Author’s Note:

A couple of notes on Part II—I’ve taken a few liberties with traditional “journal” format, for the sake of storytelling. This may include summarizing some events, while describing others in more detail, depending on Spike’s whim or how much needed to be told. Whenever there are elements of Spike’s journal that are non-textual, I’ve inserted notes so that you can “see” what Buffy is seeing (drawings, for instance, or notes scribbled in the margins).

Also, since Spike’s internal monologue (or the part of it he writes) isn’t constrained by the censors of American network TV, every so often you may see him use slightly stronger profanity than he used on the show.

Any poetry included in Spike’s journal that isn’t credited to another author was written by me. I have no presumptions about my abilities as a poet—thankfully Spike’s poetic abilities in canon aren’t exactly on par with Shakespeare.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Betaed by Phuriedae*
*because Spike is English, I’ve made a rather anal retentive attempt to spell things “properly.” My beta (who IS British), has asked that I include the following disclaimer: “Any Britpicking mistakes are my beta's, because she reads too much fic written by you bloody Americans and is used to your bizarre ways by now."

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Part Two: East of the Sun



Chapter 34
Paralyzed

[From the journal of William the Bloody, original text contains many crossings out and rewrites, only some of which have been replicated here.]

Restless

Now, you wanker, before it fades
bleed the pen across the page.

Throbbing beats, pulsing light—she writhes within:
glorious as gold, sleek muscle, silken
skin. Poor sun-drenched girl, ripe as a peach and
ready for plucking by my hungry hand.

Lethal as she is lithe,
like a sword, like a knife,
like a woman’s tongue.

My demon paces in my breast,
hollow-eyed and restless.

Mine.

I'm drowning in summer's sunshine.
My old eyes burn, it gleams so bright.
Tears sear down my frozen face, scalding,
branding, rich and bitter as blood.

“It won’t hurt,” says Finn, with sparks behind
his eyes and a cardboard grin. “Not much.”
“It’ll hurt,” predicts Peaches. They’re mirror
twins. Same stupid hair, same shoes, same shirt.

They move together toward the girl; with one
slow step the sunlight dims. She’s draped by dark
like a silken shroud, and something darker stalks on
silent feet—stench of carrion, blood, decay.

Slay.

She walks away.

Strains Stains of some old song down a passageway.
Words, ruthless and crass. Laughs like shattered glass.

Corpse-cold room, friends guests hovering like flies.
Prufrock waits for his tattered coat. I hold
it open, snicker, watch fear like gas-lights
flickering behind his pathetic eyes.

A different girl, dark hair, dark lies.

(bit goes here… Cecily laughing, that dark thing slipping through the crowd)

Iron, wood, words; all so cold cruel, so sharp,
made especially for piercing hearts.

“…Bloody awful…”
“…through my head…”
“…you’re beneath me…”

But they’re all dead; I’ve waltzed on their graves.
Still, all I see, a sea of red. Drusilla dancing down scarlet
streets. "You taste like ashes," she says and grieves.
Miss Edith weeps from blinded eyes.

Something in the shadows there…flash of white, glimpse of hair.

(bit here, with that Chinese girl, wandering' through fire, then Prague, escaping on the train. Nikki in the shadows, faces along the line, being hunted, Bronze again)

“This way,” Watcher says. Beneath the streetlight his glasses
gleam. “Passions is on. You’re down the well.”

Hell is a porcelain bathtub in which she reclines, bold as brass.
“It’ll only burn for a moment,” she says and holds out a hand to help

me in.

[incomplete]

***

25 May 2000

Just when I think my unlife can't be more pathetic—dumped by my lover of over a century for a god damned fungus demon; the Gem of Amara in the hands of Grandpap Forehead the Broody; bested time and again by a slip of a chit and a gang that calls themselves the Scoobies for chrissake; and to end all injustice, a piece of plastic shoved up my brain that won't let me hunt, won't let me feed, won't let me lift a sodding finger against anything but my own kind—I get singled out by some hell bitch who wants to make me her bleeding consort.

