Harnessing Sunlight
Part Eight, Confronting Reality
As the Dru-creature utters the single syllable, Spike makes split-second eye contact with Buffy.
With every ounce of his strength, Spike slices the knife through the hazy incense-heavy air, plunging the heavy silver blade deep into the creature's flesh and through its bone. The arm falls away from him, but Spike doesn't stop, whipping the knife across the shifter's throat, parting a canyon in the flesh of its neck.
The creature's blood wells dark and thick, and astonishment passes over its features as Buffy's leg connects into its body from behind, driving the shifter to the ground.
Spike smirks. "Told you that I didn't want to be touched."
Buffy lurches to her feet as the creature writhes on the floor. With her right hand, she pulls out her gun, aiming it at the shifter. She backs toward Spike. "It's not dying, is it?"
"No. But, it'll be enough to slow it down for a bit." Spike wipes the dirty blade on his pant leg. "You okay?" He wants to touch her. . . to know that she's still whole after the blow she took, but he doesn't dare allow himself the connection. He's already far overstepped his carefully laid boundaries.
Taking a deep breath and ignoring his question, she takes a chance to study Spike with weary eyes. "What did it mean?"
Sheathing the knife, Spike moves backward. "By what, pet?"
Buffy draws courage from the peril of their situation. She doesn't have time to mince words. She knows about the Senior Partners, and she knows why Angel chose to do what he did. But she doesn't know what happened in his final battle with Spike. "She. . . it said that you survived the battle in L.A. when you shouldn't have. . . because of 'love.' What does that mean?" There. She's directly addressed what she's wanted to deal with since he's been back in her life.
Unable to look into the earnestness in her eyes, Spike averts his gaze. "Dunno. You know the nasties. They come up with all kinds of gibberish and double-talk that doesn't make sense."
Buffy recalls Mayor Wilkins' speech about her and Angel's relationship. "Gibberish and double-talk that holds a grain of truth."
Spike peers at her with so much vulnerability and trepidation written in his eyes. . . so much naked pain that she wants to move into his arms, hold him close, and assure him that he can talk with her. . . that she won't reject him no matter what terrible truth he might reveal.
She knows his past as a ruthless killer. . . a thief of human innocence and life. But Buffy also knows him as a man capable of overcoming his basest, seemingly unchangeable instincts and urges to become a person capable of selflessness and sacrifice while still remaining true to himself. In that moment, she realizes how much she loves him. . . has never stopped loving him.
Before she can utter another word, lightning streaks in bright, jagged lines across the cathedral's stained glass windows. As the accompanying thunder rumbles, the candles simultaneously snuff out, leaving the pair engulfed in the darkness.
Spike's voice echoes in the silence, "Think that's our cue, love."
"Right." Eyes unseeing, she blinks in his direction.
Despite his intentions, he makes purposeful contact then, brushing the wet hair off her shoulder and grazing a finger over the suddenly aching wound on her neck. She suppresses a shiver of desire, and focusing her Slayer instincts, she sprints down one of the aisles toward the cathedral entrance.
At what Buffy judges as the halfway mark, her ears detect something over the reverberation of her and Spike's boots on stone. The sound is faint. . . like the distant tinkling of the wind chimes that hung on her back porch in Sunnydale. Her mind hesitates in attempt to untangle the mystery, and her body automatically slows.
"Buffy, don't stop!"
Spike's shout imparts life to her limbs just as her brain registers the identity of the rising noise. The stained glass is shattering!
She redoubles her efforts as shards of glass begin nipping at the skin on her arms and face like giant mosquitoes. Her body falls into the cathedral door, opening it with the force of her inertia. She tumbles into the now rainless night, gulping in the cool, fresh air and palming her gun.
She doesn't feel ready for the fight ahead, and she knows Spike isn't. Lightning still dances across the sky, and she spares a moment to give him a once over.
Using her free hand, she quickly plucks bits of glass from his arms and face, and he does the same for her as if they are two manic monkeys picking bugs off their skin in the zoo. Tiny droplets of blood well over her arms, but she ignores them. She's endured far worse. . . and so has he. She vows to find out exactly what he's hiding from her, but first, she has to survive. . . they both do.
The clouds slide apart with greater speed than expected. The lightning and thunder fade into the distance. The swollen moon shares her borrowed light with the city that spreads below the pair of outsiders. The numberless silhouettes from earlier darken the narrow streets leading down the hill. They are still unmoving for the moment, but Buffy senses a new restlessness in the air.
It's time for the main event.
