The Keeper of Truth
Chapter 4
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later. Warning- this chapter has graphic violence.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
*****
Spike faced the door and watched the vampires enter. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you."
"Knew we'd come, did you?" Angelus closed the door behind him with a soft movement. His faced glowed with an ominous calm. "It wasn't my idea to find you, but then, you probably guessed that too."
Dru swept forward. She meandered around the crypt, exploring with faint curiosity, then turned back to examine Spike with her eyes. "Poor boy. Not much of a home for one of us… ugly and dirty and full of secrets."
"Yeah, well, it suits me well enough." Spike crossed his arms over his chest, then realized it looked like a defensive move and uncrossed them. He pretended not to notice how natural it seemed for Drusilla to move back to Angelus and tuck herself against his side. "So, Dru wanted to drop by? That's… nice. You've visited, seen the new digs, now you can push off."
"You know that's not why we're here." Angelus took a step forward. "Where is it?"
Spike's mouth went dry. All he could think of to say was, "What?"
"You heard me, boy. I know you have something that belongs to me. Where is it? And for that matter, what is it?"
Recovering, Spike snorted and put on a smirk. "Someone's told you a big one, Peaches. I don't have anything that belongs to you."
"Dru never lies to me, do you?" He wrapped one, long arm around Drusilla, and curled his hand around her waist. His eyes, predatorial and challenging, never left Spike's. "With me, yes, but never to me."
"And you say I'm the one who's taken what's yours," Spike muttered, pretending not to notice the way Angelus's fingers fondled the curve of Dru's hip. "You've bloody well taken queen and castle away from me. And you come here, why? Because of a vision? We all know how reliable those visions are."
Dru nuzzled Angelus's shoulder with parted lips. "Visions are visions, silly boy. Not lies."
"I know your visions aren't lies, Dru," Spike said, holding onto his calm. "But they're not exactly crystal clear, now are they? Remember, that time in Prague, you thought your visions told you to play with that nurse before you ate her? And what did that get you? The wrong end of an angry mob, if memory serves."
The slow smile that spread across Angelus's face sent the hairs on the back of Spike's neck into wary prickles. He refused the inner urge to wheel his chair a few paces backward, but gave in when Angelus moved his hand up Dru's side to caress her upper ribs, his fingers brushing the undersides of Dru's breasts. Spike wheeled his chair toward the sarcophagus, where he picked up Buffy's abandoned bottle of water and took a long drink before turning back to face his sire.
Cue ominous, horror movie music here Spike thought, absorbing the waves of cruel mischief that radiated from Angelus's expression. Angelus stood in the middle of the crypt, staring at Spike. The smile on his face widened, and he began to chuckle. His wide shoulders shook with laughter, making the items in the pockets of his long, black coat clink. He caressed the pockets with open palms, his eyes never leaving Spike's.
Spike, careful to keep his eyes from darting towards the hole where Buffy hid, allowed himself to smile back. He hoped the smile didn't look as nervous as it felt. "You just gonna stand there laughing at me all night?"
Angelus took a step towards him, the mirth fading from his face. It lingered around his eyes, making them glow. "No, no. I have much bigger plans for our night. It only just now came to me, the idea. You and I and Dru, we're gonna have ourselves a nice time together. Get reacquainted."
"Ummm… yeah, sure." Spike inched his hands behind his back, searching for the stake he usually kept there, but found it missing. Figures. The one time I really need protection, and I come up empty-handed. "Mind telling me what we need togetherness time for? Hate to break it to you, but we're past the bonding stage of this relationship."
"We're past more than that. I thought I'd never have to deal with you again, but then came Dru's vision." Angelus's lips twitched. "She's a handy little tool, isn't she? It's been such a strain, adjusting to being the Master of this town again, but with Dru at my side, comforting me… let's just say, she's great at relieving certain… strains."
Spike gritted his teeth. "That all you came for, then? To tell me that?"
"Of course not. That's only the icing on the cake. You get to see me with your girl, and I… well, I get to reclaim whatever it is you've taken that's mine. My soul, Dru called it, but we all know that must be a metaphor. I'll take what's mine, and until you give it to me, Dru and I'll have a bit of fun with you." He stretched his arms over his head leisurely. "What do you say, Dru? You up for a game?"
Dru gazed at Spike with shuttered eyes. "A bit of one, yes. A bitty bit of one. With the knives, you think?" she asked, patting Angelus's pocket.
"Eventually. We'll start out slow and work our way up," Angelus said, moving Dru's hand away from his pocket. He rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Unless Spike has something he wants to give us?"
Spike gulped reflexively, cursing the heavy deadness of his legs. He clenched his fists, denying to himself that he did so to stop them from shaking. "Whoever it is, I don't know… whatever it is, I don't have it."
"Whoever?"
Spike closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them and gave Angelus a straight look. "I have nothing of yours, you big sodding poofter. Nothing. Get out."
"Oh, I don't think so." Angelus fell into game face and grinned, showing his teeth. "I think we might stay a while, Dru and I." He grabbed Drusilla by the back of her neck, bending her backwards at an awkward angle to expose the pale column of her throat. Leering at Spike, he nipped the skin over Dru's jugular, making her moan. "We'll make ourselves right at home."
***
Buffy gripped the sides of the ladder, her hands sliding on the wood, slippery with sweat. She leaned her forehead against the uppermost rung, restraining herself from taking a peek at what was happening in the crypt above. Listen, she told herself, closing her eyes. Angelus could've sensed my presence. He could know I'm here. I have to be prepared, be ready to run. A quick glance to the left told her that the entrance to the tunnels was indeed open in 1998. That's as safe as I'll get, right about now. Or, rather, as safe as the timeline will get. I'll run if Angelus makes a move towards me. But for now… I've gotta stay here. I might not be able to help Spike, but I can't leave him here alone. He never ran away when I needed him, not once. She cast her attention back to the vampires upstairs.
