Series: Mortal Allies

Story Title: Episode 4, My Turn

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 25: Hemorrhaging Slurpee

Chapter Notes:

Thanks to all of you for reading! It means so much to me, like Butter Pecan ice cream for my muse! Sending all the sloppy, joyful doggie kisses to everyone who has left a note, a like or a kudo. I'm working on replying to all your lovely comments and treasure every one of them.

Thanks also to my other wonderful beta readers and friends: All4Spike, Paganbaby, and TeamEricNSookie. Holi117 has switched to a pre-reader, which I'm so happy she's finding time for that. All mistakes are mine because I keep fiddling with stuff. If you see any, PM me and I'll fix it.

Chapter 25: Hemorrhaging Slurpee

The small group of friends and allies stood in the destroyed foyer, the impromptu celebration over, unsure what to say or do next. A little under twenty-four hours since the wet works team arrived, the Council was apparently gone, for now, anyway. Of course, they'd left a mess in their wake in the form of bullet-ridden flesh and plaster, broken windows, and splintered wood. Spike, the vampire, was healing, but Buffy was still afraid to let him wake up fully, so she kept him on the heavy painkillers, though they wouldn't last too much longer. Spike, the dog, had healed quicker than the vampire from the one bullet that had passed through his haunch. Though the wound still looked inflamed, he was already walking on it without a limp. The poisons he'd been given seemed to be out of his system now, too, based on his appetite and energy level, allowing his preternatural constitution to speed his healing.

Buffy was feeling stronger, as well, but still not at full strength. She was battered and bruised from all the fights she'd been in over the last few days, and her jaw ached from the punches Weatherby had delivered just the previous night. Buffy's friends seemed to be recovering from the magical sleep they'd been in, though Willow looked worse than the others. She seemed tired and achy, with dark circles under her eyes and an unnatural pallor to her already pale skin. Xander and Oz appeared to have fared better. Giles had said it was likely because Willow was the conduit and therefore took the brunt of the counter-spell Malvina had sent back at her, and that, combined with being recently concussed by Kralik, was taking its toll on her.

The worst of the human casualties, by far, was Giles. With a bullet wound in his leg, several cracked ribs, and a bruised liver, he looked like death had come for him but had decided he was too mangled to bother with and just left him.

Joyce broke the silence that followed their short celebration of 'victory' with a sense of practicality and pragmatism that only the mother of a Slayer could have. "I'm not sure how to get all this fixed. After paying for Spike's vet bills—"

Giles cleared his throat, ducking his head and looking ashamed. "I believe those are my responsibility."

"Like, literally," Buffy muttered bitterly.

Giles stiffened from the barb, but continued speaking with Joyce. "If you would allow me, I'll reimburse you for those expenses... and anything you incurred taking Buffy to hospital, as well."

"What about the Jeep?" Buffy interjected. "Shouldn't that be classified as 'damaged weaponry', like a cross bow o-or a stake, and the Council get us a new one?"

Giles tugged at the collar of his shirt, apparently finding it difficult to breathe. "Perhaps I could file a claim with the Council for it… o-or have Nigel to do so, since I am no longer employed there," he offered. "If they will not cover it, I will... err... yes, of course, I'll pay for the repairs. But I take immediate responsibility for the medical bills," he added, looking at Joyce.

Joyce nodded. "I'll get you the total," she assured him, then turned her attention back to the ravaged foyer and stairs. "That'll certainly help, but this... this is a lot of damage. And I don't think I can report it to the insurance company," she revealed. "Certainly not without filing a police report, and I don't want to bring any more attention to Buffy than we already have. I'm not certain all the police officers really believe she was innocent of Kendra's death, and all these bullets … well, it doesn't look good, does it? It could open a whole new can of worms."

"I've had my fill of worms for a while," Buffy agreed sourly. "I'm all wormed out."

"Funny that the police never showed up – you know, with all the bullets and screaming," Xander interjected.

"I believe that Malvina cast a suppression spell before the battle began," Giles explained. "I doubt anyone outside of the yard heard or saw anything unusual."

"Handy," Oz droned, putting an arm around Willow, who seemed to be flagging after all the earlier excitement.

