Chapter 9
Had they seen it? Did they know? Spike wondered as he slid his eyes quickly over the human beings in the tunnel. And did they now see the tight knot of excitement that was lodged firmly in his chest; that was making him as tense as a coiled spring? He repeated his sweeping, penetrating scrutiny of the tunnel. No eye met his, he could sense no unusual tenseness and no one was whispering anything antsy. If anything they had all sunk further in their fatigued stupor and were even less aware of the world than usual, which suited him just fine, but could it really be that they hadn't seen? Could it be that his current deceit was holding? Was his act really that good?
Nearest to him, and yet firmly within the protective sphere of the Watcher, Edward Frost was hunched over a scrappy looking journal pencilling and silently mouthing half-formed words. The waves of his hot humiliation and despair crashed like breakers against Spike's cool skin. The burn was remorseless and damning.
Fainted. The wanker had fled and then fainted.
What a nancy.
After the small debriefing, during which the Watcher had revealed that they were hunting for the blood pools, the boy had not met anyone's eye, preferring his scribblings. Even when his cross had been returned to him he had preferred to manfully meet the Watcher eye to mid chest. He had not uttered a word either. So now he sat, leaning away from Ethan to his left, and yet straining away from 'the vampire' to his right, pretending that neither of them existed; that he was in some kind of bubble.
Spike sneered.
There had only been the one personal exchange between the two of them, but Spike's contempt for the ma- the boy – had only deepened since the debriefing. The stupid way he dressed, the way he conducted himself (his English git routine), and the way he tried to hide his trembling, blushing inadequacies behind his precious doodles got on the vampire's goat like nothing else had in a long time. Even his disdain for Harris had not developed so quickly or so sharply. What the hell he was doing here was a mystery and something that should have been ended back in the muttune't chamber. Spike pursed his lips. Still, even if he had witnessed anything 'revealing' the little wanker would have had no idea of the significance of it. No threat there.
Across from Tin Tin, sitting beside the empath, Dawn was also hunched in on herself. Knees drawn up, elbows propped there and hands clasped. Little tremors of cold and fear rippled through her - tiny, barely disturbing the air. The scent of her exhaustion and distress were thick in the tunnel even from where he was crouched warming himself in the tweedy twit's shame (my girl didn't faint!). It had been a big mistake to bring her down here. Big mistake. Too soon; too dangerous. He felt a surge of protectiveness well up around his nervous excitement and he suddenly shrugged himself free of his leather long coat.
"Bit." He said. She looked up at him and he felt himself physically drawn into that dark, fearful whirlpool that surrounded her. He moved to her side. "Scoot up from the wall a bit pet. There, see," he whipped the coat around her shoulders, between her back and the cold wall and pulled it tight over her knees. Her little hands grabbed at the lapels and held it shut over her chest.
"But you-"
"Vampire, pet. We don't feel the cold. All the clothing in the world ain't nothing but a bit of decoration for the likes of us."
"Thanks." Her small smile lit up a huge chunk of his insides in a way that was both warming and deeply disturbing. Something was happening to him that was not welcome. This was food he was taking care of here; that he wanted to teach, that he wanted to protect. Forgetting the realities of the action he should be thinking of killing her (all of them really). Could have my coat and eat her too. Really. He should. Except that he wasn't. Not like he used to. Used to think it all the time, though he never let on to the Scoobies (what a wank of a name…) – wasn't suicidal now was he. But he had thought it. Sitting there, tied to a sodding bath or perched on the Watcher's stair, surrounded, suffused, with the delicious throbbing warmth of living human blood he had entertained some wild fancies. Thrilled him even in their impotency, they had.
But no more…
Sure the aroma of hot blood tickled his nostrils as always, and as always his beast arched and stretched languorously inside, limbering up for a snack, but there the train of thought to action was severed. He withdrew from Dawn and resumed his sentry crouch, quietly perturbed. He had felt the terrible, degrading effects of the chip earlier, perched in his tree, and had assumed it was some sort of performance anxiety, but now he saw that it was in fact much more than that. Much deeper, more mysterious. And much the worse for it. Especially now when everything was changed. When the whole fucking world had changed.
He thought about that, and the shockingly unexpected explosion of emotion he had felt for the Summers' girls back in the chamber. He was going soft, that was it. That was all. Too much time spent in the company of dinner – learning their sodding names, which was always a mistake. All gooey over a snack-sized bit and a Slayer. Yeah, he was going soft. He had been going soft. All past tense now-
His hackles suddenly rose.
