Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C and the gang.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 8 Blood for Blood
"Hi," Buffy said unsteadily. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Riley, dressed in the same high-tech battle gear he'd worn when they saw him last, stood swaying on the top step of the Magic Box entrance.
"What the - " Xander said. Anya stepped back a few paces, looking extremely uneasy. Dawn, her expression inscrutable, moved to her side and put an arm around her.
"Buffy - " Riley said urgently, half-stumbling down the steps towards her.
"Riley, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He looked so unsteady that Buffy rushed forward and took his arm.
"I need your help," he said. "Buffy, you've got to help me."
There were bluish streaks under his bloodshot eyes and his hands trembled slightly. She led him to a chair and pressed him into it.
"Riley, of course I'll help you; what happened?" she said. "Are you hurt?"
"I haven't slept in - well, it seems like weeks," he said, rubbing both hands over his head. "I can't stop - I have to - "
"What is it? Another demon hunt?" Xander said. "A threat from the Hellmouth?"
Riley ignored him, and indeed everyone in the room; his eyes never left Buffy's face. He clutched her hand. "Buffy, if you ever cared about me, please help me now. There's nowhere else I can go; there's no time - " He rubbed tears from his face with his forearm; distressed for him, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. What on earth could have happened to reduce him to this state? When he left Sunnydale, he seemed so confident and secure. The last thing in the world she expected was to see Riley break down - he'd always seemed so - so normal. "I've got to find her - " he choked. "I've got to."
She bent her head over his to hear what he was trying to get out. "Who, Riley?" she asked gently. "Is it Sam?"
Unexpectedly, the bell rang again; everyone jumped. Buffy turned her head to see Spike standing in the doorway looking straight at her, his face white as frost. She stood transfixed to the spot - with her arms around Riley Finn.
Spike's lambent blue gaze flickered to Anya.
"Sorry," he said, in an emotionless voice, "didn't know you were busy. I'll come back." Then he swung out the door and was gone.
* * * *
He couldn't feel his body. He knew he was walking because he heard his boots strike the sidewalk with a solid, gritty sound. He was cold. After so many long years he should be used to the cold, he thought; usually he didn't regard it, the same way he never missed his own heartbeat, or blood flowing. But now he felt cold; cold and dead. Yet something made him keep moving fast, moving away.
It was dark now, and night air ran over his hair, his eyelids, his ears like chilly fingers; he wasn't sure where he was but he'd come a long way from the Magic Box. He strode past lit shopfronts, bars, and fast-food places, flashing vivid, incongruous colors in his eyes. He passed people, demons, vampires; he couldn't comprehend any of them. There were too many faces, too many personalities, and too many needs. He turned down an alley to get away from them.
From nowhere, a vampire lunged at him, yelling something; he swung around, a stake sliding automatically into his hand, and thrust it home. He walked on unseeing. Two others began to follow him; he heard their approach and let them come within range, then spun and fell on them, striking without thinking - the first vamp was dust, the second tried to run, and he was on him in a flash; again, the stake found its mark.
He moved through the back alleys of Sunnydale, apart from the flurry of life and activity pervading the streets. Now his body felt heavy and frigid; maybe this was rigor mortis, he thought. Maybe he was really dead at last. He tried to laugh but his face was too stiff.
He looked neither left nor right but nevertheless, down a passageway, movement caught his eye - a sandy-haired woman in a raincoat was grappling ineffectively with an obvious vampire. He felt himself alter as he ran toward them; the burdensome chill of his body all at once changed to heat, and wrath smoldered through his veins like lava. Roaring, he seized the attacking vamp and tossed him overhead to smash against a brick wall. The woman cowered, whimpering, before his blazing, tawny eyes and demonic face.
"Run," he growled, and as she scrambled away, he turned to her attacker. After a brief, brutal struggle he had him down, stake poised. The vamp looked up with a human face, terror in his eyes. He looked like an ordinary businessman, rather well dressed; just normal. Spike drove the stake into his heart and watched the eyes turn to dust, nothing but dust. No terror anymore. He did laugh then.
