into the alley behind the bar.
“What are the kittens for?” Buffy asked.
“It’s… currency.”
“You play for kittens?”
Clem looked nervous. “Yeah…”
Buffy seemed about to respond but changed her mind. There were more pressing issues at hand. “You talked to Spike earlier today?”
“Yeah. He was in a pretty sour mood.”
“I’m guessing he’s probably in a worse mood now. He’s been kidnapped.”
Clem’s face wrinkled even more than it already was, his concern evident. “I told him! I tried to warn him…”
Buffy grasped his shoulders. “Warn him about what?”
“I – I dunno. I picked up a rumor – someone might be trying to kill him. He didn’t seem to think much of it –”
Buffy shook him. “Who was it, Clem? I need to know who!”
“I – I’m sorry, Buffy, I don’t know.” Clem looked frightened. “I just heard rumors, you know? Demons talk.”
Buffy stopped shaking him and sighed. “Okay.”
“Do you know who took him?”
“Vampires. A lot of them.”
“Sorry I can’t help you.”
Buffy nodded and turned to go. She paused and looked back. “One more thing. Have you heard anything about someone summoning demons? Using magic – talismans?”
Clem shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Hey, Buffy?”
She turned around again. Clem’s hand was extended. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you find Spike. He’s a friend.”
Buffy smiled a little and shook his hand. It was rare that she came across a polite demon. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too.”
*****
Chapter 2: Bad Dog
Spike felt Dawn’s grip being dragged down his arm as vampires grabbed them both and pulled them apart. He reached out his hand, trying to hold onto hers as long as he could, while beating off the vamps with his legs and his free arm.
“Spike!” Dawn kicked at her attackers as her hand slipped from his.
Spike knew he was outnumbered. He could probably take down most of them – but even if only one was left, that was all it would take to kill Dawn.
He stopped fighting. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want,” he pleaded. “Just don’t hurt the girl!” If they accepted his offer, they showed no indication of it. Spike’s vision started to blur as he was punched repeatedly in the face, and he doubled over with blows to his gut. Okay, bad idea, he thought, thrashing violently in a renewed attempt to escape the vampires holding him. Back to plan A. But by that time, it was too late, and the last thing he saw before the vamps descended on him was Dawn struggling to break free. He felt himself being dragged away, and then a kick in the head rendered him unconscious.
Dawn screamed and screamed as Spike disappeared into the crowd of vampires. The group surrounding her slowly dissipated as they broke off to follow the ones who had taken Spike.
When there were only two vampires left holding her by the arms, she took the opportunity to kick first one, then the other, in the crotch and sprinted as fast as she could back to the Magic Box.
When she burst in the door, Willow, Tara, and Xander looked up from the books they were flipping through, and Anya came around from behind the cash register.
“Dawnie?” Willow hurried to the battered girl. “What happened?”
The commotion brought Buffy and Giles out of the training room, and both came rushing to Dawn.
“They took Spike,” Dawn sobbed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. “There were so many…”
Buffy cradled her sister in her arms. “Shhh, it’s okay. Who took Spike?”
“Vampires,” Dawn said in between gasps. “Lots of them.”
“But they didn’t take you?” asked Giles.
Dawn shook her head. “They had me, but I broke free and ran away.”
Buffy led Dawn over to the table and sat her down. The Scoobies gathered around her, offering her comforting words and caresses, while Buffy moved to stand next to Giles. “We have to go after them.”
“Now, Buffy, let’s think about this,” said Giles. “Why would they take Spike and not Dawn? Why wouldn’t they kill her?”
“I don’t know, Giles! What difference does it make?”
“Maybe they wanted Spike for something,” Xander offered. “He probably owes somebody money.”
“What if it’s the next stage of the plan for whoever’s been summoning those demons?” Buffy glanced at the autopsy report still lying on the table. “We all know what they’re capable of.”
“Buffy, we don’t even know if Robert’s death was related to the demons, and we won’t know that until we’ve had a chance to review his work.” Giles pulled out a handkerchief and began polishing his glasses. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. What we do know is that any group that could overpower a master vampire could surely dispatch a teenage girl. Whoever it was, it appears they wanted Dawn to come back here and tell us.” He put his glasses back on. “Buffy, you must be careful. You may be doing exactly what they want you to do.”
Buffy turned and stared at him. “What are you saying? That I shouldn’t go after him?”
“This could very well be a trap meant to lure you to your death.”
“I’m not leaving him.”
“Buffy –”
“No!”
“Buff,” said Xander. “I have to say, I’m with Giles on this one. I mean, it’s Spike. Is he really worth risking your – ”
“He fought beside you all summer, and this is how you repay him?” She stared them down, first Giles, then Xander. As her gaze fell on the girls, they lowered their heads. “He’s a part of the team now, whether you like it or not.”
“Is he, Buff?” Xander replied. “I thought he was out of the picture.”
Buffy wavered for a moment. It was true; she’d retreated to the training room not twenty minutes ago just to avoid him. But in her heart, she knew it was much deeper than that. Images flashed across her vision – Spike, bruised and broken at Glory’s hand, gazing at her with wondering adoration when the kiss broke; his hands, gently cradling hers, bloodied from bursting out of her grave; his strong arms, wrapped around her as they collapsed on the cliff’s edge; the expression of undiluted pain as he kicked her out of his crypt after the love spell gone wrong. She felt a swell of emotion rise unbidden in her chest, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I have to. He’d do it for me.”
Buffy grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair. “I’m going to find out who took Spike. You all can sit here and decide whether you’re going to help me get him back.” With that, she stormed out of the magic shop to beat information out of some demons.
*****
When Spike regained consciousness, he was in a dark cave. He could feel the weight of manacles on his wrists and ankles, and a sharp tug provided the rattle of chains, confirming his shackles. His feet barely brushed the ground, putting all of his weight on his arms, which were spread out on either side of him. His shoulders ached from the strain, and he stretched his legs, trying fruitlessly to shift his weight to his feet.
He had been stripped of his shirt, and bruises were blossoming where he’d been kicked in the chest and stomach. He felt a trickle of thick liquid run down his cheek and surmised that one of his multiple head wounds was still bleeding.
A door was pushed aside somewhere in the dark on the other side of the cave, and a figure entered. Spike recognized her scent before he saw her face, and he heard his own words from so long ago echo in his head. I'm gonna do what I shoulda done in the first place: I'll find her, wherever she is, tie her up, torture her until she likes me again. He’d never actually done it – torture was more Angelus’ style, whereas he’d always been the tender, doting lover. But she vacillated like the wind, nuzzling affectionately one minute and delighting in her victim’s agonized screams of pain the next. She could be childlike or deadly, amorous or enraged, docile or crazy as a loon. He groaned and pulled at his restraints.
“My darling boy is happy to see me,” Drusilla cooed as she emerged from the shadows, gliding toward him like a fallen angel. “He misses our dance, doesn’t he?” She came right up to him and stroked his cheek, then licked his blood off her fingers. “Mummy’s missed you, too.”
“Dru…” he murmured, trying to retain control over his body. He knew he didn’t love her anymore, but a hundred years of her by his side had created a Pavlovian reaction within him.
“Yes, he’s back, he is.” Dru gave him a wicked smile, running her hands down his bare chest. “He wants to dance with his dark princess,” she said in a singsong voice, swaying side to side.
Suddenly, she stopped and her eyes grew dark and hard. “No more of the Slayer,” she spat, her palm connecting sharply with his cheek. His head whipped to the side with the force of the blow.
“You reek of her, darling,” she said, in a softer, sadder voice again. “She’s all around you… hovering, haunting. But we’ll get rid of her.” She raked her fingernails down his chest, as if she could scrape the essence of Buffy off his skin. Spike gasped as her nails dug into him, leaving parallel trails of blood.
He wondered why she was even here at all, why she would bother to try again to reclaim him. He thought he had made things pretty bloody clear when he tied her to a post and offered to kill her for Buffy, but maybe being insane meant Dru could forgive something like that. Of course, now he was the one tied up, and that had him more than a little unnerved.
“What has she done to you?” Drusilla ran her bloody fingers through his hair, her dark eyes locked on his. “The stars whisper in my ear… telling me of all the awful things she does. She’s made you all… housebroken, like a little dog that’s no good to eat anymore.” She ran her tongue along his jawbone, licking blood off his cheek. “Where’s my naughty puppy? Where’s my Spike?”
“I’m not a puppy, Dru.”
She whimpered then, her face crumpling as she let out a series of mewling noises. Spike groaned. Bloody hell, he thought. He had to be the only prisoner ever to make his captor cry. “Oh, come on, Dru.”
Then, a slow, knowing smile crept onto her face, and she giggled. “Oh, you’re a bad dog. Grrrr!” She slid downward, unbuttoning his fly and releasing his aching cock – damn traitorous thing; he didn’t want to be turned on. A small moan escaped his lips as she bit down on his erection – with her blunt human teeth, thank Christ – and shook her head, growling like a dog with a bone.
His head jerked back against the wall as his entire body went taut. He couldn’t bear to watch, but he felt his length disappearing into her soft, wet mouth. He let out a guttural groan. “Fuck, pet. Oh… oh, fuck…” She knew just what to do, had been pleasuring him for so many years that she could make him come so hard his head would spin.
He bucked against his chains as her teeth scraped the base of his cock and the head nestled in her throat. She slid all the way back until her lips kissed the tip, let her tongue follow the ridge around to the underside, then took him in again down down down and – bloody fuck but it was so good – and her hand slipped into his jeans and palmed his balls, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
He was thrusting into her face and – fuck, baby, oh yes pet, please, please more – and he’d forgotten what a girl could do when she didn’t need to breathe and now she – oh God oh God oh God – with her teeth and he was trying to resist – Buffy, Buffy, Buffy – but she was all around him. Her fingers were magic and her tongue was quicksilver and he was coming and coming – and then he was crying, sobbing, screaming “Buffy!” in a voice so painfully hoarse it hardly sounded like his own.
Then her dark raven eyes were boring into his, flaring with anger, specks of amber becoming solid as her brow crinkled into game face and she rewarded him with a punch that knocked his head back against the stone wall, causing him to slip out of consciousness again.
*****
Buffy entered Willy’s and was greeted with caution and suspicion from the demons gathered there. She didn’t blame them, after her last attempt at information gathering. If Spike hadn’t been there, she’d probably have beaten her way through every patron until she found out what she wanted to know. This time, she ignored them all and took a place at the bar, waiting with an innocent expression on her face.
Willy glanced at her a few times out of the corner of his eye, and she smiled sweetly at him. After he’d avoided her as long as he could, he approached. “I don’t know nothing,” he said, before she even opened her mouth.
“Well, I’m convinced. Guess I’ll go home.” Buffy stared at him, unmoving.
He withered a little under her gaze. “What d’you wanna know?”
“Spike –”
“Haven’t seen him.”
He answered too fast to be telling the truth. Buffy’s hand rested on the bar, and she closed it into a subtle but threatening fist.
“Okay, okay. He was in here earlier. By himself for a while. Talked to Clem and then he left. That’s all I got.” Willy held his hands up in a gesture of innocence.
“Who’s Clem?”
Willy pointed to a door at the end of the bar. “Back room. Lots of skin.”
Buffy frowned at the description, but headed into the back room. She saw four demons sitting around a card table playing poker. Kittens were gathered on the table, mewling and nudging each other, and whenever one wandered too close to the edge, one of the demons would pick it up by the scruff of the neck and plop it back in the center of the table.
Buffy targeted the demon with excess skin hanging in folds. “Clem?”
The demon nodded. “You’re the Slayer.”
“Buffy. Can we talk outside?”
Clem put his cards facedown on the table and slid them back to the dealer, and then followed Buffy out into the alley behind the bar.
“What are the kittens for?” Buffy asked.
“It’s… currency.”
“You play for kittens?”
Clem looked nervous. “Yeah…”
Buffy seemed about to respond but changed her mind. There were more pressing issues at hand. “You talked to Spike earlier today?”
“Yeah. He was in a pretty sour mood.”
“I’m guessing he’s probably in a worse mood now. He’s been kidnapped.”
Clem’s face wrinkled even more than it already was, his concern evident. “I told him! I tried to warn him…”
Buffy grasped his shoulders. “Warn him about what?”
“I – I dunno. I picked up a rumor – someone might be trying to kill him. He didn’t seem to think much of it –”
Buffy shook him. “Who was it, Clem? I need to know who!”
“I – I’m sorry, Buffy, I don’t know.” Clem looked frightened. “I just heard rumors, you know? Demons talk.”
Buffy stopped shaking him and sighed. “Okay.”
“Do you know who took him?”
“Vampires. A lot of them.”
“Sorry I can’t help you.”
Buffy nodded and turned to go. She paused and looked back. “One more thing. Have you heard anything about someone summoning demons? Using magic – talismans?”
Clem shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Hey, Buffy?”
She turned around again. Clem’s hand was extended. “It was nice to meet you. I hope you find Spike. He’s a friend.”
Buffy smiled a little and shook his hand. It was rare that she came across a polite demon. “Thanks. It was nice meeting you, too.”
Deadly Boy
A/N: *points to warnings* Pleeeeease take them seriously. Direct quote from my beta: "I think I'm going to need therapy; you've given me PTSD." (Sorry 'bout that, UB...) I can't afford to pay for therapy for all of you, so don't read if you're squicked by torture.
*****
Chapter 3: Deadly Boy
Spike awoke again, unsure if he’d been out for minutes or hours, as he felt something crack against his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Drusilla stood before him, whip in hand.
“My Spike has been a naughty boy,” Drusilla said, accenting the word “naughty” with another crack of the whip, this time slicing through his jeans and cutting across his thighs. Spike felt the sting of the welts that were beginning to form. “Believing the Slayer’s lies.”
Oh, Buffy… He felt the swell of self-loathing in his gut. For all his loyalty, all his devotion, he’d betrayed her when his dark mistress came calling. Dru paced in front of him, lashing out occasionally with the whip. “He listens to the sunshine now.” Crack. “Won’t do, won’t do. Sunshine burns, my pet.” Crack. “Mummy must teach you not to touch.”
Spike winced as she hit him again and again. His breath caught in his throat as the whip slashed across his penis, still hanging out of his pants from Dru’s last visit. The sting sent twin bolts of pain and pleasure shooting through his body. His resolve began to falter as he started to wonder if she was right. Buffy herself had said she’d never love him. Was he a fool for staying by her side? Was he just denying his true nature? He was evil, wasn’t he? For Christ’s sake, here he was, getting off on being tortured. Buffy would be disgusted if she could see him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, half to himself and half to Dru. “I love her.”
Drusilla screamed and slashed the whip across his face. “And you’ll kill her,” she hissed. “I can feel her coming, nearer, nearer. Coming to steal my Spike.”
He closed his eyes, praying that Dru was telling the truth and not just babbling. “But she’ll never take you. Brothers and sisters, all around, take care of the Slayer.” She got right up in his face, and Spike flinched. “Mummy loves you, Spike.”
“Stop saying that!” he said, with the last of his strength. “You’re not my mother.”
His defiance only served to enrage her further, as she vamped out again and attacked him furiously, tearing his skin apart with her razor-sharp nails. When she pulled back, his face and chest were littered with nail gouges, rivulets of blood dripping from the marks. He’d lost an awful lot of blood in the multiple beatings he’d sustained, and it was beginning to take its toll.
Drusilla seemed to sense that, as her anger faded with her game face, and she gently bent down to unshackle his feet. Once she had freed his hands, Spike collapsed facedown on the ground, utterly drained of his strength.
“My poor Spike,” she murmured, stroking his hair tenderly. “He doesn’t know, mustn’t touch. Lets the sunshine take my deadly boy away.”
With great difficulty, Spike managed to raise himself up on his hands and knees, pushing slowly off the ground. It was all for naught, however, for as soon as he was on all fours, Dru’s whip came crashing down across his back, knocking him back to the floor.
“Mummy must teach you,” Dru said, fisting one hand in his hair and dragging him over to a chair in the corner of the cave – not violently or angrily, but carelessly, as though he were just one of her dolls, a toy to be played with. She draped him over the seat of the chair on his stomach, and cuffed his hands to the bar that connected the chair’s legs – not that he was in any condition to resist or escape.
Once she’d positioned him to her liking, she unceremoniously yanked his jeans down so that they pooled around his knees. “Mummy must teach Spike not to be a naughty boy,” she repeated, and again, he felt the sting of the whip as it cracked across his back, then lower, against his ass and thighs.
“Dru,” he gasped, summoning what little strength he had left. “Please, baby, don’t…”
“She doesn’t love you,” Drusilla said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as though she were talking about the weather. “She’ll never love you.” Crack. “Not like I do.” Crack. “My deadly boy has been tricked by the sunshine, but the darkness will take him back.”
With his back covered in angry red welts that he felt but couldn’t see, Spike heard the whip clatter to the floor by his head, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It only lasted a moment, though, before his entire body seized up in shocked pain. With no warning and no preparation, Dru had shoved two fingers into his asshole, causing his muscles to clamp down in protest.
The vampiress let out a mad giggle. “This is how Daddy used to teach you,” she said, forcing her fingers in and out, despite the strong resistance she met in his tight channel. Spike cried out in agony, but she only giggled more in response. She added a third finger and thrust into him until her hand came out slick with blood. His erection ached, hardened instinctively by the stimulation, though he would never come when there was no pleasure with his pain. Spike squeezed his eyes shut to keep the traitorous tears from escaping, his mind traveling back a century to relive the repeated humiliations he’d suffered at the hands of Angelus, full of shame that his precious sweet princess could see it all.
“But my Willy never listened to Daddy, either,” Dru said, pulling her fingers out of him and scissoring them in the air, watching with fascination as the blood oozed down her hand. Spike tried to struggle weakly, to break free of the cuffs, but any way he moved caused excruciating pain, and he collapsed back onto the chair with a defeated groan.
“Now, now, pet,” Drusilla chastened him, petting his head. “My William is a free spirit, but he must learn to dance in the night, for the day will burn him.”
He couldn’t see what she was doing, but in the next instant, he felt it – hot, searing pain on his back, as Dru made looping patterns with the stream of holy water. He screamed, an echoing bellow that reverberated through the cave, as the careless swirls of fiery liquid burned into his already tattered skin.
Then, mercifully, he passed out, and he felt nothing.
*****
Buffy’s next stop was the Bronze. Something had been bothering her. If there were as many vampires as Dawn thought there’d been, it meant a pretty sharp increase in the undead population in Sunnydale. But they hadn’t seen an increase in victims. A horde of vampires that wasn’t feeding? That meant they were lying low, trying to avoid catching the attention of the Slayer.
But maybe now that they had Spike, now that they’d gotten what they came for, some of them might be trolling for dinner.
Following her hunch, Buffy headed for the one place in Sunnydale that was practically an all-you-can-eat buffet of tipsy young people, many of who were willing to leave with any pretty face.
“I never do this,” the petite brunette protested, a slight slur to her words as she stumbled down the alley. “I mean, I don’t just go home with every guy I meet.”
“Oh, totally, me either,” replied the young man accompanying her, even though they both knew they were lying. They stopped to grope each other in the shadows, placing sloppy, drunken kisses on each other’s faces. The guy backed the girl up against the wall and pressed his body against hers. “We don’t even have to go home,” he said. “We could go right here…”
“Okay.” The girl dropped the drunken act and morphed into her game face. “Let’s go.” She tightened her grip on the guy and sank her fangs into his neck.
Buffy dropped down from the fire escape leading from the building next to the Bronze. “Don’t you know the rules? Never kill a boy on the first date. It makes you seem easy.”
The vampire let out a growl and tossed the young man aside. He fell to the ground, then picked himself up and scrambled out of the alley while Buffy faced off against the vampire.
“Sorry, did I ruin your dinner?” asked Buffy, getting a running start and taking a leap towards the vamp, kicking her in the face. The vamp stumbled backwards, regained her balance, and returned the kick. The Slayer ducked and the blow missed her. The vampire wasn’t much more than a fledgling, and Buffy could easily beat her in a fair fight. She retaliated with a flurry of punches that had the vampire staggering backwards, unable to block or fight back.
Buffy paused, reaching down into her boot for a stake. The vampire took the opportunity to kick Buffy in the head, knocking her to the ground; but instead of attempting to finish her off, the vamp turned and high-tailed it out of the alley. Buffy smirked, kipped herself upright, and followed, keeping enough distance between her and the vampire so that she wouldn’t be noticed.
She followed the vamp to Miller’s Woods, to the mouth of a cave sticking out of a large rock formation. Lurking in the bushes, Buffy spotted four or five vampires loitering near the entrance – or, more likely, guarding it. The brunette stopped and conferred with the vampires outside, probably recounting her brush with the Slayer. The other vamps peered out into the trees, as if they suspected Buffy had followed. They didn’t seem to sense her, and soon went back to their conversation.
Confident that she’d found the gang who’d taken Spike, Buffy crept away from the cave, then broke into a sprint all the way back to the Magic Box. When she returned, it appeared as if no one had moved, but Buffy could tell from the looks that were shooting around the room that there’d been a heated discussion in her absence. Without saying a word, she headed to the training room, emerging with several stakes and a large battle-axe.
“There’s a cave near the northern edge of the woods,” she told them. “I’m sure that’s where they’re holding Spike.”
“How do you know this?” Giles asked with concern.
“I tailed a vampire back there from the Bronze.” When they looked at her with a mixture of surprise and confusion, she added, “I figured a gang that big, some of ’em gotta eat, and where else would they go on a Friday night in Sunnydale?”
Her friends’ expressions changed to something like admiration, but Buffy could see that she still didn’t have their full support.
She hoisted the battle-axe onto her shoulder. “Anyone who’s not coming with me, take care of Dawn.”
The Scoobies exchanged glances, and then Willow and Tara stood up and walked to Buffy’s side. “We’re with you, Buffy,” said Willow. Giles and Xander stood stonily, while Anya sat at the table, her eyes on her hands as she fiddled with her engagement ring.
Buffy sighed. “Okay, let’s go.” She headed out the door, the two witches on her heels.
“Buffy, wait!”
All three of them turned. “Giles, you can’t change my mind,” said Buffy.
“I realize that. But please, think this through. Don’t run off half-cocked.” Giles couldn’t help but be reminded of Buffy going off to fight a dragon without help. Then, he’d let her go. This time, he wouldn’t be so reckless.
“Oh, I think it’s fully cocked,” Buffy snapped back. She made a brief, disgusted expression at the metaphor then resumed her resolve face.
“Do you even have a plan?”
Buffy paused. Giles had a point. “Just your basic storm the castle routine.” She looked a little sheepish. “What? It’s not the invasion of Normandy, but it’s a plan.”
“Might I suggest a more strategic approach?”
She studied his face carefully. “You mean you want to help?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Buffy had a brief, silent consultation with her supporters. They didn’t need to speak – their eyes spoke volumes. Buffy nodded, dropping her weapons and taking a seat at the research table. “Hit me.”
Giles sputtered and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. “I – I’m sorry?”
“With your plan. What have you got? Hit me.”
“I – well, I – truthfully, I hadn’t really…” Buffy gave him a reproving look. “We’ll think of something,” he said.
“Oh!” said Dawn. “Daytime!”
Buffy wrinkled her nose at her. “Huh?”
“They’re vampires, right? If you hit them during the day, you might catch some of them sleeping. Plus, they can’t chase you once you get out of the cave.”
“That’s good, Dawn,” said Tara.
“Bad,” Xander contradicted her. “You’re forgetting a major point here, guys. Spike’s a vampire. How are you going to get him out of the cave during the day without him going all dusty?” He paused and considered. “I’m not saying that’s a deal-breaker.”
“Let’s keep thinking,” Buffy said, ignoring Xander’s crack.
Giles turned to Willow and Tara while flipping through a book on the table, one of the ones he’d brought back from his wizard friend’s house. “You should research combat magic techniques. There may be some spells you will find useful.” He found the section he was looking for and handed it to the girls.
Willow’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Look, this one makes a sword of fire! Wow, you can do that?”
“Look at this shielding spell!” Tara barely suppressed the grin on her face. “Maybe we should, uh, go in the training room and practice?”
Willow nodded, and they grabbed the book and scurried off to the training room. Dawn looked after them longingly. “Can I go watch?”
“Sure,” said Buffy.
“It might get sexy,” Anya warned.
“Dawn, stay here,” Buffy said.
“So, what do we do while they’re getting their Xena Warrior Witch thing on?” Xander asked.
A small smile crept onto Buffy’s face. “I think I have an idea.”
*****
Coming back to consciousness, Spike found himself once again chained to the wall, his jeans still slouched around his knees. He let his head fall forward in despair, even as the dead weight pulled on his aching neck and shoulder muscles. His arms felt like they were on fire, supporting most of his weight. He strained his ankles, as he’d done countless times already, trying to push himself up and shift the burden, but they screamed in protest even quicker than before and he slumped down again, letting his legs go slack as he dangled from his spread-eagled wrists.
Buffy.
Buffy would save him. She had to… unless Drusilla was right. Maybe he wasn’t worth saving. Just another vampire, whom she’d never allow herself to love, never allow herself to see as anything other than an evil, soulless thing. He was… stained, forever sullied by the blood of every one of his victims, destined to be unworthy of her without a conscience to wash himself clean. Why should she come for him?
Drusilla appeared out of nowhere, a wicked grin on her face. “You’re a dirty boy, my Spike,” she said, as though pulling the thoughts right out of his head. She ran her hands over his temples, through his hair. “My dirty, dirty boy. I know what you crave.” He opened his mouth to say No! but she’d already proven the power she still held over him, and the word died on his lips.
She took a step back so he could see the full length of her body as her long gown fluttered to the floor, revealing porcelain skin punctuated by plum-colored nipples and a dark tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. His mouth began to water, and he felt an involuntary tug on his restraints as his hands strove to touch her; but he couldn’t even get close. She allowed him the feel of her body pressed against him, her soft breasts nuzzling his abraded chest, and he thrust his pelvis in an unsuccessful attempt to bury his erection between her legs.
She fixed him with a knowing gaze. “Yes, that’s what my boy wants, isn’t it?” He closed his eyes in shame, realizing how easily he could fall back under her spell. He tried to tell himself no, he didn’t want this, but his body betrayed him, arching into her touch as she ran her fingertips up his shaft.
“What she’ll never give you,” Dru continued. She stepped back, slid her fingernails across her wrist, and extended her hand to his mouth, the only part of her he could touch. “My boy knows what I can give him.” He hesitated, then vamped out and began to suckle at her bleeding wrist with reckless abandon.
His cock, already hard, swelled with the ache of unreleased tension. He bucked wildly, meeting nothing but air as she held her body just out of reach. He strained against his manacles, every muscle in his body visibly defined against his skin, until she could see in his eyes that he was so close to climax that the slightest touch would send him over the edge. She withdrew her hand from his mouth and knelt in front of him.
“Please, baby… Dru, precious sweet… please, pet…” he begged her.
Instead of inclining her head toward his erection, she rummaged around in the folds of the dress she’d left crumpled on the floor, until she pulled out a small bottle.
His game face melted away and cobalt blue eyes widened as his entreaties suddenly gained a fearful edge. “No… oh God, no… Dru, please, baby, no…”
His screams again echoed through the cave as the holy water cascaded over taut, sensitive skin, and faintly, through the haze of his pain, he could hear her giggling.
Just when he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, he heard the shifting of her facial features. Then, he felt the prick of her fangs slicing into his inner thigh, drawing out the blood she’d just given him. The exquisitely agonizing sensation finally prompted the orgasm he’d been begging for, now made immensely painful as his burned, swollen cock strained with the release. It was the last thing he felt before the blackness overtook him.
*****
Chapter 3: Deadly Boy
Spike awoke again, unsure if he’d been out for minutes or hours, as he felt something crack against his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Drusilla stood before him, whip in hand.
“My Spike has been a naughty boy,” Drusilla said, accenting the word “naughty” with another crack of the whip, this time slicing through his jeans and cutting across his thighs. Spike felt the sting of the welts that were beginning to form. “Believing the Slayer’s lies.”
Oh, Buffy… He felt the swell of self-loathing in his gut. For all his loyalty, all his devotion, he’d betrayed her when his dark mistress came calling. Dru paced in front of him, lashing out occasionally with the whip. “He listens to the sunshine now.” Crack. “Won’t do, won’t do. Sunshine burns, my pet.” Crack. “Mummy must teach you not to touch.”
Spike winced as she hit him again and again. His breath caught in his throat as the whip slashed across his penis, still hanging out of his pants from Dru’s last visit. The sting sent twin bolts of pain and pleasure shooting through his body. His resolve began to falter as he started to wonder if she was right. Buffy herself had said she’d never love him. Was he a fool for staying by her side? Was he just denying his true nature? He was evil, wasn’t he? For Christ’s sake, here he was, getting off on being tortured. Buffy would be disgusted if she could see him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbled, half to himself and half to Dru. “I love her.”
Drusilla screamed and slashed the whip across his face. “And you’ll kill her,” she hissed. “I can feel her coming, nearer, nearer. Coming to steal my Spike.”
He closed his eyes, praying that Dru was telling the truth and not just babbling. “But she’ll never take you. Brothers and sisters, all around, take care of the Slayer.” She got right up in his face, and Spike flinched. “Mummy loves you, Spike.”
“Stop saying that!” he said, with the last of his strength. “You’re not my mother.”
His defiance only served to enrage her further, as she vamped out again and attacked him furiously, tearing his skin apart with her razor-sharp nails. When she pulled back, his face and chest were littered with nail gouges, rivulets of blood dripping from the marks. He’d lost an awful lot of blood in the multiple beatings he’d sustained, and it was beginning to take its toll.
Drusilla seemed to sense that, as her anger faded with her game face, and she gently bent down to unshackle his feet. Once she had freed his hands, Spike collapsed facedown on the ground, utterly drained of his strength.
“My poor Spike,” she murmured, stroking his hair tenderly. “He doesn’t know, mustn’t touch. Lets the sunshine take my deadly boy away.”
With great difficulty, Spike managed to raise himself up on his hands and knees, pushing slowly off the ground. It was all for naught, however, for as soon as he was on all fours, Dru’s whip came crashing down across his back, knocking him back to the floor.
“Mummy must teach you,” Dru said, fisting one hand in his hair and dragging him over to a chair in the corner of the cave – not violently or angrily, but carelessly, as though he were just one of her dolls, a toy to be played with. She draped him over the seat of the chair on his stomach, and cuffed his hands to the bar that connected the chair’s legs – not that he was in any condition to resist or escape.
Once she’d positioned him to her liking, she unceremoniously yanked his jeans down so that they pooled around his knees. “Mummy must teach Spike not to be a naughty boy,” she repeated, and again, he felt the sting of the whip as it cracked across his back, then lower, against his ass and thighs.
“Dru,” he gasped, summoning what little strength he had left. “Please, baby, don’t…”
“She doesn’t love you,” Drusilla said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as though she were talking about the weather. “She’ll never love you.” Crack. “Not like I do.” Crack. “My deadly boy has been tricked by the sunshine, but the darkness will take him back.”
With his back covered in angry red welts that he felt but couldn’t see, Spike heard the whip clatter to the floor by his head, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It only lasted a moment, though, before his entire body seized up in shocked pain. With no warning and no preparation, Dru had shoved two fingers into his asshole, causing his muscles to clamp down in protest.
The vampiress let out a mad giggle. “This is how Daddy used to teach you,” she said, forcing her fingers in and out, despite the strong resistance she met in his tight channel. Spike cried out in agony, but she only giggled more in response. She added a third finger and thrust into him until her hand came out slick with blood. His erection ached, hardened instinctively by the stimulation, though he would never come when there was no pleasure with his pain. Spike squeezed his eyes shut to keep the traitorous tears from escaping, his mind traveling back a century to relive the repeated humiliations he’d suffered at the hands of Angelus, full of shame that his precious sweet princess could see it all.
“But my Willy never listened to Daddy, either,” Dru said, pulling her fingers out of him and scissoring them in the air, watching with fascination as the blood oozed down her hand. Spike tried to struggle weakly, to break free of the cuffs, but any way he moved caused excruciating pain, and he collapsed back onto the chair with a defeated groan.
“Now, now, pet,” Drusilla chastened him, petting his head. “My William is a free spirit, but he must learn to dance in the night, for the day will burn him.”
He couldn’t see what she was doing, but in the next instant, he felt it – hot, searing pain on his back, as Dru made looping patterns with the stream of holy water. He screamed, an echoing bellow that reverberated through the cave, as the careless swirls of fiery liquid burned into his already tattered skin.
Then, mercifully, he passed out, and he felt nothing.
*****
Buffy’s next stop was the Bronze. Something had been bothering her. If there were as many vampires as Dawn thought there’d been, it meant a pretty sharp increase in the undead population in Sunnydale. But they hadn’t seen an increase in victims. A horde of vampires that wasn’t feeding? That meant they were lying low, trying to avoid catching the attention of the Slayer.
But maybe now that they had Spike, now that they’d gotten what they came for, some of them might be trolling for dinner.
Following her hunch, Buffy headed for the one place in Sunnydale that was practically an all-you-can-eat buffet of tipsy young people, many of who were willing to leave with any pretty face.
“I never do this,” the petite brunette protested, a slight slur to her words as she stumbled down the alley. “I mean, I don’t just go home with every guy I meet.”
“Oh, totally, me either,” replied the young man accompanying her, even though they both knew they were lying. They stopped to grope each other in the shadows, placing sloppy, drunken kisses on each other’s faces. The guy backed the girl up against the wall and pressed his body against hers. “We don’t even have to go home,” he said. “We could go right here…”
“Okay.” The girl dropped the drunken act and morphed into her game face. “Let’s go.” She tightened her grip on the guy and sank her fangs into his neck.
Buffy dropped down from the fire escape leading from the building next to the Bronze. “Don’t you know the rules? Never kill a boy on the first date. It makes you seem easy.”
The vampire let out a growl and tossed the young man aside. He fell to the ground, then picked himself up and scrambled out of the alley while Buffy faced off against the vampire.
“Sorry, did I ruin your dinner?” asked Buffy, getting a running start and taking a leap towards the vamp, kicking her in the face. The vamp stumbled backwards, regained her balance, and returned the kick. The Slayer ducked and the blow missed her. The vampire wasn’t much more than a fledgling, and Buffy could easily beat her in a fair fight. She retaliated with a flurry of punches that had the vampire staggering backwards, unable to block or fight back.
Buffy paused, reaching down into her boot for a stake. The vampire took the opportunity to kick Buffy in the head, knocking her to the ground; but instead of attempting to finish her off, the vamp turned and high-tailed it out of the alley. Buffy smirked, kipped herself upright, and followed, keeping enough distance between her and the vampire so that she wouldn’t be noticed.
She followed the vamp to Miller’s Woods, to the mouth of a cave sticking out of a large rock formation. Lurking in the bushes, Buffy spotted four or five vampires loitering near the entrance – or, more likely, guarding it. The brunette stopped and conferred with the vampires outside, probably recounting her brush with the Slayer. The other vamps peered out into the trees, as if they suspected Buffy had followed. They didn’t seem to sense her, and soon went back to their conversation.
Confident that she’d found the gang who’d taken Spike, Buffy crept away from the cave, then broke into a sprint all the way back to the Magic Box. When she returned, it appeared as if no one had moved, but Buffy could tell from the looks that were shooting around the room that there’d been a heated discussion in her absence. Without saying a word, she headed to the training room, emerging with several stakes and a large battle-axe.
“There’s a cave near the northern edge of the woods,” she told them. “I’m sure that’s where they’re holding Spike.”
“How do you know this?” Giles asked with concern.
“I tailed a vampire back there from the Bronze.” When they looked at her with a mixture of surprise and confusion, she added, “I figured a gang that big, some of ’em gotta eat, and where else would they go on a Friday night in Sunnydale?”
Her friends’ expressions changed to something like admiration, but Buffy could see that she still didn’t have their full support.
She hoisted the battle-axe onto her shoulder. “Anyone who’s not coming with me, take care of Dawn.”
The Scoobies exchanged glances, and then Willow and Tara stood up and walked to Buffy’s side. “We’re with you, Buffy,” said Willow. Giles and Xander stood stonily, while Anya sat at the table, her eyes on her hands as she fiddled with her engagement ring.
Buffy sighed. “Okay, let’s go.” She headed out the door, the two witches on her heels.
“Buffy, wait!”
All three of them turned. “Giles, you can’t change my mind,” said Buffy.
“I realize that. But please, think this through. Don’t run off half-cocked.” Giles couldn’t help but be reminded of Buffy going off to fight a dragon without help. Then, he’d let her go. This time, he wouldn’t be so reckless.
“Oh, I think it’s fully cocked,” Buffy snapped back. She made a brief, disgusted expression at the metaphor then resumed her resolve face.
“Do you even have a plan?”
Buffy paused. Giles had a point. “Just your basic storm the castle routine.” She looked a little sheepish. “What? It’s not the invasion of Normandy, but it’s a plan.”
“Might I suggest a more strategic approach?”
She studied his face carefully. “You mean you want to help?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Buffy had a brief, silent consultation with her supporters. They didn’t need to speak – their eyes spoke volumes. Buffy nodded, dropping her weapons and taking a seat at the research table. “Hit me.”
Giles sputtered and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. “I – I’m sorry?”
“With your plan. What have you got? Hit me.”
“I – well, I – truthfully, I hadn’t really…” Buffy gave him a reproving look. “We’ll think of something,” he said.
“Oh!” said Dawn. “Daytime!”
Buffy wrinkled her nose at her. “Huh?”
“They’re vampires, right? If you hit them during the day, you might catch some of them sleeping. Plus, they can’t chase you once you get out of the cave.”
“That’s good, Dawn,” said Tara.
“Bad,” Xander contradicted her. “You’re forgetting a major point here, guys. Spike’s a vampire. How are you going to get him out of the cave during the day without him going all dusty?” He paused and considered. “I’m not saying that’s a deal-breaker.”
“Let’s keep thinking,” Buffy said, ignoring Xander’s crack.
Giles turned to Willow and Tara while flipping through a book on the table, one of the ones he’d brought back from his wizard friend’s house. “You should research combat magic techniques. There may be some spells you will find useful.” He found the section he was looking for and handed it to the girls.
Willow’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “Look, this one makes a sword of fire! Wow, you can do that?”
“Look at this shielding spell!” Tara barely suppressed the grin on her face. “Maybe we should, uh, go in the training room and practice?”
Willow nodded, and they grabbed the book and scurried off to the training room. Dawn looked after them longingly. “Can I go watch?”
“Sure,” said Buffy.
“It might get sexy,” Anya warned.
“Dawn, stay here,” Buffy said.
“So, what do we do while they’re getting their Xena Warrior Witch thing on?” Xander asked.
A small smile crept onto Buffy’s face. “I think I have an idea.”
*****
Coming back to consciousness, Spike found himself once again chained to the wall, his jeans still slouched around his knees. He let his head fall forward in despair, even as the dead weight pulled on his aching neck and shoulder muscles. His arms felt like they were on fire, supporting most of his weight. He strained his ankles, as he’d done countless times already, trying to push himself up and shift the burden, but they screamed in protest even quicker than before and he slumped down again, letting his legs go slack as he dangled from his spread-eagled wrists.
Buffy.
Buffy would save him. She had to… unless Drusilla was right. Maybe he wasn’t worth saving. Just another vampire, whom she’d never allow herself to love, never allow herself to see as anything other than an evil, soulless thing. He was… stained, forever sullied by the blood of every one of his victims, destined to be unworthy of her without a conscience to wash himself clean. Why should she come for him?
Drusilla appeared out of nowhere, a wicked grin on her face. “You’re a dirty boy, my Spike,” she said, as though pulling the thoughts right out of his head. She ran her hands over his temples, through his hair. “My dirty, dirty boy. I know what you crave.” He opened his mouth to say No! but she’d already proven the power she still held over him, and the word died on his lips.
She took a step back so he could see the full length of her body as her long gown fluttered to the floor, revealing porcelain skin punctuated by plum-colored nipples and a dark tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. His mouth began to water, and he felt an involuntary tug on his restraints as his hands strove to touch her; but he couldn’t even get close. She allowed him the feel of her body pressed against him, her soft breasts nuzzling his abraded chest, and he thrust his pelvis in an unsuccessful attempt to bury his erection between her legs.
She fixed him with a knowing gaze. “Yes, that’s what my boy wants, isn’t it?” He closed his eyes in shame, realizing how easily he could fall back under her spell. He tried to tell himself no, he didn’t want this, but his body betrayed him, arching into her touch as she ran her fingertips up his shaft.
“What she’ll never give you,” Dru continued. She stepped back, slid her fingernails across her wrist, and extended her hand to his mouth, the only part of her he could touch. “My boy knows what I can give him.” He hesitated, then vamped out and began to suckle at her bleeding wrist with reckless abandon.
His cock, already hard, swelled with the ache of unreleased tension. He bucked wildly, meeting nothing but air as she held her body just out of reach. He strained against his manacles, every muscle in his body visibly defined against his skin, until she could see in his eyes that he was so close to climax that the slightest touch would send him over the edge. She withdrew her hand from his mouth and knelt in front of him.
“Please, baby… Dru, precious sweet… please, pet…” he begged her.
Instead of inclining her head toward his erection, she rummaged around in the folds of the dress she’d left crumpled on the floor, until she pulled out a small bottle.
His game face melted away and cobalt blue eyes widened as his entreaties suddenly gained a fearful edge. “No… oh God, no… Dru, please, baby, no…”
His screams again echoed through the cave as the holy water cascaded over taut, sensitive skin, and faintly, through the haze of his pain, he could hear her giggling.
Just when he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, he heard the shifting of her facial features. Then, he felt the prick of her fangs slicing into his inner thigh, drawing out the blood she’d just given him. The exquisitely agonizing sensation finally prompted the orgasm he’d been begging for, now made immensely painful as his burned, swollen cock strained with the release. It was the last thing he felt before the blackness overtook him.
Rescue
Chapter 4: Rescue
The next morning, the Scooby gang assembled at the Magic Box, ready for battle. Before they set out, Buffy cornered Xander. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked. “I know you don’t like him, and if you wanna back out, now’s the time.”
“I’m in, Buff.”
“Seriously, if you don’t want to, Anya could –”
“Nah. I couldn’t let Ahn go into a battle I wouldn’t fight myself.”
“She’d only have to –”
Xander shook his head. “It’s a chivalry thing. Besides, I’m not doing this for Spike. You need me, I’m there for you.”
Buffy nodded. “I’m gonna need a good wheel man.” She patted him on the arm and turned to the rest of the group. “Okay, everybody clear on their positions?” They nodded. “Good. Let’s go.” She slung her weapons bag over her shoulder and cast a last glance at Dawn, who was staying behind with Anya. Dawn gave her a nod of support and Buffy smiled.
Once everyone had headed out, Anya turned to Dawn. “Okay, kiddo, time you learned about a little thing called taking inventory.” Dawn rolled her eyes, and Anya wagged a finger at her. “You better learn to like it. If Buffy and everyone gets killed rescuing Spike, I could end up with custody of you.”
Dawn just glared at her.
*****
“This is our place,” Buffy said to the others as she peered at the cave from her vantage point of the previous night. There were only two vamps guarding the opening now, but she knew she’d meet plenty more inside. She dropped the weapons bag on the ground and opened it. She pulled out two wooden crosses with the ends whittled into sharp points so that they could be used as stakes as well, and handed one to Willow and the other to Tara. Their main weapon, however, would be the charm bracelet they each wore on their right wrist, through which they could conduct the combat spells they’d practiced all night.
Next, Buffy took out a crossbow and gave it to Giles, along with a quiver of darts. “Be careful with that,” Buffy said, teasing him a little. “Don’t shoot one of us.” Giles just gave her a good-natured smile. He, too, got a stake-cross, as well as a long slender sword in a scabbard that he fastened around his waist.
Buffy got out a crossbow of her own and her trusty battle-axe. “Everyone ready?”
Her small army answered in the affirmative, and the four of them came out of the trees and charged the entrance. Buffy and Giles each took down one of the guards with a crossbow before they could alert anyone inside.
Once inside the cave, it was dark. For obvious reasons, the sunlight didn’t penetrate far past the entrance. Willow cupped her palm and chanted until a small ball of light appeared, hovering just above her hand. She tossed it upward and it hung there, emitting a gentle glow that lit their surroundings.
Buffy pulled out a pair of glow sticks, cracked them, and tossed them down the tunnel. They could see at least a dozen vampires heading their way. Buffy tensed her body, ready for the fight. “Troops, man your battle stations.”
The first of the vampires reached them and headed for Giles. He tried to reload his crossbow, but fumbled, giving the vamp enough time to knock it out of his hands. It skittered across the cave floor. Giles pressed the cross against the vampire’s face and it jerked away with a growl and the hiss of burning flesh.
Two more vamps aimed their attacks at Willow, who extended her right arm. A broad beam of blue-white light extended from her outstretched palm, and she wielded it like a sword, slicing fiery cuts into the vampires. It wouldn’t kill them unless she could cut off their heads, but she was pretty sure it’d hurt like hell. Sure enough, the vamps doubled over in pain, and Willow staked them in succession.
Buffy picked off two more vampires using her crossbow and led the charge further into the cavern. Willow and Tara flanked her, while Giles stayed behind, grappling with the first vampire that had attacked him. He’d managed to draw his sword, but the vampire was parrying his blows with a metal rod he’d picked up off the ground.
One of the vamps lunged for Buffy, appearing out of a side tunnel, but Tara neatly decapitated him with her own blue-light sword. Hers was narrower and more focused than Willow’s but didn’t glow quite as brightly, reflecting the differences in their magic techniques. Buffy dropped her crossbow and started swinging the battle-axe, hacking the head off any vampire that came close.
Giles also managed to behead his own foe, but another attacked before he’d had time to recover. “Giles!” Willow cried, throwing up an invisible magic shield in front of the Watcher, which the vampire slammed into face first, less than a foot from Giles. She let the shield fall, and Giles swung his sword at his attacker, taking him down in one blow.
