Severed Ties

CHAPTER 27

Castaway

June 9th, 2002

Late Evening

"Four days!" Buffy shouted and connected against the orange and gray demon's jaw with a roundhouse kick, sending it to the ground. Before it had a chance to rise, Buffy pounced, her thighs squeezing its ribcage and petite fists, strong as steel, slamming into the dazed creature's sponge-like face.

"I mean, what the hell is his problem?" She shifted to her feet and, grabbing the helpless creature by the collar, hurled it into a tombstone. The shattering concrete blasted through the air and Buffy flinched. She walked towards the groaning demon and, studying the broken shards, whispered an apologetic "Sorry Mrs. Anderton," before finishing off the demon with a jab to the heart with her dagger.

Cleaning the violet blood off the blade, Buffy re-sheathed the dagger and trounced off towards the crypt that had been in her thoughts the last week.

During her thoughts of Daddy Dearest and his less than loving terms he'd set out for Dawn extradition (and he would be back over tomorrow; shit) Buffy had found solace in thoughts of her undead lover. But thoughts weren't enough. She'd needed the comfort of Spike, his arms wrapped around her waist, calming her nerves in the way that only he could do. Her wishes had gone unanswered though. It wasn't that Spike had completely avoided her or anything. True to his word, he'd taken a day to collect his thoughts and returned the night after with only a hint of sadness touching his azure gaze. She saw it right away. So did Jay and Tara. Buffy had no doubt that Dawn would have, too but she was too busy being comforted; first by Spike then by her pseudo-boyfriend, CJ who, by now, if he knew what was good for him, had vamoosed from 1630 Revello.

"Stop trying to be distracto-Buffy," the slayer admonished aloud. In fact, she'd done a bang-up job not avoiding the issue. On three separate occasions she tried to talk to Spike--to apologize, to tell him how she was feeling--to no avail. Okay, so the first two attempts, with flaying arms and rising voice didn't constitute 'talking' but the third time, well, that had come off all civil-like. Except for the fact that a certain bleached blonde bonehead was giving her that tolerant smirk that said 'you can say whateva, toots, I'm still right and you know it.'

So maybe I was a bit blame-it-on Spike for a second, she groused inwardly. But it was only a second. "And he just had to pay attention at that moment, didn't he? He is such a jerk sometimes." She knew she was being unfair, that this entire cock-up was her fault; she had the uncanny ability to place the blame on him for virtually any crime known to man. In fact, he was probably responsible for her working at that Double Meat hellhole months ago. Don't you mean that he wanted to take you away from that?

Buffy screamed at the logical reasoning of her inner voice and kicked a headstone, satisfied at the crunch of destroyed property before her emotions settled and she winced at yet another damaged marker, courtesy of the slayer.

"Sorry Mr. Bennington," she said and strolled a few more yards until the crypt came into view. Buffy's nails dug into her palms and she held her breath, a part of her hoping to see Spike gallivanting towards her, spewing apologies before kissing her senseless. The vision was so real that Buffy licked her lips and reflexively clutched her thighs together. Oh, the feel of him, the way he moved, the coolness of his flesh as it…

"I will not ogle at the thought of that…that butthead," she shouted and stomped off towards the cemetery's exit.

Her heels clicked violently against the street and she was vaguely aware of several people that moved out of the way as she passed. How could she let herself stoop to that level again? So what Spike was hot and knew her body better than she did, she was mad at him and that automatically posted a no-marveling-at-Spike's-tongue ("Oh God right there") whatever he may do with it. Besides, there was so much more to them than just the physical. Buffy stopped as her mind wrapped around that fact. It was the unvarnished truth; she loved Spike and he loved her. He was the only person on the planet that had seen how bad she could truly get yet he never strayed. Spike could go into any club in town and take a different girl home each night if he wanted to, but he never had. Instead, he took her words, accepted her fists and did nothing. Sure his tongue sometimes struck back, cutting her to the quick, but he never disrespected her like she did him. The thought of Spike's loyalty always warmed Buffy, even during those cold nights during winter when she wanted nothing more than to return to the warm light of Heaven. He saved her; he was her salvation. And that's why it hurt so much.

