VERTIGO
CHAPTER 2
Heart thumping against her ribs, her throat dry and parched, Dawn watched the blonde vampire force-feed his blood to her sister. The knife dropped from her powerless fingers and clattered onto the floor. She didn't hear it. Oh Lord, what had she done?
She wanted to yell at Spike to stop, to take it back, but the words wouldn't come. Her voice failed her. She tried to take a step forward, to shove him away from Buffy. Her knees gave way so she dropped onto the floor beside the knife. Breathing was hard; she felt suffocated, and distantly she noted she was hyperventilating. Forcing herself to take slow, regular breaths, she tried to regain control. It was too late. The deed was done. Her sister, beautiful, strong, loving, annoying Buffy was going to wake up a vampire. The thing she was Chosen to kill. The thing she hated the most. And it was her, Dawn's fault. If she hadn't forced Spike...
If she hadn't forced Spike, they would be burying Buffy again. And she'd have to go live with her dad. "Why isn't she waking up?" Dawn croaked through stiff lips when Spike sat back and lowered Buffy's head carefully back to the ground.
"Doesn't work that way, pet." His voice was without inflection, as dead as he was. "She won't rise until tomorrow night." He shook himself back to his human mask and turned to face Dawn. His tone was kinder, warmer, when he continued. "She's not going to be happy with either of us when she does."
"I know," Dawn whispered as the tears began to fall again. "I know. I couldn't let her die, Spike. I just couldn't."
Then he was with her, his arms, cool and strong, wrapped around her as he pulled her against his chest and she cried into his shirt. "I understand, sweet bit," he murmured. "I understand. Shh... it'll be okay."
How? she wanted to ask but sobs kept wringing themselves from her chest and again her voice failed her. She cried and cried and cried until there were no more tears left.
Dawn pulled back and glanced past Spike to the world outside. The sky was beginning to lighten; morning would come soon.
"Sun's coming up," she muttered, rubbing a fist along her cheeks to dry off the tears. "You have to go home."
"And leave you alone?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't bloody think so. Sis would stake me first thing when she wakes up."
Dawn chortled, a sad, humorless chuckle. "Yeah, she would."
Spike lifted Buffy's lifeless body and shifted it until he had a good grip, cradling her head against his shoulder. One arm dangled limply. Reluctantly Dawn took the hand to lift the arm and fold it over Buffy's body. Her flesh was rapidly losing the warmth of life and already the skin felt cold to her touch. Dawn shuddered. From now on, Buffy was going to feel as cool as Spike did. Which was okay for him - it was the way she'd always known him to be. Her sister was another matter.
She followed Spike out of the house, through the dark and silent streets of Sunnydale, back to Revello Drive. While she pushed past him to open the door, she took a deep breath.
"Is she going to be the same?" Dawn whispered. "Will she still be Buffy?"
Spike took the body up the stairs and to Buffy's room, where he gently laid her upon the bed. "Not exactly, pet," he said.
Dawn winced. "But she'll remember, right? Like you remember when you were William?" She was desperate for some form of consolation, desperate to believe it would all turn out right.
"We'll help her remember, luv. 's All we can do."
She watched as Spike tenderly arranged her sister's limbs until Buffy appeared to be sleeping. She looked normal. If you ignored the rust colored bloodstain that bloomed on her shirt, that was. And the two-inch long tear in the material at the center of the stain. Dawn felt fresh tears well in her eyes. Amazing. She thought she had done all her crying back at the house.
"You should get some sleep, Nibblet," Spike's quiet voice interrupted her thoughts before the tears could fall.
Dawn shook her head vehemently. "I don't want to. I want to stay here. With Buffy."
Spike lifted her face with a cool finger beneath her chin. "Nothing is going to happen here," he said calmly. "You're exhausted, physically and emotionally. Go get some sleep. Big sis is going to need our help when she wakes up. Can't have you falling over from exhaustion."
Dawn hesitated a moment more. "Will she be okay?"
"Yes," Spike said. He pulled a chair over beside the bed. "I'll be here keeping watch."