As they battled their way into the cave, Buffy tried to focus her senses on Spike, to guess which tunnel to head into. Trusting her instinct, she ran down a corridor and came to a turn-off that was blocked by a makeshift door.
“I think Spike is in there!” Buffy punched a vampire that got in her way. “Can you hold them off while I get him?”
Willow and Tara nodded, as Tara pointed to a group of three vampires and shouted, “Ventas!” All the air in the corridor was suddenly sucked in one direction and a gale-force wind knocked the vampires several feet backwards into a wall.
Before she could burst through the door, a vampire stepped out of the shadows beyond the turn-off and planted himself between the Slayer and her goal. Buffy could tell by his stature that he was the leader.
“Slayer,” he growled menacingly.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Where’s Spike?” she demanded, knocking him backwards with a punch.
“I knew you would come,” the vampire intoned self-importantly, as he engaged Buffy in hand-to-hand combat. “You have a weakness for the Aurelians.”
“What do you want with Spike?” Buffy snapped, getting annoyed with the obvious stalling tactic.
“Nothing,” he replied, mildly surprised at the question. “William the Bloody is but a shadow of himself. He means nothing to me.”
Buffy was about to speak, but he kept going. “But my sister has laid claim to him, thinks she can bring him back to his former self. So, I brought Spike to her, and Spike brought you to me.” He grinned, immensely satisfied with himself as he managed to catch Buffy on the chin.
Her head snapped back with the force of the blow, and suddenly something clicked.
Sister.
“Drusilla. You’re one of Angelus’ minions,” Buffy concluded. “I can tell, because you’re all with the pompous and the speechifying – and can we finish this already?” Her tone was flippant, but a fist of fear closed around her heart, as she realized that Drusilla might have already taken Spike far away, and she could have led her friends into a trap for nothing.
“I will have your blood, Slayer!”
“I don’t have time for this.” Buffy grabbed him by the shirt and punched him hard enough to snap his neck back and knock him unconscious, and then she unceremoniously drove a stake through his chest. She was off again before the dust settled, plowing through the crude barrier.
“Spike?” He heard the voice whisper his name, too delirious to know if it was real or a hallucination. He could feel someone creeping towards him but lacked the strength to pick his head up to look. It wasn’t until he felt Buffy’s warm hand on his cheek that he dared roll his eyes upward to see her.
“Spike… Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” She could see that he’d been badly beaten, one eye was swollen shut and blood was smeared across his face. His bare chest was covered in bruises, gashes, and raised welts, and he was chained to the wall by his arms and legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced down at his exposed genitals. Swallowing hard, she gently eased his pants back up, trying not to irritate the burned skin as she tucked him back in. One of the buttons had been torn off, so they didn’t close all the way, but it was better than before. With Spike again decent, Buffy went to work on his chains, pulling desperately to dislodge them from the stone wall, but it was no use.
“I’m not strong enough. Will! Willow!” At the sound of her shouting, the redheaded witch ran into the cave. “I can’t break the chains, Will. Can you do it with magic?”
Willow stared hard at the chains, chanting under her breath, and the manacles on Spike’s wrists and ankles burst open and he tumbled to the ground. Buffy rushed over to him. “He’s in bad shape, Will.”
Before Willow could respond, they heard a scream from out in the corridor. “Tara!” Willow cried. She looked to Buffy.
“Go.” Turning back to Spike, Buffy propped him up so she could see his face. “Spike, can – can you hear me?”
Spike shook his head ever so slightly. “You… have to… go,” he managed.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
He shifted a little so that his ribcage wasn’t crushing his useless – but still painful – internal organs. “Dru… It’s a trap, pet.”
“Shh. I know, sweetheart,” she said softly, stroking his face. “Don’t try to talk.”
“I’m the bait…” Spike winced but ignored Buffy’s attempts to quiet him, determined to get his message across. “Don’t think she’ll… kill me, but… she will kill you.”
“No, no, precious. I think I’ll kill you both,” Drusilla purred from behind Buffy. Buffy stood up and spun around, ready to face her.
“Poor Spike, my sweet boy. He stinks of humans. Can’t reach him now. Can’t bring him back. My lost little boy.” Drusilla’s eyes narrowed and focused on Buffy. “He loves the Slayer.” Her tone was sad, but there was a hint of possessive evil that Buffy found intimidating.
The two women began circling each other, as Drusilla slid into her game face and growled. Buffy lunged in for the first move, a roundhouse kick that allowed Drusilla to catch her by the foot and flip her sideways onto the ground. Buffy sprang up again and got in a few good punches before Drusilla knocked her backwards. Trying desperately not to lose her balance, Buffy recovered and charged again, this time landing a kick that knocked Dru to the floor. Buffy jumped on top of her, stake in hand, but Drusilla held her arm outside of staking distance. They rolled on the ground, both struggling for control, until finally Buffy landed on top and hit Drusilla with a swift punch in the face.
She raised the stake, about to deliver the final blow, when Spike caught her eye. Looking at him, knowing he was watching her about to dust the woman he’d loved for a century, she hesitated. It was only a moment, but it was enough for Drusilla to lunge upward, knocking Buffy off her and causing her to drop the stake. Suddenly, Dru was on top, and she had Buffy by the throat; and although Buffy kicked and fought, she couldn’t escape Drusilla’s grasp.
“Be in my eyes… be in me,” the vampire repeated, in a soft, soothing voice. Dru stared into Buffy’s eyes, and the Slayer felt as if she were hypnotized. She stopped struggling and simply stared, held in the vampire’s thrall. Buffy watched helplessly as Drusilla’s fanged grin crept toward her neck.
Without warning, she felt a sudden heavy weight on top of her. Then, Drusilla was gone, and Spike was lying on her chest, a pile of dust underneath him. He’d picked up the stake Buffy dropped but hadn’t had the strength in his arms to drive it into Dru, so he just placed it in the right spot and heaved his weight onto it, hoping not to stake himself in the process. The effort left him spent, and he drifted into unconsciousness, lying on top of Buffy.
Buffy wriggled out from under him and scooped him up in her arms. Dashing out of the cave, she yelled, “Come on!” to Willow and Tara, who were still fending off vampires with their spells.
“Can you keep up the magic until we get out?” she asked them. “I can’t fight if I’m carrying him.” Willow nodded and she and Tara stood on either side of Buffy and focused all their effort into keeping a shield up around them. Giles, battered and bloody but not seriously injured, sheathed his sword and fell into step beside them as they made their way out of the lair.
Once all the vampires were behind them, Willow and Tara joined hands. With their opposite hands extended toward the vamps, they shouted, “Fuego!” and a wall of fire flowed through the cave. “That should take care of them,” Willow said in a satisfied voice.
There was a squeal of tires and when they got to the entrance of the cave, Xander’s SUV was parked there, the back hatch open and facing the cave. Buffy dove in the back, shielding Spike from the sunlight as best she could. Once inside, she covered him with a blanket. The others piled into the car and Xander floored it, bouncing over the rough terrain and swerving around trees.
The next morning, the Scooby gang assembled at the Magic Box, ready for battle. Before they set out, Buffy cornered Xander. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked. “I know you don’t like him, and if you wanna back out, now’s the time.”
“I’m in, Buff.”
“Seriously, if you don’t want to, Anya could –”
“Nah. I couldn’t let Ahn go into a battle I wouldn’t fight myself.”
“She’d only have to –”
Xander shook his head. “It’s a chivalry thing. Besides, I’m not doing this for Spike. You need me, I’m there for you.”
Buffy nodded. “I’m gonna need a good wheel man.” She patted him on the arm and turned to the rest of the group. “Okay, everybody clear on their positions?” They nodded. “Good. Let’s go.” She slung her weapons bag over her shoulder and cast a last glance at Dawn, who was staying behind with Anya. Dawn gave her a nod of support and Buffy smiled.
Once everyone had headed out, Anya turned to Dawn. “Okay, kiddo, time you learned about a little thing called taking inventory.” Dawn rolled her eyes, and Anya wagged a finger at her. “You better learn to like it. If Buffy and everyone gets killed rescuing Spike, I could end up with custody of you.”
Dawn just glared at her.
*****
“This is our place,” Buffy said to the others as she peered at the cave from her vantage point of the previous night. There were only two vamps guarding the opening now, but she knew she’d meet plenty more inside. She dropped the weapons bag on the ground and opened it. She pulled out two wooden crosses with the ends whittled into sharp points so that they could be used as stakes as well, and handed one to Willow and the other to Tara. Their main weapon, however, would be the charm bracelet they each wore on their right wrist, through which they could conduct the combat spells they’d practiced all night.
Next, Buffy took out a crossbow and gave it to Giles, along with a quiver of darts. “Be careful with that,” Buffy said, teasing him a little. “Don’t shoot one of us.” Giles just gave her a good-natured smile. He, too, got a stake-cross, as well as a long slender sword in a scabbard that he fastened around his waist.
Buffy got out a crossbow of her own and her trusty battle-axe. “Everyone ready?”
Her small army answered in the affirmative, and the four of them came out of the trees and charged the entrance. Buffy and Giles each took down one of the guards with a crossbow before they could alert anyone inside.
Once inside the cave, it was dark. For obvious reasons, the sunlight didn’t penetrate far past the entrance. Willow cupped her palm and chanted until a small ball of light appeared, hovering just above her hand. She tossed it upward and it hung there, emitting a gentle glow that lit their surroundings.
Buffy pulled out a pair of glow sticks, cracked them, and tossed them down the tunnel. They could see at least a dozen vampires heading their way. Buffy tensed her body, ready for the fight. “Troops, man your battle stations.”
The first of the vampires reached them and headed for Giles. He tried to reload his crossbow, but fumbled, giving the vamp enough time to knock it out of his hands. It skittered across the cave floor. Giles pressed the cross against the vampire’s face and it jerked away with a growl and the hiss of burning flesh.
Two more vamps aimed their attacks at Willow, who extended her right arm. A broad beam of blue-white light extended from her outstretched palm, and she wielded it like a sword, slicing fiery cuts into the vampires. It wouldn’t kill them unless she could cut off their heads, but she was pretty sure it’d hurt like hell. Sure enough, the vamps doubled over in pain, and Willow staked them in succession.
Buffy picked off two more vampires using her crossbow and led the charge further into the cavern. Willow and Tara flanked her, while Giles stayed behind, grappling with the first vampire that had attacked him. He’d managed to draw his sword, but the vampire was parrying his blows with a metal rod he’d picked up off the ground.
One of the vamps lunged for Buffy, appearing out of a side tunnel, but Tara neatly decapitated him with her own blue-light sword. Hers was narrower and more focused than Willow’s but didn’t glow quite as brightly, reflecting the differences in their magic techniques. Buffy dropped her crossbow and started swinging the battle-axe, hacking the head off any vampire that came close.
Giles also managed to behead his own foe, but another attacked before he’d had time to recover. “Giles!” Willow cried, throwing up an invisible magic shield in front of the Watcher, which the vampire slammed into face first, less than a foot from Giles. She let the shield fall, and Giles swung his sword at his attacker, taking him down in one blow.
As they battled their way into the cave, Buffy tried to focus her senses on Spike, to guess which tunnel to head into. Trusting her instinct, she ran down a corridor and came to a turn-off that was blocked by a makeshift door.
“I think Spike is in there!” Buffy punched a vampire that got in her way. “Can you hold them off while I get him?”
Willow and Tara nodded, as Tara pointed to a group of three vampires and shouted, “Ventas!” All the air in the corridor was suddenly sucked in one direction and a gale-force wind knocked the vampires several feet backwards into a wall.
Before she could burst through the door, a vampire stepped out of the shadows beyond the turn-off and planted himself between the Slayer and her goal. Buffy could tell by his stature that he was the leader.
“Slayer,” he growled menacingly.
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Where’s Spike?” she demanded, knocking him backwards with a punch.
“I knew you would come,” the vampire intoned self-importantly, as he engaged Buffy in hand-to-hand combat. “You have a weakness for the Aurelians.”
“What do you want with Spike?” Buffy snapped, getting annoyed with the obvious stalling tactic.
“Nothing,” he replied, mildly surprised at the question. “William the Bloody is but a shadow of himself. He means nothing to me.”
Buffy was about to speak, but he kept going. “But my sister has laid claim to him, thinks she can bring him back to his former self. So, I brought Spike to her, and Spike brought you to me.” He grinned, immensely satisfied with himself as he managed to catch Buffy on the chin.
Her head snapped back with the force of the blow, and suddenly something clicked.
Sister.
“Drusilla. You’re one of Angelus’ minions,” Buffy concluded. “I can tell, because you’re all with the pompous and the speechifying – and can we finish this already?” Her tone was flippant, but a fist of fear closed around her heart, as she realized that Drusilla might have already taken Spike far away, and she could have led her friends into a trap for nothing.
“I will have your blood, Slayer!”
“I don’t have time for this.” Buffy grabbed him by the shirt and punched him hard enough to snap his neck back and knock him unconscious, and then she unceremoniously drove a stake through his chest. She was off again before the dust settled, plowing through the crude barrier.
“Spike?” He heard the voice whisper his name, too delirious to know if it was real or a hallucination. He could feel someone creeping towards him but lacked the strength to pick his head up to look. It wasn’t until he felt Buffy’s warm hand on his cheek that he dared roll his eyes upward to see her.
“Spike… Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” She could see that he’d been badly beaten, one eye was swollen shut and blood was smeared across his face. His bare chest was covered in bruises, gashes, and raised welts, and he was chained to the wall by his arms and legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced down at his exposed genitals. Swallowing hard, she gently eased his pants back up, trying not to irritate the burned skin as she tucked him back in. One of the buttons had been torn off, so they didn’t close all the way, but it was better than before. With Spike again decent, Buffy went to work on his chains, pulling desperately to dislodge them from the stone wall, but it was no use.
“I’m not strong enough. Will! Willow!” At the sound of her shouting, the redheaded witch ran into the cave. “I can’t break the chains, Will. Can you do it with magic?”
Willow stared hard at the chains, chanting under her breath, and the manacles on Spike’s wrists and ankles burst open and he tumbled to the ground. Buffy rushed over to him. “He’s in bad shape, Will.”
Before Willow could respond, they heard a scream from out in the corridor. “Tara!” Willow cried. She looked to Buffy.
“Go.” Turning back to Spike, Buffy propped him up so she could see his face. “Spike, can – can you hear me?”
Spike shook his head ever so slightly. “You… have to… go,” he managed.
“I’m not leaving without you.”
He shifted a little so that his ribcage wasn’t crushing his useless – but still painful – internal organs. “Dru… It’s a trap, pet.”
“Shh. I know, sweetheart,” she said softly, stroking his face. “Don’t try to talk.”
“I’m the bait…” Spike winced but ignored Buffy’s attempts to quiet him, determined to get his message across. “Don’t think she’ll… kill me, but… she will kill you.”
“No, no, precious. I think I’ll kill you both,” Drusilla purred from behind Buffy. Buffy stood up and spun around, ready to face her.
“Poor Spike, my sweet boy. He stinks of humans. Can’t reach him now. Can’t bring him back. My lost little boy.” Drusilla’s eyes narrowed and focused on Buffy. “He loves the Slayer.” Her tone was sad, but there was a hint of possessive evil that Buffy found intimidating.
The two women began circling each other, as Drusilla slid into her game face and growled. Buffy lunged in for the first move, a roundhouse kick that allowed Drusilla to catch her by the foot and flip her sideways onto the ground. Buffy sprang up again and got in a few good punches before Drusilla knocked her backwards. Trying desperately not to lose her balance, Buffy recovered and charged again, this time landing a kick that knocked Dru to the floor. Buffy jumped on top of her, stake in hand, but Drusilla held her arm outside of staking distance. They rolled on the ground, both struggling for control, until finally Buffy landed on top and hit Drusilla with a swift punch in the face.
She raised the stake, about to deliver the final blow, when Spike caught her eye. Looking at him, knowing he was watching her about to dust the woman he’d loved for a century, she hesitated. It was only a moment, but it was enough for Drusilla to lunge upward, knocking Buffy off her and causing her to drop the stake. Suddenly, Dru was on top, and she had Buffy by the throat; and although Buffy kicked and fought, she couldn’t escape Drusilla’s grasp.
“Be in my eyes… be in me,” the vampire repeated, in a soft, soothing voice. Dru stared into Buffy’s eyes, and the Slayer felt as if she were hypnotized. She stopped struggling and simply stared, held in the vampire’s thrall. Buffy watched helplessly as Drusilla’s fanged grin crept toward her neck.
Without warning, she felt a sudden heavy weight on top of her. Then, Drusilla was gone, and Spike was lying on her chest, a pile of dust underneath him. He’d picked up the stake Buffy dropped but hadn’t had the strength in his arms to drive it into Dru, so he just placed it in the right spot and heaved his weight onto it, hoping not to stake himself in the process. The effort left him spent, and he drifted into unconsciousness, lying on top of Buffy.
Buffy wriggled out from under him and scooped him up in her arms. Dashing out of the cave, she yelled, “Come on!” to Willow and Tara, who were still fending off vampires with their spells.
“Can you keep up the magic until we get out?” she asked them. “I can’t fight if I’m carrying him.” Willow nodded and she and Tara stood on either side of Buffy and focused all their effort into keeping a shield up around them. Giles, battered and bloody but not seriously injured, sheathed his sword and fell into step beside them as they made their way out of the lair.
Once all the vampires were behind them, Willow and Tara joined hands. With their opposite hands extended toward the vamps, they shouted, “Fuego!” and a wall of fire flowed through the cave. “That should take care of them,” Willow said in a satisfied voice.
There was a squeal of tires and when they got to the entrance of the cave, Xander’s SUV was parked there, the back hatch open and facing the cave. Buffy dove in the back, shielding Spike from the sunlight as best she could. Once inside, she covered him with a blanket. The others piled into the car and Xander floored it, bouncing over the rough terrain and swerving around trees.
Washed Clean
Chapter 5: Washed Clean
Buffy heard the front door slam, indicating that someone had brought Dawn home, and she turned away from where Spike was sprawled on her mother’s bed. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She was covered in blood. His blood.
She met Dawn in the hallway. The younger girl tried to peer into the room to see Spike, but Buffy blocked her. “No, Dawn!” She grabbed her sister by the shoulders and pulled her out of the doorway. “Come away from there.”
“I wanna see him!”
“No. You don’t.”
There was a quiet fear in Buffy’s voice that worried Dawn. Her lower lip quivered. “Is it – is it bad?”
Buffy let out her breath. “Yeah.”
“Worse than Glory?”
Crueler, Buffy thought. Glory may have been a crazy hellgod, but at least she wasn’t sadistic.
After sending Dawn downstairs, Buffy stood at the bathroom sink, methodically scrubbing the blood off her hands, watching the water turn pink and swirl down the drain. She caught herself becoming mesmerized by it and realized that the adrenaline rush had worn off and tiredness had crept in. Storming the castle was hard work.
Once she was clean, she ducked back into her mother’s room to check on Spike. She ought to clean him up, she thought. She shouldn’t just leave him to bleed all over the place. Fighting exhaustion, she went to get a washcloth and a bowl of water, returning to Spike’s side and gently dabbing at the gash on his temple.
Spike’s eyes fluttered open, and Buffy dropped the washcloth into the bowl and set it on the night table. “Spike?” She placed her hand gently on his shoulder.
Spike blinked as his vision cleared, and the blonde angel before him took shape. “Here, love,” he managed, pain shooting through his body with each word. He felt empty inside, hollow, as if a piece of him had been pulled out. Then, the memories came flooding back, and he realized why.
“Oh, God, Dru…”
“Shh. She’s gone now,” Buffy reassured him, caressing his cheek. “She can’t hurt us.”
She froze when she saw the painful, unexpected sorrow in his eyes. “She made me,” he whispered. “She made me what I am. Gave me eternity.”
Buffy’s lips parted in shock as it dawned on her that Spike wasn’t afraid of Drusilla. He was mourning her. She abruptly drew her hand away from him, feeling foolish for offering the wrong kind of comfort.
“Dru…” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, his jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought he could still feel for her, had thought his love for Buffy had swallowed up all of his affection for his dark mistress.
He wasn’t… sorry he’d killed her – would do it again in a heartbeat to save Buffy – but it didn’t stop the feeling of loss that gripped him now. She’d been his sire, his lover, and in spite of recent events, he’d never regretted the century they’d been together.
“Spike…” Buffy started.
Spike shook his head almost imperceptibly, meeting her gaze for a moment before he looked away. He didn’t want her to tell him all the reasons he should hate Drusilla, to make it easier for him. He needed this moment, the catharsis that came from embracing the pain, from remembering why he’d loved her for all those years.
Buffy sat in stunned silence. She hadn’t been expecting this kind of reaction, and she didn’t know how to give him this kind of comfort. How could he grieve for the monster that had done this to him? How could he feel sympathy for someone who’d broken and violated him, tortured him and left him chained to a wall?
And despite that – or maybe because of it – she couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of jealousy in her chest. She told herself that the bond between a vampire and his sire was strong, especially when they’d been lovers, and she owed Spike this chance to grieve.
He loved her, she thought, hard as it was for her to believe. The way I loved Angel. She thought back to when she’d killed her own lover, and she began to understand what Spike was feeling. But he hadn’t killed Dru to save the world. He did it to save me.
She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.
She swallowed hard and snuck a glance at the door, unsure what to do. She didn’t want to leave him like this, but she felt as though she were intruding on a private moment she shouldn’t be witnessing, and she needed some space to sort out her own emotions.
Buffy reached a hand out to comfort him, retracting it again before she touched him. Making her decision, she stood and backed away from the bed. “Listen, I’m, uh, I’m gonna get some sleep.” She moved to the window and adjusted the curtains, making sure no light could get through. “If you need anything, just – just call.”
“Buffy?”
She stopped at the doorway and turned.
He smiled weakly. “You came for me.” He said it with gratitude, but also with a fair measure of surprise in his voice.
Buffy lowered her eyes to the floor. “I’ll check on you in a little bit.”
She was out the door before he could even open his mouth to respond.
*****
Dawn cornered Buffy as soon as she came out of Spike’s room later that afternoon. “How is he?"
“He’s sleeping,” said Buffy, holding the bowl of water – now a dark pink color – close to her chest. Spike must have cleaned himself up sometime during the day. “But he looks better.”
“Can I see him?”
Buffy hesitated. “Not yet.” Spike really did look better – the shallowest cuts had already started to knit themselves together and some of his bruises were beginning to fade – but better was relative, and Spike still looked awful.
“Hey, you wanna do me a favor?” Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Go to the butcher’s and pick up some blood?”
“Can I keep the change?”
“No.” Buffy held out the money, then snatched it back when Dawn grabbed for it.
“Please?”
Buffy let Dawn take the money this time. “You may buy yourself a candy bar.”
Dawn tried to make a face at her sister, but she couldn’t help smiling. “King size?”
“What the hell? As long as you share.”
Dawn bounded down the hallway but stopped at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Buffy?”
Buffy, on her way to the bathroom, turned back and looked at her expectantly.
“It was just a dream.”
Buffy blinked. “How did you…?”
“Spike told me.”
“Dawn…”
“I mean it, Buffy. For once in your life, could you try not to screw this up?”
Buffy gaped at her. “Try not to s… You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He loves you, and you love him. And don’t try to act like you don’t,” she said, as Buffy started to protest. “I can see it, Buffy; anybody can see it! You love him!”
“I don’t. And even if I did, it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a vampire.” She shot Dawn a warning look. “And don’t even say it. I know what you’re gonna –”
“Fine.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m going to get blood… for the vampire.” She shook her head exasperatedly and flounced down the stairs in classic teenager fashion.
Buffy let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. Why did Dawn have to tear into her like that? Didn’t she get it? Didn’t she understand everything that was wrong with dating a vampire? It didn’t matter if he seemed good. Angel had taught her that.
She went into the bathroom and dumped the dirty water down the drain. She set the bowl on top of the toilet basin, figuring she’d use it again later. Why had she gotten herself into this? She could’ve dropped Spike off at his crypt, or even the Magic Box, someplace neutral, someplace not her home. Someplace where she wouldn’t have to think about the last time he was here.
As she rinsed out the bloody washcloth, something kept running through her head. Something he’d said before – you came for me. He’d been surprised, as if he thought she might have left him there. Did he really think that of her?
Even though she’d just checked on him, Buffy popped her head in on Spike once more. Only this time, he was awake.
“Spike? How are you feeling?” She perched on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his unkempt hair. He was lying on his side, probably for reasons she didn’t want to think about, but he looked so innocent and childlike, gazing up at her with his cheek resting on the pillow, as though she were his mother come to tuck him in.
“Better, love, now that you’re here.” Spike managed a smile. It quickly faded though, when he saw Buffy’s serious expression. “What is it, pet?”
She shook her head and forced a smile of her own. “Nothing. We didn’t wake you up, did we?”
“What, you and Niblet?”
Buffy blushed.
“’s all right, pet. Nothin’ I didn’t already know.”
“I, uh, brought you a change of clothes.” Buffy gestured to the chair, where she’d laid them earlier.
Spike groaned. “Not the kitten shirt again?”
“No.” She smiled. “I went to your crypt and got your stuff.” She picked up the black t-shirt and jeans she’d selected from his bizarre wardrobe of nearly identical clothes and brought them over to the bed. “Here, hands up.”
Spike rolled onto his back, wincing as he was forced to put weight on his wounds, then pushed himself up, revealing his entire bare torso. He pretended not to hear Buffy’s sharp intake of breath when she caught sight of the nail scratches and whip welts that crisscrossed his chest. Spike had cleaned off all the dirt and dried blood, and now the angry red marks stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.
Not meeting her eyes, Spike dutifully raised his hands over his head for Buffy to slip the t-shirt on him. He glanced up at her when he felt her hands on his arms, gently pulling them back down to his sides. She sank down on the bed next to him, forcing herself to take in the full extent of his injuries.
“Do you… if you want, I can…” She swallowed the lump in her throat, raising one tentative hand to his chest, her fingers ghosting over the cuts and bruises. He brushed her away. “Let me do this,” she murmured.
He hesitated before nodding his acquiescence. “Just – just my back, all right? Couldn’t reach.”
She went back to the bathroom, returning with a bowl of fresh water and a washcloth, along with a towel and bandages. Spike scooted forward on the bed, giving her reluctant access to the burned and flayed skin of his back. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut to keep the errant tears from escaping as she cleaned him up. After patting him dry with the towel, she picked up the roll of gauze and managed to say, “Lift – lift your arms again.”
She wrapped him like a mummy, covering his entire torso in white gauze before helping him into his t-shirt. She smoothed the sleeves over his shoulders, aware that she was touching him more than necessary but unable to stop herself. She wanted to just wrap him up in her arms and never let go, but she was too afraid of hurting him and restricted herself to only the lightest of touches.
Before it could get too awkward, she stood up, pulling the sheet back to tend to the rest of him. She glanced at his torn jeans, and her eyes traveled up his body, stopping as she came to the abrupt realization of what came next. She so was not ready for another Spike full monty. Their little modesty-check in the cave had been more than enough embarrassment, and her cheeks flooded with color at the memory. Still, she had to press on, had to take care of him. With one trembling hand, she reached toward his button fly.
Spike saw her hesitation and caught her by the wrist, taking the new pair of jeans from her with his other hand. Normally not one to be overly concerned with modesty, he felt a fair measure of humiliation at the thought of her in the cave, seeing his scorched-red privates dangling helplessly, sticky with blood and come. No need for a repeat performance. “I’ll take care of that, love.”
Relieved, Buffy nodded and gestured toward the other side of the room. “I’ll just…” She proceeded to stand facing the wall while he changed.
“Listen, thanks, love,” he said, grunting as he twisted his body to get his pants off. He hissed as the material scraped against his particularly sensitive bits. “You really went to the mat for me last night. You didn’t have to.”
Buffy shrugged, still facing the wall. “Yeah, I did.”
She could feel Spike’s skeptical look boring into her back and she sighed, conceding a little bit. “Look, I know there’s a lot of… stuff,” she started. “You know, unsorted – anyway, this… wasn’t about that.”
“No?” He balled up his ripped jeans and tossed them onto the chair.
“No. It was…” Buffy started to spin around, prompted by emotional momentum, but Spike stopped her.
“Naked, pet.”
She froze, but now he could see her face reflected in the mirror. “You were saying?” he asked.
Buffy opened her mouth and closed it again, as if she needed to collect her thoughts before speaking. “Because, not too long ago, I fell off a cliff and you saved my life. And you’ve been thrashing every demon that came near my sister since, you know…” She stopped short of saying since I died, and Spike saw a flicker of something in her eyes. It still wasn’t exactly easy to think about. “So, yeah, I did this, because I had to. It doesn’t matter what’s between… It was just… It wasn’t about that.”
Spike nodded, processing everything she said and all the things she didn’t say in the pauses. He gritted his teeth as the dried blood chafed between his butt cheeks as he slid into the new jeans, but he absolutely refused to ask the Slayer to help him wipe his ass. He would live with the discomfort.
“All done now,” he told her, buttoning up his fly.
Buffy turned around and came back to the bed. “Anyway, Dawn went to get blood, so you’ll have something to eat soon.”
“Thanks.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him.
“Pig’s blood,” she clarified. “Not as good as the real thing, but…”
“It’s fine, love.”
She hesitated. “I can… help you.”
Spike looked at her, the question reflected in his eyes.
“I can heal you quicker…” Buffy waited for him to make the connection.
When he did, he shook his head, his eyes closed and his face turned away so he wouldn’t let her see the hunger that rose up in him with her offer. “I couldn’t, love.”
“The chip won’t go off if I let you, right? If it doesn’t hurt?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Then, do it.”
Buffy heard the front door slam, indicating that someone had brought Dawn home, and she turned away from where Spike was sprawled on her mother’s bed. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She was covered in blood. His blood.
She met Dawn in the hallway. The younger girl tried to peer into the room to see Spike, but Buffy blocked her. “No, Dawn!” She grabbed her sister by the shoulders and pulled her out of the doorway. “Come away from there.”
“I wanna see him!”
“No. You don’t.”
There was a quiet fear in Buffy’s voice that worried Dawn. Her lower lip quivered. “Is it – is it bad?”
Buffy let out her breath. “Yeah.”
“Worse than Glory?”
Crueler, Buffy thought. Glory may have been a crazy hellgod, but at least she wasn’t sadistic.
After sending Dawn downstairs, Buffy stood at the bathroom sink, methodically scrubbing the blood off her hands, watching the water turn pink and swirl down the drain. She caught herself becoming mesmerized by it and realized that the adrenaline rush had worn off and tiredness had crept in. Storming the castle was hard work.
Once she was clean, she ducked back into her mother’s room to check on Spike. She ought to clean him up, she thought. She shouldn’t just leave him to bleed all over the place. Fighting exhaustion, she went to get a washcloth and a bowl of water, returning to Spike’s side and gently dabbing at the gash on his temple.
Spike’s eyes fluttered open, and Buffy dropped the washcloth into the bowl and set it on the night table. “Spike?” She placed her hand gently on his shoulder.
Spike blinked as his vision cleared, and the blonde angel before him took shape. “Here, love,” he managed, pain shooting through his body with each word. He felt empty inside, hollow, as if a piece of him had been pulled out. Then, the memories came flooding back, and he realized why.
“Oh, God, Dru…”
“Shh. She’s gone now,” Buffy reassured him, caressing his cheek. “She can’t hurt us.”
She froze when she saw the painful, unexpected sorrow in his eyes. “She made me,” he whispered. “She made me what I am. Gave me eternity.”
Buffy’s lips parted in shock as it dawned on her that Spike wasn’t afraid of Drusilla. He was mourning her. She abruptly drew her hand away from him, feeling foolish for offering the wrong kind of comfort.
“Dru…” He squeezed his eyes shut briefly, his jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought he could still feel for her, had thought his love for Buffy had swallowed up all of his affection for his dark mistress.
He wasn’t… sorry he’d killed her – would do it again in a heartbeat to save Buffy – but it didn’t stop the feeling of loss that gripped him now. She’d been his sire, his lover, and in spite of recent events, he’d never regretted the century they’d been together.
“Spike…” Buffy started.
Spike shook his head almost imperceptibly, meeting her gaze for a moment before he looked away. He didn’t want her to tell him all the reasons he should hate Drusilla, to make it easier for him. He needed this moment, the catharsis that came from embracing the pain, from remembering why he’d loved her for all those years.
Buffy sat in stunned silence. She hadn’t been expecting this kind of reaction, and she didn’t know how to give him this kind of comfort. How could he grieve for the monster that had done this to him? How could he feel sympathy for someone who’d broken and violated him, tortured him and left him chained to a wall?
And despite that – or maybe because of it – she couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of jealousy in her chest. She told herself that the bond between a vampire and his sire was strong, especially when they’d been lovers, and she owed Spike this chance to grieve.
He loved her, she thought, hard as it was for her to believe. The way I loved Angel. She thought back to when she’d killed her own lover, and she began to understand what Spike was feeling. But he hadn’t killed Dru to save the world. He did it to save me.
She wasn’t sure how that made her feel.
She swallowed hard and snuck a glance at the door, unsure what to do. She didn’t want to leave him like this, but she felt as though she were intruding on a private moment she shouldn’t be witnessing, and she needed some space to sort out her own emotions.
Buffy reached a hand out to comfort him, retracting it again before she touched him. Making her decision, she stood and backed away from the bed. “Listen, I’m, uh, I’m gonna get some sleep.” She moved to the window and adjusted the curtains, making sure no light could get through. “If you need anything, just – just call.”
“Buffy?”
She stopped at the doorway and turned.
He smiled weakly. “You came for me.” He said it with gratitude, but also with a fair measure of surprise in his voice.
Buffy lowered her eyes to the floor. “I’ll check on you in a little bit.”
She was out the door before he could even open his mouth to respond.
*****
Dawn cornered Buffy as soon as she came out of Spike’s room later that afternoon. “How is he?"
“He’s sleeping,” said Buffy, holding the bowl of water – now a dark pink color – close to her chest. Spike must have cleaned himself up sometime during the day. “But he looks better.”
“Can I see him?”
Buffy hesitated. “Not yet.” Spike really did look better – the shallowest cuts had already started to knit themselves together and some of his bruises were beginning to fade – but better was relative, and Spike still looked awful.
“Hey, you wanna do me a favor?” Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bills. “Go to the butcher’s and pick up some blood?”
“Can I keep the change?”
“No.” Buffy held out the money, then snatched it back when Dawn grabbed for it.
“Please?”
Buffy let Dawn take the money this time. “You may buy yourself a candy bar.”
Dawn tried to make a face at her sister, but she couldn’t help smiling. “King size?”
“What the hell? As long as you share.”
Dawn bounded down the hallway but stopped at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Buffy?”
Buffy, on her way to the bathroom, turned back and looked at her expectantly.
“It was just a dream.”
Buffy blinked. “How did you…?”
“Spike told me.”
“Dawn…”
“I mean it, Buffy. For once in your life, could you try not to screw this up?”
Buffy gaped at her. “Try not to s… You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He loves you, and you love him. And don’t try to act like you don’t,” she said, as Buffy started to protest. “I can see it, Buffy; anybody can see it! You love him!”
“I don’t. And even if I did, it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a vampire.” She shot Dawn a warning look. “And don’t even say it. I know what you’re gonna –”
“Fine.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’m going to get blood… for the vampire.” She shook her head exasperatedly and flounced down the stairs in classic teenager fashion.
Buffy let out a sigh and leaned against the wall. Why did Dawn have to tear into her like that? Didn’t she get it? Didn’t she understand everything that was wrong with dating a vampire? It didn’t matter if he seemed good. Angel had taught her that.
She went into the bathroom and dumped the dirty water down the drain. She set the bowl on top of the toilet basin, figuring she’d use it again later. Why had she gotten herself into this? She could’ve dropped Spike off at his crypt, or even the Magic Box, someplace neutral, someplace not her home. Someplace where she wouldn’t have to think about the last time he was here.
As she rinsed out the bloody washcloth, something kept running through her head. Something he’d said before – you came for me. He’d been surprised, as if he thought she might have left him there. Did he really think that of her?
Even though she’d just checked on him, Buffy popped her head in on Spike once more. Only this time, he was awake.
“Spike? How are you feeling?” She perched on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his unkempt hair. He was lying on his side, probably for reasons she didn’t want to think about, but he looked so innocent and childlike, gazing up at her with his cheek resting on the pillow, as though she were his mother come to tuck him in.
“Better, love, now that you’re here.” Spike managed a smile. It quickly faded though, when he saw Buffy’s serious expression. “What is it, pet?”
She shook her head and forced a smile of her own. “Nothing. We didn’t wake you up, did we?”
“What, you and Niblet?”
Buffy blushed.
“’s all right, pet. Nothin’ I didn’t already know.”
“I, uh, brought you a change of clothes.” Buffy gestured to the chair, where she’d laid them earlier.
Spike groaned. “Not the kitten shirt again?”
“No.” She smiled. “I went to your crypt and got your stuff.” She picked up the black t-shirt and jeans she’d selected from his bizarre wardrobe of nearly identical clothes and brought them over to the bed. “Here, hands up.”
Spike rolled onto his back, wincing as he was forced to put weight on his wounds, then pushed himself up, revealing his entire bare torso. He pretended not to hear Buffy’s sharp intake of breath when she caught sight of the nail scratches and whip welts that crisscrossed his chest. Spike had cleaned off all the dirt and dried blood, and now the angry red marks stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin.
Not meeting her eyes, Spike dutifully raised his hands over his head for Buffy to slip the t-shirt on him. He glanced up at her when he felt her hands on his arms, gently pulling them back down to his sides. She sank down on the bed next to him, forcing herself to take in the full extent of his injuries.
“Do you… if you want, I can…” She swallowed the lump in her throat, raising one tentative hand to his chest, her fingers ghosting over the cuts and bruises. He brushed her away. “Let me do this,” she murmured.
He hesitated before nodding his acquiescence. “Just – just my back, all right? Couldn’t reach.”
She went back to the bathroom, returning with a bowl of fresh water and a washcloth, along with a towel and bandages. Spike scooted forward on the bed, giving her reluctant access to the burned and flayed skin of his back. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut to keep the errant tears from escaping as she cleaned him up. After patting him dry with the towel, she picked up the roll of gauze and managed to say, “Lift – lift your arms again.”
She wrapped him like a mummy, covering his entire torso in white gauze before helping him into his t-shirt. She smoothed the sleeves over his shoulders, aware that she was touching him more than necessary but unable to stop herself. She wanted to just wrap him up in her arms and never let go, but she was too afraid of hurting him and restricted herself to only the lightest of touches.
Before it could get too awkward, she stood up, pulling the sheet back to tend to the rest of him. She glanced at his torn jeans, and her eyes traveled up his body, stopping as she came to the abrupt realization of what came next. She so was not ready for another Spike full monty. Their little modesty-check in the cave had been more than enough embarrassment, and her cheeks flooded with color at the memory. Still, she had to press on, had to take care of him. With one trembling hand, she reached toward his button fly.
Spike saw her hesitation and caught her by the wrist, taking the new pair of jeans from her with his other hand. Normally not one to be overly concerned with modesty, he felt a fair measure of humiliation at the thought of her in the cave, seeing his scorched-red privates dangling helplessly, sticky with blood and come. No need for a repeat performance. “I’ll take care of that, love.”
Relieved, Buffy nodded and gestured toward the other side of the room. “I’ll just…” She proceeded to stand facing the wall while he changed.
“Listen, thanks, love,” he said, grunting as he twisted his body to get his pants off. He hissed as the material scraped against his particularly sensitive bits. “You really went to the mat for me last night. You didn’t have to.”
Buffy shrugged, still facing the wall. “Yeah, I did.”
She could feel Spike’s skeptical look boring into her back and she sighed, conceding a little bit. “Look, I know there’s a lot of… stuff,” she started. “You know, unsorted – anyway, this… wasn’t about that.”
“No?” He balled up his ripped jeans and tossed them onto the chair.
“No. It was…” Buffy started to spin around, prompted by emotional momentum, but Spike stopped her.
“Naked, pet.”
She froze, but now he could see her face reflected in the mirror. “You were saying?” he asked.
Buffy opened her mouth and closed it again, as if she needed to collect her thoughts before speaking. “Because, not too long ago, I fell off a cliff and you saved my life. And you’ve been thrashing every demon that came near my sister since, you know…” She stopped short of saying since I died, and Spike saw a flicker of something in her eyes. It still wasn’t exactly easy to think about. “So, yeah, I did this, because I had to. It doesn’t matter what’s between… It was just… It wasn’t about that.”
Spike nodded, processing everything she said and all the things she didn’t say in the pauses. He gritted his teeth as the dried blood chafed between his butt cheeks as he slid into the new jeans, but he absolutely refused to ask the Slayer to help him wipe his ass. He would live with the discomfort.
“All done now,” he told her, buttoning up his fly.
Buffy turned around and came back to the bed. “Anyway, Dawn went to get blood, so you’ll have something to eat soon.”
“Thanks.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him.
“Pig’s blood,” she clarified. “Not as good as the real thing, but…”
“It’s fine, love.”
She hesitated. “I can… help you.”
Spike looked at her, the question reflected in his eyes.
“I can heal you quicker…” Buffy waited for him to make the connection.
When he did, he shook his head, his eyes closed and his face turned away so he wouldn’t let her see the hunger that rose up in him with her offer. “I couldn’t, love.”
“The chip won’t go off if I let you, right? If it doesn’t hurt?”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“Then, do it.”
Blood is the Life
Chapter 6: Blood is the Life
“Please,” Buffy said. “I need to do this.” She stroked his cheek lightly with her fingertips. Anything to make those marks disappear faster. It made her sick to think of the horror he’d been through at Drusilla’s hands.
Spike stared at her for a moment, as though trying to discern if she was for real. He tasted Drusilla’s blood on his tongue, and her words rang in his ears. What she’ll never give you.
But here she was, leaning over him so that her neck was within easy reach, her hair swept to one side. Spike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. Ignoring his aching body, he positioned her on his lap, straddling him, and eased her forward so she was lying on his chest. He ran one hand through her hair, cupping her head so that she couldn’t avoid his eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asked her, his voice ragged.
“Yeah,” she breathed, giving him a reassuring smile before closing her eyes as though bracing herself for the pain. He inclined his head, touching his cheek to hers, and then hesitantly began nuzzling the hollow of her neck. Parting his lips, he sucked gently on her skin, coaxing her blood to the surface. He slipped into his game face and sank his teeth into her flesh, drinking deeply as her beating heart pounded the blood through her body.
Buffy gasped at the initial pinprick of pain, but she was surprised at how gentle he was. She’d expected Spike to be rough, predatory – as if his attitude would be reflected in his bite. But it was soft, tender, and relatively painless – well, it kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt, which she so didn’t want to dwell on right now. His tongue lapping against her throat sent shivers down her spine, and the gentle pull of his mouth drawing in her blood sent a throbbing ache straight down to her groin. Her fingers twined through his curly, tousled hair, and without realizing it, Buffy let a small moan escape her lips.
Spike pulled back and his game face disappeared. “Hurt you, love?” he asked, concerned.
Buffy blushed furiously. “No…”
His lips curled into a grin. “Ah, I see. Naughty little Slayer.”
She thought about telling him to stop, but then his mouth closed over the bite again and his hands were digging into her sides, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. Part of her wondered how he wasn’t screaming in pain from the chip, but she didn’t care, and she wanted more. She pressed her body against his, as if she could actually get into his skin if she pressed hard enough.
Slowly, she became aware of a sharp bulge nudging against her thigh. Oh, God, he’s… Before she had time to process what she was doing, she was moving ever so slightly up and down against him, matching the rhythm of her pounding heart as it sent her blood coursing through his eager lips.
She’s getting off on it, he thought, marveling at the glorious creature writhing above him. He felt himself spiraling out of control, losing himself in his ideal fantasy. If only their clothes weren’t in the way, and if only – he gasped in pain – if only he weren’t quite so sore down there… Not that it seemed to matter, because he was swollen to bursting, and about thirty seconds away from coming in his pants like a fourteen-year-old boy. He was getting dizzy from the pain and the pleasure and the blood; he was drowning in it, drowning in her.
Then, he felt it. That first skipped – Shit. Without hesitation, he lifted her off his lap and rolled her roughly onto the bed next to him. She looked up at him, dazed and breathless, startled by the abrupt ending, and a little bit like she expected him to pounce on top of her and rip her clothes off. When he didn’t, neither of them spoke, both panting heavily, though only she needed to. He listened intently, his panic easing only after he heard her heartbeat return to a fast but steady pace.
Buffy’s insides churned. What was she thinking? Maybe she wasn’t thinking – it was kind of foggy up there in the brain area. As opposed to the crystal-clear message coming from down below – why did you stop? Guess men weren’t the only ones who thought with their sexual organs.
She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She’d ended up getting in much deeper than she’d intended to go. It wasn’t letting him bite her that bothered her; she really did want to help. But it wasn’t supposed to get so intense, so intimate. She hadn’t expected to feel so… She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, wondering how much more awkward things could possibly get.
Finally, Spike said, “Well, that cinches it.” When Buffy gave him a questioning look, he explained, “I am now officially a disgrace to all vampires and evil everywhere.” She giggled, and a fair amount of tension melted away, breaking the ice between them.
“Well, look at me.” He leaned back against the headboard. “Here I am, with the Slayer in my grasp, could drain her dry if I wanted, and I stopped.” Barely, he thought; but if she didn’t realize it, he wasn’t about to point it out to her. “I’m losing my edge, Slayer.”
Buffy giggled again. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly the Watcher’s Council’s poster child for proper Slayer behavior.”
“Slayer who gets off on being bitten? Wouldn’t think so.”
Buffy glared at him, her cheeks flushed. “I – I meant taking care of you. Letting you stay here. Not killing you. Though I’m reconsidering that last one,” she added, just to wipe the smirk off his face.
