Title: SAMARITAN
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon
gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others
a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say... October!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 17 What Is False Within
"Grak hurt." The demon sat on Mrs. Caprescu's basement floor, holding his massive head in his hands, if you could call them hands, exactly. They had unchained him hours before, but he showed no signs of wanting to go anywhere. Spike wasn't sure he'd be able to get anything coherent out of him at all, but he perked up considerably when he heard his own language.
"Listen, Lofty," Spike said, "we'll have you home to your mates in no time, don't you worry. But first you've got to tell us everything you remember about, uh, Hard Female."
The great creature cringed. "Hard Female HURT Grak," he said warily.
"I won't let her get you again, and that's a promise, alright?" For a moment, Spike had to struggle to keep the grit out of his voice. Fyarls weren't the brightest of beasties, but they usually displayed the self-confidence that came with being able to kick just about anything's ass. He'd never seen one cower before, and it made him feel sick and angry. He went on, in a reassuring tone, "But I need to know what you know; then Warrior Female, and me, and all our warrior mates can make her go away for good, understand?"
"Hard Female go away?" Grak said, a glint of what might have been hope lighting his red eyes.
"That's right," Spike said patiently. "Go away for ever."
He could see Buffy in the shadows under the stairs, a waft of gold in the darkness, her arms folded, listening. Of course, she couldn't understand a word, but she'd wanted to watch, anyway. They had arrived to question Grak at about midday, after Mrs. C phoned to confirm that the thrall-remover potion had worked. "You'd best wait where he can't see you, love," Spike told Buffy as they descended into the basement. "He's afraid of you, and he's nervous enough as it is."
She frowned. "Why's he afraid of me? It took both of us to catch him."
"You're the Slayer, pet," he said.
"Oh." With a pang, he watched her face grow troubled. Didn't she know that to the non-human world she was an ancient, terrifying legend come to life? Did she really still think of herself as 'just a girl'? "Well, okay," she said, and withdrew into an obscure corner.
When Spike had gotten all he could out of the still-woozy Fyarl, they joined Angel, Fred, and Xander, who were gathered in the kitchen drinking root beer - it was really very good root beer - and eating pretzels from a big bowl. Gunn had gone off to contact some of Vinnie Teeth's underworld sources. Fred's glasses slid down her nose as she busily keyed extensive notes into her laptop, and as he approached Spike reached over and pushed them back up with one casual finger. She gave him a friendly grin.
"How'd it go?" she said. "Any useful, um, 'intel'?"
Spike spun a chair around and sat in it backwards, folding his arms along the back, and Buffy sat beside him, grabbing a handful of pretzels. "Well," he said, "Ol' Grak wasn't a lot of help, but for what it's worth, he says Hard Female can talk in his head, and can hurt him a lot - which isn't that easy with a Fyarl - without touching him."
"Scary," Xander said. "Especially for the intellectually challenged type of critter."
"That would imply some pretty impressive powers," Angel said.
"Right. He also confirmed that she runs through the minions pretty quickly, so she's always snatching up new ones, and that she never leaves her 'shiny cave,' which I take it means one of Sunnyhell's many sunken buildings. So we were right about that, too. Still not much to go on." He ate a pretzel. "Good thing we've got more minions."
* * * *
"I'm so not looking forward to this," Xander said as they mounted the stairs. His heart actually beat faster the closer they got to Amy. She should be awake by now, and it had been decided that he and Buffy would try to talk to her, since she actually knew them. Spike, Angel and Fred would wait outside, just in case. In case of what wasn't specified.
Xander was reluctant to admit how much this whole Amy thing creeped him out. It seemed sort of sissy to be so bothered, considering other horrors they'd faced. As he had predicted, his dreams had been filled with squeaking and scrabbling and gleaming eyes in the darkness. All day long he found himself surreptitiously, and insanely, checking his own fingernails to see if they had begun to resemble Amy's neat little claws.
He dwelled on obvious but unasked questions - when she was a rat, did she remember being a girl? When she was a girl again, did she remember being a rat? And now that she was becoming whatever it was she was becoming, was she frightened? Or glad? Was she relieved to be here amongst humans she knew, or would she rather scurry back down into her cozy, labyrinthine underworld, and continue her transformation into - what?
"She must be hungry by now," he said abruptly. "Maybe we should have brought cheese."
"Xander!" Buffy said.
"Or maybe pizza," he went on, unheeding, "that's got cheese in it. Or on it, anyway - "
"Xander, it's not funny!"
"Was I joking?" He looked at her resolute face, and hunched his shoulders to suppress a shudder, wondering if it would take more courage to back out now, or to go ahead with it. "There aren't many problems that can't be solved by the judicious application of junk food."
"Sure, why didn't we think of that before?" Angel said sardonically. "We could have just attacked the Mayor with Cheese Doodles and saved ourselves a world of trouble."
"Ah, but it has to be the RIGHT junk food," Xander said. "The perfectly calculated balance of nutrient-free fat, sugar, and salt."
"Don't you ever get tired of being a - " Angel began sharply.
"YOU KNOW, much as I hate to admit it, Special Ed here has a point," Spike interrupted.
"He does?" Buffy said.
"I do?" Xander said.
"The girl's probably terrified, confused, and hungry, after twelve hours in a strange room. Going in there with some kind of offering is probably not a bad idea. Not pizza, though," Spike mused. "That's for celebrating, or relaxing. We need something for fear and anxiety. What would you two ladies go for?"
"Tacos!" Fred said. Then, at his raised eyebrow, she continued, "But maybe that's just me. How about waffles? Or cookies?"
"I was going to say ice cream," Buffy said. "But, you know, she did ask for cookies when she first, uh, turned into herself again."
"Makes a change from pellets." Xander dug his hands into his pockets.
"Will you just let it go?" Angel said, in an exasperated tone. Xander was interested to see that he could brood and glare at the same time - pretty flexible, really.
"Chocolate chip, right?" Spike said. "'Chicks love chocolate' - I read that somewhere. Wait here, I'll be right back." He swung over the banister and made for the kitchen, offering Xander a few minutes reprieve.
* * * *
Buffy balanced a plate of neatly arranged chocolate chip cookies in one hand and knocked on the door softly, then with a little more force. When there was no response, she opened it, saying, "Amy?"
It was an ordinary enough room, with a single bed, an armchair, and a dresser; there was a large window, with partly drawn curtains, and a door that probably led to a closet. The floor was covered with a braided rug. Buffy stepped in and put the plate on the dresser. Xander followed, his heart pounding. All right, this is stupid, he thought. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's not like 'turning into a giant rat' is catching or anything. But I KNOW her, a small-boy Xander voice answered back; I know her, and she's turning into a monster before my eyes.
At first, they couldn't see Amy at all; she wasn't on the bed, or in the chair. Then, after a few moments, they heard it - a thin, scratching sound like claws against wood. Xander's stomach knotted as Buffy swiftly followed the noise to its source, a corner behind the head of the bed. She stood looking down, and said again, "Amy?"
With legs as cold and heavy as stone, Xander crossed the room. From behind Buffy, he could see Amy, huddled against the wall, staring up at them, her beady dark eyes intent. No whiskers yet, thank God, he thought.
"Hi, Buffy!" she said suddenly. "Hi, Xander!" She sounded like the perky cheerleader she once was, except for a slight problem with sibilants caused by her newly cleft upper lip. He averted his eyes.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi, Amy," Buffy said gently. "How are you feeling? If you're hungry, we've got cookies."
"I wouldn't mind that," Amy said, rising; she didn't stand quite upright, but in a semi-crouch. She darted to the dresser and grabbed a cookie from the plate, holding it between both hands and starting to nibble. Xander felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twitch.
Buffy sat on the edge of the bed.
"Amy, we wanted to ask you - "
"Where am I, anyway?" Amy said suddenly. "This isn't your house."
"It's the home of a friend of ours. You're perfectly safe here."
Disconcertingly, she giggled. "Think so?" she said, and resumed gnawing the cookie, her sharp eyes flitting around the room.
"Honestly, you are," Buffy said. "And Amy, we think we can help you with - with your problem."
"Do I have a problem?" She spoke rapidly, her words tumbling over each other. "You think she can't find me here, don't you? She'll find me. And she'll find you, too."
"Even if she does, you'll still be safe."
Amy snickered, and coughed on a cookie crumb. "She doesn't want me, anyway. She's never wanted me." Her laughter ended, shockingly, in a squeak. "She wants you, Buffy. You're the one. She wants you."
"What does that mean?" Xander said uneasily.
"She doesn't care about me. She doesn't care about any of the others. It was just a trick, to find Buffy. Buffy's the one with the power. All SHE wants is power. So she wants Buffy."
"To do what?" Buffy said, flatly. "It's not like a battery she can drain. It's part of me."
Amy started to laugh again. "You'll never guess," she said. "But I bet you'll be surprised, all right." She climbed onto the bed and scooted back against the wall. Xander saw that she was shivering intermittently like a nervous animal.
"Can you tell us - " Buffy began.
"I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything. She'll kill me if I tell you. She'll find me, and she'll kill me. You can't make me tell you!" Her voice was frantic, and she made little kicking motions with her bare feet as if to push herself right into the wall. Xander was afraid to look at her toes.
"Okay, okay, already," he said. "Buff - "
"Never mind, Amy; we're not going to make you do anything," Buffy said in a quiet, authoritative that seemed to sooth the girl. "But if you change your mind, please tell me. You can stay here and our friend can help you, if you want her to. Or we'll take you home to your dad's."
"No!" Amy cried, suddenly sounding entirely human. "Please, no!" She curled up on the bed, knees drawn up and arms hugging her chest. "I don't want him to see me like this," she whispered, and began to rock and whimper.
* * * *
At last, Buffy and Xander emerged, and faced Spike, Fred and Angel on the landing.
"Well - " Buffy breathed, sagging back against the closed door, "that was - uh - "
"Hideous?" Xander suggested, forcing himself to breathe. "Abhorrent? Grotesque? Appalling? Nauseating?"
"I was going to say, fruitless."
He felt a sudden rush of saliva in his mouth, and gulped. "Well, I'm going with nauseating," he said, as the lights on the landing began flare and dim.
"Whoops," he heard Spike say under his breath; then he felt himself strong-armed through a door that led, he was grateful to discover, to a bathroom. He fell to his knees just in time.
After a couple of minutes of hot, shaking, sweaty misery, he lifted his head, having regained a tenuous control, and saw Spike holding out a glass of water.
Xander staggered to his feet, took the glass, and rinsed his mouth. He splashed more water on his face over the sink; when he turned off the tap Spike handed him a towel without comment, and he scrubbed his face dry. Spike took the towel back and dropped it in a hamper as Xander ran his hands over his damp hair, automatically looking up to check himself in the mirror - but there wasn't a mirror.
"You'll do, Monkey Boy," Spike said.
Xander knew he meant it kindly enough. Presumably, Buffy had given Spike The Lecture, forcefully explaining that she expected them all to get along, or else. He'd heard it, and he was sure Angel, and even Riley, had heard it, too. Up until now they'd been doing pretty well. But he was weary, his head felt like it was packed with sawdust, his stomach threatened to revolt again, the woman he loved hated him, and he was stuck in a house full of demons and vampires. This was just the last straw.
"Spike, would you just stop calling me names?" he demanded angrily.
Spike looked startled. Well, now I blew the truce, Xander thought. The big blood-sucking drama queen's not going to take that lying down; there'll be a big brangle and yelling and screaming and Buffy will blame me. He braced himself for the explosion.
"All right," Spike said.
* * * *
Buffy stood hesitating on the landing outside Riley and Sam's bedroom. This was embarrassing. Mrs. Caprescu had checked on Sam and administered the anti-thrall potion about an hour previously, and since then there had been no sound from inside. They'd probably just fallen asleep or something. But she couldn't help thinking that maybe they needed to be alone. She certainly would have wanted more time with Spike if they'd been forcibly separated; in fact, she DID want more time with Spike. She didn't want to interrupt, well, an intimate moment.
Spike and Angel stood with her on the landing, again, 'just in case.' Xander had managed to pull himself together, and gone off to the Magic box in response to Anya's demure request to take a professional look at the hole in the basement. Fred was conferring with Mrs. C over details of Amy's condition.
"I guess I should talk to Sam as soon as possible," Buffy said reluctantly, her hand on the doorknob. "Do you think they need more time?"
Angel's brows drew together. "Buffy, something's not right. I can't hear - "
Spike looked at him, and he frowned, too. "He's right - best open the door, love."
With a doubtful glance, she opened the door and entered; then she gasped audibly.
"Buffy?" Spike called, concern in his voice. As she stood just inside the doorway, frozen in shock, he and Angel shouldered past her into the room.
"Bloody, buggering, bollixing, sodding HELL!" Spike bellowed, sending an armchair crashing across the room with a vehement kick.
The window stood open. The room was empty. Riley and Sam were gone.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,
I never could have made it half so sure,
As by the unblest kisses which upbraid
The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!
'Tis morning: but no morning can restore
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:
The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
We are betray'd by what is false within."
George Meredith
Author: Ivytree
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, UPN, Mutant Enemy,
etc. Except Mrs. C, Eddie, Zevra, Wally and the rest of the demon
gang...
Feedback: Please!
Summary: Sequel to Grandpa; A soul makes everyday demands, and others
a little more esoteric... and tougher still.
Setting: The near future; say... October!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
SAMARITAN Pt. 17 What Is False Within
"Grak hurt." The demon sat on Mrs. Caprescu's basement floor, holding his massive head in his hands, if you could call them hands, exactly. They had unchained him hours before, but he showed no signs of wanting to go anywhere. Spike wasn't sure he'd be able to get anything coherent out of him at all, but he perked up considerably when he heard his own language.
"Listen, Lofty," Spike said, "we'll have you home to your mates in no time, don't you worry. But first you've got to tell us everything you remember about, uh, Hard Female."
The great creature cringed. "Hard Female HURT Grak," he said warily.
"I won't let her get you again, and that's a promise, alright?" For a moment, Spike had to struggle to keep the grit out of his voice. Fyarls weren't the brightest of beasties, but they usually displayed the self-confidence that came with being able to kick just about anything's ass. He'd never seen one cower before, and it made him feel sick and angry. He went on, in a reassuring tone, "But I need to know what you know; then Warrior Female, and me, and all our warrior mates can make her go away for good, understand?"
"Hard Female go away?" Grak said, a glint of what might have been hope lighting his red eyes.
"That's right," Spike said patiently. "Go away for ever."
He could see Buffy in the shadows under the stairs, a waft of gold in the darkness, her arms folded, listening. Of course, she couldn't understand a word, but she'd wanted to watch, anyway. They had arrived to question Grak at about midday, after Mrs. C phoned to confirm that the thrall-remover potion had worked. "You'd best wait where he can't see you, love," Spike told Buffy as they descended into the basement. "He's afraid of you, and he's nervous enough as it is."
She frowned. "Why's he afraid of me? It took both of us to catch him."
"You're the Slayer, pet," he said.
"Oh." With a pang, he watched her face grow troubled. Didn't she know that to the non-human world she was an ancient, terrifying legend come to life? Did she really still think of herself as 'just a girl'? "Well, okay," she said, and withdrew into an obscure corner.