And then he ran. If he didn't get away from all the wanting, the needing, the longing, pressing in on him from all sides, what more might he do? Who or what might he kill? No one was safe; the thirst for carnage was rising in him. He had to be alone. So he ran.
As he turned past the iron gate of his home cemetery he heard a low rumble behind him. Momoc demon - evil, violent, stupid. Just one more, then. He slowed to permit its approach, and as it rushed him, he doubled over, letting it slam into his back and tumble over him to the ground. He danced backwards, fists at the ready, as it clambered to its feet, and when it lunged toward him he attacked, throwing himself toward its antlered head, twisting viciously as he descended. He felt the thick neck snap; the creature was dead before it struck the path. He stood over the carcass panting, his passion for bloodshed still unsatisfied. He had to get home.
He stopped short near the door of his crypt and stared for a moment at the headstone with the heart painstakingly carved into the marble. Then with one shoulder-cracking heave he wrenched it from the ground and threw it crashing against the side of the structure.
He kicked in his own door and paused in the entrance, then strode into the room, raised his armchair over his head, and threw it against the wall with all his might, breaking the chair into pieces and knocking a shower of candles down from the window ledge with a muffled clatter.
Jerking open a cabinet, he grabbed a full bottle and clutched it to his chest. Then he staggered backward till his shoulders pressed against the rough, chilly stone of the crypt wall, and slid down until he sat on the floor. It was dark. He didn't have to see anything, think anything, feel anything. He squeezed his eyes shut so there was only blackness.
After few moments, he sent the bottle crashing against the opposite wall.
* * * *
Beset by memories - shameful however she looked at them - of what had happened last time Spike saw her with Riley, Buffy felt herself blush hotly, and then grow pale.
"Oh, Buffy," she heard Dawn say, "you don't think he - I mean, he didn't think -?"
"I'm afraid that's what it looked like," Anya said in a sympathetic voice.
Xander, still not exactly at his best, looked from one girl to another in confusion. Riley didn't even seem to have noticed any interruption; he went right on telling her about Sam.
"The last time - when we came to Sunnydale - something happened to her," he said. "She's been acting more and more strangely, and then suddenly she took off. I - I tracked her. I tracked her here. I think - I didn't know at the time - but I think someone got to her." Something in his voice sounded strained.
"Someone?" Buffy said, reluctantly returning to the emergency at hand. After all, it wasn't Riley's fault - well, it sort of was, but he still needed her help, she supposed. It certainly wasn't Sam's fault. She forced herself to listen to him.
"There's someone here in Sunnydale - someone powerful - called the Doctor," Riley said, not meeting her gaze.
Buffy stood away from him, a horrible misgiving coming over her. She racked her brain to remember exactly what he had said - "What do you mean, 'someone'? You told me - you let me think Spike was this Doctor."
"Buffy! That's impossible!" Dawn cried. "That's what I tried to tell you before!"
"What do you mean, Dawnie?" This time she took her sister seriously.
"I went over to Spike's before and that's what they're working on. He and Clem have this real cool plan to CATCH the Doctor. So it couldn't be him; that's just dumb, anyway."
"You lied to me." Buffy turned to Riley incredulously. "You were going to kill him, and you were lying all the time! You just flew off - you let me think that, and you KNEW it wasn't true?"
He looked at the floor, evading her eyes.
"I knew," he said.
* * * *
"Spike?" Clem said, poking his head through the ruined door of the crypt.
"What're you doing here?" Spike said in a harsh voice.
"I forgot the map," Clem replied equably. "Golly, what happened?" he exclaimed, stepping into the main room. "Uh-oh, it wasn't another visit from the Slayer, was it?"
Spike laughed. "You could say that."
"How come you're sitting there in the dark? We gotta go; the others will be over at mom's soon."
Spike let his head rest against the stone wall.
"I don't think I can do this," he said.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"There will no man do for your sake, I think,
What I would have done for the least word said.
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink,
Broken it up for your daily bread:
Body for body and blood for blood,
As the flow of the full sea risen to flood
That yearns and trembles before it sink,
I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead."
Swinburne
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy, etc. Except Wally and Mrs. C and the gang.
