Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike


Chapter 7: Sharks to Sushi


Chapter Notes:

Just a note because I know it seems like a long time has passed since Buffy was drugged by Giles and went through all that, but it's really only been a couple of weeks in story time. I counted out the days at one point, but I gave up since some days take several chapters to get through and other chapters cover more than one day, but just know that it hasn't been very long for her.


-X-

Faith didn't return to the library after escorting Angel away, so the plan changed. There was still a patrol and an assessment by the Council liaison, but with a single Slayer rather than both.

Buffy felt like a drum major as she made her way through Restfield. If she'd had a baton instead of a stake in her hand, the resemblance would have been complete. The parade of chattering people behind her—the Scoobies, along with the 'L' woman, Spike, and Giles—made it certain all the vampires in the area would hear them coming from a mile away. Whether that would make the demons hide, run away, or be drawn to them like sharks to a school of yummy sushi, she wasn't sure. She and her faithful, furry patrol buddy, who was at her side as usual, shared a look of exasperation as they passed the Alpert mausoleum. Clearly, the dog was also less than impressed with the whole parade-theme.

Glancing back over her shoulder at the line of demon bait trailing along in her wake, Buffy saw that Xander and Oz were closest to her. Xander was alternatively complaining to the werewolf about Buffy dating another vampire, and enthusing over the way Buffy and Faith had broken up the fight between the two Aurelians. Oz, as usual, wasn't saying much of anything, though she did hear him say something about 'people living in demonic houses shouldn't throw axes' and 'so goes Willow, so goes my nation'.

Next in line was Giles, plodding along and struggling to keep up using his cane. Beside him was Willow. Buffy could only catch snatches of their conversation, but it seemed to be about Giles working with her on developing her magical talents.

The caboose of the Slaying train was Spike and his British groupie, much too far back for Buffy to hear what they were saying, but she didn't like the flirty smiles the woman kept shooting Spike's way, or the way he leaned in to speak with her. Just what could those two be talking about, anyway? Wasn't Liana supposed to be assessing Buffy's patrolling habits? The Slayer was pretty sure flirting with her boyfriend was not part of that process. Buffy's hand tightened around the stake. She really needed something to pummel.

The universe, of course, obliged in the most unobliging way it could.

"Slayer!"

"Spike!"

"WOOF!"

Their voices rang out in unison—the vampire, the Guardian, and the Slayer—each shouting a warning, a call to arms. They'd all noticed the pack of eight or ten vamps approaching from different directions at the same time. It was hard to get an accurate count, but the vamps' purpose was clear: surround the Slayer and her entourage. Sushi bar it was, then. Someone pass the soy sauce.

In the next moment, the three supernatural beings were in motion, moving to intercept the interlopers. The rest of the group gathered in closer, all protecting the weakest link—Giles. The Council woman made a vampire recoil as she shoved her wooden cross at his face, while Oz and Xander both produced stakes, looking grim but determined. Willow was at Giles' side, her face both frightened and resolved as she brandished a cross of her own.

Buffy had to get her friends to a defensible position, and out in the open where they were being attacked from all sides wasn't it. The Alpert crypt was about twenty feet away and Buffy, with a quick command, sent her dog in that direction to clear a path.

"Follow Spike!" she yelled at her friends as she kicked a vampire wearing a Raiders football jersey squarely in the jaw. He stumbled to the side where he collided with a painfully-thin girl in a soiled, pink ballerina outfit—complete with ragged tutu and ripped leggings—knocking them both down, at least momentarily.

When her friends looked between the vampire and the dog in confusion, Buffy sighed. "Cujo!" she clarified, rolling her eyes, and waving a hand at the dog who was ravaging a vampire in a black hoodie. God, she was probably sooo gonna get sued by Stephen King for that—and it would all be that stupid vampire's fault! She swung around and blithely staked a vamp who was trying to sneak up on her from behind, never actually seeing what it looked like. "GO! Put your back to the crypt!" she ordered her friends as Spike, the vampire who'd decided to name her dog after a Stephen King nightmare, held off three more vamps coming in from the other direction.

The hoodie vamp burst into dust under the dog's attack—the Guardian's jaws clamping down over his neck so violently that his head was wrenched from his shoulders. Cujo barely stopped to savor the victory as another vampire shifted to try and block the path between the Scoobies and the crypt. The dog's growl rumbled through the cemetery, shaking leaves from trees as he enthusiastically dove for the new challenger.