When Spike had gotten all he could out of the still-woozy Fyarl, they joined Angel, Fred, and Xander, who were gathered in the kitchen drinking root beer - it was really very good root beer - and eating pretzels from a big bowl. Gunn had gone off to contact some of Vinnie Teeth's underworld sources. Fred's glasses slid down her nose as she busily keyed extensive notes into her laptop, and as he approached Spike reached over and pushed them back up with one casual finger. She gave him a friendly grin.
"How'd it go?" she said. "Any useful, um, 'intel'?"
Spike spun a chair around and sat in it backwards, folding his arms along the back, and Buffy sat beside him, grabbing a handful of pretzels. "Well," he said, "Ol' Grak wasn't a lot of help, but for what it's worth, he says Hard Female can talk in his head, and can hurt him a lot - which isn't that easy with a Fyarl - without touching him."
"Scary," Xander said. "Especially for the intellectually challenged type of critter."
"That would imply some pretty impressive powers," Angel said.
"Right. He also confirmed that she runs through the minions pretty quickly, so she's always snatching up new ones, and that she never leaves her 'shiny cave,' which I take it means one of Sunnyhell's many sunken buildings. So we were right about that, too. Still not much to go on." He ate a pretzel. "Good thing we've got more minions."
* * * *
"I'm so not looking forward to this," Xander said as they mounted the stairs. His heart actually beat faster the closer they got to Amy. She should be awake by now, and it had been decided that he and Buffy would try to talk to her, since she actually knew them. Spike, Angel and Fred would wait outside, just in case. In case of what wasn't specified.
Xander was reluctant to admit how much this whole Amy thing creeped him out. It seemed sort of sissy to be so bothered, considering other horrors they'd faced. As he had predicted, his dreams had been filled with squeaking and scrabbling and gleaming eyes in the darkness. All day long he found himself surreptitiously, and insanely, checking his own fingernails to see if they had begun to resemble Amy's neat little claws.
He dwelled on obvious but unasked questions - when she was a rat, did she remember being a girl? When she was a girl again, did she remember being a rat? And now that she was becoming whatever it was she was becoming, was she frightened? Or glad? Was she relieved to be here amongst humans she knew, or would she rather scurry back down into her cozy, labyrinthine underworld, and continue her transformation into - what?
"She must be hungry by now," he said abruptly. "Maybe we should have brought cheese."
"Xander!" Buffy said.
"Or maybe pizza," he went on, unheeding, "that's got cheese in it. Or on it, anyway - "
"Xander, it's not funny!"
"Was I joking?" He looked at her resolute face, and hunched his shoulders to suppress a shudder, wondering if it would take more courage to back out now, or to go ahead with it. "There aren't many problems that can't be solved by the judicious application of junk food."
"Sure, why didn't we think of that before?" Angel said sardonically. "We could have just attacked the Mayor with Cheese Doodles and saved ourselves a world of trouble."
"Ah, but it has to be the RIGHT junk food," Xander said. "The perfectly calculated balance of nutrient-free fat, sugar, and salt."
"Don't you ever get tired of being a - " Angel began sharply.
"YOU KNOW, much as I hate to admit it, Special Ed here has a point," Spike interrupted.
"He does?" Buffy said.
"I do?" Xander said.
"The girl's probably terrified, confused, and hungry, after twelve hours in a strange room. Going in there with some kind of offering is probably not a bad idea. Not pizza, though," Spike mused. "That's for celebrating, or relaxing. We need something for fear and anxiety. What would you two ladies go for?"
"Tacos!" Fred said. Then, at his raised eyebrow, she continued, "But maybe that's just me. How about waffles? Or cookies?"
"I was going to say ice cream," Buffy said. "But, you know, she did ask for cookies when she first, uh, turned into herself again."
"Makes a change from pellets." Xander dug his hands into his pockets.
