Accursed Chapter 20

Spike sinks to his haunches in the shower stall, wraps his arms around his knees, and inhales deeply. The warm water heats his cold flesh and suffuses the air with rich aromas leftover from the Slayer's wash. Buffy's own mouthwatering scent, heady and fresh, surrounds him. Spike spends a long time letting it sink into his skin. Peppering Buffy's scent is the tang of sewers, the rank stench of Bolarg, and the slick demonic smell of those winged demons.

Spike frowns, breathing deeply. Yeah, his nose isn't wrong. Slayer seemed alright, though. Must have run across the missing corpse.

Tonight had not been great for Spike. Watcher's animosity seemed to be growing, which does not a healthy environment for a vampire, make. In addition, Dawn—cheeky, stubborn, plucky Dawn, apparently has been on the menu for some invisible beastie for quite some time. It makes Spike sick to think of Dawn's bright eyes dulling in death, or worse, of never seeing her again.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of his own emotions, Spike ran for it. He ran straight into the midst of a demon gathering that led to a knock-down, drag out fight. Which, while appreciated, was also pretty painful.

Spike splashes water over his face and chest and arms. He slowly stands, to clean off properly.

What is happening to him? This is beyond crippled by the chip, beyond occupying himself with interesting distractions. This is family. This is vital. Buffy and Dawn are vital to him. It's terrifying. Spike's come around to the idea in theory, but in practice? Dawn, especially, is so fragile. She could rip like paper in the right hands—or claws. And there are many claws up for the challenge on a hellmouth.

Spike's old family—Angelus, Darla, Dru—they were strong, could take care of themselves. For most of his existence, they were stronger than Spike. Now, Spike's new crew consists of a teeny bopper human and the goddamned Slayer. One is useless and the other is his natural predator.

Spike shivers under the warm spray. What has he gotten himself into? The fight only temporarily distracted him from his concerns. Now, he is bloody and bruised and still at a loss.

Spike can't help but care for Buffy and Dawn, but he is terrified that they will die and leave him heartbroken. Spike braces himself straight-armed against the shower wall.

Heartbroken. How fucking awful.

The image of Buffy's soft and concerned eyes floats before him. The way she touched his cheek.

Well, he's fucking screwed now, isn't he?

Buffy dreams of false angels bearing her mother up to a swirling portal of light. No matter how fast she chases after them, she can't catch up.

They vanish in a bright flash and her mother's body drops to the ground amidst strikes of white-hot lightning.

Buffy runs to her mom, but Dr. Isaacs is already there, taking her pulse. The doctor looks up at Buffy. "I'm sorry, but she's slipped into a coma. We'll contact you as soon as there's a change—"

Buffy sits straight up in her bed, blankets pooling at her waist. Her chest heaves with upset breaths and her mind is screaming.

Those winged creatures. Did something. To her mom.

Didn't feel like a Slayer dream, but what if, what if—

Buffy flings herself out of her bed and down the hall. She clatters down the stairs and out the back door to the bushes which conceal the false angel she dragged home.

Buffy grasps one half-eaten arm and pulls the thing out into her backyard. She glares down at the headless corpse as she feels a frustrated scream build up in the back of her throat.

"What did you do?"

Of course, the creature is silent. It's dead. Silvery blood sparkles like children's finger-paint across the snow and the thing's dark robes.

Buffy drops to her knees, heedless of the cold and wet seeping around her bare legs. The hem of her sleep shorts dampens immediately. Even in the chill morning air, the unnaturally weak California sun is melting the snow into mini lakes and rivers; Buffy is crouched on the edge of one such puddle.

She shakes its stiff body in fury.

"What did you do to her? Why won't she wake up! Arghh!" Buffy slams her fist against its chest in a staking motion. Something cracks. She hits it again. A louder snap.

"Buffy?" Dawn's spooked voice floats out to her from the kitchen door. Buffy barely hears her sister. Tears fill her eyes.

"Bring her back! Undo it!" Buffy punches the creature again and again until her hands are wet with silver and the corpse beneath her cracks in half. She can't see for the tears in her eyes. Moisture runs cold down her cheek.

Distantly, she hears Spike's voice overlapping with Dawn's.

Two dark boots crunch their way up to her, coming to a stop beside her. The air burns in Buffy's lungs as she gulps down breaths. She tips her head back to see who's come to stand by her.

