Chapter 41

Murder On The Dancefloor

He was dead. He was dust. I had been certain of it… I had convinced myself that Faith had slain him when she came for me, when she tore me from the literal jaws of death.

Unlike any other threat I had faced as a Scooby, it was Spike, and Spike alone that penetrated deep into my subconscious. It was his face that haunted my dreams, that finally drove me to learn to fight, to protect myself. And yes, it wasn't just fear of him killing me, it was the fear of how he made me feel, it was what he made me want. And I had stuffed all that baggage deep into the daydream basket only because I knew Faith had ended him.

But here he was, in sharp focus, even more terribly real with my inconceivably heightened senses.

Spike's cocky grin stabbed into me, opening up the wound once more. Oh god… oh god, it is all coming back… the vicious wires on my wrists, the tightness of breath as my panic rose, the scream coming from me, rising and rising as his wicked fangs tore into my flesh. And more, and darker things yet. The sensations began to bleed out of the darkness, razors dragging along my nerves. He grins at me like he knows. Those wicked yellow eyes piercing directly into the well of weakness within me.

"What? No wise cracks?" Spike tuts and wags a black painted claw at me. "Now your predecessor would have been firing them off at this stage. As much as a pain my arse that bitch was, she never disappointed with a pun. You know, I really had my heart set on killing Buffy myself. We had some good times, we did, me 'n 'er. All this too and fro felt, well, like foreplay. Building up to the big showdown."

I want to say something cutting but my throat is feeling hot and throbbing, swelling, blood and phlegm- sticky and sharp. I taste my own blood, as if it was once again his mouth that brought it forth.

"It really got my appetite going, it did. I have a taste for it, Slayers blood." He talks loud, playing to the gallery of vamps. "Drained my first Slayer way back in The Qing dynasty... The Boxer rebellion. My second in New York, in the seventies. Got this duster from her as a trophy. Buffy was supposed to be my third. My hat trick. Can you imagine how ticked off I was when I found out someone else bagged the slayer?" He shakes his pale head "fate can be so cruel. And with a gun? How pathetic. No honour or glory in that kill. Still, one slayer dies, another takes her place. So lucky number three. I am sure you won't disappoint, luv. After all, we both know I have already tasted you."

What would Buffy do? What would Buffy do when faced by the thing that hunted her, haunted her nightmares, what would she do when the odds are so stacked against her?

I knew Buffy. I knew her in detail, this shouldn't be so hard to summon her. After all, Buffy Summers had shattered my world the moment I laid eyes on her. Now, you're thinking that may sound dramatic, but you have to understand that my world consisted of a safe bubble of denial and humor, constantly and lovingly reinforced by my friends and enemies. Willow and Jesse on one hand- Cordelia and my father on the other. I was trapped inside that bubble, drowning, going round and round like the washing in my basement. But Buffy? She was new, so was clean of Cordelia's spite. A beautiful, welcoming smile, an awkwardness that felt, I confess, exploitable. Looking back, I am glad of her rejection, for I wasn't ready to love. I would have been horrible for the both of us.

But then, the real shattering happened, as I followed her out of my bubble, out into the terrors of the night. And with that, Jesse became a monster, and then dust at my hands, not ten feet from where I stand. Willow started on her path as a witch and I? I began to fight for my life, my ego, my sanity and my masculinity.

Had I been Lexi underneath that all? That scared, wisecracking, fragile, boy? Or had she come to be when Willow's spell "made me a girl"? Had my mind been changed along with my body? The brain is the body? Or was I always, in a way, Lexi, waiting for the spell to make me one of the girls? To free me from Xander's bubble?

Maybe the reason I was drawn to Buffy is she shattered my preconceptions of masculinity and femininity? She was strong, brave, oft times responsible, the warrior, the rescuer… things I had been told were male traits, and constantly reminded by cruel lips and fists that I was found lacking.

So to say Buffy shattered my world, is no understatement.

