Please see chapter 1 for the disclaimers that apply to this entire work. This chapter is a loose mash-up, borrowing dialogue and events from S5:E4, Out of My Mind, S5:E5, No Place Like Home, and S5:E9, Listening to Fear. It probably fudges Sunnydale's putative geography in order to tell its tale. Feel free to blame Ethan for any ensuing chaos.
Chapter 4: William the Bloody Gets a New Attitude
Well ain't that just neat, Spike smirked at the Slayer's body language. Her scolding of Spike for attempting to bogart her kill was an old tune not even worth the listen. On the other hand, her clear annoyance with her Honey Bear's enthusiastic interruption of her hunt was well worth the bloodied nose that was the price of admission.
The oversized oaf was impatient with the Slayer's superchums. The Slayer was impatient with him… the man was running himself outside of the charmed circle all by himself.
He wiped his bleeding nose, absentmindedly monitoring his current health from its scent and taste. Anemic for a vamp, but what could one expect from having to signal his virtue by drinking swine swill bought from the butcher with whom he was sure Buffy checked. He'd have to stop by Willy's or Sunnydale General soon to top off with a bit of illicit O-neg.
So sue him. He was still a sodding vampire, lest anyone forget. And still evil.
Meanwhile, he was amused to be a bit player in tonight's little Punch and Judy puppet show. It had a bit of everything: misunderstandings and biting retorts, the slapstick of the ex-soldier flying through the air and then getting a verbal beat-down, and even the inevitable smacking of one or more characters about the head. Being the smacked character was his contribution tonight, but as a vampire he found that to be somewhere between a petty annoyance and foreplay.
Let's go with foreplay then.
His smirk took on a wicked glimmer as he got in a bit of needling— pun intended— at Captain Cardboard's apparently surplus presence. Maybe he'd actually go nick a pair of knitting needles and leave them outside the idiot's apartment. He immediately thought better at the idea, given how stake-happy the fellow seemed around him.
Then the Slayer's mercurial temper turned and she flounced off. His smirk grew to a grin as he realized she'd left the big lout to scarper after her like a Great Dane that had been left behind while doing his unsightly business on the neighbor's lawn.
It had only been a few minutes, but it had livened the evening. Of course, it wasn't as tonic as a good spot of violence before bedtime. He'd been honest that things were more than a little ho-hum at night for a vampire who couldn't have the usual adventures. And who desperately needed to figure out how to run a pirate cable TV hookup to his crypt.
He turned in the direction of one of the older graveyards since the night was still young. Without really thinking about it, he paused to call out, "I will know your blood, Slayer. I will make your neck my chalice... and drink deep."
And bollocks if that didn't ring as tired and formulaic as the Slayer's earlier reheated insults. That was their own puppet show and it held little entertainment for him anymore. He suspected they both were merely going through the motions.
Striding away, he wiped at his nose again, which really shouldn't still be bleeding. Once again he cursed Angel for fooling the Slayer into believing he never ever— no, no no— sipped any of the jus de humain. One of these days he'd ask her why she really thought he'd been taking his looming forehead on-the-regular to the hospital's blood donation drop-off night. Gramps had been a notorious highwayman in his early days with Darla and hadn't lost the knack.
.
-ooOOoo-
.
Several hours later, and yet regrettably a couple hours still before dawn, Spike was catching up on the Dawson's episodes he'd missed since skedaddling from the Watcher's place. So far, he was pleased by the offerings available via the satellite dish and decoder he'd managed to snare at a poker game at Willy's. The snitch hadn't been able to purvey any blood worth drinking, but the game in back had been quite the windfall.
He was also rather chuffed at the cabling job he'd managed to pull off. Finding that abandoned house near Restfield with its wiring intact, all ripe for the harvesting, had been a spot of luck. Well, not particularly lucky for the former tenants, who he was fairly sure he'd staked a couple nights prior. But for the discerning and somewhat bored vampire with a need for cable hardware, it was just the thing.
"Pacey, you blind idiot. Can't you see she doesn't love you?" he advised the on-screen character.
He'd been so absorbed in the show that he hadn't noticed anything outside until a loud banging started up at his door. Not that he'd admit that to anyone, mind you. Vampires didn't lose themselves in soap operas; they bathed in their enemies' blood and laughed at their petty dramas.
He jumped up and turned off the current petty drama, which he'd already determined was running again tomorrow night sometime during matins, after 3 a.m. More banging ensued and then Harmony, of all vampires, tumbled in the door. She brushed back her disheveled hair and made an attempt to straighten her worse-for-wear wardrobe. She then shut the door behind her and pressed her back against the wall. Daft chit was breathing heavily as though she actually, well, still needed to breathe.
"Well, well, well. Looky here at what the night service has sent over." Spike took a few tiger-smooth steps in her direction, but stopped while still out of her reach. He had no clue what her next move might be. She was as likely to jump his bones as try to take him out in revenge for her sorry lot of dusty minions.
Eyes wide, Harmony squeaked, "Is it safe? Is Buffy here? I saw her patrolling earlier. With a stake!"
"No. Seriously? Tell me it's not true." Spike only regretted for a moment that his clever sarcasm was lost on her.
"She won't give up until she's killed me. To death!"
He now remembered why he'd tried to stake her, himself, before getting side-tracked into his new, less-bloody lifestyle by the Initiative. That said, he could still kill vampires….
"Harmony," he began, marshaling his patience, "why on earth would the Slayer be here at this hour?" Oh, sod patience, he thought as he added incredulously, "But seriously: Buffy's looking for you? For you? Harmony." He realized at that moment that he'd never even bothered to learn the bird's human last name.
"That's why I'm on the lam," she explained earnestly, as though her answer made sense. "Didn't you hear? I'm totally her arch-nemesis!"
With a grin starting to prickle his lips, he decided that vampires did watch soap operas after all. They were simply in the form of absurd interactions with other vampires.
"You're her arch-nemesis, Is that right? I must have missed the memo."
"There was a mem…?" Her question trailed off with a sigh, followed by an impatient little stomp that he might have found charming several months ago. Maybe.
She shook her hands in the air, emphasizing the urgency of her words. "Spike, oh my god! This is like a real emergency!" Probably seeing the grin of amusement that he could no longer hide, she grunted and fidgeted in the way that his Nibblet occasionally did when she urgently needed to visit the loo. And then, compounding the image, Harmony said, "I need a hideout so bad."
