Chapter 11: Mother; That man took my soul away...
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"Spike? Is that you?"

Spike sighed and let the door close. "Yeah, Da. 'S me."

Rupert came into the hall, looking very irked. He was wearing pajamas and houseslippers.

Uh oh. The glasses were off.

"Spike, do you realize it's nearly eleven o'clock --on a school night, no less? I thought you would be back hours ago; I'd very nearly called the police! Where have you been?"

"I was ...out." Spike's mind was still in too much of a jumble to think of a better excuse. "We can talk about it tomorrow, Da." He brushed past the older Giles on his way up the stairs.

"We will talk about it tomorrow, but only because it is obsenely past your curfew already, and I don't want to add truency to your sins. D-don't you walk away from me!" Rupert grabbed Spike's arm and whirled him around.

"We had a bargain, son. And you have failed to uphold it. I've, I've tried to give you more freedom, but you are taking advantage of it, and you are taking advantage of me. You think I haven't heard you sneaking in late? You think I'm too bloody stupid to catch on?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Da--" I can't deal with this shite now...

"Don't 'Da' me, son. It's not going to work," Rupert's voice was cold with the chill of a parent scorned.

Spike ignored it and continued easing backwards towards his bedroom and the blissfull oblivion waiting therein. Rupert's grip stopped him from going far. "I thought we were going to talk about this tomorrow," he said sullenly. "It can wait, right?"

"It's waited months, Spike. Your behaviour has grown more and more delinquint since the divorce. The sneaking out, the class-skipping, the, the secret girlfriends, it's like you're punishing me."

"Da, I'm not--"

"You are!" There was a tense pause while the echoes died away.

"You are being a selfish little brat about all this, and I do not appreciate it."

Spike coolly matched his father's glare. He broke the angry man's hold without any real effort, and put some space between them.

"You're right. I've been a bad, rude man, and I'm sorry. Tomorrow, I will accept my sentence and eat my crow or whatever the bloody hell you want me to do!" His voice rose towards the end, until his father involuntarily flinched backwards. His eyes shined with the absolute rage of an usurped dictator.

Spike's were merely blank. "But right now, I'm going to bed. And I think you should too."

He turned and walked into his bedroom. Just before the door clicked shut, he heard his father offer one last parting shot, voice quavering in anger.

"You are my son, and you are still a child, Spike. You will not be a man until you learn to put others before your own selfish wants. Learn to sacrifice your petty little desires so that others may receive theirs. Men do not take out their pain on whoever happens to be convienient. That's not way of a gentleman. You are not a gentleman, and you are not a man. You're an insolent little child."

Spike let the latch click closed and locked it behind him. Numbly, he crossed the room to his bed and eased down onto the edge.

Sacrifice.

He'd only realized he didn't hate her hours before, and now he was expected to give her up?

Put others before your own selfish wants.

He wouldn't even get a chance to explore these terrifying feelings bubbling up in his stomach. So much left undiscovered, all because the soulless creature had to be heroic. How was it that she was so set in her duty, when more than anything he wanted to scream at the sky, "Fuck Earth!"

Sacrifice your desires so that others may receive theirs.

Hell with it.

He started taking off his boots. See if he cared. She had it under control, he'd just let her handle this apocalypse.

He felt a breeze.

"Well, come on in. It's not like you need an invitation."

He looked up. Buffy was sillhouetted against the filtered glow of the streetlights, still wearing his t-shirt. She climbed over the window sill and approached the bed. His eyes followed her movements as she hesitantly sat down beside him.

For a while, neither spoke, then:

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Why?"

There was a pause.

"I'm, uh, not sure, actually. It's sort of weird." She picked at the bedspread. "But I feel like I should have told you."

"You should have."

"I didn't realize you would care."

"I do."

"I know." She turned to face him, and he reluctantly raised his face to meet hers. This brought them pretty close together. She was practically speaking into his mouth.

"I don't like this. I don't really want to cease to exist, you know. I ..railed against it for months after I realized what needed to be done." She met his eyes. "But there are things in this world worth that kind of thing."

Their lips were inches apart. Spike glanced down.

"Such as?"

Centimeters.

"Such as..." She smiled. "Rodeo Drive."

Spike pulled back slightly, brow marred with a confused frown. "Huh?"

Buffy pulled his head back with a firm hand, slowly closing the distance between them. "I would kill to live in LA," she murmered. "That close to that many shoes?"

And then they kissed.

Blah blah, 'duelling tongues' blah blah 'moist cavern' (ugh, that's an irritating one) blah blah cliche, cliche, cliche.

The important part is that Spike was gripping her cheekbones like she were a porcelin bouy in a raging storm. And Buffy was kneading his neck like the feel of his muscle was the only thing that could convince her of reality.

See? I don't need those cliches. I can make my own.

They kissed for a while. Then for just a teeensy bit more. Spike was breathing through his nose, so they didn't come up for air for a good four, five minutes.

Then they broke apart because Buffy's fingernail had sliced Spike's neck.

The Slayer pulled back, once again confused. "Ow! Wha--" But he didn't actually finish that thought, because Buffy swooped in and attached herself to the welling wound. He felt her fangs suddenly puncture his flesh.

Spike gasped. It hurts. It hurts like ...something's pulling the fluid from your veins.

His vision started to black dot.

Sacrifice your desires so that others may receive theirs.

Shaking, Spike put his hands back to Buffy's head and held her against his throat while she drank.

When he blacked out a few minutes later, they fell limply to his sides, and he slumped in her arms.

** ** **

"No, Faith, it's fine. You can stay home. We're taking care of it. ... No, she's not here. Elizabeth just had to get a few things, but we've got everything under--"

"You're the Watcher."

Jenny turned around. There were two vampires behind her. "--control." She hung up the phone. "Who sent you?" She managed to ask.

The female tossed her hair. "Buffy; who else?. Here's the book." She passed off the tome, and jabbed a finger at the creature next to her. "Xander's got the smelly dust stuff. Right now, I have to go wash the mold off my hands."

She high-heeled to the exit.

Jenny looked back at the remaining vampire, a little nervously. His dark hair was shaggy, and a bit in front of his eyes, but she recognised him. The Watcher felt a littel star shock go through her.

"You were Alexander Harris."

"Still am. Where do you want this?" He gestured with the genuine cauldren in his arms. When Jenny didn't respond, he prompted, "It's sort of heavy, if you could just--"

She snapped out of it. She gestured to her left. "Here, in the cage. Anywhere on the floor's fine. Oh, but not inside the circle of salt!"

Cordelia burst through the doors. "They're close."

Xander instantly snapped to attention. "Why?"

She came up against him, and threaded her arm through his. "I don't know, but when I was in the bathroom, I sensed them. Still far off, but definitely headed in this direction."

"The other vampires?" Jenny asked. She opened the book.

Cordelia shot her a disbelieving look. "No, the rabid leperachauns! Of course the other vampires!"

"Here." Jenny scanned the bookmarked page. "Cordelia?" She waited briefly for the nod of confirmed identity before continuing. "You need to scatter the ashes you brought evenly over the circle. Get as little as you can outside the ring of salt. Xander, do you remember your training?"

The brunette nodded.

"Good. I want you to take this and start the preliminary chants. With any luck, Elizabeth will return in time to continue the ritual without stopping."

Cordelia questioned, even as she went about her instructions. "I don't understand, though. Why are they coming here?"

Jenny looked grave. "Because they want to open the hellmouth. And it's right under your feet."

When the doors burst open for maybe the seventeenth time that night, all three jumped.

"It's okay," Buffy said. "Just me. But I felt the Family outside." She turned to Jenny. "How long will this take?"

"I'm not sure. The texts aren't really good about estimated time for preperation. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Buffy held up a glass vial of dark red liquid. "Yeah. I got it."

Jenny squinted. "What is that? It looks like--"

"Blood. One last feed, to save the world."

Jenny looked a bit unnerved. "D-did you.."

"No. I left him alive."

$$ $$ $$

"Uuh..." Spike came awake slowly.

What happened?

He was lying on his own bed, on top of the covers. He twisted his head to read the clock and winced.

He put a hand to his throat, and remembered.

She bit me. It was all an act. She fed off me.

Then he noticed the problem with the scenario.