"Okay... Should I get you some blankets or something?" Dawn asked with a nod at the window. The square was growing visibly brighter behind the thin curtains.
Spike blinked. "Yeh. Thanks."
A few moments later Dawn returned with a pile of blankets in her arms. "Need some help?"
"No, I can handle it." Spike shook his head. "You go get some rest."
Dawn walked back to the door. In the opening she stopped and turned. "Spike?"
"Yes, ducks?"
She darted back in and planted a kiss on his cold cheek, smiling at the dumbfounded look he gave her. "Thank you."
* * *
Spike fastened the blankets over the curtains, casting the room in deep shadows despite the sun that rose on another scorching summer day outside, and sat back down in the chair beside the bed. The wickerwork rustled to accommodate his weight. He stared at Buffy's profile, so still and pale. Every instinct shrieked that this was wrong. The room was too quiet. Her chest didn't rise and fall with every breath. The sound of her heartbeat was loud in its absence, as was the rushing of blood through living veins.
His gaze fell upon the blood-soaked shirt, which covered her upper body. She shouldn't have to wake up in that filthy rag, still covered with her blood, shed when she was alive and warm. Yet he couldn't bring himself to undress her and put a clean shirt on. It wouldn't feel right. Perhaps, he made a mental note, Dawn could do it, after she woke from a much-needed sleep.
Spike rubbed his face with a weary hand. He shouldn't have given in to the Nibblet. He should have wrested the knife from her and let Buffy die in peace. He was a soddin' selfish wanker, who wanted to keep the slayer at his side no matter the cost. It had been so easy to yield to Dawn's blackmail, so easy to do as she demanded and turn Buffy into the soulless monster that he was. It wasn't what Buffy would have wanted; Spike wasn't lying when he told Dawn that the slayer would be none too pleased with either of them. Although, 'none too pleased' had to be the biggest understatement of his undead life. He also knew he was going to take the brunt of her anger; he'd try his best to shield Dawn from the worst of it. After all, it was he who turned her. And in all honesty, he couldn't claim that the thought never crossed his mind before Dawn forced him to act upon it.
It was not too late, though. He could still set things right. All he needed was a little stake. Should be plenty of those around in this house. However, he remained frozen in the chair, unable to bring himself to search for one of the wooden sticks and drive it through Buffy's heart.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He would help her. Like he had helped numerous fledglings --a lot of them Dru's-- how to deal with their new unlife. In most cases that came down to a couple of survival lessons: sunlight will do you in. So will a stake through the heart. Watch out for the slayer. Blah blah blah.
This time it was different. None of those lessons would be necessary; Buffy could write a textbook on vampire lore. But somewhere inside the demon, which was going to rise come sunset, was a part of the old Buffy, the human Buffy. It had to be there.
All evidence pointed to support this theory.
Dru, driven off her rocker before Angelus turned her, and she was a raving loony of a vampire. Angelus wasn't much as a human, and had been an even meaner vampire. From what the Scoobies told him, Harmony had been an airhead when she was alive, and look what a pathetic excuse for a vamp she made. And he himself? Spike snorted. He was love's bitch. Had been back in the days of breath and heartbeat, and always would be. So it stood to good reason that Buffy might retain some of the qualities that made her Buffy. She would just have to find them again.
He held onto that thought like a lifeline during the long waking hours. Outside, the sun traveled across the blue sky. Inside the room, nobody breathed for many hours, until night fell at last.
* * *
"Spike?"
The shadows were deepening within the room when a soft call startled Spike from his introspection. The door opened to reveal Dawn. Her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy and surrounded with dark circles. She looked as if she had been crying more than sleeping. "Has she--"
Spike shook his head. "Not yet."
"Oh." Dawn entered the room, her feet dragging across the carpet. She came to hover beside Spike and looked down at her sister. "She looks... dead."
"She is dead, pet," Spike grumbled. He instantly regretted it when he saw Dawn flinch at his gruff words. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Shouldn't we, like, have buried her, or something?" Dawn asked after a long silence.
"And have her dig her way out of her grave again? Don't bloody think so." He sighed. "It's not important. Although Dru has a soft spot for burying her--" He cut off.
