Title: Butcher's Blue
Author: hisluvpet
Series: BtVS
Genre: Drama/Romance
Part: 2 - The Blue Foil
Rating: R
Started: 09/21/04
Summary: Spike's interaction with Buffy in Something Blue kicks off a hellish voyage of discovery that might just be the making of the man. Manifestly AU after that delightful episode, but I might pull bits & pieces from other eps as I go.
Pairing: Spuffy, Wara, Xanya
Disclaimer: I've got a wine cellar for any lawyers that stop by.
Posting: Let me know...then sure!
A/N: More Cockney slang – Gary Glitter pint of bitters (beer of a type to us Yanks;)
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Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies, that I might destroy them.
--Samuel 22:40-42
The stars turn slowlyin the blue foil beside them
like the eyes of a mild savior.
--James Tate (b. 1943)
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It was entirely possible that he had been stuck in one of those time loops things that they were always going on about on Star Trek. He kept falling asleep, dreaming, waking in dismay at what he'd been dreaming, then falling back asleep again. Endless torture and introspection - basically the same thing to him.
He had never spent too much time thinking about why he did things; he just did them. He'd spent enough time when he was human doing that sort of second guessing rubbish. He hadn't been very active lately. With the breakdown and dispersal of the Initiative, he wasn't getting this damned chip out anytime soon. Not that it had been his focus lately anyway. Nothing had been really. The point of doing anything rather escaped him at the moment. To be honest, and he was relentlessly honest with everyone, especially himself, there wasn't much point of anything. And, that sounded too damn much like brooding to him, and he swung his legs around and sat up on his bier.
"Right, then," he mumbled to himself. "I'm off to Willy's to see about a gary or two." Alcohol was as good a method as any to divert his churning thoughts. Patting his pockets, he located his fags and lighter, and lit one up as he wandered over to his shelf of belongings to enquire on the balance of the exchequer. A couple of singles and one tenner, good for a few rounds and reason enough to get out of his crypt, whose walls were starting to close in. Grabbing his duster, he strode out.
Spike paused to drop the butt of his fag on the ground and ground it with his heel, giving it a vicious twist. Oh, yeah, you're a real tough one there, he reflected derisively as he shrugged into his duster. Adjusting the coat with practiced ease, he heard the unmistakable sounds of fighting. His head came up; a hunter poised facing into the slight wind, concentrated for a moment, and felt her. Slayer was beating up on the nasties again tonight. He sighed in memoriam of Better Days and wandered over in the general direction of the altercation. Free entertainment and him with a front row seat.
The smell of blood wafted up to his nostrils and he analyzed it with the insouciance of a connoisseur. Demon blood, a lot of it of one type, and, just a hint of…Slayer blood? The speed of his steps increased unconsciously as he proceeded toward where he heard the fight coming from.
He rounded the corner of the George Henry Robinson crypt (Filius et frater carissimus), and was met with a barrage of gore littering the ground. Several demons that looked a cross between a crocodile and a gorilla lay on the ground, dripping deep orange ichors from their nose slits and puncture marks on their bodies. He made a quick check of the area and found the Slayer over to his right battling no less than three more of the creatures.
Involuntarily, he snarled. Othanyskr demons – vicious, cunning, and most of all deadly to those of the human persuasion by virtue of the poison secreted by gland by their middle claw. Their modus operendi was to hit hard, slash with their claws, and let the poison do its work. Then, they would feed. Such a large group, he was shaking his head as he kept going toward the Slayer, unsure what the hell he was going to do to help. Then, he mentally whacked himself on the head for even entertaining the idea of helping the Slayer voluntarily. A moment later his resolution was forgotten as he wracked his memory for details about the creatures, but could only come up with they were a pack type of demon, hunting together for protection. For all their formidable appearance, they had a rather tender skin under the dull gold scales it sported, which also explained the puncture marks, as he watched Buffy kick another hole that spouted blood in the side of one of her opponents with the heel of her boot.
