Disclaimer etc.: see chapter 1
Death Awaits: chapter 4 - The Vampire
The Slayer kicks in the door of the crypt with one decisive blow, and we move in. I have assembled my faithful crossbow, brought in pieces from England, and now there is a bolt fitted, ready to be fired. Giles, next to me, carries a small battle-axe, which he dug out of a chest this morning before we left.
The crypt is dark apart from the sunlight streaming through the broken door, and that light illuminates the bleached blond hair of the figure lying, apparently asleep, on the top of a tomb in the centre of the crypt. Rather incongruously, there is a battered armchair and a television nearby, and the sleeper has a blanket over his body.
"Spike!" says the Slayer, and the figure sits up.
"Slayer?" He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Watcher? And who's that?"
"Get up," Buffy orders, and fixes him with a stare until he does so, pulling on a pair of faded black jeans lying over the neighbouring tomb, and shrugging on an equally faded black t-shirt.
"Well? Better be a bloody good reason for waking someone from his beauty sleep," he says, lighting up a cigarette. He has a vaguely Cockney accent.
The Slayer moves quickly, and has him pinned against the wall before another word can be spoken. The cigarette lies burning on the floor, and silently Giles stamps it out.
"Have you seen Angel?" she demands, her hand locked around his neck and a stake at his chest.
"Peaches? Not for a year." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Fallen out with Captain America, have you, Slayer?"
She lets out a sharp breath and releases him. "Riley and I are still together. This has nothing to do with him. Have you seen Angel, Spike?"
Spike - William the Bloody - shakes his head and lights another cigarette. "You know the poof and I don't get along. Why?"
Giles sighs, and steps in. "Mike, this is Spike. Spike, Mike Fletcher. From the Council." Spike eyes me warily, and I lower the crossbow. "Mike brought some disturbing news. We've heard that Angel has had his soul taken away again, that Darla has been resurrected and remade, and that the pair of them are travelling with someone called, erm, Luc Tarpeau. The Council thinks it was he who cast the spell."
"Luc?" Spike says, taking a deep draw on his cigarette. "He never let me know he was back in the States."
"So you know him?" Buffy asks.
"Yeah, I know him," Spike returns. "Clever bastard. Used to be the apple of Angelus' eye, at one point. Saw him last in Chicago, the thirties, and got the odd letter from him since then."
"So you get on?" Giles says.
Spike shrugs. "Okay, yeah. He's a reasonable guy, for one of us."
"So why would he have turned Angel?" Buffy snaps. "If he's so reasonable?"
"Slayer, you're missing somethin' here, aren't you?" the vampire says calmly. "No vamp in his right mind would stand by and watch Angelus with a soul without wanting to do something. I tried to kill him. Luc tried to kill the soul. Glad to hear he succeeded."
Buffy folds her arms and looks at the floor, and Giles frowns. There is silence.
"Shall I tell him you're looking for him, when he gets here?" Spike questions, a smile playing on his lips. "You can have that battle all over again. Good to watch, that was."
Giles looks ready to dust the vampire now, but the Slayer lifts her head and shakes it in her Watcher's direction. "Giles ." She turns to Spike. "When he comes, tell me. I want to know."
"What'll stop me from not telling you?" Spike asks. I am wondering this myself.
"You need me to protect you," Buffy points out, and I recall the explanation of how Spike's chip works.
Spike goes to the door, and standing in its shadows gestures towards the sunlight outside. "Not when Angelus gets here, I won't. He'll protect me. Thanks for the news, Slayer. See you around."
Now it is Giles's turn to shake his head at Buffy, and she lowers her stake and glares at Spike. For a moment, there is palpable tension, and then she leads the way out of the crypt. The door is banged shut behind us.
I take aim at a tree-trunk and fire the bolt still loaded into my crossbow. The Slayer lets out a short, bitter laugh at the act, and then throws her stake after the bolt. It bounces off the trunk and lands in the grass. Together, we cross to collect our weapons.
"So, it seems we have lost a potential ally," Giles says, as we begin to walk back towards the town centre.
"I thought," Buffy says, her tone low, "that he'd be with us."
"He's a vampire," I point out.
The Slayer sighs. "Last time . he was with us."
"That was last time," Giles reminds her gently. "This is this time. You can't regard Spike as a friend, Buffy, you know that. Mike's right - he's a vampire, and his loyalties will lie with the members of his line. You must be prepared to stake all of them."
She looks at us, her huge eyes glistening. "I don't know if I can, Giles."