"Will you just let it go?" Angel said, in an exasperated tone. Xander was interested to see that he could brood and glare at the same time - pretty flexible, really.
"Chocolate chip, right?" Spike said. "'Chicks love chocolate' - I read that somewhere. Wait here, I'll be right back." He swung over the banister and made for the kitchen, offering Xander a few minutes reprieve.
* * * *
Buffy balanced a plate of neatly arranged chocolate chip cookies in one hand and knocked on the door softly, then with a little more force. When there was no response, she opened it, saying, "Amy?"
It was an ordinary enough room, with a single bed, an armchair, and a dresser; there was a large window, with partly drawn curtains, and a door that probably led to a closet. The floor was covered with a braided rug. Buffy stepped in and put the plate on the dresser. Xander followed, his heart pounding. All right, this is stupid, he thought. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's not like 'turning into a giant rat' is catching or anything. But I KNOW her, a small-boy Xander voice answered back; I know her, and she's turning into a monster before my eyes.
At first, they couldn't see Amy at all; she wasn't on the bed, or in the chair. Then, after a few moments, they heard it - a thin, scratching sound like claws against wood. Xander's stomach knotted as Buffy swiftly followed the noise to its source, a corner behind the head of the bed. She stood looking down, and said again, "Amy?"
With legs as cold and heavy as stone, Xander crossed the room. From behind Buffy, he could see Amy, huddled against the wall, staring up at them, her beady dark eyes intent. No whiskers yet, thank God, he thought.
"Hi, Buffy!" she said suddenly. "Hi, Xander!" She sounded like the perky cheerleader she once was, except for a slight problem with sibilants caused by her newly cleft upper lip. He averted his eyes.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi, Amy," Buffy said gently. "How are you feeling? If you're hungry, we've got cookies."
"I wouldn't mind that," Amy said, rising; she didn't stand quite upright, but in a semi-crouch. She darted to the dresser and grabbed a cookie from the plate, holding it between both hands and starting to nibble. Xander felt a muscle in his jaw begin to twitch.
Buffy sat on the edge of the bed.
"Amy, we wanted to ask you - "
"Where am I, anyway?" Amy said suddenly. "This isn't your house."
"It's the home of a friend of ours. You're perfectly safe here."
Disconcertingly, she giggled. "Think so?" she said, and resumed gnawing the cookie, her sharp eyes flitting around the room.
"Honestly, you are," Buffy said. "And Amy, we think we can help you with - with your problem."
"Do I have a problem?" She spoke rapidly, her words tumbling over each other. "You think she can't find me here, don't you? She'll find me. And she'll find you, too."
"Even if she does, you'll still be safe."
Amy snickered, and coughed on a cookie crumb. "She doesn't want me, anyway. She's never wanted me." Her laughter ended, shockingly, in a squeak. "She wants you, Buffy. You're the one. She wants you."
"What does that mean?" Xander said uneasily.
"She doesn't care about me. She doesn't care about any of the others. It was just a trick, to find Buffy. Buffy's the one with the power. All SHE wants is power. So she wants Buffy."
"To do what?" Buffy said, flatly. "It's not like a battery she can drain. It's part of me."
Amy started to laugh again. "You'll never guess," she said. "But I bet you'll be surprised, all right." She climbed onto the bed and scooted back against the wall. Xander saw that she was shivering intermittently like a nervous animal.
"Can you tell us - " Buffy began.
"I can't tell you. I can't tell you anything. She'll kill me if I tell you. She'll find me, and she'll kill me. You can't make me tell you!" Her voice was frantic, and she made little kicking motions with her bare feet as if to push herself right into the wall. Xander was afraid to look at her toes.
"Okay, okay, already," he said. "Buff - "
"Never mind, Amy; we're not going to make you do anything," Buffy said in a quiet, authoritative that seemed to sooth the girl. "But if you change your mind, please tell me. You can stay here and our friend can help you, if you want her to. Or we'll take you home to your dad's."
"No!" Amy cried, suddenly sounding entirely human. "Please, no!" She curled up on the bed, knees drawn up and arms hugging her chest. "I don't want him to see me like this," she whispered, and began to rock and whimper.
* * * *
At last, Buffy and Xander emerged, and faced Spike, Fred and Angel on the landing.
"Well - " Buffy breathed, sagging back against the closed door, "that was - uh - "
"Hideous?" Xander suggested, forcing himself to breathe. "Abhorrent? Grotesque? Appalling? Nauseating?"
"I was going to say, fruitless."
He felt a sudden rush of saliva in his mouth, and gulped. "Well, I'm going with nauseating," he said, as the lights on the landing began flare and dim.
"Whoops," he heard Spike say under his breath; then he felt himself strong-armed through a door that led, he was grateful to discover, to a bathroom. He fell to his knees just in time.
After a couple of minutes of hot, shaking, sweaty misery, he lifted his head, having regained a tenuous control, and saw Spike holding out a glass of water.
Xander staggered to his feet, took the glass, and rinsed his mouth. He splashed more water on his face over the sink; when he turned off the tap Spike handed him a towel without comment, and he scrubbed his face dry. Spike took the towel back and dropped it in a hamper as Xander ran his hands over his damp hair, automatically looking up to check himself in the mirror - but there wasn't a mirror.
"You'll do, Monkey Boy," Spike said.
Xander knew he meant it kindly enough. Presumably, Buffy had given Spike The Lecture, forcefully explaining that she expected them all to get along, or else. He'd heard it, and he was sure Angel, and even Riley, had heard it, too. Up until now they'd been doing pretty well. But he was weary, his head felt like it was packed with sawdust, his stomach threatened to revolt again, the woman he loved hated him, and he was stuck in a house full of demons and vampires. This was just the last straw.
"Spike, would you just stop calling me names?" he demanded angrily.
Spike looked startled. Well, now I blew the truce, Xander thought. The big blood-sucking drama queen's not going to take that lying down; there'll be a big brangle and yelling and screaming and Buffy will blame me. He braced himself for the explosion.
"All right," Spike said.
* * * *
Buffy stood hesitating on the landing outside Riley and Sam's bedroom. This was embarrassing. Mrs. Caprescu had checked on Sam and administered the anti-thrall potion about an hour previously, and since then there had been no sound from inside. They'd probably just fallen asleep or something. But she couldn't help thinking that maybe they needed to be alone. She certainly would have wanted more time with Spike if they'd been forcibly separated; in fact, she DID want more time with Spike. She didn't want to interrupt, well, an intimate moment.
Spike and Angel stood with her on the landing, again, 'just in case.' Xander had managed to pull himself together, and gone off to the Magic box in response to Anya's demure request to take a professional look at the hole in the basement. Fred was conferring with Mrs. C over details of Amy's condition.
"I guess I should talk to Sam as soon as possible," Buffy said reluctantly, her hand on the doorknob. "Do you think they need more time?"
Angel's brows drew together. "Buffy, something's not right. I can't hear - "
Spike looked at him, and he frowned, too. "He's right - best open the door, love."
With a doubtful glance, she opened the door and entered; then she gasped audibly.
"Buffy?" Spike called, concern in his voice. As she stood just inside the doorway, frozen in shock, he and Angel shouldered past her into the room.
"Bloody, buggering, bollixing, sodding HELL!" Spike bellowed, sending an armchair crashing across the room with a vehement kick.
The window stood open. The room was empty. Riley and Sam were gone.
TBC
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"If I the death of Love had deeply plann'd,
I never could have made it half so sure,
As by the unblest kisses which upbraid
The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!
'Tis morning: but no morning can restore
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:
The wrong is mix'd. In tragic life, God wot,
No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
We are betray'd by what is false within."
George Meredith