Which, admittedly, wouldn't be so bad if the icy bint wasn't bug-shaggin' crazy, and not the fun kind, either. Got a bad feeling that this one makes Dru look right sane.

Haven't kept a journal in… almost a century, I suppose. Too awkward to lug around, too dangerous to leave behind. Since I'm stuck in Sunnyhell until this chip is out of my head, and I've got nothing better to do, I might as well. Not like I can talk about this with anyone.

And isn't that the kicker?

Note to self: Spike, old boy, when you wake up to find a woman floating over your bed, it's probably not a good idea to proposition her. I've clearly got to find something better than my fist to shag if I'm that desperate.

Hell, I'd settle for Harmony, if she showed up again. Stupid cunt never shuts up. I could rip her tongue out, I suppose. Make more room in there for other things. My luck, of course, it'd grow back and then I'd never hear the end of it.

In any case, on the off chance I don't manage to survive the next year, might as well lay out what happened, and why. Dru, if you're reading this, princess, believe me when I say this was a bad bargain and I wasn't exactly willing.

So the night before last I had the dream trip from hell. Long tangled parade of nonsense, filled with Slayers and old victims and Dru and blood. At one point I was being stalked by some manky thing with ratty dreads and a stake. Somehow knew that, whatever it was, it was out for my dust. Toward the end it had me pinned, a stake pressed to my chest and its stinking breath washing over my face. Then it was over and I was waking up.

Spent most of yesterday trying to write it down and failing miserably. Went to bed hoping I'd seen the end of nightmares for a while, and just as I was starting to drop off, I woke up to find a woman floating over my bed.

I didn't know beauty could be terrible, but hers was. Sharp as a knife and ten times as cold, her eyes cut me clear to the bone. Long white hair that drifted behind her as if she were underwater, skin as hard and pale as marble. She wasn't a vampire but the amount of power rolling off her was enough to make me scared and horny as hell. Haven't felt like that since the night Dru turned me.

I realise I'm not known for thinking with my big head when the little one is awake and interested, but I probably should have clamped down on that urge. Instead I found myself saying something that might've included the words "show us your tits."

Then there was fire in my face, in my crotch, in my gut. Like someone had ripped parts of me away and filled the holes with holy water. I'm not sure how long she kept it up, but when she finally let me go I realised the roaring I was hearing was my own voice echoing off the crypt walls. Nearly had to check to be sure all my parts were still there.

The woman leaned over me, her long hair drifting round us like fog. "Pretty vampire," she murmured. She had a thick, strange accent. Scandinavian, maybe. "Such lovely pain. Nothing on earth feels pain like you do." Her hands were ice cold—so cold they burned where they touched me. The demon had long since risen to the surface and I snarled and thrashed, trying to reach her but I couldn’t move much more than my head. Whatever mojo she’d worked it was worse than being paralyzed. Could still feel pain all through me, just couldn’t move a fucking muscle.

"Let me loose and I'll make sure you feel it, too," I promised. God I wanted to rip out all that hair and use it to bind her, tear out her fingernails and stab them into those black eyes of hers.

She laughed razorblades. "Shhh," she said, icicle fingers stroking my forehead ridges. Fucking hurt. Haven't felt cold like that in more than a century. "I’ve hunted for one like you for so long; searched far and wide for a creature worthy of being my consort. For one strong enough to free me."

"Fuck you," I snarled.

"Oh, you will," she said, her hands moving over me, reminding me that I was naked. She gripped my dick, sending shards of icy pain lancing through me. Didn't seem to matter how much I yelled, she just held tighter until I thought she was planning to break it off. "And since you are immortal, you will do it for as long as I please." Finally she let go, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She'd frozen it black, but it was still there. I'd heal. I hoped.

My fangs ached to tear into her.

"Won't," I said, not bothering to suppress the growl that rose from my throat. Bloody bitch's hand practically freezes off my bits, what the fuck makes her think I'd stick it in her frigid cunt?

I've got limits, after all.