"Quite," Giles agreed before addressing Joyce. "The Council may cover this. They do have a fund to assist with catastrophic damage to the Slayer's property, and since it was the Council inflicting the damage, I'd say this should certainly qualify."

Buffy turned disbelieving eyes on him. "Are you telling me I could've been filing for wardrobe damage all this time?"

Giles cleared his throat. "I, errr… don't believe damage to your attire could be considered 'catastrophic'."

Buffy glared at him. "You're joking, right?"

Joyce was giving Giles the evil eye, as well. "What other 'benefits' should we be filing for?" she demanded. "Health care? Dental? How about a salary since, clearly, Buffy can't even get an after-school job, she spends all her time in cemeteries."

"I... that is... the Council considers slaying a Calling, not a... err, profession," Giles replied feebly.

Buffy and Joyce both snorted their contempt at that opinion.

"But you get paid," Joyce pointed out.

"Y-yes, I do... or, I did," he confirmed.

"We should've demanded that in the negotiations," Joyce realized. "Salary and benefits... and an expense account. What do other young women who live through this test do to support themselves? The Council should provide a decent living wage and adequate benefits. You can't tell me they don't have the money."

"I... I can certainly inquire," Giles offered, but he didn't sound very confident.

Xander saved Giles by changing the subject and volunteering, "I've helped my Uncle Rory repair damage to his rental units before, you know, when I stayed with him over the summer. Maybe I could give fixing it a shot. I've got some tools at home. It's amazing what a little spackle and paint can hide. I'm sure bullet holes aren't that much different than nail holes… just, you know, bigger and weirdly deadlier."

Joyce gave Giles one more hard glare, before turning her attention to the boy. "That's sweet of you, Xander. Are you sure you don't mind?"

Xander waved the worry away. "Nah, happy to help. I might even be able to replace the glass," he continued, looking at the blanket-covered sidelight windows. "I haven't actually done it before, but I watched a couple of times. It didn't look that hard. Just need to get some glass and glazier's points and…"

Joyce held up a hand to stop him. "Let's start with the spackle and see how that goes," she suggested.

"Sure." Xander nodded. "I can get the supplies and tools tonight and get started on it tomorrow, if you want."

"Are you sure you're feeling up to it? You've been through a trauma as well," Joyce asked, concern creasing her features.

"Just a little headache… and some odd bruises on my butt." Xander made a face, looking confused a moment before shrugging. "I've had worse. I'm alright."

"That sounds like a brilliant plan," Giles said hastily, taking the opportunity to escape the daggers Buffy was shooting at him with her eyes. "I'll drive you, shall I?"

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Joyce asked Giles as Xander pulled the door open. "You're on pain killers, remember?"

"I can drive," Xander offered. "I watched all the gory 'death-by-moving-vehicle' films and passed the test and everything."

"You do realize those films were not meant as examples of what to do, but rather what to avoid, aren't you?" Giles asked, looking at Xander dubiously.

Xander rolled his eyes. "C'mon, G-man, when have I ever let you down?" he asked brightly, heading out the door.

Giles sighed. "When, indeed," he muttered, following.

"I'm gonna take Willow back upstairs to lay down, if that's okay," Oz said, as Willow leaned against him heavily, one hand massaging her forehead. "I think she overdid it earlier with the hug-a-thon."

"Yes, of course," Joyce agreed immediately. "Is there anything I can get you, Willow?"

The redhead shook her head, then winced in pain. "No, thank you… I think I just need to rest a little more. I'll be okay," she assured Joyce as Oz turned her and began helping her up the stairs, leaving Joyce and Buffy alone.

Joyce steeled her nerve, clasping her hands in front of herself nervously. Now that they were alone, she needed to talk to Buffy about Spike, about him moving on as soon as he could, before Buffy got even more attached. She needed to try and save her daughter from the inevitable heartbreak that would come when Spike returned to his normal life with Dru, or at least do her best to minimize it. With a tight smile she asked, "Can we have a talk?"

Buffy was pulled from her calculations of how much money she'd spent on clothes the last three years due to 'catastrophic damage'. "Uh, yeah, sure… What's up?"