"Oh."
"Look, can you do me -- your sis a favor?"
"Sure," Dawn sniffled, biting back a sob. "What?"
Spike gestured at Buffy's bloody top. "Her shirt... She won't like waking up like that. I was going to change it-- I couldn't--" He fumbled for words. "Can you--?"
Dawn gave a sad half-smile. "Change her clothes?"
He nodded with gratitude. "Yeh."
"Sure." Glad for something to do, Dawn pivoted on her heels, walked over to Buffy's closet, and began rummaging through her clothes in search of something suitable.
"I'll be outside," Spike said. "Holler if you need help." Inwardly he was praying she wouldn't. He didn't like having to put Dawn through dressing up her dead sister; however, he found himself incapable of taking the task upon him. It wasn't the thought that Buffy would stake him as soon as she found out. But it would feel... awkward. Not right.
He snorted at himself while he made his way down the stairs. Bloody wanker.
He went outside onto the front porch, patting his pockets in search of a cigarette. As soon as he found the crumpled packet, he shook one out and lit it, inhaling the smoke with relish. All day he had craved a shot of nicotine and Buffy never allowed him to smoke in the house. He gave a dry laugh at the thought. She was not exactly in a position to stop him. Yet.
He stared out across the darkening yard. Night was falling fast now, as it always did in summer. Stars twinkled overhead and the nearly full moon climbed over the roof of the house across the street, coating everything in silver.
"Spi-ik--"
Dawn's scream was cut off. Faster than should have been possible for even a vampire, Spike wheeled and raced up the stairs three steps at a time. Growls and grunts came from Buffy's room, mingled with thuds and bumps and the sound of shattering furniture.
Spike flung open the door and froze on the threshold at the sight before him. Dawn was on her back on the bed, trying to fight off a snarling Buffy. The slayer's blond hair hung loose, hiding her features but Spike didn't need to see her face to know it would be ridged, with yellow, feral eyes and deadly fangs.
He flung himself at her, forcing her to abandon the attempt to feed on her sister, cursing himself for leaving Dawn alone with Buffy, when he had known she would rise soon. He recalled how strong the bloodlust was, that first night. How much it hurt. He remembered the terrible confusion of waking when he knew he had died. He should have been here when she opened her eyes.
Dawn was sobbing, gasping for air. While Spike struggled to keep Buffy subdued --damn, she was strong, much stronger than a regular fledgling had any right to be-- he risked a glance in the younger girl's direction. With relief he noted that, although she looked shocked to the core, she appeared otherwise unharmed.
"Dawn! In the fridge. Get a package. Pig, not human." If he could prevent Buffy from discovering the sweet taste of human blood, she might find it easier to resist the temptation to feed.
"Should I warm it--"
"No! Just get it!"
Dawn scrambled from the bed and ran from the room to get the blood. Spike turned his attention back to the struggling vampire in his arms. With a pang he realized that's how he had to think of the slayer from now on: a vampire. His childe. In need of his help, his guidance, his protection.
He wrapped his arms tighter around her frail form, hugging her to his chest. "Ssh, luv, it'll be all right. I know it hurts. Hang in there. Dawn will be right back."
She struggled and sobbed. "What have you done?" she wailed, trying to break free. Spike had to call on every ounce of strength that his seniority gave him to keep her imprisoned in his embrace. Apparently, the clinical part of his mind jotted down, slayer strength transcended into death. "What's wrong with me? God, I'm so hungry. It hurtssss!"
Dawn reappeared, a plastic bag filled with thick, red liquid in her hand. Keeping her distance, her eyes never leaving her sister, she handed it to Spike. Holding Buffy captive against his chest for a moment longer, he tore the package with his teeth and shoved it into her face. "Drink," he ordered. "You'll feel better."
Buffy sniffed once, stopped struggling, and gulped the bag empty. "More," she demanded. "More."
* * *
Three bags of blood later, Buffy stopped thrashing so violently in Spike's arms. He slowly eased the pressure.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much," she murmured. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked the remaining blood from her skin. She was going to need some practice before she could sip from plastic bags without making a mess.
