VERTIGO
CHAPTER 4
Thump. Thump. Thump. Who the hell was making such bloody racket? Couldn't a vampire even get a decent day's sleep anymore?
Spike cracked his eyes open. A dented, dark gray metal wall splotched with rust filled his view. A metal wall with wheels. He frowned. Faded green lettering was painted on the metal, the paint flaking and stains obliterating the words. He squinted. Sunnydale Trash Disposal.
Bloody hell. How had he ended up in a dumpster?
Thump. Thump.
The noise made it hard to think, and it took Spike several minutes to realize that if he were inside the dumpster, he could not have seen the small wheels. Or the words printed on the outside.
Okay. Not in the dumpster, then.
He wracked his brain, trying to sort through the jumble of memories that came in flashes. Buffy. At last something he recognized and he latched on to it. More memories came and they began to make sense. Buffy. Vampire Buffy. Vampire Buffy who kicked his arse. Well, no, not his arse, not literally. He wouldn't have lost consciousness if she had.
Letting out a groan, Spike sat up. The hammerer in his skull picked up the pace. A dull ache throbbed in time with the blows. Bloody hell. He had really bashed his brains this time. It was worse than the ugliest hangover he could remember.
He waited a few moments for the throbbing to fade before he risked looking around again. Although the alley was gloomy, Spike felt he could see too well. He ignored the increase in hammer blows and laid his head in his neck to look up. Hell bloody hell again! The strip of sky framed by the shop walls was glowing faintly pink.
He had to get back to Revello Drive at once, or he'd be crispy Spike.
Spike lurched along the quiet streets, occasionally plagued with double vision or spells of dizziness. It seemed to take forever before he reached the Summers' house and he kept casting nervous glances up at the sky, which was growing lighter by the minute. It was going to be another hot day.
At last, he clambered up the front steps and stumbled through the front door. He heaved a rather unnecessary sigh of relief that nevertheless made him feel better. With his boot heel, he kicked the door close behind him, shutting out the first rays of sunlight.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. Dawn was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She carried a large cross in her left hand and a sharp stake in her right. Her eyes were wide and circled with fatigue.
"Oh, it's you," she said, and lowered both cross and stake. Spike thought he should be insulted that the Big Bad didn't inspire an ounce of fear in this teenager. He didn't really care though; he had more important things on his mind than his reputation.
"Is Buffy here?"
Dawn shook her head. "Not anymore. She came back a few hours ago, all upset and crying. She gave me those weird looks, smacked her lips, like she thought I was a pint of Ben & Jerry's. It was wiggy. That's when I got out the cross and the stake."
"She didn't hurt you, did she?" Spike's eyes flicked along Dawn's body, searching for the telltale wounds of a vampire bite.
"No. She got the keys to Mom's old SUV and drove off. I don't know where she went. She kept muttering something about needing to learn how to control it, and that you couldn't help her. Because of the chip."
"Bugger," Spike swore in a low voice. He flopped down onto the sofa, head in hands. Where would she go to seek help? Her little Scooby mates were out of town. And Rupert was in England; a phonecall would have been enough to contact him. She could have gone anywhere with the car.
"Bleedin'--Angel! She's gone to see Peaches." It was the one thing that made sense. Aside from Spike, her former lover was the only other vampire she knew, who didn't snack on Happy Meals on legs. How she thought Angel could help her where Spike couldn't, though, was beyond him. Angel had a soul; he had a chip. Same difference. Buffy had neither; she would still have to do all the hard work by herself.
"I'll call him," Dawn said, phone already in hand. "We're going to get her, aren't we?"
"Yes, Bit, we are. But I'll call." How would Dawn ever explain to Angel what had happened, what Buffy had become? He took over the phone.
"Number six." Dawn indicated the correct speed-dial button. At least the poof's number wasn't saved under the first one, he thought glumly while pressing the button. Rapid beeps sounded in his ear, then the phone began to ring. Once, twice.
"Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. This is Cordelia speaking."
"Lemme speak with Angel," Spike growled without preamble. His fingers wrapped tightly around the phone.
"I'm sorry, who's this? Angel is not--" She paused for a beat and he could hear the tension come down the line along with her breathing. "Spike? Oh my God... Is Dawn all right? Buffy just got here but she's not making any--"
"Let me speak with Angel, you bint!" Spike hollered. The phone at the other end dropped with a thud and he heard Cordelia yell.