"Hmm," he murmured, tilting his head. He was trying to figure out what opportunity this presented. Honestly, other than having someone else around during the end-of-day doldrums before it was possible to escape into the night, he was drawing a blank. That said, for a short period of time, that might be enough.
His enthusiasm, or lack thereof, apparently needed more encouragement. "Spike, you're my only hope." Her eyes widened in Princess Leia entreaty that, if she were anyone else, would clearly have been done with comedic intent. But Harmony just powered on without pause, adding, "Even though you're a big double-crosser guy who stood by while the Slayer took out my minions. Which is so not fair because they were my minions, not hers! But anyway, we're just gonna have to rise above... you know… all those petty differences... and stuff."
"Hmm," he repeated. Could he manage to coexist with the gormless bint without offing the Slayer's self-appointed nemesis himself? He admitted that the imagery of Harmony as the Slayer's own little unicorn-and-rainbow Harley Quinn was rather hilarious, so there was that.
"Listen, Spike ... I'm desperate. Pretty please? I'll do anything!"
"Anything, will you?" Spike couldn't help asking, though he immediately regretted it.
"Yeah! I said I'll do anything." she emphasized as though he was daft. Pausing, she eyed his loosely crossed arms and raised eyebrows. And probably remembered some of his more… compelling attributes. "Ohh," she drew out her apparent, clever epiphany. "You mean will I have sex with you? Well, yeah, duh."
He snorted. If he'd had any lingering interest in the chit, at least above the beltline, her comment would've given his libido the old heave-ho into the city trash heap of recent foraging adventures. The mannequin that Toth idiot had broken would've likely have tried harder to… well… make him hard.
Nevertheless, still amused, he watched as she sat in his abandoned chair and took out a cigarette. Holding it like a prop, she flicked a lighter several times before finally lighting it.
"Taking up smoking, are you?" He'd willingly wager that this was no more than her second ciggy ever. Maybe her first, he took a moment to enjoy the vague double-entendre.
"Well, I am a villain. Hello!" She leaned back; a faux Bond villain with a Chesterfield silly-millimeter-longer attitude. She inhaled deeply... and then began coughing as though she'd swallowed a lit reefer.
"I guess you are at that." He smirked with cheeks sucking in as though he'd been the one inhaling the tobacco. "What with the Slayer on your tail and all."
Harmony eyed him warily, her coughing jag finally over. "You could kill her for me. That was all you used to talk about. Slayer this and Slayer that, her neck is your chalice, blah blah blah." She pouted.
"You're a vampire, Harm. You could kill her yourself." He knew that the likelihood was close to that of an ant lifting the Tower of Pisa and launching it into orbit. He found that he wasn't bothered by that likelihood of failure.
"I tried! It was hard and stuff." And there was that pout again. Christ, had he found that appealing at some point?
"Right. I bet it was." At that moment he realized he'd been hanging out with the Slayer and her pals more than he'd realized. He'd felt an actual sense of pity for the silly cow; she was supremely unsuited to be a vampire. Whatever long-departed vampire had sired her had been particularly evil in that act alone.
To cover his emotional slip, he quickly added, "Slayer's a tough one, she is."
"Oh. Right." Harmony drew out both words, which was her clever signal that she'd figured out something. Spike worried she'd seen through his moment of untoward compassion, but he'd overestimated her. "I forgot. You have that metal thingy-whoosit in your head. Otherwise, you'd kill her for me, for sure."
"Might do," he replied absently. With an unnecessary exhale, he said, "Okay, you can stay here, but just for a night or two." He barely got the words out of his mouth before she'd dropped her still burning fag on the stone floor and jumped up to hug him.
"You're the best, Blondie Bear," she enthused. It turned out that her enthusiasm extended all the way to her hand with its dimpled fingers, which had now begun feeling him up through his jeans with that same jazzed energy.
Littler Spike didn't mind at all and was happy to swell to the occasion. This was exactly what he'd been missing ever since Red canceled that Will Be Done spell of hers. It had been especially cruel to leave him naught but a sodding chocolate chip cookie to assuage the blue balls with which the sudden end of the rising action had left him.
Despite the inglorious end of that episode, his memories strayed to the earlier, unexpectedly fulfilling moments of the spell. Not surprisingly, he was now experiencing a graphic replay of the Slayer's hand down there in even more intimate contact. A hand that was both stronger and more considerate of his pleasure than the chit currently squeezing his bits.
"Harm," he said while pushing her away with more gentleness and self-possession than he'd thought he possessed. "I said you could stay, not that you could test the produce for freshness." He pointed to the sofa he'd dragged home the other day. "Sleep there. There's a throw and a pillow, and it's closer to the trap door leading downstairs if you need to hide. I'll sleep on the sarcophagus by the door, all the better to catch anyone what tries to sneak in."
Her expression was both disappointed and cagy. Heaven only knew what was going through her bird-brain. She likely wondered why he was being gallant in the sleeping arrangements, though Spike knew that the sofa was about as comfy as a bed of nails. She might even miss the opportunity for some good, hot sex, which they both knew he could've provided if in the mood.
But, regardless of what might be flitting through her brain, his inner chronometer sensed sunrise waiting just below the horizon.
"Get some sleep, Harm. Tomorrow we'll strategize on your next move, and what town would be better for your health than Sunnyhell." Because she was right about one thing: if she stayed too long in this town, the Slayer would surely lose patience and dust her on some otherwise uneventful evening.
.
-ooOOoo-
.
The next day, he'd practically bolted from his crypt at the verge of sundown like the proverbial bat out of hell. His duster pulled over his head as an impromptu sunshield, his feet had practically grown wings at the sound of "But Blondie Bear," wailing from the shadowed door where the younger vampire was still trapped by the waning sun.
Blessed freedom! The hours after he'd awoken had stretched until that moment, minute by minute, like a double-long headhunter's necklace made from the bones of his boredom. He'd forgotten how much Harmony's concept of strategy was mired in shopping and imaginary trips to bloody, effing Paris. Trying to get her to focus on her survival plans was as useful as discussing the merits of kung fu versus karate with a bowl of goldfish.
He'd tried to distract her with card games, but her expertise ended at Crazy Eights, at which she was terrible. Her idea of the "bigger than a breadbox" guessing game had almost made him smash his head against the rock walls in desperation. Finally he'd remembered the telly, where he'd found a marathon of badly dubbed action movies that had been a bit of alright.