Dawn ambled further into the room and took a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. "Buffy?"
The moment she spoke Spike knew it was a mistake. Buffy wasn't ready yet, the initial bloodlust still strong. Her eyes took on a delighted glint and before Spike could stop her she lunged after her sister. Dawn squealed with shock and fright and shot backward on the bed so forcefully that she tumbled down the other side.
Spike slammed into Buffy, grabbing her around the waist and pinning her onto the bed. She flailed against his grip although not as fiercely as before. The pig's blood had taken off the edge of her craving for blood.
"Lil' Bit," Spike said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving Buffy's face, "go to your room and lock the door. Don't come out till I say it's okay."
"But, Spike--" Dawn began to protest.
"Now, Dawn." Spike's voice brooked no further objections. "It'll be all right, I promise."
As soon as Dawn left the room, Buffy relaxed beneath Spike. Although he would have given anything to keep Dawn from seeing her sister like this, he couldn't blame Buffy. It had been more than a century ago but the memory of his first night, the way the pounding of hearts and the rush of blood could drive your demon crazy, was still fresh in his mind. It took time and willpower and effort to learn to control the urges. To learn the stealth and skill needed in the hunt for the right victim and the right kill. It took a cunning vampire that survived beyond the first days.
"Can't let you eat your sister, luv," Spike said when Buffy wriggled beneath him. He kept her wrists pinned over her head and straddled her, effectively rendering her powerless.
"Why not?" Buffy complained, turning her head to look at the door with longing. She ran a tongue along her fangs. "She smells yummy."
Spike chuckled. "Bit does, at that. But it wouldn't be... right." Bloody hell.
Buffy turned her head back and glanced up at Spike. "Well, if I can't eat her..." A feral smile turned up the corners of her lips and she shifted her hips beneath him. "What else can we do for fun?"
Spike growled deep in his throat, willing his body to not respond to Buffy's squirming. So that's one of your basic urges, eh, pet, he thought to himself. Shagging the Big Bad. He grinned wryly to himself. If only the offer for a rough and tumble with the slayer had been presented to him a day or so earlier. Now, however...
"Stop that! Get a bloody grip, you stupid git!" Now, the time wasn't right. It wasn't Buffy who was arching her hips up to him. It was the demon. It never would be Buffy again. Not completely, but perhaps someday she'd learn controlling those basic hungers for blood and sex and pain. Then, if she still wanted him...
He pulled in those threads of thought. He needed to concentrate, not daydream about the future.
"Spike?" Dawn's muffled voice drifted from down the hallway.
"Yes, Nibblet?"
"Can I come out now?"
Spike paused. He contemplated Buffy as she sat studying her pale hands, searching for a pulse and failing to find it. "Will you promise not to eat Lil'Bit?" he asked.
She looked up. "I promise." She sounded petulant and Spike narrowed his eyes. Buffy was going to cause him as much trouble as a vampire as when she'd been human. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"It's okay." He raised his voice to reach Dawn in her room. Her hearing wasn't as keen as his.
He heard a click as she unlocked her door and opened it. A few seconds later she appeared in the doorway, tense and looking ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "Buffy?"
"Hello Dawn." She looked up, baring her fangs in what Spike suspected was meant to be an encouraging smile. It merely made her look dangerous and insane.
"I love you."
The smirk disappeared and Buffy hung her head. Spike waited, still and rigid. Perhaps the Nibblet had the right idea. Perhaps she was going to get through past the demon.
"Look at me," Buffy muttered. She rubbed a hand along the front of her recently clean shirt, now splattered with blood that had dripped from her chin when she gulped down the bags of blood. "I'm all dirty."
Dawn walked over to her closet and pulled out another shirt. "Here," she said, handing it to Buffy. Spike could tell she was strung taut and keeping her distance, ready to flee at any sign of hostility. When Buffy accepted the shirt with a nod of gratitude, she relaxed. And so did Spike.
TBC
DISCLAIMER: this story is based on the Mutant Enemy/UPN/Twentieth Century Fox Television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
CHAPTER 2
Heart thumping against her ribs, her throat dry and parched, Dawn watched the blonde vampire force-feed his blood to her sister. The knife dropped from her powerless fingers and clattered onto the floor. She didn't hear it. Oh Lord, what had she done?