Meanwhile, the football fan and the ballerina had recovered their footing and had launched a coordinated attack against Buffy; fists, feet, and fangs flying. Buffy caught a glimpse of Spike, the vampire, fighting on the other side of the group who were now moving toward the crypt. His hair was like a beacon in the dim light, his duster whirling like a cape as he spun, delivering bone-breaking kicks and punches to the three vamps he was holding off. Unlike the growling of the dog, she was sure she heard a joyous rumbling laugh coming from him as he battled. Buffy would've rolled her eyes at that if she'd had time. But she didn't. She was trying to account for all the vamps, check on her friends, and fight at the same time. From her count, two or three more vamps were unaccounted for, and that was if she'd counted right to begin with.

Buffy ground her teeth, unable to get an opening to stake either of the two she was fighting. This was taking too long! She could only see brief glimpses of her friends—not enough to be sure they were all safe—as she traded blows with the vamps. When Buffy turned her head, trying to get a better idea of the Scoobies' condition, the ballerina leapt lithely onto the Slayer's back. The girl was small and reedy, but no less powerful for it. She clung like a limpet to the Slayer, her arms and legs wrapped around Buffy's slim form as her fangs quested for the jugular. Buffy spun madly, wrenching at the girl's arms and legs, trying to dislodge her, but to no avail. The Raiders fan took that opportunity to batter Buffy with furious fists to her abdomen and solar plexus each time she turned in his direction, drawing a strangled gasp from her as the air was driven from her lungs and pain shot out like a crackling spiderweb through her torso.

The ballerina clamped a hand around Buffy's throat, cutting off her air, and stars started to flash in the Slayer's field of vision. The moment she slowed her frantic spinning, fangs threatened Buffy's neck. She could feel the ballerina's sickening, rancid breath wafting coldly against her overheated skin, the reek combining with one of putrid blood and dead skunk coming from her skin and clothes. Apparently, personal hygiene wasn't a priority for Giselle. The lack of oxygen was almost a relief, though for some reason Buffy's stomach still turned at the stench that tickled her nostrils.

The Slayer gave up trying to pry free of the vampire or spin her off, instead punching over her shoulder, slamming her fist into the straggly ballerina's nose, smashing it bloody and jerking her head back just before her fangs sank in.

The football fan roared his displeasure and dove at the struggling women. Buffy managed to lurch out of his path as the girl's hand slipped from her throat, allowing oxygen back into the Slayer's burning lungs. Buffy spun then and threw herself backwards at a large tree just as the ballerina was recovering from the blow. Buffy felt the slight weight of the girl disappear from her back as a branch plunged through the small vampire's back and into her heart, dust raining down over the Slayer the next moment.

The Raider screamed in a mixture of agony and rage then barreled toward Buffy in a blind fury. Buffy stepped to the side and let him run headfirst into the tree. Before he could recover, her stake came down on his back and he joined his dusty, undead partner in evil, their ashes mixing with the dry mulch at the base of the conifer.

-X-

Spike's conversation with Lydia was cut abruptly short when he caught sight of a vampire creeping out from behind a tall headstone that was sculpted to look like the trunk of a tree. He whirled around and saw that it wasn't alone, they were creeping in from all sides—a whole pack of vamps coming for the all-you-can-eat, early bird buffet. He silently cursed himself for not paying closer attention to their surroundings before calling a warning to the Slayer, but she'd already noticed them.

"Get that cross out—stake too, if you've got it," Spike advised the liaison as he shoved the woman toward the Watcher and the witch, and turned to defend their backs. The vamps were well coordinated, they'd clearly hunted as a pack before. They were carefully spread out, making guarding the human Happy Meals that much harder. He heard Buffy yell at her mates to, "Follow Spike!" and he shot her an incredulous look. What the fuck was he, bloody Moses? Supposed t' part the sea of vamps and lead them to the promised land?

Then he realized she meant the dog, seeing the crypt and understanding her plan immediately. In the next moment she clarified to the stunned pulsers, "Cujo! GO! Put your back to the crypt!"

Returning to his task, Spike swept the legs out from under the closest vampire—an inordinately short male with dark hair and olive skin who Spike mentally named 'Napoleon'. Using the momentum of his spin, he brought his fist around to slam into the jaw of the next one along the perimeter—a tall, curly-haired blond guy in a Celtic's jersey—who stumbled back a step from the blow.

