Beyond the Darkness
Chapter Two
By Nichole (Neko-chan) Johnson
Rating: PG or TV 14
Pairings: B/S
Disclaimer: All BtVS characters and such are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy (bless that little paper monster…). The Red Bull, as well as the legend of the unicorns derives from an old cartoon movie The Last Unicorn based on the story by Peter S. Beagle, and is not mine, albeit being altered to fit this story.
Spoilers: Takes place during Season 5, immediately after "The Body"
Author's Notes: I slightly re-vamped the first 2 chapters, for those of you who made some helpful suggestions. To those of you who reviewed and made said suggestions, thank you! Your opinions and suggestions were and are highly appreciated!
I hope you'll agree with my editing—I agree that Spike did use some British slang too much, so I went back through and toned that down a bit. I also got rid of the description of Dawn's hair as 'strawberry blonde'—I'm still not sure how you'd describe her hair color, so I just stayed away from describing it at all…^_^;;
* * * * *
Chapter TwoFor one brief moment, Spike was crouched triumphantly over his beaten foe, arm poised to stake, and in the next, everything was swallowed in red.
Screaming fiercely, the raging cyclone bore into him, flinging the wooden stake from his hand and tearing at exposed flesh with an intense heat not unlike that of a raging fire, picking up loose sand as it went and throwing it back at his unprotected skin in tiny missiles that tore into him like thousands of red hot needles. He threw up an arm, frantically trying to protect his bare face with the thick leather of his duster, shocked by the suddenness of the red whirlwind.
The heat was almost unbearable, assaulting him as if to burn the very clothes off his back, climbing up his nostrils and down his throat to sear at his lungs. He gagged against the cloying heat, coughing hoarsely and clamping his mouth shut tight in defiance, praying the heat wouldn't be enough to start him afire. Secretly thanking the fact that he didn't require breathing, he scrabbled blindly along the ground, feeling his way towards Buffy's unconscious form. Though she may be the Slayer—more than human with superhuman strength—she still required breathing, and he knew she must be in trouble.
He stumbled on something solid, catching himself on a nearby headstone. The vampire Buffy had been fighting just moments before. Skirting the supposedly unconscious body without so much as a second thought, he chanced a glance from under the protection of his duster and spotted the petite Slayer sprawled several feet away, face-down in the dirt.
Buffy! Hold on, luv! Regardless of his own protection, he tore the heavy duster from his shoulders, draping it over the petite young woman's frame and wrapping her up in the thick leather with one hasty movement, pulling her tightly against his chest to keep the hungry, burning wind from beating her further. Unable to open his eyes further than a crack in the melee of stinging sand bearing down on him, he blearily spotted the huge marble pillar, looming like a giant pawn in the whirlwind of sand. Stumbling half-blindly, gritting his teeth against the heat and sand, Spike hurried for the far side of the marble pillar, holding his precious cargo tightly against him. Once in the lee of the sturdy edifice, he immediately fell to the dirt, pinning the Slayer beneath him protectively and shielding her from the whirlwind with the bulk of his own body.
Immediately he could sense the lull in the winds, a furious low like that of a cattle cutting through the screaming winds with eerie clarity as the burning light drained slowly away like the fast-dying of a sun. Almost as suddenly as it had come upon them, the unearthly winds began to abate, and finally died altogether, leaving only an eerie stillness on the damp night air.
Hesitantly he raised his head, listening intently to be sure that the whirlwind was truly gone. After several seconds of silence, the night sounds slowly began to return.
As he lay there, metaphorically catching his breath in the aftermath of the strange cyclone, it slowly dawned on him that the Slayer was eerily still. A buzzing panic beginning to fill his head, he tore away the duster—staring at the pale, still form for a brief second—then immediately put an ear to her chest. The heartbeat was faint, and slowly fading, and putting his fingers to her lips, he found them still and breathless.
"Oh God…Buffy!" he gasped desperately, roughly shaking her shoulders in a vain effort to revive her. "Come on, luv. Don't die on me now!"
Taking in huge gulps of air, he tilted her head back gently, desperately trying to breathe air into her. He had never given CPR before, only seen it on television, and since he was unused to breathing in the first place, he was quickly dizzy with his efforts. Still, the petite blonde Slayer lay deathly still.
Growling fiercely into the empty night air, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders once again. "Bloody hell, breathe, you silly chit! You can't die like this, not like some bloody goddamned mortal!! You're the Slayer!"
