Author note; Firstly, I am officially claiming this fanfic as AU (alternate universe) because I am implanting so many of my own ideas into the background that it is falling away from the information given in the series. This is actually intentional as it surprises readers more (you'll see... ;D) so please refrain from nitpicking along the lines of 'that never happened' and so forth. Secondly, keep reviewing as it is a great encouragement. Thanks!
Lots of conversation in this chapter, but I thought I'd been a little heavy on description as of late and the characters could use a little down-time before I cripple them again. Some insulting of characters, but it's not that I don't like them so no flames; blame Chem. In the meantime enjoy the slower pace; I'm not through with Spike yet. I promise you...
Whispers and Hurricanes of the Past
"What the big bad then? In terms that we all understand if you will, rather than shifty glances," Xander said, breaking the silence that had descended upon the group. Glancing at Chem briefly, Giles began to pace, his hands motioning as he spoke.
"Frisha Demons are remarkably rare and incredibly dangerous in the mature state. They hold the capability of turning emotion against a human, or any living creature for that matter, to such an extent that they spontaneously combust. The disturbing part is-"
"Oh, so there's a 'disturbing part'?" Xander interrupted offhandedly. Chem glared at him and he promptly fell quiet.
"As I was saying, the disturbing part is that they do not need to have direct contact with a human to kill them, or even have identified them visually. If powerful enough, one of these things could incinerate every living creature on the face of the planet."
"As you can see, quite an unpleasant creature to have residing in a good friend of mine," Chem added, clasping his hands firmly behind his back. "I know a fair bit about this type of demon, and I can assure you with the up-most confidence and regret that it cannot be removed from Spike's body. To do so would cause the fate that Mr. Giles has just described to descend upon a good many people. This creature's energy when channeled is deadly enough, but as it is now, with no cohesion or direction, to de-stabilize it would have disastrous results."
"So what do we do?" Willow asked, looking between the pair questioningly. Giles shrugged lightly and so all eyes turned back to Chem.
"Fresha demons, as Mr. Giles so intelligently pointed out, wield the power of emotion, a considerable weapon considering the grief you humans seem to put yourselves through. What he neglected to mention is that they also draw strength from feelings, more importantly negative feelings such as anger, sorrow, grief and so forth. The only way to combat them is to relieve the person they are feeding from of these negative emotions, be it by filling them or surrounding them in a sickly cocoon of love and happiness or ending their existence entirely.
"Deparis has apparently implanted Spike with this infant in the hopes of it growing off of his own 'reservoir', adding a round of torment to ensure that it is feeding nicely."
"But why Spike? Why not a person or some demon with a chip on his shoulder?" Buffy asked for the group, confusion evident on her pretty features.
"My dear, consider how long he has existed on this world? How many things has he done that he might regret, laying aside the customary maiming and killing he is so terribly famous for? And there is the issue of his previous life, where I am sure some truly traumatic events transpired."
"What-what do you mean?" Tara queried with genuine curiosity.
Chem shook his head slightly with a small smile. "It is not my place to say, nor would I wish to if it were. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will return to the apartment and ensure that Spike is healing appropriately. You may all proceed to research, or consume savory snacks, or whatever it is you do in the middle of the morning."
With that, he turned on his heel and proceeded to stride out of the shop, long legs moving his lithe form quickly. A shimmer of ultramarine flittered over his being before he became translucent, blending skin and material to match his environment. Satisfied now that he was entirely concealed, Chem stepped out into the sunlight and began a brisk walk across town, his shadow betraying his movements as he went.
*****
"Okay, creepy much?"
Buffy turned surprised eyes to Xander, who sat staring expectantly at the group for a response. "What? Why?"
"Chem. When he was talking and, sticking to the walls, I dunno... He just gives me the heebie-jeebies, and living on the Hell-Mouth I've learned to beware of the heebie-jeebies."
Willow nodded in agreement at his somewhat awkward explanation. "I'm with Xander. That guy is creepy. Did anyone else notice how he kept staring at us, like he was dissecting us with his eyes or nifty telepathic powers."