"C'mon, you tossers!" Spike challenged, a feral grin splitting his lips. "You want the nummy treats, gotta go through me!" With a crunch of bone and cartridge, his demon came to the fore, making his grin even more wild and savage as he curled his fingers in a 'come at me' gesture. He bounced on his toes and began snarling fiercely as he aimed a forceful punch at Napoleon just as the runty vampire stood back up. A spurt of blood gushed from the short vampire's nose as he was sent flying away to crash into an already broken gravestone several yards away.

"That the best you got? Pathetic!" Spike taunted as he swept the legs out from another vamp. He continued to toss insults and jibes at the pack, doing everything he could to draw their attention, to make him their target. He hoped to dust the lot of them before they had a chance to remember there was a whole smorgasbord of tasty snacks huddled together nearby.

The vampires were clearly used to hunting as a pack, and as soon as Spike had one down, another would regain their balance and come charging at him. A woman with dirty-blond dreads that fell to her shoulders and a tie-dyed t-shirt that said, 'Make love, not war' was the next to attack. With a gleeful chortle, Spike spun to the side, lashing out with his leg as he did so, and slamming his boot into the hippie girl's stomach. She flew back into Larry Bird—the name he'd given to the tall Celtics fan—and they both went down in a tangle of limbs. A stake was in his hand the next moment and he lashed out at Napoleon, who had returned to the fray. Unfortunately, the little bugger was, well, little, and he ducked beneath the swing with barely any effort at all.

The pint-sized vamp's small fists seemed to concentrate all his power into hammerheads of pain as they slammed into Spike's stomach, but he'd fought Buffy, and this was nothing compared to her blows. Spike brought his elbow down atop Napoleon's dark head, driving him down to his knees and the stake Spike still held plunged into his back and through to his heart the next moment. He didn't have time to even yell a victory cry before the other two he'd been fighting were on him again, lashing out with everything they had, knocking the stake from his hand.

He heard Buffy cry out—in pain, anger, or frustration, he couldn't be sure—perhaps all three. A surge of all those same emotions flooded through him. A rush of adrenaline poured into his veins, fueled by his determination to keep his promise, to protect her, to watch her back, to see just how long a Slayer could live. The two blond vamps managed to land blows. His face, already battered from the fight with Angel, took more damage, as did his torso, but none of it was enough to take him down or fetter his resolve.

A ground-shaking roar of determined, focused fury split the air as Spike slammed his booted foot into the hippie's knee. Bone and cartilage splintered and cracked audibly as the knee caved backwards, like a bird's. The woman screamed, her yellow eyes burning with agony as she fell, clutching at her mangled leg. Spike took another blow in the kidney from the basketball player, but ignored it as he kicked the girl onto her back and, in the next moment, stomped down on her neck, severing her head from her body. The last thing to dissolve into dust were the words on her t-shirt, which seemed to hang in the air a second longer, 'Make love, not war', then she was completely gone.

The next moment, Spike was driven to the ground by the lanky Celtics fan, his face shoved into the barely settled dust of Larry's cohort. Heavy punches rained down on his neck and the back of his head as he blinked the dust from his eyes and spluttered it out of his mouth. As his vision cleared, the stake that had been knocked from his hand earlier came into focus a couple of feet away. He grabbed it and rolled beneath Larry Bird, bringing the hand with the stake up in a powerful arc. The point slammed into the other vamp's triceps, splattering blood, and drawing a satisfying curse of pain. Spike pressed his momentary advantage, yanking the stake back out as he lifted his body, continuing his roll and knocking the tall vamp onto his back on the dust-covered grass. The stake plunged down a second time, and this time it struck home, burying itself into his opponent's heart, leaving nothing but a drifting cloud in its wake.

Spike lurched up to his feet, stake still in hand, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears from the blows he'd taken. His first thought, first instinct, was Buffy, and his eyes sought her out across the fifteen or so feet that separated them. She had just yanked her own stake from the back of the black and silver Raiders jersey, her eyes already lifting, her head turning to take in the scene.

He felt a jolt of joyful surprise surge through him followed immediately by a wellspring of ebullient love when her eyes met his and held. A tangible, almost overpowering, sense of relief seemed to spark the air between them as each of them realized the other was all right.

