Her head felt like it was made out of Styrofoam.
Bad Styrofoam.
The Styrofoam from hell.
She tried to open one eye, scrunched it tight shut again when the light hurt her brain. Where the hell was she? And why did she feel like she'd been in a car wreck? Momentary panic..maybe she had been! Taken Mom's car out for a spin in another misguided attempt to improve her driving skills. And now? Pretty sure that stuff under her cheek was tarmac and that sticky fluid? Had to be blood. She was probably lying smack in the middle of the highway somewhere, leaking vital body fluid and no one around for miles to help. Cleared her throat weakly, tried to speak. God, what was that taste in her mouth? Was that...cherry brandy? Since when had she ever drunk....
The eyes snapped open. Sharp focus. And there he was. Absolutely the last thing she would ever wish to see at this precise moment. Six-foot-something of blonde-haired provocation, sprawled out just a foot away, the most God-awful self-satisfied grin plastered all over his face. She closed her eyes again, moaning with sudden recognition.
"Wakey wakey, sunshine! Rise and shine."
Jesus, his voice! Was it always that loud? Like someone beating at the base of her skull with a toffee-hammer. She pressed her palms against the sides of her head, trying to stop the whirling sensation. No good. Felt sick. She raised her head a little, dragged herself up onto her elbows.
"What time is it?"
He shrugged, reaching a hand up to casually scratch his eyebrow,
"Dunno. You're the one with the watch."
Oh yeah. Right. Dragged her wrist round and tried to focus on the blinking red LED.
"7am? That can't be right."
He grunted, pulling himself slowly to his feet, stretching vampire limbs, quite unnecessarily she thought. God, but even watching him move made her queasy, or maybe it was just that horrible smell. The bottle of liquor was lying on the floor just inches from her, and the aroma wafting from it was enough to make her want to barf. She reached out weakly with one hand, and slapped it away.
"Oh right...now you don't want it near you? Pity you didn't feel like that last night. Damn near took me bloody hand off."
Didn't know what he was talking about, and didn't want to. Needed food, bread, crackers, anything to soak up the hideous cauldron of neat alcohol that was boiling away inside her.
"Is there anything to eat in here? Anywhere?"
She thought he shook his head, but she was sort of hoping she'd imagined it. No, there had to be something. With a supreme act of will pulled her legs up under herself, managed to achieve a semi-comfortable crouching position. God, her stomach. Her whole body. Felt like someone had ripped out her lower intestines and replaced them with sticklebricks. And she was cold, so cold in here, drew the thin covering around her like a second skin before she'd even realised what it was.
"Is this...your coat?"
"Listen, I've been thinking..."
He ignored her and, she noticed with another stir of nausea, he'd started bouncing lightly, up and down on the balls of his feet. Stop it...please. No fast movements...of any kind.
"...this place has to have some kind of safety mechanism. Something to let people know if there's someone trapped in here."
She swallowed, concentrate Buffy, this could be important.
"So?"
God, her stomach.
"So...we find it! Pull the bloody emergency cord, push the bleedin' button! Whatever it takes to us the fuck OUT OF HERE!!!"
"Spike....don't..."
"Don't WHAT?"
"Could you just...."
Her voice sunk to a whisper, mashing her fists against her eyelids. Silence and then a sigh from him, not entirely without compassion she thought. He, of all people, should know a little about the exquisite pain of a hang-over. Felt saliva rush to her mouth as she cramped up, her stomach twisting itself inside out in an effort to rid herself of the poison.
"Oh God...I think I'm gonna..."
He was on his knees beside her in a second, grabbing for the bed pan, sliding it under her mouth. She caught sight of the contents, a raw mess of cigarette butts, the stench of stale tobacco assailing her senses, before she retched. Convulsions, like her whole system was rebelling, clutching her stomach, choking and gulping for mouthfuls of air between spasms. She was only dimly aware of it, but she felt his hand pressing against the back of her neck, scraping her hair back out of her face and holding it there. Didn't have the strength to slap it away and besides, felt nice and cool. Down to just the dry heaving now, the worst part. She couldn't see the expression on his face but she was sure he must be loving this. Not every day a vamp got to see The Slayer chuck. This was going to be a great story to share over the next hand of poker.