Taking another deep breath, he attempted to breathe life into her once again for all he was worth.
* * *
Everything was a murky, black nothingness.
Feeling like she was strangely underwater, Buffy tried to move her head to get a better look at her surroundings, but the movement seemed detached; her sight reasserted itself, but she felt as if her body remained in the same place.
Did I fall asleep? she felt herself think, the words echoing muddily as if heard through thick-paned glass. Where am I? I can't remember how…
Her thoughts scattered, dissipating along with the murkiness around her, and suddenly she was standing among the dark, musty bookcases of the Magic Box. The store was empty, its silence pierced only by the repetitive ringing of the door chime—as if the door were swinging back and forth on its hinges—and with intense purpose, she looked to the familiar round table in the middle of the room and spotted a single, leather-bound book lying closed on the dark wood finish. With heavy steps, she walked towards it, and looked down upon the book, burning the image of the pale-colored etchings on its surface into her brain. Hesitantly, she reached for it, but with a jolt, the book and all its surroundings disappeared, and she was once again surrounded by murky black.
But faintly, she could hear a voice, as if from a great distance.
"…can't die! Buffy, breathe, you…not…this! …the Slayer!"
She recognized that voice. Her mind frantically tried to put a name to the voice, a face, anything! but her thoughts felt distant and muddied, and the voice began to fade away. Panic welling in her, she hastened towards it, stretching out with the edges of her mind to grab a hold.
And suddenly, scattered images were exploding in her mind with frantic bursts. Spike. Lying on a tile floor, the edge of a metal cadaver looming overhead. A dim, smoky room; the taste of alcohol on her lips. Spike. And falling, but being caught by a strong pair of arms. Darkness, and then bright sunshine. Spike.
A kiss. Hot, impassioned, full of desperation and quiet yearning.
Her chest constricting painfully, she burst away from her murky prison and into the light.
* * *
Dizzy, his head ringing, Spike was deathly close to giving up, when with a deep, hacking cough, Buffy came to. Choking violently, her throat ravaged raw by the grit and sand, she struggled to sit up, but placing a gentle hand on her shoulders, Spike urged her to lie still.
"Slowly, Slayer. Slow, deep breaths."
Somehow, amidst her ragged gasping, the blonde managed a smile. "And what would you know about breathing?"
Spike favored her with his most charming grin, relief in his dark, blue eyes. "What, don't ya think I watch ER?"
Buffy laughed hoarsely, grabbing his arm and shakily helping herself to her feet. She turned to him, a soft look, far deeper than mere gratitude on her face. "Spike, I…"
He patted her arm affectionately, cutting off her 'thank you' with a modest smile. "Thought I'd lost you for a moment there, sunshine. Guess the ER lessons paid off, huh?"
She nodded thankfully, feeling the flush again in her cheeks. "Right, Spike. Thank God for primetime television."
He smiled, but the humor was gone as he stepped closer to her, a seductive air to his movements. "Just try not to make a habit of it. I'd like to keep you around for a bit longer, baby..." Smiling devilishly, he brushed past her, enjoying the mixture of confusion and desire in her face.
Gulping heavily against the fever overtaking her, Buffy turned to follow, still somewhat shaken by her near-death ordeal and the vampire's libidinous nature. "Um…Do you know…ah…What was that thing?"
The vampire shrugged lazily, retrieving his discarded duster from the ground and shrugging back into it. "Crazy, red cyclone demon? Never seen one of 'em 'till now, pet, and right glad I haven't. Quite a nasty bugger…" he remarked lightly, patting the pockets of his duster for his cigarettes. Remembering there were none, he swore softly, somewhat annoyed.
Buffy looked slightly unnerved that Spike was just as lost as she. "Great. Think it's demonically linked or just some really nasty weather front we're getting?"
"Unless Sunnyhell's gone Nevada desert on us, I'd say the former, Slayer."
The petite Slayer groaned, then smiled with false cheer. "Great! Ya dust the vampires, and just when you think all's peachy, the dust decides to fight back! This is so like my life."
All humor aside, Spike fixed her with a stern glance. "They'll be time to bitch 'n moan later, Slayer. I'd say you need to pay a visit to your Watcher about the new dust devil in town."
He turned to leave, halting only momentarily with a perplexed expression at the sight of the two vampires' bodies. Despite he and Buffy's being completely unscathed from the red whirlwind, other than Buffy's seared throat, the two unfortunate vampires had been quite thoroughly reduced to ashes. He shrugged, dismissing it for the time being, and casually sidestepped the two dust piles.