Despite all Buffy had done and said, accepting that she really cared about him was still something Spike hadn't quite mastered. He kept waiting for the punch line, for the rug to be pulled out from under his feet, for the laughs and sniggers, the taunts, the sneers, and the ridicule. But they hadn't come, and now those luminous green eyes were staring back at him across the cemetery—if only briefly. Buffy had checked on him; she'd been concerned about him. It was Spike's eyes that she'd sought out first in the small respite of the battle. The connection only lasted a moment before their gazes were both roaming over the area again, pinpointing threats, making split-second decisions, but it was a moment he'd cherish for all eternity, assuming he managed to live through this night.

-X-

Buffy knew that even a moment's hesitation could be the difference between life and death, not just for her, but for her friends, and for her dog, and yet, she couldn't stop her eyes from searching him out. Spike. She knew he was capable, strong, and fierce—not someone who needed protecting—and yet she couldn't help the worry for him that skittered around in the back of her mind as she battled.

She knew as soon as her green eyes met his golden ones that she'd been worried for nothing—of course he was fine. But the relief that fluttered through her was worth the couple of moments it had taken to make sure. She gave him the slightest of smiles before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

Her gaze landed on her friends who now had their backs against the high crypt wall. They, along with Cujo (she hoped Stephen King knew she had no money, so suing her would be useless), were holding off three more vamps, one of which looked much too familiar to Buffy: a tall, broad man with shoulder-length, wavy, red hair. Her living nightmare vampire. Memories flooded her, memories of helplessness and pure terror. His vile laugh still haunted her nightmares, and just thinking of him made her skin crawl and her confidence bleed into fear.

She could still hear his voice, taunting her, 'Kitty wants to play? Should've just said so. We can play, little girl.' She could still feel the pain radiate down her body as he held her up by the scruff of the neck like an errant kitten. She'd been powerless against his strength. At the time, she'd had no idea what was wrong with her; now she knew—Giles had poisoned her, weakened her, and lied to her.

Buffy felt her blood turn to ice for a split second, then ignite in fire. Payback would be a real bitch. But payback needed to wait just a moment more as she continued to assess the situation at the crypt and make sure her friends were safe.

Spike, the dog, could've taken one or even two of the vamps surrounding them on his own, but that would've left another free to attack the pack of humans he was guarding. Oz, Xander, and Giles were all brandishing stakes, while Willow and the L-woman had crosses. If not for the dog snarling and snapping at any vamp that hazarded too close to the group, it was likely at least one of the humans would've been dead by now. Thank goodness for smarty-pants dogs.

A fourth vampire suddenly appeared atop the crypt. Buffy's arm whipped back and snapped forward like a shot, sending the stake in her hand sailing toward the newcomer. She was shocked to glimpse a similar projectile coming from her left—from where Spike was standing. The Slayer watched as both stakes slammed into the vamp's chest almost simultaneously, both hitting the heart-shaped bullseye. There was a surprised gasp from sneaky-vamp before he turned into gritty rain drifting down on the Scoobies.

The three vampires on the ground spun around to see where the wooden rockets had come from. Buffy met the eyes of the largest of them—the ginger vamp who was taller and broader than Angel.

"Carrottop's mine!" the Slayer declared, moving forward, her hands balling into determined fists.

On either side of the large vampire, where a moment before his comrades in arms had stood, there was suddenly nothing but ash drifting on the wind. Xander made an elated yowl of victory as he yanked his stake back, while on the other side, Oz, with typical laconic understatement, simply muttered an intrigued, "Huh," as he pulled his arm away from the settling dust.

Carrottop whirled around, taking in the situation with lightning speed and made the only decision he could reasonably make—to run.

"MINE!" Buffy reiterated when both Spikes began after him. "Stay!" she ordered as she increased her pace. "Guard the humans!"

One Spike growled and the other barked, neither one pleased with her order. Buffy ran at full Slayer speed, hurdling headstones and weaving between taller monuments as she chased the thing she'd feared for too long. It was time to bury it—bury the fear, bury the doubt, bury the helplessness—once and for all.

The urge to follow his hooman was strong, and Spike-the-dog whined in protest even as he obediently stopped, his brown eyes flashing with streaks of blue-white lightning, his body humming, yearning for the chase and the fight.

"Bugger that!" Spike declared, making to race past the dog, but his namesake, being smarter and better behaved, shoulder-blocked him, sending the vampire tumbling ass over teakettle along the grass to fetch up against a headstone.