That was the last of it, had to be. Just tearing sore throat now and unbelievable thirst. God! God! What the hell had she been thinking?
His voice was oddly soft, gentle even,
"That the lot?"
She nodded, pressing her lips together, eyes watering. Felt him gently release her hair, brush the last few strands off her burning cheeks. She opened her eyes, wiping them, risked a glance at him, but he wasn't even looking at her. Rummaging in a cardboard box he'd pulled off the shelf. Tearing open a pack of wet-wipes, he placed one hand firmly under her jaw, set to cleaning her face up. The sensation was wonderfully comforting, although she was trying like hell not to let him know that. The cool, watery smell of aloe soothing her senses, sending her back to childhood, in bed with a fever, her Mom bending over her with a damp face-cloth.
"Mmmm."
Had she said that, or just thought it? Peeked at him through a half-closed lid and saw the smirk. Oh brother. Managed to reach up and take hold of his hand. He faltered, handed her the wipe...and since when did vampires blush?
"Thanks....I can...manage now."
She couldn't look at him suddenly. This was too weird. The way he'd been touching her a minute ago, so unvampire, so unSpike, like he cared about her, about the way she was feeling. Had to have an ulterior motive. Or maybe he was just going crazy in here, maybe they both were. He sunk back against the wall, and she heard him fumbling for his lighter. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? He was never nervous. Never.
"Ack...my mouth..."
Someone had to say something to break the silence, the unfamiliar tension that was suddenly there between them.
"...feels like I licked the floor of Willy's clean."
He extended a hand, a small foil package and she eyed it, him, back to his hand.
"What's that? Is that...drugs?!!"
He rolled his eyes, unwrapped the paper,
"Juicy fruit, you daft cow."
"Oh."
Boy, did she feel stupid. Tentatively took the offering, bent it softly into her mouth, a question forming on her lips even before she'd had time to think about it,
"Do vampires like gum?"
He blinked at her like she was congenitally stupid or something, unwrapped a stick for himself, dropped it in, chewed slowly.
"Don't you?"
"Well, yeah...but..."
"But...vampires aren't people right?"
God, was he going to turn this into a political thing, cause she really didn't feel up to a debate. Not as if there was anything to debate anyway. The facts were pretty much indisputable.
"No. Vampires are monsters."
"Monsters can be people."
"People are people. Monsters are...something else."
His jaw twitched warningly. Great, he was pissed. Well, let him be. He knew she was right.
"Demons, Vampires, Monsters...they're not....they don't have souls."
"Oh they don't?"
"No they don't."
She was on solid ground with this one at least.
"So what's Angel then?"
She glared at him. Low shot, but why should she be surprised.
"Angel's different. He's...."
"He's a person?"
Gritted teeth,
"Yes."
He smiled, slow and deliberate, affected a puzzled frown, like she was explaining to a child.
"And what about Harris's demon bird? What's she then?"
"Anya's an ex-demon. She's human now. She has a soul."
"And that makes her....?"
"A person."
"Right."
He was shaking his head now, and she got a feeling she'd missed something, like in Math class when she'd suddenly hear her name; 'Buffy?', and what was the question again? He was grinding another cigarette out, that had to be his last one. Still smirking though and that was bugging her. He shouldn't smirk when she'd won.
"What's funny?"
He looked at her, surprised that she'd even care. Cocked his head to one side,
"You. Everything's black and white with you isn't it?"
She frowned,
"Not everything."
A short dry laugh,
"Not everything? People, good. Monsters, bad. Murder, wrong. Killing, right."
"Killing is not right, I didn't say that."
"No, but you do it."
"I kill demons."
"And demons aren't people."
"No."
"People are people."
"Yes...stop trying to..."
"What about bad people?"
"What about them? That's nothing to do with me?"
She stopped, faltered. What was he trying to say here? That she was making judgements, judging something she didn't understand? Well, he was wrong. She understood, she understood very well. No insecurity here, mister.
