Harm Done – Chapter 3

Took the chit six nights to rise, and that not including that first evening when all hell broke loose among the white hats. He tried not to read anything into that, knew full well that every turning was different and he'd known all sorts to take up to two weeks to finally return to the landing of the living and never noticed any particular pattern among them. Oh, lot of vamps liked to talk tough, and every sodding Tom, Dick, and Harry had 'risen on the third day' if you took their word for it – which Spike never did. Didn't stop him from fretting a bit though, so was good he had a full plate to keep his mind from going barmy.

Some group of pantywaist watchers somewhere prolly had all sorts of spreadsheets documenting just this sort of thing, maybe one day he'd turn a watcher just for appeasing some general curiosities… and Christ was six days a long time to get bugshagging off the wall bored when having to lay low with the company of a corpse. Right then, change of plans.

Spent that first night hidied up in a highway motel where they weren't inclined to ask questions; just as he'd decided, what with the odds pretty good that Angel would be sniffing around for him and Miss Stick-up-er-Snatch's fifth sense as far as he was concerned. But after a day stuck inside some dump that smelled of stale sex and a halfassed job of chemicals to cover it up he'd opted to go back into town, although not being a complete idiot he set himself up on the far side well away from the Slayer's haunts, finding a convenient little spot out by the underpass north of the college that supposedly housed his precious gem, and where he'd have car and the bird on hand if things went over arse-over-teakettle in a quick. Hardly luxury accommodations but well out of the sun and out of sight; it would do, and could always just keep the bint chained in the backseat until something better was at hand.

So, give a vamp his due, he got started on right away, just as soon as he'd eaten the hotel clerk, driven to said hideaway and made sure the girl was chained up nice and tight for the night. Time then, to see what all the fuss was about.

On the surface, not much. Could be any of hundreds of cookie cutter American campuses out their pretending they were cultivating the next sodding Shakespeare. He turned to one of the red-and-white four story buildings that clearly served as a dorm and took a sniff. Only thing cultivating there was foot fungus. Still he'd gotten a good mental layout of UC Sunny D and was putting together a hazy image of how it connected into the demon network that ran under the whole bloody hellmouth.

Day after that he'd got to work proper. He'd been dreading this truth be told, but stood by his assessment fro earlier: the natives were absolute pants at producing minions worth a damn. He felt an odd wave of nostalgia for… Dylan, was it? Maybe Daryll. Something with a D at any rate, poor bugger had been fried by the Judge for the crime of knowing his way around a bloody book. No wonder the Judge had liked Angel so much, Philistines the pair of em. But Dylan or Daryll or whatever his name would have been useful at a time like this, even if you had had to shake him around a bit when he got stuck in a rut.

Chit said it was underground and somewhere near campus. Get the rest of the story from her when she awoke, but in the meantime he needed to have a poke around the Sunnydale Courthouse and also some sod from one of Sunnydale's surprisingly large number of civil engineering firms. Someone who knew their way underground, would do no good to accidentally bury himself under a mountain and be stuck with an immortal ring under a thousand tons of rock like some children's fairytale about not being a greedy boy.

Put a bit of a bounce in his step, thinking of the night he had planned then. Wasn't one to normally make his own minions, hated the responsibility and tended to just use as needed whatever was lying around, but he had a purpose for this and turning the sort of blokes who were city bureaucrats or civil engineers in Sunnyhell had the added benefit that becoming an evil creature of the night would hardly that big a shift for either of them, should have them back at their old jobs in a jiffy.

He popped out the sewer system just fifty feet shy of the courthouse at four in the afternoon, running the gap under a half rotten blanket and cursing to himself the entire time about the unfairness of bleedin balls of fire in the sky – why couldn't the hellmouth be somewhere a bit more vamp friendly, like Siberia or ol' Blighty? Patted himself down in the overhang of the annex and after checking for any spare embers clinging to the cheap suit he'd nicked, entered the building.

"Can I help you dear," came the croak of a steelhaired schoolmarm behind the front desk. Good thing, in a way – wasn't planning to eat while on the job, but it helped that what was on offer wasn't his idea of appetizing. And she seemed friendly enough, in a 'I'm doing my bloody job please move along' sort of way, which was fair enough.

"Good afternoon, madam. I'm looking for the title archives… there's this charming house over on Revello Dr-"

"Down the hall on your left, take the elevator two floors. Henry can help you from there."