She wanted to yell at Spike to stop, to take it back, but the words wouldn't come. Her voice failed her. She tried to take a step forward, to shove him away from Buffy. Her knees gave way so she dropped onto the floor beside the knife. Breathing was hard; she felt suffocated, and distantly she noted she was hyperventilating. Forcing herself to take slow, regular breaths, she tried to regain control. It was too late. The deed was done. Her sister, beautiful, strong, loving, annoying Buffy was going to wake up a vampire. The thing she was Chosen to kill. The thing she hated the most. And it was her, Dawn's fault. If she hadn't forced Spike...
If she hadn't forced Spike, they would be burying Buffy again. And she'd have to go live with her dad. "Why isn't she waking up?" Dawn croaked through stiff lips when Spike sat back and lowered Buffy's head carefully back to the ground.
"Doesn't work that way, pet." His voice was without inflection, as dead as he was. "She won't rise until tomorrow night." He shook himself back to his human mask and turned to face Dawn. His tone was kinder, warmer, when he continued. "She's not going to be happy with either of us when she does."
"I know," Dawn whispered as the tears began to fall again. "I know. I couldn't let her die, Spike. I just couldn't."
Then he was with her, his arms, cool and strong, wrapped around her as he pulled her against his chest and she cried into his shirt. "I understand, sweet bit," he murmured. "I understand. Shh... it'll be okay."
How? she wanted to ask but sobs kept wringing themselves from her chest and again her voice failed her. She cried and cried and cried until there were no more tears left.
Dawn pulled back and glanced past Spike to the world outside. The sky was beginning to lighten; morning would come soon.
"Sun's coming up," she muttered, rubbing a fist along her cheeks to dry off the tears. "You have to go home."
"And leave you alone?" he replied, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't bloody think so. Sis would stake me first thing when she wakes up."
Dawn chortled, a sad, humorless chuckle. "Yeah, she would."
Spike lifted Buffy's lifeless body and shifted it until he had a good grip, cradling her head against his shoulder. One arm dangled limply. Reluctantly Dawn took the hand to lift the arm and fold it over Buffy's body. Her flesh was rapidly losing the warmth of life and already the skin felt cold to her touch. Dawn shuddered. From now on, Buffy was going to feel as cool as Spike did. Which was okay for him - it was the way she'd always known him to be. Her sister was another matter.
She followed Spike out of the house, through the dark and silent streets of Sunnydale, back to Revello Drive. While she pushed past him to open the door, she took a deep breath.
"Is she going to be the same?" Dawn whispered. "Will she still be Buffy?"
Spike took the body up the stairs and to Buffy's room, where he gently laid her upon the bed. "Not exactly, pet," he said.
Dawn winced. "But she'll remember, right? Like you remember when you were William?" She was desperate for some form of consolation, desperate to believe it would all turn out right.
"We'll help her remember, luv. 's All we can do."
She watched as Spike tenderly arranged her sister's limbs until Buffy appeared to be sleeping. She looked normal. If you ignored the rust colored bloodstain that bloomed on her shirt, that was. And the two-inch long tear in the material at the center of the stain. Dawn felt fresh tears well in her eyes. Amazing. She thought she had done all her crying back at the house.
"You should get some sleep, Nibblet," Spike's quiet voice interrupted her thoughts before the tears could fall.
Dawn shook her head vehemently. "I don't want to. I want to stay here. With Buffy."
Spike lifted her face with a cool finger beneath her chin. "Nothing is going to happen here," he said calmly. "You're exhausted, physically and emotionally. Go get some sleep. Big sis is going to need our help when she wakes up. Can't have you falling over from exhaustion."
Dawn hesitated a moment more. "Will she be okay?"
"Yes," Spike said. He pulled a chair over beside the bed. "I'll be here keeping watch."
"Okay... Should I get you some blankets or something?" Dawn asked with a nod at the window. The square was growing visibly brighter behind the thin curtains.