"I didn't think I could," I put in. "That's why I came to you. Maybe we can do it together."
"Maybe." She straightens, and manages a small smile. "Maybe. You dusted that tree pretty well."
I smile back, glowing inside at the praise from the Slayer, and thinking that I'm starting to feel fond of her, instead of simply in awe of her. For the last five years I have been taught that the Slayer - not necessarily Buffy Summers, but the figure of the Slayer - is almost a divine figure, someone to look up to and respect. I wasn't expecting to find a slim, beautiful blonde girl with friends and an attitude. I don't know what I was expecting, actually. I must have had a picture of somebody rather like Superwoman in my mind, and how wrong I was. I decide that I like the real Slayer much more; that respect is still a factor in the equation, but true human emotion now plays a part. If it comes to it, I will not let her be the one who has to thrust a stake into the heart of someone she once loved. If it kills me, I will dust Angelus - now, the oaths I took, to give my life for the Council and the Slayer, begin to make sense.
Buffy and Giles start to discuss plans for the evening, and I listen with half an ear, my thoughts running on inside my head. I wonder what Wesley thought of his Slayer, when he arrived in this little town fresh from Watcher training and full of the importance of being activated. When we said goodbye to each other, he was so excited but trying to hide it, he had cartons of books packed and addressed and ready to send across the Atlantic. He promised to write, and he did write, but the tone of his letters changed from positive to negative very quickly. He spoke of a Slayer who would not obey him and an ex-Watcher who would not cooperate; of a group around the Slayer who should have been kept away; and another Slayer, Faith, who constantly eyed him in a 'disconcerting manner'. Once or twice, he mentioned the vampire with a soul who had within days of his arrival saved his life.
The letters petered out following Wesley's dismissal by the Council, although I did receive a few from Los Angeles. The last one was three months ago, an enthusiastic missive telling of prophecy and celebration. It was the old excited Wesley I had said goodbye to in London over a year and a half before.
"Tonight, the Bronze, then," Buffy says, her voice cutting through my reflections. "Me and Mike and the gang. You won't come, Giles?"
"I'll research spells," Giles replies. "It would be useful to find out what this Breton used on Angel."
I push Wesley to the back of my mind, and start to concentrate on the job at hand. I have a feeling it will be a long day.
Death Awaits: chapter 4 - The Vampire
The Slayer kicks in the door of the crypt with one decisive blow, and we move in. I have assembled my faithful crossbow, brought in pieces from England, and now there is a bolt fitted, ready to be fired. Giles, next to me, carries a small battle-axe, which he dug out of a chest this morning before we left.
The crypt is dark apart from the sunlight streaming through the broken door, and that light illuminates the bleached blond hair of the figure lying, apparently asleep, on the top of a tomb in the centre of the crypt. Rather incongruously, there is a battered armchair and a television nearby, and the sleeper has a blanket over his body.
"Spike!" says the Slayer, and the figure sits up.
"Slayer?" He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Watcher? And who's that?"
"Get up," Buffy orders, and fixes him with a stare until he does so, pulling on a pair of faded black jeans lying over the neighbouring tomb, and shrugging on an equally faded black t-shirt.
"Well? Better be a bloody good reason for waking someone from his beauty sleep," he says, lighting up a cigarette. He has a vaguely Cockney accent.
The Slayer moves quickly, and has him pinned against the wall before another word can be spoken. The cigarette lies burning on the floor, and silently Giles stamps it out.
"Have you seen Angel?" she demands, her hand locked around his neck and a stake at his chest.
"Peaches? Not for a year." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Fallen out with Captain America, have you, Slayer?"
She lets out a sharp breath and releases him. "Riley and I are still together. This has nothing to do with him. Have you seen Angel, Spike?"
Spike - William the Bloody - shakes his head and lights another cigarette. "You know the poof and I don't get along. Why?"
Giles sighs, and steps in. "Mike, this is Spike. Spike, Mike Fletcher. From the Council." Spike eyes me warily, and I lower the crossbow. "Mike brought some disturbing news. We've heard that Angel has had his soul taken away again, that Darla has been resurrected and remade, and that the pair of them are travelling with someone called, erm, Luc Tarpeau. The Council thinks it was he who cast the spell."
"Luc?" Spike says, taking a deep draw on his cigarette. "He never let me know he was back in the States."
"So you know him?" Buffy asks.
"Yeah, I know him," Spike returns. "Clever bastard. Used to be the apple of Angelus' eye, at one point. Saw him last in Chicago, the thirties, and got the odd letter from him since then."