He nodded. Sounded like a git but nobody around to tattle and Americans always were right suckers for someone who sounded like a proper toff. Right on then, left and down to dear old Henry.

Henry was older than the marm upstairs which was saying something. Bald as a bloody egg except for two grey scruffs over the ears, which made him look a bit of a muppet. Liked to talk, but then with nothing but yellowing title deeds and city plats for company day in and day out you would be, wouldn't you? Still, old Henry seemed to know his stuff, knew what went where and wasn't it marvelous that an Englishman was moving to town, and yes it was interesting that the sewer system beneath Sunnydale was so extensive and you know there was a funny story about that and the archeology department had had quite a fight on their hands last year when all the caves on the northside of town were suddenly condemned and closed off by the state and he was looking forward to retiring next year after thirty five years (!) and moving to Florida, closer to the kids you see.

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Jones-" call me Henry! "Henry. I'm so very glad I met you I think I've gotten everything I need."

He'd gone back upstairs with a photocopy of a couple of city maps in hand and Henry Jones' wallet tucked in his jacket pocket. And when good ol' Henry had headed home after asking Mrs. Schmidt if she would let him know if his wallet showed up, it had to be somewhere… he got as far as his front door before Spike stepped out the shadows now more than long enough for a vamp to walk about if carefully so, and ate him. Was just a matter of waiting only for the sun to fully set before dropping Henry in his own bloody boot for a bit and dropping him off at the hideaway and then dumping the car (keys in the front seat), down by the docks. Car wouldn't be there in the morning, Spike was certain. Dockyards, like vampires, didn't change.

The next night was even easier. Jokes aside, the types who went digging under Sunnydale already had one foot in the grave to begin with. Wasn't difficult finding the sort of grim competence he was looking for and sealing the deal so to speak. Didn't bother taking the rest of the crew – knew from last time hunting for his girl's cure that the authorities let you get away with pinching the talent, so long as you didn't get too greedy. Kill too many of the em and the whole sodding system ground to a halt. Too many and he'd have angry demons up to his ears, which might be a good time all things considered but not what he needed at the mo' at any rate.

He'd scowled though when he got back – place was starting to look like a sodding Mexican clown car, three corpses all trussed up now. Chit still showed no signs of awakening, but he'd need a meal on hand for when she did, along with the other two. Couldn't afford to just bury them proper – not when odds were good all three of them were now or soon to be obituaries in the daylight world and the bloodthirsty little bane of his existence might off the lot before they got a foot out the grave.

He looked at… suppose he better start thinking of her by her name and not just a ruddy corpse. Harmony… Christ was a sodding stupid name. Bad as Buffy. He looked at Harm. Nothing that gave away that she was a vamp, no stirring or supernatural sense. Just… a body. No rot or decomposition, like Sleeping Beauty… if Sleeping Beauty had been some tarty teenage trollop which given where and how the original story went odds were pretty good she was, he supposed.

Could do with a tarty trollop right about now though, he thought, eyes travelling across Harm once more. And a bit of poncy William had been nattering on the last few days, that if he was going to make a Childe no matter just for the nonce, then he ought to do it proper. Make a bit of a ceremony of it, let her connect with a Sire who didn't just leave her to dig out her own grave on her own and didn't shag her next to two cooling minions in the back of a car in a dug out cave under a sodding underpass.

And, to be fair, he would need a bit more of a base of operations than this. Didn't even know if this was particularly close to where he needed to dig, and no doubt he'd need space for whatever mechanical bits and bobs his soon to be engineering minion required, as well as, he let out a sigh at the inevitability… some local muscle.

The third night… well, she didn't rise, but his hopes did. This was really going to bloody work. Because – and the wherefores of it were beyond him – Buffy the Bitch didn't patrol this part of town. Wasn't just a lucky couple of days, this was completely off her radar.

Made sense he supposed, went hand in hand with the locals turning any meal they came across into another vampire. Sure, they were ruddy useless and most would never live to see their first death day, but throw in your other demons and run of the mill heebie jeebies and the Slayer was busy every night putting out fires within spitting distance of her friends and family, and any vampire who wanted to live on the hellmouth but had the sense to stay under the Slayer's lethal little hands could do so with more or less with impunity simply by staying out of her way.

Had to be, because this sodding lair of vamps had been snacking on nummy coeds years.

"Holy shit, he dusted Jerry."