"Angel! It's Spike. He wants to talk with you." In a softer voice but still audible over the line, she added, "Perhaps he'll ask for some lessons in manners. He sure could use 'em."
In the background Buffy's voice pleaded with Angel not to answer the phone, not to talk to him. Spike frowned. Why would she not want Angel to talk to him? With a sudden intake of breath he realized she had not yet told him what Spike had done to her.
"Spike? What do you want?"
"The Slayer. She okay?"
"More or less," Angel answered curtly. "She stormed in here a little while ago, just before sunrise. I was about to turn in for the day. She's all upset and I can't really get a word out of her. What did you do to her, anyway?"
"Noth--" Spike swallowed and sighed. "Look, mate, it's a long story. Too long to tell over the phone. Just keep Buffy in for the day. Me and Dawn, we'll be there as soon as we can."
Angel hmphed. "Your story better be good," he grumbled. "Because I swear, if I find out you hurt her, I'll stake you myself."
"Yeah, yeah," Spike said. He was growing impatient and wanted to get going. They could discuss his possible stakeage later. Although, he wasn't too sure at the moment he didn't deserve to be dusted. "Just keep her there." He hung up before Angel could say another word.
Dawn was looking at him with wide, questioning eyes. "Let's go, Nibblet," he told her. "We got a little trip to make to get big sis home."
* * *
Angel leaned against the leather upholstery, nursing a glass of pig's blood in his hands. His eyes followed Buffy as she wandered aimlessly through the lobby of the Hyperion. Occasionally she picked up an object that caught her attention, and she turned it over in her hands before setting it back down, a curious expression on her face as if she had never before seen a candle or a vase. She looked everywhere but at Angel. He waited.
They were alone in the hotel. Gunn and Wesley were in North Hollywood, checking out a possible lead on the Gjorac demon that they had tried to locate for the past two weeks. And when several attempts at small talk fell on dead ears, Cordelia had decided that this morning was the perfect time for some errands. Angel agreed, hoping that Buffy would open up more easily when they were alone.
It was nearly noon, hours since Buffy had arrived from Sunnydale, and she still hadn't said a word about why she came running to Los Angeles in the thick of the night. Angel knew better than to push for an explanation. She'd only clam up more if he tried to force her to talk. So, he took another sip and waited.
At last, his patience was rewarded. Buffy turned to face him. "How do you handle it?" she asked with a slight nod at the glass in his hands.
He raised an eyebrow, not sure what she meant. "Butcher shop," he said. "Cordelia has a friend at the slaughter house."
Buffy shook her head. "'s Not what I meant," she mumbled. "Don't you long for human blood? Spike still drinks it, even if he has to buy it from 'donors' or steal from the hospital. Why don't you? Is it... because you have a soul?" Her voice held an odd quiver at the last word.
Angel contemplated his answer for a moment. He wished he knew where these questions were coming from all of a sudden. He suspected it had something to do with Spike and Buffy's emerging feelings for his bleached grandchilde. Angel was no fool. Spike loved Buffy as much as he'd ever loved Drusilla -- if not more. And he had long since realized that Buffy was starting to feel things for Spike. It bothered him. Not the fact that she was moving on -- after all, that's why he left Sunnydale in the first place -- but that she moved on to Spike, slayer of slayers.
"It's not easy," he said at last, slowly, carefully weighing his words. "It helps to have a soul, but it takes a lot of hard work. You know, Buffy," he said, sitting forward and capturing her eyes with his, "a couple of months, no, a year ago, I had to drink from a human. A woman, she was a friend. It was the only way I could think of to save her. I was working undercover with some demons when she came upon us. If I hadn't pretended to kill her, they would have done it. But it kept me up for months afterward. And every waking moment the memory was there: the salty-sweet flavor that's so unique to fresh human blood, the way it spurted from her vein when I broke through the skin..." He shuddered at the memory. Kate had understood why he did what he did, somehow. Still, drawing back from her had been the hardest thing since... since leaving Sunnydale.
Buffy hung onto his every word, clearly enraptured by his description. Her tongue flicked across her lips. Angel blinked at the look naked fascination on her face. "It gets easier with time," he said with a shrug. "But the craving, it never goes away. Not completely."