She affords Spike a glance. His jaw is tight, and the muscles in the curve of his cheek are pulsing. They've both been at the frontline of this kind of fight in the past, but something about the hard glint in Spike's eyes tells her that he never expected to face this kind of fight again. . . that he never expected to be alive. To fight again comes with such a strange mixture of feelings that she hasn't ever been able to put into words.
And now they've both died in sacrifice and returned to life again. She's never met anyone who's experienced the same thing.
Without thinking, she steps in front of him and brings her mouth to his cool lips in a firm kiss, running her fingers over the curve of his cheek. His lips relax into hers, and she imparts her warmth to him, pulling back before the gesture deepens.
He's surprised by the kiss and stares at her in wonder.
"We're going to do this," she informs him to remind herself that she's still alive and to let him know that they will survive the upcoming fight despite the odds stacked against them.
He gives her a simple nod, not arguing her point. He's determined that at least, she will make it out of this intact. Pointing to the city below, he guides her, "Aim for the Charles Bridge. We stand a better chance in the open. . . out of the narrow streets. And if we can make it there, we can cross the river."
"Better chance of escape that way." She remembers the wide bridge. It was always full of people walking everywhere even at night, street lamps keeping it bright. Now the pathway is lit not by man but by nature.
A rumble sounds from deep within the earth behind them, and the ground begins to move beneath their feet, throwing Buffy and Spike off balance.
Buffy whips her head around to locate the source of the disturbance.
Cracks run up from the base of the cathedral, over the doors, and up toward the towers, emitting a dull grinding sound. The building begins to vibrate and more cracks develop with the increasing movement.
"It's gonna collapse!" she calls over the rising din as one of the towers begins to crumble.
"Time to go, love!" Spike returns, sidestepping away from a shower of plunging rock and drawing out his gun.
Turning away from the disaster, they run together, Buffy following a limping Spike down the hill and into the twisted streets toward the bridge.
In the first cluster of shadows, they encounter their first line of enemies. . . a string of snarling vampires with glowing yellow eyes and razor sharp teeth that emerge from the side of an Old Town building as if they are part of the edifice itself.
Forcing himself ahead of Buffy, Spike slips into game face and warns them with a growl of his own. The vamps disregard him as if he has returned to an incorporeal state, aiming for the small woman just behind him.
Buffy's gun barks with sharp, steady blasts as Spike attacks them from behind, kicking, punching, and knocking them to the ground like lambs directed to the slaughter. . . assembly-line slayage.
Dust flies through the air, a slight breeze creating tiny twisters of white vampire remains. Spike gasps a bit from the exertion and the pressure inflicted on his damaged ribcage.
"That was weird," Buffy comments, reloading her gun before they continue their forward momentum.
"What was, pet?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know."
"Too easy?" Spike pulls ahead again.
"Maybe." She frowns. That's not quite it either.
They round a corner, and this time, a trio of demons leaps upon them. Buffy draws her knife in favor of the gun, and Spike follows suit. The first demon, a Fyarl, bats Spike to one side, allowing its less bulky comrades access to the Slayer.
Buffy wastes no time in pouncing on the two demons she doesn't recognize. She's always been resistant to learning the formal names of the more common demon varieties. Instead, she has her own names for them.
"Hello, Mr. Lumpy," she says to the green one with the mottled red facial scars and giant bumps protruding out of its back. With expert precision, she plunges her knife into its chest, uses the weapon as an anchor for her body, and knocks the second demon to the ground with her weight as she hops onto Lumpy's shoulders. Unsheathing her knife from the Lumpy's flesh, she slits his throat, jumping to the ground as he falls like a giant tree.
She spins to face Lumpy's partner.
Meanwhile, Spike's body rebounds with greater reluctance than he'd like, but he manages to thrust his knife into the retreating Fyarl's back, aiming for the heart.
He misses. "Bloody hell."
The Fyarl merely grunts as it reaches back and pulls out the weapon. Glaring at Spike in annoyance, it hurls the blade straight and true toward Spike.
Spike plucks the knife out of the air and finds himself staring at the demon's back. "What the…?" The Fyarl's disregarding him as if he is as threatening as a pesky fly.
Ducking a punch from the demon she's deemed the Toothless Wonder because he has no teeth and is lashing out at her like a very poor boxer, Buffy calls out to Spike, "Would be helpful if you quit standing around and gave me a hand here!"
Spike frowns. Buffy's accusation causes his temper to rise, giving him the fuel to momentarily forget about his wounds. "I am helping."