"Yeah, and isn't it awfully convenient that he turns up roundabout the same time that this Deparis did. And he knows an awful lot about this demon living in Spike. You know what? I reckon they might be working together," he concluded, sitting back in the chair with his arms crossed decisively, an almost challenging expression on his face.
"Well, yes, those are all good points, but we have no real reason to suspect anything of him," Giles pointed out wisely. "However I do believe that we should keep a wary eye on him."
"Don't we always," Buffy muttered as she rose. "I'm gonna talk to him; try to find out his real agenda. Or, you know, beat the snot outta him if I don't like the answer."
"Fine, but do be careful. I 'm not sure if he has any other capabilities that we are unaware of. He may be dangerous."
"Giles," she scolded playfully. "I'm always careful." At his unmoving expression she pouted slightly. "Well, nearly always."
****
Buffy soon discovered, much to her dismay, that hunting down invisible demons was hard. In the end, Chem had found her, calling down from the underside of the metal fire-escape he was attached to.
He had descended the wall quickly and within seconds was stood expectantly before her in the street, head tipped to one side as he observed her silently. She was trying to decide you best to approach him concerning the group's suspicions about him, and her own. He appeared to sense her line of thought, something that Buffy found disconcerting to say the least. What else was there to know about him?
"Please, allow me the pleasure of guessing the prompt behind this unexpected visit. You're friends are concerned that I have a hidden agenda, or that I am indeed Deparis and I also have the ability to alter my form as well as disguise it? Or perhaps they believe that I am working for the man and performing reconnaissance by admitting myself into your assembly? Am I getting warmer?"
Buffy scowled at him before replying in a level tone, "We want to know why you're helping us."
Chem looked taken aback then, overly stunned at the question. "Spike and I are friends, a point that I made obvious mere hours ago. I'm aghast that you would think otherwise."
"Then how come you're in town at almost the exact time this Deparis shows up?"
"Coincidence perhaps? Living on the Hell-Mouth must have you thinking that every nail that snags that pretty jumper of yours is up to something, poor girl. It's understandable; dealing with creatures of the night on a regular basis often has a paranoia effect on those not mentally strong enough to handle it. Now, is there any damning evidence to prove that I am a threat to you and to Spike's well being? Or have you only more speculation and 'gut-feeling' to accuse me with?"
The metaphorical 'tether' we all posses can only take so much abuse before it withers to nothing and snaps. When this happens in Buffy Summer's, who's tether, due to extreme circumstances, is remarkably short, the results can be quite remarkable in itself.
Her hand was around his throat in less than a second, and his booted-feet off the ground in two.
"I swear to God, if you put just one toe out of line, I'll pound you into the ground."
"Was that intended as cause for concern?" he asked, lips pulled into an amused grin as he watched her with sparkling eyes. Quite honestly he couldn't remember the last time he'd been having this much fun.
"It should be."
"No, I don't think it should."
"I don't think you're as stupid as you look," Buffy growled, bringing her face forward until she was nose-to-nose with him.
"My dear, no-one could be as stupid as I look," Chem replied with a smile, seemingly not noticing the constricting grip about his throat.
"Someone thinks he's a comedian."
"Now now, your teeth are showing."
Sighing in frustration at the complete lack of the response she wanted from the blue-haired demon, Buffy dropped him and stalked away in frustration. Once his feet were back on the ground, Chem merely rubbed at his throat and grinned harder, watching her departing back. This one was a real firecracker, he mused feeling quite pleased.
"You love him, don't you?"
Buffy stopped dead at that question, but quickly masked her hesitation and turned slowly with a small smile to face Chem, who now stood exactly where she had dropped him; at a respectable and safe distance from her, considering where this conversation seemed to be going.
"Now why would you go and say a stupid thing like that? Do you have a death wish?"
"It is actually quite remarkable how many people ask me that."
"So why the interest in my feelings? Which do not involve a love for Spike by the way."
If anything, his expression brightened at her reply, seeing that this conversation would turn out to be longer than a few sentences. She didn't move as he glided towards her, bright eyes never leaving her face and a small, considering smile played on his lips.