It didn’t work. “After all the trouble you went through to save me?” he said. “It’d be a bit of a waste, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t push your luck.” She pushed herself up off the bed and tried to cover the fact that her legs were a little wobbly. “You need anything? Blankets? Book to read? Stakes and holy water?”
“You expectin’ me to do myself in?”
Buffy shrugged. “Well, it would make my job easier.”
Spike gave her a patronizing smile, but his eyes twinkled. “Anything for you, pet.”
*****
“Dawn?” Buffy called for her sister as she shrugged on her jacket and pocketed a stake. Dawn’s head appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to the Magic Box.”
“How come?” Dawn’s body followed her head around the corner, and she came down the steps.
“Scooby meeting. Just debriefing stuff. You stay here, okay?” Dawn started to grumble, but Buffy cut her off. “Spike could probably use some blood. Look out for him until I get back, all right?”
Dawn nodded, pleased to have a task and relieved that Buffy was finally letting her see Spike.
“I won’t be long,” Buffy said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. It cascaded over her shoulders and, more importantly, covered the bite mark on her neck. If Dawn had noticed the mark, she didn’t bring it up.
She was the last one to arrive at the Magic Box. Willow and Tara were collapsed in chairs at the research table, Anya perched on the stairs, and Giles leaned casually against the display counter.
“You guys okay?” Buffy asked the witches.
“We’re fine,” said Willow. “Just a little tired.”
“Too much magic.” Tara rested her head on the tabletop, and Willow reached out to stroke her hair. Buffy noticed that Tara’s left wrist was wrapped in an ace bandage.
“Tara, what happened?”
Tara lifted her head and looked down at her wrist. “Oh, it’s just a sprain. One of the vamps grabbed me. I’ll be all right.”
Buffy looked to Giles next. One side of his face was turning purple, and he had a big gash across his cheek. “How about you?” she asked. “You went all Braveheart on us.”
Giles’ face broke into a reluctant, embarrassed smile. “I’m fine, Buffy. Thank you.”
“Thanks, you guys.” Buffy turned her head to include Xander, who appeared to be sulking in the corner, refusing to meet her gaze. She guessed he was probably having second thoughts about agreeing to help.
“How is Spike?” Giles asked her.
“He’s okay. Better than he was this morning.”
“Any idea who was behind it? Or what they wanted?”
Buffy nodded. “Drusilla. She… wanted Spike. And to kill me, I guess.”
“And she’s oh for two,” Willow crowed. “That’ll show her.”
“Yeah, also… she’s dead.”
“Well, I say,” Giles grinned, and a proud chuckle escaped his lips. “That is a job awfully well done, Buffy.”
She couldn’t bear to correct him. How could she possibly explain the depth of what Spike had done, how it had affected him? How would they react to the incredible expression of love he’d shown for her? Buffy cast her eyes downward, in what her friends took to be a show of modesty. “Yeah.”
*****
Dawn knocked on the bedroom door, a mug of warm blood in her hand. “Spike?”
“Come on in, Niblet.”
She eased the door open and saw him sitting in bed, remote control in hand. She swallowed hard, taking in his battered appearance. Whatever Drusilla had done to him, she’d been vicious about it. “Whatcha watching?”
“Rubbish,” he said, flicking the TV off. She was still hovering in the doorway. “Come sit with me.”
Dawn held out the mug. “I brought you some blood.”
“You’re a doll.” He chugged the contents as she took a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed. Peering at her over the rim of the mug, he sensed something was wrong. “You all right, pet?”
She nodded, her eyes on her hands folded in her lap. “Yeah.”
He reached one hand out and lifted her chin. “Hey… hey.” She looked away, trying to avoid his eyes.
Spike sighed and placed the mug on the night table. “Look, I’m sorry, Bit. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have had you with me. It was stupid, I didn’t –”
Dawn shook her head. “Don’t.”
He leaned closer to her and cupped her face in his hands. “God, they didn’t – they didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Her lower lip quivered. “No.”
“I’m sorry, pet.”
“Don’t say that!” She pulled away from him, and her eyes started to well with tears. Spike furrowed his brow in confusion. “I left you. They didn’t hurt me. They didn’t want me. They took you, and I let them!”
Spike’s mouth dropped open. “No… no, no, no, Dawnie.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a comforting hug. “You did the right thing. You went and got Buffy. There was nothing else you could’ve done for me.”
Dawn looked at him then, her fingers grazing his skin, tracing the line of one of the cuts on his face, unaware that she was mimicking her sister’s earlier gesture. “They hurt you. So badly that Buffy wouldn’t even let me see you.”
“Nothing you could’ve done, sweet bit.” He pulled her close again, and she curled up on the bed next to him, nestled in the crook of his arm, using his chest as a pillow.
*****
“Hey, maybe Dru was our girl.”
“What do you mean, Will?” Buffy stopped her nervous pacing around the magic shop.
“Maybe Drusilla was the one summoning the demons.”
“She did assemble the Judge,” Giles pointed out. “And Acathla.”
“I think Acathla was mostly Angelus,” said Buffy. “But even so, those were more… you know, big ending-the-world types. These demons seem too… ordinary. I don’t know, maybe it was her. That’d certainly be nice. I’ll ask Spike about –” She unconsciously brushed her hair back off her shoulder, realizing her mistake when Xander gasped.
“Xander, it’s… it’s okay.” She reached up to cover the mark with her hand. “Spike…”
“Spike? Buffy, you let him bite you?!” Pulling her hand away, he grasped her chin roughly and turned her head so he could inspect her neck. “What were you thinking?”
“It’s not – it isn’t what it looks like,” she said, finding herself getting very defensive. “It helps him. He needs it.” She figured she shouldn’t mention the part about how good it felt. Even so, Xander didn’t look convinced. Neither, for that matter, did the others.
“What do you mean, it helps him?” Tara asked.
Buffy turned to Giles with pleading eyes. “Human blood is best for a wounded vampire,” Giles admitted. “And a Slayer… well, there are some healing properties that could have an almost medicinal effect for a vampire.”
“Oh, well, good then,” said Xander, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “As long as we’re helping the vampire. Anybody remember when they were the bad guys?”
Willow sighed. The righteous indignation act was getting tiresome. “Come on, Xander. It’s Spike.”
Xander started to argue, but Buffy cut him off, her voice quiet. “He saved my life.”
The others looked at her. “What?” said Giles.
Buffy took a deep breath. “Drusilla. She… she could have killed me. Was about to. Spike dusted her.”
The Scoobies were shocked, to say the least. “Oh, my God, Buffy, that’s huge,” Willow said, the awe evident in her voice. “Do you know what that means?”
“Drusilla was his sire,” said Giles. “And his lover.”
Xander refused to budge. “Great, so Spike dusted his girlfriend. That doesn’t give him the right to feed off you, Buff.”
“He only took what he needed. He didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.”
“Nevertheless, Buffy, you must be careful,” Giles warned. “You both must know when to stop. You can’t let Spike weaken you, even if it’s unintentional.”
“I won’t.”
“You mean you’re planning on doing it again?” said Xander.
“If he needs me to.” Buffy shot him a defiant glare. “I think this meeting is over.” She started to go, but stopped at the door. “Thanks again for everything, you guys.” This time, she didn’t include Xander in her gaze. She spun on her heel and headed outside.
Willow followed her. “Buffy, I want to help.”
“What do you mean, Will?”
“I – I mean, if it will help – Giles said human blood is best, right?” She looked back at the Magic Box as if for confirmation, then back to Buffy. “Spike could… if he needed to… drink me.”
“Please,” Buffy said. “I need to do this.” She stroked his cheek lightly with her fingertips. Anything to make those marks disappear faster. It made her sick to think of the horror he’d been through at Drusilla’s hands.
Spike stared at her for a moment, as though trying to discern if she was for real. He tasted Drusilla’s blood on his tongue, and her words rang in his ears. What she’ll never give you.
But here she was, leaning over him so that her neck was within easy reach, her hair swept to one side. Spike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. Ignoring his aching body, he positioned her on his lap, straddling him, and eased her forward so she was lying on his chest. He ran one hand through her hair, cupping her head so that she couldn’t avoid his eyes.
“You’re sure?” he asked her, his voice ragged.
“Yeah,” she breathed, giving him a reassuring smile before closing her eyes as though bracing herself for the pain. He inclined his head, touching his cheek to hers, and then hesitantly began nuzzling the hollow of her neck. Parting his lips, he sucked gently on her skin, coaxing her blood to the surface. He slipped into his game face and sank his teeth into her flesh, drinking deeply as her beating heart pounded the blood through her body.
Buffy gasped at the initial pinprick of pain, but she was surprised at how gentle he was. She’d expected Spike to be rough, predatory – as if his attitude would be reflected in his bite. But it was soft, tender, and relatively painless – well, it kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt, which she so didn’t want to dwell on right now. His tongue lapping against her throat sent shivers down her spine, and the gentle pull of his mouth drawing in her blood sent a throbbing ache straight down to her groin. Her fingers twined through his curly, tousled hair, and without realizing it, Buffy let a small moan escape her lips.
Spike pulled back and his game face disappeared. “Hurt you, love?” he asked, concerned.
Buffy blushed furiously. “No…”
His lips curled into a grin. “Ah, I see. Naughty little Slayer.”
She thought about telling him to stop, but then his mouth closed over the bite again and his hands were digging into her sides, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. Part of her wondered how he wasn’t screaming in pain from the chip, but she didn’t care, and she wanted more. She pressed her body against his, as if she could actually get into his skin if she pressed hard enough.
Slowly, she became aware of a sharp bulge nudging against her thigh. Oh, God, he’s… Before she had time to process what she was doing, she was moving ever so slightly up and down against him, matching the rhythm of her pounding heart as it sent her blood coursing through his eager lips.
She’s getting off on it, he thought, marveling at the glorious creature writhing above him. He felt himself spiraling out of control, losing himself in his ideal fantasy. If only their clothes weren’t in the way, and if only – he gasped in pain – if only he weren’t quite so sore down there… Not that it seemed to matter, because he was swollen to bursting, and about thirty seconds away from coming in his pants like a fourteen-year-old boy. He was getting dizzy from the pain and the pleasure and the blood; he was drowning in it, drowning in her.
Then, he felt it. That first skipped – Shit. Without hesitation, he lifted her off his lap and rolled her roughly onto the bed next to him. She looked up at him, dazed and breathless, startled by the abrupt ending, and a little bit like she expected him to pounce on top of her and rip her clothes off. When he didn’t, neither of them spoke, both panting heavily, though only she needed to. He listened intently, his panic easing only after he heard her heartbeat return to a fast but steady pace.
Buffy’s insides churned. What was she thinking? Maybe she wasn’t thinking – it was kind of foggy up there in the brain area. As opposed to the crystal-clear message coming from down below – why did you stop? Guess men weren’t the only ones who thought with their sexual organs.
She couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She’d ended up getting in much deeper than she’d intended to go. It wasn’t letting him bite her that bothered her; she really did want to help. But it wasn’t supposed to get so intense, so intimate. She hadn’t expected to feel so… She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, wondering how much more awkward things could possibly get.
Finally, Spike said, “Well, that cinches it.” When Buffy gave him a questioning look, he explained, “I am now officially a disgrace to all vampires and evil everywhere.” She giggled, and a fair amount of tension melted away, breaking the ice between them.
“Well, look at me.” He leaned back against the headboard. “Here I am, with the Slayer in my grasp, could drain her dry if I wanted, and I stopped.” Barely, he thought; but if she didn’t realize it, he wasn’t about to point it out to her. “I’m losing my edge, Slayer.”
Buffy giggled again. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly the Watcher’s Council’s poster child for proper Slayer behavior.”
“Slayer who gets off on being bitten? Wouldn’t think so.”
Buffy glared at him, her cheeks flushed. “I – I meant taking care of you. Letting you stay here. Not killing you. Though I’m reconsidering that last one,” she added, just to wipe the smirk off his face.
It didn’t work. “After all the trouble you went through to save me?” he said. “It’d be a bit of a waste, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t push your luck.” She pushed herself up off the bed and tried to cover the fact that her legs were a little wobbly. “You need anything? Blankets? Book to read? Stakes and holy water?”
“You expectin’ me to do myself in?”
Buffy shrugged. “Well, it would make my job easier.”
Spike gave her a patronizing smile, but his eyes twinkled. “Anything for you, pet.”
*****
“Dawn?” Buffy called for her sister as she shrugged on her jacket and pocketed a stake. Dawn’s head appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to the Magic Box.”
“How come?” Dawn’s body followed her head around the corner, and she came down the steps.
“Scooby meeting. Just debriefing stuff. You stay here, okay?” Dawn started to grumble, but Buffy cut her off. “Spike could probably use some blood. Look out for him until I get back, all right?”
Dawn nodded, pleased to have a task and relieved that Buffy was finally letting her see Spike.
“I won’t be long,” Buffy said, pulling her hair out of its ponytail. It cascaded over her shoulders and, more importantly, covered the bite mark on her neck. If Dawn had noticed the mark, she didn’t bring it up.
She was the last one to arrive at the Magic Box. Willow and Tara were collapsed in chairs at the research table, Anya perched on the stairs, and Giles leaned casually against the display counter.
“You guys okay?” Buffy asked the witches.
“We’re fine,” said Willow. “Just a little tired.”
“Too much magic.” Tara rested her head on the tabletop, and Willow reached out to stroke her hair. Buffy noticed that Tara’s left wrist was wrapped in an ace bandage.
“Tara, what happened?”
Tara lifted her head and looked down at her wrist. “Oh, it’s just a sprain. One of the vamps grabbed me. I’ll be all right.”
Buffy looked to Giles next. One side of his face was turning purple, and he had a big gash across his cheek. “How about you?” she asked. “You went all Braveheart on us.”
Giles’ face broke into a reluctant, embarrassed smile. “I’m fine, Buffy. Thank you.”
“Thanks, you guys.” Buffy turned her head to include Xander, who appeared to be sulking in the corner, refusing to meet her gaze. She guessed he was probably having second thoughts about agreeing to help.
“How is Spike?” Giles asked her.
“He’s okay. Better than he was this morning.”
“Any idea who was behind it? Or what they wanted?”
Buffy nodded. “Drusilla. She… wanted Spike. And to kill me, I guess.”
“And she’s oh for two,” Willow crowed. “That’ll show her.”
“Yeah, also… she’s dead.”
“Well, I say,” Giles grinned, and a proud chuckle escaped his lips. “That is a job awfully well done, Buffy.”
She couldn’t bear to correct him. How could she possibly explain the depth of what Spike had done, how it had affected him? How would they react to the incredible expression of love he’d shown for her? Buffy cast her eyes downward, in what her friends took to be a show of modesty. “Yeah.”
*****
Dawn knocked on the bedroom door, a mug of warm blood in her hand. “Spike?”
“Come on in, Niblet.”
She eased the door open and saw him sitting in bed, remote control in hand. She swallowed hard, taking in his battered appearance. Whatever Drusilla had done to him, she’d been vicious about it. “Whatcha watching?”
“Rubbish,” he said, flicking the TV off. She was still hovering in the doorway. “Come sit with me.”
Dawn held out the mug. “I brought you some blood.”
“You’re a doll.” He chugged the contents as she took a hesitant seat on the edge of the bed. Peering at her over the rim of the mug, he sensed something was wrong. “You all right, pet?”
She nodded, her eyes on her hands folded in her lap. “Yeah.”
He reached one hand out and lifted her chin. “Hey… hey.” She looked away, trying to avoid his eyes.
Spike sighed and placed the mug on the night table. “Look, I’m sorry, Bit. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have had you with me. It was stupid, I didn’t –”
Dawn shook her head. “Don’t.”
He leaned closer to her and cupped her face in his hands. “God, they didn’t – they didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Her lower lip quivered. “No.”
“I’m sorry, pet.”
“Don’t say that!” She pulled away from him, and her eyes started to well with tears. Spike furrowed his brow in confusion. “I left you. They didn’t hurt me. They didn’t want me. They took you, and I let them!”
Spike’s mouth dropped open. “No… no, no, no, Dawnie.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a comforting hug. “You did the right thing. You went and got Buffy. There was nothing else you could’ve done for me.”
Dawn looked at him then, her fingers grazing his skin, tracing the line of one of the cuts on his face, unaware that she was mimicking her sister’s earlier gesture. “They hurt you. So badly that Buffy wouldn’t even let me see you.”
“Nothing you could’ve done, sweet bit.” He pulled her close again, and she curled up on the bed next to him, nestled in the crook of his arm, using his chest as a pillow.
*****
“Hey, maybe Dru was our girl.”
“What do you mean, Will?” Buffy stopped her nervous pacing around the magic shop.
“Maybe Drusilla was the one summoning the demons.”
“She did assemble the Judge,” Giles pointed out. “And Acathla.”
“I think Acathla was mostly Angelus,” said Buffy. “But even so, those were more… you know, big ending-the-world types. These demons seem too… ordinary. I don’t know, maybe it was her. That’d certainly be nice. I’ll ask Spike about –” She unconsciously brushed her hair back off her shoulder, realizing her mistake when Xander gasped.
“Xander, it’s… it’s okay.” She reached up to cover the mark with her hand. “Spike…”
“Spike? Buffy, you let him bite you?!” Pulling her hand away, he grasped her chin roughly and turned her head so he could inspect her neck. “What were you thinking?”
“It’s not – it isn’t what it looks like,” she said, finding herself getting very defensive. “It helps him. He needs it.” She figured she shouldn’t mention the part about how good it felt. Even so, Xander didn’t look convinced. Neither, for that matter, did the others.
“What do you mean, it helps him?” Tara asked.
Buffy turned to Giles with pleading eyes. “Human blood is best for a wounded vampire,” Giles admitted. “And a Slayer… well, there are some healing properties that could have an almost medicinal effect for a vampire.”
“Oh, well, good then,” said Xander, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “As long as we’re helping the vampire. Anybody remember when they were the bad guys?”
Willow sighed. The righteous indignation act was getting tiresome. “Come on, Xander. It’s Spike.”
Xander started to argue, but Buffy cut him off, her voice quiet. “He saved my life.”
The others looked at her. “What?” said Giles.
Buffy took a deep breath. “Drusilla. She… she could have killed me. Was about to. Spike dusted her.”
The Scoobies were shocked, to say the least. “Oh, my God, Buffy, that’s huge,” Willow said, the awe evident in her voice. “Do you know what that means?”
“Drusilla was his sire,” said Giles. “And his lover.”
Xander refused to budge. “Great, so Spike dusted his girlfriend. That doesn’t give him the right to feed off you, Buff.”
“He only took what he needed. He didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t.”
“Nevertheless, Buffy, you must be careful,” Giles warned. “You both must know when to stop. You can’t let Spike weaken you, even if it’s unintentional.”
“I won’t.”
“You mean you’re planning on doing it again?” said Xander.
“If he needs me to.” Buffy shot him a defiant glare. “I think this meeting is over.” She started to go, but stopped at the door. “Thanks again for everything, you guys.” This time, she didn’t include Xander in her gaze. She spun on her heel and headed outside.
Willow followed her. “Buffy, I want to help.”
“What do you mean, Will?”
“I – I mean, if it will help – Giles said human blood is best, right?” She looked back at the Magic Box as if for confirmation, then back to Buffy. “Spike could… if he needed to… drink me.”
New Beginnings
A/N: Susan Rodriguez is a character from The Dresden Files. This isn't meant to be a crossover of any kind, I'm just sort of borrowing her. (And, for Dresden fans, this is book Susan, not that horrible TV show Susan... blech.)
*****
Chapter 7: New Beginnings
Buffy popped her head in the open doorway. “Hey, you feeling better today?”
“Much. I’m up to watching the telly again,” Spike told her, but he picked up the remote and turned the TV off when she came in the room. “Dawson’s a soddin’ prat.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and came over to the bed. “Any pain?” she asked, inspecting his injuries.
“None,” he announced with pride. Then, his grin faded, and he added the caveat: “So long as I don’t move.”
“Right.” Buffy smirked. “You hungry?”
Spike looked like he wanted to say yes, but he resisted. He noticed she didn’t have a mug in her hands. “I don’t want to drain you, love.” Don’t want to get addicted, either. Slayer blood was an aphrodisiac as well as a healing power, and he’d been achingly aware of its effect for hours after she left him the first time. He’d barely pulled away in time then, and the more he drank, the harder it would be to stop. “If you go to the butcher’s, give him my name, you could – ”
“Actually, I brought, um, a snack.”
Willow, who’d been lurking in the doorway, stepped into the room. “Hi, Spike.”
“Oh, no.” Spike shook his head vigorously. “I’m not eating your friends.”
“It was her choice, Spike.”
“I’m not in enough trouble already, what with trying to kill them? In the very, very distant past, of course,” he added.
“It’s okay, Spike.” Willow shrugged. “You won’t hurt me, right?”
“Of course not, love.” He turned back to Buffy. “But I’m not doing it.” His eyes lit up. “Unless it’s Harris. Could I bite him? I can’t promise he’d live, but…”
“You are way too excited about that,” Buffy said, trying to hold back a smile. “I’m not letting you near Xander, for both your sakes.”
“Look, Spike,” said Willow, as she approached the bed. “I know you’ve tried to bite me in the past, in situations that were, you know, not all with the friendly, but Buffy trusts you now. And if she trusts you, then I do, too.”
Spike shot a sidelong glance at Buffy and nodded. “All right, then.”
“So, uh, how do we do this?” Willow asked, with a bit of nervousness.
“Just sit here, love.” Spike patted the edge of the bed next to him. He sat up straighter so it would be less of a full-contact sport than it had been with Buffy. “Tilt your head to the side, there. Now, I promise this won’t hurt. Close your eyes if you’re scared.” Willow closed her eyes, but then opened one so she could peek. She saw Spike morph into his game face and felt the prick of his teeth on her neck.
As Spike drank, Buffy asked, “You doing okay, Will?”
“It’s kinda tingly.”
Spike raised his head. “Buffy thinks it’s hot.”
“Spike!” Buffy was glad her best friend couldn’t see her face turn bright red.
Willow tried to laugh without moving her neck, as Spike went back to drinking. “I’m sorry, Spike,” she said. “It’s just, you’re not a girl, so… not really my type. Otherwise, I’m sure I’d be all lusty feelings.”
“Thanks, pet. All done now.” He gave her a reassuring look with his human face. “Go on, Buffy’ll get you a bandage.”
“Bathroom,” said Buffy, with a vague gesture over her shoulder, noting how much less he’d taken from Willow than from her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Willow nodded and left the room. Buffy paused, and her eyes locked on Spike’s. It struck her how far they’d come, that it wasn’t all that long ago she’d never have trusted Spike near her neck or any of her friends’. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.
Spike cocked his head to one side, as if to say, “For what?”
Buffy placed a tender hand on his cheek. Spike’s fingers closed over her wrist and his lips curled into a half-smile. “Come on, love. Don’t go all soft on me,” he teased, gently removing her hand from his face.
She hesitated for a moment, and then smiled back at him. “You’re right. I could punch you, but you already look like shit… and then I’d just feel bad.”
Spike let out a short laugh, but before he could respond, Willow appeared again in the doorway, a Scooby-Doo band-aid now affixed to her neck.
“Hey, uh, I just fixed myself up,” she said.
Buffy gave her a guilty smile. “Sorry, Will. Guess I’m not a very good nursemaid.”
“You’re fine,” said Spike. “Regular Florence Nightingale. Just got too many patients, is all.”
“It’s okay,” Willow replied. “All taken care of. Spike’s a perfect gentleman. I might not even have a scar.”
“Well, get back here.” Spike had a wicked gleam in his eye. “It’s no fun if you don’t have a scar. How will everyone know you’re tough?”
Willow giggled. “Hey, Buffy, did you ask Spike about the thing?”
“What thing?” asked Spike.
Buffy looked down at the floor. “Uh, no, not yet.”
“What thing?” he repeated.
“We were wondering if maybe Drusilla was the one summoning the demons,” Willow said.
His face adopted an expression Buffy couldn’t quite read. “Doesn’t sound like…” He stopped. “Demons? Plural?”
“We think there’s a connection between the dragon and the demon you killed,” Buffy filled him in. “Both were summoned using talismans. Giles had a source, but he’s dead now, so I guess we’ll start working on the papers he left behind.”
“And you think it was Dru?”
“Hoped, really,” said Willow. “It’d make things nice and neat, you know. Solve two cases with one raiding party.”
Spike shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like her. That sort of thing’s not her style.”
“You guys have used demons before.” Buffy felt a little guilty including Spike in her assertion, but there was no sense pretending he hadn’t been there.
Spike made a face like he was sucking on his teeth. “Was different. Dru – she’d go in for mayhem, apocalypse-causing stuff, sure, just ’cause it’s fun. But targeting us, talismans, magic – ’s not how her mind works, you know? It’s all fairy wings and talkin’ stars with her.” He shook his head again, a faraway look in his eyes. “She wouldn’t plan something like this.” He thought for a moment then snorted. “The one with the plan was always –”
“Stop,” Buffy warned him. “That can only go one of two ways, and neither is of the good.”
“Sorry,” he replied, an exaggerated pout on his face. “I’ll behave.”
“I think he’s feeling better,” Willow teased.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be good as new in a day or so.”
“Good,” said Buffy. “Because Nurse Ratched has to go to work tomorrow.”
Willow grinned. “At least you’ll have a good story when they ask how your weekend was.”
“Yeah.” Buffy folded her arms across her chest. “Actually, I’m starting a new job. Temp agency is sending me someplace else.”
*****
“Welcome to the Sunnydale Press, Miss Summers.” Buffy’s new boss – whose name she’d already forgotten, Dave or Dan or something – extended his hand. Buffy smiled and shook it. “Let me show you around.”
Dave or Dan – or maybe it was Darryl? – left his office and headed through the bullpen where the various reporters were set up. Buffy hurried to follow him as he weaved a path through the desks, throwing out names that she’d also never remember. She waved haphazardly at those who bothered to look up.
Darryl or Dave led her to a back room full of boxes. “This is the archives, where we keep back issues of the paper,” he told her. “We’re in the process of making digital copies of everything. All of our recent issues are online, of course, but the older stuff needs to be catalogued. Your job will be to scan everything in these boxes here.” He gestured to a row along one wall, with boxes stacked on shelves about six feet high. “The scanner and the computer are in that corner there. I think everything’s pretty self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, you can ask Susan. She’s the first desk on the right outside.”
Buffy looked around the room and nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks, uh, Dave?”
“Tim.”
“Tim, right. Think I’m all set.” As soon as Tim left the room, Buffy cast a woeful glance at the stacks of boxes. This promised to be a dull job.
Before she even had a chance to get settled, another face popped in the door. “Hi, you the temp?”
“Yeah. I’m Buffy.”
“Susan Rodriguez, crime beat,” the woman replied. She was tall, brunette, probably thirty-ish, and dressed in a chic knee-length pencil skirt, a button-down blouse with enough buttons undone to make a guy look twice, and heels that were just an inch too high for office wear.
“Crime beat? They must keep you busy, with all the stuff that goes on in Sunnydale.”
Susan chuckled. “I ought to be an investigative reporter. Half my articles are on mysterious deaths and disappearances.”
“At least it keeps things interesting.”
“You have no idea.” Susan lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen, what’s really going on in Sunnydale.”
Buffy gave her a tentative half-smile. “Oh, I can imagine.”
“Hey, this job looks like it’ll get boring pretty fast. If you need a break, you come out here and I’ll tell you some stories. Crazy stuff.”
“Great.” When Susan left the room, Buffy muttered under her breath, “I got plenty of stories of my own, lady.”
*****
“You’re going to pay for that, right?”
Willow rolled her eyes before turning away from the shelves of magic herbs and looking at Anya. “Yes, I’m going to pay for it.”
“You’re not just ‘borrowing’ things, right? Because you ‘borrow’ them and then they never come back, or they come back damaged. Or they turn up as a troll.”
“That was one time. And it was your troll!”
“This is a place of business,” Anya went on, as if Willow hadn’t even spoken. “I can’t just let people use my merchandise willy-nilly.”
Willow tuned out the lecture, pursing her lips as she ran her fingers along the shelf. She stopped at the mandrake root and added some to her shopping basket. “I just think it’s callous to charge us for supplies when we’re doing spells to save people’s lives. Often, yours.”
“It’s a free market. I can charge what I want for whatever I want. Supply and demand. You need it, you’ll pay for it.”
Willow was about to respond when, mercifully, they were interrupted by Giles’ entrance. “Oh, thank Hecate,” she muttered. “Hi, Giles!”
“Willow, I’m glad you’re here,” he replied. “I’d like to speak with you.”
He started to escort Willow into the training room, but Anya’s blatant throat clearing made them pause. Anya stared pointedly at Willow, then at the shopping basket in her hand, and then back at Willow’s face.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the witch said exasperatedly, marching over and dropping the basket of merchandise on the counter. “I’ll be back for that,” she muttered, as she followed Giles into the back.
“So, what’s up, Giles?” Willow asked, once the door was closed behind them.
“I’d like to speak to you about your magic.”
She immediately recalled the conversations they’d had when Buffy first came back. Lectures, really. It was more of a “talking at” situation. “You’re not the Watcher of me.”
“I’ve come to realize that.” He adjusted his glasses, wondering if she realized just how apt her statement was. “You have a great deal of talent, Willow. But little discipline. There are rules… responsibilities, accepted standards of behavior, which you know nothing about. You’ve stumbled into magic without – without the proper training, and I think it’s time you received more guidance in that area.”
“Are you sending me to Hogwarts?”
He tilted his head slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Hogwarts,” Willow repeated. “From Harry Pot – oh, never mind. So, does this mean you want to train me?”
“Um, well, no. Most of my magical experience comes from my Ripper days, which I’m sure I don’t need to remind you are a poor model for proper behavior.” He looked at her carefully. “But I think you could benefit from the tutelage of an experienced witch.”
“Like my own Watcher,” Willow mused.
Giles raised his eyebrows. “Yes, in a sense. There are principles, theories, all sorts of academic notions that could greatly hone your skill. Think of our recent battle. You saw how Tara – she has much less raw power than you, but she’s able to focus her energy, to – to quite impressive result. Just think of what you could achieve with the proper mindset and the correct approach.”
More power. She capped that thought with a Tim Allen-esque grunt in her head and had to choke back giggles. “So, where’s this magic teacher come from?”
“There is a coven in England that has close ties with the Council. A few are good friends of mine. I should like to invite one of them to come here to instruct you.”
Willow’s face broadened into a grin. “Giles, that’s awesome. That’s – that’s so awesome!” She threw her arms around the Watcher’s neck, startling him with her enthusiasm.
He let his arms fold around her small frame, relieved to have put her on the right path. It worried him to see her so closely mirror his own past – reckless with her spells, allowing emotion and hubris to cloud her judgment at times. He still fretted over the resurrection spell, even though Buffy seemed to be adjusting quite well. With a history such as Willow’s, turning to magic – often with disastrous results – in times of pain and heartbreak and to right what she perceived as wrongs, he could see a pattern emerging that could have no end but tragic. He hoped to head her off at the pass, and with good fortune, the witches of the Devon coven would redirect her to a more constructive use of her power.
*****
Chapter 7: New Beginnings
Buffy popped her head in the open doorway. “Hey, you feeling better today?”
“Much. I’m up to watching the telly again,” Spike told her, but he picked up the remote and turned the TV off when she came in the room. “Dawson’s a soddin’ prat.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and came over to the bed. “Any pain?” she asked, inspecting his injuries.
“None,” he announced with pride. Then, his grin faded, and he added the caveat: “So long as I don’t move.”
“Right.” Buffy smirked. “You hungry?”
Spike looked like he wanted to say yes, but he resisted. He noticed she didn’t have a mug in her hands. “I don’t want to drain you, love.” Don’t want to get addicted, either. Slayer blood was an aphrodisiac as well as a healing power, and he’d been achingly aware of its effect for hours after she left him the first time. He’d barely pulled away in time then, and the more he drank, the harder it would be to stop. “If you go to the butcher’s, give him my name, you could – ”
“Actually, I brought, um, a snack.”
Willow, who’d been lurking in the doorway, stepped into the room. “Hi, Spike.”
“Oh, no.” Spike shook his head vigorously. “I’m not eating your friends.”
“It was her choice, Spike.”
“I’m not in enough trouble already, what with trying to kill them? In the very, very distant past, of course,” he added.
“It’s okay, Spike.” Willow shrugged. “You won’t hurt me, right?”
“Of course not, love.” He turned back to Buffy. “But I’m not doing it.” His eyes lit up. “Unless it’s Harris. Could I bite him? I can’t promise he’d live, but…”
“You are way too excited about that,” Buffy said, trying to hold back a smile. “I’m not letting you near Xander, for both your sakes.”
“Look, Spike,” said Willow, as she approached the bed. “I know you’ve tried to bite me in the past, in situations that were, you know, not all with the friendly, but Buffy trusts you now. And if she trusts you, then I do, too.”
Spike shot a sidelong glance at Buffy and nodded. “All right, then.”
“So, uh, how do we do this?” Willow asked, with a bit of nervousness.
“Just sit here, love.” Spike patted the edge of the bed next to him. He sat up straighter so it would be less of a full-contact sport than it had been with Buffy. “Tilt your head to the side, there. Now, I promise this won’t hurt. Close your eyes if you’re scared.” Willow closed her eyes, but then opened one so she could peek. She saw Spike morph into his game face and felt the prick of his teeth on her neck.
As Spike drank, Buffy asked, “You doing okay, Will?”
“It’s kinda tingly.”
Spike raised his head. “Buffy thinks it’s hot.”
“Spike!” Buffy was glad her best friend couldn’t see her face turn bright red.
Willow tried to laugh without moving her neck, as Spike went back to drinking. “I’m sorry, Spike,” she said. “It’s just, you’re not a girl, so… not really my type. Otherwise, I’m sure I’d be all lusty feelings.”
“Thanks, pet. All done now.” He gave her a reassuring look with his human face. “Go on, Buffy’ll get you a bandage.”
“Bathroom,” said Buffy, with a vague gesture over her shoulder, noting how much less he’d taken from Willow than from her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Willow nodded and left the room. Buffy paused, and her eyes locked on Spike’s. It struck her how far they’d come, that it wasn’t all that long ago she’d never have trusted Spike near her neck or any of her friends’. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.
Spike cocked his head to one side, as if to say, “For what?”
Buffy placed a tender hand on his cheek. Spike’s fingers closed over her wrist and his lips curled into a half-smile. “Come on, love. Don’t go all soft on me,” he teased, gently removing her hand from his face.
She hesitated for a moment, and then smiled back at him. “You’re right. I could punch you, but you already look like shit… and then I’d just feel bad.”
Spike let out a short laugh, but before he could respond, Willow appeared again in the doorway, a Scooby-Doo band-aid now affixed to her neck.
“Hey, uh, I just fixed myself up,” she said.
Buffy gave her a guilty smile. “Sorry, Will. Guess I’m not a very good nursemaid.”
“You’re fine,” said Spike. “Regular Florence Nightingale. Just got too many patients, is all.”
“It’s okay,” Willow replied. “All taken care of. Spike’s a perfect gentleman. I might not even have a scar.”
“Well, get back here.” Spike had a wicked gleam in his eye. “It’s no fun if you don’t have a scar. How will everyone know you’re tough?”
Willow giggled. “Hey, Buffy, did you ask Spike about the thing?”
“What thing?” asked Spike.
Buffy looked down at the floor. “Uh, no, not yet.”
“What thing?” he repeated.
“We were wondering if maybe Drusilla was the one summoning the demons,” Willow said.
His face adopted an expression Buffy couldn’t quite read. “Doesn’t sound like…” He stopped. “Demons? Plural?”
“We think there’s a connection between the dragon and the demon you killed,” Buffy filled him in. “Both were summoned using talismans. Giles had a source, but he’s dead now, so I guess we’ll start working on the papers he left behind.”
“And you think it was Dru?”
“Hoped, really,” said Willow. “It’d make things nice and neat, you know. Solve two cases with one raiding party.”
Spike shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like her. That sort of thing’s not her style.”
“You guys have used demons before.” Buffy felt a little guilty including Spike in her assertion, but there was no sense pretending he hadn’t been there.
Spike made a face like he was sucking on his teeth. “Was different. Dru – she’d go in for mayhem, apocalypse-causing stuff, sure, just ’cause it’s fun. But targeting us, talismans, magic – ’s not how her mind works, you know? It’s all fairy wings and talkin’ stars with her.” He shook his head again, a faraway look in his eyes. “She wouldn’t plan something like this.” He thought for a moment then snorted. “The one with the plan was always –”
“Stop,” Buffy warned him. “That can only go one of two ways, and neither is of the good.”
“Sorry,” he replied, an exaggerated pout on his face. “I’ll behave.”
“I think he’s feeling better,” Willow teased.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be good as new in a day or so.”
“Good,” said Buffy. “Because Nurse Ratched has to go to work tomorrow.”
Willow grinned. “At least you’ll have a good story when they ask how your weekend was.”
“Yeah.” Buffy folded her arms across her chest. “Actually, I’m starting a new job. Temp agency is sending me someplace else.”
*****
“Welcome to the Sunnydale Press, Miss Summers.” Buffy’s new boss – whose name she’d already forgotten, Dave or Dan or something – extended his hand. Buffy smiled and shook it. “Let me show you around.”
Dave or Dan – or maybe it was Darryl? – left his office and headed through the bullpen where the various reporters were set up. Buffy hurried to follow him as he weaved a path through the desks, throwing out names that she’d also never remember. She waved haphazardly at those who bothered to look up.
Darryl or Dave led her to a back room full of boxes. “This is the archives, where we keep back issues of the paper,” he told her. “We’re in the process of making digital copies of everything. All of our recent issues are online, of course, but the older stuff needs to be catalogued. Your job will be to scan everything in these boxes here.” He gestured to a row along one wall, with boxes stacked on shelves about six feet high. “The scanner and the computer are in that corner there. I think everything’s pretty self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, you can ask Susan. She’s the first desk on the right outside.”
Buffy looked around the room and nodded. “Sounds good. Thanks, uh, Dave?”
“Tim.”
“Tim, right. Think I’m all set.” As soon as Tim left the room, Buffy cast a woeful glance at the stacks of boxes. This promised to be a dull job.
Before she even had a chance to get settled, another face popped in the door. “Hi, you the temp?”
“Yeah. I’m Buffy.”
“Susan Rodriguez, crime beat,” the woman replied. She was tall, brunette, probably thirty-ish, and dressed in a chic knee-length pencil skirt, a button-down blouse with enough buttons undone to make a guy look twice, and heels that were just an inch too high for office wear.
“Crime beat? They must keep you busy, with all the stuff that goes on in Sunnydale.”
Susan chuckled. “I ought to be an investigative reporter. Half my articles are on mysterious deaths and disappearances.”
“At least it keeps things interesting.”
“You have no idea.” Susan lowered her voice. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve seen, what’s really going on in Sunnydale.”
Buffy gave her a tentative half-smile. “Oh, I can imagine.”
“Hey, this job looks like it’ll get boring pretty fast. If you need a break, you come out here and I’ll tell you some stories. Crazy stuff.”
“Great.” When Susan left the room, Buffy muttered under her breath, “I got plenty of stories of my own, lady.”
*****
“You’re going to pay for that, right?”
Willow rolled her eyes before turning away from the shelves of magic herbs and looking at Anya. “Yes, I’m going to pay for it.”
“You’re not just ‘borrowing’ things, right? Because you ‘borrow’ them and then they never come back, or they come back damaged. Or they turn up as a troll.”
“That was one time. And it was your troll!”
“This is a place of business,” Anya went on, as if Willow hadn’t even spoken. “I can’t just let people use my merchandise willy-nilly.”
Willow tuned out the lecture, pursing her lips as she ran her fingers along the shelf. She stopped at the mandrake root and added some to her shopping basket. “I just think it’s callous to charge us for supplies when we’re doing spells to save people’s lives. Often, yours.”
“It’s a free market. I can charge what I want for whatever I want. Supply and demand. You need it, you’ll pay for it.”
Willow was about to respond when, mercifully, they were interrupted by Giles’ entrance. “Oh, thank Hecate,” she muttered. “Hi, Giles!”
“Willow, I’m glad you’re here,” he replied. “I’d like to speak with you.”
He started to escort Willow into the training room, but Anya’s blatant throat clearing made them pause. Anya stared pointedly at Willow, then at the shopping basket in her hand, and then back at Willow’s face.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the witch said exasperatedly, marching over and dropping the basket of merchandise on the counter. “I’ll be back for that,” she muttered, as she followed Giles into the back.
“So, what’s up, Giles?” Willow asked, once the door was closed behind them.
“I’d like to speak to you about your magic.”
She immediately recalled the conversations they’d had when Buffy first came back. Lectures, really. It was more of a “talking at” situation. “You’re not the Watcher of me.”
“I’ve come to realize that.” He adjusted his glasses, wondering if she realized just how apt her statement was. “You have a great deal of talent, Willow. But little discipline. There are rules… responsibilities, accepted standards of behavior, which you know nothing about. You’ve stumbled into magic without – without the proper training, and I think it’s time you received more guidance in that area.”
“Are you sending me to Hogwarts?”
He tilted his head slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Hogwarts,” Willow repeated. “From Harry Pot – oh, never mind. So, does this mean you want to train me?”
“Um, well, no. Most of my magical experience comes from my Ripper days, which I’m sure I don’t need to remind you are a poor model for proper behavior.” He looked at her carefully. “But I think you could benefit from the tutelage of an experienced witch.”
“Like my own Watcher,” Willow mused.
Giles raised his eyebrows. “Yes, in a sense. There are principles, theories, all sorts of academic notions that could greatly hone your skill. Think of our recent battle. You saw how Tara – she has much less raw power than you, but she’s able to focus her energy, to – to quite impressive result. Just think of what you could achieve with the proper mindset and the correct approach.”
More power. She capped that thought with a Tim Allen-esque grunt in her head and had to choke back giggles. “So, where’s this magic teacher come from?”
“There is a coven in England that has close ties with the Council. A few are good friends of mine. I should like to invite one of them to come here to instruct you.”
Willow’s face broadened into a grin. “Giles, that’s awesome. That’s – that’s so awesome!” She threw her arms around the Watcher’s neck, startling him with her enthusiasm.
He let his arms fold around her small frame, relieved to have put her on the right path. It worried him to see her so closely mirror his own past – reckless with her spells, allowing emotion and hubris to cloud her judgment at times. He still fretted over the resurrection spell, even though Buffy seemed to be adjusting quite well. With a history such as Willow’s, turning to magic – often with disastrous results – in times of pain and heartbreak and to right what she perceived as wrongs, he could see a pattern emerging that could have no end but tragic. He hoped to head her off at the pass, and with good fortune, the witches of the Devon coven would redirect her to a more constructive use of her power.
Rumblings of Things to Come
Chapter 8: Rumblings of Things to Come
Relaxing after her second day of work, Buffy sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, leafing through a magazine. The house seemed emptier without Spike around. After two days of convalescence, she had been unable to convince him to stay in bed and rest any longer. He’d started bouncing around the house like a pogo stick – wincing in pain while he did it, naturally, but he wouldn’t admit that – and had gone back to his crypt last night. Buffy had to admit it was better that way. A little distance between her and Spike was probably a good thing.
Buffy opened a can of diet soda and flipped to a page that exclaimed, “Make him beg for more in the bedroom!” She scanned the tips, idly bending the tab on the soda can back and forth. When she got to tip number three, her thoughts wandered to Spike, and the tab snapped off in her hand.
Yes, a little distance was definitely a good thing.
She checked out the “Eight pairs of shoes you cannot live without!” and tried to hold in her drool over the expensive new styles. She was mentally weighing the pros and cons of taking out a second mortgage for a pair of Jimmy Choo’s when Dawn came in.
“I’m hungry. Do we have any food?”
Buffy took a sip of her soda and shook her head. “I think we ate it all.”
“Buffy!” Dawn whined.
With a sigh, Buffy got up and began searching through the cabinets. “There’s some fruit in the fridge.”
Dawn scanned the contents of the refrigerator and pulled out a Tupperware container of cantaloupe chunks. “Who put that in there?” They rarely had such exotic things as fruits and vegetables, and Buffy would never, ever go so far as to chop it into bite-size pieces.
“Giles, probably.”
Dawn opened up the container and plucked out a cantaloupe piece with her fingers, popping it in her mouth. “Huh. So, this is what healthy tastes like.”
“Aha!” Buffy reached into the cabinet and then whirled around, holding up two packets of Easy Mac for Dawn to see.
“Wow, fruit and powdered cheese?”
“Tonight, we feast!”
Dawn rolled her eyes as Buffy got out two microwavable bowls and began preparing the Easy Mac. “You know, Buffy, there’s this thing called shopping, where you go to the supermarket and you buy food and then we don’t starve.”
Buffy grabbed a piece of cantaloupe from the container. “Well, there’s this thing called money, see, where they’re really kind of particular about you not being allowed to buy things unless you have it.”
“You have a job.”
“I didn’t graduate college, Dawn. I have a low-paying job.”
“You took care of yourself just fine that summer you ran away to L.A.”
“That was different. I didn’t have a little sister to take care of then. Or a mortgage. Or the billion other expenses that go along with being a grown-up.”
She crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the counter, watching the bowls spin in slow circles in the microwave. Dawn in turn watched Buffy, eating cantaloupe and wondering whether there was something more that Buffy wasn’t telling her.
The microwave dinged, and Buffy handed Dawn one of the bowls and a cheese packet, mixing the other one for herself.
Dawn stared at the packet for a moment. “Buffy… is everything okay?”
“You know, you can say what you want about real cheese, but I’m a fan of the orange powdered stuff,” said Buffy, putting a forkful in her mouth and turning back to her magazine.
“Buffy…”
“Look, Dawnie, don’t worry about it right now, okay?” Buffy said. “I’m handling it. Handling it is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Anne.”
“Close enough.” Buffy put down her fork and looked at Dawn. “When it’s time for you to worry, I promise I’ll let you know. Now, eat your processed cheese food.”