"Bloody hell!" Spike complained, pushing back up to his feet and looking around for any glimpse of the Slayer or the vamp she'd been chasing. "Are you sodding mad!?" he demanded of the dog, turning back to glower at him with the golden eyes of the demon.

Cujo turned to look at the group near the crypt, then swiveled his gaze back to the white rabbit, giving him an imperious look, before heading over to take up his assigned task—guarding the hoomans.

All the members of the Slayer wagon-train had stepped away from the crypt now, their knot of safety unraveling slightly. Spike looked back and forth between the group of Happy Meals and the direction the Slayer had gone, his hands balled into fists, his feet inching ever so slightly toward the Slayer and away from the Scoobies. Giles, though still hobbling with his cane, was ahead of the others and he met the dog as he came back to them. He curled his hand into the heavy collar around the Guardian's neck before meeting Spike's anxious golden gaze. "Go!" the ex-Watcher ordered.

Spike didn't need telling twice. He turned and sprinted after Buffy, first following the tracks she'd made in the dew, then following her scent when she veered onto gravel paths.

"GrrrrrRARRF!" the dog protested—a half-growl, half-bark—though he didn't pull away from the feeble hold of the injured man.

"This is for the best," Giles assured him. "He'll watch her back as well as you could, and she'll not withhold your cheeseburger ration for not following orders," he advised the dog.

Spike huffed out an indignant breath.

"Yes, well, life is rarely fair," Giles agreed. "But at least there will be cheeseburgers in your future."

-X-

Buffy realized where the redheaded vamp was heading when he made a sharp turn and barreled toward the high wall at the edge of the cemetery. He was heading for his lair, the old Victorian house she and the dog had tracked him back to just a few nights ago. She couldn't let him get there—she had no idea if he had more of his clan there, or even human hostages he could use against her.

She pulled from her reserves and put on a burst of speed, feeling the wind whip against her face, her arms and legs pumping with hot blood and adrenaline. It seemed like forever since she'd felt this strong, this energized, this ready to kick demon ass—this demon's ass in particular needed a thorough kicking.

With only a few feet to spare before the vamp reached the wall, Buffy launched herself at his broad, muscular back. She expected him to fall flat on his face, or at least stumble, but he seemed to barely notice her weight. The lack of reaction caught her by surprise, completely ruining the plan she'd had to pummel him into the ground as soon as he was down. She could feel him tense beneath her, readying himself for the leap over the high wall, and a new tactic flashed in her mind. The Slayer released the hold she had on his shoulders, uncurling her legs from his waist, and slid down his body, wrapping her arms around his legs instead.

That had the desired effect. He fell with a cry of surprise, his head and shoulders slamming into the brick wall with bone-rattling force. Even as she was jarred loose from his legs, Buffy began throwing punches at anything she could reach as she scrabbled up from his feet to his back. Her fists rained down pain as she pounded his kidneys and liver, which she was sure vamps didn't actually need, but still produced a satisfying yowl of pain from the vamp.

"Kitty wants to play!" Buffy screeched at him, throwing his words from that horrible night back at him as her fists continued to batter his back. "How do you like this game? I can play this one for hours!" she ranted wildly, pouring out all the terror that he'd conjured in her all those days ago.

Buffy had let her emotions get the better of her, though, and was unprepared when he pushed up from the soft ground with powerful arms and flipped them both over, landing on her and driving the air from her lungs. He scrambled away from the crazed Slayer, regaining his feet as he turned and faced her. Buffy didn't stay down either. Despite the icy thorns that stabbed into her lungs, she kipped up to her feet, her stance ready to defend or attack even as she struggled to get her breath back.

-X-

Spike came to a stop a few yards away from the pair, who were faced off near the perimeter wall of the cemetery. The Slayer's power was fully evident in the dim light. His Buffy was sodding glorious. She looked like a wrathful avenging angel, her golden hair flying around her head like a chaotic halo, her face aglow with feverish exhilaration, her eyes glittering with the need for retribution.

He sauntered closer, before leaning back against a sarcophagus and fishing his smokes and lighter out of his pocket. Spike felt his already-hard cock twitch and grow to uncomfortable proportions as he settled back to watch this magnificent Slayer—his magnificent Slayer, his sodding girlfriend—rip this wanker apart.