He found himself spouting a random assortment of remembered dialogue as he marched out of the cemetery gates. "Gokku will see you now with his laser blaster eyes," he announced to a startled racoon foraging in a trashcan. "Mr. Han, I suddenly wish to leave your island," he proclaimed to the abandoned house that was now missing its cabling. "Aliens have invaded Zimbabwe. There's no time for rational solutions," he declared with mock urgency to a pair of lovebirds who looked fatally headed toward Restfield. He grinned as they scuttled off the other way in alarm; yeah, he still had it.
After a stop at the local mini-mart for smokes and a couple pint bottles of whiskey for the road, he headed for Sunnydale Memorial. Lenny the half-Brachen, who worked the hospital lab second shift, was a right lad when it came to reserving expiring blood donations for regular customers such as Spike. It helped, of course, that he still had a decent amount of Watcher-donated dosh to spend on the bagged elixir. The fellow even had complementary "Have a Nice Day" carrier bags for what you didn't want to guzzle on the spot.
Lenny was also a notorious gossip. While having a sip— not guzzling, thank you very much— from one of his newly purchased blood bags, Spike heard about some super-powered chit with an overdone perm who'd apparently arrived in Sunnydale within the past couple of weeks with a crew of especially scabrous demon minions. There was some new surfer-boy intern at this very hospital who smelled oddly of magic and who occasionally cross dressed in cocktail dresses at work.
There was interesting skuttlebutt about a new bite house in town, where at least one of the former Initiative commandos had been seen as a customer. While he filed that away for investigation, Lenny brought up the Slayer's mum, who'd been brought to hospital for a look-see after a fall earlier today. That last bit of news didn't sit right with Spike, who'd stashed his remaining bags in an inside pocket of his duster with a thank-you-very-much, and then legged it over to Revello Drive.
Once there, Spike peered through the window in the kitchen door. Only two heartbeats: the Nibblet and Mrs. Summers. That suited him, so he knocked on the door, which was a habit that Mrs. Summer's eldest could stand to learn.
Shortly thereafter, he was seated in the kitchen sipping a hot chocolate with those lovely little marshmallows that he discovered the Slayer's mum kept on hand just for him, bless her. While she recounted her time in hospital, he listened to her body's sounds, trying to filter out anything different from usual.
Her scent was off and there was something that wasn't quite right in her blood flow. "Mum, you should go to a better hospital. Get your noggin scanned, or summat. Whatever those medical tests are that they show on the telly."
"Oh, not you too," Mrs. Summers looked heavenward. "Everyone's been packing me in bubble-wrap all day."
Of course they had; the Slayer's mum was special enough to make even a vampire care. With that thought, he began explaining. "Well, I'm a vampire, ain't I? Blood's my thing. Your heartbeat's regular, but I can tell there's something different, something not quite right with your blood flow somewhere behind your eyes." He shrugged, "I just can't tell you what it is. But if the docs here can't either, you should go somewhere with better docs. Or better machines."
"You can hear heartbeats?" the younger Summers interrupted him while punching him on the arm. "Why couldn't you tell that Riley's heartbeat was stupid fast?" She glared at him.
"Oi. Those Initiative lads all got fast heartbeats. Figured it was part of how they got super-sized to fight demons." He didn't add that they'd all notably accelerated in the same, lamentable timeframe when Adam had been pulling his Last Temptation of Spike act. Their hearts had been like a bunch of timers finally triggered to explode into the cyborg monster's plans.
"If it was my heart beating like that, I hope you'd tell me," she muttered.
''Course, Pidge. And your heart's all normal and human-like. No worries there."
"I'm worried about the boy," the Slayer's mum interrupted. Spike immediately noticed that she'd said "the boy," not "my daughter's boyfriend."
After a sip of her hot chocolate, she continued, "Buffy said she's going to try to find a doctor from that military unit he was with. It's probably more of their experimental hardware." Her judgmental frown was likely regarding the nature of the hardware implanted in otherwise healthy young men.
More interesting to Spike was her lack of motherly expressions when discussing the Soldier Boy. It seemed that here, in the heart of the Summers family, was another charmed circle in which the lummox no longer had a place. Spike wondered if the boy even knew he was working his way out of the Slayer's life like a corn-fed splinter.
After persuading Slayer's Mum to get more tests done at a better hospital, a promise to stop by her gallery on the weekend to help her unpack some large crates, and a bit more small talk, he made his exit. Not without a quick hug from Mum and also the Nibblet.
While musing that their warm hugs had meant much more to him than Harmony's recent, groping embrace, he worried briefly about his vampire cred. When had the possibility of sex with a known partner been less interesting than being wrapped in the arms of humans with whom sex wasn't even a consideration?
He lowered his brows in a thunderous scowl. Who the bloody hell cared what anyone else thought? Certainly not him. He was a vampire, dammit. He could be the sodding Master of Sunnyhell if he cared to pick up the mantle. He could do whatever he pleased with nobody else's by-your-leave.
That settled, he looked around and realized that his feet had taken him half-way to the Watcher's magic shop, the new entrepot for Slayer intel. And that was something else he bloody well could do if he wanted: he could choose to sit in the bleachers at White Hat central. In honor of his emphatic, chosen opportunity to annoy the Watcher, he lit a cigarette and took a nice, deep pull.
His pleasant, self-righteous moment skidded to a halt as he heard the loud pounding of feet running along the street he was about to cross. Looking over, he saw a line of enormous beasts trotting at a fair pace directly toward him. He didn't know what type of demons they were— they looked like elephants dressed in tasseled finery from Aladdin's menagerie.
Whatever they were, the lead beast caught sight of him and lowered its tusks his way. Spike left his ciggy between his lips while readying himself for a leap up to its back. He'd figure out what the hell to do next after he got up there, exactly the way he always did.
"Spike, no. Don't kill them," he heard the Slayer call out as she raced toward him. "They're elephants."
"They're bloody what?" He half spit his cigarette out.
"Elephants," she exhaled while pushing him out of the path of their lumbering rampage. "The news channel says they escaped from a circus train. There's also some giraffes having happy-munchy time over at the arboretum. Oh, and Tara said she and Willow saw a meteorite or something fall crashing into the woods, though that doesn't have the same circus theme as the great escape of Babar and Geoffrey the Giraffe."