*****
The bartender plunked down another Guinness, sloshing beer over the sides of the glass. Spike nodded his thanks and downed a third of the beer in one swallow. He was deciding whether to order a plate of wings – the cuisine at Willy’s wasn’t nearly as good as the Bronze, since most of their clientele didn’t eat people food, but he was feeling peckish – when a hand clapped down on his shoulder.
“Spike! Good to see ya, man,” Clem greeted him, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “Hey, I ran into your friend the other day.”
Spike squinted at him. “My... friend?”
“The Slayer. Nice girl. Cute, too.”
Spike snorted. As if he didn’t know that.
“She came around looking for you,” Clem went on.
“She did?” Spike perked up a bit. The Slayer was looking for him, eh?
“Yeah. Hey, how'd that kidnapping thing work out for you?”
Oh, right. That’s why. He tried to keep his disappointment off his face. He glanced down at himself and made a noncommittal gesture. “I'm here, aren't I?”
“Yeah, and glad to see it. Meant what I said to the Slayer, you know. You’re a real friend, Spike.”
The vampire found himself unusually touched by this display of camaraderie. His enemies far outnumbered his friends these days – why else would he have taken up with the Slayer and her lot in the first place? It was nice to have some goodwill, even if it was only one abundantly skinned demon.
“She seein’ anybody?”
Spike snapped his attention back to the conversation. “Who?”
“The Slayer,” Clem replied with a knowing wink. Spike responded with a growl.
“Hey, just sayin’, man. She’s a catch. I’d go for her, if I was into the human thing. You should ask her out or something.”
“Like I haven’t thought of that,” Spike mumbled, chugging the rest of his beer.
*****
“I give up,” said Xander, pushing away the papers they’d salvaged from Giles’ mission. “I don’t understand this. I don’t even know what language this is.”
Giles leaned over his shoulder. “English.”
Xander took another look at the papers. “Oh. Well, obviously it’s some kind of British English and not American English because these words are…” He trailed off when he saw Giles’ expression. “Or… maybe it’s the bad handwriting?” he finished sheepishly.
“Xander, if you’re finding that too difficult, you’re more than welcome to take a look at the book Willow is translating.”
“That’s the one in old French, right? Yeah, I flunked new French. Hey, anybody want doughnuts? I could be doughnut guy.”
Buffy plunked a knife and several pieces of wood in front of him. “Whittle.”
“Ah, wood!” Xander replied. “Something I’m familiar with… because I work in construction, not because I…”
“Xander?” Buffy said, a perturbed look on her face.
“Shuttin’ up now.”
Buffy sat at the table next to Xander, sharpening her battle-axe with a whetstone. When that was done, she began polishing the blade. “Ugh, vampire dust gets on everything,” she said, digging her fingernail into the crevices.
She looked up when the shop door opened. Spike hesitated in the doorway, his gaze focused on Buffy. Her expression softened to a smile when she saw him. “Hi,” she said.
Somehow, she managed to look adorable with a battle-axe in her hands. And she sent adorable little lightning bolts directly to his groin. He’d thought it was hard to be around her before… now she was going to drive him out of his bloody mind with longing. The feel of her body on his, the taste of her blood…
The air fairly crackled between them. Spike swallowed and ducked his head nervously. “Hi.”
Xander glared at him, whittling knife clenched in one hand and wooden stake in the other.
Spike arched an eyebrow. “If you’re not gonna use it, I suggest you put it down.”
With one last irritated look, Xander went back to whittling. “Oversized mosquito,” he muttered.
“Spike,” said Giles, intervening before the vampire could retaliate. “You’re looking well.”
“Got all my bits and pieces working again, right as rain. Thought I’d stop by, see if you needed help on that demon thing.”
Giles was unable to conceal his surprise. “That’s… very kind of you.” He scanned the materials on the research table. “Ah, how is your ancient Greek?”
Spike sucked in a breath. “Not as good as my Latin, but it’s passable.”
“You know Greek and Latin?” Buffy was staring at him in astonishment. “Dork.”
“Went to Oxford, didn’t I? Seems a million years ago, now.”
“I didn’t know that.” Buffy studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to square this new detail with what she knew of Spike, and then she turned to Giles with a devilish grin. “Hey, maybe you guys were there at the same time.”
“Very funny,” Giles said, in a tone of voice that meant it wasn’t. He handed a piece of paper to Spike. “Perhaps you could take a look at this. I’m almost certain it’s a spell of some sort, but I haven’t had the chance to translate it.”
“Sure.” Spike gave the paper a once-over, but his attention was almost immediately drawn to the shop window. Standing to one side so as not to be seen, he peered out through the blinds, trying to discern movement in the darkness.
“What is it, Spike?” asked Buffy.
“I heard something outside. Thought maybe someone was followin’ me on the way over, too.”
She gave him an amused look. “Paranoid much?”
“Hey, recently kidnapped and tortured here.”
Xander snorted. “Yeah, by your girlfriend.”
Spike ignored him and continued talking to Buffy. “I think I deserve a little slack, you know? Besides, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there’s not an invisible demon about to eat your face.”
“Yeah...” Buffy said skeptically.
Spike shook his head and sighed. “You know why I didn't take Clem's warning seriously? Because I get threats like that about once a week. Every demon in this town wants to kill me, almost as much as they wanna kill you. I don't pay it too much mind, since I can usually take anything that doesn't attack me in groups of twenty. Still,” he looked out the window one last time, “doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
Buffy’s mouth parted in shock. “Spike, I – I had no idea.” She pushed her chair back, getting up to meet him halfway to the table.
He bent his head down to her level and said softly, “Not for you to worry about, pet.”
“If things are that bad, you should have protection.” She put a hand on his arm, her fingers curling gently around his bicep, and he took a moment to savor her touch before shaking it off and drawing himself up to his full manly height.
“I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.” To be honest, he actually enjoyed getting in a good scuffle every once in a while. Not only was it fun – who didn’t enjoy a decent spot of violence now and again? – but every time he bested one of his attackers, it was a not-so-subtle reminder to the rest of the demon population that he was still a force to be reckoned with. Let any demon who said he’d gone soft challenge him. He’d show them soft.
His mouth twitched into a slight grin. “And once in a while, you can do one of your daring rescue routines.” He gave her a playful shove. “Keeps you in shape. Now, let’s see this Greek spell.”
*****
Outside the Magic Box, a figure hid, his dark hooded robe concealing his inhuman features and allowing him to fade into the shadows. The shop’s lights illuminated the people within, gathered around the research table. He watched them, unseen, as they went about their business, oblivious that their movements were being observed. The vampire seemed to sense something, and threw an occasional glance toward the window, but he didn’t look out again after the first time.
The robed demon pulled out the cell phone his master had given him. The mage had been surprised that his kind knew how to use them – as though all demons were dumb, uncivilized beasts. Some of them knew how to do more than bash and crash. That was why the human had hired his team.
“I’m at the magic shop, sir,” he said, when his boss answered the phone. “No sign of the witches. Nor the other girl, the shopkeeper, or the Slayer’s sister. But the others are here.” He hesitated for a moment. “I think the vampire is going to be a problem. He’s already suspicious. I think he may have picked up that someone was following him.”
The voice on the other end of the phone swore. “I told you not to get caught. Do I need to give you a demonstration of what I will do to you if you get caught?”
“I think, sir, if I get caught, the Slayer will kill me before you ever get the chance.”
He heard an abrupt banging noise, as though his master had slammed the phone against something. “The Slayer will be cautious, too,” he went on, returning to business to avoid angering the warlock further. “It’s in her nature.”
“Dammit. I had hoped we’d gotten a lucky break with that vampire gang, getting that one out of the way.”
“The Slayer saved him, sir.”
“I know that!” the mage snapped. “Do you have anything else to report?” he asked tersely.
“No, sir.”
The warlock hung up the phone without another word to his demon minion. In his mansion on Crawford Street, not far from where Angel had once taken up residence, the man who had introduced himself as David surveyed the materials he would need for the next ritual – materials he had bought from the Magic Box, right under the noses of the Slayer’s friends. He turned to the demon at his side, another robed creature, of the same breed as the Magic Box spy – their leader, in fact.
“It’s almost time for the purification ritual,” David reminded the demon. “I’ll need the Slayer distracted so she doesn’t interfere with my plans. Take care of her, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” The hood bobbed up and down as the demon nodded. “I can have her disposed of…”
“No!” The mage’s eyes blazed with fury. “I don’t want her dead yet,” he gritted out, cursing the stupidity of the demon race. How exactly was he supposed to complete his rise to power if the Slayer was already dead? “Just distract her for a while, until the next ritual is complete.”
“Of course, sir. That can be arranged.”
“You’ll summon a demon?” The minion nodded. “Good. But don’t send it right at her like last time. If she kills it in five minutes, it won’t be much of a distraction. Make her hunt it down. Find me a good one. Oh – and the sooner you can separate her from that vampire, the happier I’ll be.”
*****
Spike chewed on the end of a pencil, staring at the page in front of him. He thumbed through Giles’ Greek-to-English dictionary to double-check a few words, and then settled back in his chair. “Think I’ve got it, Rupes.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Giles. “What is it?”
“Summoning spell. Look at this – ‘From out of darkness I call thee,’ ‘bind thee to my will,’ ‘servant to master.’ Pretty straightforward, don’t you think?”
“Bind thee to my will…” Giles repeated. He scurried away and returned with the talisman used to summon the dragon. “Look at this. The inscription is in a demon tongue but as far as I can make out, it’s the same words. ‘Bind thee to my will.’”
“So, our guy Bob was onto something,” Buffy said. “Either he did it, or he knew who did.”
“Or he was trying to retrace the steps – magically speaking – of whoever did it,” Giles replied. “It’s imperative that we sort through this information as quickly as possible. Robert may have the key to stopping this madman.”
Relaxing after her second day of work, Buffy sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, leafing through a magazine. The house seemed emptier without Spike around. After two days of convalescence, she had been unable to convince him to stay in bed and rest any longer. He’d started bouncing around the house like a pogo stick – wincing in pain while he did it, naturally, but he wouldn’t admit that – and had gone back to his crypt last night. Buffy had to admit it was better that way. A little distance between her and Spike was probably a good thing.
Buffy opened a can of diet soda and flipped to a page that exclaimed, “Make him beg for more in the bedroom!” She scanned the tips, idly bending the tab on the soda can back and forth. When she got to tip number three, her thoughts wandered to Spike, and the tab snapped off in her hand.
Yes, a little distance was definitely a good thing.
She checked out the “Eight pairs of shoes you cannot live without!” and tried to hold in her drool over the expensive new styles. She was mentally weighing the pros and cons of taking out a second mortgage for a pair of Jimmy Choo’s when Dawn came in.
“I’m hungry. Do we have any food?”
Buffy took a sip of her soda and shook her head. “I think we ate it all.”
“Buffy!” Dawn whined.
With a sigh, Buffy got up and began searching through the cabinets. “There’s some fruit in the fridge.”
Dawn scanned the contents of the refrigerator and pulled out a Tupperware container of cantaloupe chunks. “Who put that in there?” They rarely had such exotic things as fruits and vegetables, and Buffy would never, ever go so far as to chop it into bite-size pieces.
“Giles, probably.”
Dawn opened up the container and plucked out a cantaloupe piece with her fingers, popping it in her mouth. “Huh. So, this is what healthy tastes like.”
“Aha!” Buffy reached into the cabinet and then whirled around, holding up two packets of Easy Mac for Dawn to see.
“Wow, fruit and powdered cheese?”
“Tonight, we feast!”
Dawn rolled her eyes as Buffy got out two microwavable bowls and began preparing the Easy Mac. “You know, Buffy, there’s this thing called shopping, where you go to the supermarket and you buy food and then we don’t starve.”
Buffy grabbed a piece of cantaloupe from the container. “Well, there’s this thing called money, see, where they’re really kind of particular about you not being allowed to buy things unless you have it.”
“You have a job.”
“I didn’t graduate college, Dawn. I have a low-paying job.”
“You took care of yourself just fine that summer you ran away to L.A.”
“That was different. I didn’t have a little sister to take care of then. Or a mortgage. Or the billion other expenses that go along with being a grown-up.”
She crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the counter, watching the bowls spin in slow circles in the microwave. Dawn in turn watched Buffy, eating cantaloupe and wondering whether there was something more that Buffy wasn’t telling her.
The microwave dinged, and Buffy handed Dawn one of the bowls and a cheese packet, mixing the other one for herself.
Dawn stared at the packet for a moment. “Buffy… is everything okay?”
“You know, you can say what you want about real cheese, but I’m a fan of the orange powdered stuff,” said Buffy, putting a forkful in her mouth and turning back to her magazine.
“Buffy…”
“Look, Dawnie, don’t worry about it right now, okay?” Buffy said. “I’m handling it. Handling it is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is Anne.”
“Close enough.” Buffy put down her fork and looked at Dawn. “When it’s time for you to worry, I promise I’ll let you know. Now, eat your processed cheese food.”
*****
The bartender plunked down another Guinness, sloshing beer over the sides of the glass. Spike nodded his thanks and downed a third of the beer in one swallow. He was deciding whether to order a plate of wings – the cuisine at Willy’s wasn’t nearly as good as the Bronze, since most of their clientele didn’t eat people food, but he was feeling peckish – when a hand clapped down on his shoulder.
“Spike! Good to see ya, man,” Clem greeted him, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “Hey, I ran into your friend the other day.”
Spike squinted at him. “My... friend?”
“The Slayer. Nice girl. Cute, too.”
Spike snorted. As if he didn’t know that.
“She came around looking for you,” Clem went on.
“She did?” Spike perked up a bit. The Slayer was looking for him, eh?
“Yeah. Hey, how'd that kidnapping thing work out for you?”
Oh, right. That’s why. He tried to keep his disappointment off his face. He glanced down at himself and made a noncommittal gesture. “I'm here, aren't I?”
“Yeah, and glad to see it. Meant what I said to the Slayer, you know. You’re a real friend, Spike.”
The vampire found himself unusually touched by this display of camaraderie. His enemies far outnumbered his friends these days – why else would he have taken up with the Slayer and her lot in the first place? It was nice to have some goodwill, even if it was only one abundantly skinned demon.
“She seein’ anybody?”
Spike snapped his attention back to the conversation. “Who?”
“The Slayer,” Clem replied with a knowing wink. Spike responded with a growl.
“Hey, just sayin’, man. She’s a catch. I’d go for her, if I was into the human thing. You should ask her out or something.”
“Like I haven’t thought of that,” Spike mumbled, chugging the rest of his beer.
*****
“I give up,” said Xander, pushing away the papers they’d salvaged from Giles’ mission. “I don’t understand this. I don’t even know what language this is.”
Giles leaned over his shoulder. “English.”
Xander took another look at the papers. “Oh. Well, obviously it’s some kind of British English and not American English because these words are…” He trailed off when he saw Giles’ expression. “Or… maybe it’s the bad handwriting?” he finished sheepishly.
“Xander, if you’re finding that too difficult, you’re more than welcome to take a look at the book Willow is translating.”
“That’s the one in old French, right? Yeah, I flunked new French. Hey, anybody want doughnuts? I could be doughnut guy.”
Buffy plunked a knife and several pieces of wood in front of him. “Whittle.”
“Ah, wood!” Xander replied. “Something I’m familiar with… because I work in construction, not because I…”
“Xander?” Buffy said, a perturbed look on her face.
“Shuttin’ up now.”
Buffy sat at the table next to Xander, sharpening her battle-axe with a whetstone. When that was done, she began polishing the blade. “Ugh, vampire dust gets on everything,” she said, digging her fingernail into the crevices.
She looked up when the shop door opened. Spike hesitated in the doorway, his gaze focused on Buffy. Her expression softened to a smile when she saw him. “Hi,” she said.
Somehow, she managed to look adorable with a battle-axe in her hands. And she sent adorable little lightning bolts directly to his groin. He’d thought it was hard to be around her before… now she was going to drive him out of his bloody mind with longing. The feel of her body on his, the taste of her blood…
The air fairly crackled between them. Spike swallowed and ducked his head nervously. “Hi.”
Xander glared at him, whittling knife clenched in one hand and wooden stake in the other.
Spike arched an eyebrow. “If you’re not gonna use it, I suggest you put it down.”
With one last irritated look, Xander went back to whittling. “Oversized mosquito,” he muttered.
“Spike,” said Giles, intervening before the vampire could retaliate. “You’re looking well.”
“Got all my bits and pieces working again, right as rain. Thought I’d stop by, see if you needed help on that demon thing.”
Giles was unable to conceal his surprise. “That’s… very kind of you.” He scanned the materials on the research table. “Ah, how is your ancient Greek?”
Spike sucked in a breath. “Not as good as my Latin, but it’s passable.”
“You know Greek and Latin?” Buffy was staring at him in astonishment. “Dork.”
“Went to Oxford, didn’t I? Seems a million years ago, now.”
“I didn’t know that.” Buffy studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to square this new detail with what she knew of Spike, and then she turned to Giles with a devilish grin. “Hey, maybe you guys were there at the same time.”
“Very funny,” Giles said, in a tone of voice that meant it wasn’t. He handed a piece of paper to Spike. “Perhaps you could take a look at this. I’m almost certain it’s a spell of some sort, but I haven’t had the chance to translate it.”
“Sure.” Spike gave the paper a once-over, but his attention was almost immediately drawn to the shop window. Standing to one side so as not to be seen, he peered out through the blinds, trying to discern movement in the darkness.
“What is it, Spike?” asked Buffy.
“I heard something outside. Thought maybe someone was followin’ me on the way over, too.”
She gave him an amused look. “Paranoid much?”
“Hey, recently kidnapped and tortured here.”
Xander snorted. “Yeah, by your girlfriend.”
Spike ignored him and continued talking to Buffy. “I think I deserve a little slack, you know? Besides, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean there’s not an invisible demon about to eat your face.”
“Yeah...” Buffy said skeptically.
Spike shook his head and sighed. “You know why I didn't take Clem's warning seriously? Because I get threats like that about once a week. Every demon in this town wants to kill me, almost as much as they wanna kill you. I don't pay it too much mind, since I can usually take anything that doesn't attack me in groups of twenty. Still,” he looked out the window one last time, “doesn’t hurt to be careful.”
Buffy’s mouth parted in shock. “Spike, I – I had no idea.” She pushed her chair back, getting up to meet him halfway to the table.
He bent his head down to her level and said softly, “Not for you to worry about, pet.”
“If things are that bad, you should have protection.” She put a hand on his arm, her fingers curling gently around his bicep, and he took a moment to savor her touch before shaking it off and drawing himself up to his full manly height.
“I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.” To be honest, he actually enjoyed getting in a good scuffle every once in a while. Not only was it fun – who didn’t enjoy a decent spot of violence now and again? – but every time he bested one of his attackers, it was a not-so-subtle reminder to the rest of the demon population that he was still a force to be reckoned with. Let any demon who said he’d gone soft challenge him. He’d show them soft.
His mouth twitched into a slight grin. “And once in a while, you can do one of your daring rescue routines.” He gave her a playful shove. “Keeps you in shape. Now, let’s see this Greek spell.”
*****
Outside the Magic Box, a figure hid, his dark hooded robe concealing his inhuman features and allowing him to fade into the shadows. The shop’s lights illuminated the people within, gathered around the research table. He watched them, unseen, as they went about their business, oblivious that their movements were being observed. The vampire seemed to sense something, and threw an occasional glance toward the window, but he didn’t look out again after the first time.
The robed demon pulled out the cell phone his master had given him. The mage had been surprised that his kind knew how to use them – as though all demons were dumb, uncivilized beasts. Some of them knew how to do more than bash and crash. That was why the human had hired his team.
“I’m at the magic shop, sir,” he said, when his boss answered the phone. “No sign of the witches. Nor the other girl, the shopkeeper, or the Slayer’s sister. But the others are here.” He hesitated for a moment. “I think the vampire is going to be a problem. He’s already suspicious. I think he may have picked up that someone was following him.”
The voice on the other end of the phone swore. “I told you not to get caught. Do I need to give you a demonstration of what I will do to you if you get caught?”
“I think, sir, if I get caught, the Slayer will kill me before you ever get the chance.”
He heard an abrupt banging noise, as though his master had slammed the phone against something. “The Slayer will be cautious, too,” he went on, returning to business to avoid angering the warlock further. “It’s in her nature.”
“Dammit. I had hoped we’d gotten a lucky break with that vampire gang, getting that one out of the way.”
“The Slayer saved him, sir.”
“I know that!” the mage snapped. “Do you have anything else to report?” he asked tersely.
“No, sir.”
The warlock hung up the phone without another word to his demon minion. In his mansion on Crawford Street, not far from where Angel had once taken up residence, the man who had introduced himself as David surveyed the materials he would need for the next ritual – materials he had bought from the Magic Box, right under the noses of the Slayer’s friends. He turned to the demon at his side, another robed creature, of the same breed as the Magic Box spy – their leader, in fact.
“It’s almost time for the purification ritual,” David reminded the demon. “I’ll need the Slayer distracted so she doesn’t interfere with my plans. Take care of her, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” The hood bobbed up and down as the demon nodded. “I can have her disposed of…”
“No!” The mage’s eyes blazed with fury. “I don’t want her dead yet,” he gritted out, cursing the stupidity of the demon race. How exactly was he supposed to complete his rise to power if the Slayer was already dead? “Just distract her for a while, until the next ritual is complete.”
“Of course, sir. That can be arranged.”
“You’ll summon a demon?” The minion nodded. “Good. But don’t send it right at her like last time. If she kills it in five minutes, it won’t be much of a distraction. Make her hunt it down. Find me a good one. Oh – and the sooner you can separate her from that vampire, the happier I’ll be.”
*****
Spike chewed on the end of a pencil, staring at the page in front of him. He thumbed through Giles’ Greek-to-English dictionary to double-check a few words, and then settled back in his chair. “Think I’ve got it, Rupes.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Giles. “What is it?”
“Summoning spell. Look at this – ‘From out of darkness I call thee,’ ‘bind thee to my will,’ ‘servant to master.’ Pretty straightforward, don’t you think?”
“Bind thee to my will…” Giles repeated. He scurried away and returned with the talisman used to summon the dragon. “Look at this. The inscription is in a demon tongue but as far as I can make out, it’s the same words. ‘Bind thee to my will.’”
“So, our guy Bob was onto something,” Buffy said. “Either he did it, or he knew who did.”
“Or he was trying to retrace the steps – magically speaking – of whoever did it,” Giles replied. “It’s imperative that we sort through this information as quickly as possible. Robert may have the key to stopping this madman.”
Para in My Normal
Chapter 9: Para in My Normal
Packing the scanned newspapers back into the box labeled “November 1904,” Buffy dragged the box from her work area back to the shelves. “Good thing I’m a Slayer,” she muttered. “These suckers are heavy.”
Bored with her work, she wandered out into the newspaper office, headed toward the water cooler. As she sipped her water, her eyes wandered over to the copies of that day’s paper sitting on the table.
“TWO IN ICU COMMIT SUICIDE,” read the front-page headline. Just as Buffy noted the byline, Susan Rodriguez appeared at the water cooler.
“Congratulations,” Buffy told her. “Your article made the front page.” She gestured to the paper.
Susan shrugged. “Sometimes it seems like death is the only thing going on in Sunnydale.” She picked up the paper and glanced at her article. “You read about it? Terrible story.”
When Buffy shook her head, Susan explained, “Two people brought into the hospital two nights ago, both with similar puncture wounds. Completely unrelated, never met each other before. The police couldn’t find any connection between them, other than the same mysterious injury.”
“What kind of injury?” Buffy asked cautiously. “Puncture wounds?”
“Yeah, like a huge skewer or something – maybe wood, or some other organic substance. They never really figured it out. Anyway, both of ’em started exhibiting signs of schizophrenia, almost as soon as they were brought in. The families swear they had no history of mental illness, but not twenty-four hours later, they’d both committed suicide.” Her voice lowered, a sense of horror evident in her tone. “One of them – the girl – hanged herself with her bed sheets. The man got hold of something sharp and slit his wrists.”
“Oh, God,” Buffy breathed. “That’s awful.” The wheels were turning in her mind, processing the clues, trying to fit the pieces together. It had to be some kind of demon – because, hey, this was Sunnydale. The puncture wounds could’ve been stakes – maybe some people with just enough knowledge to get them killed, out trying to defend themselves.
But the demon – or demons – hadn’t killed them. They’d killed themselves. What kind of demon causes schizophrenia and suicide? she wondered.
“Can I – can I take one of these?” she asked, holding up the paper.
Susan nodded. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Buffy headed back to the archive room, chewing on her lower lip, staring at the paper as though it would give her the answers. It didn’t, just reiterated what Susan had told her, except with fancier language and a snappy newspaper typeface. Shoving the paper in her bag, she resolved to bring it up with the gang later that evening.
*****
On her way home from work, Buffy caught up with Spike cutting through an alley off Main Street. “Hey,” she said, ducking into the shadows between the buildings.
“Slayer,” he greeted her. “Where you off to?”
“Magic Box. You?”
“Same. Thought I’d take another look at some of those books Rupert brought back, make myself useful.”
Buffy linked her arm through his, taking the back way to the shop. “Look at you, all researchy and everything.”
He smirked. “Watcher’s got me calling up languages I didn’t even know I remembered.”
“Do you actually like doing this stuff?”
“It’s all right. Passes the time.” Time spent with you. Spike disengaged his arm from hers in order to brush her hair back off her neck, revealing the tiny, already fading scars he’d left just above Angel’s monstrosity of a bite mark. She shivered as his fingertips grazed her throat. “My way of paying you back. You and Red both.”
“Hey, anytime you wanna… suck my blood, well, you can’t, but…” She trailed off into awkward silence.
Spike smiled. “I get it. If I need anything…”
“Yeah.” They hesitated in front of the magic shop, and he could hear Buffy’s heart pounding in the silence. All of his nerve endings stood at attention at her nearness, begging him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and devour her. But he resisted, and after a few moments of avoiding each other’s glance, he opened the door for her and they went in. Xander was manning the cash register while Willow paged through a spell book at the research table.
“Hey, guys,” said Buffy. “Is Anya around?”
“She’s in the basement,” Xander told her. “What’s up?”
Buffy settled at the table, while Spike grabbed a notebook and perched on the stairs leading to the restricted area. “I wanted her to go over some financial stuff.”
“I thought you got that all that sorted out,” said Willow.
“Not so much.” Buffy glanced around. “Dawn’s not here, is she?”
“She’s in the training room,” said Willow. “I think she’s trying to pester Giles into letting her play with the weapons.”
Buffy nodded, and then lowered her voice. “The thing is, my savings account is close to running out, and I haven’t gotten a child support payment from Dad since I’ve been back. Mom’s insurance money is long gone, and I hate to take anything out of Dawn’s college fund. She’s only got enough for maybe a year at a state school as it is. But things are starting to get pretty tight.” She sighed. “I need a budget, pronto.”
“See, you come from the Peter Parker school of superheroes,” Xander told her.
Spike tilted his head to one side in thought. “I dunno, Slayer. If I were you, I’da taken Bruce Wayne for your model. Fightin’ evil’s more fun when you’re a bazillionaire.”
“Plus he’s got all those cool gadgets,” Xander added. He and Spike looked at each other in surprise, as if contemplating a male bonding moment, but quickly rejected the idea and resumed their usual aloofness.
“Well, for the next three weeks at least, I’m gonna be all Clark Kent-y,” said Buffy, grabbing her bag from the floor and dropping it on the table in front of her.
“Anything exciting going on at the newspaper?” Willow asked.
“Looks like. Found a little ‘para’ in my normal this morning.” Buffy pulled out the newspaper and showed them Susan’s article.
“Whoa, nelly,” said Xander, reading it over. “Better get the G-man.”
“Please tell me you’re not referring to me with that ridiculous name.” Giles stepped out of the training room with Dawn on his heels.
“Uh…” Xander stammered, then handed over the paper without further comment.
“I’m thinking it’s a demon,” Buffy explained. “Know of any demons that make people crazy?”
Giles adjusted his glasses. “Not off the top of my head, no.”
“The insanity thing kinda sounds like Glory, doesn’t it?” Willow suggested. “I mean, obviously… not Glory, with the whole being dead and all… but maybe another kind of brain-sucker?”
“Well, we’ll certainly look into it.” Giles nodded to the witch, who started pulling books off the shelves.
“Actually, Giles, could I talk to you for a minute?” Buffy asked. He nodded, and they retreated into the training room.
Willow handed a book each to Spike and Xander. “Hey, Dawnie? Could you grab the Bristow’s Index? It’s over in the corner.”
Dawn obliged. The shelf was right next to the training room door, and as she reached for the book, she couldn’t help but overhear her sister talking. She paused, one hand on the shelf, listening.
“Giles, I’m afraid we might lose the house.”
“Buffy, if there’s anything I can – if you need money, I could –”
“No, Giles. I’d feel terrible taking your money. I just… I don’t know what to do.” Buffy’s voice wavered a little.
Grabbing the book off the shelf, Dawn hurried back to the research table. Spike glanced up from his book.
“You all right, Bit?”
“Fine.”
She buried her nose in the book. Spike continued to watch her, but with his head cocked to the side, focusing on the conversation in the training room.
*****
“So… patrol tonight?” Buffy asked Spike later, as the gang was packing up after a full night of research. It felt like forever since she’d patrolled with him. Not since the night of the inadvertent kissing and the stupid slayer dream that was hanging over her head. Which she was starting to be in favor of ignoring anyway. The more time she spent with Spike, she was finding it harder and harder to come up with reasons why she shouldn’t. Besides, if she could trust him enough to bite her – and her best friend – without incident, how could she really believe that the dream would ever come true, that he would turn her or she would stake him?
To her disappointment, Spike shook his head. “Can’t, pet. Got a prior engagement.” Buffy’s face started to fall, and he smiled. “I’ll tell Niblet to bring her phone along. Give a call if you need me.”
Buffy looked decidedly relieved that his plans were just with Dawn, and he couldn’t help the joyful feelings that bubbled up inside him at the idea that he’d momentarily made her jealous. She’d been different – really, really different – ever since she’d rescued him, and he almost wondered if he should thank Dru for what she did. Buffy’s care and concern for him following that incident seemed to have blossomed into the feelings she’d been holding back before it had happened.
Without thinking about it, he put one hand at the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, pet. Got plans for you, too. Just gotta be patient.”
*****
“This is so cool!” Dawn said, in a not-so-subtle whisper.
“Shh!” Spike shushed her as they crept into the alley behind the Magic Box. He’d watched the Scoobies all go home an hour ago, but he used his vampire hearing and sense of smell to make sure no one was in the shop before breaking in the back door.
He dropped his duffle bag on the training room floor and shrugged out of his coat, revealing a white t-shirt and jeans.
“So, what are you gonna teach me?” Dawn asked, following him inside and flipping on the lights.
“How about knives?” he asked, and her eyes lit up. Spike reached into his duffle bag and pulled out two magic markers, handing one to her.
“Okay, color me confused.” Dawn looked down at the marker in her hand. “Or, I could just color myself.”
“It’s a technique, Niblet,” Spike explained. “Teach you to defend yourself without hurtin’ you. I come at you with the marker, and it’ll leave a mark anyplace I hit you.”
“Oh.” Starting to understand, Dawn added, “That’s kinda cool.” Then, she glanced at her marker, confused again. “Why can’t I have a real knife?”
Spike gave her a look. “’Cause I don’t fancy you accidentally slicing off any important bits. Plenty of time for that, once you’ve had more practice.” He pulled a white t-shirt out of his bag, just like the one he was wearing. “Put this on. It’ll make it easier to see the marks.”
Once she’d pulled the shirt on over her clothes, Dawn took up what she thought was a fighting stance facing Spike, holding the marker out in front of her, ready to attack.
Spike held back his laughter, because he knew she was trying. “Stand like that and you’ll topple as soon as someone comes at you,” he told her. He bent down and corrected her stance, pulling her limbs into a better form like she was a posable doll.
“All right, now,” he said, taking up an opposing stance.
“This feels ridiculous,” Dawn said, her eyes focused on the magic marker Spike was wielding as a weapon.
“You wanted me to teach you, Bit. Now, pretend the marker is a bloody knife, and block it.”
They sparred for a few minutes, until Dawn’s arms and chest were spotted with marker. Spike backed away and held up his hands in truce to end the fight. “All right, Bit. Let’s see how many different ways I just killed you.”
She looked down despondently, holding her arms out to the side.
“See this here?” Spike pointed to a tiny mark on her stomach. “Dot here, or between your ribs, enough to kill you. Plenty of squishy organs to skewer, and bleedin’ from a gut wound is bloody painful. Gotta protect your midsection.” He tilted her chin up and looked at her throat. “Nothing there, good. A slash or stab to your neck, and you’d probably die instantly.”
“Oh, yay,” Dawn said sarcastically. “I suck at this.”
“No, you don’t, pet. Look here.” He pointed to a thin line across his own arm. “Cut like that’s enough to make the limb unusable. Get their weapon arm, and you’re halfway to winning.” He gave her an encouraging slap on the shoulder. “Come on, Niblet. Let’s try again.”
As she charged for him again, Spike felt relieved that his idea seemed to have worked. Not only was he able to help Dawn defend herself a little better, he hoped it was also taking her mind off the money problems that were so obviously plaguing her sister.
If only it were that easy to help Buffy.
*****
Buffy was standing on tiptoe atop a rickety chair, trying to reach a box on the top shelf of the archive room, when her pants started to vibrate.
The sensation startled her, and she toppled off balance, crashing to the floor in a heap, her legs tangled in the tipped-over chair. Grumbling, she fished her cell phone out of her pocket.
“Hello?” she said sourly.
“Ms. Summers?” a cool, professional voice responded. “This is Clyde Baxter, from Bank of America.”
“Oh, uh, hi,” Buffy replied, scrambling to her feet and trying for a friendlier tone this time. “What, uh, what can I do for you?”
“I’m calling regarding your overdue mortgage payment, Ms. Summers. Our records show that this is the second payment in a row you’ve missed.”
“I know, I – I’m working on it,” she stammered, pacing back and forth between the stacks. “It’s just, there was a…” – demon – “…an unexpected emergency and we had to do some home repairs, but I promise I'll get the payment in.”
“Ms. Summers, I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation.”
“No – no, you don’t. I – I know I need to…”
“Ms. Summers, if this keeps up, I’m afraid we’ll have to foreclose on your loan.”
“Foreclose on my… what – what does that mean?”
“It means you’ll lose your house,” Clyde Baxter replied coldly. Buffy froze. “Ms. Summers, I suggest you come in to discuss your situation before we get to that point. Now, if you’d like to set up an appointment, I can –”
“Yeah, I’ll – I’ll do that,” she whispered, terror in her voice. “I’m sorry, I h-have to go.” She hung up the phone with shaking hands, barely managing to end the call before a panicky sob escaped from her. Sliding back down to the floor, she buried her face in her hands and cried, hidden in the stacks where no one would look for her.
Packing the scanned newspapers back into the box labeled “November 1904,” Buffy dragged the box from her work area back to the shelves. “Good thing I’m a Slayer,” she muttered. “These suckers are heavy.”
Bored with her work, she wandered out into the newspaper office, headed toward the water cooler. As she sipped her water, her eyes wandered over to the copies of that day’s paper sitting on the table.
“TWO IN ICU COMMIT SUICIDE,” read the front-page headline. Just as Buffy noted the byline, Susan Rodriguez appeared at the water cooler.
“Congratulations,” Buffy told her. “Your article made the front page.” She gestured to the paper.
Susan shrugged. “Sometimes it seems like death is the only thing going on in Sunnydale.” She picked up the paper and glanced at her article. “You read about it? Terrible story.”
When Buffy shook her head, Susan explained, “Two people brought into the hospital two nights ago, both with similar puncture wounds. Completely unrelated, never met each other before. The police couldn’t find any connection between them, other than the same mysterious injury.”
“What kind of injury?” Buffy asked cautiously. “Puncture wounds?”
“Yeah, like a huge skewer or something – maybe wood, or some other organic substance. They never really figured it out. Anyway, both of ’em started exhibiting signs of schizophrenia, almost as soon as they were brought in. The families swear they had no history of mental illness, but not twenty-four hours later, they’d both committed suicide.” Her voice lowered, a sense of horror evident in her tone. “One of them – the girl – hanged herself with her bed sheets. The man got hold of something sharp and slit his wrists.”
“Oh, God,” Buffy breathed. “That’s awful.” The wheels were turning in her mind, processing the clues, trying to fit the pieces together. It had to be some kind of demon – because, hey, this was Sunnydale. The puncture wounds could’ve been stakes – maybe some people with just enough knowledge to get them killed, out trying to defend themselves.
But the demon – or demons – hadn’t killed them. They’d killed themselves. What kind of demon causes schizophrenia and suicide? she wondered.
“Can I – can I take one of these?” she asked, holding up the paper.
Susan nodded. “Sure.”
“Thanks.” Buffy headed back to the archive room, chewing on her lower lip, staring at the paper as though it would give her the answers. It didn’t, just reiterated what Susan had told her, except with fancier language and a snappy newspaper typeface. Shoving the paper in her bag, she resolved to bring it up with the gang later that evening.
*****
On her way home from work, Buffy caught up with Spike cutting through an alley off Main Street. “Hey,” she said, ducking into the shadows between the buildings.
“Slayer,” he greeted her. “Where you off to?”
“Magic Box. You?”
“Same. Thought I’d take another look at some of those books Rupert brought back, make myself useful.”
Buffy linked her arm through his, taking the back way to the shop. “Look at you, all researchy and everything.”
He smirked. “Watcher’s got me calling up languages I didn’t even know I remembered.”
“Do you actually like doing this stuff?”
“It’s all right. Passes the time.” Time spent with you. Spike disengaged his arm from hers in order to brush her hair back off her neck, revealing the tiny, already fading scars he’d left just above Angel’s monstrosity of a bite mark. She shivered as his fingertips grazed her throat. “My way of paying you back. You and Red both.”
“Hey, anytime you wanna… suck my blood, well, you can’t, but…” She trailed off into awkward silence.
Spike smiled. “I get it. If I need anything…”
“Yeah.” They hesitated in front of the magic shop, and he could hear Buffy’s heart pounding in the silence. All of his nerve endings stood at attention at her nearness, begging him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and devour her. But he resisted, and after a few moments of avoiding each other’s glance, he opened the door for her and they went in. Xander was manning the cash register while Willow paged through a spell book at the research table.
“Hey, guys,” said Buffy. “Is Anya around?”
“She’s in the basement,” Xander told her. “What’s up?”
Buffy settled at the table, while Spike grabbed a notebook and perched on the stairs leading to the restricted area. “I wanted her to go over some financial stuff.”
“I thought you got that all that sorted out,” said Willow.
“Not so much.” Buffy glanced around. “Dawn’s not here, is she?”
“She’s in the training room,” said Willow. “I think she’s trying to pester Giles into letting her play with the weapons.”
Buffy nodded, and then lowered her voice. “The thing is, my savings account is close to running out, and I haven’t gotten a child support payment from Dad since I’ve been back. Mom’s insurance money is long gone, and I hate to take anything out of Dawn’s college fund. She’s only got enough for maybe a year at a state school as it is. But things are starting to get pretty tight.” She sighed. “I need a budget, pronto.”
“See, you come from the Peter Parker school of superheroes,” Xander told her.
Spike tilted his head to one side in thought. “I dunno, Slayer. If I were you, I’da taken Bruce Wayne for your model. Fightin’ evil’s more fun when you’re a bazillionaire.”
“Plus he’s got all those cool gadgets,” Xander added. He and Spike looked at each other in surprise, as if contemplating a male bonding moment, but quickly rejected the idea and resumed their usual aloofness.
“Well, for the next three weeks at least, I’m gonna be all Clark Kent-y,” said Buffy, grabbing her bag from the floor and dropping it on the table in front of her.
“Anything exciting going on at the newspaper?” Willow asked.
“Looks like. Found a little ‘para’ in my normal this morning.” Buffy pulled out the newspaper and showed them Susan’s article.
“Whoa, nelly,” said Xander, reading it over. “Better get the G-man.”
“Please tell me you’re not referring to me with that ridiculous name.” Giles stepped out of the training room with Dawn on his heels.
“Uh…” Xander stammered, then handed over the paper without further comment.
“I’m thinking it’s a demon,” Buffy explained. “Know of any demons that make people crazy?”
Giles adjusted his glasses. “Not off the top of my head, no.”
“The insanity thing kinda sounds like Glory, doesn’t it?” Willow suggested. “I mean, obviously… not Glory, with the whole being dead and all… but maybe another kind of brain-sucker?”
“Well, we’ll certainly look into it.” Giles nodded to the witch, who started pulling books off the shelves.
“Actually, Giles, could I talk to you for a minute?” Buffy asked. He nodded, and they retreated into the training room.
Willow handed a book each to Spike and Xander. “Hey, Dawnie? Could you grab the Bristow’s Index? It’s over in the corner.”
Dawn obliged. The shelf was right next to the training room door, and as she reached for the book, she couldn’t help but overhear her sister talking. She paused, one hand on the shelf, listening.
“Giles, I’m afraid we might lose the house.”
“Buffy, if there’s anything I can – if you need money, I could –”
“No, Giles. I’d feel terrible taking your money. I just… I don’t know what to do.” Buffy’s voice wavered a little.
Grabbing the book off the shelf, Dawn hurried back to the research table. Spike glanced up from his book.
“You all right, Bit?”
“Fine.”
She buried her nose in the book. Spike continued to watch her, but with his head cocked to the side, focusing on the conversation in the training room.
*****
“So… patrol tonight?” Buffy asked Spike later, as the gang was packing up after a full night of research. It felt like forever since she’d patrolled with him. Not since the night of the inadvertent kissing and the stupid slayer dream that was hanging over her head. Which she was starting to be in favor of ignoring anyway. The more time she spent with Spike, she was finding it harder and harder to come up with reasons why she shouldn’t. Besides, if she could trust him enough to bite her – and her best friend – without incident, how could she really believe that the dream would ever come true, that he would turn her or she would stake him?
To her disappointment, Spike shook his head. “Can’t, pet. Got a prior engagement.” Buffy’s face started to fall, and he smiled. “I’ll tell Niblet to bring her phone along. Give a call if you need me.”
Buffy looked decidedly relieved that his plans were just with Dawn, and he couldn’t help the joyful feelings that bubbled up inside him at the idea that he’d momentarily made her jealous. She’d been different – really, really different – ever since she’d rescued him, and he almost wondered if he should thank Dru for what she did. Buffy’s care and concern for him following that incident seemed to have blossomed into the feelings she’d been holding back before it had happened.
Without thinking about it, he put one hand at the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, pet. Got plans for you, too. Just gotta be patient.”
*****
“This is so cool!” Dawn said, in a not-so-subtle whisper.
“Shh!” Spike shushed her as they crept into the alley behind the Magic Box. He’d watched the Scoobies all go home an hour ago, but he used his vampire hearing and sense of smell to make sure no one was in the shop before breaking in the back door.
He dropped his duffle bag on the training room floor and shrugged out of his coat, revealing a white t-shirt and jeans.
“So, what are you gonna teach me?” Dawn asked, following him inside and flipping on the lights.
“How about knives?” he asked, and her eyes lit up. Spike reached into his duffle bag and pulled out two magic markers, handing one to her.
“Okay, color me confused.” Dawn looked down at the marker in her hand. “Or, I could just color myself.”
“It’s a technique, Niblet,” Spike explained. “Teach you to defend yourself without hurtin’ you. I come at you with the marker, and it’ll leave a mark anyplace I hit you.”
“Oh.” Starting to understand, Dawn added, “That’s kinda cool.” Then, she glanced at her marker, confused again. “Why can’t I have a real knife?”
Spike gave her a look. “’Cause I don’t fancy you accidentally slicing off any important bits. Plenty of time for that, once you’ve had more practice.” He pulled a white t-shirt out of his bag, just like the one he was wearing. “Put this on. It’ll make it easier to see the marks.”
Once she’d pulled the shirt on over her clothes, Dawn took up what she thought was a fighting stance facing Spike, holding the marker out in front of her, ready to attack.
Spike held back his laughter, because he knew she was trying. “Stand like that and you’ll topple as soon as someone comes at you,” he told her. He bent down and corrected her stance, pulling her limbs into a better form like she was a posable doll.
“All right, now,” he said, taking up an opposing stance.
“This feels ridiculous,” Dawn said, her eyes focused on the magic marker Spike was wielding as a weapon.
“You wanted me to teach you, Bit. Now, pretend the marker is a bloody knife, and block it.”
They sparred for a few minutes, until Dawn’s arms and chest were spotted with marker. Spike backed away and held up his hands in truce to end the fight. “All right, Bit. Let’s see how many different ways I just killed you.”
She looked down despondently, holding her arms out to the side.
“See this here?” Spike pointed to a tiny mark on her stomach. “Dot here, or between your ribs, enough to kill you. Plenty of squishy organs to skewer, and bleedin’ from a gut wound is bloody painful. Gotta protect your midsection.” He tilted her chin up and looked at her throat. “Nothing there, good. A slash or stab to your neck, and you’d probably die instantly.”
“Oh, yay,” Dawn said sarcastically. “I suck at this.”
“No, you don’t, pet. Look here.” He pointed to a thin line across his own arm. “Cut like that’s enough to make the limb unusable. Get their weapon arm, and you’re halfway to winning.” He gave her an encouraging slap on the shoulder. “Come on, Niblet. Let’s try again.”
As she charged for him again, Spike felt relieved that his idea seemed to have worked. Not only was he able to help Dawn defend herself a little better, he hoped it was also taking her mind off the money problems that were so obviously plaguing her sister.
If only it were that easy to help Buffy.
*****
Buffy was standing on tiptoe atop a rickety chair, trying to reach a box on the top shelf of the archive room, when her pants started to vibrate.
The sensation startled her, and she toppled off balance, crashing to the floor in a heap, her legs tangled in the tipped-over chair. Grumbling, she fished her cell phone out of her pocket.
“Hello?” she said sourly.