"Ow," the slayer murmured and squeezed her temples. A headache was settling in, blindsiding her from the corners of her mind. That meant only one thing. "Too much thinking Buffy for one night." Glancing up at her surroundings, Buffy saw that the Bronze was only a block away. It took her a handful of seconds to decide and, shrugging her shoulders, the petite woman headed for the club. Maybe a few sips of fruity nectar: the alcoholic version, could cure her woes. Okay, so she didn't do the drinking thing much but, hell, she was twenty-one now, complete with proof of age--might as well make good use of it.

~~~

The Bronze

"Bottoms up," Spike said and downed his twelfth shot of the night. Slamming the empty glass on the table, he turned bleary eyes towards the band playing some God awful teeny pop song that grated on his already frayed and infuriated nerves and he was halfway tempted to say sod the headache and bathe in the band's probably oversugar-fied blood.

"Bloody slayer," he muttered, pouring himself another shot of Yaeger. The little bint always had a way with twistin' his bleedin' insides till they were wrapped around her petite little fingers. Just like she had the last five days. "Can't bloody leave me alone, can ya, Goldilocks?" he whispered to the amber liquid that sloshed in the glass. Yep, she'd been at her best the last two days, confronting him not once but twice, demanding a talk. Her first two attempts had been classic Buffy; demand, yell and chastise. Spike had been well within his right to tell her to sod off, but did he? Nope, he just gave her the trademark smirk, which, he knew, hurled that quick temper of her through the steel mesh that protected the roof. Her tantrum had the vampire in stitches (though he dared not laugh in her face) and he'd expected the same results on her third attempt last night.

That's my girl, he thought, drowning himself in the sting of alcohol. Always surprisin' me. And last night, with her quiet words and honest eyes, Spike had been thrown off that unmoving horse of his, toppling to the ground with the force of a troll punting a midget. She'd seen his dishevelment and had gone on the attack, spewing apologies for her behavior the week before. Spike had wanted to believe her, to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless but something stopped him. That blasted, infernal pride--the one that gotten him in countless (and unnecessary) brawls--was the cause. Even now, he was kicking himself, wishing he'd discarded the armor and met her halfway. Instead he'd run.

"Like the bloody coward you are, mate." He had asked himself for the past twenty-four hours why he'd avoided the conversation that Buffy had obviously wanted to have but had received no answer. How many times had he taunted Buffy and her inability to talk? Now the tables were turned and he was playing Mr. Runaway.

Spike ran a hand through his gel-less hair, his eyes studying the small remains in the bottle. He shrugged and downed the rest of the contents, frowning in satisfaction as the liquid burned a trail down his gullet. As if lightning, the alcohol restarted something within him, something that had been dormant for nearly a week. It stirred and bubbled, festering through his mind and across his skin with an unquenchable thirst to consume him, drown him. Grasping the sides of the table, Spike shuddered as the phantom energy ran its course until his mind reeled at the blinding simplicity of what had just occurred.

"What a fuckin' wanker I've been," he groaned. How could he have treated Buffy like that? With all the crap she'd been dealing with the past few days. He'd seen the wear around her eyes, the taint of her kinetic energy that she exhibited even in the direst circumstances. He'd left her side at the exact time when she needed him most. And he was mad at her? He had to set everything straight.

Throwing a wad of bills on the table, Spike stood on shaky legs, as his focus was singular in its pursuits of finding Buffy. He turned to exit the booth and ran into the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"Going somewhere, sexy?" She whispered and pressed her ample breasts against him. Spike lost all train of thought as the woman--decked in the skimpiest purple number imaginable--invaded his personal space. Her hands slithered across his hips and up his sides until the stroked his ass possessively. Spike's first instinct was to push her out the way--no, that wasn't true. His first (and continual) instinct was the through her to the ground and shag her into oblivion. His cock was rock hard, threatening to puncture the fabric of his jeans and the mystery woman ground herself into his erection.

"Do…do I know you?" he asked, ashamed that his voice came out as a choked whisper.

"No," she said, and with uncanny speed, slid her hand into his pants, "but I'm sure you will." Spike gasped as her heated hands stroked his manhood and he fumbled for clarity. His body refused to respond to anything but her ministrations and his tongue was thick and dry.

"I…I have a…a someone," he moaned, his breaths coming in razor gasps.

"Don't worry about Buffy," the woman whispered. She stood on her toes and slid her tongue across his lips. Her twin steel studs were cool against his mouth and Spike parted his lips. "We'll take good care of your lover," she said and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

So lost in the kiss, Spike never questioned how the woman knew Buffy's name.