Spike blinked. "Yeh. Thanks."
A few moments later Dawn returned with a pile of blankets in her arms. "Need some help?"
"No, I can handle it." Spike shook his head. "You go get some rest."
Dawn walked back to the door. In the opening she stopped and turned. "Spike?"
"Yes, ducks?"
She darted back in and planted a kiss on his cold cheek, smiling at the dumbfounded look he gave her. "Thank you."
* * *
Spike fastened the blankets over the curtains, casting the room in deep shadows despite the sun that rose on another scorching summer day outside, and sat back down in the chair beside the bed. The wickerwork rustled to accommodate his weight. He stared at Buffy's profile, so still and pale. Every instinct shrieked that this was wrong. The room was too quiet. Her chest didn't rise and fall with every breath. The sound of her heartbeat was loud in its absence, as was the rushing of blood through living veins.
His gaze fell upon the blood-soaked shirt, which covered her upper body. She shouldn't have to wake up in that filthy rag, still covered with her blood, shed when she was alive and warm. Yet he couldn't bring himself to undress her and put a clean shirt on. It wouldn't feel right. Perhaps, he made a mental note, Dawn could do it, after she woke from a much-needed sleep.
Spike rubbed his face with a weary hand. He shouldn't have given in to the Nibblet. He should have wrested the knife from her and let Buffy die in peace. He was a soddin' selfish wanker, who wanted to keep the slayer at his side no matter the cost. It had been so easy to yield to Dawn's blackmail, so easy to do as she demanded and turn Buffy into the soulless monster that he was. It wasn't what Buffy would have wanted; Spike wasn't lying when he told Dawn that the slayer would be none too pleased with either of them. Although, 'none too pleased' had to be the biggest understatement of his undead life. He also knew he was going to take the brunt of her anger; he'd try his best to shield Dawn from the worst of it. After all, it was he who turned her. And in all honesty, he couldn't claim that the thought never crossed his mind before Dawn forced him to act upon it.
It was not too late, though. He could still set things right. All he needed was a little stake. Should be plenty of those around in this house. However, he remained frozen in the chair, unable to bring himself to search for one of the wooden sticks and drive it through Buffy's heart.
Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He would help her. Like he had helped numerous fledglings --a lot of them Dru's-- how to deal with their new unlife. In most cases that came down to a couple of survival lessons: sunlight will do you in. So will a stake through the heart. Watch out for the slayer. Blah blah blah.
This time it was different. None of those lessons would be necessary; Buffy could write a textbook on vampire lore. But somewhere inside the demon, which was going to rise come sunset, was a part of the old Buffy, the human Buffy. It had to be there.
All evidence pointed to support this theory.
Dru, driven off her rocker before Angelus turned her, and she was a raving loony of a vampire. Angelus wasn't much as a human, and had been an even meaner vampire. From what the Scoobies told him, Harmony had been an airhead when she was alive, and look what a pathetic excuse for a vamp she made. And he himself? Spike snorted. He was love's bitch. Had been back in the days of breath and heartbeat, and always would be. So it stood to good reason that Buffy might retain some of the qualities that made her Buffy. She would just have to find them again.
He held onto that thought like a lifeline during the long waking hours. Outside, the sun traveled across the blue sky. Inside the room, nobody breathed for many hours, until night fell at last.
* * *
"Spike?"
The shadows were deepening within the room when a soft call startled Spike from his introspection. The door opened to reveal Dawn. Her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy and surrounded with dark circles. She looked as if she had been crying more than sleeping. "Has she--"
Spike shook his head. "Not yet."
"Oh." Dawn entered the room, her feet dragging across the carpet. She came to hover beside Spike and looked down at her sister. "She looks... dead."
"She is dead, pet," Spike grumbled. He instantly regretted it when he saw Dawn flinch at his gruff words. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Shouldn't we, like, have buried her, or something?" Dawn asked after a long silence.
"And have her dig her way out of her grave again? Don't bloody think so." He sighed. "It's not important. Although Dru has a soft spot for burying her--" He cut off.
"Oh."
"Look, can you do me -- your sis a favor?"