"Madam, I pride myself on my skills as an observer. I can tell a rather disconcerting amount about a person from only watching their body movements and listening to the pitch of their voice when they address someone. You are quite aware that I can do this, and you obviously feel threatened that I will stumble onto something which you so desperately try to hide."
Arms crossed in a subconsciously defiant gesture as Chem took another experimental step forward. "And what might that be?" She regretted the words the second they had left her, knowing that whatever came next was going to be unpleasant.
"That, simply put, you are in love with Spike. It's quite obvious if you know what to look for; pupil dilation and the such."
"I am not in love with Spike," she snapped louder than she had intended.
Chem's smile didn't falter, although his brow pulled in contemplation as he spoke. "Not yet, granted, but that bud of emotion will soon blossom. You like him enough to stand his presence in extremely close quarters, from what I have heard, and feel concern for him.
"I also know that with this remarkably unpleasant demon residing in his body he is going to need that to liking save us all. I advise you to at least show some affection for him, without the customary lashing out that you seem to see as necessary in a conversation with Spike; verbally or physically."
"I'll talk to him," she relented, wanting to end the conversation that had taken an uncomfortable and abrupt turn as quickly as possible.
He smiled again, a genuine warm smile that touched his eyes. "That is all I ask." Bowing slightly in thanks, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the wall, scaling it rapidly and shimmering into air as he reached the ledge of the roof. This left a stunned Buffy alone in the road, wondering at exactly how an aggressive confrontation had evolved into this.
Chem watched her go with a good deal of interest. Look back, he mentally told her, watching her intently from where he perched on the rooftop. Look over your shoulder, you know you want to.
She was almost at the end of the street and reaching the main road when she glanced over her shoulder where he had last been visible, then she was gone. Chem grinned and started walking across the roof in the general direction of home, feeling encouraged and quite pleased with himself.
****
Chem had stayed with Spike at Xander's apartment, ignoring the barrage of complaints from Anya and stating quite flatly that he couldn't be moved for at least three days. It was in fact four days before the wounds were nothing more than tender, and Spike found that moving his arm only hurt marginally. Assuring them all that he had stocked up Spike's fridge with a weeks supply of human blood, Chem escorted the weakened Vampire home in the dead of night, ensuring that no harm came to him as they walked.
"Ah, crypt-sweet-crypt," he announced cheerfully, opening the door wide and ushering Spike inside. "I took the liberty of recording all the episodes of Passions that you missed whilst you were so unavoidably devoid of consciousness. I thought that you would not be slaying for a few nights while you recuperate, and rather than pacing or performing some other trivial act, you could watch your trashy program."
"Yeah, thanks mate. Always knew just how to pick up a guys spirits, or demon in my case," Spike replied softly, moving about the familiar area as he shrugged out of his duster. His throat was still sore but had rebuilt itself quickly considering that a piece of metal had been rammed through it. Vampire healing really is a marvelous thing he thought idly.
Chem closed the heavy door and followed the Vampire a few paces before sitting against he wall, watching as he dropped lightly into the old chair in front of the television. "And why, may I ask, would your demon be down?"
Spike exhaled heavily, fumbling in his pockets for a cigarette. Snorting with some amusement when he produced a packet sodden with his own blood, he tossed it aside and gratefully received the packet that Chem threw at him. Lighting it and feeling the smoke run down into his cool lungs, he stared at the opposite wall as he sought to answer the question.
Ordinarily he would never voice feelings of this description, but with Chem everything was far from ordinary. The old demon would have it all figured out and summed up within a few hours of being in his presence even if he chose not to reply. But talking to Chem would allow him the chance to get a fresher perspective on his experience, and perhaps quiet his feelings of unrest. And he wouldn't take the piss like any of the Scoobies would. Heck, he thought to himself, even the Slayer would laugh at his unrest.
"I'm bloody embarrassed for a start, mate. Deparis did a number on me good and proper, and I couldn't do a damn thing."
"That's understandable. The restraining field he used is as good an excuse as any to prevent any action on your part. And I don't think you should feel embarrassed; I believe the Slayer's group is actually quite in awe of you."
"How's that?"