"Can I have a sip?" Buffy asked, reaching for his glass.
"What?" Angel cried. "No!" He snatched away the glass before she could grab it. "Buffy! What's gotten in to you? Why all these questions, this morbid fascination with my diet. Why now after all these years?"
"Angel..." Her voice hitched on a sob and tears glistened in her eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms, wipe away her tears, tell her that whatever it was, he would make it go away.
Then, his grisliest nightmare came true. When Willow brought the news of Buffy's death, Angel's world had fallen apart and he thought that nothing more horrible could ever happen. He was wrong. This was worse. Much, much worse. Before his astonished, disbelieving eyes, the girl he loved morphed into a vampire.
"Buffy! Who... How... When..." Coherent thought seemed to have left him and he couldn't form a single proper sentence. His eyes were glued to her face; her beautiful face, contorted with ridges and fangs. He gulped, feeling sick, afraid the blood he drank would come back up.
"Spike," she mumbled.
Molten anger surged through him, hot fury and hate and murderous rage. His game face surged forward unbidden and Angel found himself incapable to stop it. "That vampire's ugly ass is dust! Should have staked him years ago, when I had the chance."
* * *
Spike and Dawn reached the sprawling building that was Angel's home much later than Spike had planned. It had taken them a lot longer to get to Los Angeles than it should have. In his hurry he had forgotten that the DeSoto needed to gas up. They'd been seriously at risk of getting stranded in the desert before the car lurched into a small gas station on the last fumes in the tank. Spike was stuck inside, behind the blacked-out windows, while Dawn went outside to gas up and handle the leering gaze of the attendant. The continuous frustrated growl Spike had been helplessly emitting during their stop left his throat raw. He'd prayed for a single cloud so he could get out of the car and put the fear of the Big Bad into the wanker. Naturally, his prayer wasn't answered.
As if to add insult to injury, they got stuck in traffic on the highway, just outside the city limits. It was a dangerously pissed-off vampire who drove up in front of the Hyperion around three in the afternoon. Although Spike parked the DeSoto as close to the entrance as possible, the blanket still smoldered, about to burst into flames, when he finally ran through the front entrance into the cool, shaded lobby. Dawn followed on his heels.
Angel and Buffy spun around to face them. Bugger, was Spike's first thought when he saw they were both in game face. So much for breaking the news gently, with explanations and all.
The next thought was that his days were finally numbered. Angel pounced on him, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. The business end of a wooden stake pierced his shirt, pressing painfully into his skin right on top of his heart. Bloody hell.
"Ow!" Spike yelled with his last breath, feet dangling above the marble floor. Over Angel's head he saw Buffy looking at them with a detached interest. "Watch it, mate!"
"Why?" Angel growled, his voice low and cold. "Why did you do it?" His tone reminded Spike strongly of Angelus and the blonde vampire knew he was never closer to the end of his unlife as he was now.
"It wasn't enough that she never staked you, was it? That she let you into her house, her life? No, not for William the Bloody," Angel answered his own question. "You always want to get the last word in, don't you, Spike, hand out a final insult. Did you do this to get back at me? Eh? I'm talking to you."
Conceited, much? thought Spike, unaware he was thinking in Scooby speak. "Not 'ike 'at," he ground out. A little more pressure on his throat and Angel would surely shatter his larynx. If he'd been a breathing creature, he'd have died already. Being as it was, it just made speech impossible.
"Angel, don't!" Dawn's was pulling on Angel's arm, vainly trying to make him let go. "It's not Spike's fault!"
Three pairs of yellow eyes swiveled in the direction of the frightened girl. Spike tried to shake his head but Angel's hand around his throat prohibited any freedom of movement.
"I made him do it," Dawn sobbed. "Buffy was dying. I'm sorry!" She turned in the direction of her sister. "I couldn't let you die. Not again. I made Spike... I told him I'd kill myself if he let you die. I'm sorry!"
Angel relaxed his iron grip on Spike's throat a fraction and instinct made the vampire draw in a ragged, unnecessary breath. A heavy silence followed, in which Angel and Buffy wrapped their minds around what Dawn told them. Before either could think of something to say, Dawn did an about-face and ran out of the front door.
"Dawnie, wait!" Buffy chased her into the bright sunlight.