"So you get on?" Giles says.
Spike shrugs. "Okay, yeah. He's a reasonable guy, for one of us."
"So why would he have turned Angel?" Buffy snaps. "If he's so reasonable?"
"Slayer, you're missing somethin' here, aren't you?" the vampire says calmly. "No vamp in his right mind would stand by and watch Angelus with a soul without wanting to do something. I tried to kill him. Luc tried to kill the soul. Glad to hear he succeeded."
Buffy folds her arms and looks at the floor, and Giles frowns. There is silence.
"Shall I tell him you're looking for him, when he gets here?" Spike questions, a smile playing on his lips. "You can have that battle all over again. Good to watch, that was."
Giles looks ready to dust the vampire now, but the Slayer lifts her head and shakes it in her Watcher's direction. "Giles ." She turns to Spike. "When he comes, tell me. I want to know."
"What'll stop me from not telling you?" Spike asks. I am wondering this myself.
"You need me to protect you," Buffy points out, and I recall the explanation of how Spike's chip works.
Spike goes to the door, and standing in its shadows gestures towards the sunlight outside. "Not when Angelus gets here, I won't. He'll protect me. Thanks for the news, Slayer. See you around."
Now it is Giles's turn to shake his head at Buffy, and she lowers her stake and glares at Spike. For a moment, there is palpable tension, and then she leads the way out of the crypt. The door is banged shut behind us.
I take aim at a tree-trunk and fire the bolt still loaded into my crossbow. The Slayer lets out a short, bitter laugh at the act, and then throws her stake after the bolt. It bounces off the trunk and lands in the grass. Together, we cross to collect our weapons.
"So, it seems we have lost a potential ally," Giles says, as we begin to walk back towards the town centre.
"I thought," Buffy says, her tone low, "that he'd be with us."
"He's a vampire," I point out.
The Slayer sighs. "Last time . he was with us."
"That was last time," Giles reminds her gently. "This is this time. You can't regard Spike as a friend, Buffy, you know that. Mike's right - he's a vampire, and his loyalties will lie with the members of his line. You must be prepared to stake all of them."
She looks at us, her huge eyes glistening. "I don't know if I can, Giles."
"I didn't think I could," I put in. "That's why I came to you. Maybe we can do it together."
"Maybe." She straightens, and manages a small smile. "Maybe. You dusted that tree pretty well."
I smile back, glowing inside at the praise from the Slayer, and thinking that I'm starting to feel fond of her, instead of simply in awe of her. For the last five years I have been taught that the Slayer - not necessarily Buffy Summers, but the figure of the Slayer - is almost a divine figure, someone to look up to and respect. I wasn't expecting to find a slim, beautiful blonde girl with friends and an attitude. I don't know what I was expecting, actually. I must have had a picture of somebody rather like Superwoman in my mind, and how wrong I was. I decide that I like the real Slayer much more; that respect is still a factor in the equation, but true human emotion now plays a part. If it comes to it, I will not let her be the one who has to thrust a stake into the heart of someone she once loved. If it kills me, I will dust Angelus - now, the oaths I took, to give my life for the Council and the Slayer, begin to make sense.
Buffy and Giles start to discuss plans for the evening, and I listen with half an ear, my thoughts running on inside my head. I wonder what Wesley thought of his Slayer, when he arrived in this little town fresh from Watcher training and full of the importance of being activated. When we said goodbye to each other, he was so excited but trying to hide it, he had cartons of books packed and addressed and ready to send across the Atlantic. He promised to write, and he did write, but the tone of his letters changed from positive to negative very quickly. He spoke of a Slayer who would not obey him and an ex-Watcher who would not cooperate; of a group around the Slayer who should have been kept away; and another Slayer, Faith, who constantly eyed him in a 'disconcerting manner'. Once or twice, he mentioned the vampire with a soul who had within days of his arrival saved his life.
The letters petered out following Wesley's dismissal by the Council, although I did receive a few from Los Angeles. The last one was three months ago, an enthusiastic missive telling of prophecy and celebration. It was the old excited Wesley I had said goodbye to in London over a year and a half before.
"Tonight, the Bronze, then," Buffy says, her voice cutting through my reflections. "Me and Mike and the gang. You won't come, Giles?"
"I'll research spells," Giles replies. "It would be useful to find out what this Breton used on Angel."
I push Wesley to the back of my mind, and start to concentrate on the job at hand. I have a feeling it will be a long day.