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others a little more esoteric... and tougher.
Setting: The near future; say, September
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 8 Blood for Blood
"Hi," Buffy said unsteadily. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Riley, dressed in the same high-tech battle gear he'd worn when they saw him last, stood swaying on the top step of the Magic Box entrance.
"What the - " Xander said. Anya stepped back a few paces, looking extremely uneasy. Dawn, her expression inscrutable, moved to her side and put an arm around her.
"Buffy - " Riley said urgently, half-stumbling down the steps towards her.
"Riley, what's wrong? Are you okay?" He looked so unsteady that Buffy rushed forward and took his arm.
"I need your help," he said. "Buffy, you've got to help me."
There were bluish streaks under his bloodshot eyes and his hands trembled slightly. She led him to a chair and pressed him into it.
"Riley, of course I'll help you; what happened?" she said. "Are you hurt?"
"I haven't slept in - well, it seems like weeks," he said, rubbing both hands over his head. "I can't stop - I have to - "
"What is it? Another demon hunt?" Xander said. "A threat from the Hellmouth?"
Riley ignored him, and indeed everyone in the room; his eyes never left Buffy's face. He clutched her hand. "Buffy, if you ever cared about me, please help me now. There's nowhere else I can go; there's no time - " He rubbed tears from his face with his forearm; distressed for him, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. What on earth could have happened to reduce him to this state? When he left Sunnydale, he seemed so confident and secure. The last thing in the world she expected was to see Riley break down - he'd always seemed so - so normal. "I've got to find her - " he choked. "I've got to."
She bent her head over his to hear what he was trying to get out. "Who, Riley?" she asked gently. "Is it Sam?"
Unexpectedly, the bell rang again; everyone jumped. Buffy turned her head to see Spike standing in the doorway looking straight at her, his face white as frost. She stood transfixed to the spot - with her arms around Riley Finn.
Spike's lambent blue gaze flickered to Anya.
"Sorry," he said, in an emotionless voice, "didn't know you were busy. I'll come back." Then he swung out the door and was gone.
* * * *
He couldn't feel his body. He knew he was walking because he heard his boots strike the sidewalk with a solid, gritty sound. He was cold. After so many long years he should be used to the cold, he thought; usually he didn't regard it, the same way he never missed his own heartbeat, or blood flowing. But now he felt cold; cold and dead. Yet something made him keep moving fast, moving away.
It was dark now, and night air ran over his hair, his eyelids, his ears like chilly fingers; he wasn't sure where he was but he'd come a long way from the Magic Box. He strode past lit shopfronts, bars, and fast-food places, flashing vivid, incongruous colors in his eyes. He passed people, demons, vampires; he couldn't comprehend any of them. There were too many faces, too many personalities, and too many needs. He turned down an alley to get away from them.
From nowhere, a vampire lunged at him, yelling something; he swung around, a stake sliding automatically into his hand, and thrust it home. He walked on unseeing. Two others began to follow him; he heard their approach and let them come within range, then spun and fell on them, striking without thinking - the first vamp was dust, the second tried to run, and he was on him in a flash; again, the stake found its mark.
He moved through the back alleys of Sunnydale, apart from the flurry of life and activity pervading the streets. Now his body felt heavy and frigid; maybe this was rigor mortis, he thought. Maybe he was really dead at last. He tried to laugh but his face was too stiff.
He looked neither left nor right but nevertheless, down a passageway, movement caught his eye - a sandy-haired woman in a raincoat was grappling ineffectively with an obvious vampire. He felt himself alter as he ran toward them; the burdensome chill of his body all at once changed to heat, and wrath smoldered through his veins like lava. Roaring, he seized the attacking vamp and tossed him overhead to smash against a brick wall. The woman cowered, whimpering, before his blazing, tawny eyes and demonic face.
"Run," he growled, and as she scrambled away, he turned to her attacker. After a brief, brutal struggle he had him down, stake poised. The vamp looked up with a human face, terror in his eyes. He looked like an ordinary businessman, rather well dressed; just normal. Spike drove the stake into his heart and watched the eyes turn to dust, nothing but dust. No terror anymore. He did laugh then.