The rest of the tunnel's occupants were looking at him. Even tweedy-poof. He tensed. Now was not the time for any extra attention. Not the time at all. Didn't want anyone seeing anything, particularly not the Slayer. Be nothing left of him but dust if she got wise.
Plastering a contemptuous sneer to his face he blew out sharply in a soundless laugh and turned his head to dismiss them and their silent suspicious stares. Did they honestly think he was that stupid that he would try to harm Dawn, especially when he was mere feet from her irritable vampire-slaying sister? Spike felt their prickling inquisitions and hunched his shoulders against them. One by one, their eyes left him. The Slayer was the last to stop staring. He could feel her sharp barbed gaze like sunlight on the back of his neck, burning him with her distrust. Fickle, fickle Buffy – what happened to: Spike will look after you?
The Slayer.
What a shock to come to from his red frenzy and see her, glowing like a golden vision, tearing into the fleeing Muttune't. He had felt her euphoria, her ecstasy, from across the cavernous room and it had sliced through his scarlet fog like lightening and speared him to the spot so that he stopped and let his Prey escape his claws; so that he was suddenly all for her, every fibre of his being focussed on her. His dead heart had clenched into a fist in his chest. He was sure it had done. What else could hurt like that?
And, the compression of that lifeless organ had squeezed into his cold veins such a desire to go to her, to present himself, to bite and drink from her, and to have her know him in the doing of it, that he almost felt in its violent seizure an echo of the beat that had thundered in his ears so many years ago.
And then how she had sat astride him, knees squeezing his ribs like to break them, hands like vices around his wrists, staring into his face in a fury, the blood on her cheek like a kiss. What a terrible beauty she had appeared. He had flashed back to a memory of Dru coming to visit him in Angelus' cellar. So long ago now. Bringing with her her soothing words and her little secreted presents of blood. Mummy and Daddy are out making their merry tonight my William... Taking good care of her boy despite Daddy.
Then one night she had seduced him there. Seduced... So long since he had thought of fucking in those terms. Well, whatever it got called they had done it right there in that cold stone room. He still chained up to the wall and half out of his mind with this new maddening bloody hunger and the shock of his last Victorian taboo being shattered; she above him, eyes flicking madly between his bloodied face and his torn up, manacled wrists.
Such a rare beauty she was. Just the thought of her face in that soft dark could still catch his chest to this day. The terrible bloodied radiance of his Undead Aphrodite, hovering like the pale moon above him, and there all for him, all because of him. He suppressed the urge to sigh. That night had started something that had sustained them through all the long years they had been lovers. Their own private little something that had frustrated and angered and foiled their Angelus like nothing had in a long long time.
There's such a fine line between pain and pleasure.
For the longest time he had thought that the one was of the other, as joined and as inseparable as yin and yang: dark and lovely twins born of his dark and lovely mistress. He had craved them, it, like he had learned he craved blood. With all his young, corrupted Victorian fire he hungered after it: shamelessly and single-mindedly. This new thing; this delicious burning thing that was sometimes (maybe most times) more pain than delight, fixed his focus like nothing ever had.
He had since learned different of course, learnt all the variations he had, but the memory of his initiation still lingered. The hurt and fire, like hand and glove. Fish and water. Burning little fishes... But, some days he wasn't sure he hadn't been right the first time, about the way the world was. Like today. Yeah, like today when everything got turned on its head and he really did not know what to think, except that it was a lot like before all of a sudden.
What did that mean though? Everything was getting mixed and muddled in his head.
Then he came to from his reverie and realised, with a start that he was staring at the Slayer's turned head.
Shit.
He must be careful; it wouldn't do to prematurely draw any of their attention to what burned so brightly in his breast. Not even from Dawn. He couldn't let on to anyone about the incredible, wonderful, amazing thing that had his beast rumbling and surging so close to his skin, ready to roar and howl and laugh. Such a little thing and yet it changed everything. Everything. Spike secreted his gaze between Watcher and Slayer, whilst the demon grinned crazily inside.
Yes, that was what was important. Just focus on what's important and everything will be clear once again.
He could take them both out if he wanted. And why not? He had tested the waters just now in the chamber and found, incredibly, that there was nothing to stop him. He could kill them, fill himself up with their potent blood, and rush back to his immortal beloved a champion, a legend. He felt the corners of his mouth curl, felt his fangs tingle and start to drop. There was nothing to stop him now.