Spike looked four remaining vamps, eyes travelling over them one at a time. Fledges, the lot of them. Even the oldest of them, yet another blonde bird who looked like half her sodding height was in her heels, couldn't have been twenty. Like shooting fish in a barrel this was.

"Don't need five of you… don't really even need four of you to be honest, so I guess at least one of you is going the way of dear ol' Jerry."

"You're English," dopey looking fellow with dirty shoulder length hair slurred out.

"Very well done. Clearly the brains of this outfit, be keeping you around no question."

The girl gave him a snarl, but unlike the other three she wasn't wearing her real face yet.

"This is my place."

"Is it now? Well, don't think so anymore luv." He looked at her, tilting his head a little bit as he did so, giving her a once over, though of a more professional variety than he'd given Harm. "Not done a half bad job, pet. You must know a Slayer's in town, how'd you keep this lot" – he indicated to the other three vamps – "from ending up on the wrong side of the stake."

She growled a little, but he could see the conflict in her eyes. Dominance was everything to vamps, and he knew with no false modesty that he was powerful. Radiated it. Slayer and her chums might think he was a joke – something he'd be rectifying soon enough – but he held real power in the demon world. She'd done well for herself and deserved some credit for it, but whoever made her had made her a minion, and a sodding baby still at that, and he was well over a hundred and a Master besides.

She looked away, shifting into game face as she did so. "Take the freshman, here and there. Make it look like a suicide or a drop out," her voice was hushed, gnarled with angry humiliation. She gave him one defiant look. "This is our gig. Go find your own."

He looked around the lair. Really was good real estate, abandoned house of some sort right on the edge of campus. Good place, still had electrics working at least down here. Be as good as base as any truth be told, plenty of room, close access to the sewers and all the nummy coeds not more than a block away. Condemned but stuck in some zoning problem that meant no one likely to snoop in asking questions he'd have to kill them for. Course the fledges hadn't the sense to do much tidying up. Amazing how many vamps would tolerate living in shit. Didn't have to be a wanker like Dracula to suss out that living in your own filth is no way to go through immortality.

"Wouldn't wish this place on anyone," he replied. Kicking a beer can for good measure and grinning as it sailed right into dirty hair's forehead. Dirty snarled.

"Get em', Rookie!" one of the other two male vamps yelled out, and Dirty gave the girl a look and despite everything that he knew inside her was screaming at her to submit, the bint gave him a nod. Spike flashed his fangs – they were going to do this the fun way then.

Rookie, if that really was the sod's name, charged. His face didn't even change for a second after he'd been lifted off the ground and had his skull smashed into the wall. Then his expression wasn't even one of outrage just stunned stupidity as Spike kept smashing, rapidfire movements as his left arm pumped in and out, introducing the git's head to Mr. Concrete with every swing. Was a difficult grip and his arm wasn't particularly enjoying it even if was a lot of bloody fun to watch, but he had an impression to make and wouldn't be long now… there it was, poor ole Rookie's head finally pulped open like a rotten grapefruit and then a second later his ashes began to settle at Spike's feet.

"Right, that takes care of the deadwood, not that I'm against any further cuts if need be."

None of the three remaining vampires met his eye, terrified in place. One who'd encouraged dearly departed Rookie took a half step back. Good.

"I assume you two have a pretty good inkling of what your place in the pecking order is, so bugger off for the night, yeh? Be back here tomorrow and all's forgiven and forgotten, so long as you know who you work for now."

They might not be the sharpest tools in the shed but they didn't need to be told twice; were out in a shot, jostling past one another to be first into the night air and away from Spike. Christ it felt good. Hadn't been known as The Whirlwind for nothing, and about time someone remembered what that meant.

"Now for you, pet, I think it's a bit of a different story. Think you've been used to being little queen bee for so long that you've forgotten what it means to have someone else calling the shots." He turned into gameface then, pleased as punch when the power rolled off him in waves that she flinched away, like he was reflecting the bloody sun. He grabbed her, roughly, and she offered only a token of resistance as he pulled her into his chest, going still as a statue when his fangs were at her throat.

"Name's Spike. You work for me now, luv."

Little bitch had slammed a heel into his bloody foot. He snarled, but he was already up against her nape. He bit.

She screamed. A hand went over her mouth. She snapped at his hand, but he twisted his fingers out the way then clamped down over her jaw, threatening to smash her mouth to pieces. Slammed his own heel down on the top of her foot for good measure. She went still again, eyes all but bursting and scream still strangling in her throat.

"Mine now, nod for me pet, show me you understand." She nodded, didn't need telling twice at least.

"Pain goes away as soon as you say it," he whispered in her ear, then bit down again, other side now. Her body tensed again and he removed his hand. It took her a mo' - what with her throat being ripped to ribbons - but he heard it.

Yours.

He shifted, ever so slightly, fangs twisting inside her by the tiniest of margins, his mouth sucking in and there it was. Muuuuuuuuuuuhooow. Like a randy cat, not even considering the cocktail of pleasantries emanating from her leather clad puss.

Would have shagged her right then and there, the stench and sight of the place be damned. Been in worse places afterall, not least a few weeks back in Guadalajara. But he wasn't a fool; the minion claim was all well and good but was hardly ironclad – really not much more than a very practical lesson about who had the upper hand. Give a chit like this a shag and then bring a brand new Childe into the equation was asking for mixed signals that all but guaranteed someone would be dust.

He pulled out. "What's your name then, pet."

She was panting. Living the high right now he reckoned; two minutes ago thought she was dead for good and now was seeing the chance to be the Master's mistress, didn't she? Well she had another think coming but no need to pop the bubble quite yet.

"Sunday."

Couldn't any of the adults in this state give one of their daughter's a real bloody name, was it really too much to ask? Didn't have to be anything marmish like Olga or Mildred but for fuck's sake, Sunday? Really? No wonder none of them could hold a torch to his princess; stuck with the ridiculous names they all had around here.

"Right then Sunday, marching orders. Got a few vamps of my own moving in the next couple days. Want this place poshed up a bit, not gonna be sleeping in filth. Get those boys of yours making the place livable for a vamp with a bit of class beyond eating in his own messes."

No backchat this time, just a nod and hands tugging at this shirt, greedy little thing when she thought her luck had changed, wasn't she?

He grabbed them, locking them in place against his waist like he had with Harm. Didn't stop a few stubborn fingers from trying to get under his belt. "Work before pleasure, pet." Sent a mix signal a half second later by reaching out with his free hand and giving her left tit a playful twist, but what was point of being the King and single – not single but alone for the mo', until he had everything back in order for his dark plum – if not to enjoy a few liberties.

"Be seven of us, maybe one or two more all told, so make sure there's enough food on tap for everyone. Stay off the slayer's sodding radar of course – didn't come here tonight to tell you to take risks. Two are rising so will need something fresh at the start, but after that you just keep them up and kicking." Not like he planned on giving Sunday any actual say over the hopeful brains of his outfit, but if glamming up her role as housemaid kept her from cottoning on to her demotion, he'd play it up best he could.

That said, wasn't going to trust his own food nor that of his Childe's to this lot either; bad for the image as the Big Bad and after the wheelchair he wasn't eating trussed up leftovers if he didn't bloody have to. He'd figure out a way to get himself and Harm fed without giving Sunday any sense of control over him and without Buffy finding out, one way or other.

He looked around, trying to remember if he was missing anything. Cor this place was a bloody dump, wasn't it?

"Dunno how long we'll be staying here, so don't have to go overboard trying to make it posh and proper, but if I sit down and end up with a beer can up my arse someone's dust upon it, yeh?"

Kinky little bitch tried to get even closer to him at that. Either she hated her own sodding minions as much as he had or she really was punch drunk on surviving the night and had plans of her own that involved a very rapid rise of her position in conjunction to a very rapid rise of his cock.

"Easy kitten," did his best to give an easy chuckle. "See what progress you've made by tomorrow and we'll take it from there."

"Oh yeh, one more thing," he pulled her apart long enough to get another look at her. Girl wasn't dumb and made a good show of stretching, thrusting her tits up under his face. Yeah, she would do, more or less.

"Need a girly outfit or two, about your size. I'll grab em when I swing by tomorrow."

With that he left, but not without hearing the snarl that marked his departure. Have to keep an eye on that one, and the sooner he had the gem and he could dust her, the better. He frowned at that; maybe he wouldn't keep Harm with that lot anyway. If she mentioned the gem in earshot he'd bet better than even money Sunday would go for a staking anyway and then make a dash for the prize herself, the fact she'd be a dead vamp walking as soon as he caught up with her all but irrelevant to a bint like that.