~~~

"I can't believe him. I mean its not like he deserves her anyway; and then he goes and does this."

"Xan," Faith snapped, "calm down. You know how those two are; bottled blondes full of stubbornness and hormones. But most of all, they're ga-ga over each other. They'll work it out."

The young brunette rolled his eyes and took a long sip from his glass and his expression soured. Draft never was as good as the bottled stuff.

"But he could've at least heard her out, couldn't he?" Xander leaned forward when he saw the resignation in his lover's eyes. An opening. "You've known the Buffster long enough to know how hard it is for her to apologize."

"Ain't that the truth."

"And with Spike, she's tried three times." He held up three fingers to solidify his point and, quite unnecessarily repeated, "Three. And what does he do? Turn his back and walk away."

"Well," Faith said and her gaze skirted the crowd, landing on the vampire in question. "I wouldn't call those first attempts apologies, shuga bear."

Xander flushed at the endearment and tried not to show his reluctant agreement. "So she was a bit wound up."

"Xander, it was supposed to be a private apology and we heard nearly every word after she opened her big mouth." She took a sip of her Corona and, after a thoughtful second, added, "You know, for such a little runt that girl has a set of lungs on her."

"Faith, baby, focus, here."

"I am trying to focus," she said and Xander gasp when her hand found the not so dormant bulge in his pants. "That's what I wanted to focus on all night," she whispered, giving him a not so gentle squeeze, "but you wanted to take a girl out, sweep her off her feet."

"I wanna do more than sweep you, girl," he murmured and leaned over the table. Faith met him halfway and their tongues dueled for supremacy. Xander bit back a moan as Faith magically appeared in his lap, grinding her hips against him, heedless of the throng of people that danced and laughed around them.

It had been some of the best weeks of Xander's life. Over the past month or so, he and the former rogue slayer had gotten acquainted on several levels. Their physical chemistry was incredible and when they went patrolling, could scarcely keep their hands off each other. It had taken a bit more work to connect mentally and emotionally but he had finally started chipping away the mammoth wall that she had hid behind for so long. Already she'd confessed some of her less than noble deeds during her tenure as the Mayor's secret weapon and had skimmed over the details of her childhood. Twice she had tried to tell him the rest of her history but she hadn't been able to get past the first tears and Xander had spent those nights holding her, promising her he'd be there for her.

Confessionals hadn't been one-sided, either. Despite going over it earlier, Xander had admitted how hurt he had been at her callous treatment of him that first time years ago. He'd told her about Anya and his time with D'ohbin-Zi in Neverworld (as he called it) and his mountain of insecurities, courtesy of his dysfunctional family.

"We are two screwed up people, Xand," she had said and he'd agreed. Of course, now his only thoughts were of the best place to go for a quickie.

"Hey," he moaned when she pulled away. "The lips went away."

"Didn't you feel it?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Oh, I do," he quipped, "and from your location on my lap, I'm sure you feel it, too."

"Not your dick, bozo, the major mojo that just belly flopped in here. It felt like…" Faith grew still and Xander frowned when her eyes widened.

"Baby, what?"

"I think I changed my opinion of Spike." Anger roiled in her brown eyes and Xander turned his head, wondering what could have changed her mood so fast.