"Do you think they should be punished?"
"If they've done something wrong."
"Wrong? Like...kill someone?"
"Yeah..."
she almost snarled that last one,
"...cos where I'm from? That's usually considered wrong."
He sucked in a mouthful of air, let it out again with a hiss,
"So a person can be bad? Evil?"
"Yes. But that's none of my business..."
"None of your business?"
"No. That's to do with human laws."
"And you're the demon law?"
"Yes. I mean...no. I don't make the laws....but..."
"You just dole out the sentence?"
She gritted her teeth. Didn't know where this was going but she didn't like it. The way each answer came back with a question attached, like he was leading her somewhere, somewhere she didn't want to go. Making her think about stuff she hadn't touched on since she was called, making her mistrust universal truths. She fixed him with a stare,
"I'm The Slayer. I hunt demons. I kill them. End of story."
"Bad demons?"
She sighed, rolled over and lay on her back. Christ, Angel was right, he never gave up.
"Yes, Spike. Bad demons. I hunt the bad demons and then I kill them."
She covered her eyes with her hands, massaging her temples. Saw him reach over into his coat pocket, pull out another pack of Marlboros. Jesus! Cleared his throat before lighting up,
"Right. So...what about the good ones?"
- - - - - - - - - -
"And you can do it?"
"Nah. Never had the aptitude. More of a fists and feet man."
"But some vampires can?"
He shrugged, ran a hand back through his hair,
"Yeah. Some. Dru was a dab hand at it."
Extended two fingers towards her, pointing at her eyes, affected an overly dramatic, melancholy voice, a shaky little quaver that was almost uncanny,
"'Look at me....be in me!'"
He sniffed, dropped his hand,
"That kinda bollocks."
She shivered. The impression had been a little too good, making her skin crawl at the memory of the pale, dark-haired vampire and her mad eyes. In over a century he'd obviously had time to perfect it.
"You were with her a long time."
He nodded, not looking at her.
"Yeah. Long time."
"You loved her."
It wasn't a question, more a statement of fact but he took it like an insult. Like she was questioning the validity of any emotion that came from a vampire. His lip curled, almost spitting the reply,
"Yeah!! I loved her! That seem weird to you? I mean...me not having a soul and being a bad, evil demon and all?"
She shrugged,
"No, not really."
Looked at him, staring at her now, bright, bright blue eyes. She'd never noticed that before.
"I know vampires can love. Angel loved me. Even after his soul was gone. I think he loved me even then. The demon in him just...twisted it."
His eyes softened, darker blue, a small nod.
"Yeah. It did."
She looked away, shivered again. Wasn't even surprised this time when he moved closer to her, draping the coat around her shoulders again.
"Thanks."
- - - - - - - - - -
Her eyes cracked open, checked her watch.
12pm. High noon.
They'd been in here half a day. Seemed like much longer. Wondered if anyone had even noticed she was gone. Her Mom was away on a buying spree for the gallery, Giles had gone on one of his Watcher weekends and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. Even then who was to say that he would put two and two together. Her half-baked plan to break into the compound, the complete absence of Buffy. Might take him a day or so before he really started to worry. And it's not like anyone would miss Spike. Xander was probably organising a party right now.
She glanced over at him and saw he was asleep. Finally. She was starting to think that he'd never shut his eyes. Had been waiting for almost four hours now, with a bladder the size of a water melon. Shuffled slowly to her feet, trying to make as little noise as possible. There was another bedpan on the shelf, and that had to be her best option, tip-toed as stealthily as she could round the back of the shelf units, the other side of the room and set it down. Squatted, trying to keep sight of him. Suddenly the room didn't seem so big any more.
The noise was loud, damned stainless steel, but it was over with quickly and she let out a small sigh at the relief.
"'Bout bloody time too"
She almost overbalanced at the sound of his voice, grabbing at the metal shelving in alarm,
"Starting to think you must be half bleedin' camel."
- - - - - - - - - -
"So that beats...this?"