Buffy nodded sagely, sidestepping the dusted vamps with less than an afterthought. "With any luck, Giles will know something about what's going on. Otherwise, its research city here we come…" She started after Spike, but the vampire suddenly stopped, cocking his head as if suddenly remembering something.
"Almost forgot, Slayer. We have unfinished business."
With a deftness of speed that surprised even her, he spun around, and grabbing her by the waist with one arm, pulled her to him and kissed her with mind-numbing passion. Had it not been for his arm around her, she would have melted to the ground with the impact.
Pulling away, he fixed her with another dashing grin. "Can't bloody well leave these sorts of things undone, baby, now can we?" And with his regular self-assured saunter, he left her speechlessly staring after his retreating back, wondering how he managed to be so damned charming in the end.
* * *
The Magic Box looked dark from the street. Willow, Xander, and Anya had already left for home and sleep, leaving Giles to finish up his research and wait with Dawn until her sister showed, and said Watcher was currently intent at stacking and re-shelving the books littered across the shop's one lone table when the Slayer—punk rock vampire in tow—blew into the store.
A no-nonsense expression on her face, Buffy turned to her Watcher with business-like curtness, ignoring the slight bewilderment and surprise in the Englishman's stance. "Giles! Spike and I were just attacked in the cemetery by some sort of freak, red whirlwind. I think we've got more than Glory to worry about…"
Eyebrows knitting in confusion, Giles paused from his work. "Ah, you and…Spike? What were you—"
Buffy brushed his question aside with a hasty gesture, moving to the table of books with purpose. "I'll explain in a minute. Right now, I want to see what I can find on this cyclone thing."
Spike, who had been waiting hesitantly in the doorway, came further into the room, eyebrows tight. "It may 'ave been a poltergeist of some sort. A vengeance demon in dust form."
Finally noticing the vampire, Giles sputtered wordlessly, his eyes flicking angrily between Buffy and Spike, utterly lost. "B-Buffy?! What's going on here? What is…he doing here? Didn't we discuss—"
Sighing irritably, Buffy shot the Englishman an impatient glance. "I know, I know! I know I said some things…" She bit her lip sheepishly, sighing exhaustedly. "…Just, let's not worry about that right now. Right now—"
Giles fixed her with a stern gaze. "Buffy, I am your Watcher and am therefore entitled to know exactly what's going on. So I insist you explain to me."
Sensing Buffy's discomfort, Spike stepped forward with his usual brazen attitude. "Alright, Watcher, here's the dirt: your Slayer here was on her way out of the graveyard when she ran into me, and out 'o nowhere we were both attacked by a couple 'o vamps. Just as we're about to finish them off, all goes to hell in a red whirlwind, and Buffy here is prematurely knocked out of the game. And that brings us here."
Giles seemed to digest this momentarily, taken aback. Suddenly he turned to Buffy sharply, eyes widening. "Wait, are you telling me this storm thing knocked Buffy out? Buffy, are you alright—"
"I'm fine, Giles!" insisted Buffy hastily, her voice coming out hoarse. She cleared her throat sheepishly, ignoring the pain it caused her raw throat. "Really, I'm fine! I just…passed out a little from the dust." Suddenly her face was stern, fixing Giles with a meaningful glance. "But if Spike hadn't been there, I might not have been okay."
Still skeptical, the old Englishman pursed his lips tightly, staring searchingly at the stubborn young woman. It was clear he didn't like it, especially after past experiences with the unpredictable Spike, but Buffy wasn't going to back down. And she was acting strangely benign towards Spike—a vampire who only days ago she was preaching vehemently about on terms of disgust and revulsion. She had been so adamant the week before about driving him out of her life and had tried to avoid him at all costs, but here she was, defending him against Giles' good sense.
A strange thought began to worm its way into the back of Giles' mind, and it made a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Shaking away the feeling and sensing the uselessness in his arguments for the time being, the old Watcher sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair in a sign of defeat. "Well…Buffy, if you believe—"
"I do," insisted Buffy firmly. "This thing could be really big, Giles, and we may need all the help we can get."
Spike, who had been silent for sometime, suddenly intervened hastily. "Now wait just a bloody second, Slayer, I believe I have a say in this, too, y'know!"