Joyce started for the couch and motioned for Buffy to join her. "Let's sit down."

Buffy's brows rose, but she followed her mom, looking over at Spike as she did, making sure he still looked comfortable and sedated. The big dog followed the two women, but went over to lie down near his namesake as Buffy and Joyce sat down on the couch, not far away.

"A talk requiring sitting? We've already had the birds and the bees one, and the not taking candy from strangers one, the inappropriate touching one…" she mused. Her eyes widened as another topic came to mind. "I didn't drink your scotch! That was totally Spike, I swear."

Joyce gave her daughter an indulgent smile as they sat down on the sofa. "It's not that, honey, but it is about Spike."

Buffy's flippant mood sobered as her eyes darted to the blond's still form. He was looking better—the blood was helping—but his chest and stomach were still a mottled map of blacks, blues, and purples with highways of red crisscrossing the landscape.

"You know that Spike will be leaving when he's able, right?" Joyce continued gently. She didn't mention Dru, Spike's enteral love, not wanting to rub salt into what she was realizing would be a painful wound for her daughter.

Buffy felt the tears threaten again, guilt and disappointment pressing against her battered heart. 'Of course he'll leave – all he gets around me is beat up, shot, and nearly dusted.' She swallowed hard. 'Detach, detach, detach,' she admonished herself silently, forcing the tears back. "I know," she agreed, looking down at her hands which she'd clasped in her lap. "I know he won't stay."

** X-X-X-X-X **

Spike fell through the blackness, the accusing green eyes growing smaller and smaller, further and further away. He landed with a thump, bouncing twice before coming to rest on the Summers' living room floor. He pushed up to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes and looking around. Joyce and Buffy were sitting on the sofa, talking earnestly, while Cujo was sitting on the floor nearby, watching TV.

"What's goin' on?" Spike asked the dog as he walked over, looking at the television.

"Shhh! 'Passions' is on," the dog replied with a little growl.

Spike looked at the telly. "Seen that one, I have. Dontcha have any new ones?"

"I'm catching up. Don't tell me what happens to Timmy or I'll bite you," Cujo threatened.

Spike held up his hands in surrender. "Lemme know when you get t' the bit when…"

"No spoilers!" the dog snarled at him, baring his fangs.

"Fine! Bloody hell," Spike muttered, looking at the two women. "What's going on there?" he asked the dog, jabbing a thumb at Buffy and Joyce.

"Gettin' rid of you. Only room in this house for one good boi, and you ain't it," Cujo replied, baring his teeth, this time in a cocky grin.

"Sod that," Spike grumbled, walking over to Buffy and Joyce, who didn't look up as he approached. They were putting a jigsaw puzzle together on the coffee table as they talked.

"You know that Spike will be leaving when he's able, right?" Joyce asked Buffy as she put the last piece that made up the outside border of the puzzle in place.

"I know," Buffy replied, starting to fill in the center of the puzzle, picking up pieces and turning them this way then that, trying to find where they go. "It's too confusing have two Spikes in the house."

"Change the sodding dog's name, for fuck's sake," Spike protested, waving a hand back at his namesake. "Seems t' like 'Cujo' well enough."

"Yes, there's that," Joyce concurred, not seeming to hear Spike. She fit a piece into the puzzle and picked up another one as she spoke, never looking up. "But, really, he's quite dangerous, don't you think?"

"Dangerous?" Spike blurted out incredulously. "I saved you from the bloody monsters. I'm not dangerous to you lot. Followed the truce… kept my word. Buffy, tell 'er!"

"Yeah, I guess. He did bite that Council goon," Buffy conceded, never hearing Spike, pressing three pieces in place on the puzzle at once.

"I… what?" Spike asked.

"Don't you remember?" the dog asked from behind him. "Sucked him down like a hemorrhaging Slurpee."

Spike whirled to face the dog, then back to Buffy and Joyce. "Not bloody likely! I'd remember if I'd…" He went still then, running his tongue over his teeth and lips, a hazy memory of blinding pain and blazing hunger ghosting through his mind. Then the taste of blood, rich and hot filling his mouth, cooling his senses, relieving the emptiness inside. "Balls! Didn't kill 'im, did I?" he asked, turning back to the Guardian.