"Buffy!" Spike screamed at the same instant his feet hit the floor. Angel was in a better position; in a vampiric blur too fast for the naked eye, he tackled Buffy, tearing her away from the door a moment before she would have walked out. She clung to him, sobbing.
Spike touched his bruised throat. He swallowed with difficulty, wincing at the pain it caused. It'd be a few days before he enjoyed his meals again.
Buffy pushed away from Angel and sought Spike's eyes. "Is it true?" she asked in a tear-filled voice. "What Dawn said, is it true?" She had morphed back to her human face and tears streaked her pale cheeks.
"Yes, luv," Spike admitted with a sigh. "Didn't want you to know, didn't want you to blame her. I'd rather you blame me. But yes, Nibblet did threaten she'd kill herself if I didn't do it. Had the big knife near her stomach and all."
* * *
Spike hovered near the front entrance of the hotel, his eyes glued to the glass doors. The sky outside was growing a deep shade of blue; sunset was imminent. A few more minutes, then he could escape. Get in the DeSoto, and skedaddle out of here before Angel or Buffy or any of her Scooby pals decided that enough was enough and plunged a stake through his heart. Although death wasn't the worst fate he could imagine. More terrible than being turned into dust would be to live with Buffy's silent recriminations.
After Dawn ran away, time crept by at a snail's pace, the seconds as long as minutes and each minute lasting an hour. Spike had wanted to go after Dawn and got frustrated with the bright sunlight that prevented him. Buffy said Dawn needed some time alone. She squeezed a reluctant promise out of Angel not to stake Spike right away --"Although he would deserve it," the older vampire had said-- and after he withdrew to his office, an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the Hyperion lobby. Spike couldn't meet Buffy's eyes so in the end she had taken up Angel's offer to get some sleep in one of the rooms, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts.
He squinted up at the sky. 't Was about time.
"Hey." Buffy's soft voice froze his hand reaching for the doorknob in mid-air.
"Hullo, pet," he said cautiously.
"See her yet? I hoped she'd come back before sunset. Los Angeles is a dangerous place for a girl out after dark."
Spike didn't reply; he didn't trust his voice. He worried about Dawn too, wished she had come back before it was time to leave. It would have been nice to be able to say goodbye to Nibblet.
Buffy glanced sideways at his prolonged silence and her eyes narrowed. "You were gonna bail, weren't you? Leave me alone to deal with the fall out?"
"No, pet, I--"
"Don't lie to me, William."
He gulped at her use of his given name and his shoulders slumped. She was right; he had been planning to bail on her. Guilt washed over him and sat heavy in his belly. "Sorry, luv. I know this is not what you wanted. I should not have let Dawn--"
"Shh," she hushed him. "I know why you did it. I don't hate you because of it. It's just another episode in the soap opera that's The Life of Buffy Summers. What's a little vampirism after being mojoed back from the dead, uh?" She snorted a humorless laugh and his heart went out to her. They should have left well enough alone after she died.
"I'm sorry for that too, luv," he murmured. Wasn't him, though, that time.
She turned around to face him, biting her lower lip. "Spike, I don't want you to go. I need your help to deal with... what I am. For better or for worse, you are my sire. You have a responsibility."
He nearly burst out laughing, when it him that she was right. Not many vampires lived up to the responsibilities of a sire. Didn't like the strings that came with a childe. In this case, however, he would happily accept them if she'd have him.
"You sure about that, pet?" he asked. He quirked his head in the direction of Angel's office. "What about the Poof?"
"He's willing to help. But we've grown too far apart. It won't work. I need you, Spike."
He contemplated for a moment, staring out the door while the streetlights turned on, casting their orange glow on the world. Then he gave a nod. "Let's go find the Bit and go home."
--END--
More Author Notes: Yes, it says "End". I know you'll probably clamor for me to write a sequel and I've seen some great ideas mentioned in the reviews (Thanks, guys!). I don't think I'll be writing more on this subject any time soon though. This was difficult to write (thoughts of Evil Buffy kept interfering until they resulted in the vignette 'Such Pretty Color', also on FF.net) and I have told the story that I wanted to tell. On the other hand, I've learned to never say never where my muse is concerned. In the meantime, thanks for your support and for reading!