Buffy turned to him icily, hands on hips. "Spike, if you're going to get all self-righteous on me, let me remind you I just saved your pathetic ass right now—"
He gave her a withering look, rolling his eyes. "Buffy…"
"—and if you're going to repay me by being a royal jerk once again, than you can just get lost like I probably should have made you do in the first place instead of—"
Surprising her in mid-sentence by plopping casually down in a chair, Spike grinned up at her with obvious amusement. "What I meant to say, pet, was when do we get started?"
She stared at him momentarily, embarrassed by her outburst. A minute ago she had been so insulted that after what had happened in the cemetery, Spike would just blow her off and be his usual pain-in-the-ass self, that she was momentarily thrown-off guard by his easy compliance in the matter. And then she felt the flush rising to her cheeks again and she nodded hastily in understanding, quickly turning away so as not to let him see her blush.
"Ah, um…right! I'll go check on Dawn and then we can get started," she mumbled quickly, hurrying towards the back room with forced seriousness. She secretly hoped Giles hadn't noticed her slip, especially hoped he had missed the fact that she was blushing.
But as she walked away, feeling Spike's eyes on her back, her blush only increased, as well as the giddy feeling that began as a tingle in her spine and slowly spread throughout her body. Quickening her pace, she pushed aside the improper thoughts that had begun to form in her mind, and concentrated on confronting her little sister. Guiltily, she realized she hadn't seen her in nearly two days after abandoning her with Giles. She hoped the fourteen-year-old would be forgiving.
Watching her go with a mixture of concern and misgivings, Giles took his handkerchief from his pocket and began to polish his spectacles uneasily. "Yes. Right. Research."
Spike watched him intensely, a strange depth to his gaze. "She's got her head on her shoulders, that Buffy. Even after the deal with her mum." His gaze had shifted to the empty doorway, mind racing. He didn't know quite what had made him want to help, but he felt that it somehow involved more than just his feelings for the Slayer. Maybe it was just like he'd said; maybe he really was changing. Or maybe he had just panicked somewhat when it occurred to him how vulnerable Buffy really was, that she could die at any moment from something trivial and natural, not just because she was outmaneuvered by some clever demon. That she was human, susceptible to a million unexpected accidents and diseases that could strike at anytime, without warning. Just like with Joyce.
He didn't want her to end up like Joyce. He realized, somewhat amazingly, that he would do anything to prevent that.
Changed. He had, hadn't he? Drusilla's words came back to him with simple clarity, having seemed so meaningless at the time they had been spoken:
"Poor Spike…So lost. Even I can't help you."
She was right. He would never be the demon he once was. He was tainted.
But he was strangely glad of it.
* * *
Several hours and books later, they still had nothing.
Spike and Giles were still diligently at it, fighting the urge to sleep with amazing restraint, but Dawn and Buffy had drifted off in their seats. Neither man could bring himself to wake them. They had been through so much in the last two days, that they were near the point of exhaustion, and it had taken amazing strength to last as long as they had.
Wearily, Giles pushed his glasses up on his nose and sat back in his chair. "I believe we are getting nowhere tonight."
"Morning," corrected Spike, not looking up from the pamphlets and books scattered before him. "We've been at it all soddin' night and still nada on that bloody cyclone-spectre!" He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Bloody hell…I need a drink," he grumbled, getting up and pacing in frustration.
Giles nodded with fatigue. "I agree that the lack of information on this…ah, wind devil, or whatever it is you call it, is extremely frustrating." Looking at his watch with a slightly horrified expression, he stood up, stretching stiffly. "Perhaps it would be best if we ended for the night and reconvened tomorrow…er, later today."
"Right, then. Good show." The vampire seemed to be considering something, an uncomfortable expression on his face. All night, he had been continually bothered by something, but had been hesitant to bring it up. His eyes darted to Buffy. The young woman was sleeping fitfully, head on her arms on the hardwood table, blonde hair fanned out behind her. Occasionally she would stir, fine eyebrows furrowed in discomfort, and his chest tightened with a strange yearning to comfort her. Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he finally turned and pierced the old Watcher with a troubled yet intent look.
"I want to know what happened to Buffy's mum."
Looking up in surprise, Giles was momentarily silent, looking searchingly at the blonde vampire, caught completely off-guard. Spike looked truly curious, shifting uncomfortably under the Watcher's scrutiny. He knew it was a strange request, especially for him, and he wasn't quite sure what had driven him to ask it. Silently, he waited patiently for the Englishman to speak.
Finally, Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably. Shakily removing his glasses and cleaning them with intense diligence, he fixed Spike with a suspicious glance. "Buffy…told you? Of Joyce's death?"