He grabs the Toothless Wonder's fist as it arcs back from another haphazard swing at Buffy. Twisting the demon's arm behind his back, Spike drags the knife across his throat.
Buffy is too busy with the Fyarl to notice as it blocks her kicks and punches. Spike drops the Toothless Wonder and positions himself behind the remaining demon.
"Where you apparently want me anyway," Spike mutters, ramming his good side into the Fyarl's back so that it stumbles into Buffy's knife. Sniffing to cover up his response to the resurging pain, Spike steps back from the bodies to stand next to the Slayer.
"At least we don't have to worry about cleaning up the mess," Buffy observes, taking a moment to catch her breath. She tucks away her knife and checks her gun.
Cringing when Buffy isn't watching him, Spike manages, "I think I figured out that. . ."
"The demons are all attacking me and ignoring you! What's up with that?" Buffy interrupts. She stares pointedly at Spike with both eyebrows raised. Before he has a chance to respond, she keeps going, "And I just don't get this pattern of attack. It's like they're waiting on each block for us. . . as if they know where we're going. And why aren't they attacking en masse?"
"How should I know? And we've only been two blocks. Hardly call that a pattern."
"Two dots make a line, and a line is a pattern."
Spike is more than perturbed. "I don't know! That thing didn't exactly explain the master plan when it was torturing me!"
She softens, approaching him in half-apology. They don't have time for arguing. "And you're hurt. How're you holding up?"
He sweeps away her outstretched hand. "Let's just keep going. The longer we stay in one place, the more vulnerable we are."
Buffy flicks on her computer to check the time.
20:43:16.
"How long does that transmission take anyway?"
Spike smiles grimly. "Not sure if the transmitter was even really functional, pet."
Buffy's stomach sinks. "Another illusion?"
"Maybe."
"And if it worked? How long?"
"For them to receive the message and send out a team? Never tried it, pet. I dunno."
"And who knows how much government red tape they have to go through," Buffy adds. "We're on our own."
"Looks that way." He wavers and then says, "I'm sorry, love."
Buffy opens her mouth to respond, but a collection of snarls rises from several feet away. Her hand tightens over the handle of her gun. "Let's go."
They keep moving, advancing little by little toward the Charles Bridge, delayed by fights at every turn. Each time, the vampires and demons aim for Buffy, and as she sustains more injuries, Spike feels more helpless. The skirmishes become more and more intense until their motivation is solely the kill. No words pass between them.
After what seems like an eternity, Spike and Buffy reach the end of Old Town and the bridge tower. Covered in demon gore and dust, Buffy leans heavily on Spike's unharmed side, and his arm circles her waist in an effort to take the weight off her right ankle.
Clouds spread back over the moon, re-cloaking the world in darkness, and a breeze is born, carrying the scent of polluted water from the river's surface and into the streets.
Not needing as much light as Buffy, Spike scans ahead and detects nothing on the bridge. . . the gateway to freedom.
Buffy trips over a stone amongst the cobblestones. Spike catches her before she falls, and they both groan as tissue is torn asunder in their wounds.
She finds her voice, "Spike. I need a break. Just for a minute."
"Just a few more feet, pet. We're almost to the bridge tower. There'll be shelter from the breeze, and you can rest." His words sound hollow in the unexpected quiet. "Maybe you can even eat some of that power bar."
She laughs. "I don't think I'll be eating anything that thing gave me."
Spike's concern thaws a bit with her amusement. "Probably a good idea, love."
They make their way under the shelter of the bridge tower's archway just as the rain begins to pour. Spike settles her form onto the ground with as much gentleness as he can muster and sags down next to her. She draws her knees to her chest and rests her head on his shoulder.
She knows she has to ask him. They haven't exactly escaped their situation yet, and the information he's holding onto may be the key to their survival. . . to humanity's survival.
"Spike. . ."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I stink. Sodding demons and their sodding guts."
"That's not what I was going to say, but now that you said that. Ewww." She pushes away from him a bit and turns on her computer. Blue light envelops them. "Maybe you should go stand in the rain and wash some of that off."
He regards her thoughtfully, not minding that her thigh is pressed against his. "I would, but for some reason, I'm too tired."
She smiles. "Guess that means I'm not getting a shower anytime soon either."
Buffy re-positions her head and closes her eyes. . . just for a minute.
"Love?"
"Hmmm?"
"What were you going to say earlier?"
Oh yeah. Must chase away the drowsy feeling. Survival. Very important. "We need to talk about what happened to you in L.A. I need to know what that creature in the cathedral meant about your survival. I think. . . I know we're being played with, and I want to know why."
TBC. . .