And now, in this body, the body of a Slayer clutching this axe, my blood on my split lips and the air thick with ashes, I know what I am. I can be strong, I can be brave, and yes, oft times responsible. And right now Faith and Oz, and the people in this bar need me to be the rescuer.

What would Buffy do? She would kick Spike' ass. That's what she would do.

I lunge, and despite my waning strength, the axe arcs down fast and true. Spike is ready, side stepping as I had hoped, placing him into the path of my kick. He accepts the blow to the chest easily and staggers back only two paces. He smiles and licks his lips. I spin, trying to get as much momentum with the axe as possible and sweeping in a wide arc he can't possibly outstep. And he doesn't, instead he closes the distance, checking my hands with his shoulder, causing me to all but lose grip on the handle. I am off balance as he spins, and his hand comes over, easily prying loose my weapon. I roll away and come to my feet (ouch) facing him again.

Spike spins the axe dramatically, then lets it slip down his grip so he can examine the small double bitted head.

"Nice craftsmanship. And oh… what is this? Silver coated, well, you little minx." He says. "Not very nice, bringing an blessed axe to a fist fight. Going to have to teach you some manners, little Miss Hart."

I need to close the distance, to get the weapon back. But he is fast, and right now I am hurting real bad, my eyes watering, my mouth filling with blood. I glance around at all the terrified faces, and the many yellow eyes leering from the darkness. How can I be The Chosen? Was this all some sick ironic joke at the end of my life?

Spike advances now, looming over me, his black duster spreading out, revealing a red t-shirt over taut muscles. He spins the axe with ease, confidence pouring from him.

Who am I kidding? I don't have what Buffy had. What Faith had. I can't be this. I cannot beat him. He is my inevitable end all along.

I know now that Spike is going to kill me.


It felt like I had been limping along the dark desert highway forever. The grave of my motorbike was at least four to five hours behind me, but it was impossible to tell, the cheap plastic of my watch had been ground down to a foul smelling black pulp on the tarmac when I crashed.

By now I was more bone weary than I had ever felt before, and the only things keeping me from falling asleep where I stood was the sharp stings of my raw flesh against my clothing, and the certain knowledge that I would die from hypothermia if I did. Moving hurt, but it generated heat, and each painful step brought me closer to safety.

So you can imagine my elation when I reached the crest of a hill and saw the thin sliver of pink neon over the next ridge. Neon meant civilization. Neon meant safe.

The sign belonged to a roadhouse, which I instantly recognised from earlier. I cursed my luck, realising I had come the wrong way. The row of impressive hog motorbikes parked out front had instantly intimidated me, and as much as I had dreamed of the lone biker image, the tough guy drifter, the idea of meeting real bikers was plain terrifying, so I had done the manly thing and driven past. It was a low, dark wooden building, perched on the lip of a shallow canyon that I remembered stretched on for many a mile. I cursed again, this was my only option.

You know those cowboy movies when the hero enters and suddenly the whole bar stops to look, the piano player too? Well, it wasn't exactly like. For starters the piano player was a jukebox roaring out some early AC/DC, but enough of the big, scary heads turned to look at me to give the effect. And that effect was all the air crushed out of my lungs by aching ribs.

Still, with no other choice I straightened my back and tried not to limp as I made my way up to the L shaped bar on the far right. I cannot imagine what I looked like to them.

The girl behind the bar reminded me of Faith Lehane. Leather pants and a tight tank, oozing confidence and sex. But as beautiful as she was, she didn't hold a candle to Faith. I mean, who could? She was flirting with some huge biker guy who looked like a young viking. Her face fell as she noticed me, and her eyes drifted down and up.

"Shit dude, who did you piss off?" She said, causing the men at the bar to turn and look at me. I felt nauseous from fear, but tried to hide it.

"My bike. It was a fair fight though, up until she hit me with a road."