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 4
Thump. Thump. Thump. Who the hell was making such bloody racket? Couldn't a vampire even get a decent day's sleep anymore?
Spike cracked his eyes open. A dented, dark gray metal wall splotched with rust filled his view. A metal wall with wheels. He frowned. Faded green lettering was painted on the metal, the paint flaking and stains obliterating the words. He squinted. Sunnydale Trash Disposal.
Bloody hell. How had he ended up in a dumpster?
Thump. Thump.
The noise made it hard to think, and it took Spike several minutes to realize that if he were inside the dumpster, he could not have seen the small wheels. Or the words printed on the outside.
Okay. Not in the dumpster, then.
He wracked his brain, trying to sort through the jumble of memories that came in flashes. Buffy. At last something he recognized and he latched on to it. More memories came and they began to make sense. Buffy. Vampire Buffy. Vampire Buffy who kicked his arse. Well, no, not his arse, not literally. He wouldn't have lost consciousness if she had.
Letting out a groan, Spike sat up. The hammerer in his skull picked up the pace. A dull ache throbbed in time with the blows. Bloody hell. He had really bashed his brains this time. It was worse than the ugliest hangover he could remember.
He waited a few moments for the throbbing to fade before he risked looking around again. Although the alley was gloomy, Spike felt he could see too well. He ignored the increase in hammer blows and laid his head in his neck to look up. Hell bloody hell again! The strip of sky framed by the shop walls was glowing faintly pink.
He had to get back to Revello Drive at once, or he'd be crispy Spike.
Spike lurched along the quiet streets, occasionally plagued with double vision or spells of dizziness. It seemed to take forever before he reached the Summers' house and he kept casting nervous glances up at the sky, which was growing lighter by the minute. It was going to be another hot day.
At last, he clambered up the front steps and stumbled through the front door. He heaved a rather unnecessary sigh of relief that nevertheless made him feel better. With his boot heel, he kicked the door close behind him, shutting out the first rays of sunlight.
The sound of footsteps made him look up. Dawn was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She carried a large cross in her left hand and a sharp stake in her right. Her eyes were wide and circled with fatigue.
"Oh, it's you," she said, and lowered both cross and stake. Spike thought he should be insulted that the Big Bad didn't inspire an ounce of fear in this teenager. He didn't really care though; he had more important things on his mind than his reputation.
"Is Buffy here?"
Dawn shook her head. "Not anymore. She came back a few hours ago, all upset and crying. She gave me those weird looks, smacked her lips, like she thought I was a pint of Ben & Jerry's. It was wiggy. That's when I got out the cross and the stake."
"She didn't hurt you, did she?" Spike's eyes flicked along Dawn's body, searching for the telltale wounds of a vampire bite.
"No. She got the keys to Mom's old SUV and drove off. I don't know where she went. She kept muttering something about needing to learn how to control it, and that you couldn't help her. Because of the chip."
"Bugger," Spike swore in a low voice. He flopped down onto the sofa, head in hands. Where would she go to seek help? Her little Scooby mates were out of town. And Rupert was in England; a phonecall would have been enough to contact him. She could have gone anywhere with the car.
"Bleedin'--Angel! She's gone to see Peaches." It was the one thing that made sense. Aside from Spike, her former lover was the only other vampire she knew, who didn't snack on Happy Meals on legs. How she thought Angel could help her where Spike couldn't, though, was beyond him. Angel had a soul; he had a chip. Same difference. Buffy had neither; she would still have to do all the hard work by herself.
"I'll call him," Dawn said, phone already in hand. "We're going to get her, aren't we?"
"Yes, Bit, we are. But I'll call." How would Dawn ever explain to Angel what had happened, what Buffy had become? He took over the phone.
"Number six." Dawn indicated the correct speed-dial button. At least the poof's number wasn't saved under the first one, he thought glumly while pressing the button. Rapid beeps sounded in his ear, then the phone began to ring. Once, twice.
"Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. This is Cordelia speaking."
"Lemme speak with Angel," Spike growled without preamble. His fingers wrapped tightly around the phone.
"I'm sorry, who's this? Angel is not--" She paused for a beat and he could hear the tension come down the line along with her breathing. "Spike? Oh my God... Is Dawn all right? Buffy just got here but she's not making any--"
"Let me speak with Angel, you bint!" Spike hollered. The phone at the other end dropped with a thud and he heard Cordelia yell.