"What the buggering fuck?"
While he stood with the Slayer like a pair of parade watchers on the sidewalk, the lead elephant trundled by them. It trumpeted while looking balefully at Spike. Probably it was imagining the vampire as a tusk ornament. He was definitely imagining what he could do with pointy ivory pillars. Glancing at the Slayer, his common sense tapped him on the shoulder to alert him that this inspired bit of imagination wouldn't fly in this eco-conscious era.
"Yeah, it's crazy. Giles is reading through that "Whore's Jeans" book of chaos predictions from Darla's attic like it's a new beach novel."
Spike snorted around a puff of tobacco, amused at how she garbled the book name and also by the fact that she'd innocently, perfectly situated a whore's book in that slag Darla's getaway digs. He was tempted to solicitously enquire whether she needed anything else for inspiration from the mansion's attic, knowing that she'd spotted Angelus' paintings of him in his glory. But then, another timely, virtual tap on his shoulder stopped his gob by reminding him that this might not be the right moment.
Was this what it was like having a conscience? Because it was bloody annoying. He took another deep pull from his smoke.
Meanwhile the Slayer exhaled and shook her head. Interestingly, Spike didn't think her irritation was directed at him. That alone made him wonder if maybe Tara's meteorite was an omen of a new era in vampire- and Slayer-kind.
"I gotta go," she said with a deep exhale. "Riley's sick with some Initiative thing. So of course, now he's missing and I have to find him. Because clearly I have nothing better to do right after my mom gets out of the hospital." She shook her head, and there was her mother's patented eye roll toward the stars above. "I mean, I get hating the hospital. I really do. But even I wouldn't be this testosterony about it, given an alternative of massive heart attack and death."
He forbore explaining that there was no way she could be… testosterony… about anything. Being gloriously female and all. He also managed to refrain from asking why she'd expect the enormous hall monitor to feel all squishy with happiness after developing a case of physical vulnerability around his perky, superpowered girlfriend. His nose, remaining unbroken, thanked him for his unusual discretion.
Instead, he ground out his cigarette butt and then fell into step with her, jog trotting in her original direction. "You need help to find him?" he said. He nearly stumbled when he realized that he'd essentially just offered to help the oversized git. Maybe Tara's meteorite had turned otherwise sensible vampires into bonkers Good Samaritans.
"Uhh," the Slayer replied with a blink. Then, moving beyond her momentary disorientation, she was all business again. With an audible exhale, she said, "I suspect he's in one of the caverns by the Initiative cave-in. If you're serious, I'd appreciate your help narrowing down which one he's in, since we're running out of time. But, if Riley sees you, he won't follow me. And if you double-cross me just to spite Riley…."
"I'm bloody serious, Slayer, though I don't know why," he interrupted her more harshly than he'd intended. He was irritated with himself because he actually was serious. And because he didn't want to explain what he'd just figured out. Which was that he no longer simply wanted to shag her, which he'd managed to hide behind his grand speechifying about killing her. Now he actually wanted to help her enough so that it didn't matter that it also helped the soldier who'd been part of his Initiative hell.
And wasn't that an arse-backward thing for a vampire to want?
She peered at him from the corner of her eyes and blinked again. "Okay. I believe you." And apparently it was that simple in Buffy's shampoo-commercial-hair world.
While headed toward the caves, they discussed strategies for extricating Riley. He filled her in on the demon gossip he'd picked up since they'd last crossed paths. She discussed the various chaos-related events and theories spun up amongst the Scoobies.
Then, gingerly ready to dodge her fist, he mentioned he'd stopped to see her mother and outlined what his vampire senses had picked up. He added that he thought she should look further for a diagnosis, although whether it should be medical or magical wasn't something he could judge for a human.
"Really?" She looked his way, again. "Um, thanks. I hope she listens to you. I feel like she spent the day at the hospital getting tested so they could use big words to tell us diddly. And all she says is, "Don't worry, dear, I'm your mother. And it's okay that my headache got worse because the doctor said 'take four of these gigantor pills a day and call me tomorrow'."
She huffed. "I mean, what is it with Riley avoiding his doctor and my mom being all loosey goosey about her doctor kinda not diagnosing her?" She paused. "It's a whole bizarro medical mess, although now I wonder what loose geese have to do with anything."
Spike, busy unraveling her words enough to reply, almost missed the muffled sounds of screaming as they passed an abandoned industrial park. Just as he registered the sound, Buffy paused.
"Did you hear that?" he asked at the same time she said, "Did I hear screams coming from that empty building?"
He saw the indecision on her face as she looked off toward the caves, and then more closely at the factory. "I'll back your move, Slayer. Whatever you say it is." he said.
She nodded. "Come on, then," she said, resigned. "Riley knows that he can save himself, but maybe whoever is in there can't."
It was his turn to nod as he followed behind. They passed a couple empty factory and warehouse shells. Then, seeing a building whose door had been completely blasted away, she pulled a flashlight out of… somewhere. Spike was momentarily distracted while he considered where she might've had that hidden.
Meanwhile, she stepped through the door and picked her way through the rubble on the floor. Following her up a set of low-incline ramps, they quickly found themselves in a large, open room.
"Two heartbeats. Only one is human," he murmured as she strode toward a man in a monk-like robe who was tied to a chair.
"Stay with us, we've got you," she said while beginning to loosen the ropes keeping him both captured and upright. "Don't worry. I'm stronger than I look."
A blonde chit appeared from nowhere, silently approaching Buffy from behind. She was the one with a non-human heartbeat, despite her perm, cocktail dress, and heels.
"Watch out," Spike hissed. He moved closer in case the Slayer needed his help.
"Pretty," the blonde demon smiled, looking between Spike and Buffy.
"And smart," Buffy whirled in place, seizing the other blonde by the throat.
"You sure about that," the party-dress demon asked with a disdainful look before wrenching the Slayer's hand from her neck. She then backhanded Buffy with such force that she flew across the room and hit the cement wall so hard that it cracked. The Slayer slid to the floor, apparently stunned at the amount of force the demon was able to wield.
At the same time, Spike leapt. It was one of his standard attacks; basically it was a well-practiced, old fashioned rugby tackle, except with an added aerial dimension and a neck-snapping bonus.