"Jesus." Said the Viking. "Sadie, get the first aid box out and get this man a shot."

"Tetanus?" I said, confused.

"Bourbon." He said. A wave of his hand and I found myself sat on a chair with a flurry of activity around me. A blur of big burly bodies, tattoos and ripped denim. A glass was placed to my lips and as much as it stung them, the follow burn of the fluid chased away the chill. I felt the firm, confident press of hands along my limbs.

"Tell me if it hurts." A deep voice came, and to my surprise, Australian, I think.

"I can handle it." I protested, my pride aching worse than my body.

"Sure you can tough guy, sure you can, but I am a doctor, and right now I am testing for fractures so you shout out anyway." Came the voice. I tried to focus, to stay awake, but something was claiming me. "Nah, yeah, nah, no fractures. Spine is fine. But you're burning up, big guy so..."

I don't remember the rest, only that when I came too I was in a motel ten miles away, with my room paid for three nights and a prescription written out waiting for me on the dresser.

If I learned anything from that night, it is sometimes help comes from the least expected places.


The axe impacts the pillar with such force the sparks skip off my cheek. The plaster falls away from the brick, swinging out on a flap of thickly pasted posters that I duck under.

Spike swings the axe lazily, playfully, aiming to tire me, or perhaps wound me. He wants my blood, not to spill it. Still, with each… uhhh… duck… ahhhh… I feel… shiiiit…. weaker.

The swing is chest height, scything through air with more force, and I fold backwards to avoid it, losing my balance, crashing back onto a table. A highball glass jams into my back and cracks under my body weight. I feel the sting of air on an open wound as I roll away.

A boot lands on my ankle and my momentum wrenches at my knee. With a hiss I come to a halt, facing upwards, seeing his grin as the axe comes crashing down at my face and…

Thunk!

It buries itself beside my ear, trapping my hair against the wood. I flail to grab the axe, but a kick lands on my knuckles, and agony shoots from my ankle as he brings his full bodyweight grinding down onto the tender bones. A scream slips from my lips, and with it seems to go all my strength. I know it is over.

But no final blow comes.

I peek through one eye, and am confused by what I see.

Spike is hunched over, his back to me, hands clasped to either side of his skull. He shakes his head, skin flushed, tendons straining in his neck.

"Boss?" Comes the fang muffled voice. "You alright?"

"I'm fine!" Spike yells, clearly not.

"Blondie bear?" Comes another voice, and it may be the concussion but I swear it was Harmony.

"Not now Harm." Spike hisses. He turns back to me, his face human, all the cockiness gone. "I am working."

His boot streaks out to hit my jaw, and I am slammed back into the wood. But this time the scream isn't mine, it comes from Spike. Once again, he is doubled over, clutching at his head.

A girl appears, hovering near him. Her face pale and twisted, her clothes darker, her hair braided tightly to her skull. My god, Buffy was right. Harmony Kendall is a vampire? I feel my lip split open as I smirk.

I stand, my ankle protesting enough that I have to use the ruined table for support. It also giveth gifts, for the axe is mine once more.

Suddenly there are screams and the crowd surges, I look to see the vampire guarding by the door screaming and hissing. Cordelia throws a vial of holy water at an incoming vampire and then throws the door wide. The gathered crowd pauses.

"Hello? This is the part where you run for your lives. Duh!" She says. As the crowd take the hint, the room erupts into chaos.

But Harmony has stepped into the path of the door, the other vamps are descending on the trapped, I see one girl bitten. I glance back at Spike and Harmony, then back to the crowd. What would Buffy do?

My throw is imperfect, but effective. The axe buries itself in Harmony's skull. Not enough to kill, but she goes down hard, and the crowd surge over her. I drop to my knee, satisfied by my last action.

I always hated Harmony.

Spike catches me before I fall down, seizing me hard by my hair and snarling. He notices smile on my lips, and it drives him all the more insane with rage. And with that, he bites down on my throat.