Not with the inhibitor chip on the blink.
Oh yeah.
That little bit of muzzling plastic and wire that had tortured him and twisted him around the Slayer's pinky was not working. There was nothing standing between him and her delicate throat now but- But. He paused. That 'but' stuck in his craw like sand. But what?
But what indeed? The murk rose again to blunt his focus.
As he pondered the question something moved inside him, deeply and darkly and he felt it like it were a living thing; glimpsed it like the flick of a shark's fin in the black demonic waters that used to harbour his precious fucking soul. He clenched his jaw - his demon knew the answer. Knew it with all the dumb, desiring savvy of a beast. His nostrils flared. Fuck. He knew the but alright, felt it rise from the dark and fill him up. No. Can't be thinking like that, can't be, mustn't -
"Rupert, I have to talk to you." The tense whisper, murmured low and meant only for the Watcher pricked at Spike's keen ears, interrupting his increasingly uncomfortable thoughts, and he looked at the empath. She was turned from him, leaning in close to her - new? - lover. Spike looked around the tunnel. Dawn looked to be sleeping, Ethan Rayne had his eyes shut, head leaning against the wall feigning his nap, Frost was still scribbling, and the Slayer was watching their collective bums. She must have heard though. Slayer's ears were even more sensitive than those of the Undead. Polite deafness then? Spike looked back at the Watcher in time to see him looking down at the odd woman.
"Alright." Another whisper, this one confused. A frown was creasing the Watcher's face and he cocked his head, staring.
"Not here." She touched his lips with her fingers. He reached up and grasped that hand, kissed the fingertips.
"Alright." He said again. Nice to see the Watcher could be agreeable when he wanted to, Spike thought as he watched them rise from the sandy ground. "Back shortly. We won't be far." Rupert spoke to Buffy and the Slayer paused before nodding. A second later they were brushing by Spike's place and heading around the corner. The vampire frowned. Rupert had to know that he could be heard around there? Spike felt the Slayer's eyes on him and the realization kicked in: so, the Watcher didn't want the Slayer to hear him and his new mistress. Didn't want to upset her highness was that it? But it didn't matter what the Undead heard. Fuck. Spike glared into the tunnel feeling hurt and angry. Angry that he felt hurt, furious that he felt anything at all. The anger surged onto the Watcher and Spike snarled. He'd eat that bastard before this cruise was over, and how.
"Ru-" The empath stumbled over the syllable and Spike glowered. Eat her too if her blood didn't already taste so sour in his mouth. Whatever it was that had invaded her body it was thick in the air, like sulphur and rot, and made him want to spit. Ok, so he'd break her neck and leave her for the muttune't. They didn't seem so fussy. "How are your eyes?"
"I'm getting by. Hopefully it is just a side effect-" Spike sat up straighter, interest peeked. What was this then? The Watcher's eyes? A momentary flash to the squinting man trying to cast a truth spell on his newly chipped self, sparked in Spike's mind. Was he going blind again (as well as loony)? The thought fizzed inside his chest. What potential, what-
"D-did I do right to take you back to them, the Council?" The empath literally blurted out the question.
"Annie-?"
"Did I? Rupert, tell me."
"Yes, yes of course, you know that. I couldn't have gone on like I was." Then a long pause in which the tension gathered like storm clouds. "It was- Annie, what's going on?"
"It used to keep me awake nights. Wondering if I'd done the right thing. I tried to contact you a- a few months afterward, but Robert said you were in training in the north. He said you were fine, and I am sorry, but I left it at that."
"Robert? Robert Knightly? You- you contacted him. That son of a bitch, he never told me."
"Were you 'fine', was he lying to me?"
"Annie." Cloth sounds. "Of course I was alright. I was miserable as fuck without you but I was alright. What you did for me- it was the right thing in so many ways that I can't find the words to thank you for it." More cloth sounds and a muffled intake of breath. "W-were you alright? Where did you go?" Sounded like he didn't want to know the answer to that.
"Home: for a little while. Then I drifted for a bit."
"You didn't go back to the commune? I thought you might have-"
"-but, you're glad I didn't." Spike heard the smile. "No need for you to have been jealous."
"I wasn't jealous."
"Right, like you aren't now oh Green Lantern."
"Well, he's a bastard and he's sneaky."
"I'm sneakier."
