It was a few hours later before we finally got to sleep. But not for long. Spike's sleep was restive. I tried to calm his tossing without waking him, but it was no use. More than once, he woke sitting up gasping for air he didn't need. Each time he'd roll back over, muttering half apologies and urging me back to sleep.
Since our bed offered me no rest, I left it for the weapons chest. I reached for a butterfly knife, and started working through a set of knife opening and closing drills of escalating complexity, reaching a beautiful but impractical climax of flourishes, before working my way back down to the most simple.
I had just changed the knife to my left hand when I heard Spike wake. I didn't turn to face him, listening instead as he slipped into his clothes.
"Let's go get a spot of something liquid, luv."
Relieved he wasn't ducking off to hide, I closed the knife, slipped it into a pocket, and reached for my jacket with the other hand.
We hadn't cleared the cemetery when we were jumped from downwind. Five men, humans, wielding stakes and faces of false courage - men who knew what we were, how to kill us, and that it wouldn't be easy. Hired hands, I wagered.
In the time since I'd been vamped, adhering to Spike's strict rule had meant I'd never really fought humans - generally, if you didn't attack them, they didn't attack you. Especially with my surly temper.
Three came at me. I was surprised they thought me the greater threat, but I wasn't looking this gift ass-kicking opportunity in the mouth.
They were cautious, but not cautious enough. I caught the first one with a sidekick into the chest, lifting him off his feet and cracking ribs. Before he hit the ground, I'd roundkicked the second attacker's head into a convenient tombstone.
I spun to face the third, pulling my knife at last from my pocket, and flicking it open with a crisp motion. He blanched, so I rewarded him with a heartless smile, sliding my lips to show my fangs. He swung his stake at me in a carelessly wide motion. I stepped inside his arc, blocking the strike with both forearms. My left hand slid to his wrist, controlling his arm with my fingers, and I shot my knife hand to his throat, pressing just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. I smiled again, and he knew he was dead. Maybe not. I closed the knife with a quick gesture and cracked him in the temple with the butt. Or maybe he was dead after all.
Spike wasn't faring well in his fight. Somehow they'd managed to get a couple serious blows through his guard. This confused me, but only until I saw him try to land a punch and collapse, clutching his head in pain, the moment his fist glanced off of his opponent's jaw. The chip. It was more crippling than I'd imagined.
To get to him, to help him, I had to get through the two remaining attackers. I was now sure they were Lindsey's men.
Snarling, I leapt at the one nearest me, flattening him with my momentum and knocking him out with a punch. I looked up from my crouch over his body, ready to finish the fight and get Spike somewhere safe.
In these few seconds, the last man had wrestled Spike into a painful hold. Spike was a brawler -- an elegant, efficiently lethal brawler, but a brawler nonetheless. There's not much call for vampires to subdue or disarm without doing injury. Pinned as he was, there was no way for Spike to escape without it. He was helpless. And a stake was being held to his heart.
I stared at the pointed tip of wood trained on Spike's chest. All three of us knew how little pressure it would take to dust him.
I looked at Spike's face. He had stopped struggling after his errant elbow had ended up causing more pain for him than his attacker. His expression was opaque. The slight flaring of his nostrils could have meant anything - anger, resignation, even fear. No, not Spike. Not fear. But I wasn't seeing the defiance I was expecting. He didn't want to be dusted, and he wasn't taking any risks. His stare held me for a moment, but I had to break eye contact.
Go, the voice in my head was hissing. Turn around and run. It's not you they want. It's him, and the chip. You can leave to vamp again another day.
That's when I knew I was defeated. Panic filled me at the thought of leaving him alone to be operated on, or staked, or even hit again. Terror filled me at the thought of being alone, without this strangely gentle killer, without the man who'd fed me his own blood to give me some more time.
He was all I knew. I wasn't interested in the rest.
I let the bony ridges disappear and my fangs retract. Then I did the unforgivable. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look at him needing to be saved. I couldn't look at him seeing me fail him.
In this moment of stillness I heard motion behind me, but my reflexes were panic-dulled. I had enough time to open my eyes and see vulnerability and pain flicker across Spike's face. My world exploded in light and pain as something cracked me across the back of my head. Then darkness.