"Shhh, show's back on," Cujo replied, looking at the TV.

"Buffy!" Spike spun back around to her and Joyce. "Buffy! Didn't kill 'im, did I? Tell me I didn't break my bloody promise! Buffy!" he screamed, reaching over to grab her shoulders, trying to get her attention, but his hands went right through her, and she never looked up from the puzzle.

The vampire growled in frustration and turned to Joyce. He waved his hand in front of her face and snapped his fingers, but there was no reaction. "Bloody hell! Tell me what I did!" he begged as he tried to kick the coffee table over and spill the puzzle to the floor, but his foot just passed through it and the two women continued calmly putting the pieces in place.

Nothing worked for Spike. Not stomping or shouting or jumping up and down. Not screaming or cursing or howling. He couldn't make them see him or hear him. He tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled at it in utter frustration as an angry growl tore from his throat.

Spike didn't want to leave. He'd sacrificed himself for the Watcher, scratched and clawed and fought every baddie the Council sent after Buffy—for her. To stay with her. To make sure she wasn't hurt, emotionally or physically. He'd protected them all as best he could. For her. Even if all they'd ever be was friends, that would be enough, just to be near her would be enough. But all that would be ripped from him if she decided he couldn't stay, if he'd broken the truce, if he'd broken his word.

"Oi! Cujo! Get over here and talk to 'em for me!" Spike demanded.

The dog looked away from the TV. "They've never been able to hear me. And if they did, I'd just ask for cheezeburgers."

"Arrrgh! I'll buy you a bloody McDonald's franchise, you mangy mutt! Just try—"

"Rather have Burger King," the dog replied, cutting him off. "Flame broiled. Have it your way."

"Fine!" Spike agreed hastily. "Just talk to—"

"Yes, that's true," Joyce resumed their conversation, interrupting Spike, unaware of the frantic vampire in their midst. "But I was thinking more about how much blood he took from you." She was still calmly placing puzzle pieces onto the table, the picture beginning to take shape.

Spike froze, his eyes going to Buffy's neck and the two puncture wounds that suddenly appeared there. His bite. There was no doubt. "No, no, no… didn't… wouldn't. Slayer said no. No blood… couldn't have her blood. Got a truce, we do… wouldn't break it. Wouldn't…"

"I really don't think we can allow him to stay under the circumstances," Joyce continued, looking up at Buffy. "Is that ever going to stop bleeding?"

Buffy put her hand up to her neck, touching the wounds gingerly. When she pulled her fingers away, they were coated in blood. "Probably should ask her," Buffy replied, looking down at the nearly completed puzzle.

Spike followed her gaze, looking down at the picture just as Joyce put the last piece into place. Dead green eyes stared back at him from a pallid face. Dark hair splayed out, framing her slack features, covering the filthy cobblestones of the alley. Bright red blood stained her neck, dribbling from those same puncture wounds that were on Buffy's neck. Spike's bite. The blood glistened in her hair, soaking into the grime of the deserted Mexican street. Lisa, from Fairplay. Nothing but a drained husk of humanity he'd left behind like so much trash.

'It's not fair.'

Spike jerked back, his face awash with horror. He stepped on his namesake's tail and the dog yowled. Spike lifted his foot hastily, only to bring his other boot down on the dog's injured leg. The Guardian jerked and snarled beneath him, snapping at Spike with razor-sharp fangs. The vampire dove away from the raging animal, directly into the TV screen. He plummeted head-first, twisting and turning through open air, falling down, down, down…

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy stood outside her closed bedroom door, trying to figure out this detachment thing she'd vowed to do. It would keep everyone safer, she reminded herself, but her heart ached, wanting to go in and check on her best girlfriend, make sure she was okay. She should just walk away, just not care how Willow was. She should go live in a cave or something, away from everyone, somewhere that she couldn't hurt anyone and they couldn't hurt her. That's what she should do. She'd do that any minute now. Walk away.

