Undone

Chapter One

Spoilers: Through Grave, but no season 7 spoilers.

Disclaimer: This is just for fun and practice. None of the characters/concepts are mine.

Author's Note: Thanks to Sass for the beta, as always you are great! And thanks to everyone who supported and reviewed my last fic, The Keeper of Truth. Because of you all, it's been nominated twice in the Watching You awards. I appreciate it so much!

****

            That Spike was back didn't surprise her. She'd always known he'd return, eventually. Tenacious to the core, that was Spike. It was his signature quality, the first and last she'd known of him. How had Angel put it, that day in the library? "Once he starts something he doesn't stop until everything in his path is dead."

Those words were the first to cross her mind when Clem told her of Spike's return. Her stomach had clenched but she'd been determined not to let anything show. She'd smiled kindly, if a bit tightly, and nodded her thanks before going on to ask Clem if he'd keep Dawn company for the night. She had patrolling to do and Dawn, feeling sick, hadn't wanted to be alone.

Both Clem staying over and Dawn being sick had occurred enough over the past six months to become routine. With all the Scoobies still in England, and Dawn's doctors unable to offer a diagnosis for her symptoms, it seemed that the routine wouldn't be changing anytime soon.  

            Except now, Spike was back. There were issues to be faced. No matter what he says, things won't change, Buffy told herself as she neared the crypt, her fists jammed into the pockets of her oldest, most comfortable sweatshirt.

            Reaching the door, she paused a moment to press her hand against the wood, warm from the barely-set sun. Memories washed over her, of fear, of repugnance… of a need so great, the walls of her body could barely contain it. Forget it. All I need from him now is to know he's okay. That's all. Just so I can live with myself.

She knew she'd used him. There was no excuse for it, not really. Just a walking, sometimes-breathing vibrator, that's how she'd treated him. Even when she'd slipped, when she started to forget, to treat him like a man, it never lasted beyond the final, gasping climax or the flustered rush to cover her nakedness that followed.

Liar. The word whipped through her. She sucked in sharply, her hands clenching against the planks of the door. Okay, so there had been feelings. Her feelings, his… love, maybe. His love, almost for sure. She'd seen it in his eyes many times, but most of all, she'd seen it in his horror at what he'd almost done.

Buffy, my god, I didn't … And he hadn't meant to, she knew it. She knew him. He'd meant to do exactly what he said- to make her feel. To make her feel for him. It wasn't okay. Not even a little. But she understood it. Spike was who he was, or rather, what he was. A demon. A monster. To forget that had been her biggest mistake. She'd let the lion out of the cage and she'd turned her back on it.

If he'd been a man, she would have never forgiven him. She would've had him in jail months ago. But he wasn't a man. He was a monster, and he'd acted as such. She could no more hold the attack against him than she could hold violence against that lion.

And he never held it against me. The inner whisper was cold and lashing. He never held any of it against me.

There was a possibility that he was mad at her. That he wouldn't want to see her. He'd had more than six months to think over what had happened between them. What if he had started to blame her from what she'd done? The beating in the alley- All the beatings, she remembered with shame. All the damage, things little and big she'd done to him, things that changed his life enough to send him running out of town.

No. No, I can't think that. He left town horrified at himself, not at me. She called up the image of his eyes, shaken, aghast. And of his trembling body, crouched where she'd kicked him on her bathroom floor. A terrible night for them both, and not one she'd ever forget. He wouldn't have been able to forget it either, she was sure. That night was the turning point in their relationship. The ending.

Shaking her head, she cleared her mind of all thoughts of the past. Just go in, make sure he's okay. Ease your conscience and your curiosity, and leave. No need for big, dramatic scenes.

            She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and flung the door open. Striding inside as she'd done a million times before, she stood in the center of the room, her hands on her hips. She raised her chin boldly and cocked her head to the side, listening, searching for him in the thick darkness. "Spike? Are you here?"

A crashing sound rose from below, followed by a rapid scrambling. Moving closer to the opening in the ground, she heard someone coming up the ladder. "Spike?"

She watched as he climbed up the last few steps, though it was too dark to make out his details. He scuttled away as soon as he reached the upper level, his silhouette hunched and thin. She took a step towards him. He moved farther away, keeping several feet of darkness between them. "Spike… that is you, right?"  

            "It is," he said. His voice made her frown. It sounded forced, graveled, and decidedly un-Spike like. He leaned against the far wall. Though he faced her direction, she knew he wasn't looking at her. 