"Yes you are, still. Annie what's going on? Why bring up the past now? This is not like you at all."
"Not like me? No I guess not, but I've been thinking a bit lately: about the past. Decisions I've made, or haven't made.
"Do you regret not having a family of your own Ru?"
"Well. Yes, I suppose part of me does, but not the larger part. The path I have chosen has meant that some possibilities have had to be laid to rest, but I knew that before I chose. I have accepted that part of my life. Is this what this is about love? You haven't said, but-"
"Oh babe, I- I-" Then a pause. Pregnant. If ever there was a time to call anything pregnant, this was it. Spike leaned forward. "I'm just realising how much I've missed you, us, that's all." ...?... "Just, just don't let go, ok."
Oh dear god, if there had ever been a doubt about the benefits of his becoming a vampire they had just been laid to rest. What a pile of steaming, couldn't-be-anything-but-human, sentimental tosh! Whoever wrote this gag-fest ought to have their fingers broken and their quill rammed where the sun don't shine. There was no way he could let himself turn back into anything like that. Spike sat back against the tunnel wall. His recent behaviour, the odd attachment he seemed to have developed for the Slayer (don't think about that, don't think about it) and her Scoobies, slipped into his mind and the anger along with it. How close had he come to falling back into that vomitus black-pit, group hugging, Oprah Winfrey-book club, soul-fest? He had felt its sticky fingers drawing at him that was for sure, but he had been so far gone he had not even thought to buck it, not really, not like he once would have.
Fuck.
Well, not any sodding more. He had learned some very interesting things just now, and earlier in the chamber. Enough to make some good old-fashioned fun before he ended it. Yeah. Just like before the chip, before Dru had left him, before Buffy.
His fingers went to his duster pocket looking for his fags, except that he wasn't wearing his coat. Fuck the Slayer and her precious pink lungs he wanted a smoke. Spike pushed himself up from his crouch and walked over to Dawn. She was snoozing against the wall making little half snores, smelling all sleepy. Spike squatted down and fished around in the coat pocket. The Slayer was facing away from them, listening intently down her tunnel with her sword tip trailing in the dirt.
"W-what do you think you are doing?" Frost's pathetic little voice whined across the tunnel. Spike ignored him. "S-stop that at once." Dawn stirred, making little animal noises. He found his lighter, then his fags. "S-stop!"
FUCK!
The horribly unique pain of a cross was pushed into his face, missing his skin by a mere hair. That little shit. Spike snarled, game face exploding across his features, as he swivelled and smashed the cross from the boy's hand. The kid shrieked, and the cross bounced around the stone floor and walls and disappeared into the dark.
"Spike!" Dawn.
"Spike!" The Slayer.
"Spike!" The Watcher.
"FUCK!" Spike remembered, only at the last second, his charade. He clutched at his head and made what he hoped was a good approximation of his usual chip-face.
"Spike what did you do?" The Slayer. When the vampire looked up he got a goodly glimpse of an angry Buffy, and Frost, all hunched over himself, pressed against the wall. The empath was crouched by the boy. His little whimpers stoked the fire still flaring in Spike's belly. All of them protecting that little snit. That pathetic piece of crap that should by all rights be dead. Torn to shreds and good riddance.
"What did I do?" Spike spat, rising to his feet, clutching his head. Could rip her throat out. Could do it right now. Do it fast and take the Watcher next. "What did I do you stupid bitch? Ask that little fuck what he was doing putting a cross in my face!"
She hit him. Fast rabbit punch to the nose. He fell back against the wall, but lunged forward again, game face pulled into a snarl. Do it, do it, do it. He was an inch from her stubborn, self-righteous, bitch face.
"Go on, try it." The Slayer's voice was tight and sharp and scraped at his ears like a scream. "Go on. I can see you want to, so go on. Do it fast enough and may be you can rip my throat out."
She knew! His eyes widened. She knew. The revelation stopped him dead in his tracks. She knew and she hadn't said and now she was going to try to dust him. Right here, right now.
"Do it." She repeated, eyes like ice. He didn't move. "What's the matter? Can't? Spikey's lost his nerve, is that it? Can beat the chip enough to attack a regular human, but can't get it up to take on the Slayer?" She didn't know.
"Buffy, that's enough." The Watcher, voice quiet in the silence.
"Oh, I don't think so Giles." The Slayer did not take her eyes off her target, her prey. Spike could not take his eyes from hers. She meant it and he was trapped like a fly in her thrall. A part of her, the part that sparked this strange new light in her eyes, that lethal come-hither, meant every word: if he tried it on now only one of them would walk away.
A rich dark rumbling, thundering growl began to rise up from so deep inside it had to be coming from somewhere around his boots.
There was a swelling pressure in his chest too. It blossomed and exploded forth from the vague sensations he had felt before: no more sharks fin – here comes bitey! He hadn't felt like this in an age.
She wanted it – finally she wanted it. And so did he.
"Come on Spike. Do your worst. Make it three for three."
Calm.
Still.
Quiet.
The whole world smothered in a thick quilt of silence. Reaching out to every curve and tucking around all the edges with thick silenty-type hospital corners, she and everything that was, was held down in a strange tranquil fugue.
Dawn looked around the large, gloomy cavern she was somehow in, without having to move her head. Into every nook and cranny her senses probed: every dark little hole, every shadow. And it wasn't the least surprising to find that she could suddenly see everything like it was daylight. Or that she could see 360, like all at once. Didn't seem at all odd. Didn't seem at all odd either that the horrible demon thingies that had so terrified her now seemed as harmless as garden gnomes. They pressed in on all sides, huge blank eyes fixed on her, bodies poised in frozen crouches, teeth bared, but not scary at all. It all felt kind of OK really; kinda normal. She guessed that she should be creeped out by them and by her total coolness (despite living on a hellmouth for months now), but she didn't feel that either.
Kinda didn't feel anything at all.
So she just stayed where she was, feeling no impetuous to move, no need to do anything other that just be. Time passed and she didn't get bored or antsy; didn't feel like checking out what was on TV, or what new earrings Buffy had bought and thought she had well hidden. Didn't feel like anything except hovering here in her serene Egyptian-mummy weirdness.
Time passed. It meant nothing.
…..
…..
Then she was moving. Just like that. Drawn along like a fish on a hook, gliding through the still air towards-? Didn't seem to matter. Things were out of her control, out of her understanding and beyond her capacity to care. She watched the demon pack part and let her through their midst: all royal courtier-like, bowing to their queen as she passed by. Dawn looked down at them with placid disinterest. They held no fascination for her now, not with her purpose lying elsewhere than this silent washed-out place. Her purpose…
Her purpose? Where had that come from?
She floated on. Leaving the chamber she watched, without turning her head, as her attentive courtiers receded behind her, melting into the dark. When they were gone her attention, such as it was, drifted back to what was coming ahead. In front of her stretched a long, curvy, steeply descending corridor of rock and earth. There was the scent of old, damp earth in the air. Its coolness wafted around her, through her, and she blended into it. She watched the corridor wind and twist, like watching a documentary with the mute button on.
After a while it straightened and then opened out. She floated on, still on the line, and emerged into another cavern. Only this one was larger than the other one, much larger, with a ceiling so high her new powers of sight could not see it, and a breadth so vast she could not make out the other side.
Below her the ground gave way to a deep blackness that she knew, even though she couldn't quite see for sure, was somehow other than the solid ground of the other chamber. Whispers floated up from it. She let the sounds waft through her and did not try to grasp their meanings. Some how she knew they were talking about her, around her, in spite of her, but that she was not meant to be taking part. That was ok though. She was ok with that.
She moved on.
The voices grew louder. Rippling up from beneath her, and now coming from ahead. And suddenly their timbre grew darker, sharper, and more intent; still talking all about her. But not in a good way, or even a 'whatever' way. Something like fear began to grow in her belly. Suddenly this whole deal was beginning to feel bad. Like walking down a darkened alley and reaching that moment of knowing, just knowing, that it had been a bad choice; that you had made a terrible, horrible mistake taking that short cut and that he, it, was now after you. And gaining. And no matter how hard you ran now, how much you regretted what you'd done, there was no going back. No safe place to run to. Nowhere to hide.
OK, starting to wig-
And then she was going down. Down into the liquid dark and toward the not quite solid ground beneath. Down into something bad, something malevolent, something horribly evil that meant her harm. Her alarm grew as she neared the surface, but she was held fast in that weird embrace. Couldn't move. Couldn't feel her legs or her arms. Did she even have any limbs anymore?
Buffy!
Lower.
The whispers grew. And the air, that cool breezy air, started to change. Condensing like a mirage over a summer highway: ripply and shimmery. But this mirage wasn't hot; it was cool and getting cooler. And it stunk: like rotten egg gas. Like Buffy sometimes did when she got back from sewer patrol. Dawn wrinkled her nose, or at least she would have if she had had a nose anymore!
BUFFY!
"... Sanguisa..."
Who said that? The glassy whisper suddenly made itself audible above the muttering dark. And still she sank lower. The air writhed. Squirming. Shuddering. Stinking and sour now, and totally just blergh.
"…. Odisse…"
Another whisper. Scraping along her, through her, like a sharp knife now, or a claw. It hooked her, spearing its rough spiny grip into the very essence of her. She strained against the horribly invasive pain, but it only set itself harder. Purposeful now, dragging her down faster and faster to, to… Fulfil her purpose. There it was again: her purpose? Only this time she didn't feel nothing about it. This time it hurt. It really hurt. More than like breaking her wrist, more than accidentally cutting herself with the steak knife and more than she thought she could bear. And still she sank lower and lower.
She tried to scream.
Nothing came out. Not a peep.
Lower. Into pain and terror and dread. She couldn't keep on going. She couldn't bare it. Desperately she tried to twist free. The thing, the whisper, that had her hooked her harder, held her more tightly, but she didn't stop. Ignoring the searing pain and the horrible agonized air that thrashed around her, she pulled and twisted and screamed and cried out for Buffy, for Mom-
Dawn awoke with a shriek knotted in her throat, jaws clenched tight and the up close and personal flash of Spike crouching over her in full game face - demon eyes and razor fangs, an inch from her nose. Phew. Spike. What a frigging relief!
She remembered the strange conviction she had experienced back in the demon-gnome chamber, the simple knowing that had washed over her when she had called for him to help her and then again when she wanted to bring Spike back from his vamp-rage. (Warmth spread through her chest at the memory of that moment when his golden eyes had shifted back to their sexy blue, at the simple touch of her hand.) Now here he was, once again responding to her and rushing like some knight on a white charger to save her again. And this time she hadn't even needed to call out loud. She had never guessed that their level of connection ran that deep, even when he'd called her his princess.
Buffy was wrong about Spike - he didn't want to hurt or kill her, he just plain wanted her. No. No way did Spike want to hurt her. Hey, it was Giles back in the chamber that had freaked out and grabbed her, not Spike, and yet Buffy didn't warn him off. It had been Spike to rescue her too, not Buffy. She had called and he had just kicked Giles' butt. OK, maybe slight exaggeration, but just for a second she had wanted the chip gone, and he could have… What? Well, maybe freaked out the Dynamic Duo, just a little, just a tiny little bit. And then maybe kissed her like a hoover, right in front of Buffy.
But he could never really do that because Buffy would kick his butt. And Giles would too. Just 'cause they could. Man, Buffy was such a hypocrite. Why was it fine and dandy for The Slayer to have an Undead boyfriend, while she couldn't? It wasn't fair.
Now, she reached out to touch Spike's cheek for the second time that night, but he was suddenly spinning away from her so fast she felt immediately dizzy and disoriented again. And the horrible aftermath of the nightmare made itself known. Every bone in her body ached, every muscle felt like stone from being clenched too tight for too long, and sweat stuck every bit of clothing fast to her skin. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again it was to see Spike, but this time it was to see him savagely slapping at the new guy (Eddie?) and sending him whirling into the wall.
"SPIKE!" She let the shriek out.
"SPIKE!" Giles.
"SPIKE!" Buffy.
"FUCK!" Spike.
Ethan said nothing, but he was awake now and braced against the wall ready to run or fight. Anita went straight to Eddie, rushing like a mother to her chick. Mom. Dawn felt her fear mount as Spike and Buffy started fighting – really fighting like they really meant it. Mom, Mom, Mom! Buffy snapped at Spike, he screamed back, she hit him, he sprang back at her like some kind of wild beast, Giles tried to intervene-
And then it all went to hell.
Spike roared. Really roared. Like a frigging lion: fangs bared and yellow eyes mad with a singular intent purpose that had no higher function than hunt, kill, feed. This wasn't right – that wasn't Spike. It was a thing. A wild, malevolent thing like Buffy slew night after night and washed out of her hair when she got home.
What was happening?
Her sister, at least it looked like her sister, surged up to meet this Spike-thing half way. She didn't roar or scream or sprout fangs but she was changed also. Sharply cut, like someone had just cranked up the resolution, she shone with a fire that was not of the normal, not even of the normal Buffy: vampire slayer. It was beautiful, but it was terrible. The brilliant burn that seemed to explode forth from her like a volcanic eruption was not the kind of noble light that you'd expect to come from a super hero. It was cold, unkind and fierce and was focussed completely with murderous intensity upon her enemy, upon Spike. It was a wild stranger in her sister's skin. Someone, something perhaps, that would trample her without thought or hesitation if she got in the way.
Dawn stared and was consumed with a bone-deep terror that completely subsumed her nightmare and then some. Tears built up her throat. Don't want to be here, I wanna be at hoooome.
"BUFFY!" Giles. Oh thank god, Giles will fix it. Dawn couldn't move but she saw the Watcher lunge in from her left and try to come between Buffy and Spike. "Stop this at once. Bloody hell, I have had enough of this shit! If you two are going to kill each other then just fucking get on with it: I've got better things to do than ponce about down here watching you scrap over every little thing." Then he did something that Dawn had never seen him do – he pushed Spike away from Buffy so hard the vamp went tumbling away, skidding up on his shoulders on the sandy floor. "Just you fuck off, orright." He stared at what he'd done then, for a second, face shifting from surprise to concern to horror and then Spike was back on his feet smiling a gleefully wicked smile that reeked of blood lust.
He attacked. Oh my god he's fighting them – what about the chip?
Dawn shrieked as the three connected and the tunnel filled with snarling, fighting, violent sound and movement. She scrambled up against the wall; Spike's coat falling free from her shoulders, and then took off on all fours towards Anita, Eddie and Ethan. Terror ran down her cheeks in two dripping streams and she heard herself blubbering uncontrollably. Her vision blurred grey. Wannagohome, wannagohome, wannagohome-
"Dawn." Anita's voice and then her hands pulled Dawn across the floor. The young girl reached out and latched on to the arms and then the embrace for all she was worth. All four of the still sane bunch huddled deeper into the tunnel, staring at what had become of their friends.
"Ethan- " Anita's voice was sharp and slicing. Ethan looked at her and shook his head.
"This shouldn't be happening." He yelled above the din. Dawn ripped her eyes from the incredible churning melee that was all that was left of Buffy, Spike and Giles, glanced at Ethan and felt herself tense anew. The new guy's lean face didn't look right. Shouldn't he be freaking out with everyone else?
"Well it is!" Anita yelled back. "You have to do something – now. They are going to kill each other!"
CLANG! Buffy's sword hit the rock wall so hard the blade snapped free. She threw the hilt aside as Spike attacked. She put a fist into his face. It snapped his head to the side. The Slayer didn't wait for him to recover, but threw the vampire up against the wall. He bounced off it and ducked Giles' fist, coming in low to grab the Watcher around the knees taking them both to the ground.
"Alright, alright." Ethan held up a hand. "This shouldn't be happening though so I'm not sure just what you expect me to do about it."
Buffy pulled Spike off her Watcher. The Englishman snarled.
"Dammit Ethan, surely even you can see it. Just look at them: the Hellmouth has caught up with us. I can see it, like blood and fire and hate all around them, inside them. Use the protection magicks - now!"
"Annie, maybe you didn't understand me: the blocking magicks are still working! I can feel it. I can't layer the incantations; you know what happens if I do!"
"What the hell is it then?" Anita bit her lip, staring at the fight, and Dawn felt her muscles bunching and then relaxing and then bunching again, as they were pressed together in the narrow tunnel. As if she was going to -
"Oh no you don't, Annie." Ethan grabbed the woman's arm. "Not again. You go out there now and you won't last to reach him, let alone bring him back. We'll have to think of something else."
Spike rumbled. Buffy threw a chunk of wall (!) at him as Giles clawed his way to his feet.
"What else? Ethan we've got nothing else." Anita pulled Ethan's hand away from her arm. She suddenly stared at him. "No. Don't you dare even think that! Ethan: no." Huh?
"Bloody hell woman, what else is there? We go in there and we die. We stay and who's to say that we won't be next on the menu."
"No, we are not leaving them here like this. I won't leave them Ethan, and neither will you." She was suddenly in his face, grabbing him by the arms and holding him captive. "Don't make me make you stay." That took the wind out Ethan's angry sails. He stared into Anita's eyes, his face suddenly wary, and eyes suddenly a bit rounder, darker. He smiled a tiny smile, and there was a touch of resignation there. Then a sudden lull in the fight interrupted them all and drew their attention back down the tunnel.
Giles and Buffy had Spike cornered in a shallow curve in the wall. The blond vampire was covered in blood, but wired and electrified to a degree that left the goblin-chamber experience for dead. He swiped at Buffy, chuffing through his fangs in a warped cackle of pure delight. And for the first time ever Dawn was afraid of him.
There was nothing in this savage, twisted face that she recognized despite the fact that she had called for and unleashed it. And now he was in a fight with Buffy because of it. But then he had gone and hurt Eddie for no reason and was beating on Buffy and Giles with such viciousness that Dawn was seriously terrified.
This was the face of a vampire: a for-real psycho-crazy, animal-thing. This was not her guy. This was not the Spike she flirted with, that she confided in, discussed nail polish with, plotted and conspired with, or who was teaching her to play cards, the 'right-and-proper way'.
So, instead of fixing it, making him come back from his fang-face, she simply sat where she was, scared stiff, watching as Spike tried to break out of the corral he was in, but get slammed against the wall. His grin was crazed.
Oh god, Spike…
"There is something I can try, but you will have to help." Ethan was saying to Anita, voice calm and measured, resigned even.
"Anything." Anita nodded.
"Anything… Right. Anything for-" He shook his head. "I'll deal with the vampire. You go for Ripper – see what you can do there. Hopefully, if you can get through to him, he will be able to deal with the Slayer."
"What are you going to do?"
"Something stupid of course."
"Hey, what about me?" Dawn interrupted, and then remembered Eddie. "I mean: us. What about us? What do we do? This is all my fault and" I have to fix this, to save Buffy, "and… and that's my sister out there!" Anita started suddenly, as if she had forgotten that there were four, not two, of them hiding back here.
"You two stay here." She finally said and held a hand up to quell protest. It didn't stop Eddie though. He had uncoiled from his protective ball and was now just holding his hand to his belly.
"M-Ms Snow." He said, voice trembling, tone more than a little freaked (and boy Dawn could so relate), but he persisted. "You will need help. If I understand correctly, Mr Rayne is going to need all his focus for the vampire, and you will need to see to Mr Giles. I-If I may say: at least for a minute you are going to need the Slayer distracted-"
"Yeah, and I can so distract Buffy. Years of practice and-" Dawn interjected urgently.
"And I am equipped to provide that support." Eddie ignored her.
"HEY!" Dawn protested. "You are so not the only one equipped. No, no. You want equipped? Well, I've got huge equipment, huge- Ok, so that came out wrong, but-"
"Alright Edward, if you feel up to it. There is no more time: let's go." And Anita turned away, followed by Ethan and a beat later by equipment-boy. They all went for the untiring trio still scrabbling in the dirt. Buffy screeched as Spike landed a punch in Giles' belly. Ooow! Dawn forgot her terror and guilt, and fell once again to silence, staring.
With a surprisingly nimble move, Ethan Rayne, yelling out something voodoo, went straight for Spike and took him down in a tackle. Giles looked up from the ground, shocked by the interruption, in time to see Anita bearing down on him. Buffy bawled out her severe pissed-off-edness as she witnessed what must have looked like her Watcher's last moments. Forgetting Spike she went straight for her Watcher. And Eddie? Well the plucky little guy went straight for the Slayer, just like he promised, coming in between her and her target. Hands up, poised like some really badly acted Kung Fu movie, he made a "HUH!" sound, and was promptly swept aside like a twig. Buffy went in for the kill.
"BUFFY!" Dawn screamed. She launched herself forward, forgetting her fear. She reached her sister at the same time as Buffy reached Anita where she was struggling with Giles, calling out his name. Dawn grabbed for her sister's shoulders and pulled. Oh my god, Buffy was like iron: she did not even seem to feel the impact, but Dawn did. She hit hard and bounced onto the ground. Buffy reached for Anita's neck. NO! Dawn grabbed at her sister's ankles and hung on. "BUFFY STOP! PLEASE STOP! DON'T GO AWAY LIKE SPIKE! BUFFY!"
And her sister stopped. Dawn looked up, a relieved smile breaking out over her face. But it wasn't over and the Slayer, the Slayer, reached down to grab at the tangle of limbs around her ankles. Dawn had time to squeal, as she was ripped free and sent sailing through the air. She also had time to see the wall coming up to meet her, before she slammed into it.