"Well, even though you suffered immense injuries you were up and about less than a week later bitching about Anya's house-keeping and glaring at the Wench, which is perfectly reasonable as I have had the misfortune of learning."
"You've had the displeasure of talking to him then?"
"Well, I talked and he interrupted. Cries for attention I daresay. He has become so dependent on the group for companionship, the knowledge that all have something to offer in the fight for light, righteousness and the American way other than him has left him feeling rather threatened. I suspect he feels a yearning to be a more helpful member rather than merely an extra researcher, and has taken it upon himself to be the one who lightheartedly diffuses any discomfort with a pointless quip." He paused, summing up the description into a conclusion. "What a pathetic existence."
"Yeah, we're all real pathetic." Spike was up again now, pacing the length of the crypt as he took long, unnecessary drags of his cigarette, idly noting the way the tip flared brightly when he drew air. "You know what, I'm getting really pissed off about being dependent on Buffy and her groupies. First, I had to rely on them for food when I got this soddin' chip and now I need them to peel me off walls when I get my ass kicked."
Chem remained silent for a moment, turning the exasperated words over in his mind, like a child sucking on a new sweet, as Spike finished the first cigarette and rapidly produced another.
"I believe that there is at least one advantage to you having that 'soddin' chip' in your head. Your beloved Slayer does not fear you any more; you never have to see that look of anxiety in her eyes when she sees you in the shadows as long as you have that chip. I would go so far as to say that it has done you a favor."
Spike stared at the demon with something akin to unhindered amazement, the cigarette now hanging limply from his cool lips. Chem simply stared back expectantly, a smile on his lips that just pushed looking smug, but only just.
Remaining quiet long enough to actually think about what he had said, Spike found he answered without the flare of anger at the demon's audacity he had expected.
"I suppose you're right about that. I love her, I'm not stupid enough not to know you've gotten that figured out by now."
"I never pinned you as stupid. On the contrary, your intelligence and, how shall I put this? 'Unique qualities', make you one of my favorite associates. You always find a way to surprise me, which I find endearing and extremely refreshing when you have lived as long as I have. For example, I have never known a Vampire who loves as completely and blindly as you, and there is a good chance that I never will again. Well, except for Angel and he is so much of a prat as to be an embarrassment to your kind. You have my sympathies, really."
"What other 'unique qualities' do I have that you find so amusing?"
"Well, your extreme choice of hair colour for one."
"Look who's talking."
"Granted. But you always were serious about looking the part; predator and all that."
"Well, you never took anything seriously."
"Why would I? I require a good deal of amusement to prevent my life from becoming insufferably boring. After all, we will all live and make no real difference in the universe and then die, or exist meaninglessly for eternity to speak of gods and the more unfortunate creatures or the underworld."
"Not Buffy."
"Explain."
"She's the Slayer. She makes a difference every day."
"The exception to the rule perhaps. Now, turning to more important matters such as our impending doom, what are your thoughts?"
Spike stopped his pacing and scuffed out the remains of the cigarette, a hand moving to lightly touch at his side where he was told a demon child was residing, though he couldn't feel it. "I reckon I'll be dead before this thing has a chance to do any damage."
"Why? Are you planning on taking a nice walk across a bonfire or through the sunshine? I must say I am offended that I wasn't invited to your demise."
"I'm not killing myself, dipstick. Not if I don't have to anyway. Buffy'll have done it before the week is out, you just watch. It's the only way to stop this thing from maturing and wiping out half of Sunnydale."
"I don't think she can kill you. Her sister seems quite taken with you and your demise at her hands would create a serious rift between them."
"That's another reason I'm willing to get dusted. I promised the Slayer, Buffy, that I'd protect Dawn until the end of the world. And even if I'm going to end the world that promise still stands and I won't let her down."
"This is exactly what I meant by how you keep on surprising me. It really is a pleasure to be in your presence. Now, I tire of these serious topics. What would you like to do now that you are fully mobile again?"
"Go out and get hammered."
"Excellent. Lead on."
*****
Finally. The animal's retreat was empty and quiet again. No prying eyes to watch him and no one to interfere. Everything was critical now.