"Sure," Dawn sniffled, biting back a sob. "What?"
Spike gestured at Buffy's bloody top. "Her shirt... She won't like waking up like that. I was going to change it-- I couldn't--" He fumbled for words. "Can you--?"
Dawn gave a sad half-smile. "Change her clothes?"
He nodded with gratitude. "Yeh."
"Sure." Glad for something to do, Dawn pivoted on her heels, walked over to Buffy's closet, and began rummaging through her clothes in search of something suitable.
"I'll be outside," Spike said. "Holler if you need help." Inwardly he was praying she wouldn't. He didn't like having to put Dawn through dressing up her dead sister; however, he found himself incapable of taking the task upon him. It wasn't the thought that Buffy would stake him as soon as she found out. But it would feel... awkward. Not right.
He snorted at himself while he made his way down the stairs. Bloody wanker.
He went outside onto the front porch, patting his pockets in search of a cigarette. As soon as he found the crumpled packet, he shook one out and lit it, inhaling the smoke with relish. All day he had craved a shot of nicotine and Buffy never allowed him to smoke in the house. He gave a dry laugh at the thought. She was not exactly in a position to stop him. Yet.
He stared out across the darkening yard. Night was falling fast now, as it always did in summer. Stars twinkled overhead and the nearly full moon climbed over the roof of the house across the street, coating everything in silver.
"Spi-ik--"
Dawn's scream was cut off. Faster than should have been possible for even a vampire, Spike wheeled and raced up the stairs three steps at a time. Growls and grunts came from Buffy's room, mingled with thuds and bumps and the sound of shattering furniture.
Spike flung open the door and froze on the threshold at the sight before him. Dawn was on her back on the bed, trying to fight off a snarling Buffy. The slayer's blond hair hung loose, hiding her features but Spike didn't need to see her face to know it would be ridged, with yellow, feral eyes and deadly fangs.
He flung himself at her, forcing her to abandon the attempt to feed on her sister, cursing himself for leaving Dawn alone with Buffy, when he had known she would rise soon. He recalled how strong the bloodlust was, that first night. How much it hurt. He remembered the terrible confusion of waking when he knew he had died. He should have been here when she opened her eyes.
Dawn was sobbing, gasping for air. While Spike struggled to keep Buffy subdued --damn, she was strong, much stronger than a regular fledgling had any right to be-- he risked a glance in the younger girl's direction. With relief he noted that, although she looked shocked to the core, she appeared otherwise unharmed.
"Dawn! In the fridge. Get a package. Pig, not human." If he could prevent Buffy from discovering the sweet taste of human blood, she might find it easier to resist the temptation to feed.
"Should I warm it--"
"No! Just get it!"
Dawn scrambled from the bed and ran from the room to get the blood. Spike turned his attention back to the struggling vampire in his arms. With a pang he realized that's how he had to think of the slayer from now on: a vampire. His childe. In need of his help, his guidance, his protection.
He wrapped his arms tighter around her frail form, hugging her to his chest. "Ssh, luv, it'll be all right. I know it hurts. Hang in there. Dawn will be right back."
She struggled and sobbed. "What have you done?" she wailed, trying to break free. Spike had to call on every ounce of strength that his seniority gave him to keep her imprisoned in his embrace. Apparently, the clinical part of his mind jotted down, slayer strength transcended into death. "What's wrong with me? God, I'm so hungry. It hurtssss!"
Dawn reappeared, a plastic bag filled with thick, red liquid in her hand. Keeping her distance, her eyes never leaving her sister, she handed it to Spike. Holding Buffy captive against his chest for a moment longer, he tore the package with his teeth and shoved it into her face. "Drink," he ordered. "You'll feel better."
Buffy sniffed once, stopped struggling, and gulped the bag empty. "More," she demanded. "More."
* * *
Three bags of blood later, Buffy stopped thrashing so violently in Spike's arms. He slowly eased the pressure.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much," she murmured. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and licked the remaining blood from her skin. She was going to need some practice before she could sip from plastic bags without making a mess.
Dawn ambled further into the room and took a cautious seat on the edge of the bed. "Buffy?"