Her feet refused to move. Dammit. She'd never been detach-o-girl. This was going to take some real effort. Maybe she didn't have to totally disengage; maybe keeping a couple of friends would be okay. Spike said that was what made her different, made her better than the others—having friends and family. He should know, right? Slayer of Slayers and all. Buffy would just have to do a better job of keeping them safe. Somehow. Buffy sighed, losing the detachment battle with herself, if not the war. She knocked on the door. A soft, female voice from the other side bid her to, "Come in."

"Hey," Buffy greeted the two redheads, who were lounging comfortably on her bed.

"Hey, yourself," Willow replied, pushing up to a more seated position. She winced and rubbed her temples. The change in elevation obviously increased the pain in her head.

Buffy grimaced in sympathy. "Still bad, huh?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her friend. Oz began massaging Willow's neck gently and the witch closed her eyes, letting him work the tension out.

"Mostly only when I move my head too fast," Willow replied. "I probably shouldn't have gotten so excited earlier, but I had been feeling better when I first got up. Now, not so much," she revealed. "I'm sorry for taking over your room."

Buffy waved a dismissive hand. "That's okay. I need to keep an eye on Spike anyway, in case he makes with the wakefulness."

"And decides to start eating people?" Willow wondered.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, not sure how Mom would feel about him snacking on non-baddies."

"I would vote against it," Oz interjected dryly. "I mean, if there's a referendum."

"Spike wouldn't mean to do it," Buffy defended quickly. "He takes the whole truce thing pretty seriously, but…"

"He's in pain and healing and that makes him hangry," Willow filled in. "Who hasn't felt like devouring the whole donut shop before?"

"It's actually worse than that," Oz put in. "The demon… it's… it's a different kind of hunger. You need to feed it like you need air, like you're suffocating and you're underwater and can't breathe. It's like this frantic, desperate need pushing you."

Willow and Buffy both looked at him a moment, astonished. Oz shrugged. "Werewolf," he reminded them laconically. "When the demon comes on, it's pretty intense."

"Is that how you feel the whole time you're wolfy?" Willow wondered as Oz went back to massaging her neck.

"I don't remember much when I'm wolfy, but that's how it feels when it's taking over, when I'm still sorta me. The hunger's copious in the extreme. Control is scarce."

"Thus, the caging," Buffy interjected.

"Thus." Oz shrugged again. "Oddly, it seems most vampires are suffocating, like, pretty much always. Not a lot of control over the demon. Spike's different, though. He seems to have it on a fairly tight leash."

Buffy snorted. "Didn't feel that way when he was trying to kill me. I felt an extreme disregard for the leash laws."

"Yeah, but… truce-y Spike is all with the demon obedience training," Willow put in. "I mean… usually— when he's not full of bullets and stuff."

"It's pretty amazing, really," Oz agreed. "Can you imagine trying to call a truce with my wolf on the full moon?"

Willow shuddered, remembering some close calls, while Buffy frowned in thought. "Well, he's been a vampire for a long time," Buffy pointed out. "I think they get more control as they get older."

"Like Angelus?" Willow interjected, frowning.

Buffy scrunched up her face. "Or not."

"I was just thinking, maybe he could give me some pointers, you know?" Oz suggested. "Something to help put the wolf on a leash… or at least get a collar on it. I know our demons aren't exactly the same, but, worth a try."

Buffy chewed her lip nervously. "You better talk to him as soon as you can… I mean, as soon as he's awake and not cranky. Mom thinks Spike will leave as soon as he's able. I think she's right."

"Oh, Buffy… but why?" Willow wondered, her voice surprised and sympathetic. She reached a hand out and placed it over one of Buffy's where it rested on the bed, offering a bit of comfort to her friend.

Buffy gave Willow a tired smile. "Wouldn't you, if you could? I mean, since getting here, he's been beat to shit more than once, staked in the back, shot with wooden bullets and real bullets, almost staked again in the heart, and been operated on without anesthetic in the mud. I mean… why would he stay? It hasn't exactly been a fun-filled trip to Disney around here."

Willow tilted her head slightly, her expression sad. "But, what about our scientific experiments and him maybe staying long enough to… you know… change his mind about the heart thing?"

Buffy sighed, her gaze wandering over to the mirror and postcards decorating it. Her eyes stung with the heat of tears, but she blinked them back. The silent chant of 'detach, detach,' helping her to rein in the disappointment and ignore the pang in her chest. "The curse of the Slayer strikes again," she muttered dourly. "Driving men away since 1996."