It's Mark.

The middle aged man stares at the headless, pulverized creature in Buffy's yard without expression. His dark eyes turn to meet Buffy's.

She stares back in horror. Instinctive panic rears up in her. Half-formed excuses and explanations fly to her tongue before she remembers that this guy is in the know. Buffy's mouth drops open, but she is utterly speechless.

This is the first time she's seen Mark Kowitz in the daylight. His dark hair is streaked prematurely grey at the temples and through the top. Deep lines carve across his forehead and by his mouth. Worry lines. His shoulders are massive in his tan workman's coat. He's built like a lumberjack.

A car door slams across the street and Buffy hears a mom teasing her little girl. Their voices grow louder as they seem to be going from vehicle to house. The frozen moment breaks.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy snaps, lips pulling back defensively to show him her teeth.

Mark raises both eyebrows. "What are you doing?"

Such a good question. Buffy scrabbles her hands over the broken creature like she can rearrange it into something more respectable to have on her property, like a sled or a flowerbed.

Mark starts shaking his head. "Is this what's been bothering you?"

Buffy pauses, then kicks the thing back under the bushes. It takes a few kicks. It isn't in one piece anymore. Bile rises to the back of her throat. Buffy turns away and marches, barefoot, up the stairs of her porch.

Mark follows. "Why aren't you ever wearing shoes when I see you, huh?" He reaches for the doorknob before Buffy can. "Here, let me."

Buffy stiffens in affront before she realizes her hands are slick with the false angel's blood. If she touched the door or anything in the house before she washed her hands, Mom would—

Mom would nothing.

Buffy's hands clench into fists and she sweeps into the house through the door Mark holds open for her.

Totally without invite, the older man follows her in.

Hovering anxiously in the kitchen, are Spike and Dawn. Spike's eyes snap to the unfamiliar human in the room.

"Who the hell are you?"

Mark frowns over at him. "Gave you a lift home, once. You look a damn sight better today than you did then."

Spike's eyebrows scrunch together and he looks to Buffy for a cue. Buffy shakes her head at him wordlessly. His blue eyes thaw as they drop to her hands. Spike approaches her, putting himself between her and Mark in a way Buffy thinks seems very intentional. The move warms her even as it irritates her. Then Spike's hands are cradling her own as he lifts them for inspection.

"Ah, love. Gonna need to clean these and bandage them. Cut up your knuckles something fierce."

She did? Buffy lets her eyes take in her somewhat mangled hands. Oh.

Spike tips his chin at Dawn. "Grab the first-aid kit, Bit?" Dawn must agree, because Buffy hears her sister's light steps leave the kitchen. The air thickens with tension. Spike leads Buffy to the sink and helps her clean her hands of the blood.

Buffy's not some kid who needs an adult to wash her hands for her, but Spike doesn't make her feel that way. She gratefully stares out the sun-bright kitchen window while he fixes her hands with sure and gentle movements.

Mark takes a seat at the counter and waits them out.

Buffy's stomach sinks. She doesn't want to chat. To him, or anyone, about anything that just happened. She shifts on her feet, restless. One of Spike's hands trail up to squeeze her wrist reassuringly.

Buffy's shoulders relax, a little.

Buffy and Spike finish up at the sink and join Mark at the counter. Dawn hands off the kit, and with some magical communication using only their eyes and facial expressions, Spike somehow sends her away again.

While Spike starts wrapping her hands, Buffy addresses Mark in a flat tone. "Why are you at my house?"

Mark slowly rubs his hands together in place of conversation as he seemed to consider his words. "Wanted to make sure you were ok," he says at last. "Would've come by sooner, but some other things came up."

"Like finding a new sitter?" Buffy mutters. Marks expression falls heavy and disapproving. Buffy feels a stab of guilt. "Sorry. Not a having a good morning. And I wasn't expecting company." She adds pointedly.

Mark leans forward slightly. "Never saw a human with wings before."

"It wasn't human."

Spike quirks his scarred eyebrow at Buffy. She grits her teeth. "He knows, Spike."

Spike huffs in disbelief. "Knows what, exactly?"

"About vampires…in general. Bad stuff in Sunnydale." Not about you. Not about me. That part remains unsaid.

"And he knows?" Mark asks of Spike.

"Most people you'll ever find in this house know." Buffy answers dryly. Spike finishes bandaging her knuckles, but doesn't release her hands. Buffy is focused on Mark.

"Look, I appreciate you giving us a ride home and all, but we don't need you butting in, here."

Mark's face twists in an ironic smile. "Right, because you had things handled out there just now."

Buffy stiffens. "That thing is dead, because I killed it already. There was nothing to handle."

"Where's your mama?"

"My mom isn't home right now. You should go."

"Look," Mark sighs. "You're not the only one in this town trying to handle a strange, scary problem on your own. It's amazing that you killed a monster giving you trouble, but now what are you gonna do? Police and government aren't worth a shit here. Fact is, you gotta rely on neighbors and friends in these situations."

Buffy feels her face slacken in surprise.

Mark continues on, as if sensing Buffy might budge. "Don't know what kind of history you have bringing this stuff to the police, if any, but I can tell you from personal experience that it's useless. Tried it myself a few years back; almost seemed like our boys in blue were out helping those things in the shadows more than the victims. Not to scare you," Mark says, holding out his hands, "but better warned than surprised. That's been my motto since moving to this godforsaken town."

"Corrupt government," Spike offers in lieu of further conversation. The other two look at him. He shrugs. "S'what I heard. Sunnydale was a demon-safe zone for so long because the establishment knew, but looked the other way."

"Go figure." Mark mutters bitterly, face dark, at the same time Buffy growls,

"The Mayor!"

They eye each other dubiously. Obviously, lots of stories to go around. Buffy doesn't wanna do a share and care, though. She sets her shoulders.

"I moved here, too. And for good reason. I'm here to fight the things in the dark. Vampires and demons and everything in between."

Mark sits back. "You fight these things?"

"Yep." Buffy pops the 'p.' "So, I'm totally good. No one is safer than me. I'm built to fight monsters."

Mark's eyes widen as he takes in Buffy's slender form. "Uh huh."

Spike snorts. "You can accept vampires and beasties and government conspiracies, but you can't accept the world would spit out their natural predator? She's perfect. She looks like prey," Spike runs a hand down the air inches from Buffy's body, "—small and blonde and perky, OW!" Spike grimaces from Buffy's sharp kick to his shin. "Shit!" he mutters, shaking his leg out. "So you're caught off guard when she packs a wallop."

"I just don't see how…"

Buffy gets up and goes to the living room. Spike shrugs at Mark and motions to follow her. Mark does, feeling unease tingle up his spine as Spike brings up the rear.

In the living room, Buffy pulls the couch out to the middle of the room. She picks it up easily from one end.

Mark blinks.

Buffy props the couch on her hip and balances it with one hand and uses the other to gesture at the display. Ta da.

Mark plops into the armchair like his knees were cut out from under him.

Upstairs, Dawn hears her sister, Spike, and the stranger break into a heated discussion.

"…superhero?"

"…Chosen…darkness…it's a whole thing."

"…if I'd known…just a kid!"

Spike's abrasive laughter.

She doesn't bother eavesdropping any further. Sounds like the usual 'Hey, I'm the Slayer' spiel anyway. There's something else she wants to see more.

Dawn creeps over to Buffy's room, then shimmies out the window and down the tree, hands slipping on the icy branches. She lands in with a soft poof in a pile of loose snow.

Dawn winds around to the backyard to take a closer look at the thing that kidnapped their mom. The thing Buffy had a meltdown over and beat to a yucky pulp.

She wrinkles her nose at it, not wanting to touch it, but wanting to see it better than the bushes allowed. Dawn gingerly grabs the edge of the robes and pulls. It comes out easier than expected.

Dawn sees that she's pulled out a severed arm. "Ugh!" She drops it and quickly wipes her hands in the snow then on her pants.

The blood is silver, not red. Dawn stares in fascination as it pools out from the shoulder socket.

This is where Giles finds her, maybe fifteen minutes later.

"Dawn?"

Dawn jumps. "Oh! Giles, you scared me."

Giles shuffles over and grimaces down at the mess of a corpse. "What on earth…? What happened?"

"Buffy happened. She got mad." Dawn says solemnly. She stares back down at the feathered pile. Why won't she wake up? That's what Buffy had said as she hit this thing.

"Giles?" Dawn asks, voice very young. She clears her throat and tries to sound like a mature young woman. "Do you think Mom could be in a coma because of this thing kidnapping her?"

Giles raises his eyebrow and strokes his chin. "Perhaps. It's more likely, however, that your mother slipped into a coma due to her medical condition. Though…unfortunate, Joyce's condition isn't exactly bizarre in the…supernatural sense."

Dawn wants to get mad at Giles' bookish explanation about her mom not being able to come home or hug Dawn or scold Buffy or take candlelit baths every Friday night…but she sees a grown up kind of sorrow in Giles' face.

She thinks he liked their mom, too. Likes their mom. Dawn hunches her shoulders.

With a heavy sigh, Giles turns his attention on Dawn again. "Why is it that you're out here alone?" Disapproval radiates off of him. "Especially in light of certain events? Where are Buffy and Spike?"

Dawn scuffs her foot in the snow. "Inside talking to that Mark guy."

Giles frown in confusion. "Who?"

They reenter the house together.

In the living room, Buffy is hugging herself. Spike looks up from where he's leaning against the wall. Giles recognizes the older man next to Buffy as the one who gave them a ride home the night of Joyce's kidnapping.

"…I'd really appreciate it." Buffy is saying as Dawn shuts the front door, catching her attention. Buffy frowns. "Dawn? When did you leave the house?"

Dawn ducks her head, guilty. Her sister's eyes go laser beam angry and Dawn just knows she's in for a lecture later.

Giles shakes Mark's hand. "Rupert Giles."

"Mark Kowitz."

Giles stares at him shrewdly. "You know."

Mark huffs a laugh. "You weren't kidding, were you?" he asks Buffy. One corner of Buffy's mouth lifts.

"Giles is like my mentor. Giles," Buffy looks over at her watcher. "Mark's family was attacked by vampires a few years back. He knows stuff about stuff. He's offered to sit with Mom at the hospital and have his son practice reading to her. You know…keep an eye on her. Just in case."

Mark shakes his head, looking dazed. "There's this whole secret world fighting against these monsters I never knew about. Slayers!" He rubs a hand down his face and glares at Giles sternly. "Start these girls pretty young, don't you."

Giles sputters. "I have nothing to do with the process. A Slayer's calling is a mystical…ah. How well do you know this man, Buffy?"

Buffy shrugs. "Not very. Got good vibes, though."

Giles rubs his forehead. "Dear, Lord. Perhaps I ought to sit in on the first visit to Joyce." He stares coolly back at Mark, who nods in understanding.

"Don't mind that."

Mark takes his leave, soon after.

Giles shakes his head. "Buffy, honestly. A little caution—"

"I need to ask you a favor," Buffy interrupts. She looks up at Giles, eyes soft and hard in a way that makes Giles' chest hurt. "Spike knows a place near Miller's woods where a whole bunch of demons are gonna be…demon-ing tonight. We both wanna go patrol to blow off some steam." At Giles' look, she quickly adds, "Slayer duty." Giles switches gaze to Spike, who shrugs.

"Backup. There's quite a few that have congregated."

Giles rests a closed fist in the small of his back as he paces slowly to the kitchen. Buffy and Spike trail in after him. Giles stares through the backdoor, thinking about the severely damaged corpse that, several hours ago, was in much better condition. He turns his gaze to Buffy's bandaged hands.

"You want me to stay with Dawn tonight." Giles says softly.

Hearing the agreement in her watcher's tone, Buffy smiles wanly. "I promise to try and talk her out of cookies and boy gossip."

Dread fills Giles.

When night falls, Spike leads Buffy to the woods where he claims a slew of demons were just ripe for the slaying.

Buffy smiles fondly at her ally's back as she follows him, remembering Spike's words to her earlier-the only thing he said about her crazy beating spree in the backyard.

I know what you need.

He'd then told her about the night's brawling potential.

Spike just gets her.

Anticipation fills Buffy as the woods appear in the distance. A good, clean slay. Nothing would make her happier.

She can hear the rumble of a dozen or more demons growling close by. A grin tugs at Buffy's mouth and she feels her spirits already begin to lift.

Spike tips his head to the side, gauging her mood. "Race you," he hisses, eyes glittering.

The wind catches Buffy's laughter from her lips and carries it away as they charge forward.

All the stress rushes from her or maybe it converts into fierce battle-joy. Either way, Buffy feels free, happy, and in-control in the best, most out-of-control way possible.

She slays.

She and Spike move around each other perfectly in synch. He's grinning like a maniac and clearly enjoying every hit he lands, throwing his whole body into the fray. His delight lifts her up, pushing the intensity of the fight higher and higher. Buffy realizes with a thrill of excitement that she's having a blast. It feels like a revelation, fighting like this. Like equals. Like two halves of a whole. It's amazing, absolutely incredible.

Spike crashes to the ground, pinned by two at once. Buffy falters for a moment, but he's already levering the first's arm to slam its shoulder joint into the throat of the second. He gains enough ground back to get to his feet and fight on.

That was so creative. He'd probably just made the move up on the spot. One of Spike's greatest strengths as a fighter is his adaptability. Not to mention how he handles a group assault. Buffy constantly learns from watching him fight.

When the last one goes down they face each breathing hard and grinning big.

"Saw you get pinned" she teases.

"Had it under control," he brags.

"Oh," Buffy laughs breathlessly. "I suppose you meant to eat dirt."

"Yeah, well live and learn and fight another sodding day, alright? Won't go down twice the same way." Spike smirks as he brushes his coat off half-turning from her.

Buffy tackles him. Not paying attention, Spike shouts as they both tumble down then down, down, down a slope in the forest floor.

Adrenaline is running high through Buffy. She shrieks with laughter as the world spins over and over. Leaves, bleached hair, sticks and brush, leather coat rush around her vision as they roll, half-holding onto each other.

They slam into the flattened out ground, Buffy beneath Spike. He holds her upper arms down and gasps, "Crazy bitch!" down at her with laughing blue eyes and a maniac grin. Almost predatory or proprietary.

Nuh uh.

Buffy catches his sides tight with the insides of her knees and thighs and flips them so she's on top.

Adrenaline is like a live wire between them making her hands shake and his body tremble. He laughs in her face at her dominate move and props himself up on his elbows.

Buffy relaxes her straddle just enough to rest in the partial cradle of his bent body, flush with his hips, hands on his chest.

Spike's eyes flare with awareness and his panting picks up again. Passionate. He sits up abruptly and pulls her closer at the same time Buffy instinctively grinds against him and leans in to meet his kiss.

Oh, oh. Oh. Good, so good. Still in synch, hell yeah, still fighting. Clutching closer and coming together and breaking away, only to come right back together again. Buffy is gulping air in between kisses and they rub together as they also lower to the ground. Half-inclined against the slope, Spike breaks suddenly away, leaning too far back to easily follow.

They stare at each other in shock.

Buffy can feel her own face burn red, equal parts alarmed and aroused. The picture he makes, laying beneath her, sears into her brain.

And the way he looks back at her…

"Shit," he says. Spike's eyes are wide and dark. Then huskier, amorous. "Oh shit, Slayer. Oh god, yeah…" He tries to lean in again.

But it's too late. Buffy's more rational brain has already kicked back on.

Oh no. No, no, nonono. Pretty to look at, but bad to touch. So much badness. And just what happens after they touch? Nothing good. Hasn't she already had this pep talk? Multiple times? Obviously, it didn't stick…

She clumsily stands and backs up.

"We can't do this."

His eyes track her movement. "Can't, is it?" He stands fluidly. "Why the hell not? That was a bloody revelation! Don't tell me you weren't there with me. Slayer, I felt you." Spike's eyes are awed.

Buffy had been there with him. She'd felt him too, more deeply than she's felt anything like that in so long. That was cause for major alarm in her book. Buffy lifts her chin, soldiering on.

"It doesn't matter. This. Cannot. Happen." Buffy's words are ironclad, but her eyes betray her. They invite him in even as she pushes him away.

Spike is torn between softening in hurt confusion and hardening to aggressively pursue. The man and the demon. Every bit of him wants her. He wonders how long this has been in him. A revelation indeed. Like someone picked his world up and shook it hard until all the pieces fell into place, different than before, but with beautiful insistent clarity.

He wants her.

He's always wanted her, in some way. It wasn't until just now that Spike realizes he wants every bit of her for every bit of him. Like meeting like.

Spike doesn't know what expression he's wearing but Buffy's face grows vulnerable, then fearful when she sees it.

And then she's gone.