“Ms. Summers?” a cool, professional voice responded. “This is Clyde Baxter, from Bank of America.”
“Oh, uh, hi,” Buffy replied, scrambling to her feet and trying for a friendlier tone this time. “What, uh, what can I do for you?”
“I’m calling regarding your overdue mortgage payment, Ms. Summers. Our records show that this is the second payment in a row you’ve missed.”
“I know, I – I’m working on it,” she stammered, pacing back and forth between the stacks. “It’s just, there was a…” – demon – “…an unexpected emergency and we had to do some home repairs, but I promise I'll get the payment in.”
“Ms. Summers, I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation.”
“No – no, you don’t. I – I know I need to…”
“Ms. Summers, if this keeps up, I’m afraid we’ll have to foreclose on your loan.”
“Foreclose on my… what – what does that mean?”
“It means you’ll lose your house,” Clyde Baxter replied coldly. Buffy froze. “Ms. Summers, I suggest you come in to discuss your situation before we get to that point. Now, if you’d like to set up an appointment, I can –”
“Yeah, I’ll – I’ll do that,” she whispered, terror in her voice. “I’m sorry, I h-have to go.” She hung up the phone with shaking hands, barely managing to end the call before a panicky sob escaped from her. Sliding back down to the floor, she buried her face in her hands and cried, hidden in the stacks where no one would look for her.
Unexpected Kindness
Chapter 10: Unexpected Kindness
“Hey, Susan, can I ask you a question?”
The raven-haired reporter glanced up from her computer. “Sure.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
Buffy wiped away her smudged mascara defiantly. “I’m fine. I need you to tell me everything you know about these attacks.” She placed a clipping of Susan’s article on the desk in front of her. She knew she was using one set of responsibilities to avoid another, but she felt overwhelmed by her financial problems, so she turned to the one problem she knew how to solve. Demons.
Susan looked at her with curiosity. “Morbid interest you’ve got there.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Susan eyed her carefully, but gestured for Buffy to pull up a chair while she opened a file on her computer. “The girl was a student at UC Sunnydale,” she said, “found a few blocks from her off-campus apartment. The man was an engineer, worked at a firm based in L.A. He was attacked at his car, parked on a side street downtown.”
Buffy nodded. “And they didn’t know each other. It was random.”
“And the killer covered a lot of ground in one night,” Susan pointed out. “The campus is all the way across town. Plenty of time, though. They think the man was first, maybe around nine. The girl was supposedly pulling an all-nighter at the library, according to her roommate. The police think she was killed around four in the morning, on her way home.”
Buffy let out a sigh. Didn’t people know by now not to walk home alone at night in this town? Not even the university campus was safe from demons.
“The only thing they had in common was the puncture wound,” Susan continued, bringing Buffy’s attention back to the case.
“The puncture wound,” Buffy repeated.
“Yeah. The police still haven’t figured out what the weapon was. Whoever did this, they must have used something unusual.”
“But the de – I mean, whatever did this, it stabbed them and then ran away, right?”
Susan nodded, noticing Buffy’s use of what and it rather than who, and filing it away in her mind. “Looks that way. Nothing was taken, no money or valuables missing, so it wasn’t a mugging.”
Buffy paused for a minute then asked quietly, “How’d they end up crazy?”
“No one knows.” Susan shrugged, scrolling down through her notes. “Like it says in the article, no history of mental illness. Could be from the stress of the attack – post-traumatic, you know. That’s what the doctors are saying. But, really, they’re just guessing.”
“And whatever it is, it’s still out there,” Buffy said angrily. “This could happen to someone else.”
“Police have no leads,” Susan admitted.
“Come on, you live in this town,” said Buffy, urgency creeping into her voice. “You know there’s stuff out there the police can’t handle. You write about it every week.”
The reporter’s eyebrows shot up when she saw the expression of determination on the younger woman’s face. “You think you can stop it.” It wasn’t really a question, but there was surprise in her tone.
The Slayer set her jaw. “I thought I might try.”
*****
Buffy’s determination to solve the demon mystery gave her a boost of energy that got her through the rest of the day, but on the way home from work, her feet seemed to drag more with every step, and she felt the overwhelming weight of responsibility come crashing back onto her shoulders as soon as her house came into view.
The house that, in a few months, she might no longer be living in.
She was mentally running through her list of options – which pretty much included taking Giles up on his offer or winning the lottery – when she came in the front door and stopped in her tracks as a bizarre sound reached her ears.
When there’s no one else in sight
In the crowded lonely night
Well I wait so long
For my love vibration
And I’m dancing with myself
Contemplating the likelihood that Dawn had taken their financial matters into her own hands by turning their house into some sort of retro dance club, Buffy approached the kitchen, where she took in a scene that equally matched the music in its strangeness. Spike was at the stove, bobbing his head in time to the beat while stirring a saucepan of veal cubes and mushrooms in a creamy sauce that smelled heavenly. Dawn, to the best that Buffy could determine, was hopping around the kitchen like a little kid on a massive sugar high.
Oh oh, dancing with myself
Oh oh, dancing with myself
Spike held out the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir, and Dawn danced her way over to him and sang into the makeshift microphone.
Well there’s nothing to lose
And there’s nothing to prove
I’ll be dancing with myself
Dawn grabbed Spike’s hand and twirled under his arm, catching sight of her sister in mid-spin.
“Buffy!” she cried.
“Oh… my… God,” was all Buffy could manage. She looked up at Spike for some kind of explanation, but he adopted a devilish expression and started to sing into the spoon.
If I looked all over the world
And there’s every type of girl
But your empty eyes
Seem to pass me by
Leave me dancing with myself
“Come on, Buffy! Dance with us!” Dawn danced her way over to the Slayer, pulling her into the mix. Buffy indulged her for a few bars, shooting another incredulous glance at Spike. He just smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye as his hand slid seductively southward from his belt buckle. Buffy broke away from Dawn and placed herself in a strategic position between her sister and lewdness.
“Really, Spike… Billy Idol?”
“Bit’s idea.” Spike turned back to the stove with a sheepish expression, returning the wooden spoon to its intended use.
“I guess you’ve already got the look.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, and he swatted her away. “You could use a date with L’Oreal though.” He gave her a funny look, so she added, “Roots. You’re starting to show.”
“Yeah. So?” He spooned out a sampling of sauce and tasted it, then offered the spoon to Buffy. “Your taste buds are better than mine. Always make things too spicy ’cause I can’t taste ’em.”
She opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and he brought the spoon up, watching with fascination as her lips closed around it. “Needs more garlic,” she declared, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Oh! Does that… I mean, can you eat…?”
“It’s fine, love,” he chuckled. “Bit of heartburn, but it won’t kill me.”
“Good. Wouldn’t wanna off you by accident.” When he’d seasoned the food, she said, “So, you stopped bleaching it?”
“What?”
“The hair. You stopped bleaching it on purpose?”
Spike shrugged. “Haven’t since Dru.”
“Are you growing it out?”
Another shrug. “Decided it was time for a change.” His expression clouded over, indicating to her that it was more than just a cosmetic decision, but he brushed it off quickly, shutting down his emotions and returning to his saucepan.
“Oh oh oh oh,” Dawn crooned, oblivious to the serious conversation taking place.
Buffy shook her head, stifling her giggles. “You’re a terrible influence on my sister.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t tell her what this song’s really about… right?”
“Why ruin it for her?” Spike grabbed Buffy, twirling her around then pulling her close to him. “Dance with me?”
She blushed as he danced her across the kitchen to the refrigerator, and then pulled out an armful of fresh vegetables. Dropping them on the counter, he bumped his hip in rhythm against hers, knocking her toward the island. “You can make the salad,” he said.
So let’s sink another drink
’Cause it’ll give me time to think
If I had the chance
I’d ask the world to dance
And I’ll be dancing with myself
*****
“So, what brought that on?” Buffy asked later, matching Spike’s long, loping strides as they patrolled the cemetery.
“Sounded like you were a bit skint lately. Plus, Bit was complaining you were starving her.”
Buffy rolled her eyes.
“So, we nipped out to the grocery store, stocked up. Then, I figured there’s no way you’d know what to do with all that stuff, so I thought I’d best cook it myself. But don’t worry,” he teased. “We bought enough microwavable food for you to do on your own.”
Buffy stopped, bowled over by this act of kindness. “Spike, you shouldn’t have…”
“Wanted to.”
He started to walk away, but she caught his arm and reeled him back in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Really, Spike. Thank you. You have no idea how much this…” She trailed off, too overwhelmed to speak.
Spike shrugged. “Just thought you could do with one less thing to worry about.”
Unable to reply, Buffy leaned in, going up on tiptoe to graze his cheek with her lips. She placed another soft kiss on his mouth before dropping back to a flat-footed stance.
“Buffy…” Spike said, his voice husky and uncertain. He locked his eyes on hers, and she didn’t pull away. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, then back down to their original position, as if he were unsure what to do with them. Swallowing hard, he dipped his head toward her, when a startled look crossed his face. “Vampire. Behind you.”
Buffy spun to face the snarling vamp. “I’m sorry, we were having a conversation.” She punched him in the face. “You’re interrupting.”
The vampire growled and punched her back.
“Well, that was just rude,” Spike said, coming around from behind Buffy with a sideways kick to the vamp’s head. “Someone ought to teach our boy some manners.”
Buffy followed him with her own kick in the chest, knocking the vampire backwards over a tombstone. “Can’t we just kill him?”
Spike shrugged. “Whatever you like, pet.” He hauled the vampire up off the ground and tossed him at Buffy. “Catch.”
Buffy held her stake steady at chest level and let the vampire fall into it. “This is getting too easy.”
“Careful what you wish for, love.”
She stepped closer to him, one possessive, intimate hand on his elbow. “So, um… where were we?”
“We were, uh…” He gestured in the direction they’d been heading.
Buffy nodded, chastened, and started walking again as Spike fell into step beside her. It was nice, she thought, having someone to keep her company on patrol. It sort of reminded her of having Faith around – during the better times, of course, the days of synchronized slaying and ragging on Wesley, when Faith wasn’t crazy or trying to kill people. Not that Buffy didn’t like having Giles or the Scoobies along, but it was nice to be with someone she didn’t have worry about getting killed all the time.
Of course, it never got this sexy with Faith.
“Cooking,” Spike managed. “We were talking about…”
“Right,” said Buffy, not sure if she should be thanking their vampire attacker or cursing him for interrupting the moment. “So, yeah, I’m thinking I want to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year.”
Spike cocked one eyebrow. “That right?”
“It’s the first one since Mom died, so I want it to be as normal for Dawn as possible.”
“You’re having Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah.”
“Dawn says you can’t even make spaghetti.”
Buffy shot him a dirty look. “And you believe her culinary assessment? She thought peanut butter and jelly pizza was a good idea.”
“It’s not gonna be like the last Thanksgiving I had with you lot, is it? Two years ago?”
Buffy wrinkled her nose, thinking back to that year. “Oh, with the crazy Native American spirit guys? God, I hope not. I really prefer to celebrate the holidays while not under siege.”
“I meant more the part where you tied me to a chair and wouldn’t give me anything to eat.”
“Depends on how many times you insult my cooking.” She gave him a good-natured shove, but Spike caught her by the wrist and pulled her in front of him. Half playful, half predatory, he seized her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and growling in her ear. She shivered at the sensation and spun around to face him.
Then, she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him roughly to the ground.
“Ow! Bloody hell –” Spike cut himself off as he caught sight of Buffy sparring with another vampire. She fought the vamp backwards until he was right by Spike’s feet. He kicked out with one leg, and the vamp fell to the ground next to him. Buffy bent down and staked the vampire, then extended a hand to Spike.
Which he used to pull her down onto the dust pile where the vamp had just been. “Coulda warned me, Slayer,” he growled, rolling over and planting one leather-clad arm on each side of her head.
Buffy tried to stay calm, even though her mouth went dry and her senses were screaming Bite me! while her eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his jaw, twitching with amusement and feigned anger.
“Picked up the assist anyway, didn’t you?” She slid her hands inside his coat and let them linger on his muscled chest before sending him flying backwards with a shove.
“Lucky for you,” he replied, kipping to his feet, “I recover quickly.”
As they were brushing the dust and dirt off their clothes, a voice startled them.
“Buffy?”
Buffy spun around. “Susan! Hi… uh…” She realized she was still holding a stake and, after a brief, one-handed scuffle with Spike behind her back, managed to shove the stake in his duster pocket. “What are you doing in a cemetery… in the middle of the night?”
“I might ask you the same question.” Susan folded her arms across her chest, as though it were unusual for Buffy to be there but it was perfectly normal for the reporter. “You kids realize you’re trespassing, right?”
“Ye – uh….” Buffy looked to Spike for an answer, but he only returned her helpless expression. “We were just, um, taking a walk.”
“In a cemetery? In the middle of the night?”
“We’re… um, creepy.”
“Morbid,” Spike added. “With all the dead people and such. Ow!” he yelped as Buffy pinched his arm.
“What, um, what are you doing here?” Buffy asked again.
“Research.”
“Oh.” That sounded a little off to Buffy, but then again, she was slaying mythical creatures that weren’t supposed to exist, so who was she to question other people’s business in cemeteries? “Researching what?”
“You.”
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
Spike pushed Buffy aside and challenged Susan, indignant. “What gives you the right? You been spyin’ on her?”
Susan set an appraising eye on Spike, taking him in with a coy smile. “I don’t know, cutie. You wanna tell me that guy I saw didn’t just poof into nothing?”
Buffy and Spike looked at each other, both at a loss for words.
“I’ve been watching you, Buffy,” said Susan. “I know there’s something about you, something you’re hiding. And I’m pretty sure it has to do with that vampire.”
“What vampire?” Buffy asked, glancing at Spike in alarm, but quickly averting her eyes, lest she give away Spike’s undead status.
“The vampire you didn’t kill with that stake that’s not sticking out of your boyfriend’s pocket.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Buffy blurted out. “Uh… that’s not the part of that sentence I should be focusing on, is it?”
“Not really, no. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Not really, no,” Buffy said under her breath.
“Hey, Susan, can I ask you a question?”
The raven-haired reporter glanced up from her computer. “Sure.” She paused. “Are you okay?”
Buffy wiped away her smudged mascara defiantly. “I’m fine. I need you to tell me everything you know about these attacks.” She placed a clipping of Susan’s article on the desk in front of her. She knew she was using one set of responsibilities to avoid another, but she felt overwhelmed by her financial problems, so she turned to the one problem she knew how to solve. Demons.
Susan looked at her with curiosity. “Morbid interest you’ve got there.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Susan eyed her carefully, but gestured for Buffy to pull up a chair while she opened a file on her computer. “The girl was a student at UC Sunnydale,” she said, “found a few blocks from her off-campus apartment. The man was an engineer, worked at a firm based in L.A. He was attacked at his car, parked on a side street downtown.”
Buffy nodded. “And they didn’t know each other. It was random.”
“And the killer covered a lot of ground in one night,” Susan pointed out. “The campus is all the way across town. Plenty of time, though. They think the man was first, maybe around nine. The girl was supposedly pulling an all-nighter at the library, according to her roommate. The police think she was killed around four in the morning, on her way home.”
Buffy let out a sigh. Didn’t people know by now not to walk home alone at night in this town? Not even the university campus was safe from demons.
“The only thing they had in common was the puncture wound,” Susan continued, bringing Buffy’s attention back to the case.
“The puncture wound,” Buffy repeated.
“Yeah. The police still haven’t figured out what the weapon was. Whoever did this, they must have used something unusual.”
“But the de – I mean, whatever did this, it stabbed them and then ran away, right?”
Susan nodded, noticing Buffy’s use of what and it rather than who, and filing it away in her mind. “Looks that way. Nothing was taken, no money or valuables missing, so it wasn’t a mugging.”
Buffy paused for a minute then asked quietly, “How’d they end up crazy?”
“No one knows.” Susan shrugged, scrolling down through her notes. “Like it says in the article, no history of mental illness. Could be from the stress of the attack – post-traumatic, you know. That’s what the doctors are saying. But, really, they’re just guessing.”
“And whatever it is, it’s still out there,” Buffy said angrily. “This could happen to someone else.”
“Police have no leads,” Susan admitted.
“Come on, you live in this town,” said Buffy, urgency creeping into her voice. “You know there’s stuff out there the police can’t handle. You write about it every week.”
The reporter’s eyebrows shot up when she saw the expression of determination on the younger woman’s face. “You think you can stop it.” It wasn’t really a question, but there was surprise in her tone.
The Slayer set her jaw. “I thought I might try.”
*****
Buffy’s determination to solve the demon mystery gave her a boost of energy that got her through the rest of the day, but on the way home from work, her feet seemed to drag more with every step, and she felt the overwhelming weight of responsibility come crashing back onto her shoulders as soon as her house came into view.
The house that, in a few months, she might no longer be living in.
She was mentally running through her list of options – which pretty much included taking Giles up on his offer or winning the lottery – when she came in the front door and stopped in her tracks as a bizarre sound reached her ears.
When there’s no one else in sight
In the crowded lonely night
Well I wait so long
For my love vibration
And I’m dancing with myself
Contemplating the likelihood that Dawn had taken their financial matters into her own hands by turning their house into some sort of retro dance club, Buffy approached the kitchen, where she took in a scene that equally matched the music in its strangeness. Spike was at the stove, bobbing his head in time to the beat while stirring a saucepan of veal cubes and mushrooms in a creamy sauce that smelled heavenly. Dawn, to the best that Buffy could determine, was hopping around the kitchen like a little kid on a massive sugar high.
Oh oh, dancing with myself
Oh oh, dancing with myself
Spike held out the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir, and Dawn danced her way over to him and sang into the makeshift microphone.
Well there’s nothing to lose
And there’s nothing to prove
I’ll be dancing with myself
Dawn grabbed Spike’s hand and twirled under his arm, catching sight of her sister in mid-spin.
“Buffy!” she cried.
“Oh… my… God,” was all Buffy could manage. She looked up at Spike for some kind of explanation, but he adopted a devilish expression and started to sing into the spoon.
If I looked all over the world
And there’s every type of girl
But your empty eyes
Seem to pass me by
Leave me dancing with myself
“Come on, Buffy! Dance with us!” Dawn danced her way over to the Slayer, pulling her into the mix. Buffy indulged her for a few bars, shooting another incredulous glance at Spike. He just smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye as his hand slid seductively southward from his belt buckle. Buffy broke away from Dawn and placed herself in a strategic position between her sister and lewdness.
“Really, Spike… Billy Idol?”
“Bit’s idea.” Spike turned back to the stove with a sheepish expression, returning the wooden spoon to its intended use.
“I guess you’ve already got the look.” She reached up and ruffled his hair, and he swatted her away. “You could use a date with L’Oreal though.” He gave her a funny look, so she added, “Roots. You’re starting to show.”
“Yeah. So?” He spooned out a sampling of sauce and tasted it, then offered the spoon to Buffy. “Your taste buds are better than mine. Always make things too spicy ’cause I can’t taste ’em.”
She opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed, and he brought the spoon up, watching with fascination as her lips closed around it. “Needs more garlic,” she declared, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Oh! Does that… I mean, can you eat…?”
“It’s fine, love,” he chuckled. “Bit of heartburn, but it won’t kill me.”
“Good. Wouldn’t wanna off you by accident.” When he’d seasoned the food, she said, “So, you stopped bleaching it?”
“What?”
“The hair. You stopped bleaching it on purpose?”
Spike shrugged. “Haven’t since Dru.”
“Are you growing it out?”
Another shrug. “Decided it was time for a change.” His expression clouded over, indicating to her that it was more than just a cosmetic decision, but he brushed it off quickly, shutting down his emotions and returning to his saucepan.
“Oh oh oh oh,” Dawn crooned, oblivious to the serious conversation taking place.
Buffy shook her head, stifling her giggles. “You’re a terrible influence on my sister.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t tell her what this song’s really about… right?”
“Why ruin it for her?” Spike grabbed Buffy, twirling her around then pulling her close to him. “Dance with me?”
She blushed as he danced her across the kitchen to the refrigerator, and then pulled out an armful of fresh vegetables. Dropping them on the counter, he bumped his hip in rhythm against hers, knocking her toward the island. “You can make the salad,” he said.
So let’s sink another drink
’Cause it’ll give me time to think
If I had the chance
I’d ask the world to dance
And I’ll be dancing with myself
*****
“So, what brought that on?” Buffy asked later, matching Spike’s long, loping strides as they patrolled the cemetery.
“Sounded like you were a bit skint lately. Plus, Bit was complaining you were starving her.”
Buffy rolled her eyes.
“So, we nipped out to the grocery store, stocked up. Then, I figured there’s no way you’d know what to do with all that stuff, so I thought I’d best cook it myself. But don’t worry,” he teased. “We bought enough microwavable food for you to do on your own.”
Buffy stopped, bowled over by this act of kindness. “Spike, you shouldn’t have…”
“Wanted to.”
He started to walk away, but she caught his arm and reeled him back in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Really, Spike. Thank you. You have no idea how much this…” She trailed off, too overwhelmed to speak.
Spike shrugged. “Just thought you could do with one less thing to worry about.”
Unable to reply, Buffy leaned in, going up on tiptoe to graze his cheek with her lips. She placed another soft kiss on his mouth before dropping back to a flat-footed stance.
“Buffy…” Spike said, his voice husky and uncertain. He locked his eyes on hers, and she didn’t pull away. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, slid up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, then back down to their original position, as if he were unsure what to do with them. Swallowing hard, he dipped his head toward her, when a startled look crossed his face. “Vampire. Behind you.”
Buffy spun to face the snarling vamp. “I’m sorry, we were having a conversation.” She punched him in the face. “You’re interrupting.”
The vampire growled and punched her back.
“Well, that was just rude,” Spike said, coming around from behind Buffy with a sideways kick to the vamp’s head. “Someone ought to teach our boy some manners.”
Buffy followed him with her own kick in the chest, knocking the vampire backwards over a tombstone. “Can’t we just kill him?”
Spike shrugged. “Whatever you like, pet.” He hauled the vampire up off the ground and tossed him at Buffy. “Catch.”
Buffy held her stake steady at chest level and let the vampire fall into it. “This is getting too easy.”
“Careful what you wish for, love.”
She stepped closer to him, one possessive, intimate hand on his elbow. “So, um… where were we?”
“We were, uh…” He gestured in the direction they’d been heading.
Buffy nodded, chastened, and started walking again as Spike fell into step beside her. It was nice, she thought, having someone to keep her company on patrol. It sort of reminded her of having Faith around – during the better times, of course, the days of synchronized slaying and ragging on Wesley, when Faith wasn’t crazy or trying to kill people. Not that Buffy didn’t like having Giles or the Scoobies along, but it was nice to be with someone she didn’t have worry about getting killed all the time.
Of course, it never got this sexy with Faith.
“Cooking,” Spike managed. “We were talking about…”
“Right,” said Buffy, not sure if she should be thanking their vampire attacker or cursing him for interrupting the moment. “So, yeah, I’m thinking I want to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house this year.”
Spike cocked one eyebrow. “That right?”
“It’s the first one since Mom died, so I want it to be as normal for Dawn as possible.”
“You’re having Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah.”
“Dawn says you can’t even make spaghetti.”
Buffy shot him a dirty look. “And you believe her culinary assessment? She thought peanut butter and jelly pizza was a good idea.”
“It’s not gonna be like the last Thanksgiving I had with you lot, is it? Two years ago?”
Buffy wrinkled her nose, thinking back to that year. “Oh, with the crazy Native American spirit guys? God, I hope not. I really prefer to celebrate the holidays while not under siege.”
“I meant more the part where you tied me to a chair and wouldn’t give me anything to eat.”
“Depends on how many times you insult my cooking.” She gave him a good-natured shove, but Spike caught her by the wrist and pulled her in front of him. Half playful, half predatory, he seized her from behind, wrapping his arms around her and growling in her ear. She shivered at the sensation and spun around to face him.
Then, she grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him roughly to the ground.
“Ow! Bloody hell –” Spike cut himself off as he caught sight of Buffy sparring with another vampire. She fought the vamp backwards until he was right by Spike’s feet. He kicked out with one leg, and the vamp fell to the ground next to him. Buffy bent down and staked the vampire, then extended a hand to Spike.
Which he used to pull her down onto the dust pile where the vamp had just been. “Coulda warned me, Slayer,” he growled, rolling over and planting one leather-clad arm on each side of her head.
Buffy tried to stay calm, even though her mouth went dry and her senses were screaming Bite me! while her eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his jaw, twitching with amusement and feigned anger.
“Picked up the assist anyway, didn’t you?” She slid her hands inside his coat and let them linger on his muscled chest before sending him flying backwards with a shove.
“Lucky for you,” he replied, kipping to his feet, “I recover quickly.”
As they were brushing the dust and dirt off their clothes, a voice startled them.
“Buffy?”
Buffy spun around. “Susan! Hi… uh…” She realized she was still holding a stake and, after a brief, one-handed scuffle with Spike behind her back, managed to shove the stake in his duster pocket. “What are you doing in a cemetery… in the middle of the night?”
“I might ask you the same question.” Susan folded her arms across her chest, as though it were unusual for Buffy to be there but it was perfectly normal for the reporter. “You kids realize you’re trespassing, right?”
“Ye – uh….” Buffy looked to Spike for an answer, but he only returned her helpless expression. “We were just, um, taking a walk.”
“In a cemetery? In the middle of the night?”
“We’re… um, creepy.”
“Morbid,” Spike added. “With all the dead people and such. Ow!” he yelped as Buffy pinched his arm.
“What, um, what are you doing here?” Buffy asked again.
“Research.”
“Oh.” That sounded a little off to Buffy, but then again, she was slaying mythical creatures that weren’t supposed to exist, so who was she to question other people’s business in cemeteries? “Researching what?”
“You.”
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
Spike pushed Buffy aside and challenged Susan, indignant. “What gives you the right? You been spyin’ on her?”
Susan set an appraising eye on Spike, taking him in with a coy smile. “I don’t know, cutie. You wanna tell me that guy I saw didn’t just poof into nothing?”
Buffy and Spike looked at each other, both at a loss for words.
“I’ve been watching you, Buffy,” said Susan. “I know there’s something about you, something you’re hiding. And I’m pretty sure it has to do with that vampire.”
“What vampire?” Buffy asked, glancing at Spike in alarm, but quickly averting her eyes, lest she give away Spike’s undead status.
“The vampire you didn’t kill with that stake that’s not sticking out of your boyfriend’s pocket.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Buffy blurted out. “Uh… that’s not the part of that sentence I should be focusing on, is it?”
“Not really, no. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Not really, no,” Buffy said under her breath.
Coping
Chapter 11: Coping
“Picked up something extra on patrol tonight,” Buffy announced, as Spike and Susan followed her into the magic shop. “This is Susan Rodriguez.” The Slayer grimaced. “She’s a reporter for the Sunnydale Press.”
Giles pulled her aside and whispered, “Buffy, do you really think it’s wise to bring a reporter in here? Do the words ‘secret identity’ mean nothing to you?”
“Giles, she saw me stake a vamp. What was I supposed to do?” Buffy looked around at the gang. “Plus, she knows a lot about those people that killed themselves. Maybe she can help. Any luck with the research?”
Xander looked uncertain. “You sure it’s okay to talk in front of” – his voice dropped to a stage whisper – “the reporter?”
“We’re completely off the record,” said Susan. “I want to stop this killer, and I think Buffy knows how.”
“Well, first we need to know what it is,” said Buffy.
“Think I’ve got you covered,” Willow told her, holding up a text, open to a picture of the demon. “It’s a glarghk… guhl… kashma'nik,” she said slowly, sounding it out. “That’s what it looks like.”
“That’s… not human,” Susan said.
“Yeah,” Buffy replied. “You know all those mysterious things you kinda suspected exist, but you never told anyone because ‘monsters aren’t real’?” Susan nodded. “They do exist, and they all live in Sunnydale.” Buffy turned back to her friends. “What does it do?”
“It injects its victims with venom from a spike that comes out of its wrist,” Giles filled in. “The poison causes vivid hallucinations, incapacitating the victim.”
“But this demon hasn’t killed anyone,” Buffy pointed out. “What’s the point of incapacitating someone if you’re not going to kill them?”
Willow and Giles looked at each other, and then down at the book. “It, uh, doesn’t say,” Willow said.
“It’s a defensive mechanism,” Anya replied, drawing on her extensive history and knowledge of demons. “The glarghk guhl kashma’nik doesn’t eat people, so it doesn’t bother to kill them. When the demon feels threatened by a human or another demon, it hits them with the poison, giving it the chance to get away.” Xander gave his fiancée a proud smile.
“When the demon feels threatened by a human?” Buffy asked with disbelief.
Spike gave her a look. “Not all demons attack humans, Slayer.”
“Yeah, but if they got in a fight, the demons are usually stronger, right?”
“I never said it was bright,” Anya said. “It’s non-sentient. Just like an animal. If it gets scared, it gets defensive.”
Buffy nodded. “Any idea where we might find it?”
“Still working on that one,” Willow said. “The locations of the two victims are so far apart… it could be anywhere.”
“Keep working on it, okay?” Buffy replied. “Listen, I don’t like Dawn being home alone. While you guys make with the research, I’m gonna stop by the house and bring her back here.”
*****
“Dawn?” Buffy called, as she opened the front door.
She spotted a pile of mail sitting on the foyer table that she hadn’t noticed earlier, when she’d been distracted by the singing and the dancing. She sifted through the pile – bills, bills, and more bills, she noticed with a growing sense of dread – until a thin envelope caught her eye. Addressed to Miss Buffy Summers, with her father’s office as the return address. She ripped it open and quickly scanned the letter.
“Dawn?” she said again, this time with shades of suspicion and confusion in her voice. Dawn came down the stairs, and Buffy held the page out to her. “What is this?”
“What is what?”
“Why is Dad’s office telling me to fax over the forms he needs to sign and they’ll forward them to him?”
Dawn’s mouth gaped open.
“Dawn? Do you know something about this?”
Her sister suddenly seemed to get smaller as she shrank into herself and gripped the banister until her knuckles turned white. “I… tried to contact Dad. I thought – I thought maybe he could help us, with money and stuff.” The words began to spill out faster now. “I called the office, and they said he was out of the country, and I asked for the number, but – but they wouldn’t let me call him. He didn’t want to talk to me, so I thought, maybe, if he thought it was something important, some – some kind of obligation, he’d contact us.”
“So, you lied.”
“….Yeah. But I just wanted – I thought he’d…” She looked at the letter. “Doesn’t he even care about us?”
Buffy sighed. “Dawn…”
“He’s our father, Buffy! We don’t even know where he is! Shouldn’t we be able to find him?”
Buffy came around the banister, pulled Dawn into her arms, and sat her down on the steps. She didn’t want to tell her sister that their father hadn’t even kept to his actual obligations, let alone made-up ones. After going three rounds with a secretary, trying to get the child support he owed them, Buffy had come to a painful realization. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe he just doesn’t want to be found, Dawn. Maybe we ought to accept that.”
“But he’s our dad.”
“I know.” Buffy stroked Dawn’s hair. “I know it’s hard. Everybody always makes it seem so magical and exciting to be an orphan. Annie, Pippi Longstocking…” She paused, searching for another example.
“Party of Five?” Dawn supplied with a sniffle.
Buffy was pretty sure they’d all been pretty depressed orphans, but she just gave Dawn a sad smile. “Yeah. But it’s not, really. It’s lonely and scary, and there are times when you just want Mom to be there to hold you and make everything better.”
“Are you scared, too?”
Buffy paused for a long moment. “Yeah,” she admitted, letting out a sigh. “But I promise we’ll be okay, Dawn.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out, somehow. I promise.”
*****
Susan stood up abruptly, headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Where are you going?” Willow asked suspiciously.
“To my car,” Susan retorted. “Is that okay with you?”
“What for?” Giles questioned her, in the same tone Willow had used.
“God, what is this, the Inquisition?”
“Look,” Xander jumped in. “We don’t know you, lady. Just because Buffy brought you in here, doesn’t mean we have to trust you.”
The reporter let out an annoyed sigh. “I have a police scanner in my car. I’m going to see if there’ve been any crimes in Sunnydale tonight.” She gave them a pointed look. “It’s sort of my job.”
“Perhaps Spike should go with you,” Giles suggested.
Susan and Spike shot the Watcher matching glares. “I don’t need to be watched!” Susan said indignantly.
“It’s dangerous out there,” Giles reasoned. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Not her soddin’ babysitter,” Spike said with a growl, crossing his arms over his chest and planting himself stubbornly in a chair. “She can go out and get eaten if she wants to.”
*****
Spike let out a sigh, fiddling with the knobs and buttons on the dashboard of Susan’s car. He flicked the air conditioning on and off, spinning the dial to full blast and back again. Even though he had a lighter in his pocket, he pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter to heat it up. He noticed a series of buttons alongside an LCD screen, and he pushed them each in turn, sending the trip computer scrolling through Susan’s average speed, trip milage, gas milage, and alarm clock.
When he accidentally flicked on the radio, drowning out the police scanner she was listening to, Susan reached over and swatted his hand away from the dashboard. “Stop that,” she snapped, turning the radio off and settling back in the driver’s seat.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he replied. “What’s the point of this?”
“The point is, I write about crime for a living. It helps to know when it’s happening.”
“Yeah, but you got Red in there, real computer whiz. Could just hack into the police reports,” Spike told her, pulling out the cigarette lighter.
“Don’t smoke in my car,” Susan said, eying him carefully.
Spike shot her an annoyed look and began rolling down the passenger side window.
“I said, don’t smoke in my car.”
Rolling his eyes, Spike put the window back up and began pressing the cigarette lighter against the glove compartment, leaving slightly darker circles on the tan plastic.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Susan cried, snatching the lighter out of the ADD vampire’s hand and replacing it in its holder.
Spike just shrugged. “Bored.”
The reporter’s eyes glinted. “Why don’t you tell me about Buffy, then?” When his expression darkened with suspicion, she went on, “I know she’s not a normal girl. What’s her deal?”
“Not my place to say.”
“You called her Slayer. What does that mean?”
Spike’s jaw twitched, his mouth frozen with indecision. “She’s a vampire slayer,” he said finally. “She fights evil, all the demons that haunt this soddin’ town.”
“But not you.”
His head snapped toward her, a look of surprise on his face. She smiled. “Reporter, remember? I can read between the lines.”
“I… help her out,” Spike admitted. “That’s why she doesn’t kill me.” No need to get into his complex relationship with Buffy while talking to a reporter.
“But you’re not her boyfriend,” Susan confirmed. “She was pretty clear about that in the cemetery.”
Spike paused. “No. I’m not.”
“Shame,” she said, placing one hand casually on his thigh. “Letting you go to waste.” Susan prided herself on being able to read people pretty well, and she could easily see the torch the vampire held for his supposed enemy. She could be pretty confident that, if Buffy wasn’t taking advantage of his assets, no one was. As much as he was a pain in the ass, the man sitting next to her was still very attractive.
And chock full of information. “Tell me about vampires.”
Spike raised his eyebrows and looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. “What, uh, what d’you wanna know?”
“Are all the stories true? The Dracula rumors and all that?”
“Some of ’em.” Spike glanced out the window, as though expecting Buffy or one of the Scoobies to be staring in at them.
“So, you don’t breathe? Or…” Her hand slid up to his chest. “…have a heartbeat?”
Spike swallowed hard. “No,” he said, gently but firmly removing her hand from his body. “And you’d do best to keep your hands to yourself, ’less you want ’em bitten off.”
Undeterred, Susan replied, “Thought you weren’t that kind of vampire.”
“Keep pushing,” Spike warned, “and you’ll find out exactly what kind of vampire I –”
“Shut up.” Suddenly losing interest, Susan waved a hand in Spike’s direction to silence him and listened intently to the police scanner. “Something’s happened.”
“Picked up something extra on patrol tonight,” Buffy announced, as Spike and Susan followed her into the magic shop. “This is Susan Rodriguez.” The Slayer grimaced. “She’s a reporter for the Sunnydale Press.”
Giles pulled her aside and whispered, “Buffy, do you really think it’s wise to bring a reporter in here? Do the words ‘secret identity’ mean nothing to you?”
“Giles, she saw me stake a vamp. What was I supposed to do?” Buffy looked around at the gang. “Plus, she knows a lot about those people that killed themselves. Maybe she can help. Any luck with the research?”
Xander looked uncertain. “You sure it’s okay to talk in front of” – his voice dropped to a stage whisper – “the reporter?”
“We’re completely off the record,” said Susan. “I want to stop this killer, and I think Buffy knows how.”
“Well, first we need to know what it is,” said Buffy.
“Think I’ve got you covered,” Willow told her, holding up a text, open to a picture of the demon. “It’s a glarghk… guhl… kashma'nik,” she said slowly, sounding it out. “That’s what it looks like.”
“That’s… not human,” Susan said.
“Yeah,” Buffy replied. “You know all those mysterious things you kinda suspected exist, but you never told anyone because ‘monsters aren’t real’?” Susan nodded. “They do exist, and they all live in Sunnydale.” Buffy turned back to her friends. “What does it do?”
“It injects its victims with venom from a spike that comes out of its wrist,” Giles filled in. “The poison causes vivid hallucinations, incapacitating the victim.”
“But this demon hasn’t killed anyone,” Buffy pointed out. “What’s the point of incapacitating someone if you’re not going to kill them?”
Willow and Giles looked at each other, and then down at the book. “It, uh, doesn’t say,” Willow said.
“It’s a defensive mechanism,” Anya replied, drawing on her extensive history and knowledge of demons. “The glarghk guhl kashma’nik doesn’t eat people, so it doesn’t bother to kill them. When the demon feels threatened by a human or another demon, it hits them with the poison, giving it the chance to get away.” Xander gave his fiancée a proud smile.
“When the demon feels threatened by a human?” Buffy asked with disbelief.
Spike gave her a look. “Not all demons attack humans, Slayer.”
“Yeah, but if they got in a fight, the demons are usually stronger, right?”
“I never said it was bright,” Anya said. “It’s non-sentient. Just like an animal. If it gets scared, it gets defensive.”
Buffy nodded. “Any idea where we might find it?”
“Still working on that one,” Willow said. “The locations of the two victims are so far apart… it could be anywhere.”
“Keep working on it, okay?” Buffy replied. “Listen, I don’t like Dawn being home alone. While you guys make with the research, I’m gonna stop by the house and bring her back here.”
*****
“Dawn?” Buffy called, as she opened the front door.
She spotted a pile of mail sitting on the foyer table that she hadn’t noticed earlier, when she’d been distracted by the singing and the dancing. She sifted through the pile – bills, bills, and more bills, she noticed with a growing sense of dread – until a thin envelope caught her eye. Addressed to Miss Buffy Summers, with her father’s office as the return address. She ripped it open and quickly scanned the letter.
“Dawn?” she said again, this time with shades of suspicion and confusion in her voice. Dawn came down the stairs, and Buffy held the page out to her. “What is this?”
“What is what?”
“Why is Dad’s office telling me to fax over the forms he needs to sign and they’ll forward them to him?”
Dawn’s mouth gaped open.
“Dawn? Do you know something about this?”
Her sister suddenly seemed to get smaller as she shrank into herself and gripped the banister until her knuckles turned white. “I… tried to contact Dad. I thought – I thought maybe he could help us, with money and stuff.” The words began to spill out faster now. “I called the office, and they said he was out of the country, and I asked for the number, but – but they wouldn’t let me call him. He didn’t want to talk to me, so I thought, maybe, if he thought it was something important, some – some kind of obligation, he’d contact us.”
“So, you lied.”
“….Yeah. But I just wanted – I thought he’d…” She looked at the letter. “Doesn’t he even care about us?”
Buffy sighed. “Dawn…”
“He’s our father, Buffy! We don’t even know where he is! Shouldn’t we be able to find him?”
Buffy came around the banister, pulled Dawn into her arms, and sat her down on the steps. She didn’t want to tell her sister that their father hadn’t even kept to his actual obligations, let alone made-up ones. After going three rounds with a secretary, trying to get the child support he owed them, Buffy had come to a painful realization. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe he just doesn’t want to be found, Dawn. Maybe we ought to accept that.”
“But he’s our dad.”
“I know.” Buffy stroked Dawn’s hair. “I know it’s hard. Everybody always makes it seem so magical and exciting to be an orphan. Annie, Pippi Longstocking…” She paused, searching for another example.
“Party of Five?” Dawn supplied with a sniffle.
Buffy was pretty sure they’d all been pretty depressed orphans, but she just gave Dawn a sad smile. “Yeah. But it’s not, really. It’s lonely and scary, and there are times when you just want Mom to be there to hold you and make everything better.”
“Are you scared, too?”
Buffy paused for a long moment. “Yeah,” she admitted, letting out a sigh. “But I promise we’ll be okay, Dawn.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out, somehow. I promise.”
*****
Susan stood up abruptly, headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“Where are you going?” Willow asked suspiciously.
“To my car,” Susan retorted. “Is that okay with you?”
“What for?” Giles questioned her, in the same tone Willow had used.
“God, what is this, the Inquisition?”
“Look,” Xander jumped in. “We don’t know you, lady. Just because Buffy brought you in here, doesn’t mean we have to trust you.”
The reporter let out an annoyed sigh. “I have a police scanner in my car. I’m going to see if there’ve been any crimes in Sunnydale tonight.” She gave them a pointed look. “It’s sort of my job.”
“Perhaps Spike should go with you,” Giles suggested.
Susan and Spike shot the Watcher matching glares. “I don’t need to be watched!” Susan said indignantly.
“It’s dangerous out there,” Giles reasoned. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Not her soddin’ babysitter,” Spike said with a growl, crossing his arms over his chest and planting himself stubbornly in a chair. “She can go out and get eaten if she wants to.”
*****
Spike let out a sigh, fiddling with the knobs and buttons on the dashboard of Susan’s car. He flicked the air conditioning on and off, spinning the dial to full blast and back again. Even though he had a lighter in his pocket, he pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter to heat it up. He noticed a series of buttons alongside an LCD screen, and he pushed them each in turn, sending the trip computer scrolling through Susan’s average speed, trip milage, gas milage, and alarm clock.
When he accidentally flicked on the radio, drowning out the police scanner she was listening to, Susan reached over and swatted his hand away from the dashboard. “Stop that,” she snapped, turning the radio off and settling back in the driver’s seat.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he replied. “What’s the point of this?”
“The point is, I write about crime for a living. It helps to know when it’s happening.”
“Yeah, but you got Red in there, real computer whiz. Could just hack into the police reports,” Spike told her, pulling out the cigarette lighter.
“Don’t smoke in my car,” Susan said, eying him carefully.
Spike shot her an annoyed look and began rolling down the passenger side window.
“I said, don’t smoke in my car.”
Rolling his eyes, Spike put the window back up and began pressing the cigarette lighter against the glove compartment, leaving slightly darker circles on the tan plastic.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Susan cried, snatching the lighter out of the ADD vampire’s hand and replacing it in its holder.
Spike just shrugged. “Bored.”
The reporter’s eyes glinted. “Why don’t you tell me about Buffy, then?” When his expression darkened with suspicion, she went on, “I know she’s not a normal girl. What’s her deal?”
“Not my place to say.”
“You called her Slayer. What does that mean?”
Spike’s jaw twitched, his mouth frozen with indecision. “She’s a vampire slayer,” he said finally. “She fights evil, all the demons that haunt this soddin’ town.”
“But not you.”
His head snapped toward her, a look of surprise on his face. She smiled. “Reporter, remember? I can read between the lines.”
“I… help her out,” Spike admitted. “That’s why she doesn’t kill me.” No need to get into his complex relationship with Buffy while talking to a reporter.
“But you’re not her boyfriend,” Susan confirmed. “She was pretty clear about that in the cemetery.”
Spike paused. “No. I’m not.”
“Shame,” she said, placing one hand casually on his thigh. “Letting you go to waste.” Susan prided herself on being able to read people pretty well, and she could easily see the torch the vampire held for his supposed enemy. She could be pretty confident that, if Buffy wasn’t taking advantage of his assets, no one was. As much as he was a pain in the ass, the man sitting next to her was still very attractive.
And chock full of information. “Tell me about vampires.”
Spike raised his eyebrows and looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. “What, uh, what d’you wanna know?”
“Are all the stories true? The Dracula rumors and all that?”
“Some of ’em.” Spike glanced out the window, as though expecting Buffy or one of the Scoobies to be staring in at them.
“So, you don’t breathe? Or…” Her hand slid up to his chest. “…have a heartbeat?”
Spike swallowed hard. “No,” he said, gently but firmly removing her hand from his body. “And you’d do best to keep your hands to yourself, ’less you want ’em bitten off.”
Undeterred, Susan replied, “Thought you weren’t that kind of vampire.”
“Keep pushing,” Spike warned, “and you’ll find out exactly what kind of vampire I –”
“Shut up.” Suddenly losing interest, Susan waved a hand in Spike’s direction to silence him and listened intently to the police scanner. “Something’s happened.”
Confronting Demons
Chapter 12: Confronting Demons
When Buffy returned to the Magic Box with Dawn, she was surprised to find Susan and Spike ready to drag her back out the door.
“I heard them call in a third victim on my police scanner,” Susan explained, as she, Buffy, and Spike made their way to the hospital.
“You have a police scanner?” Buffy asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Susan replied, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “Sounds like the same M.O. as the other two. I thought maybe I could get there, talk to the victim this time before she…”
“Yeah.” Buffy felt sick. Even though she dealt with death on a regular basis, the thought of suicide made her stomach churn. Maybe because it wasn’t too long ago that she’d been so close to it herself.
Spike’s reassuring hand on her back steadied her as they headed through the hospital to the ICU. They had to dodge a couple of orderlies who tried to tell them visiting hours were over, but finally they managed to find the victim of the demon attack.
“Maybe you guys should just go in…” Buffy said hesitantly, gesturing toward the room. “Someone should distract the nurse. I can stay out here.”