            Something's wrong. He's not acting right. He's not acting… Spike-like. She backed up until her knees hit the cold stone of the sarcophagus, as if distance could give her a clearer view of him, but he was still just an outline, a shape she once could have traced from memory and now could barely recognize. "Spike? What's wrong with you?"

            "Who are you?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is my home you're in. I live here again, and you should really learn to knock before entering someone's… someone's home. My home."

            Her jaw slackened as she stood there, shocked and very shaken. "It's me. Buffy."

            With a sharp laugh, Spike started back towards the opening to the lower level. "You're not Buffy. Buffy doesn't look like you. She has hair, a face… you're just a shadow, little spook." He knelt on the ground, putting one foot on the ladder.

            "Spike, wait." Beside her sat a candle, with a match on the round base of its holder. She lit it with a quick strike and held it up to illuminate her features. "See, it's me. Hair, face, the whole works." She took in the narrow set of his shoulders, frozen now as he watched her, and her voice softened. "It's me, Spike. Just me. Buffy."

            Rising slowly, he was silent for a moment, standing stiff and still as a statue. Buffy could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't move for fear of scaring him away. The sound of her breathing rasped in her ears; she bit her lip and forced herself to be calm. The nails of her left hand bit into her palm, and her right clenched so tightly around the candle holder, the brass seemed to burn her skin. Be stiller than still, she told herself. Be quieter than quiet. Don't give him an excuse to run away.

Finally he took a cautious step towards her. His eyes blinked rapidly as he stepped into the candle light. Buffy forced herself not to recoil as the tangy stench of him fell over her. He looked worse than he smelled, all hollow eyes and cheekbones in a face gaunt and grimy, but at least the cheekbones were familiar and the eyes were focusing, sharpening in on her own.

"Buffy?" he said finally, the word bursting out of him in a gasp.

Relief made her smile. "It's me. Where have you been?"

            "Buffy," he gasped again, as if she hadn't spoken. His eyes flickered over her face, down her body. When they rose again to meet hers, they were filled with tears. He whipped around, hiding the tears from her only long enough to scrub them from his face with his sleeves. He turned back slowly, his shoulders hunched over. She could see the top of his head, his hair long now, and tangled. Her fingers itched to touch him there, at the top of his being, but a shudder tore through him, shaking his frame and telling her to hold back. Straightening slightly, he let out a long, audible breath. "God, Buffy."

            "Spike… you look…" She couldn't finish over the tears that burned in the back her throat. Swallowing hard, she move towards him and found some relief when he did not shy away. "Spike… what… what did you do?"

             His lips twitched as he considered her question. "What did I do? I… nothing. Sorry, I… it's all still very confusing. I get lost, sometimes, inside my head. Lost in the past, you might say."

            "Your hands," she said, noticing them for the first time. Bandages bound him from wrists to fingertips. Even in the dimness she could see they needed changing. "The bandages aren't clean."

            "Can't fix them by myself." He brought them up against his chest protectively. "Clem offered to help, but…"

            "But what?"

            He dropped his eyes. "I… I don't know."

            "Confused, you said. Lost." Rising from the sarcophagus, she reached out and almost touched his arm. Almost. "Come on. We'll take care of you."

            "We?"

            "Dawn and I. And Clem. We're going to my house. I have clean bandages." Sniffing pointedly, she said, "And clean clothes. They're Xander's, but they'll fit if you don't mind the baggy look. Once we get you cleaned up, we'll talk."

            "You're taking me…" He trailed off, dropping his head. "Sorry. It's hard to follow… people. Words."

            "Are you always like this?" She couldn't stop herself from asking.

            Something sparked in his expression. Good. Something's still alive in there. He lifted his chin, his eyes steady. "No." One word, simple and straight, that told her the Spike she knew was inside this filthy shell, somewhere.

            "We'll take care of you," she repeated, and gestured towards the door. "Come on. I'll follow."

            But he didn't move. Light from the candle flickered in his eyes, two bright pinpricks. A shudder passed through her as she scrutinized his face. Reading past the aloofness, past the stillness and cloud of bewilderment, she found something else, something familiar: an almost-unperceivable note of longing. He recoiled away from her gaze, but his arm quaked out towards her.  

            Winding her hand around his elbow, she drew him out the door beside her. "I'll take care of you," she whispered into the night as they walked together, out of the cemetery and down the long street towards home.

*****

            They were walking up the front steps when the screaming started. Two screams, one low, one ear piercingly high.

"Dawn," Buffy muttered, releasing Spike's arm and bursting through the door. "Dawn!"

"Up here!" Clem's shout barely carried over Dawn's shrieking.