"Angel! It's Spike. He wants to talk with you." In a softer voice but still audible over the line, she added, "Perhaps he'll ask for some lessons in manners. He sure could use 'em."
In the background Buffy's voice pleaded with Angel not to answer the phone, not to talk to him. Spike frowned. Why would she not want Angel to talk to him? With a sudden intake of breath he realized she had not yet told him what Spike had done to her.
"Spike? What do you want?"
"The Slayer. She okay?"
"More or less," Angel answered curtly. "She stormed in here a little while ago, just before sunrise. I was about to turn in for the day. She's all upset and I can't really get a word out of her. What did you do to her, anyway?"
"Noth--" Spike swallowed and sighed. "Look, mate, it's a long story. Too long to tell over the phone. Just keep Buffy in for the day. Me and Dawn, we'll be there as soon as we can."
Angel hmphed. "Your story better be good," he grumbled. "Because I swear, if I find out you hurt her, I'll stake you myself."
"Yeah, yeah," Spike said. He was growing impatient and wanted to get going. They could discuss his possible stakeage later. Although, he wasn't too sure at the moment he didn't deserve to be dusted. "Just keep her there." He hung up before Angel could say another word.
Dawn was looking at him with wide, questioning eyes. "Let's go, Nibblet," he told her. "We got a little trip to make to get big sis home."
* * *
Angel leaned against the leather upholstery, nursing a glass of pig's blood in his hands. His eyes followed Buffy as she wandered aimlessly through the lobby of the Hyperion. Occasionally she picked up an object that caught her attention, and she turned it over in her hands before setting it back down, a curious expression on her face as if she had never before seen a candle or a vase. She looked everywhere but at Angel. He waited.
They were alone in the hotel. Gunn and Wesley were in North Hollywood, checking out a possible lead on the Gjorac demon that they had tried to locate for the past two weeks. And when several attempts at small talk fell on dead ears, Cordelia had decided that this morning was the perfect time for some errands. Angel agreed, hoping that Buffy would open up more easily when they were alone.
It was nearly noon, hours since Buffy had arrived from Sunnydale, and she still hadn't said a word about why she came running to Los Angeles in the thick of the night. Angel knew better than to push for an explanation. She'd only clam up more if he tried to force her to talk. So, he took another sip and waited.
At last, his patience was rewarded. Buffy turned to face him. "How do you handle it?" she asked with a slight nod at the glass in his hands.
He raised an eyebrow, not sure what she meant. "Butcher shop," he said. "Cordelia has a friend at the slaughter house."
Buffy shook her head. "'s Not what I meant," she mumbled. "Don't you long for human blood? Spike still drinks it, even if he has to buy it from 'donors' or steal from the hospital. Why don't you? Is it... because you have a soul?" Her voice held an odd quiver at the last word.
Angel contemplated his answer for a moment. He wished he knew where these questions were coming from all of a sudden. He suspected it had something to do with Spike and Buffy's emerging feelings for his bleached grandchilde. Angel was no fool. Spike loved Buffy as much as he'd ever loved Drusilla -- if not more. And he had long since realized that Buffy was starting to feel things for Spike. It bothered him. Not the fact that she was moving on -- after all, that's why he left Sunnydale in the first place -- but that she moved on to Spike, slayer of slayers.
"It's not easy," he said at last, slowly, carefully weighing his words. "It helps to have a soul, but it takes a lot of hard work. You know, Buffy," he said, sitting forward and capturing her eyes with his, "a couple of months, no, a year ago, I had to drink from a human. A woman, she was a friend. It was the only way I could think of to save her. I was working undercover with some demons when she came upon us. If I hadn't pretended to kill her, they would have done it. But it kept me up for months afterward. And every waking moment the memory was there: the salty-sweet flavor that's so unique to fresh human blood, the way it spurted from her vein when I broke through the skin..." He shuddered at the memory. Kate had understood why he did what he did, somehow. Still, drawing back from her had been the hardest thing since... since leaving Sunnydale.
Buffy hung onto his every word, clearly enraptured by his description. Her tongue flicked across her lips. Angel blinked at the look naked fascination on her face. "It gets easier with time," he said with a shrug. "But the craving, it never goes away. Not completely."