It was an attack that completely didn't land. The fancy-dress demon saw him coming and grabbed his arms. Swinging him, she used his momentum to sail him to the other side of the room, making another crack in the wall.
"Well, this is just annoying," the demon said. She strode toward Buffy and seized her by the shoulders. "And another thing? I just want you to know…." She slammed the Slayer into a support pillar and began pummeling her. "This whole 'beat you to death' thing I'm doing here? It's valuable time that I'm never gonna get back."
Spike, having picked himself up from the floor, pulled out a set of brass knuckles. Seeing the demon deflect more blows from Buffy, and then wrench the Slayer's arms down painfully, he raced at the female demon with all his vampire speed.
"Oh please, distract me with your manly honor," the demon released one hand from Buffy. Without even looking, she used it to bat Spike away from her, mid run, propelling him into another wall. This time he was near the half-dead monk.
"You are the vampire consort," the battered, robed man mumbled.
"Yeah, sure," Spike agreed, a bit slower to stand this time.
"I am not important. She is," the monk coughed out.
"No shit, Sherlock." Spike dismissed the man from his thoughts as he heard the female demon shouting.
"You hit me! What, are you crazy?" Followed by, "Ooh, I just noticed something. You have super powers. That is so cool. Can you fly?" With that, she hurled Buffy clear across the room where she landed, dazed, next to Spike and the dying monk.
The Slayer got to her feet, wiping her face with her arm like a boxer, and prepared to engage the fashionista demon again. Then, with a glance at Spike, she remembered that her priority was the human monk.
She finished the untying work she'd started earlier and then helped him stand. Spike stood between her and the demon as she shouted at them from the other side of the room.
"Hey! Hands off my holy man! You shouldn't take things that don't belong to you!"
While the blonde demon shouted, Buffy picked up the monk. "Follow me," she murmured to Spike as she began running toward the large window overseeing the lot below.
Realizing what Buffy and Spike were about to do, the demon charged after them. But, breaking a heel of her fashionable party shoes in the process, she was too late. They crashed through the window with the monk and tumbled to the ground below.
A cloud of dust roiled out of the shattered window above as Buffy and Spike helped the critically injured monk across the lot.
The robed man grunted, hunched in pain. "Stop. Please."
"No. We have to keep going," she insisted as they stumbled across the lot to the chain-link fence along the property. The monk collapsed against it, gasping.
He reached dark, broken fingers to her upper arms. "The Sphaera Dagonum. It's for you. I dropped it out here so the Abomination would not get it. You must find it." He coughed, with blood. "My journey's done, I think."
"Don't get metaphory on me. We're going." Buffy gestured to Spike to help lift the robed man again, but the vampire shook his head.
"He's not speaking in metaphors, Pet. He's not going to make it more than a couple minutes more. Too much broken inside."
The monk nodded at the vampire's words, then looked between them. "A blessed moment," he said, which Spike interpreted as an addled, religious themed request for them to pause. "You have to... the Key. You must protect the Key."
"Fine. We can protect the Key together, okay, just far away from here." Buffy reached around him again.
"Yes, together," the monk nodded, looking between the superpowered couple. "But leave me. Get away." His cough rattled in the age-old tune of failing lungs. "Many, many more die if you don't keep it safe."
"How? What is it? Is it that 'spherum' thingy you mentioned?"
"No. The Key is energy." His trembling fingers picked at her shirt. "It makes the portal; it opens the door. Pure energy of dimensional gateways, for centuries it had no form at all." He paused to gasp for breath. "My brethren were its keepers. Then the Abomination appeared. Suddenly. Just weeks ago. We had no warning."
He coughed again, now tilting his head to focus on Spike. "We had to hide the Key. So we set it inside a human for you to guard. She's a child. You must guard her with your life."
Buffy stared at him, eyes widening in comprehension. "You put her in Dawn? In my sister?"
"Yes. She is the Key." The dying man closed his eyes.
"What did you do to the Nibblet?" Spike snarled as he crouched nearer to the monk. His face shifted into an unmistakable, demonic threat.
"You put my baby sister in danger. You put the danger inside my house." The Slayer's face was adamantine in fury. "Undo it. Now."
"I cannot. But see, we were right. You will protect her. And so you will protect the key."
The monk resumed coughing and this time the vampire knew he was almost gone. Spike growled, seeing that the arsehole was so easily escaping his fury.
"You cannot abandon…," he began.
"What is she?" Buffy interrupted, also sensing that the time for answers was about to end.
"Human... now human. And helpless. Please... she's an innocent in this. She needs you."
The monk exhaled one last time as his life force expired, leaving his muscles lax against the parking lot pavement.
Spike growled in loud, inhuman frustration while Buffy still kneeled next to the monk with a confused expression on her face.
"Wow, that was really not what I expected." Buffy shook her head.
"Bit of an understatement," Spike said, returning to his human visage. Scowled, he added, "I'll wager she's that blonde demon that's new to town, the one I told you about earlier. Wonder if she's part of this chaos business. She's certainly not human. Has got a taint of dark magic about her, she does." He patted himself to verify that his blood, smokes, and liquor had all made it through the melee in their various pockets.
The Slayer stood and shook out her limbs. "Let me know if you figure that out," she said. As she began to reach for the monk's body, Spike reached for her arm.
"Best leave him here, Pet. Until the morning, yeah?"
"But he's human," she objected.
"Was human. In Heaven now, ain't he, and beyond caring where his body is." Since he knew she was hardheaded about such things, he felt justified stooping to a bit of manipulation. Helped, of course, that it was true. "It won't be easy to explain how you found the body. It'll take even more time from your search for Army Boy. And you'll endanger anyone what goes into the building to figure out if your story has legs."
She sighed. "Okay, you're right. But let's just get him over to the other side of the next building. That way, anyone who finds him won't be seen by crazy dress-up demon if she's still lurking upstairs."
"Got it," Spike agreed, helping to lift the monk's dead weight. He surreptitiously felt for pockets, wallets, and such, knowing that Buffy would object if she saw him doing it. Finally out of the empty factory's line of sight, they deposited him on a palette raised slightly above the ground. Buffy took a minute to smooth his robe and dab blood from his face, as though the late monk was around to care about such things.
Spike watched, knowing that there was an important lesson about his human companions embedded in the moment.
Then, as one, they turned back to their original direction, this time walking through the industrial park instead of jogging. He fished one of his pints from its duster pocket, opened it, and took a deep swig. Balls, he'd needed that.