And then he ran. If he didn't get away from all the wanting, the needing, the longing, pressing in on him from all sides, what more might he do? Who or what might he kill? No one was safe; the thirst for carnage was rising in him. He had to be alone. So he ran.
As he turned past the iron gate of his home cemetery he heard a low rumble behind him. Momoc demon - evil, violent, stupid. Just one more, then. He slowed to permit its approach, and as it rushed him, he doubled over, letting it slam into his back and tumble over him to the ground. He danced backwards, fists at the ready, as it clambered to its feet, and when it lunged toward him he attacked, throwing himself toward its antlered head, twisting viciously as he descended. He felt the thick neck snap; the creature was dead before it struck the path. He stood over the carcass panting, his passion for bloodshed still unsatisfied. He had to get home.
He stopped short near the door of his crypt and stared for a moment at the headstone with the heart painstakingly carved into the marble. Then with one shoulder-cracking heave he wrenched it from the ground and threw it crashing against the side of the structure.
He kicked in his own door and paused in the entrance, then strode into the room, raised his armchair over his head, and threw it against the wall with all his might, breaking the chair into pieces and knocking a shower of candles down from the window ledge with a muffled clatter.
Jerking open a cabinet, he grabbed a full bottle and clutched it to his chest. Then he staggered backward till his shoulders pressed against the rough, chilly stone of the crypt wall, and slid down until he sat on the floor. It was dark. He didn't have to see anything, think anything, feel anything. He squeezed his eyes shut so there was only blackness.
After few moments, he sent the bottle crashing against the opposite wall.
* * * *
Beset by memories - shameful however she looked at them - of what had happened last time Spike saw her with Riley, Buffy felt herself blush hotly, and then grow pale.
"Oh, Buffy," she heard Dawn say, "you don't think he - I mean, he didn't think -?"
"I'm afraid that's what it looked like," Anya said in a sympathetic voice.
Xander, still not exactly at his best, looked from one girl to another in confusion. Riley didn't even seem to have noticed any interruption; he went right on telling her about Sam.
"The last time - when we came to Sunnydale - something happened to her," he said. "She's been acting more and more strangely, and then suddenly she took off. I - I tracked her. I tracked her here. I think - I didn't know at the time - but I think someone got to her." Something in his voice sounded strained.
"Someone?" Buffy said, reluctantly returning to the emergency at hand. After all, it wasn't Riley's fault - well, it sort of was, but he still needed her help, she supposed. It certainly wasn't Sam's fault. She forced herself to listen to him.
"There's someone here in Sunnydale - someone powerful - called the Doctor," Riley said, not meeting her gaze.
Buffy stood away from him, a horrible misgiving coming over her. She racked her brain to remember exactly what he had said - "What do you mean, 'someone'? You told me - you let me think Spike was this Doctor."
"Buffy! That's impossible!" Dawn cried. "That's what I tried to tell you before!"
"What do you mean, Dawnie?" This time she took her sister seriously.
"I went over to Spike's before and that's what they're working on. He and Clem have this real cool plan to CATCH the Doctor. So it couldn't be him; that's just dumb, anyway."
"You lied to me." Buffy turned to Riley incredulously. "You were going to kill him, and you were lying all the time! You just flew off - you let me think that, and you KNEW it wasn't true?"
He looked at the floor, evading her eyes.
"I knew," he said.
* * * *
"Spike?" Clem said, poking his head through the ruined door of the crypt.
"What're you doing here?" Spike said in a harsh voice.
"I forgot the map," Clem replied equably. "Golly, what happened?" he exclaimed, stepping into the main room. "Uh-oh, it wasn't another visit from the Slayer, was it?"
Spike laughed. "You could say that."
"How come you're sitting there in the dark? We gotta go; the others will be over at mom's soon."
Spike let his head rest against the stone wall.
"I don't think I can do this," he said.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"There will no man do for your sake, I think,
What I would have done for the least word said.
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink,
Broken it up for your daily bread:
Body for body and blood for blood,
As the flow of the full sea risen to flood
That yearns and trembles before it sink,
I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead."
Swinburne