The moment she spoke Spike knew it was a mistake. Buffy wasn't ready yet, the initial bloodlust still strong. Her eyes took on a delighted glint and before Spike could stop her she lunged after her sister. Dawn squealed with shock and fright and shot backward on the bed so forcefully that she tumbled down the other side.
Spike slammed into Buffy, grabbing her around the waist and pinning her onto the bed. She flailed against his grip although not as fiercely as before. The pig's blood had taken off the edge of her craving for blood.
"Lil' Bit," Spike said in a low voice, his eyes never leaving Buffy's face, "go to your room and lock the door. Don't come out till I say it's okay."
"But, Spike--" Dawn began to protest.
"Now, Dawn." Spike's voice brooked no further objections. "It'll be all right, I promise."
As soon as Dawn left the room, Buffy relaxed beneath Spike. Although he would have given anything to keep Dawn from seeing her sister like this, he couldn't blame Buffy. It had been more than a century ago but the memory of his first night, the way the pounding of hearts and the rush of blood could drive your demon crazy, was still fresh in his mind. It took time and willpower and effort to learn to control the urges. To learn the stealth and skill needed in the hunt for the right victim and the right kill. It took a cunning vampire that survived beyond the first days.
"Can't let you eat your sister, luv," Spike said when Buffy wriggled beneath him. He kept her wrists pinned over her head and straddled her, effectively rendering her powerless.
"Why not?" Buffy complained, turning her head to look at the door with longing. She ran a tongue along her fangs. "She smells yummy."
Spike chuckled. "Bit does, at that. But it wouldn't be... right." Bloody hell.
Buffy turned her head back and glanced up at Spike. "Well, if I can't eat her..." A feral smile turned up the corners of her lips and she shifted her hips beneath him. "What else can we do for fun?"
Spike growled deep in his throat, willing his body to not respond to Buffy's squirming. So that's one of your basic urges, eh, pet, he thought to himself. Shagging the Big Bad. He grinned wryly to himself. If only the offer for a rough and tumble with the slayer had been presented to him a day or so earlier. Now, however...
"Stop that! Get a bloody grip, you stupid git!" Now, the time wasn't right. It wasn't Buffy who was arching her hips up to him. It was the demon. It never would be Buffy again. Not completely, but perhaps someday she'd learn controlling those basic hungers for blood and sex and pain. Then, if she still wanted him...
He pulled in those threads of thought. He needed to concentrate, not daydream about the future.
"Spike?" Dawn's muffled voice drifted from down the hallway.
"Yes, Nibblet?"
"Can I come out now?"
Spike paused. He contemplated Buffy as she sat studying her pale hands, searching for a pulse and failing to find it. "Will you promise not to eat Lil'Bit?" he asked.
She looked up. "I promise." She sounded petulant and Spike narrowed his eyes. Buffy was going to cause him as much trouble as a vampire as when she'd been human. "Cross my heart and hope to die."
"It's okay." He raised his voice to reach Dawn in her room. Her hearing wasn't as keen as his.
He heard a click as she unlocked her door and opened it. A few seconds later she appeared in the doorway, tense and looking ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "Buffy?"
"Hello Dawn." She looked up, baring her fangs in what Spike suspected was meant to be an encouraging smile. It merely made her look dangerous and insane.
"I love you."
The smirk disappeared and Buffy hung her head. Spike waited, still and rigid. Perhaps the Nibblet had the right idea. Perhaps she was going to get through past the demon.
"Look at me," Buffy muttered. She rubbed a hand along the front of her recently clean shirt, now splattered with blood that had dripped from her chin when she gulped down the bags of blood. "I'm all dirty."
Dawn walked over to her closet and pulled out another shirt. "Here," she said, handing it to Buffy. Spike could tell she was strung taut and keeping her distance, ready to flee at any sign of hostility. When Buffy accepted the shirt with a nod of gratitude, she relaxed. And so did Spike.
TBC
DISCLAIMER: this story is based on the Mutant Enemy/UPN/Twentieth Century Fox Television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All characters belong to their original creators. The story was written for entertainment only and no copyright infringement was intended.