"You’re very strong. Good. You will need that strength," she said. "But you are no match for a goddess."

"Goddess of what? Ice trays?"

"Many things," she said. "Magic. Nightmares. The kind that tear the soul and cause pain. Once I ruled here in your world, but I was banished, long ago. Until someone did something they should not have, someone opened a door. Someone was kind enough to provide me with the means of crossing here and through the dreams of those connected to her, I found you."

The Slayer. Her and her little Slayerettes and their sodding spells, I'd wager. Always dabbling in things best left alone.

"Bitch," I ground out, unsure if I meant her or the Slayer. It applied both ways.

I've done some reading, in my time. May not have heard of this nasty before, but she was a demon goddess and there was a good chance the usual rules applied. Thought maybe I could bargain my way out. "Let me go and I'll give you the Slayer instead. Her pain's quite tasty, I imagine."

"Sorry, my beloved," she grinned nastily. Her teeth were white and sharp as guillotine blades. "Your Slayer is human and far too fragile for what I’ve in store. Besides," her finger trailed over my torso until it rested over my heart. "You are unique. Special. You have something… a little extra."

Pain, worse than before, as her nail dug into my chest and then through, pressing past skin, past bone, to lodge like an icy spike through my heart. "It is not all there, of course," she whispered. "But there is enough left to make you extra delicious. Someone put you together wrong, and it is all for my benefit…"

No clue what she was prattling on about, and I missed parts of it when my demon was roaring loud enough to deafen me. Now, of course, I wonder if… no. Not possible. Just because I've sometimes felt a bit off means nothing. Demon takes people in different ways. I know that for a fact.

"Challenge," I said, when I felt capable of speech again. "Won't go easily. I challenge you."

Her finger withdrew and I went limp with relief. "Challenge?" She smiled. I glared. If looks could kill, I'd have strung her guts round my crypt like garlands. "A game?"

In retrospect, she sounded far too pleased by that prospect. Still, wasn't as if I had much of a choice.

"I win and I go free," I said. "You leave me here, just as you found me, and go back to whatever frigid hell it was that spat you out."

"It is beautiful there, you know," she said. "Hard to find, harder to reach. Your dreamers know 'the hidden paths that run, West of the Moon, East of the Sun'. Always twilight, no sunlight to harm all this beautiful skin…"

If she wanted my skin unharmed she was going about it all wrong. Her nails were burning frostbite black patterns across my chest. Bloody fuck it hurt.

"Challenge," I barked, wanting the dozy bitch to focus and stop quoting Tolkien.

"Oh, it will be," she said. Her eyes were black on white, but the white crackled at the edges, frosting over the black until the darkness was trapped beneath ice. She tapped the wound over my heart. "I know you, now. Know what you cannot resist. Know what lies lie beneath your breast. Know what you desire most of all. Every night, when you sleep, you will come to my dimension. Every night she will come to you when she sleeps. Blindly, she will share your bed. If she but once gazes upon your face, I win. If but once you speak a single word to her, I win."

I didn't know who she was talking about, didn't care. Was too busy looking for loopholes.

"What if I kill the chit?"

"I win."

"And if she kills me?" Not likely, but worth asking.

"She cannot, not there."

"So I sleep with some bint, can't talk to her, she can't see me. That about the shape of it?" I could do that. Could bite my tongue and bed down with some tart if it got me out of this—

"For a year and a day."

Oh, bloody hell.

I'm aware, patience isn't exactly one of my virtues. Hell, not sure I have any virtues. I get bored easy. Give me action, a fight, fangs and fists and fury. A year and a day of keeping my bleedin' trap shut and not killing someone? Turns out the bloody bitch does know me well. Couldn't have picked a better challenge if she'd asked Angelus for pointers.

"Sure you want to wait that long? I'm a hot commodity. Might go to a different buyer in the meantime," I asked. Maybe she'd shorten it up a bit. Some manoeuvring room wasn't a bad thing, though. Could maybe go to the Slayer; get the Watcher on the case. He'd figure out who this hell bitch was and we could send her packing. That's what the do-gooders do, right? Rescue people?

