Dedication: To Whitewolf, you wanky little sadist. :) It wasn't so tough.
The heavy, metal door slammed shut, and a deaf person could have picked up the sound of the thick deadbolt sliding closed. Spike, however, was distracted by the thick smell of blood in the air.
*Oh, God, Dru had to make this hard as all hell, didn't she?*
It was pitch black in the room, although at about twenty by twenty Spike wasn't going to get very claustrophobic. But, oh, the scent of blood was rich.
"You stay over on your side of the room asshole." Her voice rang out from the black. Spike considered it a shrill, discordant sound. Although that was understandable: from the smell of things, she was suffering from a fairly deep wound. He hadn't had warm, fresh, human blood in over a year, and he had never been one to resist his urges. Spike moved towards the voice.
When he knelt down, she landed a punch squarely in his jaw. Spike snarled, slipped into game face, and lunged at her. This time he felt his face begin to burn and pulled away. "Bitch!" he shouted, huddling in the corner.
"I told you to stay on your side."
Spike rubbed his forehead. "What the hell was that?"
"How long have you been a vampire? It's a crucifix you moron.
"Someone's a little bitchy."
"Someone's just asking for it." The woman snarled, then went quiet.
"How'd you do it?" Spike asked after a few minutes.
"Do what?"
"Get the crucifix in past Drusilla."
He heard her sigh. She smelled familiar, dammit, he just couldn't place it. "I snuck it in my bra. Along with a squirt gun full of holy water."
Spike felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. "Resourceful girl."
"Well, when your life is the kind where graduation is celebrated by the eating of your principal and the blowing-up of your high school, you learn to be resourceful."
That nailed it. Cordelia, the cheerleader who'd run with the Scoobies for some time. She was a cute one. He started to laugh. "What's so damn funny?"
"You. Cordelia." He couldn't stop himself. "I always knew you stuffed it."
He heard an indignant gasp. "You just stick to your side of the room."
Spike kept on laughing. Finally his mirth died down. "You're in quite a bit of trouble."
She barked out a bitter laugh, but he noticed she was getting quieter. "Tell me about it."
"I'm just talking blood wise. I've been in this room with you twenty minutes now, and you're still leaking like the bloody Titanic."
Spike listened to her as she shifted position. "I'm putting pressure on the wound. There's not much else I can do. At least it's not near any major organs."
"Where is it?"
"What does it matter to you?" Cordelia snapped. After a few more minutes, she replied weakly. "It's on my right side. One of Drusilla's minions took a chunk out of my abdomen."
"Sorry."
Cordelia grunted. "Hurts."
"I bet."
He felt the spray of liquid and yelped. "I told you to stay on your side."
"Alright, alright." Spike backed off once again. "I'm just trying to help."
She laughed bitterly again, and this time Spike caught the wince of pain which followed. "Sure, Spike. How many times have you threatened my life?"
"A few," he admitted.
"So, now I'm bleeding and mostly helpless, and you expect me to believe that you're 'just trying to help'? Hello, I lived on the Hellmouth for eighteen years. I'm not that dumb."
"Never said you were, pet." He tried to placate her. "But if you don't stop that bleeding soon-"
"What? I'll die? I already know that." Spike heard her shiver. Sighing, he pulled his duster off and tossed it to her. "What's this?"
"My coat. My favorite coat. Cover yourself up, you need to keep warm."
He listened to the leather rustle. "Th-thank you."
"Don't worry about it." The duster also served to partially block the tormenting scent of blood from his nostrils. He sat himself down in the corner and listened to the sounds of Cordelia. Her heart had settled down a bit, and that worried him. Her blood pressure was probably on the low side of good now. But her breathing was fairly regular, and he was pretty sure her stomach was growling, which was not something you heard from the dying. *And why am I so concerned about her dying?* Spike dwelled on that thought for awhile. They sat there in quiet reflection for close to an hour before Cordelia spoke up.
"So what are you doing in here?"
"Hmm?"
"I thought you and Drusilla were close. Why'd she lock you up in here with me?"
Spike sighed. *How do I explain this one?* "Well, for starters, Drusilla's insane."
"Tell me something I didn't already know."
"Very funny, pet. The last time I saw her, I tried to torture her back into love. Needless to say, this is her form of payback."
"This is why I avoid relationships with vampires. I just don't get that whole pleasure equals pain equals pleasure thing you have going on." Spike chuckled as she continued. "For me, these are very clearly defined areas. Pleasure means an eighty-five degree day, floating on a raft in an eighty-degree swimming pool, eating chocolate covered strawberries and sipping champagne while getting a back massage from a handsome blonde named Lars. Pain means gaping wound and head splitting visions. There's no middle ground."
Spike shrugged. "It's all in the perspective I s'pose. Anyway, that's my excuse. Still have a soft spot for the old girl, tough to break the habits of a hundred twenty years. So what are you doing back in Sunnyhell? Thought you'd run off to fame and fortune."
The girl hesitated for awhile. "A bunch of people started messing with my livelihood, your ex-honey among them. Wesley, Gunn and I were trying to make her complexion a little less dusky, a little more dusty, when she hopped the train, and I hopped after her. Managed to put up a damn good fight too. I wake up, and I'm underneath a nasty, sweaty minion. Not being a fan of my own rape, I kicked him where it counts. He responded by tearing off a piece of my side. They left me in here, and then the door popped open and you came in." By the end of this description of the past eight or so hours, Cordelia was in near tears.
Spike, to his complete discomfort, felt entirely sorry for the girl. "'Cor, pet. I had no clue."
"Yeah, that seems to be the theme of your existence."
He shifted uncomfortably. "Pet, I can help you, just let me-"
"No! Stay over there, blood sucker. At least have the decency to let me die before you start scavenging off me."
This was very frustrating. "Cordelia, I'm not going to hurt you. I can stop the bleeding, if you'll let me over there." He was pleading to save someone's life: this was a new one.
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because right now it's that or slow death."
Cordelia was silent for a long time. If it weren't for the slow thud of her heart and her long, slow breaths, Spike would have thought she'd already died. Finally, as her heart slowed a tiny bit more, she croaked out, "Help me."
Spike knelt down by the girl, who shivered as he pulled his coat off of her. He began to feel down her body. "You're practically naked," he stated, surprised.
Her voice was soft, whispery and dreamy. "Well, the minions made short work of my pants and undies. I was using my shirt to hold my side in for the first hour, but it's kind of useless now." Spike felt down the wound, trying to figure out what had happened. Apparently, the minion had first bitten into the soft flesh of her abdomen, then clawed off most of her side. Her breathing kept the wound from closing, but the mauling had miraculously missed her intestines. With proper medical care, she might yet survive.
But there was so much blood. "Lie down, princess."
She complied with a soft sigh. Spike shrugged out of his over shirt. Tearing it into strips, he prepared bandages. But he need something to cauterize the wound. "What's that crucifix made of, princess?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's silver." Spike hunted around and found the holy item, wincing as he pulled it over to him. He handed her his hip flask.
"Start drinking this lovely, you don't want to feel what I'm going to do to you." The girl, nearly gone, sucked at the bourbon like a baby. He let her get in a few swallows before pulling it away. He pulled out his Zippo and began heating up the crucifix. The eerie light revealed Cordelia's tear stricken cheeks and well dilated pupils. "Come on, princess, you can hold on." More bourbon wound up on about half of the handmade bandages. He gave himself a swallow before dumping it onto the wound. Cordelia shrieked in pain, but it wasn't quite full throated. "Sorry, princess, just needed to disinfect it." Then, grasping the cross with her bloody shirt, he pressed it to her, cauterizing the wound, causing her to scream with all her being. Finally, as the stench of scorched flesh became too much, and his skin began to smoke despite the cloth, Spike flung the crucifix across the room.
Cordelia was sobbing, her body wracked with pain. Spike crooned soft words into her ear, stroking her hair back, and wiped at her tears. After about ten minutes, the sobs subsided. "That fucking hurt, you prick."
"I think I saved your life, princess."
"Don't call me princess." Spike nodded and began dressing the wound. She winced as the alcohol-soaked bandages touched her skin, but was otherwise very quiet.
"I used to call Dru princess." he reflected.
"Well, someone used to call me that. I really would rather you didn't."
Spike repositioned himself. "Fair's fair, pet. What should I call you?" It was reassuring: the adrenaline had helped her to regain awareness. It would help her stay alive longer as well.
"Cordelia."
"Alright, Pet." He could practically feel her glare. "All joking aside, I did stop the bleeding on your side. But the bleeding hasn't stopped yet."
Cordelia grunted. "What are you talking about? That's the one place where... Oh shit." She shuddered again.
"That's right Pet. Now, I don't get my jollies off on rape. And trust me, I saw you under the light of the Zippo, you're definitely not looking like anything I'd want to go to bed with. But, if you want to run off with that Mick and start making babies, I'm going to have to dress those other injuries too."
Cordelia gasped. "Spike..."
"What?"
She let out the breath. "You're a crude bastard. Where in the hell did you learn to do this shit?"
Spike grimaced. "Sometimes Angelus didn't play so nice with Dru."
Another deep breath. Release. Deep breath. Release. Spike was a patient vampire. "Alright. Do it. But if you ever tell anyone about this, I will cut off your left ball with rusty nail clippers and feed it to you."
"In wine sauce," Spike added with a smile. As he began to gently probe, she winced. "Relax, girl. You've been to the doctor before. I'm about as interested in you as she was." The minion had not been gentle with the girl. There was some tearing, and there could be scars. And judging by the smell, she'd lied to him: there'd been at least four males with this girl. He shuddered at the thought.
He worked slowly and carefully. Cordelia was silent and stiff as a board throughout. Towards the end, she spoke up. "And you shouldn't have said that."
"Said what, pet?" Spike daubed at the wounds with a bit of cloth, eliciting a brief shudder from Cordelia.
"About running off with the Mick. Doyle's been dead for more than a year." The girl's voice was quiet and withdrawn. "He was the one who called me Princess."
Spike blinked. "Sorry 'bout that pet." He wiped her clean as best he could, then drew his coat back over her. "There we are, all patched up." The whole process had taken close to two hours. Once she was out of here, she'd probably spend a few days in the hospital recovering. Given the inevitable scarring, Spike doubted she'd be wearing any more of those halters again.
"Good. I want to go to sleep now."
Spike chuckled. "Can't have that dearest. With all the blood you lost, I'm not sure you'd wake back up."
"But..." Cordelia's voice trailed off. "I'm going to die pretty soon if I don't get out of here."
Spike sighed. He really, really needed a cigarette. He repositioned himself again, propping himself against the wall, indian-style, with the girl's head in his lap. She tried feebly to pull away. "Just relax, pet. This way you get a pillow, and I get to make sure you don't fall to sleep." A few more moments of struggle and she gave in.
"You really are a prick."
Spike laughed. "Tell me something I don't know."
"So, prick-boy, how are we getting out of here?"
"Well, pet, in case you haven't heard, I'm playing for the White hats lately."
"Oh?" Cordelia yawned, and Spike began an irregular drumming on her shoulder to keep her awake.
"That's right. So, when the Scoobies heard Dru was in town, they, trusting me for some bizarre reason," a bizarre reason to the tune of eight hundred dollars, but he wasn't telling her that, "sent me to do some reconnaissance. If I'm not back there by sundown tomorrow, they're coming in. Guns blazing, John Wayne all the way."
"Oh."
"So, yes, we're stuck here about ten more hours. Tell you what. You tell me a story. A good long story. After the story, you can go to sleep for a little while. I'll stay awake and make sure you don't go into the light, alright pet?"
Cordelia was silent for a few moments. "Okay. Well. About a year ago, my friend Doyle got a vision..." and she proceeded to tell about Doyle's last few days, the Scourge, how the little man had been a half-demon, and how he had loved her. How he had kissed her, then sacrificed himself. "And so, ever since, I've been vision girl. And some good it's done me. It didn't tell me I was going to be stuck in here. I was almost had my eyeballs extracted because of it. It sucks." She sighed. "Can I go to sleep now?"
He stroked her hair back. "Yes, pet. Now, you see any lights, you don't go towards them. The Scoobies find me with a dead Cordelia in my lap, you're gonna have one dusty corpse." He felt her smile against his fingers.
"I'll keep that in mind." She relaxed into sleep rapidly. Spike dwelled for a moment on the stories she'd told him. He was appreciative of the little Irish man: he'd have been as dead as any of the other vampires if the Scourge had their way. It was the news that Cordelia was a seer that struck him to the core.
She was so close...
Spike shut his eyes tightly. No. Bad thought. She just seemed a lot like Dru, another dark princess. Another black goddess. She was asleep here in his arms, a still wet wound on her side. He could help himself to a pain free meal, nick his wrist, and she'd be his.
And they'd both be dust as soon as the Scoobies busted up this party. Oh no. He'd have to control himself. So he paid strict attention to Cordelia's metered breathing, the slow rhythm reassuring. He was almost delighted to discover that her nose whistled. Not loud or anything, just a faint, rhythmic wheeze on every exhalation. He'd have to tease her about that.
The regularity of it sent him straight to sleep. The sleep was dreamless, but woke with a start. It took him a moment to realize where he was. Cordelia was still asleep, but thankfully, breathing. He flicked on the Zippo to check her bandages. There was some slight seepage, but he'd done a damn good job of dressing it, if he said so himself. And he did.
As he replaced the coat, she returned to consciousness. "Like what you see?" Cordelia asked sarcastically. Spike smiled. She must be feeling better.
"Nothing like a gaping wound to turn me on, Pet. You've really learned how to push my buttons." He caught a sound and went silent.
"What?"
He put a finger to her lips. "Quiet, Pet." There was some fighting going on outside. He could hear Drusilla shouting over the din. "I think we're about to get rescued Pet."
Cordelia brushed his hand away. "Really?"
He heard chanting- Red and Mousy. "Yes, love." He slowly lifted her head out of his lap, and rose to his feet. "Put that duster on proper, unless you want them to catch your naughty bits." Cordelia stood next to him and did as he said. "And please, try to explain to them that I didn't do that before they dust me, not after."
"Maybe."
Spike growled. Cordelia giggled. "Alright, I'll make a point of it."
The lock began to adjust. The light from the hall began to filter in. But before their friends could come in and dote, Cordelia leaned up and whispered into the vampire's ear.
"Remember Spike, not a goddamn word."
Spike grinned at her, a charming, devilish smile, and as he always did, got in the last word.
"Bra-stuffer."