Chapter Two
The Long Dark Teatime…
For three nights, he'd been following her- keeping himself just outside of the Slayer's "vampire-sensing" range, and for three nights, there had been no sign of any soul-sucking demon, although he continued to have the same dream.
-Maybe I'm just going insane,- he thought glumly. Spike had to admit, the prospect of being the knight in (somewhat tarnished) white armour had appealed to him.
He was about to turn and head back home when something in his mind clicked. This street, this exact viewpoint, was where he was in the dream, when he watched the demon attack Buffy.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of red, and he knew that it had to be the demon. It sprung out from behind its hiding place and as Buffy moved to attack it, began that crazy chanting that Spike had heard in his dream.
Without a second thought, he propelled himself with kamikaze speed towards the incapacitated Slayer and the thing that threatened to take her away from him. He knocked her out of the way, and then began to attack the Rekkai demon with a vengeance.
The fight was short and sweet, and in a display of irony, Spike managed to pull the demon's sword from it's sheath and behead the Rekkai with his own blade.
Turning his attention to Buffy, who was coming out of the spell-induced daze, he didn't notice the glow that rose from the corpse of the demon until it was too late.
It surrounded him, and he found himself staring into the faces of every person he'd ever killed. Their screams, cries of pain, pleads to stop it, end it now…
"Oh, for-" he muttered, exasperated. With a conscious effort, he pushed the visions and the feelings of guilt and sadness that accompanied them to the back of his mind. The most important thing, right now, was making sure Buffy got home all right.
They walked in silent companionship, his arm around her waist, supporting her. The Rekkai demon hadn't managed to drain her soul, but what he had done left her feeling weak and unsteady. It was a feeling she altogether didn't like.
After seeing Buffy inside, Spike made his way back to his crypt. The effects of the fight were just beginning to catch up with him, and the vampire fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
"Please, don't kill me!"
Pain-filled screams cut off as he tore into their throats, drinking in their essence.
"Wh-what are you?"
The intoxicating fear in their eyes, enticing him, beckoning to him.
"Tell my mother, I'm sorry…"
By far the most powerful blood he'd ever taken in. Hers was unlike any other he'd tasted. Full of strength and life. He craved more…
* * *
The vampire disentangled himself from the sheets as he woke up. He noticed with a sort of detached interest that he wasn't in his bed- in fact, he was in the top level of his crypt. He stumbled to a corner and proceeded to vomit up his last 'meal' of blood.
The nausea remained, however.
-Get a grip, Spike.- he chastised himself mentally.
Leaning against the wall of the crypt for support, he slid down into a sitting position, wincing as his hands hit the cold stone floor. He stared at them, blinked in confusion, and then continued staring. Sunlight burns covered his palms, which was odd, because he'd been asleep all day.
His thoughts wandered to the subject of his dreams. As if that annoying, recurring prophetic one wasn't bad enough, now he was experiencing guilt for the deeds he'd commited in the past.
-Wait a minute. Guilt… who do I know that's both guilt-ridden and a vampire?-
"Bloody hell!" he groaned, dropping his head into his hands, momentarily forgetting the burns. As if things couldn't get any worse, now he was turning into his poof of a Grandsire.
The week passed by in a haze. Buffy had stopped by the day after he'd killed the Rekkai demon to say thanks, but hadn't been back since. She didn't even ask him how he'd known it would be there, and he didn't volunteer the information.
Dawn hadn't come to see him either, but that he could understand. Those damn Social Services people were watching the Slayer and her little sister like hawks. If they got wind of a 15 year old girl sneaking out at night to go to a cemetery to visit her friend who lived in a *crypt*, it could very well be the end of Buffy's custody. None of the Scoobies had stopped by- not that he cared about them.
Really, he didn't.
After the first couple of days, Spike had given up trying to eat anything. Nothing stayed down longer than a few hours anyway, because of the dreams. And despite his efforts to stay awake all day, watching reruns on the telly, inevitably he'd give in to exhaustion and drift off, starting the whole bloody cycle over again. The burns kept getting worse, too. He couldn't understand it. He wrapped them with gauze to try and get them to heal faster, yet every night when he woke up the bandages were on the floor and the burns were worse.
There was really only one thing left to do. Despite knowing deep down that it was the only solution to his problem, Spike really, really didn't want to do it.
That night, he tossed a change of clothes and his cell phone (acquired that summer when Giles finally gave up trying to convince Dawn to stay away from Spike) into the back of his DeSoto. Then, without a backward glance, he drove at top speed to LA, current home to the only person who could help him.