Not that I'm exactly people, but I figure they owe me one for saving their hides when the Initiative was collapsing round their ears the other night.

"I have all the time in the world and then some. A year will flavor your pain. There is just one other thing…"

Knew it. Always another catch. She drifted closer, so I could feel her north-wind breath frosting my face.

"You will not be able to tell anyone about this. In my world you will keep your mouth closed of your own will. In this one, however, I will seal it shut." She kissed me. It was like snogging a frozen piranha, only not as pleasant. When she floated back, my lips were bleeding and cracked.

When this is over, I'm going to have a lot of fun killing this bitch.

"Let's get on with it then," I said. So I couldn't tell anyone. I'd find a way around it. I'm resourceful like that. She'd regret underestimating me.

"Done," she said.

Everything went dark. Well, almost.

I was standing in a stone room, naked as I'd been before. Somewhere far above was a window that let in just barely enough light for my eyes to see by. The walls were lost in the dark, too far away to make out, but just below the window was a bloody enormous canopy bed covered in satin sheets and posh duvet.

Sitting on it, blinking blindly into the darkness, was the Slayer.

Bloody, buggerin' fuck.

"A year and a day," the hell bitch's voice whispered in my ear. "Not that you will last that long, sweet William. Soon, very soon, you will be mine…and so will all of this world." Then she was gone.

I wanted to kill something. Wanted to rend and maim and roar. I couldn't. Not here. Not now. Not without damning myself to a living hell.

Warily I approached the bed.

The Slayer looked straight at me, but I could tell she couldn't see me. She was tense, probably could sense me. Her hands fisted in the covers as she waited. Must've snagged her fresh out of bed since she was wearing sweats and one of those strappy tops of hers. No bra to hide her perky little tits, either. Could tell she was scared, nervous.

The scent of fear rolling off of her made my fangs itch. Fuck but that's delicious.

A year and a day, sleeping next to the bloody Slayer. Without talking. Without killing her.

Yeah. This is going to be hell.

"Are you going to attack or what?" she asked suddenly, clearly frustrated, voice all snooty. "It's really late and I've got a ton of stuff to do tomorrow. Could we just get on with it so I can go back to sleep?"

Self-centred bitch only cares about her precious beauty sleep. Stupid cow didn’t even bother to question why she was here.

I clenched my jaw, feeling my fangs slice into my lower lip. My mouth flooded with blood. Wasn't hers, but it assuaged the demon a little. It still paced in pain and fury, demanding release, wanting blood. Slayer blood, pumping over my tongue, down my throat, heady hot and sweet. Fuck. Would heal up that hole in my chest like nothing. Put out the fire in my crotch, my face, soothe the burns on my chest. I'd be strong. Be fast. Hard. Could pound her tiny carcass into the mattress as the last of her warmth drained out, then toss her aside like a spent matchstick. So easy.

And then I could go live forever with the Snow Queen as her little bloodthirsty lapdog.

Yeah, good plan, Spike.

With effort, I shook off the demon and put it on the short leash. I'll play this game. I'll win. In the meantime, I'll be looking for a way out. But right then I needed some kip and I just bet the rules said I had to get it next to the Slayer. Buggering hell.

Moving silently, watching her tense features in the dim light, I approached the bed and slid beneath the covers. She could tell where I was, but her eyes remained blind. Not enough light in the room for her human eyes to see. Barely enough for me. Her heartbeat was frantic, frightened. She smelled of tension and fear and… was that strawberries?

"You're… going to sleep?" she demanded. "Just… going to sleep? This is a weird dream."

God, I wish it was a dream. I'm not that lucky, though. Never have been.

I let out a sigh and rolled onto my side, facing away from her. If I looked at her, I'd eat her. Rip out her throat and drink deep. Couldn't risk it. After awhile she settled down, and a long time later, I heard her heartbeat steady and her breathing slow as she fell asleep. It took me a lot longer, fighting my demon every second until I'd wrestled it into a corner and promised it the hell bitch's blood in a golden chalice. Much as it hated the Slayer, we both hated our unexpected jailer a lot more. Possibly even more than the sodding chip.

Not sure how long I slept, but when I woke up, I was back in the crypt and I could feel the sun high overhead. Might have written it off as just a dream, except for the hole in my chest that was just starting to heal.

So I got out this book, where I scribble the bits of poems that I've been itching to write ever since this stupid chip left me mostly useless (turns out useless brings old William prancing back to the surface sometimes). Figure I'll get all this out, just in case things go south or I need a reminder. Witch said I couldn't talk, never said I couldn't write it with no intention of showing it round.

Tonight I'll head over to the Watcher’s and have a browse through his collection, see what I can dig up on the Snow Queen. Then, later, I'll try to keep from slaying my third slayer in her sleep.

Used to be I only had to worry about the Slayer every time I turned around. Now she's haunting my sleep.

Should just stake myself now and put myself out of my misery.

***

30 May 2000

Rupert has too many bloody books.

And he keeps moving them about.

On the upside, I found his book on Angelus last night and drew moustaches and tiny pricks on all the pictures of the enormous git. It was very therapeutic.

By the by, it's fascinating what the Council of Wankers knows about him. Barry Manilow? Honestly? God, save me from a soul if it makes you listen to shite like that.

***

12 June 2000

Been clearing out that cave under my crypt through the day. Got nothing better to do. Nicked some equipment from a construction site nearby and carved a proper hole out, instead of that awkward grate I was using before. Nice space down there. Enough room for a bolthole, at least. Picked up a slab of granite to cover up the access from above. Would take at least vampire strength to move it, so I don't have to worry about any bloody humans poking their noses down there like I had a few months back with those army wankers who trashed my telly.

I went back and found the sewer schematics from when I was searching for the Gem last year. Looks like there's a line that passes about twenty yards from the cave. Can maybe widen it out? That way if I need an escape route during the day I've got one. I don't fancy getting stuck in here again. So far the Slayer's been content just to let me be, but that'll only last so long. Eventually she'll get a bloody bee in her bonnet and I'll have to get the hell out of here in a hurry. I'd feel better with a backdoor no one knows about.

God, I hate her.

Fucking self-righteous bitch. Always threatening me and punching me in the face.

Which part of Spike-can't-fight-back doesn't she get? Or maybe that just makes it better for her, knowing she's got a vamp she can pound on until bloody kingdom come, knock about and demand info and assistance from like it's her god-given right. And maybe it is. Maybe me being evil means I deserve to take her abuse. But back when I was a lad, someone who did what she does would have been called a bully.

Chaining me in a sodding bathtub for days on end…

Never occurred to her that if she'd just fed me proper and guaranteed me safety I'd have given up whatever info she wanted. Eventually. For all her bullying tactics, she's honourable enough, I figure her word's close to gold.

Don't trust the others, of course. The boy and the Watcher would stake me as soon as look at me, and the witch and demon wouldn't lift a finger to stop them.

Doesn't matter. One of these days I'll get this sodding chip out, and then I'll pay her back for every punch, every kick. Chain her in a bathtub and see how she feels about it. Strip her naked, clamp some shackles round those twiggy little wrists and ankles. Pour it brim full of blood, cut her here and there—shallow cuts to add a bit of Slayer spice to the soup…

Fuck. Now I'm hungry.

Going to have to bite my lip bloody all night to keep from draining her dry.

***

5 July 2000

Humans and their fireworks. Brilliant.

Managed to get enough dynamite to knock out some of that cave wall. I set it to blow during Sunnyhell's annual fireworks display, which covered up the noise nicely. Nicked some fireworks, too. Never know when they might come in handy. Tonight I'll head down with a jackhammer and start the major tunnelling. Figure I can probably clear it on my own in a week or so, if the Slayer doesn't give me any problems.