"Can I have a sip?" Buffy asked, reaching for his glass.
"What?" Angel cried. "No!" He snatched away the glass before she could grab it. "Buffy! What's gotten in to you? Why all these questions, this morbid fascination with my diet. Why now after all these years?"
"Angel..." Her voice hitched on a sob and tears glistened in her eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms, wipe away her tears, tell her that whatever it was, he would make it go away.
Then, his grisliest nightmare came true. When Willow brought the news of Buffy's death, Angel's world had fallen apart and he thought that nothing more horrible could ever happen. He was wrong. This was worse. Much, much worse. Before his astonished, disbelieving eyes, the girl he loved morphed into a vampire.
"Buffy! Who... How... When..." Coherent thought seemed to have left him and he couldn't form a single proper sentence. His eyes were glued to her face; her beautiful face, contorted with ridges and fangs. He gulped, feeling sick, afraid the blood he drank would come back up.
"Spike," she mumbled.
Molten anger surged through him, hot fury and hate and murderous rage. His game face surged forward unbidden and Angel found himself incapable to stop it. "That vampire's ugly ass is dust! Should have staked him years ago, when I had the chance."
* * *
Spike and Dawn reached the sprawling building that was Angel's home much later than Spike had planned. It had taken them a lot longer to get to Los Angeles than it should have. In his hurry he had forgotten that the DeSoto needed to gas up. They'd been seriously at risk of getting stranded in the desert before the car lurched into a small gas station on the last fumes in the tank. Spike was stuck inside, behind the blacked-out windows, while Dawn went outside to gas up and handle the leering gaze of the attendant. The continuous frustrated growl Spike had been helplessly emitting during their stop left his throat raw. He'd prayed for a single cloud so he could get out of the car and put the fear of the Big Bad into the wanker. Naturally, his prayer wasn't answered.
As if to add insult to injury, they got stuck in traffic on the highway, just outside the city limits. It was a dangerously pissed-off vampire who drove up in front of the Hyperion around three in the afternoon. Although Spike parked the DeSoto as close to the entrance as possible, the blanket still smoldered, about to burst into flames, when he finally ran through the front entrance into the cool, shaded lobby. Dawn followed on his heels.
Angel and Buffy spun around to face them. Bugger, was Spike's first thought when he saw they were both in game face. So much for breaking the news gently, with explanations and all.
The next thought was that his days were finally numbered. Angel pounced on him, grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. The business end of a wooden stake pierced his shirt, pressing painfully into his skin right on top of his heart. Bloody hell.
"Ow!" Spike yelled with his last breath, feet dangling above the marble floor. Over Angel's head he saw Buffy looking at them with a detached interest. "Watch it, mate!"
"Why?" Angel growled, his voice low and cold. "Why did you do it?" His tone reminded Spike strongly of Angelus and the blonde vampire knew he was never closer to the end of his unlife as he was now.
"It wasn't enough that she never staked you, was it? That she let you into her house, her life? No, not for William the Bloody," Angel answered his own question. "You always want to get the last word in, don't you, Spike, hand out a final insult. Did you do this to get back at me? Eh? I'm talking to you."
Conceited, much? thought Spike, unaware he was thinking in Scooby speak. "Not 'ike 'at," he ground out. A little more pressure on his throat and Angel would surely shatter his larynx. If he'd been a breathing creature, he'd have died already. Being as it was, it just made speech impossible.
"Angel, don't!" Dawn's was pulling on Angel's arm, vainly trying to make him let go. "It's not Spike's fault!"
Three pairs of yellow eyes swiveled in the direction of the frightened girl. Spike tried to shake his head but Angel's hand around his throat prohibited any freedom of movement.
"I made him do it," Dawn sobbed. "Buffy was dying. I'm sorry!" She turned in the direction of her sister. "I couldn't let you die. Not again. I made Spike... I told him I'd kill myself if he let you die. I'm sorry!"
Angel relaxed his iron grip on Spike's throat a fraction and instinct made the vampire draw in a ragged, unnecessary breath. A heavy silence followed, in which Angel and Buffy wrapped their minds around what Dawn told them. Before either could think of something to say, Dawn did an about-face and ran out of the front door.
"Dawnie, wait!" Buffy chased her into the bright sunlight.