She didn't kill me. Why wouldn't she kill me? It's not like she really needs--

His blood. She'd needed Slayer blood. Not him. He sat up slowly. He felt a little faint. There was a squeak when he put his hand down to steady himself.

He felt leather under his palm.

No. He looked down. The Jacket. The leather duster that had so unfortunately obscured her ass the first time they met, was lying on his bed.

A present.

A parting gift, his mind whispered.

"No." He stood up. "No..." Where're my bloody boots? "No, no, no." Stake. Holy water. Stake. "No." Jac--he grabbed the duster and pushed his arms through the sleeves. Why does she have something that fits me so well?

He left the bedroom.

His boots made loud clomps on the stairs, but he was way too panicked to care. He beelined for the downstairs closet and dug through the winter coats for the duffel of extra weapons he kept stashed there.

There were footfalls on the stairs.

"Spike? What in the name of Queen and Country are you doing?"

"Nothin, Da. Go back to bed."

He could have sworn his father growled. "Spike, I have had just about enough of this foolishness. Did nothing I said earlier sink in? Stop whatever it is your doing and get back upstairs this instant."

Spike ignored him, zipping the duffel and hoisting it over his shoulder. He headed for the front door.

"Where are you going??"

Spike stopped and pulled a wooden cane from the umbrella stand. He tested it for balance.

"Answer me!!"

Spike turned to regard his father. Rupert was red in the face and gripping the stair rail with the strength to dent.

"Later."

He opened the door. There was an inhuman roar behind him.

"Spike William Giles, do not leave this bloody house!"

Spike stepped lightly onto the porch and jumped the stairs to the walk.

Rupert ran to the door, but didn't cross the threshold.

"If you don't come back now, don't bloody well bother!!"

The teenager turned at the mailbox and kept walking. He casually raised a hand and flipped his life the bird.

@@ @@ @@

"Emogada," Buffy whispered. "Belean moge. Del dia emode..."

The cage was locked. Xander and Cordelia watched her tensely through the bars. The vampiress was seated in the middle of the circle, scattered over with the ashes and marked with the Slayer's blood.

Her eyes were locked on a distant point as her hands went through the necessary motions, and her voice droned on.

"Dieysta immortalie. Daemno nix. Daemno nix. Daemno nix..."

Xander gasped when he realized just what his sire was doing.


...And the library doors burst open.

Four black-clothed figures strode in. West first, trench coat billowing. Anya just behind him, smiling eerily and hefting a leather sachel. Dawn and Oz followed side by side.

All but Oz registered surprise to see Xander and Cordelia blocking their way.

"Here you are," Anya said. Xander and Cordelia silently stood their ground. "How did you know to come here?" the blonde asked.

"They didn't," West said thoughtfully. "Someone else..." He took a few more steps, getting past the card catalogue and spotting Buffy inside the cage. "...brought them here. Elizabeth."

"Buffy?" Dawn asked. "I don't understand." She turned to Oz for an explanation, but he was tensely focused on West's approach of the cage.

Buffy was still in a chanting trance, seemingly unaware of the goings on around her.

"Emogadae. Belea daemna. Mogean di della."

"...I cast out this demon which bears this sign..." West muttered. His eyes widened behind his glasses when she put the knife to her arm.

"NO!" He hurled himself at the cage doors with a bang.

Buffy snapped out of the trance.

"Moge..." She looked around at the furious and frightened face of her sire, behind him at the people she had spent decades following, the two scared brunettes she had taught to follow her.

Slowly, Xander nodded. Buffy swallowed.

"Emoga die daemnae. Nix lea daemnae cor." Turning her eyes to meet those of the creature that ate her soul, she put the knife back to her skin.

"Emogadae." West rattled the cage doors frantically, trying to get to her.

"Belea daemna." Behind him, Xander pulled Cordelia to him and hugged her tight.

"Mogean die--"--

and the library doors burst open.

"Buffy!"

All heads whipped around. The knife froze just short of piercing Buffy's skin.

"The Slayer!" Dawn gripped Oz's sleeve.

Spike held the cane up like a sword.

"I'm gonna kill you all with a walking stick."

#$ #$ #$

This is where you review to tell me how jerky the flow is.

~Star Mouse

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