She heard Spike's voice again. His mask of neutrality had slipped, letting some of the bitterness he felt towards Angelus show. "Nice to see the two of you are still snogging it up. Really, that's… nice." Buffy frowned. Cut down the sarcasm, you idiot she thought. Angelus'll make you pay for it. Spike continued, "I don't have whatever it is you're looking for. If you're just sticking around to throw your togetherness in my face, you've done a great job. Really, I'm properly jealous and annoyed. So, you've succeeded in your fun. Off with you now. Find someone else to pester. I'm gotten my quota for the day."
"You never shut up, do you Spike? Always liked the sound of your own voice." Angelus sounded happy, even playful, which sent a chill down Buffy's spine. She listened to the heaviness of his footsteps, moving in a circle around what she assumed was Spike's wheelchair.
"Beats the sound of you shagging my girlfriend," Spike muttered.
Idiot! Buffy's hands tightened on the ladder.
A pause filled the crypt, silent and long. With a gulp, Buffy backed down the ladder a rung. Then a noise ended the pause: the crack of a hand against a face. Spike made no sound. Holding her position, Buffy took a deep breath and waited.
"You never shut up," Angelus repeated. She heard him punch Spike again, and again, but was comforted by the fact that the blows weren't hard enough to topple Spike from his wheelchair. "Remember, boy. Remember who your betters are." Another crack came, and then another. "Look at how pathetic you are! In your little chair, with your little legs all weak and useless…"
There was a snapping noise, sudden and grotesque. Spike screamed, but was cut off by another blow to his face. "Who is it!" Angelus shouted, another snap chasing his words. Buffy cringed as a loud crash came overhead. The sound of metal beating against concrete made her cover her ears. She knew that Angelus was smashing Spike's wheelchair against the walls of the crypt. Spike's not in it, though. He can't be.
She heard a moan. It seemed to float down into the hole to her ears. No, he's not in the chair. But he's not okay, either. She climbed up one rung, but forced herself to stay hidden. I can't be stupid. I have to protect the timeline.
Angelus' voice came again, labored this time. Why do vampires pant? she thought, then shook herself. Stupid thought. Stupid nerves that make stupid thoughts. Spike's getting beaten all to hell up there, and I'm sitting here wondering about vampire physiology. Can we say, nuts? Another, quieter, voice in the far reaches of her mind whispered Can we say, helpless?.
She didn't hear the words Angelus said, but refocused in time to hear the response that came, not from Spike, but from Drusilla.
***
"Enough, now," Dru said, standing over Spike's broken body. Her arms hung woodenly at her sides. "The game's no fun when he's asleep."
"Then I'll wake him." Angelus lifted Spike by the upper arms and shoved him against the crypt door. He pinned Spike there with one hand around his neck. The wood shook under the force of the impact. "Wakey wakey, my stupid boy."
Spike groaned. He lifted his head off of his chest, just high enough to look Angelus in the eyes. "Sod off," he slurred, his eyes rolling.
"I'm hungry, my Angel," Dru said. She moved to Angelus's side and rubbed the back of her hand up his arm. "Let's leave. He's broken up into bits, and won't tell us a thing."
"You heard the girl, Peaches," Spike said, coughing. Blood flew out of his mouth, spattering Angelus's face with red flecks. Dru moved away, dodging both the blood and the betrayal in Spike's eyes. "You've had your fun with the helpless vamp. I'm all put in my place and such. Go on now."
Angelus backhanded Spike across the cheek, ignoring the blood that sprayed towards him. "Dru," he said, his voice sharp. He glared at her with yellow eyes. "You are not the boss. You don't make the rules. I do. I'll tell you when I'm done here." Looking back at Spike, he tightened his grip around his neck. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet. What a weakling you turned out to be. No stamina. You remind me of a girl I know… Buffy couldn't take it either. No staying power."
Anger flooded Spike's battered face. He spat bloodied saliva at Angelus's face, not caring about the consequences. "The Slayer's gonna heave a sword though your center, you arrogant git. She's going to send you off to hell, you mark my words. You're nothing next to her, and she'll prove it to you."
"You're a fool," Angelus growled into Spike's face. He closed his fist around Spike's throat, punching his torso with his free hand, again and again. "I'll make you eat those words one by one."
"Angel," Dru purred, coming up behind him. She ran her hands over his back, caressing his shoulders. "Let's go home, love. I've a new game for us to play." Her hands dropped lower, rubbing his chest, his nipples. She nibbled along the edge of his ear, whispering to him, teasing him with her lips.
Angelus went still, his head cocked towards Dru's face. He looked at Spike, then at Dru. His eyes dropped to the creamy skin of her neck. "One more game, Dru, then I'll take you up on that offer. Just let me cover this one detail before we leave." Turning his attention back to Spike, he lifted the vampire higher against the door. "You used to care about nothing more than Dru, except perhaps, for your own ego. Now you've found something worth turning into a martyr for. It disgusts me. You disgust me. I should put a stake through your heart, you know? I really should. But instead, I'll leave you with the punishment a martyr would expect."
Spike blinked, blinded by the blood that covered his face. "W-what?"
Reaching into his coat pocket with his free hand, Angelus pulled out a dagger, leaving its twin inside. "Nice, aren't they? Very strong, too. Magic can work such wonders on a well-made blade."
Through the haze of red wetness, Spike saw a glint of silver metal. He began to struggle against Angelus's grip, scratching at the hand around his throat. "No," he said, his voice low. "No. I'll…" No, I won't tell him jack, Spike thought, desperation rolling around sickly in his stomach. He pictured Buffy, safe on the level below, listening to them. Don't say her name… don't even look in her direction. She's safe. Keep her that way. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stopped struggling.