Spike didn't call out, not wanting to disturb the fight. He stopped suddenly, wondering all of a sudden why he was being so solicitous of the Slayer. Ought to be rooting for the demons to take her out. But, even before he finished that thought completely, he was on his way again, circling around behind and to the left of the Slayer.
She didn't look too good, having a seeping wound on the forehead, a large dark stain on the left shoulder of her blouse, and she stood awkwardly, leaning to the right and she struck out at the demon in the middle, shoving it back by a direct strike on its snout.
"Spike, what the hell are you doing here?" she panted, finally noticing him.
"Come to critique your technique, Slayer," he replied snidely.
Buffy snorted as she shoved yet another of the demons back with a kick, but it was not as forceful as a few minutes ago, and she didn't even break its skin. Uh, oh. This is not of the good she mused, swiping the blood out of her eyes.
"Make yourself useful, why don't you," Buffy called out, huffing a little as the demons backed on and looked at Spike, as if trying to gauge the threat level now that he was on the scene.
"Strictly Switzerland here, luv," Spike replied with mock regret. "Not my choice," he added sardonically at her moue of displeasure.
"Terrific," she muttered as the Three Stooges decided Spike wasn't going to keep them from their dinner and tried to encircle her. "Could you at least go for help?" she said quietly, knowing that if he did go, they would probably be responding to pick up what was left of the pieces of her body after demon snackage.
"Don't know that it would help you out," he told her seriously. This was a very bad situation he pointed out the obvious to himself. He moved closer to the Slayer, still trying to figure out some way to help her. Buffy looked at Spike and realized that he wasn't leaving and that he was going to help her. There wasn't time to puzzle it out, so she just went with it. She'd get back to it if she survived. Then, the three demons, with no signal that was apparent to the two of them, attacked. The one on the left came after Spike, and the other two concentrated on Buffy.
Spike crouched low, put his left shoulder into it, clenched his teeth, and pretended he was fouling a particularly ugly mid-fielder for Liverpool. The heavy demon struck his shoulder just as he gave a mighty shove. The move completely bowled over the creature and it howled its displeasure. Spike howled back, but stopped suddenly as he realized that his chip had not fired. It had not fired! A snarl of joyous mayhem issued from him as he pounced on the Othanyskr and began pounding on it. Blissful pain-free violence continued for several minutes, then it was broken by a harsh low scream from the Slayer. Without thought, Spike reached down and briskly twisted the neck of the demon, breaking it instantly. He jumped to his feet and ran over to where Buffy had been battling the other two. He swore viciously as he saw the Slayer laying on the ground, the other two demons plus a heretofore-unseen third that had come to join the fight standing over her, their intent obvious.
"Get the bloody hell away from her!" he roared, but didn't wait for them to move and waded into battle with the remaining demons.
The three Othanyskr snarled back, and made strange hissing noises that were probably some form of communication. Spike didn't care. He just started bashing. A flurry of blows came from the demons, but he didn't feel any of them. He didn't even feel the joy at fighting that he'd experienced short minutes ago. It was merely a means to an end. She was down and most likely severely hurt. Nothing else mattered but that, not even the puzzling idea that he would even care about her. The feelings that drove him were stronger than anything else, even instinct, habit, or professed preference. He would save her, and that meant the three demons had to die, the quicker the better.
Suddenly, there was no noise except his panting. Wiping blood from his face, a mixture of his own and the demons', he ascertained that there was going to be no more resistance from the Othanyskr. Still riding high on the strange feelings that had caused his rampage, Spike crouched over Buffy and checked her over. Beside the injuries he'd noted before, he saw a large lump on the left side of her head above her ear and more troubling several scratches on her left forearm. He knew that they held poison, because the scratches were already turning bile green and weeping profusely.
