Shut Up Spike
Disclaimer: Don't own em, just playin with em.
Summary: Spike can't speak, why?
Reviews: Yes, please. The response to this fic has been mind-blowing. Thank you so much. Readers Rock but Reviewers RULE!
A/N: For those loyal readers who are waiting for an update to Squirly Childe's fic 'With Every Decision', please be patient. The primary writer of this fic, Wayward Childe, has had a family emergency and while he's able to keep his creativity going with a few drabbles, his stress levels are a little too high to deal with any of his or our larger projects. Please keep checking, he'll be back into the writing soon and we'll be treated to more of his amazing imagination.
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Clem watched Spike with increasing concern as his friend walked dispiritedly over to sit on the small sofa he'd pinched from the dump. Spike's gaze caught his own as he sat down. Clem was shocked to see rage, fear and distress displayed so eloquently in the sapphire depths.
"Spike? You can't talk?" Clem ventured a guess.
Spike's head bowed low as he shook it.
"Do you know how?" Clem asked.
Again the platinum head indicated a no. Spike slumped back on the cushions, tipped his head back and flung an arm over his eyes.
Clem looked around the destroyed room. Finally he spotted something that would help. He picked his way over the broken glass to the scraps of paper and flipped other bits of trash to find the pen he knew had been with the paper. He went back to the sofa and sat down next to his buddy.
"Spike, I found some paper. Can you tell me when this happened?" Clem held the items out hesitantly.
Spike lowered his arm and reached out for the paper and pen. 'About twenty minutes ago. After I left the Magic Box, was taking some stress out on a Garracki demon and telling it…I don't know exactly, was just yelling. You know? Anyway, my voice just stopped.' He handed the paper back and Clem read it.
"It just stopped? You didn't get hit in the throat? You didn't crack it while you were yelling?" The first question received a nod, the others were met with negative shakes of the blond head.
"Should I go get the Slayer? Maybe they can help you figure out what happened." The vigorous head-shaking that started almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth startled Clem.
Spike grabbed the paper and scribbled furiously, handing the scrap back forcefully.
Clem read the message worriedly. He noticed that Spike's elegant script had been replaced in his agitation by a hasty scrawl. 'Do NOT tell anyone! Especially that bitch and her mates. I'd rather be mute until I dust before I go to them for help again.'
"Oookay." Clem said slowly. "There isn't anyone I can ask for help?"
Spike snatched the paper again. 'What could they DO?' He looked Clem in the eyes. The peaceful demon was distressed by the defeat in Spike's gaze.
"I don't know, Spike. We can't just leave you like this." He said finally.
Spike shrugged, his shoulders hunching under his duster. He scrubbed his hand down over his face and stood up. He pointed at the trap door.
"Going to bed?" Clem asked. The blond nodded without meeting his friend's gaze again.
"Can I get you anything?" The red eyes followed the vampire as he walked across the debris to the hole that lead to the lower level. Spike paused at the opening. He shook his head before disappearing into the darkness below.
Clem sat deep in thought for a long while before getting up with a sigh and beginning to clear up the destruction left by the enraged, silent vampire.
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Earlier in the Magic Box.
Stunned silence followed Spike's departure. Buffy pulled the book back to her side of the table. "I can't believe he lost the page." She fumed.
Giles took the book from the slayer and leafed through the text until he found the picture again. He read the description of the demon and shook his head.
Xander drummed his fingers on the table in agitation. "Can you believe the way he talked to us? What's with him?"
Anya frowned. "Maybe he's a Master Vampire who's over a hundred years old and he might know what he's talking about sometimes."
Giles removed his glasses to clean them. He wasn't sure but he thought maybe he, no they all, had underestimated Spike's knowledge. The vampire was an annoyance but he was over a century old and hadn't survived that long by being stupid. It's just that he acted so…juvenile sometimes it was easy to forget that he was much older than all of them except…well, Anya. Giles winced as he realized he might have made a mistake. But, he rationalized, he had no reason to believe that Spike had any more extensive demonic knowledge than any one else. He'd known that the bleached menace could speak at least one demonic language, Fyarl. He pinched the bridge of his nose and made a difficult decision. He shook his head. He would not give Spike any reason to be any more of a pain in the ass than he already was so he, Giles, would not overtly acknowledge that the irritating vampire had any sort of vast knowledge. He would wait and observe the vampire to assess the extent of his intelligence. He could only hope this decision would not come back to bite him in the ass, literally.
Tara had watched the entire exchange with trepidation. She could see Spike's aura and the colors he exuded were unlike any she'd ever seen in the few vampires she'd had the misfortune to encounter. She glanced at Willow's tense features before ducking her head and letting her hair fall, hiding her face. She wished she knew what Willow was thinking. They had been doing a small bit of quarrelling lately and the blonde witch was fearful that she was losing her lover to the dark magic she could see inching its way into the redhead's aura. She shivered.
Willow felt the irrational anger she'd been fighting for several days. She and Tara had had several devastating arguments lately and it was only through the judicious use of a memory spell had the redhead kept her love from leaving. She could feel the pull of the magic that Tara had tried to convince her was dangerous but felt oh so wonderfully powerful. Willow didn't think she'd ever felt anything as amazing as the depth of magic she could feel coursing through her essence. She started when Xander spoke again.
"I wish he'd go away and never come back. Why does he keep coming back here anyway? It's not like anyone here likes him." The carpenter complained.
Dawn glared at her former crush. "He stays because he'd be fair game anywhere else. He can't defend himself against humans, or have you conveniently forgotten that? At least here if he's helping he's at least marginally protected. I'm just surprised he hasn't exploded before now. His temper is a horrible and I never want it directed at me. Do you really not know how smart he is? All last summer…"
Buffy interrupted her sister. "I don't want to hear about last summer, Dawnie. It over. I don't want to talk about it." She turned to her watcher. "Now how do I kill the big ugly?"
"That may be so, Dawnster, but it would be so nice if Captain Peroxide couldn't talk. Imagine the peace. The silence. The relief of never again having to say 'Shut up, Spike'." Xander grinned at the vision of a speechless Spike.
No one noticed the flash of dark lightening in Willow's green eyes.