"That bastard!" Xander growled when he saw Spike and some woman locked in a feverish kiss. "I'm gonna kick that scrawny ass of his when I…"

"Oh, God, no. B." The anger was gone from Faith's voice, replaced by heartbreaking sympathy. Xander turned to his girlfriend and followed her eyes to the balcony.

Face flooded with tears, Buffy stood, staring in shock at the scene below. Even from his vantagepoint, Xander saw his best friend's small frame shaking in grief. "Buffy!" he called out and as if she heard his call, Buffy jumped off the balcony, landing with the grace only a slayer could. She ignored the incredulous stares, pushing past the onlookers and disappearing through the exit.

~~~

She couldn't breathe and the downpour of grief that bled from her eyes blurred her vision. It was as if a giant hand had ripped a part of her out and she was powerless to do anything about it. Unable to cope, to fathom what she should do, Buffy did what she had always done best. She ran.

She wasn't concerned where she was going, so long as it was away from him. How could he? Just because they had a fight, he turned to the first piece of ass? And what a tramp. And the way he was letting her kiss him, his hands to the side like some statue while Buffy watched from the rafters.

When she first saw the skank approach Spike, Buffy had instantly gone on the defensive. Something about the ho just wasn't right but she had stayed, expecting to see Spike turn the bitch down. She had frowned when he didn't, though she caught the slight tinge of confusion in his eyes. But before she could extrapolate his thoughts, the fuck slut had kissed him, groped him and the bastard hadn't stopped her.

You sure can pick 'em, B, a voice chided. She tried to block it out, tearing through the street, her eyes blurry. But the voice refused to go away. Guess you just weren't good enough, ey? What did Angel say--that you weren't worth a second go. No, that was Spike. Guess he's had his fill, huh? You were never woman enough for him, were you. Hope you see that now.

Overwhelmed by grief and the cruel words of her own conscious mind, Buffy was unaware that she had returned to Spike's cemetery. She was completely unprepared for the fist that crashed into her chest, sending her pin wheeling to the ground in a flurry of limbs. She gasped for air, the pain in her chest an unpleasantly physical reminder of the emotional scar across her soul.

"She's a pretty lil thing, eh, 'Bahn?" Buffy's eyes widened as she took in the three figures that towered over her. Two hideous demons (one with no eyes) dressed in trench coats, armed as if they were storming Normandy were to her right. The smaller one leered at her, rubbing its groin with a taloned hand. "Think Gabes'll mind if I give 'er a taste o' my Magic Stick?"

The taller one shook his head and when he spoke his voice was thunder. "Keep it in your pants, brother, or I shall cut it off. We are not to violate or kill the slayer or her friends. Not yet. And could you please refrain from you infantile fascination with hip-hop."

Properly chastised, the smaller demon straightened, halting his ministrations and muttered, "It's not like it won't grow back anyway."

"Silence." The word traveled on a cold wind and Buffy shuddered. Her gaze turned to the third figure. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, adorned in the whitest material she'd ever seen. His entire face, save for his eyes, was cover in a hard, white mask whose sharp lines mimicked his voice. Something attached to his back glowed with an effervescent light and Buffy covered her eyes when he reached behind his back and pulled it out.

"We are not to kill or violate her," that cold voice whispered, "but we have three months till he arrives. Slayers heal quickly…" he trailed off, his crimson eyes burning into Buffy's soul. Her head swiveled to the other two demons as their grotesque laughs sounded in the night air.

"We're not to kill her," the little demon reiterated.

"--but there are a lot of things we can do; send her friends a message, ey?"

The frost warrior stepped forward. Raising the blade of his sword high overhead. Buffy froze, her mind tumbling through the incident at the Bronze and these strange creatures before her.

"We shall send her, and them, a message. Stand against Gabriel and suffer the consequences."

The blade of the sword arched through the air, merciless in its decent and, for the first time since her initial fight as a slayer, Buffy screamed.

TBC in Cold…