MIRROR
Author's Note: In the last chapter Xander is angry when he learns that Spike is biting and drinking from Buffy. Spike talks to Tara, learns that the witches have a spell that will restore Buffy's soul, then tries to convince Buffy that she needs it.
CHAPTER 6- - - - - - - - - - -
Stomping through the remains of the basement that Warren and his cronies had used for a lair, I searched for furniture and anything valuable enough to hock. There were a couple of chairs that I considered moving to my crypt, but a good portion of it was junk. And the bean bag chairs? I think not.
Was in a foul mood, and had been for the past several days. After Buffy bit me, I tried to lay down the law with her. She needed her soul. Until she agreed to Willow and Tara's spell, there was going to be no more blood drinking, no more sex, and no Spike. At first, she hadn't believed me. Tried her best to convince me to change my mind. You'd think I'd enjoy that, but it was hell. Managed to hold it together, gritted my teeth until I swear they were ground down to nubs, and repeated my stipulations.
Then, Buffy got nasty. Said that she didn't react well to ultimatums, and compared me to that git, Riley. Told her there was a world of difference between him and me. He wanted her to be less than she was; I wanted her to be more.
It ended with me packing my gear and walking out. Returning to my crypt, I found that there wasn't much left in it. Most of the heavy stuff was still there, but my chair and telly were gone. That was the reason I was now picking through the remains of lifestyles of the young and geeky. And my bad mood I owed to the fact that since I'd left, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of Buffy.
Dawn had stopped by the crypt earlier today, and the newsflash from Revello Drive wasn't of the good. While I'd been there, Buffy had at least made an effort to behave normally. That had evidently stopped after I walked out the door.
I made my way over to the computer monitors and flipped them on. Needed to know if they worked properly before I sold them. Knew a bit about computers. Keeping up with technology paid off at times. Using computers is how I'd managed to track down the Slayer's dorm room, years earlier.
Skimming through the files and bypassing the ones that reeked of loserdom, such as 'RUA Trekkie,' I latched onto one that said 'Cameras.' Opening them up, I was astounded to discover that the wankers had wired half of the town to spy on Buffy and her friends. Although my own crypt had been missed, there were cameras everywhere; the Magic Box, some places that looked like Willow's school, and Harris' worksite.
Then, I opened up the one that was labeled 'Revello Drive.' For a moment, I stared at what was shown on the screen, transfixed by what I was seeing. Buffy was on her front steps with Xander. They'd evidently been sitting there, having a drink, for a bottle stood not far from them. They were friends. I knew this. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think friends usually snog each other like these two were doing.
Buffy broke the kiss and I breathed a sigh of relief. That sigh quickly turned to a curse when she shifted so that she was no longer sitting on the step next to him, but on his lap. My hands clenched into fists as I watched her reach up and pull his head back down to hers.
At that moment, I heard a loud 'poof,' and Anya appeared next to me, veins all popping out in full vengeance mode.
"Oh, it's you, Spike," she said, with a huff. "I thought I felt someone wanting
a bit of vengeance from this location. Is anyone else around?"
I simply stared at her, unable to form any words. She looked puzzled and came closer.
"Spike – it's you, isn't it? You're the one sending out the vengeance vibes. What's going on?"
With mild curiosity, she glanced at the screen before I could stop her, and she froze. Her demon face melted away to reveal a young woman, whose heart was being slowly torn apart. In a flash, I slammed my arm across the table, knocking all of the computers to the floor, splitting them open, and spilling their pieces onto the cold concrete. To hell with what they were worth; I had to make the images stop. Then, rushing out of the house towards my motorcycle, I was determined to make the originals stop as well.
- - - - - - - - - - -
As fast as my motorcycle was, and as short as the distance was, Anya had beaten me there. As I pulled up in front of the house and started marching towards it, Anya was leaving, tears streaming down her face, too upset to remember that she was a demon, too upset to remember that she didn't have to walk anywhere. Harris was following her, his face pale, drawn, looking like he'd aged years in the past few minutes.
As I passed him, he threw me a worried glance, and I could see him swallow hard. Part of me wanted to grab him by that stupid floppy hair of his and tear his head from his shoulders. The tiny part of my brain still working assured me that if I wanted to kill him, despite the massive headache I would get, he'd be around. But, as much as I hated Harris at the moment, I knew that he wasn't the one responsible.
My goal was still standing on the front porch. She was deceptively clad in a lace top and skirt, looking so damn innocent. The thing that belied her appearance was the hint of a smug expression playing over her face as she watched me come closer.
Grabbing her, I slammed her back into the wall, and she gasped and closed her eyes for a moment, out of shock. But, when she opened them again, she was smiling. Damn, the bitch was pleased with herself. Practically filled with glee. I tightened my grip on her arms.
"How long?" I rasped.
"I don't know for sure. I didn't get his pants off him. But, from what I felt when sitting on his lap, you don't have to worry about the competition."
I yanked her towards me, then slammed her back against the wall, harder. The light that flowed from the windows to the porch seemed to shiver at the impact.
"How long?"
This time, when she hit the wall, it must of hurt a bit, because her smile was no longer there. She pushed me away from her, then kicked me, so that I flew off the porch, to land sprawled on the front yard. As I rose to my feet, she came down the steps and grabbed me by my coat.
"You think…what? That this has been going on for days, months, years? Well, by my calculations, it's been about ten minutes. I figured at some point you'd find out and haul your undead butt over here. Thought it would take at least a day or two, though. What were you doing, spying on me?"
"Not me…Warren!" I yelled at her.
I spun around, trying to figure the camera angle. Ah, there it was. I strode over to where an ugly, little gnome stood under a tree. I picked it up and smashed my fist into it. Using my now bloody hand, I reached inside the remains and retrieved a small, black camera. Angrily, I held it in front of her.
"The gits had them everywhere. Was at their place, checking out their computers, when I caught the show."
She seemed a bit taken aback as she stared at the camera. Dawn, having heard the noise from inside the house, had come out and joined us, and she too stared for a moment. Suddenly, Dawn took the camera from me, tossed it to the ground, and smashed it with the heel of her shoe. Then, the little one's eyes lit on my injury.
"You're hurt, Spike. Your hand's bleeding. Come on in and I'll fix it for you."
Without glancing at the Slayer, I followed Dawn inside the house, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, where she reached under the sink for a large first-aid kit. She made me take off my coat, and neatly laid it on the edge of the tub, then held my hand under the running water and carefully cleaned my cuts. She'd just finished washing my hand and was patting it dry, while I tried to convince her that I didn't need any bandaging, when Buffy quietly entered.
"I'll finish up here," she told her little sis.
The Bit looked mutinous for a moment, then gave in.
"Fine. I'll heat up some blood for him. Maybe you can convince him that gauze is a good thing."
Buffy followed her sis to the door, and closed it behind her. Coming back to me, she picked up the gauze and started wrapping it around my hand. Her head was bent over the task, and I gazed at it, part of me noticing the dark roots creeping up, while the majority of my attention focused on the feel of her hands on mine.
She finished, neatly taping the end down, and returned the first-aid kit back under the sink before she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Spike."
But I didn't want to hear it.
tbc