Chapter Seven: Blood Ties
Buffy shifted uncomfortably, her entire set of muscles screaming in pain. Moving a leg experimentally, she caused a wave of agony to rush up to her head, reminding her also of the large sized lump Angelus had put there when he knocked her out. Her ankle must be twisted in a bad way. As she shifted her weight onto the good foot, she figured since she was chained to a wall, she wouldn't be going anywhere fast. She opened her eyes warily to look at the rest of her body, only to discover it covered in bruises, cuts and various wounds. Why she hadn't woken up sooner was a mystery. She groaned as a spasm ran through her tortured body. She struggled to remember what had happened. Then someone's throat cleared and she raised her matted blonde head to see her lover. But definitely ex-lover now.
"Good evening, sweetheart," he said with deceptive gentleness. "About time you woke up."
"Angelus," the Slayer croaked, her throat painfully dry. "What do you want now?"
"Do you need to ask?" the brunette vampire said with a twisted grin and mocking tone. "You. It's always been you."
In one quick motion his large hand reached forward and grabbed her chin, his grip tight and bruising. Unable to do anything but stare at him defiantly, Buffy helplessly shivered as he ripped her shirt off with the other hand. His heavy body moved closer, pressing against hers and she struggled to move away, almost feeling suffocated by his bulk. With a growl the vampire lowered his angry slash of a mouth to her tight bloodless lips, hurting her swollen face even more. His brutal kiss was broken off by a very drunk Spike. Crashing into the back room in an uncoordinated stagger, the other vampire's eyes took in the sight of the Slayer, chained to a wall practically in her underclothes.
"I think I need another drink," the bleached blonde groaned loudly, grabbing a wall to hold himself steady.
The point of going to a bar and drinking himself into oblivion was to avoid seeing Buffy's demise, even though the chit would probably have loved to watch his, especially after that disastrous kiss. But the damned alcohol hadn't been good after all. After one beer he had decided he would be of little use to anyone stoned. He was cursing himself that his loyalties were torn, but right now some part of him was still glad he had stopped the rape. Just to make sure, he kept acting drunk, knowing it would take the others off guard.
"Well, Angelus, at least it's not the brass bikini." Spike noted raucously, trying not to look at the bloodily exposed body that was Buffy.
"It was a thought," the older vampire said with a glance at the weakened Slayer. "But Dru wouldn't hear of it. Wanted it for herself."
"Ouch." Buffy interjected. Nobody else in the room could tell whether she was talking about Angelus' unsubtle dig against Spike or the wounds she bore.
"By the by, where is Drusilla?" Spike questioned, rubbing a hand over his forehead as if he were feeling the onset of a hangover.
"Cleaning up," his grandsire answered with a sadistic chuckle. "She was a mess after she finished breaking in the Slayer."
"Broken in?" Buffy snapped, her spirit still stronger than her body. "Unchain me and we'll see who gets broken!"
"Not having fun slumming, Slayer?" her ex-ally taunted, striding closer to give her the full effect of his icy blue eyes. Give her reason to fear.and wonder if she had pushed him over the edge.
She didn't answer, the set of her face impassive. Spike was considering forcing her to talk, but her blackened eyes flashed to the side, near the door. He shot a final smirk in her direction before turning away to recognize Drusilla, who had just entered. Buffy ignored the last, the sight of his once semi-friendly face twisted into that of an enemy uncomfortably painful. Why should it surprise her that her rejection had destroyed any connection between them? With a shock, she realized there were even worse explanations. Spike had lied to her all along.
It made terrible worlds of sense. Every moment he had professed to be her ally, he had been scheming against her. Her presence here was proof enough. He should have known Angelus was coming for her, and hadn't bothered to give her warning. Just giving her one cryptic message, all the while inwardly laughing, knowing she wouldn't understand. He had seemed so genuine, the patient understanding when she told him her fears, the surprise on his face when she had pulled away from his kiss. The sad expression he wore as he admitted he was a monster. And all of that had been a lie.
She watched tiredly as the vampiric family made their greetings, Spike placing a penetrating kiss upon a giggling Drusilla. At that point choosing to look away from the scene, Buffy didn't notice that Spike's eyes were on her the entire time. Angelus drew her attention back with his irritated comment.
"Lay off, Spike. You're drunk," said the older vampire with an aggrieved air. Obediently his grandchilde backed off, apathetic to doing so, since he had only kissed her in celebration and to further his inebriated act. Angelus knew that his claim on Dru was solid, but still insisted on being protective.
"It's intoxicating." Dru mumbled, swaying her hips to a faraway melody. She looked up at Angelus with a vicious little smile on her features. "All time is stopping to stare at our little bit of destruction. It wants to rip and tear but has to wait its turn. Naughty child. "
The two went into an extended liplock and for lack of something else to do, Spike wandered back over to the Slayer, both ignoring the noises behind them. Though at first she refused to look at him, Spike's persistence won out. He pulled Buffy's chin down with gentle pressure, but overwhelming nonetheless. She hissed as one of his fingers grazed a particularly nasty burn. What the hell had Dru done to her?
"Not feeling so well, luv?" he inquired with only mild concern in his eyes. She ignored it, temper blazing. He was faking it again. At least Angelus had been honest about wanting to kill her.
"You're an excellent actor." Buffy enigmatically responded, her steely eyes refusing to respond to the confused brow he had at the moment, as if trying to figure out if she was serious. But it was just him trying to reassure her she had a friend before they ripped out her throat.
"Come again?" the vampire asked. Did she know that he was playing along with Angelus and Dru? Was his attempt to fool the others that obvious?
Her only answer was to spit full in his face. Granted because she hadn't had water in a few hours, it was a small amount but her message was clear. Blankly, he wiped it off and gave her a glance. Her eyes were shining with hatred and then he understood. She believed the act too. He supposed he should have been insulted that she had such a low opinion of his promise to be her ally but then again he had been in a rather stormy mood when last they had talked.
He hazarded a glance back towards Angelus and Dru, but they looked unlikely to emerge from their fervent petting session any time soon. A wicked grin spread across his lips. Might as well tease the Slayer a bit and see if she wised up to the situation. She surely knew an enemy wouldn't be as friendly as he was about to be.
"Do you suppose we could rival them?" he asked her conversationally, head indicating the other couple.
"Get that idea the hell out of your mind." Buffy told him flatly, voice lowered so the others wouldn't hear. "You can't believe how much I hate you."
"Hate is such a strong emotion," the vampire smiled, his blue eyes drowning pools. "Heated, volatile, perfect for this."
He leaned forward and captured her dry lips, gently moistening them. She kept her mouth firmly closed but he didn't mind, busily persuading her, in a careful assault. Even last night when he had been angry at her it had been a large effort to not continue kissing her. Was she honestly trying to act like she hadn't felt the same way? He had spoken truly about hate. It involved such heightened emotion, it easily changed to passion. And if she was going to die tonight, damned if he wouldn't make her give in to desire first.
Buffy was astonished that he would have the temerity to try and kiss her after his betrayal. Did he think she was that easily won over? Did he believe she would accept his traitorous lips? Those cold lips which at this moment were patiently erasing the ache of her bruised face, offering a tantalizing contrast to Angelus' brutal attack earlier. The light teasing he was inflicting on her was driving her crazy but she still wouldn't let herself relent, pulling her head away. He withdrew without a word, searching her face.
She didn't think there was much difference after all between the kisses of Angelus and Spike. Granted, the latter was much softer on her wounded face, but she was being violated all the same. He was just inflicting another kind of torture. What else would he be doing? An enemy in a room full of his friends and none of hers wouldn't so much as look at her without an ulterior motive. But dammit, her lips didn't hurt anymore.
"What's wrong?" he asked her with an undertone of worry, thinking he had inadvertently hurt her.
"Well, I am chained to a wall and about to die." Buffy retorted, rolling her eyes. *And I made you stop kissing me*. "How fine are you expecting me to be?"
"Oh, is that all?" the vampire answered with a tiny grin, something between agreement and wry sympathy. He leaned back towards her. "In that case."
"You touch me and I swear I will." the Slayer threatened, her eyes nothing but deadly serious. They did not falter in their promises to find a way to hurt him.
"Scowl? Narrow your eyes menacingly?" Spike scoffed back, unaware that he was sabotaging her trust. "Very fearful prospect. Or maybe you can spit at me again?"
"Whole lot of good that did me," she griped, face set stubbornly.
"And you were expecting what?" he mentioned with a fleeting glance at her abused face. Very little would do her good tonight if he didn't find a way to help. But Buffy didn't know he was trying. Would it be better to not get her hopes up?
"Why are you arguing about this?" the Slayer sighed, her face grimacing as she shifted her body and moved some limb that didn't want to be moved. "The impending doom of the situation evidently eludes you."
"Not quite, I'm just making the best of it." Spike replied, voice easily empty, though he wasn't sure why he was playing this game. Forcing kisses on her? Great plan, and now he couldn't back out of it without giving up the ruse.
"So what now, optimistic one?" Buffy challenged him with a fire in her hazel eyes.
"You aren't objecting? That's a first." the platinum-haired vampire responded. He circled her like a silvery predator, power rippling under the lean lines of his body. "Well, you did spit on me. I'd say it's my turn."
"What?" she asked him incredulously, a hint of confusion finally stealing into her tired face.
"If I may?" Spike courteously questioned her back, refusing to elaborate and thus throwing a bit of mystery into his words. Buffy just blinked at him, confused. What was with the continued polite act? He didn't need to pretend anymore.
"Whatever it is, no way in hell. Besides, they might be done soon," she indicated the other pair, now pinning each other on the floor, but still miraculously clothed.
"They don't matter," her captor arrogantly smirked, and she couldn't help smirking back, because at this point it was true, but not for the reasons Spike was thinking. She accepted her death, and nothing else they did to her should be important. But she wanted to hold onto herself, the scruples that made her who she was.
"Fuck you, Spike." Buffy told him in the most apathetic tone she could summon. Her anger wasn't fazing him, so perhaps distance would. Couldn't be much fun for him if she stood there like a corpse.
Her tactic didn't work in the way she thought it would. Moving like a cold wind, Spike loomed over her, all civility gone. His chilling blue eyes bored into hers, his entire body tense with anger. In one smooth motion, he was too close for comfort and for once it was fear (not lust) that made the Slayer uncomfortable.
"I'd watch my mouth, were I you," the vampire told her in a biting voice, raw along the edges. "Don't go offering if you won't follow through."
With that final snarled word, he moved still closer and brought his face to the side of hers, along a raw cut that ran down from her hairline to her cheek. In a purely animalistic motion, he ran his tongue along the length of the wound, licking away the dried blood. He continued his ministrations without waiting for any protest, determined get his point across, returning the spit while he was at it. She groaned, giving up her indifference easily as a wave of heat unrelated to pain rushed through her body. With a small victorious smile against her cheekbone as he heard her, Spike relinquished the last of his spontaneous rage. He continued the kiss, softly exploring the edges of the wound.
Was this the fatal attraction for her? Buffy was seriously wondering. Was there something about vampires, their menacing ability to take her blood, that turned her on? Because Spike's tongue lazily lapping blood from her, now making teasing circles around her temples, was making it really hard to remember that there was danger here. Danger that slapped her across the face when Angelus' voice returned to her ears, the lazy amusement of a killer coloring his words.
"Buffy, you slut," the older vampire applauded dryly, more humor in his voice than rage. "And Spike? A job well done, although it doesn't take much to get her to moan."
There was malice in Angelus' words, and it hurt her deeply. Partially because it was him saying it, and partially because the full force of her stupidity was brought back. Torn away from her anger at Spike and the lust that seemed to go along with it, she was pulled away from that part of her that felt. Forced to realize that this was just another one of their games. The bleached blonde vampire had pulled her away from reason, making it all the more painful to be snapped back to reality.
"Just breaking her in," the younger replied, his smile cold and calculating. He let his gaze linger on Buffy an extra second, and she could have sworn she saw something else in his eyes. Something of warning, maybe? Well, duh. Why couldn't they just kill her already?
"It's time." Drusilla interrupted with a sharp grin of celebration. Buffy wearily gazed at her, mind racing to find a way of escape. But the odds were against her.
"So, are you ready for this, Buffy?" Angelus questioned with mocking concern. "I mean, if this is making you uncomfortable, just say the word."
"Go to hell," the Slayer told him vindictively, the bitter look in her eyes shouting that she wished he had stayed there the first time.
"Oh, I intend to," her ex-lover informed her with a smile. "And I was thinking we were gonna take every drop of your blood, but maybe we can spare you to see the apocalypse you failed to prevent."
Almost reverently, Drusilla stepped forward with a knife, rather small as blades go, but obviously still sharp enough to do its job. It was already dulled with the stain of blood, and Buffy realized it was probably her own. Wounds all over her body ached like a low-burning fire that hadn't died yet, as if they were acknowledging the weapon that had brought them into existence. Her eyes flickering over the room, the Slayer allowed herself a moment of regret for all the things she could have done, the normal life that would have been hers if Destiny hadn't intervened. She couldn't even get an ordinary death, but deep down she had known she wouldn't.
And of course there were her mistakes she would never have the chance to remedy, even though two of them were staring her in the face, their masculine faces full of deadly intent. The three glided towards her chained position, their bodies carrying a stillness for all that they moved, fought, and fucked.
"I think we'll let Spike do the honors," Angelus said speculatively, perhaps suspicious of the younger vamp's motives. "He can make himself useful, since I've done all the work so far. Not that that's unusual, eh?"
Spike coolly ignored the innuendo, accepting the blade into a slim, powerful hand. Steadily, he made the final few steps towards the helpless Buffy, no purpose in his eyes, but no softness either. Whatever he had tried to tell her before in his gaze had disappeared, and truthfully, Buffy had already forgotten it, transfixed by the gleam on the knife's edge.
"From where?" the platinum-haired vamp asked impassively. Buffy was shaken out of her fixation with the blade to face her killer, whose voice sounded like death. Small coincidence.
"Doesn't matter, as long as it bleeds," the brunette replied. "Neck would be easiest, I suppose."
With those irreverent words, Buffy's doom was finally sealed and she watched Spike approach, curiously unable to summon fear. She wondered if it would hurt, certainly, but saw no purpose in being afraid. It wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't help the world, and she allowed herself guilt for failing in her duty to millions who never knew she fought for them. They shouldn't have had to find out she was there, but they would know her absence and the lesson would be painful. Nearly overcome by guilt and not wanting her captors to know it, she closed her eyes.
The vampire approached the Slayer, mind racing to find a way to thwart the scheme, but there was very little it seemed he could do without arousing suspicion. He'd have to cut her, and just hope she didn't bleed to death. Wait, that was it! Angelus had said something about the Book only taking the Slayer's blood. What would happen if his were mixed in? It was a long shot, but as he prepared to draw the knife across Buffy's pale skin, her closed eyes worried him. The fact that she had given up meant he had to try harder to get her attention.
Prompted by Drusilla's impatient sigh, Spike pressed the stained blade across the Slayer's jugular, a slight blow which nonetheless welled with blood. Buffy finally came out of her thoughts, gazing at Spike with something akin to shock. It was like he had woken her from a dream, but the thick feel of blood creeping down her collarbone proved this was a nightmare. She muttered a few choice expletives and it almost made the vampire grin, seeing her spirit come back.
"Shh," he whispered, and she looked up at him, bewildered by his attitude.
His expression was hard to read, and yet he had a tiny smile, but it wasn't on his lips, instead glinting in his eyes. There was nothing malevolent in it, which puzzled her more. Had she underestimated him, as ridiculous as the notion sounded? That brief flash of friendliness became invisible as Spike lowered his head along with the knife. She followed his motion and noticed him press his thumb against the sharp side, creating his own small cut.
The Slayer's mouth tightened, guessing what he was up to. Looking up swiftly, Spike dabbed his thumb in the copious blood trickling from her neck, mixing the two before the others could notice. Buffy watched as he stepped away, bearing a vivid smear on his hand.
"Give it, Dru." Spike said with authority, holding his bloody hand out for the Book.
She did, with a beatific smile, and everyone in the room watched as Spike swiped the blood along the Forbidden Book's spine. It immediately began to glow, a faint light which intensified as the bloody streak was absorbed into the cover. Almost humming, the tome's power resonated through the room, causing Dru to collapse to the ground clutching her head.
Finally, Angelus summoned the courage to approach the radiant thing, opening it with a steady hand which didn't mirror the uncertainty in his eyes. It opened underneath his hand, and Spike cursed inwardly. His gamble hadn't paid off, obviously because the amount of his blood had been minuscule compared to the Slayer's. So much for contaminating the process.
Angelus laughed, a sound which managed to combine joy and sadism all in one, a laugh which could give nightmares to people of all ages. He lowered one hand to help Drusilla rise from her sprawl on the ground and the two of them clustered around the Book, flipping through the pages, discovering everything they could. Spike chanced a look back at the Slayer, who returned the gaze with a wince and roll of her eyes. The sometime-enemies bonded silently, recognizing their failure but also that they had done their best to prevent it. Helluva epitaph, that-- "She tried to save the world".
"I want to try that one, my Angel!" Dru said excitedly, pointing a fingernail on one page.
"Right now?" he questioned, thinking hard. "We don't have any captives we can sacrifice to start a spell."
As if on cue, Buffy coughed, the sound raspy due to the cut in her throat The vampires looked at her with wolves' eyes, all of one mind. She was there still, and could be of more of one use.
"Well, it would be an ironic end." Angelus chuckled, flipping to the beginning of the Book to find the incantation to drain life energy into the magic's power.
"Bloody hell." Buffy cursed under her breath, not even caring that she was using a Spike-ism.
She refused to close her eyes as her ex-lover began to recite in Latin, wanting to take in all the information her senses would give her. If that included the painful feeling of her life-force being sucked away so be it. But nothing happened. Angelus repeated the incantation a few times, voice growing more frustrated each time round.
"Angelus?" Drusilla timidly interjected. "I can't see the Book anymore. It was painting the room a lovely bloody red, but everything is dark now. All the colors are gone!"
The older vampire shot his childe a piercing glance, understanding full well what she was saying. The Forbidden Book wasn't working, for some odd reason. What had gone wrong? They had done everything they were supposed to, and right now Buffy should be a shriveled corpse, and the earth consumed by torrents of flame. But that stuff just wasn't happening.
"Dammit!" the brunette swore, tossing the Book to the floor in utter fury.
"Something rotten in the state of Denmark, Peaches?" Spike observed snidely, though he couldn't be more pleased that his blood had ruined the scheme.
"There should be!" his grandsire howled, eyes flashing dangerously. Spike held up his hands in placation, and this was his mistake. "Is that a cut on your finger?"
"Yeah, had a little fight at the bar, someone else's broken beer bottle sliced my thumb open," the platinum-haired vampire explained nonchalantly, completely ignoring the deadly undertone in Angelus' voice. But his grandsire believed the story.
"You're aware your blood mixed with the Slayer's and contaminated the entire process, aren't you?" the other vamp snapped caustically, grabbing the offending hand in an iron grip. "You frickin' idiot!"
"Just because you have control issues and don't tell me anything, suddenly this is my fault?" Spike argued, wrenching his wrist away from Angelus. "Don't think so, guv."
"Angelus? Your words have gone solid," Drusilla interrupted, almost in a panic. "They're choking me, touchable. Black and smooth, sliding down to my gut. Make them stop. Ms. Edith says families aren't supposed to fight."
"Why don't you go slide your black, smooth tongue down her bloody throat?" Spike suggested, the convenient diversion allowing him to evade Angelus' interrogation. It earned him a dirty look, but still the older vampire moved away to comfort his childe.
Dru seemed to live in her own world most of the time, and when she emerged, you always got the feeling that she was only half with you. Now that he had been forced away from her by the attentions of his grandsire, he recognized something more about why he was tolerating the change. It wasn't completely because the vampiress had so obviously moved away from him-he had seen that she had never been close to begin with. But he had thought she was.
Little signs she had sent, tiny smiles in his direction and even their bloodily fulfilling sex had always held more significance in the other place she spent her time. He couldn't comprehend how he had cared for her so long, when the relationship should have had more life. The irony of *that* thought did not escape him, but thoughts of life reminded him that Buffy's was slipping away.
He cast a cautious glance towards the other two, but they were talking earnestly. He cast a quick prayer that they would not finish until he was ready for a fight. That was what it was going to come down to, but it might be helpful if Buffy didn't bleed to death before one of them was dust. Walking with his usual lithe grace over to the Slayer, Spike saw the blood that had caked down her front. She noticed his perusal, but just rolled her eyes, trying to reassure her ally. Not to mention she was amused by the confrontation that had taken place.
"Thank you," she hoarsely spoke, but she was thinking more than she could express. She understood the implications of what he had done, that the cut on his thumb was no accident and that she had been wrong about a lot of things.
"Still holding on, I see?" the vampire said lightly, frowning down at his t- shirt as if deciding if it would stop the bleeding, before giving up and taking the entire thing off. It would have to serve as a temporary bandage.
"You're teasing me." Buffy joked weakly as he wrapped the fabric around her neck. He didn't respond to the innuendo, obviously concerned by the shadow she was fast becoming. Had he really cut her that deep?
"I don't know what that bleedin' wanker did with the keys." Spike growled in frustration, looking around the area anyway.
"I'll just wait here," she told him nervously, eyes indicating a place beyond his shoulder. "Spike, move!"
He didn't turn around fast enough to avoid Angelus' fist, but he recovered quickly, giving his grandsire a sneer now that all alliances and loyalties were known.
"Come on, grandpa! S'all you got?" the silver-haired vamp taunted as he dodged punches. "I thwarted all your soddin' plans!"
"There's always another day, another apocalypse." Angelus replied staunchly, a devilish grin emerging onto his face. "You and your Slayer whore aren't going to be around to see it, more's the pity."
Spike had been very careful in the fight so far, knowing well the ancient vampire codes which banned killing an elder. Somehow that archaic system made no provisions for older vampires dusting their childe. But that red tape was all bypassed if a challenge was issued, and Spike took Angelus at his word, beginning to fight in earnest. Even Dru sensed the change in atmosphere, cowering back against the wall and watching her two men spar with deadly fascination.
Striking quickly, the younger vamp scored a hit on Angelus' nose, causing blood to immediately pour from it. Drusilla's gaze wavered between the two, uncertain whether the tantalizing darkness of blood was more alluring than the triumphant gleam in Spike's eyes as he surveyed the damage.
"You asshole!" Angelus growled, wiping a furious hand across his face.
"That's my name." Spike answered tersely, his voice full of meaningful disgust. "Don't wear it out."
Buffy almost blushed at the implications of the statement, but did not because she had already had time to get used to the horrible idea. Not to mention Spike's vehement reaction against it. But it was becoming harder and harder to maintain focus on the room, her eyes swimming. She was sure that if the chains weren't still holding her upright, she would collapse to the floor, disoriented, and dizzy. Such movement would only aggravate her wounds, Buffy knew, and shuddered to think of what that would feel like since she was already struggling against retching when standing still.
The deadly dance taking place in the room was still going on, its two participants choreographing an intricate set of moves which were just a blur to the Slayer's eyes. But then, by some twist of battle, Angelus was next to her, holding his strong hand to her throat. She choked on the tight grip, practically able to feel the bruises forming. She was near blacking out.
"Back off, Spike," the brunette vampire warned, eyes full of sinister intent. "She's nothing to me now, but I have to wonder how thoroughly she's moved on."
"Not as far as you'd think," the platinum blonde said viciously, urged on by the fading light in the Slayer's eyes.
Lunging forward, he pulled a concealed stake from his duster and impaled Angelus' heart in one swift blow. His grandsire barely had time to stiffen before his familiar, harsh features dissolved into a cloud of dust. The instant the pressure of Angelus' hand was gone, Buffy drew in a deep breath, tenaciously clinging to life. All that mattered even in the aftermath of that important battle were those precious gasps of oxygen.
"Buffy? Are you alright?" Spike asked softly, examining her pale, tortured face with piercing eyes. Her only answer was an indistinct mumble. "What's wrong? Spit it out, luv."
She did as he had asked, opening her mouth to spew out the thick ashes, and he laughed shortly at the literal result of his request. Not to mention that she had gotten some of Angelus in her mouth- *that* was all too outrageous for words to describe. The Slayer smiled faintly, not quite able to understand the cause of Spike's amusement, but responding to his humor nonetheless. Reminded suddenly of her state, the vampire turned to find the key to the chains, only to see his other problem. Dru was still in the room, looking at him with dark, soulful eyes.
"Spike?" she whispered, sounding more the lost child than he had ever heard before. "What have you done?"
"Dru, love." he said with hesitation, unsure how to respond without getting another battle on his hands. And a fight he would do anything to avoid, for that matter. He looked down at his dusty boots, abashed.
"A lovely bit of drama, that." Drusilla spoke again, but the timbre was different, no longer petulant.
He looked up in surprise, watching the vampiress move sinuously towards him, walking a perfectly straight line despite the swaying of her hips. Her heavily lidded eyes looked up at him, and they were that blank white of the Gypsy witch. How the hell did she do this? He didn't want to ask. A wry grin spread across Dru's lips, and Spike started, the expression familiar. But he had to remind himself that, for the moment, this was no more than a puppet.
"So glad our little armageddon took your fancy." Spike told her cynically.
"No need to be rude, William," the witch scornfully reprimanded. "I'm not here to do you harm."
"I'm tickled pink, really. Considering there's been enough harm done already," the vampire reminded her, an arm gesturing at the Slayer.
"Just humor me a minute," she ordered. "I came to check up on your soul."
"So I'm your new favorite patient?" he grumbled. "That's peachy, but I'm fine. Now leave."
The Gypsy didn't take him at his word, moving forward and placing a hand over his bare chest. That only reminded him that his shirt was only temporary as a bandage for Buffy's neck, but he waited impatiently. This time her hand remained solid, but she closed Dru's eyes in concentration.
"It seems you were open enough to human feeling that it adjusted very well," she enigmatically explained. "I was afraid it would conflict with your demon."
"Like it did in Angel?" he asked her quizzically.
"Yes, actually. The only reason I'm wasting so much energy to help you is because it isn't technically yours. Believe me, I could give you your own soul back in an instant. And should!" the Gypsy threatened.
"And you won't because?" the tone of his voice ringing confidence.
"Because my physical body is still resting in one piece. Because my bloodline still thrives," she said seriously, speaking of the averted apocalypse.
"Yeah, you're welcome," the vampire gruffly responded, a smirk accompanying the statement. "Satisfied?"
"Occasionally," she said primly, taking the question all too seriously.
With a last arrogant twinkle of her blind eyes, the Gypsy was gone, and Dru sagged to the floor. Spike hurried over and managed to catch her before she fell completely. Slowly, the woman he had loved for so long managed to stand, her all-seeing eyes filled with pain. The instant he released her, she scrambled away in horror.
"She showed me." Drusilla whimpered, her voice the only thing moving in the room. "Spike.I felt her coming, filling me up like a glass, and I fought to stay whole. I saw through myself, saw everything.your soul."
"Drusilla, I." her childe started miserably, but she silenced him with a thin hand. The determined look in her eyes told him that this was one of the rare times when she was firmly entrenched in his world. The emotions swirling across her face were too real for her to not be lucid.
"Would you like to know what else I saw when I looked at you?" the vampiress said, a tiny bitter laugh quenching the music of her speech. "That burning light you bear isn't licking at your insides to hurt you. It will make you happy, give you your heart's desire."
"What else, pet?" Spike prompted her gently, knowing there was more from the dread in her eyes. But the dread wasn't for his future-it was for their past.
"And that happiness wasn't for me," she concluded. "I had been so sure it was. But it is of a different fabric, woven with strands bright and dazzling.everything that I cannot be for you, Spike. I, of shadows and pain.I who you no longer love. Perhaps you don't believe me, but once I would have become that if you had wanted it. Once that brilliance was me, all the light my William needed."
Overcome with remorse, Spike understood her feelings completely. He had been in the same position not too long ago, left behind to wonder what he had done wrong, whether his grandsire was giving Dru something he could not. And more painful than the dark wonderings he had gone through was the absolute knowledge the vampiress had opened herself to. He knew she spoke truthfully that he did not love her, but that still left room for regret. They had been happy once.
Spike approached his companion with heavy steps. She allowed herself to be embraced, silently shaking as he mumbled words of apology into her ear. With a tiny cry, Drusilla wrenched herself away, caressing the side of his sculpted face with regret. She softly brushed her lips across his, her eyes closed to hide what she was thinking.
"And I will be that burning flame again," she confided with a finality that shook him to the core.
Whirling away with all the speed of the vampiric race, Dru leaped out the window. The shatter of the glass shook Spike into the realization it was after dawn. But he could hear her feet running farther away from the dark safety of the house, that steady pound like a heart beating, oblivious of the sun glaring down. The last sound to come from that pale throat he had so worshipped was a laugh, free from bloodlust, hunger, and even lunacy. That laugh which left him stunned and joyless even as it resonated with unadulterated bliss and understanding. Then it was over, the sound of disintegration audible to him, though it was no different than an old truck passing down a dirt road kicking up dust in its wake.
He shuddered, unable to avoid the grisly pictures whipping through his head. Had she been a tower of flame, lazily pirouetting in circles? Had it taken long for her to die, consumed by fire and her perfect skin charred? His only consolation was that she had been above the pain, her willing sacrifice allowing her that much. But it did not make mourning any less inevitable. Drusilla's bravery had only brought her death, but of course she had known that. His mood changed quickly from sadness to self-loathing. He should have pulled her back from the window, he should have yanked her into his arms, and kissed her till she bruised, shown her she was just what he wanted, soul be damned. But he had been frozen, a useless champion to the vampiress he had killed for. A single tear went down his face, the only visible sign of thawing, but he wiped it away briskly.
Drowning in his thoughts, he was shaken back to reality as the Slayer shifted uncomfortably in her chains. She was obviously recovering from having passed out, and the vampire hastily shoved his emotions to the background, knowing that he still had to think about the present. He couldn't save Dru, but Buffy was still hanging on by a thread. Spotting the keys on the floor where they had fallen after Angelus had been dusted (and with him his pockets), the bleached blonde vampire quickly unlocked the manacles and lowered the Slayer to the ground.
"Promise me you'll burn it." Buffy murmured, on the verge of fainting again.
"The Book?" he said with uncertainty, still thinking about other things that burned.
"Yeah," her voice trailed off, eyes bleary and closing fast.
No time like the present. In one long stride and one precise toss, her bidding was done and it was only a matter of minutes before the spellbook was a useless heap of ash. One of three in the room, the vampire abstractedly thought, but forced the idea out of his head. Instead, Spike tried to wonder at how easily destroyed the Book was, after all the trouble it had taken to get it open. As if knowing what he was thinking, Buffy spoke.
"Once it was given blood and opened, it was no longer invulnerable," she explained, miraculously still conscious. "Giles told me any ordinary means of destruction would work, but fire would be the best since nothing recognizable would be left behind."
Wounded anew by an analogy, Spike turned away from the Slayer with a curse. Swiftly he faced her again, only to find that the effort of talking had taken the last of her strength and she was limply sprawled on the floor. He knelt down, relieved to find that she still had a faint pulse, and lifted her up. Laying her down in an unoccupied bedroom, he wrapped real bandages around her neck. Perhaps after some rest he would be able to tend to the other wounds and she could get all the blood off her body.
He left the room stealthily, chancing one last glance at Buffy lying peacefully on the bed. He envied her oblivion. It mattered little to the dreamer if she was dirtying clean sheets, her clothes were half torn-off and a vampire had just saved the world in her stead.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably, her entire set of muscles screaming in pain. Moving a leg experimentally, she caused a wave of agony to rush up to her head, reminding her also of the large sized lump Angelus had put there when he knocked her out. Her ankle must be twisted in a bad way. As she shifted her weight onto the good foot, she figured since she was chained to a wall, she wouldn't be going anywhere fast. She opened her eyes warily to look at the rest of her body, only to discover it covered in bruises, cuts and various wounds. Why she hadn't woken up sooner was a mystery. She groaned as a spasm ran through her tortured body. She struggled to remember what had happened. Then someone's throat cleared and she raised her matted blonde head to see her lover. But definitely ex-lover now.
"Good evening, sweetheart," he said with deceptive gentleness. "About time you woke up."
"Angelus," the Slayer croaked, her throat painfully dry. "What do you want now?"
"Do you need to ask?" the brunette vampire said with a twisted grin and mocking tone. "You. It's always been you."
In one quick motion his large hand reached forward and grabbed her chin, his grip tight and bruising. Unable to do anything but stare at him defiantly, Buffy helplessly shivered as he ripped her shirt off with the other hand. His heavy body moved closer, pressing against hers and she struggled to move away, almost feeling suffocated by his bulk. With a growl the vampire lowered his angry slash of a mouth to her tight bloodless lips, hurting her swollen face even more. His brutal kiss was broken off by a very drunk Spike. Crashing into the back room in an uncoordinated stagger, the other vampire's eyes took in the sight of the Slayer, chained to a wall practically in her underclothes.
"I think I need another drink," the bleached blonde groaned loudly, grabbing a wall to hold himself steady.
The point of going to a bar and drinking himself into oblivion was to avoid seeing Buffy's demise, even though the chit would probably have loved to watch his, especially after that disastrous kiss. But the damned alcohol hadn't been good after all. After one beer he had decided he would be of little use to anyone stoned. He was cursing himself that his loyalties were torn, but right now some part of him was still glad he had stopped the rape. Just to make sure, he kept acting drunk, knowing it would take the others off guard.
"Well, Angelus, at least it's not the brass bikini." Spike noted raucously, trying not to look at the bloodily exposed body that was Buffy.
"It was a thought," the older vampire said with a glance at the weakened Slayer. "But Dru wouldn't hear of it. Wanted it for herself."
"Ouch." Buffy interjected. Nobody else in the room could tell whether she was talking about Angelus' unsubtle dig against Spike or the wounds she bore.
"By the by, where is Drusilla?" Spike questioned, rubbing a hand over his forehead as if he were feeling the onset of a hangover.
"Cleaning up," his grandsire answered with a sadistic chuckle. "She was a mess after she finished breaking in the Slayer."
"Broken in?" Buffy snapped, her spirit still stronger than her body. "Unchain me and we'll see who gets broken!"
"Not having fun slumming, Slayer?" her ex-ally taunted, striding closer to give her the full effect of his icy blue eyes. Give her reason to fear.and wonder if she had pushed him over the edge.
She didn't answer, the set of her face impassive. Spike was considering forcing her to talk, but her blackened eyes flashed to the side, near the door. He shot a final smirk in her direction before turning away to recognize Drusilla, who had just entered. Buffy ignored the last, the sight of his once semi-friendly face twisted into that of an enemy uncomfortably painful. Why should it surprise her that her rejection had destroyed any connection between them? With a shock, she realized there were even worse explanations. Spike had lied to her all along.
It made terrible worlds of sense. Every moment he had professed to be her ally, he had been scheming against her. Her presence here was proof enough. He should have known Angelus was coming for her, and hadn't bothered to give her warning. Just giving her one cryptic message, all the while inwardly laughing, knowing she wouldn't understand. He had seemed so genuine, the patient understanding when she told him her fears, the surprise on his face when she had pulled away from his kiss. The sad expression he wore as he admitted he was a monster. And all of that had been a lie.
She watched tiredly as the vampiric family made their greetings, Spike placing a penetrating kiss upon a giggling Drusilla. At that point choosing to look away from the scene, Buffy didn't notice that Spike's eyes were on her the entire time. Angelus drew her attention back with his irritated comment.
"Lay off, Spike. You're drunk," said the older vampire with an aggrieved air. Obediently his grandchilde backed off, apathetic to doing so, since he had only kissed her in celebration and to further his inebriated act. Angelus knew that his claim on Dru was solid, but still insisted on being protective.
"It's intoxicating." Dru mumbled, swaying her hips to a faraway melody. She looked up at Angelus with a vicious little smile on her features. "All time is stopping to stare at our little bit of destruction. It wants to rip and tear but has to wait its turn. Naughty child. "
The two went into an extended liplock and for lack of something else to do, Spike wandered back over to the Slayer, both ignoring the noises behind them. Though at first she refused to look at him, Spike's persistence won out. He pulled Buffy's chin down with gentle pressure, but overwhelming nonetheless. She hissed as one of his fingers grazed a particularly nasty burn. What the hell had Dru done to her?
"Not feeling so well, luv?" he inquired with only mild concern in his eyes. She ignored it, temper blazing. He was faking it again. At least Angelus had been honest about wanting to kill her.
"You're an excellent actor." Buffy enigmatically responded, her steely eyes refusing to respond to the confused brow he had at the moment, as if trying to figure out if she was serious. But it was just him trying to reassure her she had a friend before they ripped out her throat.
"Come again?" the vampire asked. Did she know that he was playing along with Angelus and Dru? Was his attempt to fool the others that obvious?
Her only answer was to spit full in his face. Granted because she hadn't had water in a few hours, it was a small amount but her message was clear. Blankly, he wiped it off and gave her a glance. Her eyes were shining with hatred and then he understood. She believed the act too. He supposed he should have been insulted that she had such a low opinion of his promise to be her ally but then again he had been in a rather stormy mood when last they had talked.
He hazarded a glance back towards Angelus and Dru, but they looked unlikely to emerge from their fervent petting session any time soon. A wicked grin spread across his lips. Might as well tease the Slayer a bit and see if she wised up to the situation. She surely knew an enemy wouldn't be as friendly as he was about to be.
"Do you suppose we could rival them?" he asked her conversationally, head indicating the other couple.
"Get that idea the hell out of your mind." Buffy told him flatly, voice lowered so the others wouldn't hear. "You can't believe how much I hate you."
"Hate is such a strong emotion," the vampire smiled, his blue eyes drowning pools. "Heated, volatile, perfect for this."
He leaned forward and captured her dry lips, gently moistening them. She kept her mouth firmly closed but he didn't mind, busily persuading her, in a careful assault. Even last night when he had been angry at her it had been a large effort to not continue kissing her. Was she honestly trying to act like she hadn't felt the same way? He had spoken truly about hate. It involved such heightened emotion, it easily changed to passion. And if she was going to die tonight, damned if he wouldn't make her give in to desire first.
Buffy was astonished that he would have the temerity to try and kiss her after his betrayal. Did he think she was that easily won over? Did he believe she would accept his traitorous lips? Those cold lips which at this moment were patiently erasing the ache of her bruised face, offering a tantalizing contrast to Angelus' brutal attack earlier. The light teasing he was inflicting on her was driving her crazy but she still wouldn't let herself relent, pulling her head away. He withdrew without a word, searching her face.
She didn't think there was much difference after all between the kisses of Angelus and Spike. Granted, the latter was much softer on her wounded face, but she was being violated all the same. He was just inflicting another kind of torture. What else would he be doing? An enemy in a room full of his friends and none of hers wouldn't so much as look at her without an ulterior motive. But dammit, her lips didn't hurt anymore.
"What's wrong?" he asked her with an undertone of worry, thinking he had inadvertently hurt her.
"Well, I am chained to a wall and about to die." Buffy retorted, rolling her eyes. *And I made you stop kissing me*. "How fine are you expecting me to be?"
"Oh, is that all?" the vampire answered with a tiny grin, something between agreement and wry sympathy. He leaned back towards her. "In that case."
"You touch me and I swear I will." the Slayer threatened, her eyes nothing but deadly serious. They did not falter in their promises to find a way to hurt him.
"Scowl? Narrow your eyes menacingly?" Spike scoffed back, unaware that he was sabotaging her trust. "Very fearful prospect. Or maybe you can spit at me again?"
"Whole lot of good that did me," she griped, face set stubbornly.
"And you were expecting what?" he mentioned with a fleeting glance at her abused face. Very little would do her good tonight if he didn't find a way to help. But Buffy didn't know he was trying. Would it be better to not get her hopes up?
"Why are you arguing about this?" the Slayer sighed, her face grimacing as she shifted her body and moved some limb that didn't want to be moved. "The impending doom of the situation evidently eludes you."
"Not quite, I'm just making the best of it." Spike replied, voice easily empty, though he wasn't sure why he was playing this game. Forcing kisses on her? Great plan, and now he couldn't back out of it without giving up the ruse.
"So what now, optimistic one?" Buffy challenged him with a fire in her hazel eyes.
"You aren't objecting? That's a first." the platinum-haired vampire responded. He circled her like a silvery predator, power rippling under the lean lines of his body. "Well, you did spit on me. I'd say it's my turn."
"What?" she asked him incredulously, a hint of confusion finally stealing into her tired face.
"If I may?" Spike courteously questioned her back, refusing to elaborate and thus throwing a bit of mystery into his words. Buffy just blinked at him, confused. What was with the continued polite act? He didn't need to pretend anymore.
"Whatever it is, no way in hell. Besides, they might be done soon," she indicated the other pair, now pinning each other on the floor, but still miraculously clothed.
"They don't matter," her captor arrogantly smirked, and she couldn't help smirking back, because at this point it was true, but not for the reasons Spike was thinking. She accepted her death, and nothing else they did to her should be important. But she wanted to hold onto herself, the scruples that made her who she was.
"Fuck you, Spike." Buffy told him in the most apathetic tone she could summon. Her anger wasn't fazing him, so perhaps distance would. Couldn't be much fun for him if she stood there like a corpse.
Her tactic didn't work in the way she thought it would. Moving like a cold wind, Spike loomed over her, all civility gone. His chilling blue eyes bored into hers, his entire body tense with anger. In one smooth motion, he was too close for comfort and for once it was fear (not lust) that made the Slayer uncomfortable.
"I'd watch my mouth, were I you," the vampire told her in a biting voice, raw along the edges. "Don't go offering if you won't follow through."
With that final snarled word, he moved still closer and brought his face to the side of hers, along a raw cut that ran down from her hairline to her cheek. In a purely animalistic motion, he ran his tongue along the length of the wound, licking away the dried blood. He continued his ministrations without waiting for any protest, determined get his point across, returning the spit while he was at it. She groaned, giving up her indifference easily as a wave of heat unrelated to pain rushed through her body. With a small victorious smile against her cheekbone as he heard her, Spike relinquished the last of his spontaneous rage. He continued the kiss, softly exploring the edges of the wound.
Was this the fatal attraction for her? Buffy was seriously wondering. Was there something about vampires, their menacing ability to take her blood, that turned her on? Because Spike's tongue lazily lapping blood from her, now making teasing circles around her temples, was making it really hard to remember that there was danger here. Danger that slapped her across the face when Angelus' voice returned to her ears, the lazy amusement of a killer coloring his words.
"Buffy, you slut," the older vampire applauded dryly, more humor in his voice than rage. "And Spike? A job well done, although it doesn't take much to get her to moan."
There was malice in Angelus' words, and it hurt her deeply. Partially because it was him saying it, and partially because the full force of her stupidity was brought back. Torn away from her anger at Spike and the lust that seemed to go along with it, she was pulled away from that part of her that felt. Forced to realize that this was just another one of their games. The bleached blonde vampire had pulled her away from reason, making it all the more painful to be snapped back to reality.
"Just breaking her in," the younger replied, his smile cold and calculating. He let his gaze linger on Buffy an extra second, and she could have sworn she saw something else in his eyes. Something of warning, maybe? Well, duh. Why couldn't they just kill her already?
"It's time." Drusilla interrupted with a sharp grin of celebration. Buffy wearily gazed at her, mind racing to find a way of escape. But the odds were against her.
"So, are you ready for this, Buffy?" Angelus questioned with mocking concern. "I mean, if this is making you uncomfortable, just say the word."
"Go to hell," the Slayer told him vindictively, the bitter look in her eyes shouting that she wished he had stayed there the first time.
"Oh, I intend to," her ex-lover informed her with a smile. "And I was thinking we were gonna take every drop of your blood, but maybe we can spare you to see the apocalypse you failed to prevent."
Almost reverently, Drusilla stepped forward with a knife, rather small as blades go, but obviously still sharp enough to do its job. It was already dulled with the stain of blood, and Buffy realized it was probably her own. Wounds all over her body ached like a low-burning fire that hadn't died yet, as if they were acknowledging the weapon that had brought them into existence. Her eyes flickering over the room, the Slayer allowed herself a moment of regret for all the things she could have done, the normal life that would have been hers if Destiny hadn't intervened. She couldn't even get an ordinary death, but deep down she had known she wouldn't.
And of course there were her mistakes she would never have the chance to remedy, even though two of them were staring her in the face, their masculine faces full of deadly intent. The three glided towards her chained position, their bodies carrying a stillness for all that they moved, fought, and fucked.
"I think we'll let Spike do the honors," Angelus said speculatively, perhaps suspicious of the younger vamp's motives. "He can make himself useful, since I've done all the work so far. Not that that's unusual, eh?"
Spike coolly ignored the innuendo, accepting the blade into a slim, powerful hand. Steadily, he made the final few steps towards the helpless Buffy, no purpose in his eyes, but no softness either. Whatever he had tried to tell her before in his gaze had disappeared, and truthfully, Buffy had already forgotten it, transfixed by the gleam on the knife's edge.
"From where?" the platinum-haired vamp asked impassively. Buffy was shaken out of her fixation with the blade to face her killer, whose voice sounded like death. Small coincidence.
"Doesn't matter, as long as it bleeds," the brunette replied. "Neck would be easiest, I suppose."
With those irreverent words, Buffy's doom was finally sealed and she watched Spike approach, curiously unable to summon fear. She wondered if it would hurt, certainly, but saw no purpose in being afraid. It wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't help the world, and she allowed herself guilt for failing in her duty to millions who never knew she fought for them. They shouldn't have had to find out she was there, but they would know her absence and the lesson would be painful. Nearly overcome by guilt and not wanting her captors to know it, she closed her eyes.
The vampire approached the Slayer, mind racing to find a way to thwart the scheme, but there was very little it seemed he could do without arousing suspicion. He'd have to cut her, and just hope she didn't bleed to death. Wait, that was it! Angelus had said something about the Book only taking the Slayer's blood. What would happen if his were mixed in? It was a long shot, but as he prepared to draw the knife across Buffy's pale skin, her closed eyes worried him. The fact that she had given up meant he had to try harder to get her attention.
Prompted by Drusilla's impatient sigh, Spike pressed the stained blade across the Slayer's jugular, a slight blow which nonetheless welled with blood. Buffy finally came out of her thoughts, gazing at Spike with something akin to shock. It was like he had woken her from a dream, but the thick feel of blood creeping down her collarbone proved this was a nightmare. She muttered a few choice expletives and it almost made the vampire grin, seeing her spirit come back.
"Shh," he whispered, and she looked up at him, bewildered by his attitude.
His expression was hard to read, and yet he had a tiny smile, but it wasn't on his lips, instead glinting in his eyes. There was nothing malevolent in it, which puzzled her more. Had she underestimated him, as ridiculous as the notion sounded? That brief flash of friendliness became invisible as Spike lowered his head along with the knife. She followed his motion and noticed him press his thumb against the sharp side, creating his own small cut.
The Slayer's mouth tightened, guessing what he was up to. Looking up swiftly, Spike dabbed his thumb in the copious blood trickling from her neck, mixing the two before the others could notice. Buffy watched as he stepped away, bearing a vivid smear on his hand.
"Give it, Dru." Spike said with authority, holding his bloody hand out for the Book.
She did, with a beatific smile, and everyone in the room watched as Spike swiped the blood along the Forbidden Book's spine. It immediately began to glow, a faint light which intensified as the bloody streak was absorbed into the cover. Almost humming, the tome's power resonated through the room, causing Dru to collapse to the ground clutching her head.
Finally, Angelus summoned the courage to approach the radiant thing, opening it with a steady hand which didn't mirror the uncertainty in his eyes. It opened underneath his hand, and Spike cursed inwardly. His gamble hadn't paid off, obviously because the amount of his blood had been minuscule compared to the Slayer's. So much for contaminating the process.
Angelus laughed, a sound which managed to combine joy and sadism all in one, a laugh which could give nightmares to people of all ages. He lowered one hand to help Drusilla rise from her sprawl on the ground and the two of them clustered around the Book, flipping through the pages, discovering everything they could. Spike chanced a look back at the Slayer, who returned the gaze with a wince and roll of her eyes. The sometime-enemies bonded silently, recognizing their failure but also that they had done their best to prevent it. Helluva epitaph, that-- "She tried to save the world".
"I want to try that one, my Angel!" Dru said excitedly, pointing a fingernail on one page.
"Right now?" he questioned, thinking hard. "We don't have any captives we can sacrifice to start a spell."
As if on cue, Buffy coughed, the sound raspy due to the cut in her throat The vampires looked at her with wolves' eyes, all of one mind. She was there still, and could be of more of one use.
"Well, it would be an ironic end." Angelus chuckled, flipping to the beginning of the Book to find the incantation to drain life energy into the magic's power.
"Bloody hell." Buffy cursed under her breath, not even caring that she was using a Spike-ism.
She refused to close her eyes as her ex-lover began to recite in Latin, wanting to take in all the information her senses would give her. If that included the painful feeling of her life-force being sucked away so be it. But nothing happened. Angelus repeated the incantation a few times, voice growing more frustrated each time round.
"Angelus?" Drusilla timidly interjected. "I can't see the Book anymore. It was painting the room a lovely bloody red, but everything is dark now. All the colors are gone!"
The older vampire shot his childe a piercing glance, understanding full well what she was saying. The Forbidden Book wasn't working, for some odd reason. What had gone wrong? They had done everything they were supposed to, and right now Buffy should be a shriveled corpse, and the earth consumed by torrents of flame. But that stuff just wasn't happening.
"Dammit!" the brunette swore, tossing the Book to the floor in utter fury.
"Something rotten in the state of Denmark, Peaches?" Spike observed snidely, though he couldn't be more pleased that his blood had ruined the scheme.
"There should be!" his grandsire howled, eyes flashing dangerously. Spike held up his hands in placation, and this was his mistake. "Is that a cut on your finger?"
"Yeah, had a little fight at the bar, someone else's broken beer bottle sliced my thumb open," the platinum-haired vampire explained nonchalantly, completely ignoring the deadly undertone in Angelus' voice. But his grandsire believed the story.
"You're aware your blood mixed with the Slayer's and contaminated the entire process, aren't you?" the other vamp snapped caustically, grabbing the offending hand in an iron grip. "You frickin' idiot!"
"Just because you have control issues and don't tell me anything, suddenly this is my fault?" Spike argued, wrenching his wrist away from Angelus. "Don't think so, guv."
"Angelus? Your words have gone solid," Drusilla interrupted, almost in a panic. "They're choking me, touchable. Black and smooth, sliding down to my gut. Make them stop. Ms. Edith says families aren't supposed to fight."
"Why don't you go slide your black, smooth tongue down her bloody throat?" Spike suggested, the convenient diversion allowing him to evade Angelus' interrogation. It earned him a dirty look, but still the older vampire moved away to comfort his childe.
Dru seemed to live in her own world most of the time, and when she emerged, you always got the feeling that she was only half with you. Now that he had been forced away from her by the attentions of his grandsire, he recognized something more about why he was tolerating the change. It wasn't completely because the vampiress had so obviously moved away from him-he had seen that she had never been close to begin with. But he had thought she was.
Little signs she had sent, tiny smiles in his direction and even their bloodily fulfilling sex had always held more significance in the other place she spent her time. He couldn't comprehend how he had cared for her so long, when the relationship should have had more life. The irony of *that* thought did not escape him, but thoughts of life reminded him that Buffy's was slipping away.
He cast a cautious glance towards the other two, but they were talking earnestly. He cast a quick prayer that they would not finish until he was ready for a fight. That was what it was going to come down to, but it might be helpful if Buffy didn't bleed to death before one of them was dust. Walking with his usual lithe grace over to the Slayer, Spike saw the blood that had caked down her front. She noticed his perusal, but just rolled her eyes, trying to reassure her ally. Not to mention she was amused by the confrontation that had taken place.
"Thank you," she hoarsely spoke, but she was thinking more than she could express. She understood the implications of what he had done, that the cut on his thumb was no accident and that she had been wrong about a lot of things.
"Still holding on, I see?" the vampire said lightly, frowning down at his t- shirt as if deciding if it would stop the bleeding, before giving up and taking the entire thing off. It would have to serve as a temporary bandage.
"You're teasing me." Buffy joked weakly as he wrapped the fabric around her neck. He didn't respond to the innuendo, obviously concerned by the shadow she was fast becoming. Had he really cut her that deep?
"I don't know what that bleedin' wanker did with the keys." Spike growled in frustration, looking around the area anyway.
"I'll just wait here," she told him nervously, eyes indicating a place beyond his shoulder. "Spike, move!"
He didn't turn around fast enough to avoid Angelus' fist, but he recovered quickly, giving his grandsire a sneer now that all alliances and loyalties were known.
"Come on, grandpa! S'all you got?" the silver-haired vamp taunted as he dodged punches. "I thwarted all your soddin' plans!"
"There's always another day, another apocalypse." Angelus replied staunchly, a devilish grin emerging onto his face. "You and your Slayer whore aren't going to be around to see it, more's the pity."
Spike had been very careful in the fight so far, knowing well the ancient vampire codes which banned killing an elder. Somehow that archaic system made no provisions for older vampires dusting their childe. But that red tape was all bypassed if a challenge was issued, and Spike took Angelus at his word, beginning to fight in earnest. Even Dru sensed the change in atmosphere, cowering back against the wall and watching her two men spar with deadly fascination.
Striking quickly, the younger vamp scored a hit on Angelus' nose, causing blood to immediately pour from it. Drusilla's gaze wavered between the two, uncertain whether the tantalizing darkness of blood was more alluring than the triumphant gleam in Spike's eyes as he surveyed the damage.
"You asshole!" Angelus growled, wiping a furious hand across his face.
"That's my name." Spike answered tersely, his voice full of meaningful disgust. "Don't wear it out."
Buffy almost blushed at the implications of the statement, but did not because she had already had time to get used to the horrible idea. Not to mention Spike's vehement reaction against it. But it was becoming harder and harder to maintain focus on the room, her eyes swimming. She was sure that if the chains weren't still holding her upright, she would collapse to the floor, disoriented, and dizzy. Such movement would only aggravate her wounds, Buffy knew, and shuddered to think of what that would feel like since she was already struggling against retching when standing still.
The deadly dance taking place in the room was still going on, its two participants choreographing an intricate set of moves which were just a blur to the Slayer's eyes. But then, by some twist of battle, Angelus was next to her, holding his strong hand to her throat. She choked on the tight grip, practically able to feel the bruises forming. She was near blacking out.
"Back off, Spike," the brunette vampire warned, eyes full of sinister intent. "She's nothing to me now, but I have to wonder how thoroughly she's moved on."
"Not as far as you'd think," the platinum blonde said viciously, urged on by the fading light in the Slayer's eyes.
Lunging forward, he pulled a concealed stake from his duster and impaled Angelus' heart in one swift blow. His grandsire barely had time to stiffen before his familiar, harsh features dissolved into a cloud of dust. The instant the pressure of Angelus' hand was gone, Buffy drew in a deep breath, tenaciously clinging to life. All that mattered even in the aftermath of that important battle were those precious gasps of oxygen.
"Buffy? Are you alright?" Spike asked softly, examining her pale, tortured face with piercing eyes. Her only answer was an indistinct mumble. "What's wrong? Spit it out, luv."
She did as he had asked, opening her mouth to spew out the thick ashes, and he laughed shortly at the literal result of his request. Not to mention that she had gotten some of Angelus in her mouth- *that* was all too outrageous for words to describe. The Slayer smiled faintly, not quite able to understand the cause of Spike's amusement, but responding to his humor nonetheless. Reminded suddenly of her state, the vampire turned to find the key to the chains, only to see his other problem. Dru was still in the room, looking at him with dark, soulful eyes.
"Spike?" she whispered, sounding more the lost child than he had ever heard before. "What have you done?"
"Dru, love." he said with hesitation, unsure how to respond without getting another battle on his hands. And a fight he would do anything to avoid, for that matter. He looked down at his dusty boots, abashed.
"A lovely bit of drama, that." Drusilla spoke again, but the timbre was different, no longer petulant.
He looked up in surprise, watching the vampiress move sinuously towards him, walking a perfectly straight line despite the swaying of her hips. Her heavily lidded eyes looked up at him, and they were that blank white of the Gypsy witch. How the hell did she do this? He didn't want to ask. A wry grin spread across Dru's lips, and Spike started, the expression familiar. But he had to remind himself that, for the moment, this was no more than a puppet.
"So glad our little armageddon took your fancy." Spike told her cynically.
"No need to be rude, William," the witch scornfully reprimanded. "I'm not here to do you harm."
"I'm tickled pink, really. Considering there's been enough harm done already," the vampire reminded her, an arm gesturing at the Slayer.
"Just humor me a minute," she ordered. "I came to check up on your soul."
"So I'm your new favorite patient?" he grumbled. "That's peachy, but I'm fine. Now leave."
The Gypsy didn't take him at his word, moving forward and placing a hand over his bare chest. That only reminded him that his shirt was only temporary as a bandage for Buffy's neck, but he waited impatiently. This time her hand remained solid, but she closed Dru's eyes in concentration.
"It seems you were open enough to human feeling that it adjusted very well," she enigmatically explained. "I was afraid it would conflict with your demon."
"Like it did in Angel?" he asked her quizzically.
"Yes, actually. The only reason I'm wasting so much energy to help you is because it isn't technically yours. Believe me, I could give you your own soul back in an instant. And should!" the Gypsy threatened.
"And you won't because?" the tone of his voice ringing confidence.
"Because my physical body is still resting in one piece. Because my bloodline still thrives," she said seriously, speaking of the averted apocalypse.
"Yeah, you're welcome," the vampire gruffly responded, a smirk accompanying the statement. "Satisfied?"
"Occasionally," she said primly, taking the question all too seriously.
With a last arrogant twinkle of her blind eyes, the Gypsy was gone, and Dru sagged to the floor. Spike hurried over and managed to catch her before she fell completely. Slowly, the woman he had loved for so long managed to stand, her all-seeing eyes filled with pain. The instant he released her, she scrambled away in horror.
"She showed me." Drusilla whimpered, her voice the only thing moving in the room. "Spike.I felt her coming, filling me up like a glass, and I fought to stay whole. I saw through myself, saw everything.your soul."
"Drusilla, I." her childe started miserably, but she silenced him with a thin hand. The determined look in her eyes told him that this was one of the rare times when she was firmly entrenched in his world. The emotions swirling across her face were too real for her to not be lucid.
"Would you like to know what else I saw when I looked at you?" the vampiress said, a tiny bitter laugh quenching the music of her speech. "That burning light you bear isn't licking at your insides to hurt you. It will make you happy, give you your heart's desire."
"What else, pet?" Spike prompted her gently, knowing there was more from the dread in her eyes. But the dread wasn't for his future-it was for their past.
"And that happiness wasn't for me," she concluded. "I had been so sure it was. But it is of a different fabric, woven with strands bright and dazzling.everything that I cannot be for you, Spike. I, of shadows and pain.I who you no longer love. Perhaps you don't believe me, but once I would have become that if you had wanted it. Once that brilliance was me, all the light my William needed."
Overcome with remorse, Spike understood her feelings completely. He had been in the same position not too long ago, left behind to wonder what he had done wrong, whether his grandsire was giving Dru something he could not. And more painful than the dark wonderings he had gone through was the absolute knowledge the vampiress had opened herself to. He knew she spoke truthfully that he did not love her, but that still left room for regret. They had been happy once.
Spike approached his companion with heavy steps. She allowed herself to be embraced, silently shaking as he mumbled words of apology into her ear. With a tiny cry, Drusilla wrenched herself away, caressing the side of his sculpted face with regret. She softly brushed her lips across his, her eyes closed to hide what she was thinking.
"And I will be that burning flame again," she confided with a finality that shook him to the core.
Whirling away with all the speed of the vampiric race, Dru leaped out the window. The shatter of the glass shook Spike into the realization it was after dawn. But he could hear her feet running farther away from the dark safety of the house, that steady pound like a heart beating, oblivious of the sun glaring down. The last sound to come from that pale throat he had so worshipped was a laugh, free from bloodlust, hunger, and even lunacy. That laugh which left him stunned and joyless even as it resonated with unadulterated bliss and understanding. Then it was over, the sound of disintegration audible to him, though it was no different than an old truck passing down a dirt road kicking up dust in its wake.
He shuddered, unable to avoid the grisly pictures whipping through his head. Had she been a tower of flame, lazily pirouetting in circles? Had it taken long for her to die, consumed by fire and her perfect skin charred? His only consolation was that she had been above the pain, her willing sacrifice allowing her that much. But it did not make mourning any less inevitable. Drusilla's bravery had only brought her death, but of course she had known that. His mood changed quickly from sadness to self-loathing. He should have pulled her back from the window, he should have yanked her into his arms, and kissed her till she bruised, shown her she was just what he wanted, soul be damned. But he had been frozen, a useless champion to the vampiress he had killed for. A single tear went down his face, the only visible sign of thawing, but he wiped it away briskly.
Drowning in his thoughts, he was shaken back to reality as the Slayer shifted uncomfortably in her chains. She was obviously recovering from having passed out, and the vampire hastily shoved his emotions to the background, knowing that he still had to think about the present. He couldn't save Dru, but Buffy was still hanging on by a thread. Spotting the keys on the floor where they had fallen after Angelus had been dusted (and with him his pockets), the bleached blonde vampire quickly unlocked the manacles and lowered the Slayer to the ground.
"Promise me you'll burn it." Buffy murmured, on the verge of fainting again.
"The Book?" he said with uncertainty, still thinking about other things that burned.
"Yeah," her voice trailed off, eyes bleary and closing fast.
No time like the present. In one long stride and one precise toss, her bidding was done and it was only a matter of minutes before the spellbook was a useless heap of ash. One of three in the room, the vampire abstractedly thought, but forced the idea out of his head. Instead, Spike tried to wonder at how easily destroyed the Book was, after all the trouble it had taken to get it open. As if knowing what he was thinking, Buffy spoke.
"Once it was given blood and opened, it was no longer invulnerable," she explained, miraculously still conscious. "Giles told me any ordinary means of destruction would work, but fire would be the best since nothing recognizable would be left behind."
Wounded anew by an analogy, Spike turned away from the Slayer with a curse. Swiftly he faced her again, only to find that the effort of talking had taken the last of her strength and she was limply sprawled on the floor. He knelt down, relieved to find that she still had a faint pulse, and lifted her up. Laying her down in an unoccupied bedroom, he wrapped real bandages around her neck. Perhaps after some rest he would be able to tend to the other wounds and she could get all the blood off her body.
He left the room stealthily, chancing one last glance at Buffy lying peacefully on the bed. He envied her oblivion. It mattered little to the dreamer if she was dirtying clean sheets, her clothes were half torn-off and a vampire had just saved the world in her stead.