The vampire looked away, feeling the frustration beginning to well behind his perfectly erected wall of disinterest. "Who did it?" A deadly anger was slowly rising with his voice. "Was it that…Glory bird?" He could picture the self-involved bitch in his mind, smiling coldly with that look of holier-than-thou disdain on her flawless face, even as he pounded its smooth image into the pavement, feeling the crush of her skull under his boots like broken glass. Could feel the cool weight of the shotgun in his hands, and imagine the welcoming shock the weapon would send through him as he riddled her fragile body with bullet after bullet, exacting his revenge…
Giles' voice was thick with emotion. "No…She wasn't murdered." He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes against the memory of the lifeless body sprawled on the living room floor of the Summers' home. "She had an aneurysm."
Spike looked taken aback, his vengeful fantasies fading away like distant shots on the still air of a frozen winter morning. "An…aneurysm?"
Giles nodded slowly, replacing his glasses carefully on his nose. "It was sudden. She was dead before she even discovered her."
The peroxide-blonde was now pacing in distress, an unfamiliar feeling of hopelessness worming its way into his thoughts. "She?" he questioned absentmindedly, no longer fully listening.
Giles looked sharply at his sleeping Slayer, clearly pained. "Buffy. Buffy's the one who…who found her."
Spike halted sharply, following the Watcher's gaze to the petite blonde at the table. Poor bird! No wonder she cracked like that! He felt a pang of pity, as well as the pent-up longing he had been burying for the last couple of hours, and the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her was so strong, he thought he would crack in front of the bloody Englishman.
"Christ, Watcher…!" was all he managed to say, running a hand through his hair. "And she…!" He shook his head dazedly, unable to find words.
"It never ceases to amaze me how strong Buffy can be," remarked Giles softly, looking at the sleeping Slayer with a new tinge of pride.
Spike shared his sense of pride. And wonder. She was incredibly strong—physically, mentally, and in every other way possible. That's what had attracted him to her in the first place. With Drusilla, it had been the mysterious air of sensuality that surrounded her. He had been able to look beyond the madness, the sometimes weak dependency, which in the end had held her to him, and seen the dark and sensual creature beyond those mad eyes. There had been times when she was strong, but he always felt her strength and ability never quite matched his own, and that's what had left him so open to the lure of the brassy Slayer. The Slayer was fearless and unrelenting, always able to hold her own in a battle against him, and had even bested him on numerous occasions. When he fought her, she held back nothing.
But he knew she was not indomitable. He knew her weaknesses, her fragility, and it strangely excited him. She had something he could never quite embrace: she had humanity. She drew him like the sunlight tempts the night, forever unattainable.
"Don't think I'll ever meet another Slayer like her." Don't think I'll ever meet another woman like her…
Snapping out of his longing reverie, he turned questioningly to Giles. "Speakin' of which, what're we gonna' do about the two bits?"
The Watcher seemed to snap out of his own thoughts as well, looking around absentmindedly. "Ah…yes. I suppose I'll have to take them home. It's getting quite late."
Easily hefting the petite Slayer into his arms, Spike pursed his lips at the Watcher's slip. "That would be 'early' again, old git. Looks like you're in need of a break." Inclining his head in Dawn's direction, he started for the door, Buffy cradled comfortably in his arms.
"You grab the little bit and let's say we call it a night?"
Flustered, Giles hurriedly scooped up the teenager with some difficulty, hurrying after the vampire. "Spike! Wait a moment! I can take Buffy and Dawn—"
Spike was already out the door, though, and walking towards his Desoto parked on the street. Already, the sky was beginning to lighten, the first hints of sunrise licking at the edge of the horizon. He turned to Giles with a casual grin, and swung open the passenger door to gently lay Buffy in the seat.
"It's no problem, Watcher," he remarked casually, ignoring Giles' reluctance to let the vampire drive the two girls home. "It's not that out of the way."
Making a sour face, Giles reluctantly lay Dawn in the back seat of the old black car. "You vampires are insufferable," he grumbled stiffly, sighing with resigned indignation.
Spike shot him his fangiest grin, jumping into the driver's seat of the old Desoto. "We try, Watcher." Turning the ignition, he spun out into the street, leaving the elder Englishman staring worriedly after the disappearing vehicle from the sidewalk.
"I don't know why I listen to Buffy sometimes," he muttered to himself, turning and going back into the empty shop. "God help us…"
* * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED…