Friday's Child

Chapter Eleven

…

"Oh god," Buffy whispered, trying not to be sick as they made their way through the abandoned Initiative headquarters, the only place in Sunnydale set up for brain surgery with no chance of one of Willow's pod people seeing them. Graham and his men were in a loose circle around her, Spike, and the doctor they'd brought in from L.A. "You just… left them."

She'd seen a lot of horrible things in her life, but this…. Bodies were everywhere, both human and demon. Most of the Initiative soldiers and scientists hadn't give a damn about the demons – harmful or otherwise – but they'd also sealed away their friends and coworkers, leaving them to rot in the debris. What had the families been told? What had been the excuses given for all of the funerals held with no bodies?

"We didn't really have much choice," Graham said, voice low. Like her, he seemed to think talking at normal volume would somehow disturb the dead. "We couldn't just let the HSTs get out and run loose."

They could have. A lot of the demons had been fairly neutral, and even the truly dangerous ones would have probably gone to ground to lick their wounds. Buffy would have been able to take them down before they did much, if any, damage. Of course, it had been Adam who had trapped them all inside, but the military could have come back and opened the place up at any time. The remains could have been collected and given proper burials.

At least Dawn and Tara aren't here to see this, she thought. They'd gone to their respective homes to avoid suspicion, Tara with an embroidered shirt as a gift for Willow and Dawn with a tale about a day spent in sibling bonding. Thursday had been left with Ben at his apartment with enough milk for two feedings. It had been hard parting from again, but this was no place for an adult, much less a baby. Of course, she hadn't known it was like this when the decision had been made, but taking an infant along to the place where her father had been held captive and experimented on had seemed kind of ooky.

And speaking of ooky... Buffy grimaced, shuddering in disgust as she stepped over some kind of greasy, foul smelling fluid. Spike's hand ghosted along her back before settling firmly on her hip and pulling her against him. She leaned into it, letting the cool, solid feel of him against her side soothe her unsettled feelings.

"You alright, love?" he murmured into her hair as he nuzzled it.

"Yeah," she murmured back. It was horrifying, but she wasn't exactly a sheltered princess or anything. "You?"

Before he could answer, there was a strange rustling sound from nearby. The soldiers tensed, carefully moving their flashlights to try to show whatever was making the sound. The rustling came again, along with skittering. Then there was a sort of woosh followed by a roar as something slammed into one of Graham's men.

Buffy instantly pulled away from Spike and punched the thing. It was about seven feet tall with dark, matted fur and tusks sticking out of its slobbery mouth. It wasn't a type of demon she was familiar with and the only weapon she had on her was a stake, but if the commandos had been able to capture it, she was pretty sure she could kill it. Would it have even needed killing if it hadn't been brought here? she wondered as she kicked it in what she was pretty sure was the gut. Just because something looked nasty didn't mean it was.

The thing staggered back, but before Buffy could close in again, a blur of black and white flashed past her. Spike tackled the demon, taking both it and himself to the corpse strewn floor. They were up in an instant, her vampire easily dodging swipes from the other demon's huge, clawed hands. He was practically dancing with it, somehow able to move through the bodies and debris with an almost feral grace. She hadn't seen him that full of life and energy since the trials to win back his soul.

This is the first time he's fought anything since then, she realized. The soldiers stirred beside her, no doubt getting their weapons ready to join in. "No," she said quietly. "You'll just get in his way. Let him fight."

"You heard the lady," Graham said, handing her a flashlight. "The medical lab should be right through this door." He inclined his head towards it. "We'll make sure there aren't any nasty surprises and help the doctor get set up."

She nodded absently, most of her attention on Spike. The flashlight didn't show a lot of detail, but she'd fought beside him often enough to mentally fill in the blanks. She wanted to join in, to work out her confused feelings about Willow with some mindless violence, but she held back. Spike needed this more than she did at the moment.

It didn't take long. Punch, kick, stagger back from a claw slash that connected, whirl out of the way of another. She'd missed seeing this. Hell, if she was honest with herself, she missed fighting against him. An opponent who could fight, wasn't above using the occasional dirty trick to spice things up a bit, and could keep up the banter through it all. She had never wanted to admit it, but she'd always loved their fights.

Soon, the chip would be out, and they could actually, truly spar. None of what they had now, with Spike just dodging or blocking and throwing the occasional punch he knew would never land. No more of the guilt she felt sometimes during rough sex. She knew he liked it, but she could see it in his eyes sometimes, the frustration that he couldn't play, too.

And speaking of playing…. Spike leaped onto the creature's back, grabbed its head, and twisted with a sharp crack of sound. He jumped free of the falling body and bounded towards her, eyes bright. If he'd had a tail, Buffy was pretty sure it would have been wagging from sheer joy.

"Have fun?" she asked with a slight smile.

Instead of answering in words, he pulled her against him and claimed her mouth in a deep – and much too brief – kiss. Then he kissed her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and each eyelid before resting his forehead against hers and just breathing in her scent. She let herself just bask in it for a moment, let herself soak in the feeling of being loved and cherished. Then she reluctantly pulled back and gazed into his eyes.

There were shadows there again, but…. She smiled again and reached out to cup his cheek. "Welcome back, Spike."

…

...

Such a wee little thing for all the pain it had caused. 'Course, if its size were meant to reflect the amount of pain, it'd be bigger than a bloody house, Spike thought wryly as he stared at the microchip in his hand. It was out. The chip was out, and he was free to do as he would.

Before the soul…. No. If he was going to be honest about his faults, he had to be honest about his finer qualities as well. If it had been before he'd fallen in love with Buffy, he'd have gone out on a slaughtering spree without a thought. There was an urge even now – with both Buffy and soul – to do just that. To hunt and kill, to bathe in the blood of his natural prey. To be a real vampire again.

The way it made him feel, though – the thought of killing innocent people – was worse in a way than the pain from the chip. All those people, killed the same way he had been. Their friends and loved ones left grieving…. The idea of being the cause of that again….

He should call the doctor back in, have his still aching head cut back open and the chip shoved back in. He couldn't be trusted. He wasn't safe. The only way he could be safe was if he were chipped. Or somehow turned human.

Bugger that, he thought in disgust. He didn't want to be human. The fight he'd had out there, that had driven away any lingering doubt about that. Truth was, he liked being a vampire, and the soul hadn't changed that. The power, the durability, the enhanced senses…. He loved it all and didn't want to give it up.

He wanted to keep fighting demons. For the thrill of it, yeah, and also to… well, help people. Be a bit of a superhero. Not out of any ridiculous notion of atonement – you atoned for things like nicking library books, not over a century of mass murder – but because it was the right thing to do. And also fun.

"Spike?" Buffy came up to him and put her hand on his shoulder. She was the only one still in the room with him and been quiet up until then, giving him a few minutes. "You okay?"

Was he okay? He stared at the chip in his hand. It was a leash. A muzzle that had held him back. He'd needed it for a bit, to give him time with Buffy to realize his feelings and become as good as he could be without a soul. Buffy was right. He'd never be able to grow if he used it as a crutch.

Was he okay? "I will be."

He closed his hand and squeezed.

…

...

Buffy was pretty sure that thinking deep thinky thoughts was a really bad idea right after brain surgery. But there Spike was – bandaged head and blood stained hair and all – staring at the chip in his hand and obviously lost in thought. It had to be weird, holding the thing that had caused him so much pain and made him helpless against the majority of the population.

He was safe now. Or, well, safer. The average human couldn't hurt him anymore. Willow wasn't the average human, though, and there was a part of Buffy that wanted to send Spike away anyway. It was like in the movies when the big manly hero sent the "little woman" off for her own good. She'd always hated that, and it would be the exact same thing if she did it to Spike. Just because their genders were reversed from the movie cliché didn't magically make it okay.

Besides, he already had a set role and everything for tomorrow's plan. Since - according to Tara - Willow claimed she liked hearing her closest minions belittling Spike, the Magic Box's fancy new warding had been designed to allow him through while keeping out all other demons. He'd come in through the basement once the last of Graham's men trickled in, pretending to be customers. They'd distract her, and Spike would hit her a few times, leaving her confused and even more distracted. That would be Buffy's chance to touch Willow with the spell stone while Tara started up the secondary spell.

That was the plan anyway. And if it goes down exactly like that, I'll eat my favorite pair of boots, she thought. She shook her head with a sigh and focused on Spike again. He was still just standing there, quiet and unmoving. It was weird and unnatural for him.

"Spike?" She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, offering support. "You okay?"

No answer. Buffy was starting to think he was too lost inside his thoughts to hear her when he finally said, "I will be."

Then he closed his hand around the chip and squeezed, crushing it beyond any hope of repair. That was a weight lifted off. She'd been worried he might want to keep the thing as some kind of gruesome souvenir. She waited until after he'd opened his hand and let the pieces fall before pulling her hand off of his shoulder. Then she swung it back and slapped him between the shoulder blades at full strength.

…

...

Spike staggered forward from the force of the blow, a startled yip escaping him as pain blossomed through his upper back. "What the bloody hell was that about?" he growled as he turned to face her, feeling confused and betrayed. Not to mention brassed off.

He liked rough play and fighting, but that didn't mean he liked being hit for no reason. Especially when he couldn't... Couldn't fight back...

He could fight back. He'd been so caught up in thinking about being a danger to others that he hadn't really given that aspect of it much thought. He wasn't a potential victim to every human he passed anymore.

As if knowing exactly what he was thinking, Buffy grinned and settled into a fighting stance. "Come on, Spike. You know you wanna dance."

Then she launched herself at him. He dodged her first couple of blows and blocked the third, automatically falling into the rhythm of their usual sparring. That wasn't what Buffy was after, though, and he knew it. She wanted him to fight back.

He tried. He threw a punch, fully intending for it to land right in the middle of her smug face, but he faltered at the last minute. A voice shrieked in the back of his mind, telling him it would only lead to pain; his head would explode into agony, leaving him in a defenseless heap on the floor.

The voice was right about one thing. He did end up on the sodding floor, but only because Buffy decided to kick his legs out from under him. She dropped down, straddling his hips and pinning his shoulders. It was something they'd done several times before, but this time she put real strength into the hold, keeping him from flipping them or wiggling loose. She hadn't done it like that since last fall, when they'd gotten caught up in the fertility ritual. When she'd….

"Off," he said shortly, fighting back a panic attack. What the bloody hell did she think she was playing at? She had to know what this was doing to him. He looked up into her eyes. All playfulness was gone, leaving them dark with an odd mix of sympathy and determination. Yeah. Bitch knew exactly what she was doing. "Damn it, Buffy, get off!"

"Make me," she said, voice calm and even. "If you hesitate tomorrow, you could die. You want to help? Then you make me let you up."

He saw it then, the fear lurking deep in her eyes. If he couldn't hit her in a play fight, how were things going to go in the real fight against Willow? He'd hit Buffy before with the bloody chip. Just gritted his teeth and did the deed, then rode out the pain as best he could. Hell, he'd been ready to attack the soldiers earlier when he'd thought they were a threat. He could do this.

The memory of what had happened the last time she'd actually been serious about holding him down flashed through his mind. The chip had fired, leaving him even more helpless to her attack. He growled and banished the memory, then bent his arms at the elbow to grab Buffy's forearms. He yanked her down low enough to headbutt her, then shoved her away while she was disoriented.

They both got to their feet at nearly the same time and the fight was on again, this time with Spike going on the offensive. She'd been holding back with him during their spars, afraid to really cut loose when he couldn't properly defend himself. She wasn't holding back this time, and she was magnificent.

He didn't hold back either. They ducked and dodged and traded blows until he managed to get in a kick that sent her staggering into the wall. She pushed off, only to get body slammed back against it. He pulled her arms above her head, holding her wrists together with one hand. They were both breathing heavily – even though he didn't actually need to breathe – and her cheeks were flushed.

She could have pushed him away, but she didn't. Instead, she tilted her head, offering her neck. No knife, piece of glass, torn metal from a soda can, or even her own nails clawing at her flesh. She wanted him to bite her. To vamp out and sink his fangs into the lovely column of her throat.

He swallowed hard. His gums itched, and he could practically taste her. She gave him little tastes of her blood all the time, usually even straight from the tap, but this was different. This was….

"You sure about this, love?" he asked, voice thick with desire.

"Do it," she whispered.

He closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath of her scent. Oh god, she smelled amazing. He vamped out, but hesitated. Before he could ask again if she was sure, she pulled one arm free and buried her fingers in his hair, pushing his head against her neck. He moaned as his fangs sank into her flesh, the slight resistance sending a tingle through his gums that seemed to sizzle straight down to his groin.

He'd missed this. Not the blood – he'd been getting that regularly – but the bite. It was how vampires were supposed to feed. How they reproduced. It was life and death and sex and violence all rolled up together. Buffy's blood welled up past his fangs, the heady flavor dancing along his tongue. Saliva flooded his mouth at the taste, and he pulled out, sucking and lapping at the two neat little wounds he'd left – not easy to be that careful, but his Slayer was worth it – letting the anticoagulant and euphoretic work into her bloodstream like a drug.

She gasped and writhed against him, surrendering herself to the sensation. Surrendering herself to him. He could suck her dry, leave her an empty corpse. Or… take her nearly there and feed her his own, turn her and keep him with her forever…. He sucked one last time at the wounds, then kissed his way to her mouth.

The temptation was still there – would likely always still be there – but he loved Buffy as she was. His beautiful, living Slayer with her fierce heart and giving soul. The woman who had given him back himself. The self he gladly, freely, gave to her.