The big vamp caught sight of Spike and seemed to inflate a bit more, thinking he had help, apparently not registering that the blond had been fighting against his clan earlier. "Give me a hand! We can take her!" he urged Spike.

Buffy hazarded a glance in the direction the redhead had looked. "He's mine! Stay out of this!" she ordered Spike.

Spike smirked and lifted up to sit on the flat top of the tomb, his legs dangling, heels bouncing against the stone side like a child. "Just stopped by for the show," he replied casually, answering them both before lighting his fag. He inhaled deeply, clicking the Zippo closed over the flame, and looked back at the two combatants. "Here we are now. Entertain us."

The ginger vampire growled in fury and frustration and charged the petite blonde. To the casual observer, Buffy would've appeared to have been overmatched, fighting out of her weight class by an order of magnitude. Spike knew better. He couldn't help the grin that curved his lips or the continued hardening of his prick as he watched the Slayer deftly slide to the side, sending the Jolly Red Giant careening into a headstone.

Buffy moved like the wind, as graceful as a dancer, as unstoppable as an ocean wave, as powerful as an earthquake, as deadly as a ninja. She was on the vampire before he could recover, her hands were empty, her fists and feet her only weapons—that and her bitter, angry words, "Scream! Beg! Let's hear it! I love it when they scream!" she shrieked as she threw uppercuts and furious jabs at the kneeling vamp's freckled face, which was finally within easy reach.

Just as Carrottop began to rise, she swept a leg out and slammed it into one of his knees, eliciting the scream she'd been demanding. "Yeah! Like that! Scream!" she roared at him, rearing back and smashing her boot into his face, sending blood spurting from his nose.

He lunged for her, half-blinded by the pain, but again, Buffy danced from his path, sending him sprawling onto the dew-damp grass.

"I thought you could 'play for hours,'" Buffy snarled, kicking him in the danglies and drawing a pained growling-gasp as he curled in on himself.

Spike winced in sympathy, adjusting his erection that was pressing against his zipper to something slightly less uncomfortable. Spike was glad he'd managed to avoid doing whatever this tosser had done to brass Buffy off. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her more magnificently wicked in all the times they'd battled.

"Maybe you should pick on someone your own size next time, jerk," Buffy spat as she walked over to the grave of a child. It was surrounded by a white picket fence, meant, she supposed, to resemble a cradle. She broke off one of the pickets, gripping it in her small, deadly hand. "Oh, my mistake," she continued, as the vamp struggled to get back to his feet, one hand still cupping his ruptured balls, his eyes swollen nearly closed from the battering he'd taken. "There won't be a next time."

Buffy drew back the length of wood and drove it into the big vamp's chest, directly through his heart and out his back. "Asshole," she muttered as he fell to dust, taking the makeshift stake with him.

-X-


Chapter End Notes:

Reminder, in the last story ('My Turn', Chapter 28, 'Say Something') Buffy and Spike T. Dog fled 1630 Revello after she caught Spike and Faith in the bathroom (Faith was actually being nice, trying to help the injured vampire get out of his groady clothes so he could clean up, but Buffy got mad and jealous and then scared of her feelings). Buffy and Spike T. Dog ended up in Restfield and they saw the redheaded vampire then. They hid from him, because they were still weak from the drugs, but tracked him back to a rundown Victorian house just on the other side of the cemetery walls. That's how she knew where he was going this time.

As far as I can tell, this would be the first vampire Oz has dusted that he remembers. He dusted a couple in 'The Wish', which would've happened before this time, but no one remembers that (it did happen in this universe, I didn't cover it in this series thus far because no one except maybe Anya would remember it. It will come up again later).

Xander staked a vampire on his own in Phases (episode 2.15); he had two 'assists' prior to the timeframe of this story, one in 'The Harvest' and one in 'Anne' (1.2 and 3.1 respectively). In 'The Harvest', he dusted his friend, Jesse. Xander was holding a state to his chest, hesitating, when someone ran by and knocked Jesse into the stake. A similar thing happened in 'Anne', where Xander had his stake out and a vampire knocked him down, then Cordy fell on them both, pushing the vamp into the stake. Of course, 'Anne' would not have happened the same in this story, because Buffy didn't leave, but let's give Xander that kill, anyway, maybe they were out patrolling with Buffy.

"Here we are now. Entertain us," are lyrics from the song Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana (which Spike also says to Lloyd when he was about to begin the trials in Africa in canon)

Thanks so much for reading! More on Sunday.