Deparis hefted the weight further up on his shoulder from where it had slipped, the moisture making it slick and difficult to hold, but he managed. It was important that this be done well; everything depended on this from here forward and he would hate to see all of his good work fall to waste because of a simple mistake.
The animal's companion had caused him to fall behind schedule, but it had saved its skin by leading them both out to become blinded with alcohol, which would give him time to correct the mistake.
His Precious was hungry again, he could feel it. Had to feed it. Had to encourage it to grow big and strong, like how mothers told their sons to eat their eggs and milk. Eggs and milk were easy to get though. Dumb animals gave it up without a fight. But his Precious needed something from a stronger animal than that. It was weaker now but it would still need to be broken entirely before his precious could feast. Could a mother present a feast of eggs and milk for her sons to ensure that they grew big and strong?
He jerked his head sharply, breaking his mental ramblings. It was a flaw of his that he was occasionally reminded of. He did it when he was nervous. Not that he should be. Everything was planned. Everything would work. It was going to work.
Releasing his bag to flick his wrist at the door, Deparis readjusted the burden a final time and stepped inside, the door shutting behind him. The dust here was old and dead; it hadn't seen the sun for years. It was a wonderful type of dust, the dirt molding about his shoes as he walked across it, savoring the lifeless quality of the air.
It had nested here, this animal, made a cosy little burrow to hide in when the light came up. Now where to leave his gift? Where would be appropriate? It had to be perfect after all. His Precious would settle for nothing less.
Dropping the large plastic cocoon on the concrete floor, Deparis crouched and undid the zip, careful to avoid snagging anything on the inside. Open now and bearing its contents to him, he stood again and looked about the room for a place to put it. It was a beautiful thing, and a brilliant idea spawned of his own mind. It had been hard to get this tool, so it was imperative that it be used to the best of its ability. It had to be perfect.
Looking up now, his body stilled completely as a small, pleased smile smoothed his thin lips. Perfect.
*****
It was two hours after they had entered the bar that Chem and Spike left it. Chem had stated that he had an appointment in the morning and so could not afford to have his mind entirely devoid of equilibrium, but he was happy to destroy his thought processes with Spike in the future.
Assuring him that he was sober enough to get back to his crypt safely, Spike had walked alone back to the building which he had long ago claimed as 'home'. He sensed something was wrong the second he laid a palm on the door, the hairs on his nape prickling and his stomach tightening at the anticipation of a fight.
Kicking the door open sharply, he found that every candle had been extinguished so that it was pitch black inside, the steps illuminated only by the light of the moon, which silhouetted his form in the doorway. He heard nothing, one of the few senses he could rely on from where he was stood; even his keen vision couldn't penetrate that inky blackness.
Stepping inside now, his instincts screaming warnings still, Spike reached blindly into his back pocket for his lighter, igniting the wick of the candle by the door before kicking it shut behind him. Still keeping an eye on the darkness for an attack, he lit the rest of the small collection of candles by the door until there were enough burning to provide him with enough illumination to see inside clearly.
Something was hanging in the dark, suspended from the ceiling from a cord, or rope, he couldn't quite tell. Spike's throat constricted at the size of the figure; it was so small, bearing the barest features of a girl showing through the drenched, torn dress.
Relieved to see that it was too small to be Dawn, he felt a strange recognition none-the-less. Some demon had to be playing a sick joke on him, trying to scare him. It wouldn't work he decided; he'd seen and caused enough death in his long unlife that nothing really surprised him anymore.
He sniffed the air from his vantage-point at the top of the stairs, the body hanging several meters away, and froze. His eyes widened, mouth agape and a cold lead ball formed in the pit of his stomach. Forcing his body to move, he dragged himself almost unwillingly to it, a hand reaching out to touch it, recoiling immediately when he recognized her.
A choked gasp, then a sob, and he backed away slowly, head shaking in desperate denial.
Catherine.
*****
Seeds of doubt concerning Chem? Just how insane is Deparis? Who exactly is Catherine? I can practically sense the hatred being fired at me from you. Tell me! After all, multiple reviews = the next part as soon as I write it.