He offered it to Buffy, who took one look before saying, "No, Buffy and booze are not mixy. I'll pass."
He shrugged and took another swig before returning it to his coat pocket. "You're not missing much, truth be told. Probably better for sterilizing wounds than for drinking, if it comes to that."
"And yet, you tell me that after having drunk half the bottle."
"What can I say, I'm an equal opportunity sampler of spirits."
She snorted as they turned into the final lot before the street.
An older man in a uniform stepped from a booth and approached them. "Look, I keep telling you kids to not come for rave parties, I chased a bunch of goth kids out of here last night."
"Oh, right. Yeah. Darn. I bet that's why we couldn't find them." With a decidedly mischievous glance at Spike, she added, "It's too bad. We're in a band together and had hoped to play."
Spike smirked at the shared memory. That bit would never get old.
The uniformed man looked between them. He shrugged, confiding, "You know, if it was my call, I'd let you do whatever you want. It's not like anybody's using this place or nothin'. But they just don't pay watchmen like me enough to argue with the boss so..."
"Got it," Buffy said, turning. "We're already gone. Oh, and by the way, there isn't any party tonight. We couldn't find anyone."
"Great," the guard replied. "That'll give me more time to work on my job app for a guard position down in Costa Mesa, nearer to my daughter."
"Bye now," Buffy said. Before she took more than a step, the guard reached for her arm. Spike braced to defend her before remembering that she was the sodding Slayer and didn't need his head-electrocuting help to defend against this unfit older man. Of course, he'd never been able to get anything by her, so wasn't surprised by her amused glance. He was, though, surprised at the absence of ire shining from her eyes.
"Just a second Miss, Sir. I forgot. You should take your glow ball with you. I've been guarding it in my station until I found whoever dropped it when they came in." With his free hand, the guard handed a glowing, yellow orb to her.
"Oh, thank you," she said, catching Spike's gaze.
"It's that Sphaera Dagonum." He shrugged; he wasn't picking up anything particularly dangerous from it at the moment. "It seems… not evil."
"Glow balls, huh?" The watchman laughed. "I swear, I don't get your generation. What does it do?"
"I'll let you know as soon as I find out," she said. She pocketed the orb and then nodded toward Spike. "Let's go." Turning, they continued on their way.
After a few blocks, they'd recovered enough to resume their jogging pace out to the caves. And then, not long after, Spike began to scent the overgrown Boy Scout. "He's come this way, Pet. Not long ago."
"Okay," she nodded, following his lead.
He walked as quietly as he could as he led them into the forest. He knew this area. He passed by the first cave entrance, leading them to a different one. "He's in here. I can smell him. Hear him."
"Okay, my turn." She put her hand on his chest. "Thanks for your help."
"You need me to come with, help you find him in the dark?"
"Nope," she said, popping her "P." She pulled out her flashlight, again. "I have my own version of vampire vision. Besides, like I said earlier: if he sees you, he'll probably fight or run. He won't come with me."
"All right," Spike said, backing away. "I'll be out here until you leave, so call out if you do need me. I'll be able to hear."
She smiled ruefully. "Vampire ears," she muttered with a nod. With a bracing inhale, she walked into the cave.
.
-ooOOoo-
.
After hearing the mad ramblings of the big lout, Spike had decided to follow them after they'd left the caverns. Out of sight and hearing distance, he knew the Slayer could sense him. If he'd had any doubt, he'd seen her put her hand to her neck and look around a few times.
At the road that led to the Sunnydale hospital, one of the other Initiative soldier boys stepped out of a car. At which point the man nearly face-planted after tripping over a line of geese that had, incongruously, begun milling around his car.
Spike looked around from his hiding spot, seeing dozens more large birds on the lawn behind the soldier's car. He hadn't even known that geese were up-and-about at this hour. But there they were, honking and waddling and glaring. He had a long-ago school memory of how Romans used geese as night-time guards because they heard everything, were loud, and were mean.
"Wonk, wonk" the lead goose announced, proving the loudness point. As if to prove that the meanness point was also true, it waddled closer to the soldier with its beak forward and ready for action. A few other geese began milling around goose number one.
"Graham," the Slayer greeted the soldier, her voice calm but flat. That told Spike that she wasn't surprised by the man's presence.
"Buffy," the soldier nodded. "Riley," he added before stepping forward to take the pale, sweating man's other side, effectively taking him from the Slayer. He started to lead Riley to the car, sidestepping the geese.
"Wonk, wonk," the geese objected, doing their best to trip the man. "Wonk, wonk."
"Wait, where are you taking him?" Buffy asked in a guarded voice while absent-mindedly shooing away a couple geese that were heading her way.
"Wonk, wonk, wonk," they objected, although they did turn away from the blonde. As one, they made a dash for Riley's rubbery legs.
"Ow, what's that?" the bleary soldier protested.
The Graham bloke, supporting Riley, focused on Buffy. He explained, "We can't use a hospital operating room, but found a private practice that our Doc thinks is sufficient for the surgery that Riley needs. I'm taking us there." He kicked out at one of the large birds. "Get away!" he instructed the goose, no doubt used to obedience among the riff-raff.
Used to their own idea of obedience, the biggest of the geese mantled their wings and snaked out their necks. Beaks were effective weapons, Spike noted from his hiding spot as the soldier's "ow"s turned from grunts of annoyance to pain.
"He'll still be in Sunnydale, right?" Buffy ignored the geese while glancing casually in Spike's distant direction. That was his Slayer, all right. She'd known exactly where he was the whole time.
"Yes ma'am. The office is in town, on Oak Park Street," the soldier said while finally muscling Riley into the passenger seat of his car. "I can take it from here," he said, straightening. Then, leaning down again, he quickly hauled out one of the more adventurous geese from the car. It flapped and pecked frantically before Graham tossed it a couple car lengths away. "Ow," he exclaimed while rubbing where the offending bird had hammer-pecked and claw-scraped his arm.
"Buffy comes with or I'm not coming," Riley's wavering voice could barely be heard from where Spike was standing.
Buffy heard him loud and clear. "Okay, you heard the man." She closed Riley's door and then opened the one behind him. Climbing inside, she warned, "This better not be a trick, Graham. You don't want an unhappy Slayer in a confined space with sharp things around."