It’s getting annoying, sleeping in that dream room bed night after night—then waking up on that cold stone slab with my back aching. Wonder if I can pinch a mattress from somewhere? There's enough room down there for one. Bet I could get one out of the old mansion. Not like Angel's about to use them.

Might've left some books around there, too. Poofter was always reading… maybe he's got some info on demon gods and escape clauses. God knows I haven’t found much in the Watcher’s collection. Surely he’s got more books stashed somewhere? Didn’t he have a whole bloody library a few years back?

***

4 August 2000

Sometimes I don't want to kill her.

Well, not actively, at any rate. She's the Slayer, ergo I want her dead. But there are moments when I don't mind the wait.

Last night she was wearing the oddest pyjamas. Had sushi all over them. Frankly, it was adorable. Food dressed in food. Her hair was all mussed, and she looked tired. Like a sleepy kitten. Hard to imagine this little, sleepy-eyed girl is the bloody bogeyman for the rest of my kind. Ironic, it is.

She doesn't know who I am. I should have realised that in the dark she wouldn't be able to distinguish me from any other vampire, though it's a mite bit disappointing. She thinks our time is just a dream, and over the last few weeks she's relaxed enough to just drop right off when I come to bed. Can’t decide if she’s just that trusting or if she’s really that stupid.

Makes me grin.

Most nights, though, it's torment.

So close. So near. This dream dimension thing dulls the senses a bit but I can still smell her, sometimes I can practically taste her. All that lovely Slayer blood pumping away beneath her skin loud enough to keep the dead awake. She'll taste like sunshine and whiskey and burn all the way down.

Only got a taste of that Chinese Slayer. Not even a drop of dear old Nikki.

This one? I'm gonna drain her ‘til she's nothing but a wrinkled husk of skin with shampoo commercial hair. Gonna bathe in her blood. Maybe save a few pints, keep it for a bit, see if it ages well, like wine.

I lay beside her, just out of arms reach, her face etched in the dim light, and I picture it a hundred thousand ways. All the ways I want to kill her. All the ways I will.

Just have to wait a bit longer. Figure out how to get out of this hell bargain. Get the chip out.

Then she's mine.

This Slayer is mine.

Most nights the demon is so close to the surface I probably vamp at least once an hour. I somehow keep managing to stuff it back down. Need her alive just a little longer. Less than a year now.

Been on this bloody planet for a hundred and forty-eight years. Twenty-nine of them alive. One hundred and nineteen of them dead. I can wait another year.

I can wait.

And then we'll dance. Oh, how we'll dance.

***

13 August 2000

G.I. Jackoff is back in town.

Can’t say as I’ve missed him. Kind of hoped he’d go back to whatever pissant little barnyard he’d goose-stepped out of and accidentally get run over by thresher. Or a hay-baler. I’m not picky.

Can smell him on her when she comes to bed. Every time we have ourselves a run in it's all I can do to suppress a grin at his expense. Would love to dash it in his face that even when she's laying in his arms, she's still sleeping in a monster's bed every night.

Even the demon is a bit smug about it.

Doesn't do much for the frustration, of course. Every night I want to rip her bloody throat out.

I’ve been hunting the cemeteries. Can't hunt humans but dusting vamps and taking out demons takes care of some of the tension. It's not as satisfying as that hot gush of human blood at the end of a good chase, but it'll do. Wonder where Harmony ran off to, some nights. A good shag would help put me to rights—not that Harmony is a good shag, but she's willing enough and if I stuff my fist in her mouth she's not half bad.

Some nights I'm so horny it's hard to separate it from the bloodlust. I lay there, watching the Slayer sleep, and my fancies flicker through my head, blood and sex, blood and sex. I imagine devouring that slender neck, spreading her legs and feasting between her thighs, driving my dick into her at the same time as I slip my fangs into her breast… it's all tangled up. Takes forever to get to sleep, and when I wake up I'm so hard I could probably use my prick as a jackhammer.

Fuck.

I really need to kill something.

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Author’s Postscript:

This chapter covers the same time period as the Prologue and Chapter 1.

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