"Maybe I'm interpreting the text wrong," Oz said. "But I thought you liked him, you know… liked-liked."

Buffy shifted her gaze to Willow, who widened her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. She hadn't told Oz. Buffy cleared her throat and asked Oz, "Liking Spike. That would be kinda… ummm… reckless, wouldn't it?"

"Reckless?" Oz shook his head. "Not in you."

Buffy frowned. "It's, like, totally in me. I'm a wreck of recklessness…"

"Have you consulted the OED on that?" Oz challenged.

"OED?" Buffy's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oxford English Dictionary," Willow supplied. "The definitive record of the English language."

"Uh… no?" Buffy answered, though she sounded unsure about how that was relevant.

"Do you know what 'reckless' means?" Oz clarified, catching her confusion.

Buffy blinked. "Stupid Buffy doing stupid-ness."

Oz sat forward from where he leaned against the headboard and looked directly into Buffy's eyes, a grand gesture in the world of Daniel Osborne. "Reckless means, 'without thinking or caring about the consequences of an action'," he informed her seriously. "In no universe is there any resemblance between you and 'reckless'. If anything, you'd have to look at the antonyms to find a picture of Buffy."

Buffy bit her lip and lowered her eyes from his steady gaze. "What about Angel… setting Angelus free."

Willow piped up. "You couldn't have known that would happen," she defended. "Of all the things to think about, that wasn't even a blip on anyone's radar."

"And you fixed it," Oz added. "Check out the lack of Angelus lurking at our windows."

Buffy sighed. She'd 'fixed' it, but only after Angelus had killed Jenny and who knew how many others, and tortured Giles and nearly ended the world.

"For the record," Oz continued. "Spike's not Angelus or even Angel."

Buffy snorted and looked back up at her friends. "So I've heard."

Oz shrugged and leaned back again, resuming the gentle massage of Willow's neck. "Just sayin', didn't see any truces with Angelus. Didn't see him bagging it. Pretty sure he wouldn't have jumped in and helped us against the Council. And the taking of a belly-full of bullets to save Giles? Totally not on the Angelus menu."

Buffy raised her brows. "So, the liking of another vampire… not reckless?"

"Not even a little bit," Oz assured her.

For a moment, Buffy took in everything Oz had said, her gaze dropping to her lap. The knowledge that at least two people thought she wasn't being reckless by liking Spike was a balm to her heart, but then she sighed. The recklessness of liking Spike was mootness. Her heart couldn't take another blow without it shattering her completely. Even if Spike stayed, she needed to detach, to forget her girlish idea of how love should be, because it wasn't like that. Even if he did change his mind about her heart, she couldn't go there. It never worked like that for her. Love and Slayers were clearly non-mixy. 'Detach, detach, detach.'

Buffy cleared her throat and put a too-bright-to-be-real smile on her lips before she turned back to Willow and Oz. "Well, he's probably leaving anyway, so reckless or anti-reckless, it's no big," she dismissed, standing up and pulling her hand from beneath Willow's. "I hope you feel better, and don't worry about anything. Stay here as long as you need. I know Giles didn't want you too far away, in case of relapse or something. I guess he and Xander should be back soon from the tool retrieval mission."

Willow looked as dejected as Buffy felt. "Okay, thanks… and I'm really sorry, Buffy. If there's anything I can do..."

Buffy waved a hand, heading for the door. "Pity party when you're feeling better. Lots of ice cream and Spike cuddles."

Oz arched a brow.

"Doggie-Spike," Willow clarified to him, giving Buffy a nod and sympathetic smile. "It's a date."

Buffy gave her friend a grateful smile, though her heart ached. How was she supposed to stay detached… get detached? It sounded simple in concept, but the execution was proving to be as difficult as a triple salchow on thin, uneven ice.

End Notes:

Thank you so much for reading and for your patience as I try to catch up with your wonderful comments! I thought things would slow down a bit for me, but so far no luck with that. But I'll get there – I love reading all your notes! They keep me inspired!

** X-X-X-X-X **