Three nights later, with both Henry and Stephen – the engineer - awake, fed, and settling into their now slightly-less-than-hovel new digs, and Sunday still looking at him with mixed amounts of lust, loathing, and longing… he'd left for his own hideaway, back when all was said and done at another highway motel, just a few miles down from the original. Didn't like it, but without Dru he had nobody to count on to watch his back. Henry and Stephen were loyal to him of course, but they were fresh out the sodding ground – metaphorically speaking – and weren't much beyond the initial bloodlust. Be absolute pants depending on them for anything regarding his own wellbeing, so he bloody well wasn't.

Was washing the grime off his second underground tour of the Sunnydale tunnels with Stephen under the lukewarm and severely underpressured showerhead when he heard it, just at the edge of his hearing, the tiniest of whimpers. Turned out there was a nerve that ran from his eardrum right to his cock the way it sprung a stiffy at the sound, but no time now for a wank. Hurridly he scrubbed himself down and went back into the room, completely in the nuddy and dripping onto the rubbish hotel carpet.

Not long later the girl started wiggling and squirming in earnest, and little kitten noises erupting from her throat and the chains clinking and clanking as she jostled them about. He went over to his duster and fumbled in the pockets for the key – no sense leaving her chained up now that he was here. There was a magic to this and he couldn't deny being pulled by it. Chains fell away and in a shot she was sprawling over the bed and moaning like a lover deep in the throes of a proper shag. He'd left the surviving scraps of her last living outfit on more as some scrap of modesty when he was moving her to and fro, but way she was starting to snap and slash at them he doubted they'd last much longer.

Her eyes sprang open, gold and burning from the inside, fuck him what a glorious picture she was, a shade of his own demon brought into being anew.

In what distant deeps or skies.

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

Didn't even tell William to bugger off.

Her eyes weren't fire anymore though glazed, and with the instinct of a thousand generations her hands shot up and out of the bedsheets for good, slashing and punching at gravedirt that in her case was entirely absent even if the primal need to fight and claw upward were not. Her face blossomed, the browridge coming to the fore and her incisors biting her own lower lip to shreds as she sought life from the sire's blood still inside her, giving her the burst of energy she would need to make it above ground, even as in doing so she mangled herself in an act of self cannibalizism. There was a poetry to that to, killing oneself even in death so to find life, to-

Spike watched, entranced. It was, she was gorgeous. She was his. Was this what Dru had seen in him – course he'd been buried, but afterward… he wanted to know so badly. He'd shagged other women, more often than not with Dru's blessing, and they'd spent time apart over the years, here and there. But this… this was the first thing intimate he'd ever witnessed without the presence of his Sire, and it tasted like bile. He wished he could share this with her. But the sensation of bile, loath as he was to admit, passed as quickly as it had come, and he was entranced once more.

His mind had wandered and now wandered back, but his eyes had never moved, drinking in the sight before him.

So held, that if not for the very much less sexy groan coming from the floor on the other side of the bed, he might have never moved. Irritation flashed on his face for a moment, before he remembered – right, little bint needed to eat, which was why he had an unconscious middle aged man stirring his stumps in the room in the first place. Unceremoniously, he moved round and picked the bugger up, never taking his eyes off the vision before him though. Without sparing another thought, he tossed the unlucky bloke on the bed.

The demon dove, her arms flailing and slashing her victim's back to ribbons. Could have been a problem if he'd screamed at that, but by that point the poor sod had already had the front of his throat torn out, as the demon went to work making a pig's dinner of the blood pumping out the exposed jugular like a bloody fire hose. The sheets were stained red, as were the demon's mouth and face and given the way the girl had carried herself when she was human, would probably pitch a fit at the state of her hair now.

The bloodflow began to slow at last, the demon sucking harder and harder to get the last of the ten pints or so the man had had, less the pint and a half Spike had taken to begin with. At last, the sucking stopped, the incisors retracted every so slightly even as her eyes honed in on the not inconsiderable and growing stains of blood all over the bedspread.

He hadn't intended to, hadn't thought about it, but he growled at that. A low, rumbling sound that rolled across the room. Her head snapped up, looking straight at him and wasn't she an absolute picture. Her eyes lost the feral glaze and he realized after a moment that he was seeing Harm, the full true vampire, and not just the vampiric demon, for the first time.

"Spike." A single word, spoken with nothing short of absolute adoration.

He pounced. She squealed. A tangle of limbs removing the last threadbare survivors of her last night alive.

No time for thought, just blood screaming for him to work it will. Fangs penetrated her neck as his cock stabbed deep into her quim. For once, everything was going perfectly to plan, and tonight he was going to bloody well swim in it.