Title: Sanrio Knights
Author: Acerbic
Time: Post Chosen / NFA
Rating: PG-13 (A swear word or two)
Part 3 – R is for Spike
Gary, Indiana
June 2007
I dropped to my knees beside Spike, kneeling in cemetery grass damp with midnight humidity, and gingerly lifted his head so that it rested against my knee. His hair was stiff with gel, slicked back against his skull, and his face was exactly as I'd remembered it. Youthful. Unchanging. Sharpness chiseled from ivory marble. That moment of reunion was like a Kodak photo: poignant, surreal, a frozen frame of time.
Sasha's feet stopped beside me, and the crystalline clarity of the mood shattered. I looked up to find her bending over for a close inspection, still holding her taser at ready in case he woke up suddenly.
"Dawn, are you okay?" Sasha asked.
"I'm fine," I replied.
The sound of running feet announced Peggy's arrival, and Ling Ling also joined us seconds later. "Blake's gone for the van," Peggy said, and I nodded, wincing when Sasha aimed a flashlight beam at Spike's face, putting him at the center of a micro-spotlight. He had a cut on his forehead, but it was minor. It'd be healed before we had a chance to clean the blood away.
"Damn, he's fine. If he were a brother, I'd be tempted to keep him for myself," Sasha drawled, giving Spike the once-over, just like all girls were doing. (Except me. Of course. Because Spike! Older brother. Mentor. Sometimes even my disreputable daddy-figure… And incest? EWWW.)
"Undead shouldn't look so good," Peggy agreed. "Most of 'em are uglier than sin. I didn't know they could be this pretty."
"Grab his feet, Kitty," Sasha directed Peggy. "Let's move him to the road."
"Wait." Ling Ling held up a vial of glitter-dust. Before I could query or protest, she uncapped the lid and dumped it unto her palm.
"Reveal," she whispered, blowing the sparkling dust over Spike's supine form. It fell, shimmering like a fairy trail, and as it settled on Spike he lit up with a firestorm of color. An aura borealis danced around him, mostly red and gold. Mostly red.
Red is for rebel.
Red is for blood.
Red is for passion.
Love.
Spike.
"He has a soul," Ling Ling announced, satisfied.
I sighed, bottling the genie of annoyance, and sticking a cork in it. I could have told her that.
Sasha took Spike's shoulders, and Peggy his feet. "Damn, he's heavy for such a little guy," Sasha muttered.
"Some vampires are denser than others," I quipped with a quirky smile, and followed them, hoping really hard that Spike didn't wake up while in-transit. He'd be furious.
Ling Ling snorted. "Men," she said.
"Amen," Sasha agreed, chuckling.
We made it to the road that run up and down the length of the hill, and Blake was waiting with the van. He'd left the engine idling, and had the back doors open, ready to load.
The whole side of Blake's face was black n' blue. His left eye was swollen shut and bleeding, and looked just horrible. "Oh!" I gasped, and had to stifle sympathetic sentiments, which said aloud, would have revealed far more than I'd cared.
"It's only a scrape. Don't worry about it," Blake said with such total and magnificent bravery, smiling even in the face of hardship. He is so heroic! My poor honey-boo! My heart swelled, and I longed to be the one to nurse his injury.
It was Ling Ling who brought him an ice pack while Peggy and Sasha loaded Spike into the back of the van.
Sasha grabbed for shackles, but I shook my head. "No chains. He'll be mad enough as it is when he wakes up."
"Sounds like another good reason for why he should be restrained," Sasha replied, her expression setting in a determined mask, and Peggy looked like she was in agreement.
"He's a vampire, Dawn," Blake reminded me. "Soul or not. The chains are a good idea, at least until he's calmed down." Blake is always so cautious. I didn't blame him for wanting to be careful. I really didn't.
"No," I said, getting that stupid stubborn expression I used to wear when I was 14 and obnoxious. I had plenty of good – no, great – reasons for not wanting to chain Spike up. Only trouble was that not one of was rational or logical. They all came straight from the heart
It was Ling Ling who came to my rescue. "C'mon guys, lighten up. This guy's a hero. He's saved the world, and he's on the Council's do-not-slay list. Even if we don't trust him, we should trust Dawn's judgment and give him the benefit of the doubt."
(The Council's No-Slay list is short and elite. Just a few demons have made it, including Spike and Clem. Angel is on it too, though, they keep an asterisk next to his name. It's SOP to perform a soul check on Angel at the start of every encounter. Giles insists.)
"Thank you," I breathed, and it sounded like a prayer.
They left Spike and I alone in the back of the van with the doors shut, which would at least slow Spike down for a couple seconds if he decided to bolt. My team was waiting outside in case I needed them.
The back of the van has an interior light. I sat beside Spike cross-legged, and waited for him to wake up. Luckily, I didn't have much time for brooding or guilt before those baby blues were open and affixing me with a laser-sharp stare that possessed the same parental super-power Squirm Ray as Buffy and Giles.
He wore an open expression of wariness and hurt, and I was mega glad that I'd insisted on no chains. Spike sat up, performing a quick self-inspection, but never removing his gaze from me. He looked me over with such intensity – that virile male thing that he does – of which I've never before been the recipient. Spike has bedroom eyes.
"You've turned into a real knockout, Nibblet," he said. "All grown up," he added deliberately.
I blushed. Hard.
Awkward silence dragged out. I meant to offer an explanation, but my tongue had been tied into knots, and I couldn't get the words out.
"Is this some sort of belated revenge for what I tried to do to your sis?" Spike finally asked, and of course, I knew exactly what he was referring to.
We never made up. I never forgave him. I meant to, but I ran out of time. He died before I said the words.
My eyes rounded with shock, and my heart ached for him. His hurt was transparent, soul-deep, and his acceptance that he deserved whatever punishment I chose to dish out, was horrifying to behold.
"NO! No no no, absolutely positively not!" I exclaimed. When I get really emotional, verbal eloquence tends to fly out the window. So I did the most heartfelt thing I could – followed instinct and impulse – and obeyed my heart.
I threw my arms around Spike's neck, buried my head against his neck, and allowed silent tears to flow.
His arms surrounded me, slowly, cautiously, strong and firm, holding and guarding. Safe.
"I've missed you, Bit," he said, and the sound of that old nickname was music to my ears.
"I've missed you too," I said, drawing away just a little in order to kiss him on the cheek.
Then I punched him in the chest. "You jerk! I've been trying to catch you for a year!"
End Part 3.