He sighed, took the cards off her again, checked them against his,
"Yeah. I've got three queens...see?"
"And what have I got?"
He grinned, biting down on the tongue depressor he was chewing,
"You've got shit Slayer."
She growled, grimaced, shoving another small pile of aspirin towards him.
"I think you're cheating."
He drew himself up, the picture of outrage,
"Cheat? With you? Like I'd bleedin' have to!"
Shuffled the cards again, preparing to deal,
"So is this what you do?"
Blue eyes questioned her,
"Do when?"
"With eternity I mean."
When he smiled, she almost forgot what he was sometimes. Almost forgot they were supposed to be enemies.
"Yeah. This and a lot of reading."
"Yeah? What sort of stuff? Horror?"
He raised his eyebrows, sighed. Exasperation.
"No."
Dealt the cards out fast like a pro, one of those guys in Las Vegas,
"Fiction mostly. Novels. Autobiographies. Poetry."
"Poetry?!!"
Hadn't meant to make it sound like that, so incredulous. Like a vampire could be interested in poetry. Forgetting when he'd grown up of course. Poetry was probably all the rage back then. Like WWF.
"Really?" she tempered it, gentle curiosity, "What sort of poetry?"
He shrugged, took a peek at his hand, lifted two more cards from the pack.
"All sorts."
She wasn't letting this one go, wondered why she was inquisitive, but it seemed so odd, so strangely jarring with all the...Spikeness. He liked poetry. Why should that surprise her? She'd always known he was a romantic. She frowned. In a really twisted sort of way.
"Give me an example."
He lifted his face from his cards, fixed her with a cool blue stare.
"An example?"
"Yeah. What's your favourite poem?"
He was trying to psyche her out again, she could tell, but this time she was certain she could win, had the upper hand. And sure enough he was faltering, more than a little uncomfortable with the secret he'd unwittingly revealed about himself.
"You want an example."
"You must know some by heart. Quote me something."
He frowned and, she noticed, sucked on his bottom lip for second. It was a funny little gesture, very human and she found herself almost smiling, waiting impatiently for his reply.
God...what was this? Wait a minute...was she...flirting? Was she flirting WITH SPIKE!!! Flushed bright red as she realised. Ick. Too creepy. As if he'd heard her thoughts, he turned those bluer than blue eyes to her again, began to speak, soft, melodious and the pit of her stomach turned to melting butter. God...since when did he know French?
"De passer par les barres,
son regard fixe est devenu ainsi épuisé qu'il ne tient désormais rien.
À lui il est comme si il y a mille barres,
et au delà des mille barres, aucun monde."
He paused and she managed to find her tongue at last, cleared her throat,
"So...what is it in English?"
Half-smiled, turned his face away as he tried to recollect,
"From passing through the bars,
his gaze has become so exhausted that it holds nothing anymore.
To him it is as if there are a thousand bars,
and beyond the thousand bars, no world.
The easy swinging of that lithe, potent stride,
which turns in on itself in ever-smaller circles,
is like a dance of power around a center
in which a great will stands numb.
Only at times the curtain of the pupils rises silently - an image enters,
goes though the tightened stillness of the limbs,
enters the heart...
and is no more."
She felt her heart start to race. The way he was speaking, directing the words specifically at her, as if he was describing her, made her mouth go dry. How could he know that? How could he know she felt that way? She had never told anyone, not even Giles. The nights she'd spent alone in her room, full of self-pity, the burden she carried seeming to crush her under it's monstrous weight.
She was the One, the ever-vigilant Slayer, her sole purpose, her whole life mapped out for her in books, in prophecies written centuries before she had even been born. Her choices not her own, nothing she did would change her destiny. Powerful and powerless at the same time. But how did he know that? Hot tears started to her eyes without warning and she shook her head, hoping he hadn't noticed. Forgetting though. Vampire remember? He noticed everything. Reached into the box beside him and handed her a tissue. She took it, met his eyes, daring him to laugh at her.
"It's such...a sad poem."
"Yeah." he said softly,
carefully folded the returned hanky and put it away.