"Buffy!" Spike screamed at the same instant his feet hit the floor. Angel was in a better position; in a vampiric blur too fast for the naked eye, he tackled Buffy, tearing her away from the door a moment before she would have walked out. She clung to him, sobbing.
Spike touched his bruised throat. He swallowed with difficulty, wincing at the pain it caused. It'd be a few days before he enjoyed his meals again.
Buffy pushed away from Angel and sought Spike's eyes. "Is it true?" she asked in a tear-filled voice. "What Dawn said, is it true?" She had morphed back to her human face and tears streaked her pale cheeks.
"Yes, luv," Spike admitted with a sigh. "Didn't want you to know, didn't want you to blame her. I'd rather you blame me. But yes, Nibblet did threaten she'd kill herself if I didn't do it. Had the big knife near her stomach and all."
* * *
Spike hovered near the front entrance of the hotel, his eyes glued to the glass doors. The sky outside was growing a deep shade of blue; sunset was imminent. A few more minutes, then he could escape. Get in the DeSoto, and skedaddle out of here before Angel or Buffy or any of her Scooby pals decided that enough was enough and plunged a stake through his heart. Although death wasn't the worst fate he could imagine. More terrible than being turned into dust would be to live with Buffy's silent recriminations.
After Dawn ran away, time crept by at a snail's pace, the seconds as long as minutes and each minute lasting an hour. Spike had wanted to go after Dawn and got frustrated with the bright sunlight that prevented him. Buffy said Dawn needed some time alone. She squeezed a reluctant promise out of Angel not to stake Spike right away --"Although he would deserve it," the older vampire had said-- and after he withdrew to his office, an uncomfortable silence had fallen over the Hyperion lobby. Spike couldn't meet Buffy's eyes so in the end she had taken up Angel's offer to get some sleep in one of the rooms, leaving Spike alone with his thoughts.
He squinted up at the sky. 't Was about time.
"Hey." Buffy's soft voice froze his hand reaching for the doorknob in mid-air.
"Hullo, pet," he said cautiously.
"See her yet? I hoped she'd come back before sunset. Los Angeles is a dangerous place for a girl out after dark."
Spike didn't reply; he didn't trust his voice. He worried about Dawn too, wished she had come back before it was time to leave. It would have been nice to be able to say goodbye to Nibblet.
Buffy glanced sideways at his prolonged silence and her eyes narrowed. "You were gonna bail, weren't you? Leave me alone to deal with the fall out?"
"No, pet, I--"
"Don't lie to me, William."
He gulped at her use of his given name and his shoulders slumped. She was right; he had been planning to bail on her. Guilt washed over him and sat heavy in his belly. "Sorry, luv. I know this is not what you wanted. I should not have let Dawn--"
"Shh," she hushed him. "I know why you did it. I don't hate you because of it. It's just another episode in the soap opera that's The Life of Buffy Summers. What's a little vampirism after being mojoed back from the dead, uh?" She snorted a humorless laugh and his heart went out to her. They should have left well enough alone after she died.
"I'm sorry for that too, luv," he murmured. Wasn't him, though, that time.
She turned around to face him, biting her lower lip. "Spike, I don't want you to go. I need your help to deal with... what I am. For better or for worse, you are my sire. You have a responsibility."
He nearly burst out laughing, when it him that she was right. Not many vampires lived up to the responsibilities of a sire. Didn't like the strings that came with a childe. In this case, however, he would happily accept them if she'd have him.
"You sure about that, pet?" he asked. He quirked his head in the direction of Angel's office. "What about the Poof?"
"He's willing to help. But we've grown too far apart. It won't work. I need you, Spike."
He contemplated for a moment, staring out the door while the streetlights turned on, casting their orange glow on the world. Then he gave a nod. "Let's go find the Bit and go home."
--END--
More Author Notes: Yes, it says "End". I know you'll probably clamor for me to write a sequel and I've seen some great ideas mentioned in the reviews (Thanks, guys!). I don't think I'll be writing more on this subject any time soon though. This was difficult to write (thoughts of Evil Buffy kept interfering until they resulted in the vignette 'Such Pretty Color', also on FF.net) and I have told the story that I wanted to tell. On the other hand, I've learned to never say never where my muse is concerned. In the meantime, thanks for your support and for reading!
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.