Spike took her by the shoulders and pulled her around to face him. “Buffy, are you all right?”
She looked away from his face, not meeting his eyes. “I just… don’t like hospitals…”
“I’m right here, Buffy,” Spike reassured her. “I’ll be right here with you.”
“Come on,” Susan said softly. “While no one’s looking.” She held the door open, and the three of them snuck into the patient’s room.
Once faced with the victim, Buffy’s slayer instinct took over and she regained her confidence. “Hi,” she said, approaching the young woman in the bed. “I’m Buffy.” The girl’s hollow eyes followed her as she moved. “Listen, I – I want to help you – with what happened to you.”
“Are you with the police?” she croaked.
Buffy shook her head. “The police wouldn’t believe you if you told them what attacked you – would they?”
Now, it was the young woman’s turn to shake her head.
“I will,” Buffy said. “Can you – can you tell me what –”
She was suddenly cut off when the girl started shrieking. “No! I won’t go back there! You can’t make me!” She struggled against the restraints that Buffy had only just noticed were strapping her arms and legs to the bed.
“It’s all right…” Buffy tried to soothe the girl. “I want to help you.”
The girl stared at her, eyes wide with terror, and yet not seeming to see Buffy at all. “You can’t let him touch me! You can’t let him touch me!”
“Who?” Buffy asked. “Who hurt you?”
“Please,” she begged, beginning to cry quietly as she squirmed in her bed. “Please don’t do this… please…”
Buffy exchanged helpless, concerned glances with Spike and Susan. “It’s the poison,” Spike said. “She’s hallucinating.”
“What do I do? We have to make it stop.”
“Maybe we should call the nurse,” Susan suggested. “She probably needs a sedative or something.”
“No!” Buffy shook her head. “They’ll kick us out. We have to – we have to do this… Hey,” she said gently, turning back to the girl, trying to pull her out of the hallucination. “Hey, can you hear me?”
“Please, Daddy, don’t,” the girl sobbed, and Buffy felt her stomach take a sickening turn. She was used to the horrors of the demon world, but the cruel acts of humans never ceased to repulse her. She felt paralyzed by human violence, unable to mete out the vengeance those acts deserved, even as they shattered her black and white morality, harshly challenging her faith in the redeeming power of a soul.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” The girl’s voice was plaintive, pleading with a villain the rest of them could not see.
Buffy just stood there, frozen, unable to speak or act as the girl suffered in front of her, reliving some unspeakable trauma from her past, the demon’s poison making her a victim all over again. She wanted to hit something, to do what she did best. She wanted to break bones to save this broken girl. But no amount of violence would erase what had already happened to her, and even killing the demon wouldn’t save her from experiencing it again in her mind.
“She’s hallucinating,” Spike said again, as Buffy’s horrified expression indicated that she was taking the girl’s torment personally. His reminder didn’t make it any easier for Buffy to accept; whether it was real or not, the girl still felt it just the same.
Buffy reached out a tentative hand, but Susan gently pulled her away from the bed before she could touch the writhing, weeping girl. “Come on, let’s go. She can’t tell us anything.”
“I should’ve saved her,” Buffy said quietly, once they were out in the hall. “I should’ve stopped this.”
“Not your fault, Buffy,” Spike replied, his hand on the small of her back again as he directed her through the corridors. He didn’t know what else to say – he was sure “you can’t save everyone” wouldn’t be helpful to her. But he didn’t know what more Buffy could have done. “Not at all your fault, pet.”
“It’s my job to slay demons.”
“So, we’ll find it, and we’ll kill it.” His hand slid up her spine and came to rest on her shoulder. “You’re doing the best you can.”
Buffy nodded silently and leaned into his comforting touch.
“I’m sorry that wasn’t more helpful,” Susan said, as they made their way out of the hospital and found themselves back on the street.
“Sure it was,” Spike replied. When Buffy and Susan looked at him curiously, he tapped his nose and explained, “Got a scent on the demon. Could smell it on the girl.” He looked at Buffy. “I could probably track it from the place it attacked.”
“Good,” Buffy replied, her shakiness vanishing as her all-business attitude returned. “Susan?”
“The warehouse district. I can take you there.”
Buffy stared at her. “There is no freaking way I’m letting you come. I don’t care how big a story you think it is. You’re not a part of this.”
“Yes, I am!” said Susan. “This isn’t just about a story. I’m invested in this – I have to see it through.”
“You’re not coming. Get over it. Go back, tell the others what’s going on.” She turned to Spike. “Your crypt is closest. We can stop there for weapons.”
*****
“Okay, Spike?” Buffy said, peering suspiciously at the gnarled tree she was pretty sure they’d passed twice already. “Please tell me you have some sense of where we’re going, and that we’re not, you know, spending the night here.” She shoved a mess of brambles out of her path as she trudged along behind the vampire. “That we’re not making camp.”
“Know where I’m going, Slayer,” Spike insisted. “Trail’s faint, but it’s clear. Demon came this way.”
“What’s it doing out here in the woods? All the attacks were in town.”
“Anya said it didn’t really like people, yeah? Maybe it got tired of ’em and came out here where there weren’t any.”
“Swell,” Buffy grumbled, ducking under a low-hanging branch. Just then, a rustling noise from behind them caught their attention, and the two of them whirled to face whatever it was, weapons raised.
“Susan?” the Slayer said with disbelief, lowering her axe as the determined reporter emerged from the shadows of the trees. “I told you to go back to the Magic Box.”
“Funny, I don’t remember signing on to be one of your indentured servants,” Susan snapped back. “I go wherever I want to.”
“You’re going to get hurt.” Buffy tried to stare her down, but the older woman refused to relent. “I don’t have time to be your babysitter.”
“That’s the same thing your vampire said,” Susan replied, with a nod toward Spike. “But he didn’t seem to mind it so much.”
Buffy raised her eyebrows at Susan’s smirk, and when she turned to Spike, he had a startled, but also slightly embarrassed, look on his face. Suddenly, Buffy didn’t mind so much if the reporter got herself killed.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, she whirled around and gestured angrily at Spike to get him moving again.
After several long minutes of walking silently in single file, Spike slowed until Buffy was at his side. “We’re close,” he said softly. “Scent’s strong.”
Buffy nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Spike caught her arm. “Buffy, about…”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Buffy,” he said, his voice barely a whisper so that Susan wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t – you know I wouldn’t – she was just… flirting, is all.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy said flatly.
Spike turned his head and eyed her carefully as she strode along beside him. “Seems like it matters to you.” Buffy turned her head to the side, away from him, so that he couldn’t see her reaction. “What’s going on, Buffy?”
She whipped her head around to face him. “Can we please not have the relationship talk right now? God, what is it with vampires? You can’t just do this over coffee like normal people?”
Unable to find a response, Spike just said, “Demon’s this way,” and started walking in the direction his nose was telling him. He wasn’t exactly sure where her mini-rant had come from, but his brain was pretty much fixated on her jump from being told she was jealous to “the relationship talk.” Did that mean she wanted to have the talk some other time… over coffee, apparently? Was that an indication she was finally ready to take things to the next level? After all, she had kissed him earlier, in the cemetery, before they were interrupted by the vampire.
Before he could get any further in that train of thought, they heard a crashing sound up ahead as something came tearing through the brush. They stumbled backwards at the sight of the bald, waxy-skinned demon. It had red marble-like eyes and wore a black leather cloak that snagged on the bushes as it came toward them.
“Well, looks like it’s got your fashion sense,” Buffy said, with a wry glance at Spike.
“What are those black things comin’ out of its neck?” Spike asked. “Accessories? Or tentacles?”
Buffy hoisted her axe. “Chop ’em off, we’ll find out.”
“Oh, my God…” Susan murmured from behind them. As Buffy and Spike prepared to strike, Susan fumbled in her purse for a disposable camera. She was pretty sure her editor would want this documented on film.
Buffy swung her weapon at the demon, but it ducked swiftly and the axe embedded itself in a tree trunk. Using the handle for leverage, she propelled herself upwards, managing a mid-air kick to the demon’s head before she landed back on the ground.
While the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik was still stunned from Buffy’s kick, Spike attacked from the other side, slicing his katana through the leather and managing to take a chunk out of the demon’s midsection before it flung both fists into Spike’s chest, sending him flying backwards into a tangle of bushes.
“That girl is definitely not normal,” Susan muttered, snapping pictures as Buffy switched to hand-to-hand combat, executing a series of kicks and punches that seemed to have little effect on the demon.
“What, is this thing indestructible?” she cried, after being slammed to the ground by a fierce blow.
“Hardly,” Spike replied, swinging his curved blade in a downward arc toward the demon’s shoulder. He missed, only slicing off a few of the black tentacle-like things as it dodged out of the way. “Bloody hell!”
Buffy ran back to the tree where her axe was still stuck, tugging on the handle to dislodge it from the wood. As she struggled, another blow to the head knocked Spike to the ground, and he lay there for a moment until the stars cleared from his vision.
No sooner had Buffy liberated her weapon than she heard a high-pitched scream. The demon was bearing down on Susan, who had dropped her camera and was backing away fearfully. There was a loud crunching sound as the demon stepped on the camera, before catching Susan in a one-armed headlock. A long, thin, bony spike suddenly shot out of the knuckle of its free hand.
Spike pushed himself up on his hands and knees with a groan. Before he could get to his feet, Buffy was hurtling past him, slamming into the demon and causing it to lose its grip on Susan.
“Run!” Buffy screamed, even as her vision started to blur. She glanced down and saw a bleeding scrape along her arm where the demon had scratched her with its stinger. “Get out of here now!”
Susan didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and fled, back in the direction she had come. The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik broke into a run, too, in the opposite direction, escaping through the forest while its attackers were preoccupied.
Buffy pulled herself to her feet, dizzy and disoriented from the slight exposure to the demon’s poison. She looked around, but couldn’t find her weapon. “Spike?”
“Right here.” He suddenly appeared in front of her, his sword flashing at his side. “You all right, pet?”
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again, hoping to clear her vision. “We have to go after it.”
“What about the reporter? All manner of beasties between here and town.”
“She followed us out here all by herself,” Buffy snapped. “She can find her way back that way, too.”
Spike took a startled step backward, nodding hesitantly. “All right, pet.”
Buffy sighed. “Sorry, I’m…” She waved her hand vaguely to demonstrate her confusion. “You’re right. You should go catch up to her, make sure she gets back okay. I’ll go after the Gargle thingy.”
“Not leavin’ you here alone, love,” Spike insisted. “You’re hurt.”
“Fine… I’m fine,” Buffy replied, glancing around, clearly puzzled by something, but Spike couldn’t tell what. “I think I lost your axe,” she said ruefully.
“It doesn’t matter. Buffy, are you sure you’re –”
“I’m fine.” She willed her brain to clear and managed to meet Spike’s gaze long enough to convince him she was all right. “Demon. Let’s go.”
Spike shot her one last worried glance before starting off on the trail, following the demon. They caught up to it quickly, and Buffy jumped on its back, holding its arms and giving Spike the opportunity to take a few swings at it. With a swift turn and a jerk of its shoulders, the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik dislodged Buffy and sent her sprawling onto the ground.
She kipped unsteadily back to her feet, still off-balance from the first dose of poison, when the demon’s stinger came out of nowhere, thrusting into her belly and skewering God-knows-what internal organs. Buffy barely had time to shove her fist against the bleeding wound when everything went hazy. Then, everything was gone – the forest, the demon, Spike, all had disappeared.
In place of the woods was the living room of her old house in L.A. Everything was just the way she remembered it, exactly as it had been before her parents had split up and she, Joyce, and Dawn had moved to Sunnydale. Turning around, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Dad?”
When Buffy returned to the Magic Box with Dawn, she was surprised to find Susan and Spike ready to drag her back out the door.
“I heard them call in a third victim on my police scanner,” Susan explained, as she, Buffy, and Spike made their way to the hospital.
“You have a police scanner?” Buffy asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Susan replied, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “Sounds like the same M.O. as the other two. I thought maybe I could get there, talk to the victim this time before she…”
“Yeah.” Buffy felt sick. Even though she dealt with death on a regular basis, the thought of suicide made her stomach churn. Maybe because it wasn’t too long ago that she’d been so close to it herself.
Spike’s reassuring hand on her back steadied her as they headed through the hospital to the ICU. They had to dodge a couple of orderlies who tried to tell them visiting hours were over, but finally they managed to find the victim of the demon attack.
“Maybe you guys should just go in…” Buffy said hesitantly, gesturing toward the room. “Someone should distract the nurse. I can stay out here.”
Spike took her by the shoulders and pulled her around to face him. “Buffy, are you all right?”
She looked away from his face, not meeting his eyes. “I just… don’t like hospitals…”
“I’m right here, Buffy,” Spike reassured her. “I’ll be right here with you.”
“Come on,” Susan said softly. “While no one’s looking.” She held the door open, and the three of them snuck into the patient’s room.
Once faced with the victim, Buffy’s slayer instinct took over and she regained her confidence. “Hi,” she said, approaching the young woman in the bed. “I’m Buffy.” The girl’s hollow eyes followed her as she moved. “Listen, I – I want to help you – with what happened to you.”
“Are you with the police?” she croaked.
Buffy shook her head. “The police wouldn’t believe you if you told them what attacked you – would they?”
Now, it was the young woman’s turn to shake her head.
“I will,” Buffy said. “Can you – can you tell me what –”
She was suddenly cut off when the girl started shrieking. “No! I won’t go back there! You can’t make me!” She struggled against the restraints that Buffy had only just noticed were strapping her arms and legs to the bed.
“It’s all right…” Buffy tried to soothe the girl. “I want to help you.”
The girl stared at her, eyes wide with terror, and yet not seeming to see Buffy at all. “You can’t let him touch me! You can’t let him touch me!”
“Who?” Buffy asked. “Who hurt you?”
“Please,” she begged, beginning to cry quietly as she squirmed in her bed. “Please don’t do this… please…”
Buffy exchanged helpless, concerned glances with Spike and Susan. “It’s the poison,” Spike said. “She’s hallucinating.”
“What do I do? We have to make it stop.”
“Maybe we should call the nurse,” Susan suggested. “She probably needs a sedative or something.”
“No!” Buffy shook her head. “They’ll kick us out. We have to – we have to do this… Hey,” she said gently, turning back to the girl, trying to pull her out of the hallucination. “Hey, can you hear me?”
“Please, Daddy, don’t,” the girl sobbed, and Buffy felt her stomach take a sickening turn. She was used to the horrors of the demon world, but the cruel acts of humans never ceased to repulse her. She felt paralyzed by human violence, unable to mete out the vengeance those acts deserved, even as they shattered her black and white morality, harshly challenging her faith in the redeeming power of a soul.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” The girl’s voice was plaintive, pleading with a villain the rest of them could not see.
Buffy just stood there, frozen, unable to speak or act as the girl suffered in front of her, reliving some unspeakable trauma from her past, the demon’s poison making her a victim all over again. She wanted to hit something, to do what she did best. She wanted to break bones to save this broken girl. But no amount of violence would erase what had already happened to her, and even killing the demon wouldn’t save her from experiencing it again in her mind.
“She’s hallucinating,” Spike said again, as Buffy’s horrified expression indicated that she was taking the girl’s torment personally. His reminder didn’t make it any easier for Buffy to accept; whether it was real or not, the girl still felt it just the same.
Buffy reached out a tentative hand, but Susan gently pulled her away from the bed before she could touch the writhing, weeping girl. “Come on, let’s go. She can’t tell us anything.”
“I should’ve saved her,” Buffy said quietly, once they were out in the hall. “I should’ve stopped this.”
“Not your fault, Buffy,” Spike replied, his hand on the small of her back again as he directed her through the corridors. He didn’t know what else to say – he was sure “you can’t save everyone” wouldn’t be helpful to her. But he didn’t know what more Buffy could have done. “Not at all your fault, pet.”
“It’s my job to slay demons.”
“So, we’ll find it, and we’ll kill it.” His hand slid up her spine and came to rest on her shoulder. “You’re doing the best you can.”
Buffy nodded silently and leaned into his comforting touch.
“I’m sorry that wasn’t more helpful,” Susan said, as they made their way out of the hospital and found themselves back on the street.
“Sure it was,” Spike replied. When Buffy and Susan looked at him curiously, he tapped his nose and explained, “Got a scent on the demon. Could smell it on the girl.” He looked at Buffy. “I could probably track it from the place it attacked.”
“Good,” Buffy replied, her shakiness vanishing as her all-business attitude returned. “Susan?”
“The warehouse district. I can take you there.”
Buffy stared at her. “There is no freaking way I’m letting you come. I don’t care how big a story you think it is. You’re not a part of this.”
“Yes, I am!” said Susan. “This isn’t just about a story. I’m invested in this – I have to see it through.”
“You’re not coming. Get over it. Go back, tell the others what’s going on.” She turned to Spike. “Your crypt is closest. We can stop there for weapons.”
*****
“Okay, Spike?” Buffy said, peering suspiciously at the gnarled tree she was pretty sure they’d passed twice already. “Please tell me you have some sense of where we’re going, and that we’re not, you know, spending the night here.” She shoved a mess of brambles out of her path as she trudged along behind the vampire. “That we’re not making camp.”
“Know where I’m going, Slayer,” Spike insisted. “Trail’s faint, but it’s clear. Demon came this way.”
“What’s it doing out here in the woods? All the attacks were in town.”
“Anya said it didn’t really like people, yeah? Maybe it got tired of ’em and came out here where there weren’t any.”
“Swell,” Buffy grumbled, ducking under a low-hanging branch. Just then, a rustling noise from behind them caught their attention, and the two of them whirled to face whatever it was, weapons raised.
“Susan?” the Slayer said with disbelief, lowering her axe as the determined reporter emerged from the shadows of the trees. “I told you to go back to the Magic Box.”
“Funny, I don’t remember signing on to be one of your indentured servants,” Susan snapped back. “I go wherever I want to.”
“You’re going to get hurt.” Buffy tried to stare her down, but the older woman refused to relent. “I don’t have time to be your babysitter.”
“That’s the same thing your vampire said,” Susan replied, with a nod toward Spike. “But he didn’t seem to mind it so much.”
Buffy raised her eyebrows at Susan’s smirk, and when she turned to Spike, he had a startled, but also slightly embarrassed, look on his face. Suddenly, Buffy didn’t mind so much if the reporter got herself killed.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, she whirled around and gestured angrily at Spike to get him moving again.
After several long minutes of walking silently in single file, Spike slowed until Buffy was at his side. “We’re close,” he said softly. “Scent’s strong.”
Buffy nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Spike caught her arm. “Buffy, about…”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Buffy,” he said, his voice barely a whisper so that Susan wouldn’t hear. “I didn’t – you know I wouldn’t – she was just… flirting, is all.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy said flatly.
Spike turned his head and eyed her carefully as she strode along beside him. “Seems like it matters to you.” Buffy turned her head to the side, away from him, so that he couldn’t see her reaction. “What’s going on, Buffy?”
She whipped her head around to face him. “Can we please not have the relationship talk right now? God, what is it with vampires? You can’t just do this over coffee like normal people?”
Unable to find a response, Spike just said, “Demon’s this way,” and started walking in the direction his nose was telling him. He wasn’t exactly sure where her mini-rant had come from, but his brain was pretty much fixated on her jump from being told she was jealous to “the relationship talk.” Did that mean she wanted to have the talk some other time… over coffee, apparently? Was that an indication she was finally ready to take things to the next level? After all, she had kissed him earlier, in the cemetery, before they were interrupted by the vampire.
Before he could get any further in that train of thought, they heard a crashing sound up ahead as something came tearing through the brush. They stumbled backwards at the sight of the bald, waxy-skinned demon. It had red marble-like eyes and wore a black leather cloak that snagged on the bushes as it came toward them.
“Well, looks like it’s got your fashion sense,” Buffy said, with a wry glance at Spike.
“What are those black things comin’ out of its neck?” Spike asked. “Accessories? Or tentacles?”
Buffy hoisted her axe. “Chop ’em off, we’ll find out.”
“Oh, my God…” Susan murmured from behind them. As Buffy and Spike prepared to strike, Susan fumbled in her purse for a disposable camera. She was pretty sure her editor would want this documented on film.
Buffy swung her weapon at the demon, but it ducked swiftly and the axe embedded itself in a tree trunk. Using the handle for leverage, she propelled herself upwards, managing a mid-air kick to the demon’s head before she landed back on the ground.
While the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik was still stunned from Buffy’s kick, Spike attacked from the other side, slicing his katana through the leather and managing to take a chunk out of the demon’s midsection before it flung both fists into Spike’s chest, sending him flying backwards into a tangle of bushes.
“That girl is definitely not normal,” Susan muttered, snapping pictures as Buffy switched to hand-to-hand combat, executing a series of kicks and punches that seemed to have little effect on the demon.
“What, is this thing indestructible?” she cried, after being slammed to the ground by a fierce blow.
“Hardly,” Spike replied, swinging his curved blade in a downward arc toward the demon’s shoulder. He missed, only slicing off a few of the black tentacle-like things as it dodged out of the way. “Bloody hell!”
Buffy ran back to the tree where her axe was still stuck, tugging on the handle to dislodge it from the wood. As she struggled, another blow to the head knocked Spike to the ground, and he lay there for a moment until the stars cleared from his vision.
No sooner had Buffy liberated her weapon than she heard a high-pitched scream. The demon was bearing down on Susan, who had dropped her camera and was backing away fearfully. There was a loud crunching sound as the demon stepped on the camera, before catching Susan in a one-armed headlock. A long, thin, bony spike suddenly shot out of the knuckle of its free hand.
Spike pushed himself up on his hands and knees with a groan. Before he could get to his feet, Buffy was hurtling past him, slamming into the demon and causing it to lose its grip on Susan.
“Run!” Buffy screamed, even as her vision started to blur. She glanced down and saw a bleeding scrape along her arm where the demon had scratched her with its stinger. “Get out of here now!”
Susan didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and fled, back in the direction she had come. The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik broke into a run, too, in the opposite direction, escaping through the forest while its attackers were preoccupied.
Buffy pulled herself to her feet, dizzy and disoriented from the slight exposure to the demon’s poison. She looked around, but couldn’t find her weapon. “Spike?”
“Right here.” He suddenly appeared in front of her, his sword flashing at his side. “You all right, pet?”
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again, hoping to clear her vision. “We have to go after it.”
“What about the reporter? All manner of beasties between here and town.”
“She followed us out here all by herself,” Buffy snapped. “She can find her way back that way, too.”
Spike took a startled step backward, nodding hesitantly. “All right, pet.”
Buffy sighed. “Sorry, I’m…” She waved her hand vaguely to demonstrate her confusion. “You’re right. You should go catch up to her, make sure she gets back okay. I’ll go after the Gargle thingy.”
“Not leavin’ you here alone, love,” Spike insisted. “You’re hurt.”
“Fine… I’m fine,” Buffy replied, glancing around, clearly puzzled by something, but Spike couldn’t tell what. “I think I lost your axe,” she said ruefully.
“It doesn’t matter. Buffy, are you sure you’re –”
“I’m fine.” She willed her brain to clear and managed to meet Spike’s gaze long enough to convince him she was all right. “Demon. Let’s go.”
Spike shot her one last worried glance before starting off on the trail, following the demon. They caught up to it quickly, and Buffy jumped on its back, holding its arms and giving Spike the opportunity to take a few swings at it. With a swift turn and a jerk of its shoulders, the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik dislodged Buffy and sent her sprawling onto the ground.
She kipped unsteadily back to her feet, still off-balance from the first dose of poison, when the demon’s stinger came out of nowhere, thrusting into her belly and skewering God-knows-what internal organs. Buffy barely had time to shove her fist against the bleeding wound when everything went hazy. Then, everything was gone – the forest, the demon, Spike, all had disappeared.
In place of the woods was the living room of her old house in L.A. Everything was just the way she remembered it, exactly as it had been before her parents had split up and she, Joyce, and Dawn had moved to Sunnydale. Turning around, she realized she wasn’t alone in the room.
“Dad?”
Hunger
A/N: Just a warning... this chapter mildly traumatized my beta. I don't think it's as bad as chapters 2 and 3, but be forewarned - hallucinations are disturbing.
*****
Chapter 13: Hunger
“Buffy!”
Spike dropped his weapon and ran to Buffy, who was doubled over where she stood, her hand pressed against her stomach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, cradling her to his chest. “Buffy, love, are you all right?”
She didn’t answer him, didn’t even acknowledge that he was speaking or touching her. Her face was blank, her eyes glassy, staring sightlessly straight ahead. She began to mumble under her breath.
“What is it, love?”
“Daddy, what are you doing here?”
She’d already fallen into the hallucinations. Spike clenched his jaw, unable to hold back the wave of grief that came over him. He didn’t know how to save her. Willow had said something about an antidote… something… but he couldn’t remember. He was alone, helpless to save her, the woman he loved slipping further into insanity with every moment. Letting go of her with a kiss to her forehead, he turned back to face the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik, who greeted him with a blow across his face that knocked him backward into Buffy.
Scrambling to his feet, Spike let out a stream of curses. Not taking the time to look for his sword, he delivered a fast kick to the demon’s midsection, followed up by a series of punches. The demon grabbed Spike by the collar and threw him into a tree, his skull cracking against the trunk.
“Bloody hell,” Spike swore, raising one hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away wet with blood. “All right, that’s it, you waxy piece of shit.”
He ducked his head and charged full speed, slamming into the demon like a linebacker, driving it back up against another tree. With the demon pinned between him and the tree trunk, Spike let loose, throwing punches with unequaled fury.
Suddenly, mid-swing, he felt a piercing pain in his shoulder. He looked down to see the demon’s stinger deeply embedded in his coat, driven all the way through the leather and into his muscle. “Fuck,” he whispered, stumbling backward as the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik withdrew its stinger, the demon suddenly going hazy before him. He turned to see Buffy, still catatonic on the ground, just before the world went black.
*****
“Hey, kiddo. What’s the matter? Aren’t you gonna give your dad a hug?”
Buffy stared at him, his arms spread out to welcome her. “You’re not real,” she insisted, her eyes darkening with distrust.
“Of course I am, sweetie.” Not waiting for her to make a move, Hank came toward her, wrapping her up in his arms. “There, now, that feel real to you?”
“No,” she whimpered, even as she sank into his embrace, soaking up the fatherly affection and feeling like she did as a child, face buried in her daddy’s chest. “No… no, you’re in Spain, or… or somewhere. You’re not here.”
“Of course I’m here,” Hank chided her gently. “I’ve come…”
*****
“…back to you, my Spike.”
Drusilla gave him a reproving look. “Naughty boy, turning me to ashes. Thinks he can save the Slayer.”
“I did save her,” Spike retorted, fumbling around for something to use as a stake. “An’ I’d do it again in a second, so don’t think you can…”
Then, he was naked, chained spread-eagled to a wall, as he’d been in Drusilla’s cave. “Naughty boy must be punished,” she giggled, trailing one hand down his chest.
“God, not again, Dru,” Spike groaned. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”
“Not you,” she replied, a knowing look on her face. “Her.” Drusilla stepped to the side, revealing Buffy tied up on the ground. She was lying on her side, her wrists bound behind her back, her legs bent at the knee and tied together at the ankles. She was conscious, whimpering softly, but not attempting to get loose of her bonds.
“Buffy!” he cried, struggling against his own restraints to no avail.
Dru left his side and crouched next to Buffy, running her slender fingers through Buffy’s golden hair. She bent over and licked Buffy’s skin, along her shoulder and up the curve of her throat. “She tastes like sunshine, my Spike. Like death.”
*****
“How’s my sunshine?” Hank asked, pulling back from Buffy and holding her by the shoulders, as though to take a good look at her. “Look at how you’ve grown up. I always knew you’d be a hell of a woman.” He smiled at her. “Just like your mother.”
“Where’s Mom?” Buffy asked hopefully, slipping into acceptance of the hallucination, even though some niggling part of her brain kept telling her it wasn’t real. “Is she here, too?”
“She’s here, yeah. Of course she’s here.”
“Why won’t you help us?” She sounded plaintive, childish, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Dawn and I… we need you. It’s been so hard without Mom. Do you –” Her voice broke. “Do you not love us enough?”
“Of course I love you, Buffy. I just have other things to do.” He led her over to the living room sofa and sat down.
“But we need you!” Buffy was close to tears now. “There’s bills and – and Dawn’s not doing well in school, and I can’t… handle the responsibility. We might lose the house, Dad.”
“You’re a big girl now. It’s time you learned to handle that kind of responsibility.” His expression hardened. “Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up with that vampire, you’d be able to act like an adult.” His voice suddenly had a faint note of disapproval.
“That va – wha – what do you mean?”
“He’s evil, Buffy. You can’t trust him.”
Buffy stared at Hank, confusion wrinkling her brow. “You mean Spike?”
“William the Bloody, Buffy,” he corrected her. “Don’t let him get close to you. He will betray you. He can’t be trusted.”
“You don’t even know him,” Buffy shot back, moving away from him on the sofa. “You have no idea what he’s done for me – for Dawn, all of us. You don’t know, because you’re never here.”
Hank reached out a hand, beckoning her closer. “Come on, baby, I’m your father.”
“You left us!”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” He put a hand on her knee and gave her a squeeze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for you. I’m just trying to help you, Buffy. Spike is going to betray you.”
*****
Spike watched helplessly as Dru slid one hand over Buffy’s sex, causing her to convulse at the invasive touch. “My Spike wants a taste, yes? Wants to taste the Slayer.” She slipped her hand inside Buffy’s pants, dipping one finger into the moist pool between the Slayer’s thighs.
Withdrawing her hand, she rose and approached Spike, her middle finger slick with Buffy’s arousal. Dru pressed her finger to his lips, and Spike hesitated only a moment before sucking it into his mouth, licking up the sweet juices greedily. “Taste her, my Spike. Take her and devour her, and we shall make merry business on her bleeding corpse.”
He groaned, his cock unwillingly going hard with the taste of Buffy on his tongue and the scent of Drusilla all around him, and all the shame and disgust that he’d felt in the cave came flooding back to him. Even after what she’d done to him, even though a part of him knew none of this was real, he still felt the persistent tug toward Drusilla, the inescapable longing for his sire and his lover.
Then, Dru was naked, too, and he didn’t know if she’d undressed or if it was the magic of the hallucination, but he didn’t have time to think before she was touching him and his thoughts shattered.
She mounted him, still chained as he was, wrapping her legs around his waist. He slid easily inside her, a sensation with which he’d been intimately familiar for the better part of a century. She rocked up and down on his erection, murmuring her usual nonsensical ramblings in his ear. Her hands seemed to be everywhere – in his hair, scraping down his chest, clutching his shoulders. Spike felt himself enjoying it; despite his resolution not to, he found himself arching his back to meet her thrusts.
“Oh, my Spike, you remember,” Dru sighed. She bent backward, stretching her arms out past her head until she was hanging upside down, touching the floor, held to him only by her powerful thighs. He reached out and splayed one hand on her belly, noticing only after he’d done it that his arms were no longer secured. His hand slid up her chest, capturing her breast and pinching her dusky nipple.
“My William,” Drusilla moaned, her hips pistoning against him as Spike’s other hand found her clit. Her legs tightened around him as she climaxed, her heels digging into his back until he toppled over, collapsing in a heap on top of her.
Still sheathed inside her, Spike drove her into the ground, fucking her fiercely and forcefully, Dru laughing madly all the while, until his own bittersweet release came.
“You see?” she whispered, running her hand along his brow as he heaved to a stop, dropping bonelessly beside her. “You see, my pet? You can’t resist your nature.”
“No!” he cried, disentangling himself from her and scrambling to his feet.
Drusilla rose gracefully next to him. “You will betray her,” she insisted.
“No… no, I won’t. I love her.”
She looked at him with sadness and regret. “Love isn’t enough.” She held his face gently in her hands, caressing and comforting him, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder as her fingers made small circles around his temple. “I’ve seen it, my Spike.”
He pulled away from her violently. “I’d be dust before I’d hurt her.”
“You already have.”
Spike spun around, looking back at where Buffy lay. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and her throat had been ripped open, her blood drained so that her face was as pale as his. Her vacant, sightless eyes stared back at him.
*****
“Buffy, honey, what’s the matter?” Joyce came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Buffy, are you all right?”
Buffy whirled around from where she’d been arguing with her father, and took in the sight of her mother. “Mom!” She ran to her, throwing her arms around Joyce’s neck. “Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“Mom, you have to explain – Dad doesn’t know Spike. He doesn’t understand, and he thinks –”
“Thinks what, honey?” she asked, running a gentle hand through Buffy’s hair. “That you’re a vampire’s whore?”
Buffy pulled away from her mother, her eyes wide with hurt and disbelief. “Is that – is that what you think of me?” she said, her voice hushed.
“Oh, come now. What am I supposed to think? As if it weren’t enough you screwed the soul out of Angel, now you want to give it up for Spike, too?”
Buffy’s lower lip trembled. Although Joyce’s voice was the same sweet, even tone she always used, the words that were coming out were so unlike her mother. “Mommy…”
“Is this what I raised my baby girl to be?” Joyce asked, her disappointment cutting Buffy to the core.
“Now do you see, Buffy?” her father said, and she spun around to face him. “Do you see why I don’t want you for a daughter?”
Attacked from both sides, by the two people whose love and approval meant the most to her, Buffy backed away, reeling from the emotional blows. She tripped, stumbled, and when she regained her balance, she was in Spike’s crypt.
He stood in front of her, his black button-down hanging open to reveal his smooth porcelain chest. He slid his tongue between his teeth, looking her thoroughly up and down with hungry eyes.
Spike smirked. “Slayer who gets off on being bitten?” He reached out with one hand and brushed the hair off her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “Don’t try to hide it, pet. I’ve tasted you.” He stepped closer, pressing himself against her as he shifted into game face. As he grazed her throat with his fangs, she was embarrassed by the flood of heat that rushed through her.
“God, you’re just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Spike kept coming closer, backing her up until she hit the wall of the crypt behind her. She felt his cock erect against the apex of her thighs, but her squirming to get away only made him laugh as he pressed harder.
Abruptly, he changed into the Master, sharp fangs grinning out of his deformed face. Buffy screamed and shoved him backward, but she only managed to put a few inches between herself and the vampire.
Then, it was Angel, wearing that same look of betrayal he’d had when she sent him to hell. He reached out to cup her face with his hand. “Buffy,” he said sadly.
Then Dracula, with his dark, seductive eyes, drawing her into his thrall. He ran his hand over the scars on her neck. “I can feel your hunger.”
The body shifted, one to another, faster and faster. The Master, Angel, Dracula. Master Angel Dracula, whizzing past her eyes until they were just a blur.
Master Angel Drac. Masterangeldracmasterangeldrac…
Then, it was Spike, and he lunged at her, holding her in an iron grip with his fingers digging into her shoulders. He was biting her, tearing into her skin, laying open her throat as her blood spilled out, and it wasn’t like before, when she had willingly offered him her blood. There was no pleasure this time, no sense of union or intimacy.
There was only pain and icy cold fear, and the sensation of her life slipping away.
*****
Chapter 13: Hunger
“Buffy!”
Spike dropped his weapon and ran to Buffy, who was doubled over where she stood, her hand pressed against her stomach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, cradling her to his chest. “Buffy, love, are you all right?”
She didn’t answer him, didn’t even acknowledge that he was speaking or touching her. Her face was blank, her eyes glassy, staring sightlessly straight ahead. She began to mumble under her breath.
“What is it, love?”
“Daddy, what are you doing here?”
She’d already fallen into the hallucinations. Spike clenched his jaw, unable to hold back the wave of grief that came over him. He didn’t know how to save her. Willow had said something about an antidote… something… but he couldn’t remember. He was alone, helpless to save her, the woman he loved slipping further into insanity with every moment. Letting go of her with a kiss to her forehead, he turned back to face the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik, who greeted him with a blow across his face that knocked him backward into Buffy.
Scrambling to his feet, Spike let out a stream of curses. Not taking the time to look for his sword, he delivered a fast kick to the demon’s midsection, followed up by a series of punches. The demon grabbed Spike by the collar and threw him into a tree, his skull cracking against the trunk.
“Bloody hell,” Spike swore, raising one hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away wet with blood. “All right, that’s it, you waxy piece of shit.”
He ducked his head and charged full speed, slamming into the demon like a linebacker, driving it back up against another tree. With the demon pinned between him and the tree trunk, Spike let loose, throwing punches with unequaled fury.
Suddenly, mid-swing, he felt a piercing pain in his shoulder. He looked down to see the demon’s stinger deeply embedded in his coat, driven all the way through the leather and into his muscle. “Fuck,” he whispered, stumbling backward as the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik withdrew its stinger, the demon suddenly going hazy before him. He turned to see Buffy, still catatonic on the ground, just before the world went black.
*****
“Hey, kiddo. What’s the matter? Aren’t you gonna give your dad a hug?”
Buffy stared at him, his arms spread out to welcome her. “You’re not real,” she insisted, her eyes darkening with distrust.
“Of course I am, sweetie.” Not waiting for her to make a move, Hank came toward her, wrapping her up in his arms. “There, now, that feel real to you?”
“No,” she whimpered, even as she sank into his embrace, soaking up the fatherly affection and feeling like she did as a child, face buried in her daddy’s chest. “No… no, you’re in Spain, or… or somewhere. You’re not here.”
“Of course I’m here,” Hank chided her gently. “I’ve come…”
*****
“…back to you, my Spike.”
Drusilla gave him a reproving look. “Naughty boy, turning me to ashes. Thinks he can save the Slayer.”
“I did save her,” Spike retorted, fumbling around for something to use as a stake. “An’ I’d do it again in a second, so don’t think you can…”
Then, he was naked, chained spread-eagled to a wall, as he’d been in Drusilla’s cave. “Naughty boy must be punished,” she giggled, trailing one hand down his chest.
“God, not again, Dru,” Spike groaned. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”
“Not you,” she replied, a knowing look on her face. “Her.” Drusilla stepped to the side, revealing Buffy tied up on the ground. She was lying on her side, her wrists bound behind her back, her legs bent at the knee and tied together at the ankles. She was conscious, whimpering softly, but not attempting to get loose of her bonds.
“Buffy!” he cried, struggling against his own restraints to no avail.
Dru left his side and crouched next to Buffy, running her slender fingers through Buffy’s golden hair. She bent over and licked Buffy’s skin, along her shoulder and up the curve of her throat. “She tastes like sunshine, my Spike. Like death.”
*****
“How’s my sunshine?” Hank asked, pulling back from Buffy and holding her by the shoulders, as though to take a good look at her. “Look at how you’ve grown up. I always knew you’d be a hell of a woman.” He smiled at her. “Just like your mother.”
“Where’s Mom?” Buffy asked hopefully, slipping into acceptance of the hallucination, even though some niggling part of her brain kept telling her it wasn’t real. “Is she here, too?”
“She’s here, yeah. Of course she’s here.”
“Why won’t you help us?” She sounded plaintive, childish, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Dawn and I… we need you. It’s been so hard without Mom. Do you –” Her voice broke. “Do you not love us enough?”
“Of course I love you, Buffy. I just have other things to do.” He led her over to the living room sofa and sat down.
“But we need you!” Buffy was close to tears now. “There’s bills and – and Dawn’s not doing well in school, and I can’t… handle the responsibility. We might lose the house, Dad.”
“You’re a big girl now. It’s time you learned to handle that kind of responsibility.” His expression hardened. “Maybe if you weren’t so wrapped up with that vampire, you’d be able to act like an adult.” His voice suddenly had a faint note of disapproval.
“That va – wha – what do you mean?”
“He’s evil, Buffy. You can’t trust him.”
Buffy stared at Hank, confusion wrinkling her brow. “You mean Spike?”
“William the Bloody, Buffy,” he corrected her. “Don’t let him get close to you. He will betray you. He can’t be trusted.”
“You don’t even know him,” Buffy shot back, moving away from him on the sofa. “You have no idea what he’s done for me – for Dawn, all of us. You don’t know, because you’re never here.”
Hank reached out a hand, beckoning her closer. “Come on, baby, I’m your father.”
“You left us!”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” He put a hand on her knee and gave her a squeeze. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for you. I’m just trying to help you, Buffy. Spike is going to betray you.”
*****
Spike watched helplessly as Dru slid one hand over Buffy’s sex, causing her to convulse at the invasive touch. “My Spike wants a taste, yes? Wants to taste the Slayer.” She slipped her hand inside Buffy’s pants, dipping one finger into the moist pool between the Slayer’s thighs.
Withdrawing her hand, she rose and approached Spike, her middle finger slick with Buffy’s arousal. Dru pressed her finger to his lips, and Spike hesitated only a moment before sucking it into his mouth, licking up the sweet juices greedily. “Taste her, my Spike. Take her and devour her, and we shall make merry business on her bleeding corpse.”
He groaned, his cock unwillingly going hard with the taste of Buffy on his tongue and the scent of Drusilla all around him, and all the shame and disgust that he’d felt in the cave came flooding back to him. Even after what she’d done to him, even though a part of him knew none of this was real, he still felt the persistent tug toward Drusilla, the inescapable longing for his sire and his lover.
Then, Dru was naked, too, and he didn’t know if she’d undressed or if it was the magic of the hallucination, but he didn’t have time to think before she was touching him and his thoughts shattered.
She mounted him, still chained as he was, wrapping her legs around his waist. He slid easily inside her, a sensation with which he’d been intimately familiar for the better part of a century. She rocked up and down on his erection, murmuring her usual nonsensical ramblings in his ear. Her hands seemed to be everywhere – in his hair, scraping down his chest, clutching his shoulders. Spike felt himself enjoying it; despite his resolution not to, he found himself arching his back to meet her thrusts.
“Oh, my Spike, you remember,” Dru sighed. She bent backward, stretching her arms out past her head until she was hanging upside down, touching the floor, held to him only by her powerful thighs. He reached out and splayed one hand on her belly, noticing only after he’d done it that his arms were no longer secured. His hand slid up her chest, capturing her breast and pinching her dusky nipple.
“My William,” Drusilla moaned, her hips pistoning against him as Spike’s other hand found her clit. Her legs tightened around him as she climaxed, her heels digging into his back until he toppled over, collapsing in a heap on top of her.
Still sheathed inside her, Spike drove her into the ground, fucking her fiercely and forcefully, Dru laughing madly all the while, until his own bittersweet release came.
“You see?” she whispered, running her hand along his brow as he heaved to a stop, dropping bonelessly beside her. “You see, my pet? You can’t resist your nature.”
“No!” he cried, disentangling himself from her and scrambling to his feet.
Drusilla rose gracefully next to him. “You will betray her,” she insisted.
“No… no, I won’t. I love her.”
She looked at him with sadness and regret. “Love isn’t enough.” She held his face gently in her hands, caressing and comforting him, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder as her fingers made small circles around his temple. “I’ve seen it, my Spike.”
He pulled away from her violently. “I’d be dust before I’d hurt her.”
“You already have.”
Spike spun around, looking back at where Buffy lay. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and her throat had been ripped open, her blood drained so that her face was as pale as his. Her vacant, sightless eyes stared back at him.
*****
“Buffy, honey, what’s the matter?” Joyce came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Buffy, are you all right?”
Buffy whirled around from where she’d been arguing with her father, and took in the sight of her mother. “Mom!” She ran to her, throwing her arms around Joyce’s neck. “Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“Mom, you have to explain – Dad doesn’t know Spike. He doesn’t understand, and he thinks –”
“Thinks what, honey?” she asked, running a gentle hand through Buffy’s hair. “That you’re a vampire’s whore?”
Buffy pulled away from her mother, her eyes wide with hurt and disbelief. “Is that – is that what you think of me?” she said, her voice hushed.
“Oh, come now. What am I supposed to think? As if it weren’t enough you screwed the soul out of Angel, now you want to give it up for Spike, too?”
Buffy’s lower lip trembled. Although Joyce’s voice was the same sweet, even tone she always used, the words that were coming out were so unlike her mother. “Mommy…”
“Is this what I raised my baby girl to be?” Joyce asked, her disappointment cutting Buffy to the core.
“Now do you see, Buffy?” her father said, and she spun around to face him. “Do you see why I don’t want you for a daughter?”
Attacked from both sides, by the two people whose love and approval meant the most to her, Buffy backed away, reeling from the emotional blows. She tripped, stumbled, and when she regained her balance, she was in Spike’s crypt.
He stood in front of her, his black button-down hanging open to reveal his smooth porcelain chest. He slid his tongue between his teeth, looking her thoroughly up and down with hungry eyes.
Spike smirked. “Slayer who gets off on being bitten?” He reached out with one hand and brushed the hair off her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “Don’t try to hide it, pet. I’ve tasted you.” He stepped closer, pressing himself against her as he shifted into game face. As he grazed her throat with his fangs, she was embarrassed by the flood of heat that rushed through her.
“God, you’re just gagging for it, aren’t you?” Spike kept coming closer, backing her up until she hit the wall of the crypt behind her. She felt his cock erect against the apex of her thighs, but her squirming to get away only made him laugh as he pressed harder.
Abruptly, he changed into the Master, sharp fangs grinning out of his deformed face. Buffy screamed and shoved him backward, but she only managed to put a few inches between herself and the vampire.
Then, it was Angel, wearing that same look of betrayal he’d had when she sent him to hell. He reached out to cup her face with his hand. “Buffy,” he said sadly.
Then Dracula, with his dark, seductive eyes, drawing her into his thrall. He ran his hand over the scars on her neck. “I can feel your hunger.”
The body shifted, one to another, faster and faster. The Master, Angel, Dracula. Master Angel Dracula, whizzing past her eyes until they were just a blur.
Master Angel Drac. Masterangeldracmasterangeldrac…
Then, it was Spike, and he lunged at her, holding her in an iron grip with his fingers digging into her shoulders. He was biting her, tearing into her skin, laying open her throat as her blood spilled out, and it wasn’t like before, when she had willingly offered him her blood. There was no pleasure this time, no sense of union or intimacy.
There was only pain and icy cold fear, and the sensation of her life slipping away.
Strong Enough
Chapter 14: Strong Enough
Spike’s stomach lurched at the sight of Buffy sprawled on the ground, her body cold and spattered with blood. He stood frozen for a moment before he dropped to his knees, retching. He gasped in shuddering lungfuls of useless air, his chest burning, though not from any physical affliction. Crawling across the ground, he scooped Buffy’s lifeless form into his arms and cradled her to his chest. “No,” he moaned, his voice rough with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead to Buffy’s. “No, no…” He stared up at Drusilla, fierce accusation in his eyes. “You did this!”
“I’m naught but dust, William,” she said, her voice chastising yet sweet, giving him an expression of feigned innocence, with just the barest hint of a wicked smirk beneath. “You did this to her. Everything you love turns to ashes.”
As she spoke, Buffy’s body disintegrated into dust in his arms. “Buffy!” he sobbed, staring down at his ash-covered hands as they balled into fists. He couldn’t lose her; he couldn’t go through that again. He wasn’t strong enough.
“Spike, my sweet,” Drusilla said, coming up behind Spike and stroking a comforting hand through his hair. “She was never meant for you. You belong to me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she drew him up and turned him to face her. “My deadly prince,” she sighed, cupping his cheek with one black lace-gloved hand.
They were both clothed again, he noticed then. He recognized Dru’s dress as the one she’d been wearing the night she had turned him. Glancing down, he realized that he, too, was dressed in his nineteenth century party clothes.
“Don’t care for games, Dru.”
“Not my game, Spike,” she giggled. “Not my head.”
Placing her hand on the lapel of his coat, she walked around him in a circle, drawing her hand sensually across his chest, then along his back, scraping her nails lightly against his coat. “The bravest knight in all the land,” she murmured, coming back around to face him. “You are mine, William. Always.”
Pulling back Spike’s shirt collar, Dru brushed her fingertips across the mark on his neck, now just a barely noticeable white scar against his pale skin, where she’d once taken his life. She replaced her fingers with her lips, mouthing his throat and making his entire body tremble with need.
“You wanted it, yes? Something effulgent.”
“Yes. Oh, God, yes,” he murmured, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly in his fists.
She stepped away from him, tilting her head back and slightly to one side, exposing her neck to him. “Take it.”
Spike hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between them and fastening his mouth to her throat. He kissed her, laved her skin with his tongue, and then his fangs descended, puncturing her flesh and drawing her blood to the surface. They clung to each other, a lovers’ embrace, as he drank deeply of her, letting her borrowed blood flow down his throat like sweet forgotten wine.
Her body changed, then, bones, muscles, and clothing shifting under his touch; and then it was Buffy’s neck he was biting, Buffy’s blood that was coursing into his mouth. He barely registered her soft cry of pain before the chip went off, and he abruptly pulled away clutching his head, shocked by the jolt to his brain and horrified as he realized it was her.
The real Buffy.
Gone was the illusion of Drusilla, the old-fashioned clothing, the lulling complacence of the past. The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik was nowhere to be found, but Spike was back in the woods, a puncture wound in his shoulder, while Buffy stared at him in surprise and alarm, one hand clamped over her bleeding throat.
“You’re not real,” she breathed. She lashed out quicker than he expected, landing a punch to his jaw before swiping his legs out from under him.
“No, Buffy, it’s me!” He tried to apologize, to explain, but she was already scrambling for a stick big enough to use as a stake. He wasn’t sure if she was still hallucinating, or if she just thought she was; either way, she was bent on killing him.
Spike fought for his life, beating back her attacks as blows landed across his arms and face. Buffy was weakened by the demon’s poison and the blood loss, but she still met him with a fury that only a Slayer could summon.
“Buffy, pet, listen to me!” he begged her, but she would not hear reason. She drove him backwards, until a kick to the stomach found him with his back against a tree, and she lunged forward with her makeshift stake. With lightning-quick reflexes, Spike caught her by the wrist and held her back, the stake hovering just inches from his chest.
“You’re not real!” she sobbed, beginning to break down even as she exerted her full force in an attempt to overpower him and drive the stake home. “You’re not real!”
“Yes, I am, Buffy!” With Buffy’s emotions getting the better of her, Spike managed to wrestle the stake away from her and held her by both arms, shaking her as though he could physically shake some sense into her.
Just then, there was a flash of recognition in her eyes, and she stopped struggling against him, her expression stinging with betrayal and shame. “Spike?” she whispered, before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed against him, unconscious.
*****
Spike burst through the front door of the Summers house, carrying Buffy in his arms. She’d been in and out of consciousness on the way back from the woods, crying and shouting and hitting him when she was awake, and occasionally having such violent episodes that he’d had to put her down on the ground and physically restrain her until they passed. And he couldn’t be certain, due to his already lowered body temperature, but he was pretty sure she felt feverish.
He, on the other hand, was fine. Right as rain.
Tara and Dawn were already waiting at the house. When it didn’t look like Buffy and Spike would be back to the Magic Box any time soon, the Scoobies had agreed that someone should take Dawn home. It was a school night, and she really ought to have been sleeping; but her sister and her best friend were out there possibly getting themselves killed, so she was too nervous to settle down and go to bed.
Spike’s entrance startled them both into a frenzy. “Buffy!” Dawn shrieked, rushing over and getting underfoot as Spike laid her out on the sofa.
“Call the others. Get ’em here now!” Spike barked, oblivious to everything except Buffy. She was unconscious now, her complexion pale and her forehead glistening with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, but her heartbeat was steady.
“Spike, what happened?” Tara asked, taking in not only the puncture wound in Buffy’s stomach, but also the bite mark on her throat and the stain on her shirt where the blood had dripped down her neck.
“She’s hurt!” Spike snapped. “Call the others. Tell Red to get that antidote together.”
Frightened, Tara nodded and headed for the phone to call the Magic Box. Spike raked his hand through his hair and began franticly pacing the living room. With the most important orders given and the burden of Buffy’s survival lifted from him, he seemed to lose his bearing, spiraling into panic and barely able to string a full sentence together. “Bit? Can you – can – get bandages, yeah?” he stammered.
Instead of following his instructions, Dawn crouched on the floor next to her sister, taking in the extent of her injuries. “Stomach or between the ribs,” she said softly, “enough to kill you.”
“What’s that, Bit?” Spike asked, distracted.
“Plenty of squishy organs to skewer, and…” her voice hitched, “…bleeding from the gut is –”
“Hush,” Spike said, realizing she was repeating what he had told her during their knife session. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, somewhat grateful that he was forced to be the strong one again. He could hold himself together as long as one of his girls needed him. “Sis is gonna be fine. Slayer healing, right? Not like normal people.”
“Willow says we can heal her with the demon’s pokey stinger thing,” Tara announced, coming back into the living room, cradling the cordless phone to her chest. Before she could say another word, Spike was digging through the weapons chest and making a break for the door.
“Spike, where are you going?”
He stopped in the doorway and turned to Tara. “To find that demon and bring back the sticker thing for her.”
“You mean you didn’t kill it?” Tara asked, furrowing her brow.
Spike shot her a look, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. “Was a bit preoccupied with my own acid trip, pet.”
“The demon got you, too?” The witch’s hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Spike, I didn’t realize…”
“Then, how come Buffy’s all…” Dawn waved a hand at her sister to indicate her state, “and you’re not?”
Spike paused for a moment, his mouth open but not speaking as the other two gave him curious, expectant expressions. “I… bit her,” he finally confessed, unable to meet either of their gazes. “Woke up just as I… The slayer blood must’ve snapped me out of it.”
“You…” Dawn trailed off, not sure what to make of this.
Spike heard the “how could you?” implicit in her tone, but he couldn’t hold it against her. He’d been thinking the same thing ever since he’d realized it was Buffy.
“You should – you should tie her up,” he said, his voice breaking. “Or keep her sedated or something. When she wakes up she could be… violent.”
With one last guilty look at Buffy, Spike was out the door, heading back out into the night without another word.
*****
“The Slayer’s been neutralized,” the hooded demon said, his words accompanied by the sound of a cell phone snapping closed. The technology seemed out of place in the warlock’s study, which, unlike the rest of the modern, tastefully decorated mansion, was ornamented with medieval weaponry and ancient occult symbols and artifacts.
“The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik worked, then?” David asked mildly, as he crisscrossed the room, which had been set up exclusively to house his magical interests, gathering supplies for the upcoming ritual.
“My spies tell me she’s been incapacitated by the hallucinations. Her friends are working on the antidote, though…”
“Of course they are, Rah’lik. And they’ll get it, and they’ll heal her. It’s what we expected.” David carefully packed his ingredients into a bag and hefted it onto his shoulder. “But by the time they do, the ritual will be finished, and we will have moved on to the next phase.” He glanced at his watch. “We have to leave now if we want to make it to the burial ground in time.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Rah’lik replied, following the mage as he headed out of the room.
David paused in the doorway and turned around. “What about the vampire?”
“He bit her,” Rah’lik announced triumphantly. “More than we could’ve hoped for, really.”
Pursing his lips in thought, David nodded. “Good. Grab the rug, would you?” He turned on his heel, heading out into the hallway with the demon trailing dutifully behind, internet-purchased magic carpet in hand.
*****
Spike had almost made it to the edge of the forest when an SUV came speeding up, brakes squealing as it came to a halt in front of him. He was hardly surprised when Xander came tumbling out of the driver’s seat.
“Slayer wouldn’t want you out here,” Spike told him dismissively.
“Willow said she needs the demon alive. Thought this might come in handy.” He held up a tranquilizer gun, the one they used to use when Oz was wolfy and needed to be subdued.
Spike let out a reluctant sigh. “Yeah, all right.” He wasn’t thrilled about the company, but considering that the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik had bested both him and Buffy the last time they fought, he was at least grateful for the tranquilizers. Maybe Harris could get off a shot without even needing to fight the damned thing.
They walked in uncomfortable silence through the trees, and Spike could tell that the boy was pissed as hell at him. His jaw was set in a tight line, his broad shoulders tense with restraint. He kept his eyes focused determinedly straight ahead, as though even a sidelong glance at the vampire would release the deluge of anger he was holding back.
Edgy and stressed himself, Spike pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up with slightly shaky hands, ignoring Xander’s dirty look and muttered comment about second-hand smoke. It wasn’t until he’d ground out the butt under the toe of his boot that Xander finally said, “Tara told us what happened.”
“Yeah?” Spike tried to sound nonchalant, though he wasn’t really sure why. Maybe just to piss off Harris a bit more.
“She told us you bit her. That’s what made you better.”
“Yeah.” This time, his voice was tinged with resignation. He certainly didn’t need the reminder.
Xander stopped walking and stared at him. “God, I was really starting to think maybe you were different, you know? After everything… But you’re not, are you? When the chips are down, you’re still nothing but a demon. Angel bit her, too, one time. Nearly killed her to save his own sorry life –”
“Bloody – buggering – fucking hell!” Spike yelled suddenly, swinging his sword at the closest tree and wishing it was Xander’s head. “I’m not him! Why can’t any one of you lot fucking see that?”
“Because he was here first,” Xander replied coldly, the tranquilizer gun trained on Spike, even as the vampire’s outburst subsided. “He was here first, and he did things that – things we’ll never forget. But he left, and you’re still here.”
“So, I have to pay for his sins, is that it?”
“I didn’t say it was fair.”
Spike’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, but after a moment, the rage faded and he shook his head. “Fuck you, mate,” he muttered. “Not gonna help Buffy like this.” With that, he stalked off through the woods, leaving Xander to follow.
Spike’s stomach lurched at the sight of Buffy sprawled on the ground, her body cold and spattered with blood. He stood frozen for a moment before he dropped to his knees, retching. He gasped in shuddering lungfuls of useless air, his chest burning, though not from any physical affliction. Crawling across the ground, he scooped Buffy’s lifeless form into his arms and cradled her to his chest. “No,” he moaned, his voice rough with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead to Buffy’s. “No, no…” He stared up at Drusilla, fierce accusation in his eyes. “You did this!”
“I’m naught but dust, William,” she said, her voice chastising yet sweet, giving him an expression of feigned innocence, with just the barest hint of a wicked smirk beneath. “You did this to her. Everything you love turns to ashes.”
As she spoke, Buffy’s body disintegrated into dust in his arms. “Buffy!” he sobbed, staring down at his ash-covered hands as they balled into fists. He couldn’t lose her; he couldn’t go through that again. He wasn’t strong enough.
“Spike, my sweet,” Drusilla said, coming up behind Spike and stroking a comforting hand through his hair. “She was never meant for you. You belong to me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she drew him up and turned him to face her. “My deadly prince,” she sighed, cupping his cheek with one black lace-gloved hand.
They were both clothed again, he noticed then. He recognized Dru’s dress as the one she’d been wearing the night she had turned him. Glancing down, he realized that he, too, was dressed in his nineteenth century party clothes.
“Don’t care for games, Dru.”
“Not my game, Spike,” she giggled. “Not my head.”
Placing her hand on the lapel of his coat, she walked around him in a circle, drawing her hand sensually across his chest, then along his back, scraping her nails lightly against his coat. “The bravest knight in all the land,” she murmured, coming back around to face him. “You are mine, William. Always.”
Pulling back Spike’s shirt collar, Dru brushed her fingertips across the mark on his neck, now just a barely noticeable white scar against his pale skin, where she’d once taken his life. She replaced her fingers with her lips, mouthing his throat and making his entire body tremble with need.
“You wanted it, yes? Something effulgent.”
“Yes. Oh, God, yes,” he murmured, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly in his fists.
She stepped away from him, tilting her head back and slightly to one side, exposing her neck to him. “Take it.”
Spike hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between them and fastening his mouth to her throat. He kissed her, laved her skin with his tongue, and then his fangs descended, puncturing her flesh and drawing her blood to the surface. They clung to each other, a lovers’ embrace, as he drank deeply of her, letting her borrowed blood flow down his throat like sweet forgotten wine.
Her body changed, then, bones, muscles, and clothing shifting under his touch; and then it was Buffy’s neck he was biting, Buffy’s blood that was coursing into his mouth. He barely registered her soft cry of pain before the chip went off, and he abruptly pulled away clutching his head, shocked by the jolt to his brain and horrified as he realized it was her.
The real Buffy.
Gone was the illusion of Drusilla, the old-fashioned clothing, the lulling complacence of the past. The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik was nowhere to be found, but Spike was back in the woods, a puncture wound in his shoulder, while Buffy stared at him in surprise and alarm, one hand clamped over her bleeding throat.
“You’re not real,” she breathed. She lashed out quicker than he expected, landing a punch to his jaw before swiping his legs out from under him.
“No, Buffy, it’s me!” He tried to apologize, to explain, but she was already scrambling for a stick big enough to use as a stake. He wasn’t sure if she was still hallucinating, or if she just thought she was; either way, she was bent on killing him.
Spike fought for his life, beating back her attacks as blows landed across his arms and face. Buffy was weakened by the demon’s poison and the blood loss, but she still met him with a fury that only a Slayer could summon.
“Buffy, pet, listen to me!” he begged her, but she would not hear reason. She drove him backwards, until a kick to the stomach found him with his back against a tree, and she lunged forward with her makeshift stake. With lightning-quick reflexes, Spike caught her by the wrist and held her back, the stake hovering just inches from his chest.
“You’re not real!” she sobbed, beginning to break down even as she exerted her full force in an attempt to overpower him and drive the stake home. “You’re not real!”
“Yes, I am, Buffy!” With Buffy’s emotions getting the better of her, Spike managed to wrestle the stake away from her and held her by both arms, shaking her as though he could physically shake some sense into her.
Just then, there was a flash of recognition in her eyes, and she stopped struggling against him, her expression stinging with betrayal and shame. “Spike?” she whispered, before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed against him, unconscious.
*****
Spike burst through the front door of the Summers house, carrying Buffy in his arms. She’d been in and out of consciousness on the way back from the woods, crying and shouting and hitting him when she was awake, and occasionally having such violent episodes that he’d had to put her down on the ground and physically restrain her until they passed. And he couldn’t be certain, due to his already lowered body temperature, but he was pretty sure she felt feverish.
He, on the other hand, was fine. Right as rain.
Tara and Dawn were already waiting at the house. When it didn’t look like Buffy and Spike would be back to the Magic Box any time soon, the Scoobies had agreed that someone should take Dawn home. It was a school night, and she really ought to have been sleeping; but her sister and her best friend were out there possibly getting themselves killed, so she was too nervous to settle down and go to bed.
Spike’s entrance startled them both into a frenzy. “Buffy!” Dawn shrieked, rushing over and getting underfoot as Spike laid her out on the sofa.
“Call the others. Get ’em here now!” Spike barked, oblivious to everything except Buffy. She was unconscious now, her complexion pale and her forehead glistening with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, but her heartbeat was steady.
“Spike, what happened?” Tara asked, taking in not only the puncture wound in Buffy’s stomach, but also the bite mark on her throat and the stain on her shirt where the blood had dripped down her neck.
“She’s hurt!” Spike snapped. “Call the others. Tell Red to get that antidote together.”
Frightened, Tara nodded and headed for the phone to call the Magic Box. Spike raked his hand through his hair and began franticly pacing the living room. With the most important orders given and the burden of Buffy’s survival lifted from him, he seemed to lose his bearing, spiraling into panic and barely able to string a full sentence together. “Bit? Can you – can – get bandages, yeah?” he stammered.
Instead of following his instructions, Dawn crouched on the floor next to her sister, taking in the extent of her injuries. “Stomach or between the ribs,” she said softly, “enough to kill you.”
“What’s that, Bit?” Spike asked, distracted.
“Plenty of squishy organs to skewer, and…” her voice hitched, “…bleeding from the gut is –”
“Hush,” Spike said, realizing she was repeating what he had told her during their knife session. He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, somewhat grateful that he was forced to be the strong one again. He could hold himself together as long as one of his girls needed him. “Sis is gonna be fine. Slayer healing, right? Not like normal people.”
“Willow says we can heal her with the demon’s pokey stinger thing,” Tara announced, coming back into the living room, cradling the cordless phone to her chest. Before she could say another word, Spike was digging through the weapons chest and making a break for the door.
“Spike, where are you going?”
He stopped in the doorway and turned to Tara. “To find that demon and bring back the sticker thing for her.”
“You mean you didn’t kill it?” Tara asked, furrowing her brow.
Spike shot her a look, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. “Was a bit preoccupied with my own acid trip, pet.”
“The demon got you, too?” The witch’s hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Spike, I didn’t realize…”
“Then, how come Buffy’s all…” Dawn waved a hand at her sister to indicate her state, “and you’re not?”
Spike paused for a moment, his mouth open but not speaking as the other two gave him curious, expectant expressions. “I… bit her,” he finally confessed, unable to meet either of their gazes. “Woke up just as I… The slayer blood must’ve snapped me out of it.”
“You…” Dawn trailed off, not sure what to make of this.
Spike heard the “how could you?” implicit in her tone, but he couldn’t hold it against her. He’d been thinking the same thing ever since he’d realized it was Buffy.
“You should – you should tie her up,” he said, his voice breaking. “Or keep her sedated or something. When she wakes up she could be… violent.”
With one last guilty look at Buffy, Spike was out the door, heading back out into the night without another word.
*****
“The Slayer’s been neutralized,” the hooded demon said, his words accompanied by the sound of a cell phone snapping closed. The technology seemed out of place in the warlock’s study, which, unlike the rest of the modern, tastefully decorated mansion, was ornamented with medieval weaponry and ancient occult symbols and artifacts.
“The Glarghk guhl kashma’nik worked, then?” David asked mildly, as he crisscrossed the room, which had been set up exclusively to house his magical interests, gathering supplies for the upcoming ritual.
“My spies tell me she’s been incapacitated by the hallucinations. Her friends are working on the antidote, though…”
“Of course they are, Rah’lik. And they’ll get it, and they’ll heal her. It’s what we expected.” David carefully packed his ingredients into a bag and hefted it onto his shoulder. “But by the time they do, the ritual will be finished, and we will have moved on to the next phase.” He glanced at his watch. “We have to leave now if we want to make it to the burial ground in time.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Rah’lik replied, following the mage as he headed out of the room.
David paused in the doorway and turned around. “What about the vampire?”
“He bit her,” Rah’lik announced triumphantly. “More than we could’ve hoped for, really.”
Pursing his lips in thought, David nodded. “Good. Grab the rug, would you?” He turned on his heel, heading out into the hallway with the demon trailing dutifully behind, internet-purchased magic carpet in hand.
*****
Spike had almost made it to the edge of the forest when an SUV came speeding up, brakes squealing as it came to a halt in front of him. He was hardly surprised when Xander came tumbling out of the driver’s seat.
“Slayer wouldn’t want you out here,” Spike told him dismissively.
“Willow said she needs the demon alive. Thought this might come in handy.” He held up a tranquilizer gun, the one they used to use when Oz was wolfy and needed to be subdued.
Spike let out a reluctant sigh. “Yeah, all right.” He wasn’t thrilled about the company, but considering that the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik had bested both him and Buffy the last time they fought, he was at least grateful for the tranquilizers. Maybe Harris could get off a shot without even needing to fight the damned thing.
They walked in uncomfortable silence through the trees, and Spike could tell that the boy was pissed as hell at him. His jaw was set in a tight line, his broad shoulders tense with restraint. He kept his eyes focused determinedly straight ahead, as though even a sidelong glance at the vampire would release the deluge of anger he was holding back.
Edgy and stressed himself, Spike pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up with slightly shaky hands, ignoring Xander’s dirty look and muttered comment about second-hand smoke. It wasn’t until he’d ground out the butt under the toe of his boot that Xander finally said, “Tara told us what happened.”
“Yeah?” Spike tried to sound nonchalant, though he wasn’t really sure why. Maybe just to piss off Harris a bit more.
“She told us you bit her. That’s what made you better.”
“Yeah.” This time, his voice was tinged with resignation. He certainly didn’t need the reminder.
Xander stopped walking and stared at him. “God, I was really starting to think maybe you were different, you know? After everything… But you’re not, are you? When the chips are down, you’re still nothing but a demon. Angel bit her, too, one time. Nearly killed her to save his own sorry life –”
“Bloody – buggering – fucking hell!” Spike yelled suddenly, swinging his sword at the closest tree and wishing it was Xander’s head. “I’m not him! Why can’t any one of you lot fucking see that?”
“Because he was here first,” Xander replied coldly, the tranquilizer gun trained on Spike, even as the vampire’s outburst subsided. “He was here first, and he did things that – things we’ll never forget. But he left, and you’re still here.”
“So, I have to pay for his sins, is that it?”
“I didn’t say it was fair.”
Spike’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, but after a moment, the rage faded and he shook his head. “Fuck you, mate,” he muttered. “Not gonna help Buffy like this.” With that, he stalked off through the woods, leaving Xander to follow.
Aftermath
Chapter 15: Aftermath
The whole gang awaited Spike and Xander at the house when they dragged in the unconscious demon from Xander's car. Spike noticed that Buffy had been moved up to her bedroom while they were out demon-hunting, and the Scoobies had assembled in the living room, with the exception of Dawn, whom he guessed couldn't be persuaded to leave her sister's side.
Willow stuck a fork unceremoniously into the Glarghk guhl kashma'nik's arm, causing the stinger to shoot out. She broke it off and headed to the kitchen to finish the antidote, leaving the others to linger uncomfortably in a semi-circle around the demon sprawled on the floor.
“I suppose we should, ah, keep it alive,” Giles ventured, “until we know the antidote worked… in case we need more.”
Spike took that as his cue, slinging the limp body over his shoulder and heading for the basement. “You got chains?” he asked.
“B-Buffy is… um…” Tara stuttered. Her eyes flicked up toward the stairs, her face full of regret, and Spike understood. “She was, um… you were right. When she woke up…”
Spike nodded then turned to Xander. “Bring the gun. I'll keep watch 'til Red's got the juice ready.”
He sat alone in the dark, dank basement for fifteen minutes, the tranquilizer pointed at the still-unconscious demon. He could hear all the comings and goings above him, could distinguish every word of their conversations - mostly about him, and Buffy's condition, and whether the two were related - and it all just served to make him feel even more sickened about the whole thing. Finally, just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, Willow descended the stairs, chains in hand.
“Buffy's asleep,” she said. “We had to force-feed her the antidote, but I think she'll be okay.” She held out the chains. “I figured you could use these for the demon. If he's chained and tranked… and I could put a spell on the door to keep him down here, so you probably wouldn't even have to stay.”
“Right,” Spike said, helping her chain the demon to a support post. “Know when I'm not welcome.”
“No, I -” Willow stammered. “I just meant, you know, stay here, in the basement.”
Spike just shook his head at her, yanking the chain tighter with a grimace. He left Willow behind to do her spell, striding up the stairs and past the others in the living room.
“You can't go up there,” Xander said, stepping into Spike's path, blocking his way to the stairs.
Spike stared at him for a moment, sizing him up as though debating whether to stay and argue, or just knock him aside and deal with the pain from the chip. “What's the matter, Harris?” he asked, his voice mildly taunting. “'Fraid I'm gonna fall off the wagon?” He leaned in unnervingly close; if Spike had been breathing, Xander would've felt his breath on his neck. “Maybe I'll take a bite out of you next?”
“You're already off the wagon,” Xander replied, shoving Spike backwards out of his personal space. “You're not even in the vicinity of the wagon. You fell off the wagon train!”
“Xander…” Tara interjected hesitantly. “It wasn't -”
“You almost killed her,” he went on. “Don't think you can just walk upstairs like nothing's changed.”
“Spike, perhaps it would be best if you went home,” Giles suggested. “Until Buffy's feeling better…”
Letting out a sound of disgust, Spike shoved past Xander, who was taken off-guard enough to keep him from resisting, and headed up the stairs.
Xander started after him, but Willow's voice from the kitchen doorway stopped him. “Let him, Xander,” she said.
“But -”
“He'd probably just go outside and climb back in her window anyhow,” she reasoned.
*****
Spike slowly pushed open the door to Buffy's room, so as not to disturb her sleep, and slipped inside. Dawn's tear-stained face turned to greet him. The sight of her sister in chains, screaming and thrashing like a tethered animal, had taken a toll on her, and she was curled uncomfortably on Buffy's desk chair, her chin resting on her arms, crossed over the top of the chair back.
His righteous indignation at the Scoobies dissipated as he took in the somber scene before him, giving way to the guilt swelling in his chest. Xander's words echoed in his mind, Don't think you can just walk upstairs like nothing's changed. As much as he wanted to hate the boy, the shard of truth in his statement embedded itself Spike's heart, and he wondered if this one night had ruined everything they'd had.
“Bit, I…” He broke off with a sigh, unable to find the words to explain. “I'm sorry,” he said finally.
“It's not your fault,” she replied quietly.
“You don't know that.”
Dawn tilted her head up to look at him. Though it was hard to believe that it was the same night, he was still the guy who'd bought groceries and cooked them dinner earlier, just to make things easier for Buffy. “You wouldn't hurt her. And you wouldn't let anything else hurt her if you could've helped it.”
Spike didn't answer, just ran a hand through Dawn's hair, all the while keeping his gaze focused on Buffy. Neither of them spoke until Tara poked her head in to send Dawn off to bed.
Spike kept vigil over Buffy's sleeping form throughout the night. The Scoobies had made it no secret that they were wary of Spike, but they could see he would not be persuaded to leave her side. Xander, Anya, and Giles reluctantly went home, though Xander required some cajoling from Willow, and a promise that she and Tara would stay the night in the room that used to be theirs. As they and Dawn finally settled down to sleep, Spike continued to wear tracks in the carpet in Buffy's bedroom, worrying and waiting.
A few hours later, Buffy's eyes fluttered opened to the sight of a dark shadow pacing at the foot of her bed. “Spike?” she said weakly. Her head felt clearer than it had before, but she still hesitated to trust her senses. She had to work to keep from flinching when his head snapped toward her at the sound of his name, subtle flecks of yellow in his eyes sending a bolt of fear through her, even though her brain told her it was irrational.
“I'm here, Buffy,” Spike replied, rushing to her side. He'd worked himself up so much with stress and concern that he was on the verge of vamping out, but he buried his demon when he realized she was awake. When she met his gaze again, his eyes were solid blue. “Love, I'm right here.”
“I…” Buffy started, struggling to sit up.
“What?” Spike reached out to help her. “What do you need, pet?”
“I think I'm gonna hurl.”
Spike scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, planting her in front of the toilet moments before the retching started. He crouched behind her, holding her hair as she vomited up the indigestible ingredients of Willow's antidote. Once there was nothing left but dry heaves, Spike reached up and flushed the toilet, settling back down to massage Buffy's shoulders. She collapsed against him, a sheen of sweat on her face.
“You all right, pet?”
“Yeah,” she croaked, her throat hoarse.
“Want some water?” She nodded. As he handed her the glass, he asked, “Buffy, what did you see?”
She froze, the glass hovering at her lips.
“The hallucinations,” he explained, when she didn't answer. “I know what mine were like, and I figured if yours were as…”
I watched you die, he thought. I watched you die again, and it was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life. And then I almost killed you.
Buffy blinked at his admission. She hadn't been sure until just then that he'd been hallucinating, too. She wanted to believe it, didn't want to think he would hurt her, but the illusions were unremitting, washing over her in waves, never giving her the chance to breathe. His cruelty had stung her, his words ripping through her defenses as he tore her down, beat her into submission with words and fists, until finally, Willow's antidote had knocked her out and she slipped into peaceful oblivion.
“Anyway,” Spike finished, when he realized the anguish on her face probably mirrored his own, “you don't have to… talk…”
Drusilla's words haunted him, and as he watched her recover her composure, curled on the bathroom floor next to the toilet bowl, he was afraid that somehow she knew what Dru had said. That she knew he would betray her.
Of course, hadn't he already proved that? He couldn't tell from her current dull expression whether she was mad at him for biting her, but he had seen that look in her eyes just before she passed out. That look that said she knew it was real, and that their relationship had suffered irreparable damage.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Buffy's hand immediately went to her throat, where Tara had placed a bandage over the bite mark. He caught the brief flash of distrust, before her eyes resumed their vacant stare.
Spike traced the pattern of the tile floor, running his fingers along the grout lines. “You've every reason not to trust me, Buffy, but I promise, I would never hurt you.”
He looked at her earnestly, hoping for some sign that she believed him. But all Buffy could see was the image in her mind, his face too close to hers, invading her personal space as he slammed her back against the wall of his crypt.
Spike reached out his hand toward her, and Buffy jerked back violently, smacking her head against the porcelain toilet bowl. “Don't touch me.”
Hurt by her sudden aversion to his comfort, Spike recoiled, easing backward on his knees. “I - I'm sorry,” he said again.
Buffy shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them protectively. She closed her eyes to hold back the stinging tears that threatened.
“Yeah, that's it. Cry,” Spike snarled as he sat astride her, flat on her back, holding her arms pinned above her head. “It's not worth it if you don't cry.”
“Buffy…” The soft reality of his voice cut through the remembered hallucination, and she opened her eyes. “I didn't mean to bite you,” Spike insisted.
“But you did.”
He felt his heart sink. “It wasn't - I saw… You weren't you.”
“I'm sorry, Spike,” she replied, fixing her gaze on the toilet. “I - I can't… I can't see you right now.” Her eyes flicked to his face, and he took in her distraught expression and nodded. Silently, he picked himself up off the floor and walked out of the bathroom.
As soon as he was gone, Buffy let her head fall forward until it rested on the toilet bowl, and began to cry.
*****
Fighting back the clenching pain in his chest, Spike barreled down the stairs, desperate to get out of the house. The sun wasn't far from rising, and if he didn't make it back before dawn, he'd be tempted to let it take him. As he headed for the door, Tara stopped him, cup of tea in hand. “Spike?”
He turned guiltily to face her. “Thought you were asleep, pet.”
“Couldn't sleep,” she said with a half-smile. She gestured to the cup. “I made tea, if you want some.”
Spike shook his head. “Just on my way out.”
“You're not… you're not gonna stay?”
His face clouded over, remembering Buffy's reaction in the bathroom. “No.”
The witch furrowed her brow. “Spike, don't let what Xander said… I'm sure Buffy would want you to -”
“She doesn't,” he cut her off sharply. Giving a nod upstairs, he added, “She's awake now. Could probably do with some tea.”
Tara's expression softened with realization. “Oh, Spike…” She reached out a sympathetic hand, but he jerked away from her touch, knocking the tea cup out of her other hand as he tore his arm away. The porcelain shattered on the hardwood floor, sending tea splattering across their shoes.
“I-it's okay,” Tara said quickly, bending down to pick up the broken pieces. “We can just… Spike?”
He barely heard her speaking. Lost in his own thoughts, he stepped around her and the mess and into the kitchen, stumbling down the stairs to the basement. Tears nearly blinded him as he made a beeline for the Glarghk guhl kashma'nik, still chained to the pole.
The first punch snapped the demon's head back against the support post, and it momentarily eased some of the tension Spike felt. He let loose another punch, and then another; and each one was easier than the last, like a pressure valve repeatedly being opened, and then closed again in the next instant, a whoosh of relief followed by the clamped-down force of tightly-packed air. Over and over, until he fell into a rhythm, swinging his fists and feeling them connect with solid muscle and crunching bone, the only part of this whole horrible night that he could fight back against.
Finally, when his hands went numb, he stepped back. The demon was not much more than a bloody pulp lashed to the pole, slumped over with only the chains keeping it upright. Glancing down, Spike realized his knuckles were torn up and covered in blood - both his own and the demon's - and his arms and shoulders ached from the repetitive motion.
With a last shuddering breath, Spike grabbed the demon's head in both hands, and the crack of its neck seemed to echo in the bare, cement room.
The whole gang awaited Spike and Xander at the house when they dragged in the unconscious demon from Xander's car. Spike noticed that Buffy had been moved up to her bedroom while they were out demon-hunting, and the Scoobies had assembled in the living room, with the exception of Dawn, whom he guessed couldn't be persuaded to leave her sister's side.
Willow stuck a fork unceremoniously into the Glarghk guhl kashma'nik's arm, causing the stinger to shoot out. She broke it off and headed to the kitchen to finish the antidote, leaving the others to linger uncomfortably in a semi-circle around the demon sprawled on the floor.
“I suppose we should, ah, keep it alive,” Giles ventured, “until we know the antidote worked… in case we need more.”
Spike took that as his cue, slinging the limp body over his shoulder and heading for the basement. “You got chains?” he asked.
“B-Buffy is… um…” Tara stuttered. Her eyes flicked up toward the stairs, her face full of regret, and Spike understood. “She was, um… you were right. When she woke up…”
Spike nodded then turned to Xander. “Bring the gun. I'll keep watch 'til Red's got the juice ready.”
He sat alone in the dark, dank basement for fifteen minutes, the tranquilizer pointed at the still-unconscious demon. He could hear all the comings and goings above him, could distinguish every word of their conversations - mostly about him, and Buffy's condition, and whether the two were related - and it all just served to make him feel even more sickened about the whole thing. Finally, just when he thought he couldn't stand it anymore, Willow descended the stairs, chains in hand.
“Buffy's asleep,” she said. “We had to force-feed her the antidote, but I think she'll be okay.” She held out the chains. “I figured you could use these for the demon. If he's chained and tranked… and I could put a spell on the door to keep him down here, so you probably wouldn't even have to stay.”
“Right,” Spike said, helping her chain the demon to a support post. “Know when I'm not welcome.”
“No, I -” Willow stammered. “I just meant, you know, stay here, in the basement.”
Spike just shook his head at her, yanking the chain tighter with a grimace. He left Willow behind to do her spell, striding up the stairs and past the others in the living room.
“You can't go up there,” Xander said, stepping into Spike's path, blocking his way to the stairs.
Spike stared at him for a moment, sizing him up as though debating whether to stay and argue, or just knock him aside and deal with the pain from the chip. “What's the matter, Harris?” he asked, his voice mildly taunting. “'Fraid I'm gonna fall off the wagon?” He leaned in unnervingly close; if Spike had been breathing, Xander would've felt his breath on his neck. “Maybe I'll take a bite out of you next?”
“You're already off the wagon,” Xander replied, shoving Spike backwards out of his personal space. “You're not even in the vicinity of the wagon. You fell off the wagon train!”
“Xander…” Tara interjected hesitantly. “It wasn't -”
“You almost killed her,” he went on. “Don't think you can just walk upstairs like nothing's changed.”
“Spike, perhaps it would be best if you went home,” Giles suggested. “Until Buffy's feeling better…”
Letting out a sound of disgust, Spike shoved past Xander, who was taken off-guard enough to keep him from resisting, and headed up the stairs.
Xander started after him, but Willow's voice from the kitchen doorway stopped him. “Let him, Xander,” she said.
“But -”
“He'd probably just go outside and climb back in her window anyhow,” she reasoned.
*****
Spike slowly pushed open the door to Buffy's room, so as not to disturb her sleep, and slipped inside. Dawn's tear-stained face turned to greet him. The sight of her sister in chains, screaming and thrashing like a tethered animal, had taken a toll on her, and she was curled uncomfortably on Buffy's desk chair, her chin resting on her arms, crossed over the top of the chair back.
His righteous indignation at the Scoobies dissipated as he took in the somber scene before him, giving way to the guilt swelling in his chest. Xander's words echoed in his mind, Don't think you can just walk upstairs like nothing's changed. As much as he wanted to hate the boy, the shard of truth in his statement embedded itself Spike's heart, and he wondered if this one night had ruined everything they'd had.
“Bit, I…” He broke off with a sigh, unable to find the words to explain. “I'm sorry,” he said finally.
“It's not your fault,” she replied quietly.
“You don't know that.”
Dawn tilted her head up to look at him. Though it was hard to believe that it was the same night, he was still the guy who'd bought groceries and cooked them dinner earlier, just to make things easier for Buffy. “You wouldn't hurt her. And you wouldn't let anything else hurt her if you could've helped it.”
Spike didn't answer, just ran a hand through Dawn's hair, all the while keeping his gaze focused on Buffy. Neither of them spoke until Tara poked her head in to send Dawn off to bed.
Spike kept vigil over Buffy's sleeping form throughout the night. The Scoobies had made it no secret that they were wary of Spike, but they could see he would not be persuaded to leave her side. Xander, Anya, and Giles reluctantly went home, though Xander required some cajoling from Willow, and a promise that she and Tara would stay the night in the room that used to be theirs. As they and Dawn finally settled down to sleep, Spike continued to wear tracks in the carpet in Buffy's bedroom, worrying and waiting.
A few hours later, Buffy's eyes fluttered opened to the sight of a dark shadow pacing at the foot of her bed. “Spike?” she said weakly. Her head felt clearer than it had before, but she still hesitated to trust her senses. She had to work to keep from flinching when his head snapped toward her at the sound of his name, subtle flecks of yellow in his eyes sending a bolt of fear through her, even though her brain told her it was irrational.
“I'm here, Buffy,” Spike replied, rushing to her side. He'd worked himself up so much with stress and concern that he was on the verge of vamping out, but he buried his demon when he realized she was awake. When she met his gaze again, his eyes were solid blue. “Love, I'm right here.”
“I…” Buffy started, struggling to sit up.
“What?” Spike reached out to help her. “What do you need, pet?”
“I think I'm gonna hurl.”
Spike scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, planting her in front of the toilet moments before the retching started. He crouched behind her, holding her hair as she vomited up the indigestible ingredients of Willow's antidote. Once there was nothing left but dry heaves, Spike reached up and flushed the toilet, settling back down to massage Buffy's shoulders. She collapsed against him, a sheen of sweat on her face.
“You all right, pet?”
“Yeah,” she croaked, her throat hoarse.
“Want some water?” She nodded. As he handed her the glass, he asked, “Buffy, what did you see?”
She froze, the glass hovering at her lips.
“The hallucinations,” he explained, when she didn't answer. “I know what mine were like, and I figured if yours were as…”
I watched you die, he thought. I watched you die again, and it was the worst thing I've ever felt in my life. And then I almost killed you.
Buffy blinked at his admission. She hadn't been sure until just then that he'd been hallucinating, too. She wanted to believe it, didn't want to think he would hurt her, but the illusions were unremitting, washing over her in waves, never giving her the chance to breathe. His cruelty had stung her, his words ripping through her defenses as he tore her down, beat her into submission with words and fists, until finally, Willow's antidote had knocked her out and she slipped into peaceful oblivion.
“Anyway,” Spike finished, when he realized the anguish on her face probably mirrored his own, “you don't have to… talk…”
Drusilla's words haunted him, and as he watched her recover her composure, curled on the bathroom floor next to the toilet bowl, he was afraid that somehow she knew what Dru had said. That she knew he would betray her.
Of course, hadn't he already proved that? He couldn't tell from her current dull expression whether she was mad at him for biting her, but he had seen that look in her eyes just before she passed out. That look that said she knew it was real, and that their relationship had suffered irreparable damage.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Buffy's hand immediately went to her throat, where Tara had placed a bandage over the bite mark. He caught the brief flash of distrust, before her eyes resumed their vacant stare.
Spike traced the pattern of the tile floor, running his fingers along the grout lines. “You've every reason not to trust me, Buffy, but I promise, I would never hurt you.”
He looked at her earnestly, hoping for some sign that she believed him. But all Buffy could see was the image in her mind, his face too close to hers, invading her personal space as he slammed her back against the wall of his crypt.
Spike reached out his hand toward her, and Buffy jerked back violently, smacking her head against the porcelain toilet bowl. “Don't touch me.”
Hurt by her sudden aversion to his comfort, Spike recoiled, easing backward on his knees. “I - I'm sorry,” he said again.
Buffy shook her head, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them protectively. She closed her eyes to hold back the stinging tears that threatened.
“Yeah, that's it. Cry,” Spike snarled as he sat astride her, flat on her back, holding her arms pinned above her head. “It's not worth it if you don't cry.”
“Buffy…” The soft reality of his voice cut through the remembered hallucination, and she opened her eyes. “I didn't mean to bite you,” Spike insisted.
“But you did.”
He felt his heart sink. “It wasn't - I saw… You weren't you.”
“I'm sorry, Spike,” she replied, fixing her gaze on the toilet. “I - I can't… I can't see you right now.” Her eyes flicked to his face, and he took in her distraught expression and nodded. Silently, he picked himself up off the floor and walked out of the bathroom.
As soon as he was gone, Buffy let her head fall forward until it rested on the toilet bowl, and began to cry.
*****
Fighting back the clenching pain in his chest, Spike barreled down the stairs, desperate to get out of the house. The sun wasn't far from rising, and if he didn't make it back before dawn, he'd be tempted to let it take him. As he headed for the door, Tara stopped him, cup of tea in hand. “Spike?”
He turned guiltily to face her. “Thought you were asleep, pet.”
“Couldn't sleep,” she said with a half-smile. She gestured to the cup. “I made tea, if you want some.”
Spike shook his head. “Just on my way out.”
“You're not… you're not gonna stay?”
His face clouded over, remembering Buffy's reaction in the bathroom. “No.”
The witch furrowed her brow. “Spike, don't let what Xander said… I'm sure Buffy would want you to -”
“She doesn't,” he cut her off sharply. Giving a nod upstairs, he added, “She's awake now. Could probably do with some tea.”
Tara's expression softened with realization. “Oh, Spike…” She reached out a sympathetic hand, but he jerked away from her touch, knocking the tea cup out of her other hand as he tore his arm away. The porcelain shattered on the hardwood floor, sending tea splattering across their shoes.
“I-it's okay,” Tara said quickly, bending down to pick up the broken pieces. “We can just… Spike?”
He barely heard her speaking. Lost in his own thoughts, he stepped around her and the mess and into the kitchen, stumbling down the stairs to the basement. Tears nearly blinded him as he made a beeline for the Glarghk guhl kashma'nik, still chained to the pole.
The first punch snapped the demon's head back against the support post, and it momentarily eased some of the tension Spike felt. He let loose another punch, and then another; and each one was easier than the last, like a pressure valve repeatedly being opened, and then closed again in the next instant, a whoosh of relief followed by the clamped-down force of tightly-packed air. Over and over, until he fell into a rhythm, swinging his fists and feeling them connect with solid muscle and crunching bone, the only part of this whole horrible night that he could fight back against.
Finally, when his hands went numb, he stepped back. The demon was not much more than a bloody pulp lashed to the pole, slumped over with only the chains keeping it upright. Glancing down, Spike realized his knuckles were torn up and covered in blood - both his own and the demon's - and his arms and shoulders ached from the repetitive motion.
With a last shuddering breath, Spike grabbed the demon's head in both hands, and the crack of its neck seemed to echo in the bare, cement room.
Mending Fences
A/N: Sorry for the massive delay in updating. I've been really unhappy with the way this fic is turning out, so I've been avoiding working on it, I guess hoping that it would magically write itself while I wasn't looking. Needless to say, that hasn't happened. I'll be finishing up this story in the next chapter, but after that the series will most likely be on hiatus until I figure out what I want to do with it. I did have an ambitious idea of doing a whole alternate season, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for an epic series like that. I feel like I haven't done a good job sustaining the plot consistently, so maybe the best thing is to just wrap it up.
*****
Chapter 16: Mending Fences
Buffy was curled up on the living room sofa with one hand at her throat, idling fingering the latest set of bite marks to mar her skin. It had been almost two days since she’d been given the antidote to the poison, and she still hadn’t rid herself of that out-of-sorts feeling. She’d hoped that the memories would fade quickly, once her delusions had been vanquished, but they still haunted her every time she closed her eyes. She knew she should do something, keep her mind occupied so she wouldn’t think about those things, but she just couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything else for any length of time. Instead, she stared listlessly at the blank TV screen in front of her, too lost in her churning thoughts to bother turning it on.
She jumped at the sound of the front door opening. “Hey!” Willow greeted her. “Just came by to see how you were feeling.” She held up a cardboard beverage tray in one hand. “I brought mochas. Oh, and here’s your mail,” she added, handing Buffy a pile of envelopes. “Figured I’d save you a trip outside.”
“Thanks,” Buffy replied, as she unfolded from her spot on the couch. “Let’s go in the kitchen.”
Willow followed her through the house, depositing the mochas on the breakfast bar. “So, how’s it feel to be sane Buffy again?”
Buffy shrugged. “Better, I guess.” She glanced through the mail – mostly bills, as usual. “Huh. That’s weird,” she said, studying the one item that had caught her attention, a blue envelope addressed to Dawn, with no return address.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shoved the card back into the mail pile and looked up at Willow with an obviously false cheery grin. “So, what’s up?”
“Just stopped by to see how you were doing,” Willow repeated, wondering how many times she could rephrase the same sentiment. She handed Buffy one of the mochas and took the other for herself as they seated themselves on opposite sides of the island.
“Oh, right.” Buffy shook her head. “Sorry, I’m kinda distracted. But better. Definitely better.”
“That’s good. You still seemed pretty freaked when Tara and I left yesterday. So, no side effects from the poison?”
“You mean except for the scary memories of things that never happened?”
Willow grimaced. “Was it bad?”
Buffy took a sip of mocha before responding. “Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No, it’s just… my parents were there, and they kinda… ripped into me, you know? And I missed them so much, but it just… hurt. A lot. And then Spike…”
She trailed off, staring down at the counter. She couldn’t even begin to explain what had happened with Spike. Willow slid off her stool and came around to give her a hug. Buffy collapsed into the embrace with a sigh, as Willow rubbed soothing circles on her back. “I’m sorry, Buffy. That must have been awful.”
Pulling back, Willow added, “But I guess it’s a good thing the slayer blood worked, right?”
“What?” Buffy stared her in confusion.
“Spike… drinking your blood cured him,” she explained. “That’s how he was able to get you home.” When Buffy gave her another blank look, Willow went on, “He carried you back here from the woods. Do you remember any of that?”
Uncertain, Buffy nodded, and then changed her mind and shook her head. She did remember… sort of. She could recall a few lucid moments when she’d woken up in his arms, but they were all jumbled up with memories of him pinning her to the ground, her wrists held above her head in his viselike grip, his hard body pressing roughly against hers.
“Wh-what happened after that?”
“Spike went out after the demon again, before the rest of us even got here. I needed the pokey stinger thing to make the antidote. We fed it to you, and then we kinda just waited around for you to wake up.”
Buffy nodded. That part, at least, she knew. “And the demon?” she asked softly.
“Dead. Spike killed it, once we knew you were okay. Oh, it’s, uh, still in the basement, so you might not wanna go down there.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Right,” Buffy replied, turning her cup idly in her hands, trying to fit Willow’s version of the night’s events together with what she remembered, but as hard as she tried, she knew the pieces would never fully match up.
“So,” Willow said, in a chirpy changing-the-subject voice, “do you think you’re up for –”
She was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing again. “Dawn?” Buffy called. “That you?”
“Of course it’s me,” Dawn replied, coming into the kitchen and dropping her backpack on the floor by the island. “Who else lives here?”
“Well, no one ever knocks,” Buffy pointed out. “Oh, hey, you got a letter or something.” She handed Dawn the envelope she’d found in the mail.
Dawn examined it. Though there was no return address, she recognized the handwriting immediately, and she glanced up at Buffy, the question evident in her eyes.
“Come on, open it,” Buffy urged. “I’m curious, too.”
Dawn ripped open the envelope and pulled out a card, reading it with a perplexed expression on her face. “It’s a birthday card. From Dad,” she added, for Willow’s benefit.
Buffy and Willow exchanged an uncomfortable look. Dawn’s birthday had been four months ago.
“Guess some people can’t read a calendar, huh?” Dawn asked, trying to act as though she wasn’t bothered by it, but unable to conceal the hurt.
Buffy laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Dawnie…”
Shaking off the comforting touch, Dawn said flatly, “He sent me money.” She held up a fifty-dollar bill.
“Well, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?” Buffy said, in an effort to be positive about the situation. She shot another glance at Willow, hoping for some help, but the redhead remained silent, shifting nervously on her stool and gazing down into her coffee cup.
“Here, you should keep it.” Dawn thrust the money in Buffy’s direction. “Consider it child support or whatever.”
“No, Dawn. It’s your money.”
“I don’t want it,” Dawn snapped, slapping the money on the counter and storming off up to her room.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy apologized to Willow. “She’s just…”
“Abandoned and neglected by her only living parent?” Willow finished for her. “She’s got a right to be angry. You both do.”
“Now do you see why I don’t want you as a daughter?”
Buffy bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.
“Being angry doesn’t make it any easier, though,” Willow went on. “If you want, I can try to talk to her.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Buffy sighed. “It’s a family thing.”
Willow nodded. “I should get going. Bronze tonight?”
Buffy shook her head. “I don’t think I’m up for it. Maybe tomorrow?”
With a final hug and a few encouraging platitudes, the two friends parted. Once Willow had gone, Buffy picked up Dawn’s backpack from the kitchen floor and headed upstairs. Her sister’s door was closed and locked, as it always was when she was in a teenage snit.
“Dawn?” Buffy called through the door, rapping with her knuckles. “Can I come in?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Dawnie, open the door.”
“I said, leave me alone.”
With a sigh, Buffy left the backpack sitting in the hallway outside the door and went back to the kitchen. She picked up the discarded birthday card and scanned it, hoping for at least a “belated” or a “sorry I missed it” note, but found nothing to soothe her concern. Somehow, this seemed worse than not getting a card at all, knowing that their father didn’t care enough to even remember when their birthdays were, but considered this pathetic effort to be fulfilling his fatherly duty.
Reluctantly pocketing the money, Buffy remembered what Willow had said and headed to the basement to see just how much cleanup was necessary down there. She froze at the foot of the stairs, and her stomach flipped at the sight of the mutilated demon. Blood was everywhere, and the carcass in front of her was barely recognizable as the thing that had attacked them in the woods. Buffy swallowed hard, choking back bile. She was far more familiar with death than she’d like to be, and she’d seen a lot of awful things during her tenure as a Slayer, but this was something else entirely.
Spike hadn’t just killed it… he’d destroyed it. Beaten its brains out while it was still tied to a pole. Her first instinct was to be disgusted, to see it as one more example that Spike was a violent, brutal killer… and the false memories came rushing back to her, telling her yes, this was the work of someone who would attack her, betray her, kill her.
But she shook her head, physically resisting the hallucinations. Spike had saved her, loved her, had been devastated when she pushed him away. She remembered the look on his face when he had left the bathroom, and she realized that what she was looking at wasn’t anger.
This was pain.
*****
Still at war with her instincts, Buffy found herself heading through the cemetery toward his crypt. She paused a few feet away, gathering her courage before she took the final steps.
She eased the door open slightly. “Spike? Can I come in?”
He was seated in that ratty old chair, staring at the blank TV, just as she’d been doing earlier. He turned around when he heard her voice, and it was clear she’d startled him out of some deep reflection.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, getting to his feet, trying to cover his surprise at seeing her. After the way they’d left things, he knew he had to be patient, wait for her to come to him whenever she was ready. But he hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
She wore a black sweater, a bulky cowled turtleneck, and from the way she kept nervously playing with the collar, he could tell the swaths of fabric around her throat were meant for him.
Nevertheless, he told her, “You look better.” And she did. Though her eyes still contained some of the haunted look, she seemed much more composed than when he’d seen her last.
“I feel better,” Buffy said, keeping her eyes on his with considerable effort. Every fiber of her being wanted to look away, couldn’t stand to be confronted by the sadness in his expression, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “My head’s a lot clearer now. And I just…” She took a deep breath. “I came over to say I’m sorry. And – and thank you.”
For a moment, Spike was convinced he was hallucinating again. “For what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“For saving my life. Again,” she added with a small smile. He seemed to be saving her life with regularity lately – ever since her resurrection, as though he was still trying to make up for that one looming failure. “I didn’t know what was going on for a lot of it… Willow told me what happened. Spike, I know you never meant to hurt me, and I’m sorry I… reacted like that. It’s just – you – the you in my hallucinations…”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she couldn’t look at him anymore. Dropping her gaze, she covered her mouth with her hand.
Sympathy welled up in him, and Spike longed to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t – not yet. Not until she gave him a sign that it was okay to touch her. “It’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it.”
Buffy nodded. “I was so scared. And I know it wasn’t really you, but it felt so real, and I… seeing you…”
“I understand, love.” Spike clenched his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out to her. “And I’ll – I’ll make myself scarce, ’f that’s what you…”
“No,” she said, and it was as though an enormous weight had lifted off his chest. He’d been dreading the thought of staying away from her, but he would have been willing to do whatever she needed, even though it would kill him not to see her.
“No,” Buffy repeated. “I don’t want us to be like this. I don’t want…” She shook her head regretfully. “When I first came back, you were the only one I could trust. And now…” She sank down on the arm of his chair. “How did this happen? How did we end up here?”
“Dunno, pet.” Spike hopped up onto the sarcophagus and sat with his legs dangling over the side. “Think we took the long way ’round.”
Buffy nodded. It seemed as though every time they managed to get close, something came along and ripped them apart. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know you were hoping for… you know. But I just can’t, right now. I just can’t.”
“It’s all right,” he told her, placing more hope in that “right now” than he probably should have, but unable to resist clinging to any crumb of possibility she might give him.
“Okay.” She pushed herself off her perch. “Good. Um, I should…” She turned to go, but almost immediately spun back around and blurted out, “Listen, I’m having Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. Can you come?”
Spike blinked, taken aback by the invitation. “Course I can.”
“Good… ’cause I was kind of hoping you’d help me cook.” She gave him a sheepish expression, but to him it was the most encouraging thing he’d ever seen. “Buffy and cooking is pretty much a disaster, and I figured, you made dinner for us the other night, and it was good, so I just thought…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Never mind. It’s a stupid idea. I mean, you’re a vampire. You don’t even need to eat, so cooking’s kind of pointless, and I don’t know why I thought –”
“Buffy.”
She paused, mid-babble, and looked at him earnestly.
“I can help,” he assured her.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did, a small smile crossed Buffy’s face. “Okay. Thanks.” She hesitated, as though considering whether to leave, and then came over to stand in front of him. “Spike, that night… meant a lot to me. I mean, before all the demon stuff. And I – I can’t just pick up where we left off, but I want us to be friends again.” Tentatively, she reached out and took his hand. “Can we try – can we do that?”
Spike smiled at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. Yeah, pet, we can.”
*****
The next evening, Buffy was seated at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, going over her recipes for Thanksgiving dinner and making a shopping list when Dawn poked her head in. “I’m, uh, going over to Willow and Tara’s. See ya.”
“Okay,” Buffy replied without looking up. “Tell Spike I said hi.”
Dawn stopped in her tracks. “Wh-what?” Realizing the gig was up, she asked, “How did you know?”
Buffy flicked her gaze up to her sister. “I inherited the internal lie detector from Mom. Also, Willow called here ten minutes ago to say she’d be over with Chinese. Next time, make sure your alibi knows she’s an alibi.” Noticing Dawn’s guilty expression, she added, “It’s okay. You can go to Spike’s.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Buffy reached over and pulled something out of a drawer. “Hey, come here. Before you go. I got you something.” She handed Dawn a small gift-wrapped package.
Dawn just looked at it. “What’s this for?”
“Happy birthday.”
“Yeah. Still in July.”
Buffy gave her a wry grin. “I know, but I missed it, too.”
“You were dead.” Dawn shrugged. “That’s a valid excuse.”
“I still wanna make it up to you. Just open it, will you?”
Dawn ripped off the paper, revealing a plain black rectangular box. Lifting the lid revealed a short dagger, encased in a black leather sheath that was attached to an adjustable band.
“It fastens around your ankle,” Buffy explained, when Dawn appeared too astonished to speak. “Maybe Spike can teach you how to use it.”
Dawn stared at her with a mixture of surprise and bemusement, wondering if Buffy knew about their training sessions. “Wow. Thanks.”
Buffy gently took the knife out of her hands and pulled her into a hug. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Buffy. I love you, too.”
“Okay,” she replied, letting Dawn go. “Don’t stay out late, all right?”
*****
Chapter 16: Mending Fences
Buffy was curled up on the living room sofa with one hand at her throat, idling fingering the latest set of bite marks to mar her skin. It had been almost two days since she’d been given the antidote to the poison, and she still hadn’t rid herself of that out-of-sorts feeling. She’d hoped that the memories would fade quickly, once her delusions had been vanquished, but they still haunted her every time she closed her eyes. She knew she should do something, keep her mind occupied so she wouldn’t think about those things, but she just couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything else for any length of time. Instead, she stared listlessly at the blank TV screen in front of her, too lost in her churning thoughts to bother turning it on.
She jumped at the sound of the front door opening. “Hey!” Willow greeted her. “Just came by to see how you were feeling.” She held up a cardboard beverage tray in one hand. “I brought mochas. Oh, and here’s your mail,” she added, handing Buffy a pile of envelopes. “Figured I’d save you a trip outside.”
“Thanks,” Buffy replied, as she unfolded from her spot on the couch. “Let’s go in the kitchen.”
Willow followed her through the house, depositing the mochas on the breakfast bar. “So, how’s it feel to be sane Buffy again?”
Buffy shrugged. “Better, I guess.” She glanced through the mail – mostly bills, as usual. “Huh. That’s weird,” she said, studying the one item that had caught her attention, a blue envelope addressed to Dawn, with no return address.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shoved the card back into the mail pile and looked up at Willow with an obviously false cheery grin. “So, what’s up?”
“Just stopped by to see how you were doing,” Willow repeated, wondering how many times she could rephrase the same sentiment. She handed Buffy one of the mochas and took the other for herself as they seated themselves on opposite sides of the island.
“Oh, right.” Buffy shook her head. “Sorry, I’m kinda distracted. But better. Definitely better.”
“That’s good. You still seemed pretty freaked when Tara and I left yesterday. So, no side effects from the poison?”
“You mean except for the scary memories of things that never happened?”
Willow grimaced. “Was it bad?”
Buffy took a sip of mocha before responding. “Yeah.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No, it’s just… my parents were there, and they kinda… ripped into me, you know? And I missed them so much, but it just… hurt. A lot. And then Spike…”
She trailed off, staring down at the counter. She couldn’t even begin to explain what had happened with Spike. Willow slid off her stool and came around to give her a hug. Buffy collapsed into the embrace with a sigh, as Willow rubbed soothing circles on her back. “I’m sorry, Buffy. That must have been awful.”
Pulling back, Willow added, “But I guess it’s a good thing the slayer blood worked, right?”
“What?” Buffy stared her in confusion.
“Spike… drinking your blood cured him,” she explained. “That’s how he was able to get you home.” When Buffy gave her another blank look, Willow went on, “He carried you back here from the woods. Do you remember any of that?”
Uncertain, Buffy nodded, and then changed her mind and shook her head. She did remember… sort of. She could recall a few lucid moments when she’d woken up in his arms, but they were all jumbled up with memories of him pinning her to the ground, her wrists held above her head in his viselike grip, his hard body pressing roughly against hers.
“Wh-what happened after that?”
“Spike went out after the demon again, before the rest of us even got here. I needed the pokey stinger thing to make the antidote. We fed it to you, and then we kinda just waited around for you to wake up.”
Buffy nodded. That part, at least, she knew. “And the demon?” she asked softly.
“Dead. Spike killed it, once we knew you were okay. Oh, it’s, uh, still in the basement, so you might not wanna go down there.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Right,” Buffy replied, turning her cup idly in her hands, trying to fit Willow’s version of the night’s events together with what she remembered, but as hard as she tried, she knew the pieces would never fully match up.
“So,” Willow said, in a chirpy changing-the-subject voice, “do you think you’re up for –”
She was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing again. “Dawn?” Buffy called. “That you?”
“Of course it’s me,” Dawn replied, coming into the kitchen and dropping her backpack on the floor by the island. “Who else lives here?”
“Well, no one ever knocks,” Buffy pointed out. “Oh, hey, you got a letter or something.” She handed Dawn the envelope she’d found in the mail.
Dawn examined it. Though there was no return address, she recognized the handwriting immediately, and she glanced up at Buffy, the question evident in her eyes.
“Come on, open it,” Buffy urged. “I’m curious, too.”
Dawn ripped open the envelope and pulled out a card, reading it with a perplexed expression on her face. “It’s a birthday card. From Dad,” she added, for Willow’s benefit.
Buffy and Willow exchanged an uncomfortable look. Dawn’s birthday had been four months ago.
“Guess some people can’t read a calendar, huh?” Dawn asked, trying to act as though she wasn’t bothered by it, but unable to conceal the hurt.
Buffy laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Dawnie…”
Shaking off the comforting touch, Dawn said flatly, “He sent me money.” She held up a fifty-dollar bill.
“Well, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?” Buffy said, in an effort to be positive about the situation. She shot another glance at Willow, hoping for some help, but the redhead remained silent, shifting nervously on her stool and gazing down into her coffee cup.
“Here, you should keep it.” Dawn thrust the money in Buffy’s direction. “Consider it child support or whatever.”
“No, Dawn. It’s your money.”
“I don’t want it,” Dawn snapped, slapping the money on the counter and storming off up to her room.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy apologized to Willow. “She’s just…”
“Abandoned and neglected by her only living parent?” Willow finished for her. “She’s got a right to be angry. You both do.”
“Now do you see why I don’t want you as a daughter?”
Buffy bit her lip, but didn’t say anything.
“Being angry doesn’t make it any easier, though,” Willow went on. “If you want, I can try to talk to her.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Buffy sighed. “It’s a family thing.”
Willow nodded. “I should get going. Bronze tonight?”
Buffy shook her head. “I don’t think I’m up for it. Maybe tomorrow?”
With a final hug and a few encouraging platitudes, the two friends parted. Once Willow had gone, Buffy picked up Dawn’s backpack from the kitchen floor and headed upstairs. Her sister’s door was closed and locked, as it always was when she was in a teenage snit.
“Dawn?” Buffy called through the door, rapping with her knuckles. “Can I come in?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Dawnie, open the door.”
“I said, leave me alone.”
With a sigh, Buffy left the backpack sitting in the hallway outside the door and went back to the kitchen. She picked up the discarded birthday card and scanned it, hoping for at least a “belated” or a “sorry I missed it” note, but found nothing to soothe her concern. Somehow, this seemed worse than not getting a card at all, knowing that their father didn’t care enough to even remember when their birthdays were, but considered this pathetic effort to be fulfilling his fatherly duty.
Reluctantly pocketing the money, Buffy remembered what Willow had said and headed to the basement to see just how much cleanup was necessary down there. She froze at the foot of the stairs, and her stomach flipped at the sight of the mutilated demon. Blood was everywhere, and the carcass in front of her was barely recognizable as the thing that had attacked them in the woods. Buffy swallowed hard, choking back bile. She was far more familiar with death than she’d like to be, and she’d seen a lot of awful things during her tenure as a Slayer, but this was something else entirely.
Spike hadn’t just killed it… he’d destroyed it. Beaten its brains out while it was still tied to a pole. Her first instinct was to be disgusted, to see it as one more example that Spike was a violent, brutal killer… and the false memories came rushing back to her, telling her yes, this was the work of someone who would attack her, betray her, kill her.
But she shook her head, physically resisting the hallucinations. Spike had saved her, loved her, had been devastated when she pushed him away. She remembered the look on his face when he had left the bathroom, and she realized that what she was looking at wasn’t anger.
This was pain.
*****
Still at war with her instincts, Buffy found herself heading through the cemetery toward his crypt. She paused a few feet away, gathering her courage before she took the final steps.
She eased the door open slightly. “Spike? Can I come in?”
He was seated in that ratty old chair, staring at the blank TV, just as she’d been doing earlier. He turned around when he heard her voice, and it was clear she’d startled him out of some deep reflection.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied, getting to his feet, trying to cover his surprise at seeing her. After the way they’d left things, he knew he had to be patient, wait for her to come to him whenever she was ready. But he hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
She wore a black sweater, a bulky cowled turtleneck, and from the way she kept nervously playing with the collar, he could tell the swaths of fabric around her throat were meant for him.
Nevertheless, he told her, “You look better.” And she did. Though her eyes still contained some of the haunted look, she seemed much more composed than when he’d seen her last.
“I feel better,” Buffy said, keeping her eyes on his with considerable effort. Every fiber of her being wanted to look away, couldn’t stand to be confronted by the sadness in his expression, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “My head’s a lot clearer now. And I just…” She took a deep breath. “I came over to say I’m sorry. And – and thank you.”
For a moment, Spike was convinced he was hallucinating again. “For what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“For saving my life. Again,” she added with a small smile. He seemed to be saving her life with regularity lately – ever since her resurrection, as though he was still trying to make up for that one looming failure. “I didn’t know what was going on for a lot of it… Willow told me what happened. Spike, I know you never meant to hurt me, and I’m sorry I… reacted like that. It’s just – you – the you in my hallucinations…”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she couldn’t look at him anymore. Dropping her gaze, she covered her mouth with her hand.
Sympathy welled up in him, and Spike longed to pull her into his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t – not yet. Not until she gave him a sign that it was okay to touch her. “It’s all right. You don’t have to talk about it.”
Buffy nodded. “I was so scared. And I know it wasn’t really you, but it felt so real, and I… seeing you…”
“I understand, love.” Spike clenched his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out to her. “And I’ll – I’ll make myself scarce, ’f that’s what you…”
“No,” she said, and it was as though an enormous weight had lifted off his chest. He’d been dreading the thought of staying away from her, but he would have been willing to do whatever she needed, even though it would kill him not to see her.
“No,” Buffy repeated. “I don’t want us to be like this. I don’t want…” She shook her head regretfully. “When I first came back, you were the only one I could trust. And now…” She sank down on the arm of his chair. “How did this happen? How did we end up here?”
“Dunno, pet.” Spike hopped up onto the sarcophagus and sat with his legs dangling over the side. “Think we took the long way ’round.”
Buffy nodded. It seemed as though every time they managed to get close, something came along and ripped them apart. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know you were hoping for… you know. But I just can’t, right now. I just can’t.”
“It’s all right,” he told her, placing more hope in that “right now” than he probably should have, but unable to resist clinging to any crumb of possibility she might give him.
“Okay.” She pushed herself off her perch. “Good. Um, I should…” She turned to go, but almost immediately spun back around and blurted out, “Listen, I’m having Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday. Can you come?”
Spike blinked, taken aback by the invitation. “Course I can.”
“Good… ’cause I was kind of hoping you’d help me cook.” She gave him a sheepish expression, but to him it was the most encouraging thing he’d ever seen. “Buffy and cooking is pretty much a disaster, and I figured, you made dinner for us the other night, and it was good, so I just thought…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Never mind. It’s a stupid idea. I mean, you’re a vampire. You don’t even need to eat, so cooking’s kind of pointless, and I don’t know why I thought –”
“Buffy.”
She paused, mid-babble, and looked at him earnestly.
“I can help,” he assured her.
It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did, a small smile crossed Buffy’s face. “Okay. Thanks.” She hesitated, as though considering whether to leave, and then came over to stand in front of him. “Spike, that night… meant a lot to me. I mean, before all the demon stuff. And I – I can’t just pick up where we left off, but I want us to be friends again.” Tentatively, she reached out and took his hand. “Can we try – can we do that?”
Spike smiled at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. Yeah, pet, we can.”
*****
The next evening, Buffy was seated at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, going over her recipes for Thanksgiving dinner and making a shopping list when Dawn poked her head in. “I’m, uh, going over to Willow and Tara’s. See ya.”
“Okay,” Buffy replied without looking up. “Tell Spike I said hi.”
Dawn stopped in her tracks. “Wh-what?” Realizing the gig was up, she asked, “How did you know?”
Buffy flicked her gaze up to her sister. “I inherited the internal lie detector from Mom. Also, Willow called here ten minutes ago to say she’d be over with Chinese. Next time, make sure your alibi knows she’s an alibi.” Noticing Dawn’s guilty expression, she added, “It’s okay. You can go to Spike’s.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Buffy reached over and pulled something out of a drawer. “Hey, come here. Before you go. I got you something.” She handed Dawn a small gift-wrapped package.
Dawn just looked at it. “What’s this for?”
“Happy birthday.”
“Yeah. Still in July.”
Buffy gave her a wry grin. “I know, but I missed it, too.”
“You were dead.” Dawn shrugged. “That’s a valid excuse.”
“I still wanna make it up to you. Just open it, will you?”
Dawn ripped off the paper, revealing a plain black rectangular box. Lifting the lid revealed a short dagger, encased in a black leather sheath that was attached to an adjustable band.
“It fastens around your ankle,” Buffy explained, when Dawn appeared too astonished to speak. “Maybe Spike can teach you how to use it.”
Dawn stared at her with a mixture of surprise and bemusement, wondering if Buffy knew about their training sessions. “Wow. Thanks.”
Buffy gently took the knife out of her hands and pulled her into a hug. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Buffy. I love you, too.”
“Okay,” she replied, letting Dawn go. “Don’t stay out late, all right?”
Thanksgiving
A/N: Oh, my God, I'm finally finishing this story - and it's only about a week late for it to be considered topical. *faints* To the three people who are still paying attention, sorry for the (again) long delay in updating. Fortunately, I feel like I'm over the hump, so to speak, so there will definitely be at least one more fic in this series to wrap up all those pesky dangling plot threads you'll notice hanging off the bottom of this chapter. And it's a Christmas story! (Of course, given the rate I've been posting lately, it'll probably be more like Easter when I'm done.) After that, we'll see how it feels, whether it ends there or continues on.
Much thanks to Slaymesoftly for betaing this chapter!
*****
Chapter 17: Thanksgiving
“Hey, Giles?” Willow said hesitantly from her place at the research table, as she read over her translation with a furrowed brow. “I think I found something.”
“What is it?” Donning his spectacles, Giles came around from behind the Magic Box counter and peered over her shoulder.
“Some sorta ritual. Here.” She handed the notebook to Giles.
“Hmmm, yes,” the Watcher mused. “Purification ritual. I believe I saw that referenced…” He paged through some of his own notes. “…here as well.”
“What does it mean?” Buffy asked, turning her attention to the two scholars. Xander, Anya, and Dawn, who had previously been scattered around the shop occupied with their own activities, also looked up to hear the latest development.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Giles replied. “I think it may be part of a larger plan. Robert’s materials seem to indicate a series of rituals, leading up to… something. It’ll take time to go through and piece everything together, but perhaps if we can prevent this purification ritual from taking place…”
“We could throw a wrench in the plan,” Xander finished for him. “Even if we don’t know what it is.”
“So, when’s this ritual supposed to happen?” Buffy tugged on a lock of her hair in frustration. It felt as though lately she couldn’t even catch her breath from the last disaster before the next one overwhelmed her.
“That we don’t know.” Giles reached for another book and took a seat at the table next to Willow. “I’ll have to work on the calculations.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said with a sigh. “It probably has something to do with the phase of the moon or who won the World Series or something.”
Giles shot her a disapproving look, but before he could remark on her flippancy, the basement door opened, and everyone’s attention was captured by the vampire who emerged.
“Am I interrupting something?” Spike asked, glancing from Buffy to the others, and then back to Buffy again.
“What part of ‘not welcome’ didn’t you understand?” Xander snapped.
Buffy put out her hand, as though to hold him back should he decide to rush Spike and physically attack him. “Xander, it’s okay. Spike and I – we’re okay.”
There was a brief silence as the others took in her words, but Dawn quickly jumped in before any of them had a chance to argue. “Hi, Spike!”
Spike smiled, grateful for the effort. “’lo, Niblet.”
“If you’re here to purchase something, we’re closed,” Anya informed him, in a kinder tone than her fiancé’s. “It’s a holiday.” She shot a sideways glance at Giles to express her displeasure at losing business. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“No, I, uh…” Spike rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I was looking for Buffy.” At Spike’s urging she followed him to the far corner of the shop, away from the others gathered at the table. “You didn’t say anything to them?” he asked in a low voice. “About me? What we talked about?”
Buffy winced. “I couldn’t really find the right time.”
“Woulda been mighty awkward at dinner tonight, wouldn’t it? If I just showed up.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve…” She shrugged sheepishly. “Well, they know now, all right? It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Spike shook his head, heading back toward the group. “Anyway, just stopped by to see what time you wanted me there.”
Buffy glanced at her watch. “Oh, um, dinner’s at three, so maybe in an hour?”
Spike nodded. “See you then,” he replied, heading back down to the sewer entrance in the basement.
Buffy turned back to her friends to find them all staring at her with expectant looks. “He’s… coming to dinner,” she explained. Four pairs of eyebrows rose simultaneously. “Don’t start,” she said, sinking into a chair at the table, preparing herself for the inquisition that would inevitably follow.
*****
Buffy came up from the basement carrying the good china for Thanksgiving dinner. After the argument over Spike in the Magic Box earlier that day, no one was exactly in a holiday mood, but Buffy was determined to create as cheery an atmosphere as possible. It was what her mother would have done. In fact, she could remember plenty of tense holiday dinners, right before the divorce, that her mother had forged through bravely, always with a smile on her face.
As she set the box down on the breakfast bar, Buffy was suddenly struck by the memory of coming home after that summer in L.A. Joyce had invited her friends over for dinner to celebrate her daughter’s return, and Buffy had balked at using the china. “Willow and everybody aren’t company-plate people. They’re normal-plate people,” she’d insisted to her mother.
She started to smile at the silliness of that conversation – how important it had seemed to her at the time, that everything be normal – when, just as quickly, she felt an ache like a gaping hole in her chest, and her eyes filled with tears. The plate she was holding slipped out of her hands and shattered on the floor.
Alerted by the noise, Spike stuck his head in the doorway from the other room. “Slayer?”
He couldn’t see her, so he went around the breakfast bar where he found her crouched, picking up the broken china. “You all right? I heard a noise –”
“I broke a plate.”
She seemed, inexplicably, on the verge of tears. Spike bent down and reached out a comforting hand, hesitating a moment before resting it on her shoulder.
“Hey, it’s all right. Just a plate, yeah?”
Buffy’s forehead wrinkled and her lower lip began to quiver. “I miss Mom,” she whispered.
She let the pieces of china fall out of her hands as she turned into Spike’s shoulder and started to cry. Startled, his arms came around her in a tentative embrace, conscious that he hadn’t touched her like this since the night of the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik. He pulled her up off the floor and let her collapse against him as she buried her face in his chest.
“Hey,” Spike soothed. “It’s all right, pet.”
“I saw my parents,” Buffy said. When Spike made a confused sound at her non sequitur, she went on, “Remember? You – you asked me what I saw when I was hallucinating. There were… other parts to it, but… I saw my parents.”
She began to talk, hesitant at first, then faster, with growing anxiety, until the words were tumbling out of her – all about their money problems, and Dawn trying to contact their dad, and possibly losing the house.
“I can’t do this, Spike. I can’t – I can’t be a mom for Dawn. She needs something better than this. I don’t know how to – to cook, and I can’t pay the bills on time, and I know she needs more attention from me. Her grades have gone way down – I should help her with her homework, or – or, I don’t know, I just –”
“Buffy… shhh…” She’d backed away from him in the course of her rant, and he tried to pull her back into his arms, but she skittered out of reach.
“I don’t want to give up this house, Spike. I can’t. It’s all we have left of Mom. And I just – I didn’t want Dawn to see it… I can’t believe he –” She punched him hard, just below his collarbone. “He wouldn’t even help us!” She cocked back to punch again, but Spike caught her wrist and held her steady.
“Your father?” he asked softly, letting go of her once she’d calmed down.
Buffy nodded. “He won’t even pay child support, and then he sends a birthday card, like that makes it okay!”
Suppressing his own rage against a man he’d never even met, Spike preoccupied himself with sweeping up the broken china on the floor. “You’ll get through this, Buffy. We’ll come up with something. Can’t be harder than fighting demons and saving the world, right?” He stood up and looked at her again. “I’m not gonna let you lose the house.”
Buffy smiled, appreciative of the sentiment, but skeptical that Spike actually had the means to help her. “How?”
“I’ll think of something,” he replied with determination, the beginnings of a plan already forming in his mind. “We better get a move on – the others’ll be here soon, and I’d wager you haven’t the foggiest notion how to cook a turkey.”
*****
“Somebody explain to me how Thanksgiving dinner turned into another research party,” Xander said, sitting on the sofa with Anya while Giles and Willow continued to go over the calculations for the purification ritual. “What happened to leaving your work at the office? Or, in this case, the magic shop?”
“It’s a holiday,” Willow explained. “That means instead of just research, there’s research with pie. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Hey!” Buffy said defensively, catching Willow’s comment as she emerged from the kitchen. “Who knew it took, like, five hours to cook a turkey?”
“I told you, you should’ve put the bird in earlier, Slayer,” Spike admonished her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You were right. The guy who lives on blood is a better cook than me.”
“That’s why I’m here, innit? Wanted my cooking expertise.”
Buffy shot him a look before turning her attention to her Watcher. “Giles? Anything on that ritual yet?”
“Maybe.” He glanced up at her. “Your sarcasm earlier actually gave me an idea – well, not the baseball.” Giles rolled his eyes slightly. “I’m not entirely certain, but if my rough calculations are correct – judging by the mystical Hitszu calendar and taking into account the lunar position – it’s meant to take place on the full moon closest to the feast of Zayithain.”
Buffy gave him a blank look. “And that would be when?”
“Oh, erm…” Giles glanced down, shuffling through his notes. “Last week.”
“So… we missed it,” Dawn said.
Giles nodded. “It would appear so.”
“Wait a minute.” Buffy held up one hand, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So, there’s some mystical demon feast day, when Big Mysterious Bad does some purification ritual for who-knows-what, and it just happens to fall on the same week when I’m tied up with a demon that makes me go crazy with hallucinations?”
“It was a distraction,” Spike concluded, his expression darkening as his gaze met Buffy’s. “Our guy’s a demon summoner, right? Summoned up a nice distraction so the Slayer wouldn’t get in the way of his ritual.”
“What if they were all distractions, Giles?” Buffy asked, a note of rising panic in her voice. “What if something’s been happening, and we had no idea? All this time, we had no idea…”
“Yeah, who knows what else he coulda done, while we’ve been busy running after dragons and – and all kinds of demons,” Xander pointed out.
“I suppose the only thing to do is keep researching,” said Giles. “Clearly, these papers hold the key to whatever is happening here.”
Willow looked grim. “We’re gonna need more pie.”
*****
Once the dinner dishes had been cleaned up and most of the guests had gone home, Buffy collapsed on the sofa, giving Spike a grateful look. “Thanks for helping,” she said.
He responded with a half-smile. “Think I’ll head out, do a quick patrol. You take the night off.”
Buffy tipped her head back and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, I lov-” Catching herself, she quickly clamped her mouth shut. Given the tentative nature of their relationship, that particular hyperbole was probably inadvisable. “That’s – that’s nice of you. Thanks.”
Shoving down his desire to hear her finish that sentence, Spike shook his head, a patient expression on his face.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. He started to shrug it off and head for the door, but she jumped up off the sofa. “Spike.”
When he turned around, she was there to meet him with a hug. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “For everything.”
This time, Spike gave her a real smile. “Anytime, Slayer. ’Night, Bit!” he called up the stairs before heading out.
Instead of making his way toward the graveyards like usual, Spike cut through downtown and headed straight for the seedy section of Sunnydale. Unlike the rest of town, the demon bar was bustling; none of them paid any mind to human holidays. As soon as he walked in, Spike found his target – a demon that appeared almost human, save for its waxy yellow skin.
“That offer you gave me the other day,” Spike said, taking a seat at the bar next to the demon. “It still good?”
The demon nodded.
“How much does it pay?”
“Five hundred.”
Spike worked his jaw for a moment, making his decision. Then, he stuck out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”
Much thanks to Slaymesoftly for betaing this chapter!
*****
Chapter 17: Thanksgiving
“Hey, Giles?” Willow said hesitantly from her place at the research table, as she read over her translation with a furrowed brow. “I think I found something.”
“What is it?” Donning his spectacles, Giles came around from behind the Magic Box counter and peered over her shoulder.
“Some sorta ritual. Here.” She handed the notebook to Giles.
“Hmmm, yes,” the Watcher mused. “Purification ritual. I believe I saw that referenced…” He paged through some of his own notes. “…here as well.”
“What does it mean?” Buffy asked, turning her attention to the two scholars. Xander, Anya, and Dawn, who had previously been scattered around the shop occupied with their own activities, also looked up to hear the latest development.
“Well, I’m not sure,” Giles replied. “I think it may be part of a larger plan. Robert’s materials seem to indicate a series of rituals, leading up to… something. It’ll take time to go through and piece everything together, but perhaps if we can prevent this purification ritual from taking place…”
“We could throw a wrench in the plan,” Xander finished for him. “Even if we don’t know what it is.”
“So, when’s this ritual supposed to happen?” Buffy tugged on a lock of her hair in frustration. It felt as though lately she couldn’t even catch her breath from the last disaster before the next one overwhelmed her.
“That we don’t know.” Giles reached for another book and took a seat at the table next to Willow. “I’ll have to work on the calculations.”
“Yeah,” Buffy said with a sigh. “It probably has something to do with the phase of the moon or who won the World Series or something.”
Giles shot her a disapproving look, but before he could remark on her flippancy, the basement door opened, and everyone’s attention was captured by the vampire who emerged.
“Am I interrupting something?” Spike asked, glancing from Buffy to the others, and then back to Buffy again.
“What part of ‘not welcome’ didn’t you understand?” Xander snapped.
Buffy put out her hand, as though to hold him back should he decide to rush Spike and physically attack him. “Xander, it’s okay. Spike and I – we’re okay.”
There was a brief silence as the others took in her words, but Dawn quickly jumped in before any of them had a chance to argue. “Hi, Spike!”
Spike smiled, grateful for the effort. “’lo, Niblet.”
“If you’re here to purchase something, we’re closed,” Anya informed him, in a kinder tone than her fiancé’s. “It’s a holiday.” She shot a sideways glance at Giles to express her displeasure at losing business. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”
“No, I, uh…” Spike rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I was looking for Buffy.” At Spike’s urging she followed him to the far corner of the shop, away from the others gathered at the table. “You didn’t say anything to them?” he asked in a low voice. “About me? What we talked about?”
Buffy winced. “I couldn’t really find the right time.”
“Woulda been mighty awkward at dinner tonight, wouldn’t it? If I just showed up.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve…” She shrugged sheepishly. “Well, they know now, all right? It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Spike shook his head, heading back toward the group. “Anyway, just stopped by to see what time you wanted me there.”
Buffy glanced at her watch. “Oh, um, dinner’s at three, so maybe in an hour?”
Spike nodded. “See you then,” he replied, heading back down to the sewer entrance in the basement.
Buffy turned back to her friends to find them all staring at her with expectant looks. “He’s… coming to dinner,” she explained. Four pairs of eyebrows rose simultaneously. “Don’t start,” she said, sinking into a chair at the table, preparing herself for the inquisition that would inevitably follow.
*****
Buffy came up from the basement carrying the good china for Thanksgiving dinner. After the argument over Spike in the Magic Box earlier that day, no one was exactly in a holiday mood, but Buffy was determined to create as cheery an atmosphere as possible. It was what her mother would have done. In fact, she could remember plenty of tense holiday dinners, right before the divorce, that her mother had forged through bravely, always with a smile on her face.
As she set the box down on the breakfast bar, Buffy was suddenly struck by the memory of coming home after that summer in L.A. Joyce had invited her friends over for dinner to celebrate her daughter’s return, and Buffy had balked at using the china. “Willow and everybody aren’t company-plate people. They’re normal-plate people,” she’d insisted to her mother.
She started to smile at the silliness of that conversation – how important it had seemed to her at the time, that everything be normal – when, just as quickly, she felt an ache like a gaping hole in her chest, and her eyes filled with tears. The plate she was holding slipped out of her hands and shattered on the floor.
Alerted by the noise, Spike stuck his head in the doorway from the other room. “Slayer?”
He couldn’t see her, so he went around the breakfast bar where he found her crouched, picking up the broken china. “You all right? I heard a noise –”
“I broke a plate.”
She seemed, inexplicably, on the verge of tears. Spike bent down and reached out a comforting hand, hesitating a moment before resting it on her shoulder.
“Hey, it’s all right. Just a plate, yeah?”
Buffy’s forehead wrinkled and her lower lip began to quiver. “I miss Mom,” she whispered.
She let the pieces of china fall out of her hands as she turned into Spike’s shoulder and started to cry. Startled, his arms came around her in a tentative embrace, conscious that he hadn’t touched her like this since the night of the Glarghk guhl kashma’nik. He pulled her up off the floor and let her collapse against him as she buried her face in his chest.
“Hey,” Spike soothed. “It’s all right, pet.”
“I saw my parents,” Buffy said. When Spike made a confused sound at her non sequitur, she went on, “Remember? You – you asked me what I saw when I was hallucinating. There were… other parts to it, but… I saw my parents.”
She began to talk, hesitant at first, then faster, with growing anxiety, until the words were tumbling out of her – all about their money problems, and Dawn trying to contact their dad, and possibly losing the house.
“I can’t do this, Spike. I can’t – I can’t be a mom for Dawn. She needs something better than this. I don’t know how to – to cook, and I can’t pay the bills on time, and I know she needs more attention from me. Her grades have gone way down – I should help her with her homework, or – or, I don’t know, I just –”
“Buffy… shhh…” She’d backed away from him in the course of her rant, and he tried to pull her back into his arms, but she skittered out of reach.
“I don’t want to give up this house, Spike. I can’t. It’s all we have left of Mom. And I just – I didn’t want Dawn to see it… I can’t believe he –” She punched him hard, just below his collarbone. “He wouldn’t even help us!” She cocked back to punch again, but Spike caught her wrist and held her steady.
“Your father?” he asked softly, letting go of her once she’d calmed down.
Buffy nodded. “He won’t even pay child support, and then he sends a birthday card, like that makes it okay!”
Suppressing his own rage against a man he’d never even met, Spike preoccupied himself with sweeping up the broken china on the floor. “You’ll get through this, Buffy. We’ll come up with something. Can’t be harder than fighting demons and saving the world, right?” He stood up and looked at her again. “I’m not gonna let you lose the house.”
Buffy smiled, appreciative of the sentiment, but skeptical that Spike actually had the means to help her. “How?”
“I’ll think of something,” he replied with determination, the beginnings of a plan already forming in his mind. “We better get a move on – the others’ll be here soon, and I’d wager you haven’t the foggiest notion how to cook a turkey.”
*****
“Somebody explain to me how Thanksgiving dinner turned into another research party,” Xander said, sitting on the sofa with Anya while Giles and Willow continued to go over the calculations for the purification ritual. “What happened to leaving your work at the office? Or, in this case, the magic shop?”
“It’s a holiday,” Willow explained. “That means instead of just research, there’s research with pie. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Hey!” Buffy said defensively, catching Willow’s comment as she emerged from the kitchen. “Who knew it took, like, five hours to cook a turkey?”
“I told you, you should’ve put the bird in earlier, Slayer,” Spike admonished her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “You were right. The guy who lives on blood is a better cook than me.”
“That’s why I’m here, innit? Wanted my cooking expertise.”
Buffy shot him a look before turning her attention to her Watcher. “Giles? Anything on that ritual yet?”
“Maybe.” He glanced up at her. “Your sarcasm earlier actually gave me an idea – well, not the baseball.” Giles rolled his eyes slightly. “I’m not entirely certain, but if my rough calculations are correct – judging by the mystical Hitszu calendar and taking into account the lunar position – it’s meant to take place on the full moon closest to the feast of Zayithain.”
Buffy gave him a blank look. “And that would be when?”
“Oh, erm…” Giles glanced down, shuffling through his notes. “Last week.”
“So… we missed it,” Dawn said.
Giles nodded. “It would appear so.”
“Wait a minute.” Buffy held up one hand, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “So, there’s some mystical demon feast day, when Big Mysterious Bad does some purification ritual for who-knows-what, and it just happens to fall on the same week when I’m tied up with a demon that makes me go crazy with hallucinations?”
“It was a distraction,” Spike concluded, his expression darkening as his gaze met Buffy’s. “Our guy’s a demon summoner, right? Summoned up a nice distraction so the Slayer wouldn’t get in the way of his ritual.”
“What if they were all distractions, Giles?” Buffy asked, a note of rising panic in her voice. “What if something’s been happening, and we had no idea? All this time, we had no idea…”
“Yeah, who knows what else he coulda done, while we’ve been busy running after dragons and – and all kinds of demons,” Xander pointed out.
“I suppose the only thing to do is keep researching,” said Giles. “Clearly, these papers hold the key to whatever is happening here.”
Willow looked grim. “We’re gonna need more pie.”
*****
Once the dinner dishes had been cleaned up and most of the guests had gone home, Buffy collapsed on the sofa, giving Spike a grateful look. “Thanks for helping,” she said.
He responded with a half-smile. “Think I’ll head out, do a quick patrol. You take the night off.”
Buffy tipped her head back and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, I lov-” Catching herself, she quickly clamped her mouth shut. Given the tentative nature of their relationship, that particular hyperbole was probably inadvisable. “That’s – that’s nice of you. Thanks.”
Shoving down his desire to hear her finish that sentence, Spike shook his head, a patient expression on his face.
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. He started to shrug it off and head for the door, but she jumped up off the sofa. “Spike.”
When he turned around, she was there to meet him with a hug. “Thank you,” she said with sincerity. “For everything.”
This time, Spike gave her a real smile. “Anytime, Slayer. ’Night, Bit!” he called up the stairs before heading out.
Instead of making his way toward the graveyards like usual, Spike cut through downtown and headed straight for the seedy section of Sunnydale. Unlike the rest of town, the demon bar was bustling; none of them paid any mind to human holidays. As soon as he walked in, Spike found his target – a demon that appeared almost human, save for its waxy yellow skin.
“That offer you gave me the other day,” Spike said, taking a seat at the bar next to the demon. “It still good?”
The demon nodded.
“How much does it pay?”
“Five hundred.”
Spike worked his jaw for a moment, making his decision. Then, he stuck out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”
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