Angelus brought the dagger to Spike's face, turning it over in his palm a few times for emphasis. Using only the tip, he cut a line down Spike's cheekbone, a narrow slice that welled immediately with blood. "You'll… what? Did I finally figure out what it takes to make little Spikey talk?"
Biting his lips, Spike dropped his head in defeat. Enjoy hell, you wanker. I'll enjoy thinking of you, imagining you roasting on a spit for all of eternity. Don't forget who helped send you there.
Angelus nodded. "Martyrdom it is then. Come here, Dru. Raise his arms up. That's right," he said, as she obeyed, "bare his wrists. Higher. There. Steady now."
Spike closed his eyes.
***
It's been too long Buffy thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath the ladder. She stroked Platelet's orange fur with both hands, trying to calm herself. The cat curled himself more tightly into her lap, by far the happiest creature in the crypt. Buffy barely noticed the cat, she was so inwardly focused. I should go back up the ladder, maybe peek out. I can't hear a thing from this far down.
A scream filled the crypt, long and gut-wrenching. Buffy leapt to her feet, spilling Platelet to the ground. I just had to think that… why didn't I realize that not hearing was a good thing! She was on the ladder before she realized she'd even stood. Forcing herself to stop, she clung to the uppermost rung, her head tucked just beneath the opening. This is so not good she thought as Spike screamed again. This time she heard a slamming noise beneath his voice, a loud thump. Bad, bad, bad she babbled in her mind, biting her lips to keep herself from calling out to him. She dropped her head against the rung, rolling her forehead back and forth over the wood. Whatever's happening up there, I'll fix it. I'll fix him, when I'm not so totally, utterly, terribly helpless. It'll all be okay, when I can fix him.
She heard Angelus say something, followed by the sound of the crypt door opening and slamming shut. A second slam chased the first, as if the door had been shut twice. But it only opened once. What *was* that?.
The silence that came next was so thick with fear, Buffy shuddered. The ladder shook under her weight with a heavy sound. More of the 'not good', she thought, climbing down to the basement floor. If they find me, everything Spike's going through up there is for nothing. She took her seat back under the ladder, holding her knees to her chest for comfort. It's not for nothing, she thought, willing her silent words up to his ears. It's for everything. And I won't forget it. I'll make it up to you, when I'm not so damn powerless.
****
Drusilla ran her fingers down Spike's arms, tracing the trails of blood that flowed from beneath the knives that pinned his wrists to the door. "He crucified you, my Spike," she murmured, knowing he could not hear her. His eyes, swollen and oozing, stayed sealing in an unblinking oblivion. "Sleep now, yes, that's a good boy."
She danced her fingertips through Spike's hair, her eyes wide with thought. "He's been a good daddy, my Angel has, to me at least. You… you needed a bit of a spanking. But I didn't know, not till I saw the stars around your eyes… not till then, did I know… the path you're on." Moving her face in close, she opened her mouth and licked at the blood on his lips, tasting him. "Your path is a strange one, but not so new. Remember the old stories? The ones with the evil sinners who got three chances to prove their heart's worth to the virtuous, least they be damned forever?" She traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, her eyes closed. "I wonder, my Spike… was this your first test?" She took a final taste of his lips, savored it a moment, then stepped back, away from him.
Opening the pocket of her cloak, she withdrew the bag of blood she'd brought to give him. She set it on the sarcophagus and paused there, touching the stone with the flat of her palm. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face at what she sensed there. "Angelus didn't feel it," she said, stroking her fingers over the shallow grooves that crisscrossed the stone. "He didn't feel *her*, but I do. My Spike's new friend."
She walked back to Spike and kissed his mouth, her lips hard. "Take care of my boy," she called towards the hole to the basement. Opening the door with careful gentleness, she left.
Buffy's head rose out from the hole. She looked at Spike, her face awash with horror. "I… I will," she said in an astonished whisper. Her body felt frozen; she couldn't move. I let this happen, she thought, taking in the way Spike's body hung from the two daggers in his wrists. Like freaking Jesus!
Suddenly, Spike stirred. He rolled his head back against the door, moaning. "B…Buffy," he croaked, his mouth open wide.
She scurried up the ladder, startled into movement by his pain. "I'm here," she said in a soothing voice as she reached his side. Her hands fluttered over him, not touching him for fear of causing further pain. "God," she whispered, looking at his legs. "He broke them both."
Spike's breaths came in short pants. "Get me down."
Buffy studied the daggers that held him, trying to decide the most painless way to free him. "There's just no good way to do this," she muttered, grabbing a handle in each hand. "I guess both at once would be best." She pulled backwards, yanking hard enough to loosen them out of both the door and Spike's wrists.
She caught Spike before he could slump to the ground, pinning his body between hers and the door. Wrapping him in her arms, she lifted him, trying to ignore the small noises of pain he made. He sounded like a small child, she thought, cradling him against her a moment longer than necessary. She took comfort in the weight of him, solid and alive against her. "Here," she said, lying him on the sarcophagus. She handed him the bag of blood. "Drusilla left you some blood."
"I was pretty sure they'd spilled it all," Spike said. Dropping the blood to the side, he held up his bleeding wrists. "Must've got a dozen pints just from these."
"He didn't feed from you, did he?" Buffy asked, taking off her cardigan. She ripped a length of cloth from it and took his hand in hers. "Let me help."
"No, he didn't feed," Spike said, watching as she bound his wrists. "Why do you care?"
She shrugged, not knowing the answer. "It just… it just seems important. Like, insult to injury or something."
"He must've been satisfied with just the injury part," Spike said, looking down his body to his legs. "I can't feel them, but I'm guessing they're broken."
"You screamed," she said, tying off his wrist bandage and moving to his legs. "When he broke them. I heard you."
"Yeah, well… habit, I guess."
"No," Buffy said. She ripped another piece of cloth from her shirt and, finding her water bottle at the base of the sarcophagus, wetted it. Spike's face was an open wound. Dabbing the cloth at his forehead, she smiled. "It was smart, screaming then. You thought it might satisfy his demon without actually causing you pain. Really smart."
"Loads of good it did me, too." He squinted as Buffy finished washing the blood from his eyes. "You can see just how eager he was to stop with my legs."
Blinking rapidly as she examined the bruising on his throat, Buffy nodded. "You're a total mess," she said, her voice small and choked. "Look at these bruises… he held you up by your neck, didn't he?" Without waiting for him to respond, she continued, "I've seen him do that to someone before. Not… not fun."
"Pet," Spike said, then stopped, coughing. The word was meant to bring comfort to Buffy, but he saw it only made the shadows beneath her eyes and mouth deepen. "Quit with the Florence Nightingale act, yeah? I'll heal." Ignoring his own request, he lifted his arms as Buffy went to remove his shirt.
She didn't even try to maneuver it over his head, but ripped it down the center with one, hard jerk. "Sorry," she said, noticing him flinch at the movement. "Oh…"
Black, blue and yellow marks covered Spike from collarbone to waist. Buffy touched the skin beneath his ribs, wincing in unison with him. "God, look at you," she said, shaken. She stopped playing doctor and rested her hand above his heart, wishing it would beat, wishing for reassurance. "You're… you're a mess."
"Yeah, you said that already," Spike said. He started to raise an eyebrow, then stopped, hurting. "Bet you've never seen so much damage on a vamp."
"Only once," she said, her eyes clouding. "Remember that hell god I told you about? You looked a bit like this when she got through with you."
"You forgot to mention that part." Spike swallowed hard, trying to wash the blood from his teeth. "I thought you said I was tough, with that god."
"You were," she said simply. Her lips tingled in remembrance of that day. Looking down at Spike as he rested on the same tomb he'd been lying on when she'd posed as the Bot, she almost believed it was still that day, that nothing separated now from then, and that he was that same Spike who had protected Dawn with his life. I guess he is still that Spike. He protected more than Dawn this time- he protected my whole world. And I haven't even kissed him this time. "Very tough," she whispered, licking her lips. "Why did you do it?"
"Why did I…"
"Why did you hold out against all that? You could've told Angelus I was down there. He wouldn't have hurt you, if you'd given me up."
Her eyes suspend his, and he could not look away. Trying for nonchalance, he suppressed a shrug. "A whim or something."
"Liar." Her eyes burned with memories so strong, it almost amazed her that he couldn't see them flashing behind her pupils. "Buffy, the other, not so pleasant Buffy… anything happened to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her being in that much pain. I'd let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."
Forgetting the pain, he raised an eyebrow. "What's your problem, Slayer? I protected your bloody timeline, didn't I? What's it matter why?"
Her look scalded him. It matters she thought, knowing he could read it in her eyes. You know it matters.
"I helped you," he said, the words slow and thick. "Today, at least. But you know he'll be back. He's gone to shag my girl and to let me heal up enough to take another round of 'kick the Spike'. Next time, he'll probably end it with a stake through my heart."
"Sound about right, for Angelus," she said, rewetting the cloth and washing his chest with soft strokes. 'Right' and 'Angelus' should never be put in the same sentence, she thought, especially after what he's done today.
"I helped you," he repeated, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers on his skin. "But I only bought you today. Tomorrow, it'll start all over again. You should leave town. Get away from everyone who knows you. That's the only way to be safe."
"I can't leave. No money, remember?"
"I have money," he said quickly, before she could object, "and it's yours. Got no real need for cash myself, and a vested interest in getting you as far away from Sunnyhell as possible."
"Why do you care? I mean, suddenly you're all big-hearted and generous and… I don't get it." Her fingers pressed into his sternum, probing him. "Why, Spike?"
He couldn't answer. For a long moment, all he could do was gaze back at her, matching the confusion of emotions whirling in her eyes with his own. "It just…" he stopped, wetting his lips with his tongue. "It's just what I have to do. It feels like the thing… the thing to do. Can you just leave off with that?"
Bowing her head, she accepted his answer. "Drink," she said, handing him the bag of blood. "You need your strength. We leave tonight."
He took the bag from her and vamped out, preparing to bite into it. Her hand on his thigh made him pause. "Slayer?" he asked, wishing he sounded confused, wishing he couldn't read the softness of her face with such uncanny ease. "Your hand is… umm…"
"I'll move it," she said, her voice husky. She raised it to his face along with her other hand, cupping his cheeks between them. The warmth of her breath dampened his lips. "What you did today… for whyever you did it… for me… whatever. What you did today was real. It was heroic. And I'll never forget it." Her lips brushed his in a light, sweeping stroke, once, twice. Pulling back, she graced him with a small, genuine smile. "Now drink your blood so we can get out of this town. I'm so ready to say goodbye to the Hellmouth."
He watched the swing of her hips as she walked away, the bag of blood trembling in his hands. "Slayer," he said in a panicky whisper, reminding himself of the chasm that lay between them. A flushing heat filled his chest, one he hadn't felt since his human years. He started to vamp out again, then realized he'd never fallen back into his human face. Realizing that Buffy had kissed him despite fangs and forehead bumps, the trembling of his hands intensified. He shook his head, trying to focus on feeding, trying not to think about her. And failing. Clenching his hands into fists to deny their weakness, he whispered again, desperately, "Slayer."
***
Chapter 4
Summary: "There's always consequences." Spike is proven right when Willow's spell brings Buffy back, years from where she's supposed to be. He'd be bragging that one up, if Spike of season 2 knew what the hell Buffy was talking about.
Rating: R for now. Maybe more later. Warning- this chapter has graphic violence.
Disclaimer: The usual. BTVS is not mine.
Distribution: If you want it, email me..
Feedback: Oh yes please. Dragolyn@hotmail.com
Author's Note: Due to the fact that for some reason, I can't post italics on ff.net, thoughts are put into brackets like these.
*****
Spike faced the door and watched the vampires enter. "Angelus… Dru… it's about time. I've been waiting for you."
"Knew we'd come, did you?" Angelus closed the door behind him with a soft movement. His faced glowed with an ominous calm. "It wasn't my idea to find you, but then, you probably guessed that too."
Dru swept forward. She meandered around the crypt, exploring with faint curiosity, then turned back to examine Spike with her eyes. "Poor boy. Not much of a home for one of us… ugly and dirty and full of secrets."
"Yeah, well, it suits me well enough." Spike crossed his arms over his chest, then realized it looked like a defensive move and uncrossed them. He pretended not to notice how natural it seemed for Drusilla to move back to Angelus and tuck herself against his side. "So, Dru wanted to drop by? That's… nice. You've visited, seen the new digs, now you can push off."
"You know that's not why we're here." Angelus took a step forward. "Where is it?"
Spike's mouth went dry. All he could think of to say was, "What?"
"You heard me, boy. I know you have something that belongs to me. Where is it? And for that matter, what is it?"
Recovering, Spike snorted and put on a smirk. "Someone's told you a big one, Peaches. I don't have anything that belongs to you."
"Dru never lies to me, do you?" He wrapped one, long arm around Drusilla, and curled his hand around her waist. His eyes, predatorial and challenging, never left Spike's. "With me, yes, but never to me."
"And you say I'm the one who's taken what's yours," Spike muttered, pretending not to notice the way Angelus's fingers fondled the curve of Dru's hip. "You've bloody well taken queen and castle away from me. And you come here, why? Because of a vision? We all know how reliable those visions are."
Dru nuzzled Angelus's shoulder with parted lips. "Visions are visions, silly boy. Not lies."
"I know your visions aren't lies, Dru," Spike said, holding onto his calm. "But they're not exactly crystal clear, now are they? Remember, that time in Prague, you thought your visions told you to play with that nurse before you ate her? And what did that get you? The wrong end of an angry mob, if memory serves."
The slow smile that spread across Angelus's face sent the hairs on the back of Spike's neck into wary prickles. He refused the inner urge to wheel his chair a few paces backward, but gave in when Angelus moved his hand up Dru's side to caress her upper ribs, his fingers brushing the undersides of Dru's breasts. Spike wheeled his chair toward the sarcophagus, where he picked up Buffy's abandoned bottle of water and took a long drink before turning back to face his sire.
Cue ominous, horror movie music here Spike thought, absorbing the waves of cruel mischief that radiated from Angelus's expression. Angelus stood in the middle of the crypt, staring at Spike. The smile on his face widened, and he began to chuckle. His wide shoulders shook with laughter, making the items in the pockets of his long, black coat clink. He caressed the pockets with open palms, his eyes never leaving Spike's.
Spike, careful to keep his eyes from darting towards the hole where Buffy hid, allowed himself to smile back. He hoped the smile didn't look as nervous as it felt. "You just gonna stand there laughing at me all night?"
Angelus took a step towards him, the mirth fading from his face. It lingered around his eyes, making them glow. "No, no. I have much bigger plans for our night. It only just now came to me, the idea. You and I and Dru, we're gonna have ourselves a nice time together. Get reacquainted."
"Ummm… yeah, sure." Spike inched his hands behind his back, searching for the stake he usually kept there, but found it missing. Figures. The one time I really need protection, and I come up empty-handed. "Mind telling me what we need togetherness time for? Hate to break it to you, but we're past the bonding stage of this relationship."
"We're past more than that. I thought I'd never have to deal with you again, but then came Dru's vision." Angelus's lips twitched. "She's a handy little tool, isn't she? It's been such a strain, adjusting to being the Master of this town again, but with Dru at my side, comforting me… let's just say, she's great at relieving certain… strains."
Spike gritted his teeth. "That all you came for, then? To tell me that?"
"Of course not. That's only the icing on the cake. You get to see me with your girl, and I… well, I get to reclaim whatever it is you've taken that's mine. My soul, Dru called it, but we all know that must be a metaphor. I'll take what's mine, and until you give it to me, Dru and I'll have a bit of fun with you." He stretched his arms over his head leisurely. "What do you say, Dru? You up for a game?"
Dru gazed at Spike with shuttered eyes. "A bit of one, yes. A bitty bit of one. With the knives, you think?" she asked, patting Angelus's pocket.
"Eventually. We'll start out slow and work our way up," Angelus said, moving Dru's hand away from his pocket. He rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Unless Spike has something he wants to give us?"
Spike gulped reflexively, cursing the heavy deadness of his legs. He clenched his fists, denying to himself that he did so to stop them from shaking. "Whoever it is, I don't know… whatever it is, I don't have it."
"Whoever?"
Spike closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them and gave Angelus a straight look. "I have nothing of yours, you big sodding poofter. Nothing. Get out."
"Oh, I don't think so." Angelus fell into game face and grinned, showing his teeth. "I think we might stay a while, Dru and I." He grabbed Drusilla by the back of her neck, bending her backwards at an awkward angle to expose the pale column of her throat. Leering at Spike, he nipped the skin over Dru's jugular, making her moan. "We'll make ourselves right at home."
***
Buffy gripped the sides of the ladder, her hands sliding on the wood, slippery with sweat. She leaned her forehead against the uppermost rung, restraining herself from taking a peek at what was happening in the crypt above. Listen, she told herself, closing her eyes. Angelus could've sensed my presence. He could know I'm here. I have to be prepared, be ready to run. A quick glance to the left told her that the entrance to the tunnels was indeed open in 1998. That's as safe as I'll get, right about now. Or, rather, as safe as the timeline will get. I'll run if Angelus makes a move towards me. But for now… I've gotta stay here. I might not be able to help Spike, but I can't leave him here alone. He never ran away when I needed him, not once. She cast her attention back to the vampires upstairs.
She heard Spike's voice again. His mask of neutrality had slipped, letting some of the bitterness he felt towards Angelus show. "Nice to see the two of you are still snogging it up. Really, that's… nice." Buffy frowned. Cut down the sarcasm, you idiot she thought. Angelus'll make you pay for it. Spike continued, "I don't have whatever it is you're looking for. If you're just sticking around to throw your togetherness in my face, you've done a great job. Really, I'm properly jealous and annoyed. So, you've succeeded in your fun. Off with you now. Find someone else to pester. I'm gotten my quota for the day."
"You never shut up, do you Spike? Always liked the sound of your own voice." Angelus sounded happy, even playful, which sent a chill down Buffy's spine. She listened to the heaviness of his footsteps, moving in a circle around what she assumed was Spike's wheelchair.
"Beats the sound of you shagging my girlfriend," Spike muttered.
Idiot! Buffy's hands tightened on the ladder.
A pause filled the crypt, silent and long. With a gulp, Buffy backed down the ladder a rung. Then a noise ended the pause: the crack of a hand against a face. Spike made no sound. Holding her position, Buffy took a deep breath and waited.
"You never shut up," Angelus repeated. She heard him punch Spike again, and again, but was comforted by the fact that the blows weren't hard enough to topple Spike from his wheelchair. "Remember, boy. Remember who your betters are." Another crack came, and then another. "Look at how pathetic you are! In your little chair, with your little legs all weak and useless…"
There was a snapping noise, sudden and grotesque. Spike screamed, but was cut off by another blow to his face. "Who is it!" Angelus shouted, another snap chasing his words. Buffy cringed as a loud crash came overhead. The sound of metal beating against concrete made her cover her ears. She knew that Angelus was smashing Spike's wheelchair against the walls of the crypt. Spike's not in it, though. He can't be.
She heard a moan. It seemed to float down into the hole to her ears. No, he's not in the chair. But he's not okay, either. She climbed up one rung, but forced herself to stay hidden. I can't be stupid. I have to protect the timeline.
Angelus' voice came again, labored this time. Why do vampires pant? she thought, then shook herself. Stupid thought. Stupid nerves that make stupid thoughts. Spike's getting beaten all to hell up there, and I'm sitting here wondering about vampire physiology. Can we say, nuts? Another, quieter, voice in the far reaches of her mind whispered Can we say, helpless?.
She didn't hear the words Angelus said, but refocused in time to hear the response that came, not from Spike, but from Drusilla.
***
"Enough, now," Dru said, standing over Spike's broken body. Her arms hung woodenly at her sides. "The game's no fun when he's asleep."
"Then I'll wake him." Angelus lifted Spike by the upper arms and shoved him against the crypt door. He pinned Spike there with one hand around his neck. The wood shook under the force of the impact. "Wakey wakey, my stupid boy."
Spike groaned. He lifted his head off of his chest, just high enough to look Angelus in the eyes. "Sod off," he slurred, his eyes rolling.
"I'm hungry, my Angel," Dru said. She moved to Angelus's side and rubbed the back of her hand up his arm. "Let's leave. He's broken up into bits, and won't tell us a thing."
"You heard the girl, Peaches," Spike said, coughing. Blood flew out of his mouth, spattering Angelus's face with red flecks. Dru moved away, dodging both the blood and the betrayal in Spike's eyes. "You've had your fun with the helpless vamp. I'm all put in my place and such. Go on now."
Angelus backhanded Spike across the cheek, ignoring the blood that sprayed towards him. "Dru," he said, his voice sharp. He glared at her with yellow eyes. "You are not the boss. You don't make the rules. I do. I'll tell you when I'm done here." Looking back at Spike, he tightened his grip around his neck. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet. What a weakling you turned out to be. No stamina. You remind me of a girl I know… Buffy couldn't take it either. No staying power."
Anger flooded Spike's battered face. He spat bloodied saliva at Angelus's face, not caring about the consequences. "The Slayer's gonna heave a sword though your center, you arrogant git. She's going to send you off to hell, you mark my words. You're nothing next to her, and she'll prove it to you."
"You're a fool," Angelus growled into Spike's face. He closed his fist around Spike's throat, punching his torso with his free hand, again and again. "I'll make you eat those words one by one."
"Angel," Dru purred, coming up behind him. She ran her hands over his back, caressing his shoulders. "Let's go home, love. I've a new game for us to play." Her hands dropped lower, rubbing his chest, his nipples. She nibbled along the edge of his ear, whispering to him, teasing him with her lips.
Angelus went still, his head cocked towards Dru's face. He looked at Spike, then at Dru. His eyes dropped to the creamy skin of her neck. "One more game, Dru, then I'll take you up on that offer. Just let me cover this one detail before we leave." Turning his attention back to Spike, he lifted the vampire higher against the door. "You used to care about nothing more than Dru, except perhaps, for your own ego. Now you've found something worth turning into a martyr for. It disgusts me. You disgust me. I should put a stake through your heart, you know? I really should. But instead, I'll leave you with the punishment a martyr would expect."
Spike blinked, blinded by the blood that covered his face. "W-what?"
Reaching into his coat pocket with his free hand, Angelus pulled out a dagger, leaving its twin inside. "Nice, aren't they? Very strong, too. Magic can work such wonders on a well-made blade."
Through the haze of red wetness, Spike saw a glint of silver metal. He began to struggle against Angelus's grip, scratching at the hand around his throat. "No," he said, his voice low. "No. I'll…" No, I won't tell him jack, Spike thought, desperation rolling around sickly in his stomach. He pictured Buffy, safe on the level below, listening to them. Don't say her name… don't even look in her direction. She's safe. Keep her that way. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stopped struggling.
Angelus brought the dagger to Spike's face, turning it over in his palm a few times for emphasis. Using only the tip, he cut a line down Spike's cheekbone, a narrow slice that welled immediately with blood. "You'll… what? Did I finally figure out what it takes to make little Spikey talk?"
Biting his lips, Spike dropped his head in defeat. Enjoy hell, you wanker. I'll enjoy thinking of you, imagining you roasting on a spit for all of eternity. Don't forget who helped send you there.
Angelus nodded. "Martyrdom it is then. Come here, Dru. Raise his arms up. That's right," he said, as she obeyed, "bare his wrists. Higher. There. Steady now."
Spike closed his eyes.
***
It's been too long Buffy thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath the ladder. She stroked Platelet's orange fur with both hands, trying to calm herself. The cat curled himself more tightly into her lap, by far the happiest creature in the crypt. Buffy barely noticed the cat, she was so inwardly focused. I should go back up the ladder, maybe peek out. I can't hear a thing from this far down.
A scream filled the crypt, long and gut-wrenching. Buffy leapt to her feet, spilling Platelet to the ground. I just had to think that… why didn't I realize that not hearing was a good thing! She was on the ladder before she realized she'd even stood. Forcing herself to stop, she clung to the uppermost rung, her head tucked just beneath the opening. This is so not good she thought as Spike screamed again. This time she heard a slamming noise beneath his voice, a loud thump. Bad, bad, bad she babbled in her mind, biting her lips to keep herself from calling out to him. She dropped her head against the rung, rolling her forehead back and forth over the wood. Whatever's happening up there, I'll fix it. I'll fix him, when I'm not so totally, utterly, terribly helpless. It'll all be okay, when I can fix him.
She heard Angelus say something, followed by the sound of the crypt door opening and slamming shut. A second slam chased the first, as if the door had been shut twice. But it only opened once. What *was* that?.
The silence that came next was so thick with fear, Buffy shuddered. The ladder shook under her weight with a heavy sound. More of the 'not good', she thought, climbing down to the basement floor. If they find me, everything Spike's going through up there is for nothing. She took her seat back under the ladder, holding her knees to her chest for comfort. It's not for nothing, she thought, willing her silent words up to his ears. It's for everything. And I won't forget it. I'll make it up to you, when I'm not so damn powerless.
****
Drusilla ran her fingers down Spike's arms, tracing the trails of blood that flowed from beneath the knives that pinned his wrists to the door. "He crucified you, my Spike," she murmured, knowing he could not hear her. His eyes, swollen and oozing, stayed sealing in an unblinking oblivion. "Sleep now, yes, that's a good boy."
She danced her fingertips through Spike's hair, her eyes wide with thought. "He's been a good daddy, my Angel has, to me at least. You… you needed a bit of a spanking. But I didn't know, not till I saw the stars around your eyes… not till then, did I know… the path you're on." Moving her face in close, she opened her mouth and licked at the blood on his lips, tasting him. "Your path is a strange one, but not so new. Remember the old stories? The ones with the evil sinners who got three chances to prove their heart's worth to the virtuous, least they be damned forever?" She traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, her eyes closed. "I wonder, my Spike… was this your first test?" She took a final taste of his lips, savored it a moment, then stepped back, away from him.
Opening the pocket of her cloak, she withdrew the bag of blood she'd brought to give him. She set it on the sarcophagus and paused there, touching the stone with the flat of her palm. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face at what she sensed there. "Angelus didn't feel it," she said, stroking her fingers over the shallow grooves that crisscrossed the stone. "He didn't feel *her*, but I do. My Spike's new friend."
She walked back to Spike and kissed his mouth, her lips hard. "Take care of my boy," she called towards the hole to the basement. Opening the door with careful gentleness, she left.
Buffy's head rose out from the hole. She looked at Spike, her face awash with horror. "I… I will," she said in an astonished whisper. Her body felt frozen; she couldn't move. I let this happen, she thought, taking in the way Spike's body hung from the two daggers in his wrists. Like freaking Jesus!
Suddenly, Spike stirred. He rolled his head back against the door, moaning. "B…Buffy," he croaked, his mouth open wide.
She scurried up the ladder, startled into movement by his pain. "I'm here," she said in a soothing voice as she reached his side. Her hands fluttered over him, not touching him for fear of causing further pain. "God," she whispered, looking at his legs. "He broke them both."
Spike's breaths came in short pants. "Get me down."
Buffy studied the daggers that held him, trying to decide the most painless way to free him. "There's just no good way to do this," she muttered, grabbing a handle in each hand. "I guess both at once would be best." She pulled backwards, yanking hard enough to loosen them out of both the door and Spike's wrists.
She caught Spike before he could slump to the ground, pinning his body between hers and the door. Wrapping him in her arms, she lifted him, trying to ignore the small noises of pain he made. He sounded like a small child, she thought, cradling him against her a moment longer than necessary. She took comfort in the weight of him, solid and alive against her. "Here," she said, lying him on the sarcophagus. She handed him the bag of blood. "Drusilla left you some blood."
"I was pretty sure they'd spilled it all," Spike said. Dropping the blood to the side, he held up his bleeding wrists. "Must've got a dozen pints just from these."
"He didn't feed from you, did he?" Buffy asked, taking off her cardigan. She ripped a length of cloth from it and took his hand in hers. "Let me help."
"No, he didn't feed," Spike said, watching as she bound his wrists. "Why do you care?"
She shrugged, not knowing the answer. "It just… it just seems important. Like, insult to injury or something."
"He must've been satisfied with just the injury part," Spike said, looking down his body to his legs. "I can't feel them, but I'm guessing they're broken."
"You screamed," she said, tying off his wrist bandage and moving to his legs. "When he broke them. I heard you."
"Yeah, well… habit, I guess."
"No," Buffy said. She ripped another piece of cloth from her shirt and, finding her water bottle at the base of the sarcophagus, wetted it. Spike's face was an open wound. Dabbing the cloth at his forehead, she smiled. "It was smart, screaming then. You thought it might satisfy his demon without actually causing you pain. Really smart."
"Loads of good it did me, too." He squinted as Buffy finished washing the blood from his eyes. "You can see just how eager he was to stop with my legs."
Blinking rapidly as she examined the bruising on his throat, Buffy nodded. "You're a total mess," she said, her voice small and choked. "Look at these bruises… he held you up by your neck, didn't he?" Without waiting for him to respond, she continued, "I've seen him do that to someone before. Not… not fun."
"Pet," Spike said, then stopped, coughing. The word was meant to bring comfort to Buffy, but he saw it only made the shadows beneath her eyes and mouth deepen. "Quit with the Florence Nightingale act, yeah? I'll heal." Ignoring his own request, he lifted his arms as Buffy went to remove his shirt.
She didn't even try to maneuver it over his head, but ripped it down the center with one, hard jerk. "Sorry," she said, noticing him flinch at the movement. "Oh…"
Black, blue and yellow marks covered Spike from collarbone to waist. Buffy touched the skin beneath his ribs, wincing in unison with him. "God, look at you," she said, shaken. She stopped playing doctor and rested her hand above his heart, wishing it would beat, wishing for reassurance. "You're… you're a mess."
"Yeah, you said that already," Spike said. He started to raise an eyebrow, then stopped, hurting. "Bet you've never seen so much damage on a vamp."
"Only once," she said, her eyes clouding. "Remember that hell god I told you about? You looked a bit like this when she got through with you."
"You forgot to mention that part." Spike swallowed hard, trying to wash the blood from his teeth. "I thought you said I was tough, with that god."
"You were," she said simply. Her lips tingled in remembrance of that day. Looking down at Spike as he rested on the same tomb he'd been lying on when she'd posed as the Bot, she almost believed it was still that day, that nothing separated now from then, and that he was that same Spike who had protected Dawn with his life. I guess he is still that Spike. He protected more than Dawn this time- he protected my whole world. And I haven't even kissed him this time. "Very tough," she whispered, licking her lips. "Why did you do it?"
"Why did I…"
"Why did you hold out against all that? You could've told Angelus I was down there. He wouldn't have hurt you, if you'd given me up."
Her eyes suspend his, and he could not look away. Trying for nonchalance, he suppressed a shrug. "A whim or something."
"Liar." Her eyes burned with memories so strong, it almost amazed her that he couldn't see them flashing behind her pupils. "Buffy, the other, not so pleasant Buffy… anything happened to Dawn, it'd destroy her. I couldn't live, her being in that much pain. I'd let Glory kill me first. Nearly bloody did."
Forgetting the pain, he raised an eyebrow. "What's your problem, Slayer? I protected your bloody timeline, didn't I? What's it matter why?"
Her look scalded him. It matters she thought, knowing he could read it in her eyes. You know it matters.
"I helped you," he said, the words slow and thick. "Today, at least. But you know he'll be back. He's gone to shag my girl and to let me heal up enough to take another round of 'kick the Spike'. Next time, he'll probably end it with a stake through my heart."
"Sound about right, for Angelus," she said, rewetting the cloth and washing his chest with soft strokes. 'Right' and 'Angelus' should never be put in the same sentence, she thought, especially after what he's done today.
"I helped you," he repeated, closing his eyes at the feel of her fingers on his skin. "But I only bought you today. Tomorrow, it'll start all over again. You should leave town. Get away from everyone who knows you. That's the only way to be safe."
"I can't leave. No money, remember?"
"I have money," he said quickly, before she could object, "and it's yours. Got no real need for cash myself, and a vested interest in getting you as far away from Sunnyhell as possible."
"Why do you care? I mean, suddenly you're all big-hearted and generous and… I don't get it." Her fingers pressed into his sternum, probing him. "Why, Spike?"
He couldn't answer. For a long moment, all he could do was gaze back at her, matching the confusion of emotions whirling in her eyes with his own. "It just…" he stopped, wetting his lips with his tongue. "It's just what I have to do. It feels like the thing… the thing to do. Can you just leave off with that?"
Bowing her head, she accepted his answer. "Drink," she said, handing him the bag of blood. "You need your strength. We leave tonight."
He took the bag from her and vamped out, preparing to bite into it. Her hand on his thigh made him pause. "Slayer?" he asked, wishing he sounded confused, wishing he couldn't read the softness of her face with such uncanny ease. "Your hand is… umm…"
"I'll move it," she said, her voice husky. She raised it to his face along with her other hand, cupping his cheeks between them. The warmth of her breath dampened his lips. "What you did today… for whyever you did it… for me… whatever. What you did today was real. It was heroic. And I'll never forget it." Her lips brushed his in a light, sweeping stroke, once, twice. Pulling back, she graced him with a small, genuine smile. "Now drink your blood so we can get out of this town. I'm so ready to say goodbye to the Hellmouth."
He watched the swing of her hips as she walked away, the bag of blood trembling in his hands. "Slayer," he said in a panicky whisper, reminding himself of the chasm that lay between them. A flushing heat filled his chest, one he hadn't felt since his human years. He started to vamp out again, then realized he'd never fallen back into his human face. Realizing that Buffy had kissed him despite fangs and forehead bumps, the trembling of his hands intensified. He shook his head, trying to focus on feeding, trying not to think about her. And failing. Clenching his hands into fists to deny their weakness, he whispered again, desperately, "Slayer."
***