"In her bedroom. I can feel her," Spike said, surprising Buffy. He ran up the stairs in front of her, taking them two at a time and tearing off his bandages as he went. Buffy went up after him, stepping over the white scraps of cloth, confusion and fear making her stomach roll.

They reached the doorway to Dawn's bedroom at the same time. Buffy pushed past him only to stop dead in her tracks. "Oh my god," she said, her eyes widening even as she shielded them from the green light beaming from her sister's skin. Dawn was lying on her bed. Buffy couldn't tell if she'd seen them come in, but the girl fell silent and curled her knees up to her chest. Buffy had to swallow a scream of her own when she saw her sister's eyes. Nothing human remained in them, only pure, fluorescent energy.

"What's happening to her?" Clem asked, sliding down the wall he was huddled against. Every roll of skin on his face quivered with fear.

            Buffy opened her mouth to say, I don't know, I'm just the Slayer, this is something else, she's something else, but before she could speak, Spike gripped Clem by the neck and hefted him up to face level.

            "You know what's wrong with her, you bloody git." He turned away from Clem to look at Dawn, his mouth a thin, tense line. "It's the Key. It's flooding out of her. I can sense it, so can you."

            A frightening thought filled Buffy's mind. Spike read it in her eyes and nodded, confirming her fear. Her eyes shot warily to the window. "If you can both sense the Key, any demon can."

            "Right. And who knows how long she's been leaking bits of Key all over the place. Demons with a better nose for these things could've been sensing her for weeks." Releasing Clem, Spike went to the window and closed the shutters with a firm movement. "Better batten down the hatches. Who knows what'll come knocking at your door when word get out that the Key is here. You need to make a plan, and do it now. Don't know how long I'll be able to… be here. Really here. Clear like this. So, plan."

            Buffy hovered over Dawn, her hands fluttering in the air above her sister's green aura. Lowering herself onto the edge of the bed, she passed a finger through the light. It felt warm, but not painful, so she gathered Dawn into her lap and held her close. Dawn didn't seem to be conscious, but it was difficult to tell. She had no pulse, no heartbeat, and hadn't for more than a week. It'd been months since she'd first noticed that her sister's flu wasn't going away. Some flu. It was only when her heart had stopped that Buffy realized something supernatural was going on. Giles hadn't been able to offer any help, though he was looking into it. And Dawn had seemed fine enough, despite her symptoms… she'd been happy, they'd spent so much time together, happy time.

Hugging her sister harder, Buffy looked up at Spike. "I don't know how to help her. She's been sick, and there have been… other things, or, I mean, things that should have been there weren't, but… there wasn't anything I could do, I didn't know what to do for her, and she seemed okay, despite everything, so… we need to do something. Protect her."

            "Whatever you want to do, we'd better do it quick if you need my help." He touched his hand to his temple, his voice dropping with shame. "It's hard to say how long my focus lasts. Hard to hold onto it."

            Trying to stay calm, she stroked Dawn's hair. "Have you been like this ever since you left Sunnydale?"

            "No. But close. I… went somewhere, after. And…" He shook his head. "No time for explanations now. What's the plan? You want me to sit with the Nibblet while you call in the cavalry?"

             "They can't help us fight, they're in England." At his surprised look, she said, "No explanations, remember? Things went bad, and they left to make them better. We're on our own."

            Clem raised his hand hesitantly. He looked back and forth between Buffy and Spike, finally settling on Buffy. "You could call Anya. She'd come and set up a barrier spell."

            "No," Buffy said, flushing when the word came out strong than she'd meant it to. She couldn't bring herself to look at Spike, to see his reaction. "Anya's busy with her store, and with her other… job. We don't need her."

            "Demon girl's not strong enough to keep out the sort of creatures who'd come sniffing out the Key, anyhow." Rubbing his hands together, Spike sighed. "You've got weapons downstairs still?"

            "Yes, but you can't fight with them. Your hands are hurt."

            He shrugged. "I've gotten used to the pain. What do you want us to do?"

            Easing Dawn onto her pillow, Buffy pulled the blanket up around the curl of her sister's body and tucked it in snugly. "I don't want to leave her here. Not when she's all glowey. But I need to call Giles, get his opinion."

            "You think the Watcher'll have any clue what to do? He didn't know any more about the Key than we did, if I remember right."

            Buffy smoothed the hair back from Dawn's face, then stood. "Someone's got to have a better idea than the big nothing I've been able to come up with."

            "You guys really think we'll have to fight? Tonight?" Clem sidled towards the doorway. "Maybe the demons are all busy. Doing demon stuff. It's Friday night, you know."

            "If Spike could sense her from outside, we could be in big trouble. Who knows what kind of demon might walk by and want the Key for his very own. Clem, you stay with Dawn."

            "Umm, well, about that. You know I like Dawn, but…"

            "But what?" Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were heated. "What's wrong?"

            Not waiting to hear his answer, Spike grabbed Clem's shoulder. "You're going to help. Who knows how many demons we could be facing."

            He squirmed, uneasy. "I'm not so much for the fightey stuff. Not that I'm a chicken. Nope, it's just that…"

            Buffy put her hand on his other shoulder and squeezed. "It's just nothing. You're staying up here. If anything gets through you to my sister, you're going to die a very painful death, probably in separate piles. Capiche?"

            Gulping, he said, "It's not that I don't want to help. I'm just…"

            Buffy gave him a gentle push towards the bed. "Just scream. I'll be up here to help before you know it. But if I'm not, you know what to do."

            "What would that be?" said a strange voice from the hallway. A man sauntered into the room. He surveyed the room, casual, as if he saw beaming green teenagers every day. "Keep the likes of me outside? Why, Buffy. I'm hurt. We're such old friends, and yet you're instructing demons to keep me away from your dear, bright sister. No welcome mat, no pot of coffee… you haven't even said hello."  

            Moving between her sister and the man, Buffy shook her head at Spike, warning him to stand down for now. Every muscle of her body stiffened as she faced the man who grinned at her. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Hello, Ethan."

            "That's better, dear. Now that we've been pleasant, let's get to business. I'm expecting a few friends to arrive shortly. Well, not friends so much as… I'm not sure what you'd call them, actually. How many demons does it take before the term 'horde' applies?"

            Before she answered, Buffy took a deep breath. Mom always said, never give in to bullies.  But then, the kid who stole my lunch money in kindergarten didn't worship chaos.  "I get it. You travel with company of the toothy variety, and this is one of those deals where you'll- what? Sic them on us if we don't give you what you want?"

            He had the gall to send her a wink. Buffy had to clench her hands into fists to keep herself from punching the look off his face. When she didn't move, he continued. "Ah, Buffy. Always the wordsmith. Ripper did a magnificent job with you."

           

            "I'm so going to kick your ass. And if it's my sister you want, I'm going to tell you no and then kick your ass. And let me tell you just how sorry about that I'm not."

            "No, no. I'm not here to harm you, or your sister. The demons might, but not me."

            Buffy smirked, eyeing Ethan's thin frame. "As if you could."

           

            "This guy a friend of yours, Slayer?" Spike edged closer to Buffy, frowning at Ethan.

            "Ethan's never here as a friend. Never."

            "Never," Ethan agreed. "Never, except for now, if you listen to me. And I think you will."

            "What do you want?" she said, her voice edgy with impatience.

            "To help you. And her." He looked into the brilliance of Dawn's eyes. "Word's spreading through the underworld. The Key to unlock dimensions, here in Sunnydale. I was contacted by a group of men. They thought I could be of help to them, seeing as how you and I are such close mates, that you would let me get close enough to her- to the Key- to swipe it, and give it to them. For a price. A price with a lot of zeros on the end."

            Buffy's eyes narrowed. "That's never gonna happen, Ethan."  

            He let out a sigh of mock-regret. "Yes, well, I didn't expect it would."

            "But you accepted their offer? They're paying you?"

            His grin widened. "I've been pre-paid. Only, I am truly here to help you."

            "You've come to warn us about the men?"

            "Not just them. I was also contacted by the demon horde I spoke of… they'll be here within the hour."

            "The demons are paying you too?"

            "Not as such. More of a 'they won't kill me if I give them what they want' sort of deal."

            "And what they want is Dawn. The Key."

            "You never were a stupid girl. You see, I really am here to help. This time."

            "Why would you do that? Last I checked, you were hanging out in prison on the Initiative's dime. I'm not guessing that endeared me to you much."

            A shadow fell over his face, and he looked away, but only for a moment. When he met Buffy's eyes again, all traces of mockery had vanished. "Prison was a bloody misery, but that's beside the point.  These demons want to use the Key to end the world. Armageddon. Poof. The end. As much as I appreciate chaos, well, all things in moderation. I do so like being alive."

            Buffy didn't soften, though she was tempted. He looked so sincere, but he was still Ethan Rayne. Still their enemy. "So you've come to give us a heads up about the men and the demons who are after the Key. Okay, great. Thanks. Now, there's the door. Bye-bye. Don't come back to Sunnydale, unless you get a yen for a serious beating."

            "One more thing. The demons. They're not the brightest crayons in the box, but the men were smart enough to dig up my connections to Ripper, and his to you. The demons will be fairly simple for you to dispose of, superior-strength having girl that you are, but the men… well, I did a little digging of my own, and what I found was disturbing."

            "Yes?"

            "The Knights of Byzantium ring any bells?"

            Buffy paled slightly, but shook her head. "Nope, sorry. They're dead. Got on the bad side of a hell god."

            "I heard about that. You're looking rather sprightly for a corpse."

            "So then you know, Glory killed all of the Knights. Your sources must be wrong."

            "They're still alive. I've seen them myself, not two nights ago. And they want to destroy the Key."

            Spike sank onto the bed next to Dawn. A fine sheen of sweat filmed his face. It occurred to Buffy that he was barely holding on to himself. The last thing she wanted was for him to break down in front of Ethan, the master of exploiting weakness. She reached towards him, but he brushed her off and addressed Ethan.

"Why? Glory's dead, and we'll take care of these demons. The girl's not a danger to anyone, not now."

            "The Knights disagree. They want her, and they want to kill her. Kill the girl, kill the Key." Ethan looked at Dawn's huddled form with something resembling pity. "But from the looks of things, they might be spared the work."

"She's not dying." Even as Buffy said the words, she knew they were a lie.

            "She is. Either from what's going on here, whatever that might be, or from the Knight's swords. That's what I've come to tell you." He studied her face with his enigmatic expression for a long beat as she stared at him, motionless. "There, I've done the good-guy job, alerted the heroine to her foe. I'll be going now."

            She watched silently as Ethan turned and walked out of the room. When Spike made a move to follow him, she threw her hand up to blocked his path.  "No, let him go. We don't have time for him right now."

            Her hand struck the backs of his. Wincing, he yanked them away from her and hid them behind his back before she could see them. "Uhm, okay," he said abruptly, as if trying to distract her from his wounds. "Your plan, Slayer?"

            He's hiding something, she thought fleetingly, but let it go. "Clem, stay in here with Dawn. Pack her a bag- some clothes, her tooth brush, stuff like that. Spike, go to the kitchen. There's blood in the freezer, leftover from when… leftover. And there's a first aid kit in the downstairs bathroom with bandages for your hands. Just pack the kit, we'll do the bandages later. Then come back up here and get Dawn. You can get her into the car, it's in the garage."

            "Car?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "You drive now?"

            She nodded briefly, her eyes inwardly focused. "I'll get the weapons, and call Giles. They can't help us fight, but he was already doing some Key-related research. Maybe he's found something."

            "What then? Where are we headed?"

            Her voice cracked as she answered him, and for a second, she wanted to crawl back into her warm bed and pretend her calling had come to someone else. But only for a second. Looking down at Dawn, she shook her head. "I don't know how to help her. Or what to do, where to go… I don't know anything. Except… maybe I know who does." Straightening her shoulders, she looked from one demon to the other. "Let's get going. Don't fail me now, guys."

            "We won't," Clem said. He opened Dawn's closet and pulled a sweater from its hanger. "Right, Spike?"

            Spike didn't answer until Buffy left the room. Then, he pulled his hands out from behind his back and watched the blood from his wounds puddle in his cupped palm. "Right," he whispered, his eyes glassy.

*****

            "Buffy?" Clem poked his head into the living room. "Dawn's in the car. You ready?"

            Closing the lid to the weapons chest, Buffy swung her backpack over her shoulder, picked up the first aid kit from the floor, and nodded. "You can go now, Clem. Thanks for your help."

            Eyeing the first aid kit, Clem's face lightened. "You knew he was too out of it to follow your instructions?"

            Her face, pale and solemn, tightened. "What's wrong with him?"

            "I dunno. Came back from Africa this way. He was worse, at first. I think he's getting better with time."

            "Time? He's been back a while?"

            "A week. I didn't tell you until… well, until he could hold a conversation." Clem glanced over his shoulder, towards the garage. "I got him into the car for you. His hands are bleeding though. He wouldn't let me bandage them."

            Buffy walked Clem to the front door and opened it for him. Looking outside into the black night, she offered him a faint smile. "I'll take care of it."

            He saluted her and bounded down the porch steps. Shutting the door, she picked up the first aid kit and switched off the lights to the living room. She moved through the dark rooms quickly, hurrying towards the garage, towards the glowing teenager and the half-sane vampire who needed her. "I'll take care of them."