"And I heard that, too, ma'am," the soldier said without any of his former casualness. He closed her door, then marched to the driver's side through a thicket of prickly geese.
Tosser. The man's tone toward the Slayer turned his smirk to something less amused that featured more than a small flash of fang.
"Wonk, wonk," the set of more aggressive geese seemed to agree with Spike as they raised disgruntled wings and honked loudly at Graham's vehicle.
Leaving the ridiculous birdlife behind, Spike loped after the car and arrived at the doctor's office shortly after they'd manhandled Riley inside. It was a nondescript, windowless address at the end of a short strip mall. Not a demon enterprise; perhaps the anonymous practitioner catered to the less virtuous members of the human population.
He listened at the door and picked up only one additional heartbeat; it must be the doctor. He wasn't positive that the Slayer had intended for him to follow her this far. But, in for a farthing, in for a pound.
Beyond that, yeah, he was a right nosy wanker.
He pulled out his lockpick and handily opened the external door. Following the voices, he slipped through the overwhelming beigeness of the office. The phrase "banality of evil" popped into his mind.
But just then, as though slapped in the face, he heard sodding Harmony's voice ahead of him. He stopped for a moment, half wondering whether Lenny at the hospital had slipped him blood laced with something recreationally hallucinogenic. Nah. If so, he'd have been tripping balls long before now.
He stepped into the doorway of a spacious examination room that was also equipped for medical cutting and patchwork. Harmony was on the far side of the room with one of Spike's crossbows aimed point blank at the white-coated doctor. Nearer where Spike stood, Captain Cardboard was slumped in a chair between Buffy and the other soldier, with his heart racing knock-kneed to a dire finish line.
"I'm sorry Buffy," Harmony apologized in her Betty Boopiest lilt. Then, remembering herself, she lifted her chin and spoke. "But that was a trick. Ha! Slayer who's the enemy of my kind, I'm not the least bit sorry that I'm here to counter your plans. In, like, a totally evil way. Because I'm Harmony Kendall, your arch nemesis."
Kendall, that was it, Spike thought irrelevantly before instantly deciding it was still something he had no need to remember later.
"Harmony, I know who you are. We went to high school together." Buffy's dry voice was as good as an eye roll. "That's why I'm giving you one chance to get out of here. Out of town. Right now. Call before midnight for this once in a lifetime offer, because If I see you again in Sunnydale, you'll fit in a Dust Buster."
At some point, she'd plucked a stake from whatever mystery location the chit stored them. It was clear the Slayer was now locked and loaded for business.
Harmony had no such clarity. "Nuh uh. Spike is here to protect me." She briefly waved the crossbow in his direction before again targeting the doctor.
All human eyes glanced his way, ranging in temperature from cool assessment to blazing hatred. On the latter part of the thermometer, Graham pulled out a gun and took a step toward Spike.
"Don't make a move, Hostile."
"Name's Spike," he flashed yellow eyes at the gun-wielding soldier. "Or William the Bloody. Only answer to one of those. If I feel like it."
He saw the Slayer gesture for Graham to hold tight. That gave him time to attend to the other blonde; the one snuggling up with a crossbow.
"You barmy bint, I'm not your protector," he shook his head. "I said you could crash on my sofa for a day or two until you move along to your next town." He made 'move along' motions with his hands. "Or until I can't take your nattering any longer and I stake you my own damn self."
"Spikey, don't be a meanie head! This is my master plan!" She visibly inhaled, stretching her form-fitting sweater. He'd never understand how the Scoobies could still believe that a vampire was a shell harboring no remnants of the former human. "We can, like, overpower the doctor and make him take out your chip. Isn't that the best?"
She clapped her hands in enthusiasm for her one-sentence master plan, accidentally releasing the crossbow bolt into the ceiling with a startling thwack. Chunks of ceiling tile feel to the floor like dry corners of buckshot birds.
"Oops." She shrugged, eyes wide, and then reached for a scalpel. "But I still have a sharp thingy." She brandished her puny weapon. The doctor side eyed her with an almost blasé expression, probably aware of far more lethal weapons in his vicinity.
"Just think, Blondie Bear. Without your chip, you'd be all free. You could do that killing thing we talked about." Her eyes darted between him and the Slayer.
Harmony's words jolted inside his skull, skittering like trapped, sharp edged starlings, confusing his equilibrium. Oh, not her daft idea of killing the Slayer; that was a non-starter. He'd already acknowledged the shameful fact that he would only kill Buffy Summers if she forced his hand, and it would certainly not fill him with pleasure.
But the rest of Harmony's offer… it was so damned tempting. A few cuts from the Doc and he'd really be Spike again. He cupped the contour of his pocketed O-neg stash through the outline of his duster. Lower down, his jeans fairly burst with a hardon at the thought of drinking warm and live, once again, from its squirming, pheromone pumping source. It was like heroin; like life.
"Spike!" Harmony was obviously waiting for him to move.
Without realizing it, his gaze had drifted to Buffy. Seeing the unfiltered betrayal like sharpened blades in the Slayer's eyes, he exhaled and willed himself to remain still. It was time to acknowledge that, sometime not long ago, he'd already made his decision regarding Harmony's proposition.
He brushed flecks of ceiling tile dust from his lapels. "That's not why I'm here, Harm. The doc has different surgery on deck tonight." Looking at the man, he decided that even if he agreed with Harm's plan, he wouldn't trust this Initiative stiff to do it right. He pursed his lips. "You really should take the Slayer up on her offer. I'm not taking you up on yours."
"Spikey." This time, if he didn't know better, he'd have thought she'd just broken her heart. Simple cow that she was, the impatient, calculating tapping of her toes gave her away.
"How is Harmony staying with you and not yet dust?" The Slayer's brows were still lowered, but her eyes had lost the painful sharpness of moments ago.
He shrugged, still not daring to take a step closer. "Frankly, I'd forgotten how annoying she is. But when she turned up just before dawn, I had to let her stay for the day. I mean, look at her: she's like a vampire Bambi, or summat."
"At the risk of interrupting this little drama," the doctor said, "I have to agree with the Hostile over there. I've never met a less threatening vampire."
"Take that back," Harmony squeaked indignantly.
As though proving a point, he swept one labcoat covered arm in her direction, causing her to drop the scalpel. He kicked it out of the way and then shoved her toward Graham. With barely a pause, he added, "And, more to the point, we need to get your man prepped before it's too late." They all looked at Riley, who'd slumped further in his chair, his color closer to gray than to blush of life.