He picked Buffy up as gently as he could and started off for the Watcher's apartment, knowing that the rudimentary first aid he could apply in his crypt was nowhere near what the Slayer needed. As he made his way out of the cemetery as fast as he could, he felt a slight dizziness and shook his head. Passing under a streetlight, he shifted Buffy slightly to get a better hold on her. There, in the harsh fluorescent lighting, he saw matching scratches on his chest. They didn't have the same ominous secretions that the Slayer's injuries had, but they looked nasty enough. He made a mental note to ask Giles for some help with his injuries after he looked after Buffy. The Watcher just might actually help him in exchange for saving his Slayer tonight. Maybe.
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Stumbling up to Giles' doorstep, Spike leaned on the bell, never letting up until a very disgruntled Watcher opened the door. Giles didn't say anything for a few seconds, just gazed in horror at Buffy. Then, he shook his head slightly, and Spike could see the mantle of Watcher descend over him.
"Bring her in," Giles ordered. "Put her on the couch. I'll get the first aid kit."
Spike laid Buffy down as gently as he could, lifting her legs up on the couch, then pushed the coffee table back from the couch to make room. Giles returned carrying his rather comprehensive first aid kit and knelt down next to him.
Pulling out items and getting straight to work treating her injuries, the Watcher tersely inquired, "What happened?"
"Othanyskr demons," Spike replied and he helped remove Buffy's blouse, wincing a little as the smooth cotton fabric stuck to the multiple lacerations on her upper body as Giles gently peeled it away after soaking it with some distilled water.
"Oh, dear God," muttered Giles as he applied disinfectant solution liberally all over her torso, heedless of the splashing on his sofa. "She's been scratched."
"More than once," nodded Spike grimly. "You'll have to clean out the wounds really thoroughly," he added.
"Othanyskr poison is fatal at all times," Giles said grimly as he continued to debride the scratches, a worried thoughtful expression haunting his face. "Do you know anything that we can do?" He didn't bat an eyelash at asking Spike for advice. The vampire had knowledge that he needed, and he would use it to help his Slayer.
"For most humans, yeah," replied Spike as he tugged at the tear in the Slayer's trousers near her left knee, ripping them down to her ankle and exposing an ugly bruise and several deep abrasions, but thankfully, no further claw marks. "But I think her Slayer healing should keep her from developing the most severe symptoms."
Giles nodded, then noted that already treatment had stopped the production of the bile green matter, and now the scratch wounds were just swollen with an angry red color.
"I'm not sure, but don't the victims fall into a coma, suffer respiratory distress, then arrest?" Giles almost sounded like he was thinking out loud, his hands never ceasing in his treatment.
Spike had snagged some cotton wool and was using some of the disinfectant to treat the abrasions on her leg and responded, "Don't know, Watcher. Just seen what it does to vampires, which is not a pretty sight."
"Yes, well, quite," intoned Giles, finally finished with his cleaning. "The wounds look much better. We'll have to keep a close eye on her. Light bandages, I think," he added, matching action to his words, giving a surprised thanks to Spike as the vampire handed him several sterile bandages.
Between the two of them, they managed to get Buffy cleaned and bandaged. Giles produced a light cotton sheet and covered her up, brushing his hand across her forehead. "She appears to have only a slightly elevated temperature," he noted thankfully.
"Good," Spike replied, noting that the room had taken on an odd grey/green cast and was wavering at the corners of his eyes. He stumbled over to a chair and sank into more by luck than by actual intent. He tried to call out to Giles, who was occupied with picking up the dirtied first aid supplies and putting them into a rubbish bin, but it came out garbled and strange.
"What was that Spike? You really need to speak up, I can't be expected to…" the Watcher trailed off as he turned and got a good look at the Vampire. It wasn't a pleasant sight. In his wild rush to get treatment to Buffy, Spike had obviously overlooked that he'd sustained some injuries himself. Giles noted no less that four deep scratches on his chest and one on his right leg. The oozing bile green discharge was clearly visible on his black t-shirt and jeans. As Giles watched, the vampire slid both into unconsciousness and down to the floor with a thud.
TBC