The Long Dark Teatime…
For three nights, he'd been following her- keeping himself just outside of the Slayer's "vampire-sensing" range, and for three nights, there had been no sign of any soul-sucking demon, although he continued to have the same dream.
-Maybe I'm just going insane,- he thought glumly. Spike had to admit, the prospect of being the knight in (somewhat tarnished) white armour had appealed to him.
He was about to turn and head back home when something in his mind clicked. This street, this exact viewpoint, was where he was in the dream, when he watched the demon attack Buffy.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of red, and he knew that it had to be the demon. It sprung out from behind its hiding place and as Buffy moved to attack it, began that crazy chanting that Spike had heard in his dream.
Without a second thought, he propelled himself with kamikaze speed towards the incapacitated Slayer and the thing that threatened to take her away from him. He knocked her out of the way, and then began to attack the Rekkai demon with a vengeance.
The fight was short and sweet, and in a display of irony, Spike managed to pull the demon's sword from it's sheath and behead the Rekkai with his own blade.
Turning his attention to Buffy, who was coming out of the spell-induced daze, he didn't notice the glow that rose from the corpse of the demon until it was too late.
It surrounded him, and he found himself staring into the faces of every person he'd ever killed. Their screams, cries of pain, pleads to stop it, end it now…
"Oh, for-" he muttered, exasperated. With a conscious effort, he pushed the visions and the feelings of guilt and sadness that accompanied them to the back of his mind. The most important thing, right now, was making sure Buffy got home all right.
They walked in silent companionship, his arm around her waist, supporting her. The Rekkai demon hadn't managed to drain her soul, but what he had done left her feeling weak and unsteady. It was a feeling she altogether didn't like.
After seeing Buffy inside, Spike made his way back to his crypt. The effects of the fight were just beginning to catch up with him, and the vampire fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
"Please, don't kill me!"
Pain-filled screams cut off as he tore into their throats, drinking in their essence.
"Wh-what are you?"
The intoxicating fear in their eyes, enticing him, beckoning to him.
"Tell my mother, I'm sorry…"
By far the most powerful blood he'd ever taken in. Hers was unlike any other he'd tasted. Full of strength and life. He craved more…
* * *
The vampire disentangled himself from the sheets as he woke up. He noticed with a sort of detached interest that he wasn't in his bed- in fact, he was in the top level of his crypt. He stumbled to a corner and proceeded to vomit up his last 'meal' of blood.
The nausea remained, however.
-Get a grip, Spike.- he chastised himself mentally.
Leaning against the wall of the crypt for support, he slid down into a sitting position, wincing as his hands hit the cold stone floor. He stared at them, blinked in confusion, and then continued staring. Sunlight burns covered his palms, which was odd, because he'd been asleep all day.
His thoughts wandered to the subject of his dreams. As if that annoying, recurring prophetic one wasn't bad enough, now he was experiencing guilt for the deeds he'd commited in the past.
-Wait a minute. Guilt… who do I know that's both guilt-ridden and a vampire?-
"Bloody hell!" he groaned, dropping his head into his hands, momentarily forgetting the burns. As if things couldn't get any worse, now he was turning into his poof of a Grandsire.
The week passed by in a haze. Buffy had stopped by the day after he'd killed the Rekkai demon to say thanks, but hadn't been back since. She didn't even ask him how he'd known it would be there, and he didn't volunteer the information.
Dawn hadn't come to see him either, but that he could understand. Those damn Social Services people were watching the Slayer and her little sister like hawks. If they got wind of a 15 year old girl sneaking out at night to go to a cemetery to visit her friend who lived in a *crypt*, it could very well be the end of Buffy's custody. None of the Scoobies had stopped by- not that he cared about them.
Really, he didn't.
After the first couple of days, Spike had given up trying to eat anything. Nothing stayed down longer than a few hours anyway, because of the dreams. And despite his efforts to stay awake all day, watching reruns on the telly, inevitably he'd give in to exhaustion and drift off, starting the whole bloody cycle over again. The burns kept getting worse, too. He couldn't understand it. He wrapped them with gauze to try and get them to heal faster, yet every night when he woke up the bandages were on the floor and the burns were worse.
There was really only one thing left to do. Despite knowing deep down that it was the only solution to his problem, Spike really, really didn't want to do it.
That night, he tossed a change of clothes and his cell phone (acquired that summer when Giles finally gave up trying to convince Dawn to stay away from Spike) into the back of his DeSoto. Then, without a backward glance, he drove at top speed to LA, current home to the only person who could help him.