Spike nodded, eyes locked with the Slayer.
"Let Spike take Harmony out of the building," she said, turning to Graham. At the soldier's offended look, she added, "I gave her a one-time 'get out of Sunnydale' card. I keep my word."
"Civilians," the man ground out. Yet, sensibly, he frog-marched Harmony over to Spike.
"Always good to follow the Slayer's direction," he murmured coolly to the soldier. Then, arms wrapped firmly around Harmony, he backed through the doorway. "Back in a mo'," he said.
Harmony began squirming in earnest as they got closer to the exit door. It was somewhere between an escape attempt and a bump-and-grind. "Spike, what are you doing? For months it was like 'chip this, chip that, if I get it out, I'll kill them all and take bubble-baths in their blood'." She gazed back at him with her beguiling blue eyes.
He started to say that a self-respecting vampire wouldn't "take bubble baths" in blood with duckies and such. But then he remembered that this was Harmony. Instead he said, "Yeah, things change."
After opening the door one-handed and muscling them both through it, he said, "Here's the thing, Harm. Slayer doesn't give second chances to many of us vamps, so this really is a good deal. And she's serious that she'll dust you if you stay. So, take her offer and leave town. Maybe go to L.A. and look up Angelus. Ask him to help you find a destiny or some such. Tell him that Buffy thought you were special enough to let you try." Those words spoken by a blonde bimbo would be like catnip to his old grand-sire.
"I'm special," she repeated, like a child being told that losing her dreams meant she was destined for a weighty future.
"And that's what you got out of what I said," Spike slowly loosened his arms, letting Harmony step away. "Now, you really do have to go. You can't stay in my crypt tonight because Slayer will certainly look for you there. The night's just started; you can hop a train, boost a car, or hitch-hike. Whatever, but you gotta leave."
She took a large, sweater expanding breath. "You're not the big bad vampire I thought you were, Blondie Bear. You're losing out on all of this." Her hands outlined her body from head to toe. "And, like, we're over."
"Yeah Harm. We're over."
"Good. Stay that way. I'm so leaving this loser, one shopping-mall town," She flounced away while Spike puzzled about what he'd ever seen in her. Yeah, watching her hips undulate as she walked gave him a big clue, but he was learning there were other, oddly more satisfying ways to find companionship.
He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took his time smoking it down to the end. The night sky was a pale soup of stars, the way it always was around cities these days. Occasional cars made their way through the town like corpuscles in the veins and arteries of Sunnydale's streets. Various distant and incomprehensible conversations, arguments, and sounds of rutting were audible if he took the time to listen carefully. In short, all was as it should be.
Except for the damned geese that were now honking their way down the road toward him. "Wonk, wonk, wonk," they raced his way. He put out his ciggy and darted back inside, locking the door behind him. Standing there, he shook his head at the muffled "wonks" and the sound of beaks hitting the door from the other side.
Well, that was barmy as all hell. He walked back to the exam room's door, where he found Buffy waiting. "Mischief managed," he said with a wry smirk, adding "But that chaos theory of yours has legs. That damned herd of geese is massed outside in the car park."
"Seriously?" Her eyebrow fluttered upward. He wasn't sure if it was for the Harry Potter reference or the geese until she added, "Giles is right. If his buddy Ethan Rayne weren't under big, evil-guy arrest right now, I'd definitely think he was behind all this craziness."
The Initiative doctor peeked from behind the surgery curtain. "Ethan Rayne? I don't know the rest of what you're talking about, but Ethan Rayne was one of the hostile civilians who recently escaped captivity." His eyes narrowed above his surgical mask. "And I really need you all to leave the room. Except Lieutenant Miller," he nodded toward Graham, "since this amateur surgery lacks the usual operating room restraints."
"Fine," Buffy said, backing them both out of the room and closing the door. She gestured toward a set of 1960s-style upholstered guest chairs in the reception room.
"I told Riley I'd wait until they're done," she explained, sitting down. "That said, I don't need to share whatever germ cooties I have with the inner, squishy stuff behind his ribs."
Spike sat beside her, hands loose on his thighs. "Wager I can wait a while with you, then. Since your pals ain't here, and all." He glanced around, taking note for future reference, and all. Knowing about a clandestine medical facility could be useful.
"It's fine. Stay," she said. Then, lips tilting upward she said, "Blonde Bear?" She snorted when he turned to glare at her."
"We'll never speak of this again," he said.
"The chance of that is… let's see, what is zero plus zero percent? I think that's a zero percent chance. But it's math, so maybe I'll have to talk it over in detail with Willow."
"Just so long as you know, Missy, that it's a nickname that, when spoken, makes me willing to brave the chip's headache to avenge."
"Got it, Nickname Avenger. You should get a T-shirt that has that motto on it." She sniggered as she added, "But did Harmony really say she was my arch nemesis? Like in a comic book?"
"Christ yeah," he rolled his eyes, leaning back into the chair with his legs stretching in front of him. "But see, now that's really why I couldn't dust her." Seeing her patented Slayer's skeptical gaze, he smirked. "If she's your greatest enemy, you'll live for sodding ever. Like a walking, undead insurance policy, she is."
With that, she burst out laughing. It was the sound of living champagne to Spike's ears. At this very moment it was even better than blood or smokes. And he didn't care who bloody-well knew it.
To be continued…
END NOTE:
This chapter fulfills the following Challenge Prompt 4 of the 2021 Elysian Fields Mystery Fic-a-Thon Challenge.
YOUR FIC MUST INCLUDE THE FOLLOWING LINE SPOKEN BY A CHARACTER: "ALIENS HAVE INVADED ZIMBABWE. THERE'S NO TIME FOR RATIONAL SOLUTIONS."
Proof of prompt usage:
He'd found himself spouting a random assortment of remembered dialogue as he marched out of the cemetery gates. "Gokku will see you now with his laser blaster eyes," he announced to a startled racoon foraging in a trashcan. "Mr. Han, I suddenly wish to leave your island," he proclaimed to the abandoned house that was now missing its cabling. "Aliens have invaded Zimbabwe. There's no time for rational solutions," he declared with mock urgency to a pair of lovebirds who looked fatally headed toward Restfield. He grinned as they scuttled off the other way in alarm; yeah, he still had it.
