Chapter 2
"So what about if a mortal wants you to bite them? Like, to sire them or something?"
"Don't know. No one's stepped up for the honour since I got chipped. Why, you offering?"
"Maybe."
"Fang tease." Spike scolded. Dawn was in a cheeky mood tonight and it was doing unmentionable things to his body. He stopped suddenly and stared down at her standing there, way too close to him, looking pale as porcelain in the moonlight, and wondered if she'd stop her goading if she knew what it was doing to him. Maybe not he thought: there was just enough of Buffy in the girl that she might not care.
"Who says I'm teasing?" Mini-fatale said, looking at him from lowered lashes as she stood hipshot and all pouty. The smell of her blood tingled in his nostrils. Sexy. He stared into her eyes, game face flickering. She was so small. Once upon a time he could have eaten such a little snack in one mouthful. Once upon a time...
"I say you're teasing and I say you'd better stop it."
"Make me."
"Rrrrrr." He took a step back and sat on a tombstone. Thrusting both hands into his duster he fished around for the makings and rolled himself a cigarette. "You're getting as bad as your big sis, little bit, but I know you're teasing. Wanna know how?" He lit up and dragged in a mouthful of delicious acrid smoke. With a practised purse of the lips he released the fumes in an impressive smoke ring that melted over the girl's face, much to her disgust. She coughed, waving her hands around in annoyance. He grinned; gaze focussed and sharp like a razor.
"Well?" Summers junior demanded after a moment. She really looked like the Slayer when she got all stroppy. He let her stew for a moment to enjoy the view, and smoked some more. Then he snatched her arm, movement cobra fast, and pulled her close to him. Her skin burned hot under his cold hand. The blood pulsed strong and vital. Tasty. His teeth ached to make contact with the artery he could see pulsing in her throat, and for a lunatic instant he entertained the notion of giving in to the impulse. Fuck this chip, fuck it to hell. Then the moment passed and he satisfied himself by tickling her mind with a tiny thrall. Her eyes widened in surprise and he smelt a tiny flicker of fear. It warmed his belly.
"If you were serious I'd know it," he hooked a black nailed finger into the waistband of her hipsters and tugged suggestively, "because I'd smell it." His meaningful stare was not lost on the youngster and she blushed to her hairline. Still got it Spike, you still got it. He held on to her clothing for longer than was necessary, until she started to get some serious doubts, then let her stumble backwards a step. She did not move far: stubborn, despite her little shock. He liked that too. It was too damn bad he couldn't sire her; she'd by far make the best companion he could ever hope for. He flicked the cigarette butt into the dark. It made a bright tracing arc, comet like, before it died.
"Does the Slayer know you're here?" She didn't answer. "Thought so. You're going to be the death of me yet, love. You know she doesn't like you hanging about with the big bad." At the mention of Buffy Dawn folded her arms and stiffened her shoulders. Teenagers: they were entirely too easy.
"Buffy's not the boss of me, I hang where I want. With who I want too." Sassy young Bonnie looking for her Clyde.
"Right."
"I do!" Cue the three year old.
"I agree with you." Be calm. Don't laugh.
"I DO!"
"I know you do." Don't laugh.
She suddenly scowled, catching on. "Shut up Spike."
"Tease and tease alike, pet." He chuckled. "Never mess with the big bad. I've got more than 100 years on you in the mind games department." More than you could ever know. More than I could ever tell.
"Yeah, you're a real antique."
He bared his fangs at her, eyes glinting yellow. She grinned back, feral and sharp. God, she looked so much like her sister it burned... And after those bloody brilliant dreams he had been having lately it scalded even more than usual.
He had not seen the Slayer since the ghoul incident and, he admitted to himself, he was starting to miss the bitch. Even her tendency toward domestic Spike-thumping violence (actually especially that part, ooh yeah, when he thought about that late in the day, in his bed, under his red silk sheets the colour of blood... Oh Mummy, little Will has been a baaaaad baaaaad boy). It really grated. He shouldn't even think about her enough to miss her, but after a few days of skulking about fixing up the crypt, acquiring new furniture, a new TV and a stereo he was bored out of his skull. Spine snappingly, nuts numbingly, hunt your bed ridden-grandmother bored. Even coming good with his obligations to provide information to the Watcher was starting to appeal.
Fuck, he was getting desperate...
It was no fun at Willy's anymore either. Since Willy had gotten himself on the pointy end of a ghoul and been killed off the place had changed management. It had gone up class and snooty. Where Willy liked the homey let-the-fangs-hang-out relaxed atmosphere that was equally conducive to a satisfying spot of violence with pool cues and broken bottles, or peacefully drinking oneself into oblivion and sleeping it off on the floor, the new lot had made it very clear that that was out of the question. Beneath them, they said. Not the kind of look they were trying to generate. It wouldn't attract the right type of clientele. What the fuck kind of language was that from a lord of the underworld? Clientele. Right type. Generate. Where were the edibles, anything breathing, and ravage in that lot of bunk?
Fucking new age poofs.
In a fit of pique he had savaged the new proprietor and snapped the necks of his three minions as they stood there in their stupid beige business suits and polished high tops. That had learnt them all right, the great mincing nancies.
Outside of Willy's (from which he had subsequently been given a ban for the rest of his existence) he had lost most all of his regular choices of recreation. Couldn't sire any minions and plan for any world domination, the muse from his mortal poetry-scribing days still had not returned, Dru was still buggered off (miss you luv, more than I can say), hunting and feasting was nixed post-chip implantation, and palling about with Undead buddies was nearly impossible since he had thrown his lot in with the Slayer.
Bloody Slayer.
It always returned to her.
He growled low in his throat as the realisation sank in. Bloody fucking hell, he was becoming dependent on a Slayer to provide the colour in his existence. That wouldn't be so bad if the colour generated was red and was obtained by eating her, but noooo, he was thinking about her in terms of hooking up for a bit of demon slaughter. Reduced to killing my own people out of desperation for something to do; fallen so low as to embrace The Enemy to get some decent kicks... Rrrrrrr.
Maybe it was time to blow this joint? Leave Sunnydale for more entertaining climes where anonymity would let him back into the clan, for a time anyway. Another Hellmouth perhaps? Hmmm... The thought was strangely unappealing. He had his claws firmly embedded in the Sunnydale Hellmouth. He had gotten himself a decent set of digs and put down roots. Humiliating, dependence riddled roots, sure, but roots all the same. The first since he had been sired and he was becoming very attached to them. He was, dammit. This was his Hellmouth now; this was his lair, his blood-cache, his T.V., his stuff, his world. His. Nobody else to claim it and take it away just because they ranked higher, were older, were his bloody relatives, was his fucking grandsire.
"Where is Summers senior anyway?" Spike asked Dawn. He lit up another fag. "Haven't seen her in a while."
"Do we always have to talk about her?" Dawn pouted at him. Spike stared glassily at her. For some unfathomable reason she hated it when he did that. "Alright, stop staring at me already! She's been at the Magic Box all week helping Giles clean it up. It got wrecked you know." She kicked at the headstone he was sitting on. "She won't let me see it, like I might be scarred for life or something. Sheesh, it's just broken up stuff. Not like it's a rotting body or anything. Not like it's dangerous."
"Well, now pet - FUCK!" Spike flew backwards off the tombstone to the accompaniment of Dawn's shrill squeal. He hit the ground and rolled, spitting out the cigarette. Stretching out a clawed hand, game face pealed, he grabbed the ankle of the soon to be ex-entity that had knocked him off his perch. The man fell, hard. Spike was up in an instant and springing, cat fast, to pin him to the ground. He struggled but was outmatched by the master vampire on top of him. Straddling the body Spike forced it to turn face up. Pinned its shoulder's to the dirt. It was a vampire. Wild eyed. Frightened.
With a really, really appalling mullet.
"What the hell are you doing? People are trying to have a conversation here!" Spike glared at his victim, being his intimidating best, but it just had the opposite effect. The vampire stopped fighting him and blew out his cheeks in relief, not in the least alarmed.
"Oh man, like am I glad to see a brother. Dude, like this crazy chick with super type powers is after me. She dusted my buddies in town and now she wants me." He spat out the words around unnecessary gasps. "You gotta help me, I can't lose her. I tried every trick I know but she just keeps on coming. Help me!" He grabbed pleadingly at Spike's forearms. Pathetic. Pathetic and sad. Then Spike saw the pup's throat and he bared his fangs. The raw wounds there told him all he needed to know and it ignited anger. Dammit! Barely a day old and no Sire within Cooee. What the fuck was the world coming to? He felt the urge to kick arse, Sire arse - the very best kind.
"Get up!" Spike ordered and sprang lightly from the vampire, game face disappearing. After a moment he held out a hand. The man, his relief pungently obvious, grabbed and was hauled onto his feet. He looked so ridiculously happy Spike felt nauseous. "Who Sired you?" He barked harshly.
"Sired?" The fledgling repeated vacantly and Spike tried not to slap the stupid creature.
"Made you." He explained, gripping the bony shoulders. "You know, made you?"
"Made?"
"Into a vampire." He prompted. Slow and baby clear. Bloody hell.
"Oh!" A light bulb smile around a mouth full of oversized fangs. "Made me, oh I see. Yeah, dude. Made. Like, cool word man."
"Well?"
"Oh, yeah, dude -" And Spike was holding air as the vampire suddenly exploded into dust and his gripping hands snapped down on nothingness. In front of him, through the brown cloud stood the Slayer. Her stake was still raised in one hand.
"Thanks." She said breezily, dismissively, and before he could make a suitably caustic remark she was walking away. Well, wasn't that just rude and thoughtless. He sucked in his cheeks and exhaled with exaggerated care through his nose. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean. Nope. Not working. He flipped her the British bird behind her back. A two fingered salute, palm facing his chest. "What the hell are you doing here Dawn?" Buffy snapped at her sister.
Spike slipped up behind the blond and mimed an exaggerated coup de grâce, fangs extended and snapping silently near her head. Rrrrr... Despite her chagrin Dawn choked on a giggle and Buffy spun around, glaring.
"That was rude." Spike said, human face indignant. "You know, you might be the Slayer and all but a little courtesy isn't too much to ask. I was right in the middle of a conversation."
"And remind me why I should care?" The Slayer shrugged, eyebrows raised. Sarcastic little bitch.
"I don't have to take this shit - " He waved a finger in her face, towering menacingly.
"Yeah well, anytime you feel like you've had enough, just call me. I can always make room for you in Mr Pointy's calendar. We aim to serve." She turned her back to once again look down on her little sister. "We're going home, now!" Spike had an excellent retort ready to smite the Slayer with when -
"Hey blondie!" A new voice interrupted him.
"Bloody hell, does no one have any sodding manners anymore?" He whirled around and pulled up short. "Who the hell are you?" There were five vamped-out fanged brethren looking mean and nasty and hungry.
"Me? Hell I'm the one whose boy you just dusted." The Leader said. He was bigger than Spike by a head and shoulders with oversized muscles to match. Sweet.
"That bloke was yours then was he?" He rounded on them, staying unvamped. He sized them up. This was gonna hurt, but it was gonna be so good. Adrenaline cranked up his muscles. "Well, what the hell was he doing out on his own? How long ago did he Rise? Five fucking minutes?" The lead vampire frowned.
"What's your problem brother? Our business is with the girl."
"My problem?" Spike's laugh was bitten off. The stupid idiot had no idea... "Oh sod it." And Spike released the beast, lunging and body slamming the Leader.
The fight was good. Bloody and savage. And it hurt like a bitch.
Blocking swiping claws Spike ducked, coming up under the swinging limb and smashing his forehead into the Leader's nose. The bone shattered to mush. Stunned, the creature staggered backward, arms flailing. Blood gushed from the destroyed face.
"Who's the big bad now?" Spike roared, following the Leader's backward stagger, and knocking aside one of the minions rushing in to save his hapless Sire. No chance of that tonight: William the Bloody had some anger to displace. The Leader went down on his arse and Spike stuck the boot in. "Get up and fight you useless fuck! Fight me!" He danced back suddenly as the Slayer waltzed through taking on the other minions. He turned to watch her, eyes drawn like magnets. Hot, hot, hot. She was wearing that little white sleeveless number he liked so much. If he cocked his head the right way he could see down the plunging neckline and ...
A body slammed into him and he was going down. He hit the ground and rolled. A boot found its mark and he felt a rib give. Pain rattled his frame like a lightening strike. Shit. Then he was up. Ducking a fist. Coming in underneath the punch and sinking his claws into the vampire's arse, propelling the creature forward so fast he was hurled straight into a tree. The greenery shook, cracked and fell. This time though the Leader did not fall. Instead he staggered, and turned to face Spike, fangs wet and red with his own blood.
"I know you." He spat blood as he spoke. "You're Spike."
"Congratulations for having eyes." Spike retorted. "Collect $100. Go to the top of the class. Eat your teacher."
"I've heard about you: you kill your own kind. There ain't a brother or sister this side of the grave that ain't gunning for you." Suddenly there was a poof of dust across from them and the Leader's head whipped around. He roared, anger rippling down his muscular frame. Spike grinned. The Leader glared at him. "I heard a rumour that you don't hunt anymore. I heard that the Initiative fucked you up so you can't feast, but you know what - I don't believe those stories." He was breathing hard; unnecessary breaths, rage seeping from every pore. The remains of his nose was flattened across to the left of his face. "The Initiative didn't fucking touch you. You just put that story out to cover up the fact that you've lost your fucking nerve." He moved out to the right, looking for an opening. Spike blocked the move, coming further around to the right and forcing the Leader to keep his back to the fallen tree.
"Talk, talk, talk." Spike said. He couldn't be bothered with trading such pathetic fightin' talk. Not when there was actual violence to be had. "Let's you and I go at it and let me see if I can't give you a couple of eyes to go with that nose." Behind him he heard the Slayer grunt as her fist connected with undead flesh.
The Leader lunged and they connected again. Fists and feet and fangs and claws. Hard and relentless. They pounded each other for an eternity. It was a good match, and as it went on Spike had to admit a creeping respect for the Leader: he was experienced and tough. Just not quite tough enough.
One last time Spike pushed him back against a tombstone. The Leader sagged against it and Spike bounced on his toes. There wasn't much left of his adversary: blood and mashed up facial features, a broken fang, bloody claw marks, but still he would not run or lay down. The anger Spike had felt earlier, the urge to pound Sire arse into pancakes, was evaporating too. Maybe he had been too hasty...
"Get up." Spike encouraged, offering proper honour to his opponent. Vamp to vamp, death on your feet was the only way to go. The Leader did step away from the tomb, eventually, but did not lunge at him. Instead his features flowed back into his human guise and he straightened up. Spike cocked his head, frowned. What the - ?
"You've beaten me Traitor." He slurred the words through broken jaws. "But remember this: when its all over and done it won't change the fact that you're still scum. I won't fight you anymore. You're not worth it." Then the Leader turned his back. "You're nothing. You're beneath us."
And the world slipped into silence. Disbelieving stillness.
...
Spike felt his unbeating heart swell agonizingly in his chest. He took a shaky breath, and then another. The rage that had been disappearing suddenly flared and burst out into every cell until each fibre was exploding with it. In that moment he was not just enraged, he was rage. From him the word took its form.
With a roar he charged and took the Leader to pieces.
Anger, rage, hurt and fire. Claws and fangs, rip and tear. If the Leader fought back at all it didn't register. Screaming somewhere in the far, far distance played a sweet melody to his primal baseline. Flesh tore and tore and tore and bones broke and were splintered and pulped in his claws. Then dust. It exploded all around him and he fell forward, hitting the ground hard.
Silence.
He lay there, panting and snarling silently into the dusty earth. Fucker. Motherfucker.
Silence.
Hang on, too silent. Where's everyone gone? Slowly, he pushed himself upright, onto his knees, then his feet, and looked around. In the clearing the remaining players were all still there: two vamps, Buffy and Dawn. Except they weren't playing anymore. Every one of them was frozen, like life size game pieces, each with their head turned in his direction.
Oh...
"What?" He snarled after a second. "Can't a bloke have a bit of fun?" The Slayer blinked at him and he stared at her. Then he frowned, his nostrils flared. What was that-? "Look out!" He called out to her as one of the vampires suddenly came to his senses and charged.
Then it was on again. Dancing a glorious dance. The Slayer moved like greased lightning, fast and sharp and deadly. So sexy, so fucking hot. He kept one eye on her. Then he smelt it. What he had thought he had smelt before. My god...
Shit! Pay attention you bloody fool! He barely avoided a killing blow, instead ducking to take the impact side on. It threw him into the Slayer and they went down in a heap of tangled limbs. He had a moment to register the shock in her face, her eyes a mere inch from his, before the two vamps, also off balance, fell on top of them. Dawn screamed.
Then dust exploded to his right as the Slayer found her mark. A second later, one twist of his hands, and his own opponent was dusted. He rolled over. The Slayer was still there. He scented the air between them as their eyes met again, and again he frowned. It could not be true. It just couldn't be true, but it was. Mesmerized, shocked, unable to think he went with instinct, pushing closer.
She hit him.
Right hook across the face, splitting his already healing lip once again. Some of his blood sprayed over her soft white skin. Pretty. He smiled at her, eyes half shut, and rumbled deep in his chest.
"... Get off me Spike!" Two hard hands suddenly pushed at his chest and he was lifted off her to land with a thump on his arse. She sprang to her feet. "Get off me! Gaaahhh!" The impact broke Spike's spell and he lay there staring up at the two Summers women.
"We're going home Dawn." Buffy said after a moment. Her voice was shaking. "NOW!" And they were gone and he was alone, lying in the dirt. Bloody hell.
"... You bloody stupid son of a bitch! If you think I'm going to take orders from you, you can just think again! You're insane..." Rupert Giles paused for a badly needed breath as he paced angrily up and down. "You're worse than insane, you're... you're ... you're ... Oh, argh! Fucking hell, you want a bloody good killing off, you do! With a blunted spoon. With a wet shoelace. I've a good mind to come over there right now and ... "
"You did not say that Ru."
"Yes I did."
"No you didn't."
"Well no, not out loud maybe, but it was all there in the way I hinted - 'no thankyou, being tortured horribly for all eternity in the pits of hell is not really up there on my list of things to do before I retire, thankyou so terribly much for the offer.'" He sat heavily on the couch.
"So why did you say yes then?"
Giles turned his head as he laid it back on the couch and looked at his companion. She was still incredibly beautiful, even after all this time. How long had it been now? My god, it's been 25 years. Over two decades since that morning he had woken up, sick to his stomach, on the floor of his London squat to the same calm inquisitive dark eyed gaze that he was being subjected to at the moment. A quarter of a century since she had grabbed his unshaven chin and asked what no one, not even Ethan, had dared ask him - "Why are you trying to kill yourself?"
He reached out a hand and covered hers where it rested on her thigh, liking the way his hand fogged over in the warm golden glow of her aura. He sighed, suddenly feeling very tired and defeated. "How could I say no. They were right - it's been long over due and it could be so very valuable to the fight." But why did it have to be me...
"But why did it have to be you?"
"Stop reading me Annie." He scolded, but there was no malice in his voice. He could never be angry with her. Even when she cheated.
"I don't need to be able to read you to know what you're thinking babe. You're right, why does it have to be you? There are others: many, many eager others. So many younger others, perhaps?" She smiled a small smile at his scowl. "So why you?"
"I'm expendable. Its something they knew I couldn't refuse. And if I hadn't accepted they would have sent some inexperienced child - " He smiled faintly when he felt Annie's warm hand on his arm, but then forced his thoughts back to the immediate. "Why are you here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
"I was wondering when you would get around to that." She smiled her Mona Lisa smile.
"Well?"
"I don't think I'm going to tell you - yet."
"It's a little late for coy Anita." Giles chided with a mock glare. "What are you hiding?" He squinted at her but her aura remained true. She laughed at him, but kindly. "Tell me!" He demanded. He grabbed one of her hands, and captured the other.
"Impatient. Always so bloody impatient!" She laughed and grabbed his hands so that they were holding onto each other at last. She smiled at him and he felt his heart shudder in his chest. He remembered that smile and it blossomed one of his own. "You were always so impatient. I remember that." Her tone had become wistful as she moved a little closer. He followed suit. Closer. Lips almost touching she suddenly grinned - "don't they have a medical term for impatience now?"
"Cheeky cow! I'll show you impatience." And he cut her off with a kiss as her hands slid under the tails of his shirt.
Knock, knock, knock. The front door rattled on its hinges.
"Expecting someone?" Annie said into his ear.
"No. Ignore them, they'll go away."
Knock, knock, knock.
"I don't think so."
"Don't think."
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
"Blast." Giles sat up with a frustrated growl. "Don't move; I'll be right back."
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!" He charged at the door and yanked it open. "What - oh, Buffy. Er, hello." The Slayer barged straight past him and he didn't need to be able to read auras to see that something serious was up. Again. Crap crap crap. He glanced at Anita, pressed his lips together in frustration, and rubbed a palm over his head. Annie smiled teasingly at him from behind the arm of the couch. Don't do that! He glared. She touched her tongue to her lower lip. Stop that, you - he gave up and turned away from her. Buffy was gone.
He heard movement and looked across the room where his charge had marched. Refusing to look toward the couch again, he followed his Slayer into the kitchen. He found her; arms folded, face white and pinched, leaning stiffly against the kitchen sink. Something was definitely wrong. The clean pure blue of her aura was marred with something that immediately doused any thoughts of romance.
"What's happened?" He asked. "Are you alright? Buffy?" She didn't reply. "Buffy?" He said again, softly this time, and padded closer. Apprehension and confusion furrowed his brow. "Buffy, please tell - "
"I - " She started. Then stopped, and she looked at him. A shadow passed over her face, some decision was being made inside that blond head, and suddenly she was talking again. "Vamps. Five of them." He looked at her curiously. Frowned. Her aura was doing something very odd, something he couldn't quite put into words. "Dusted 'em all." She said.
"Right." He nodded slowly. This isn't what you came here for; we both know it. "Good. Was that all?"
"Yes - " she wasn't looking at him. Again.
"Buffy - "
"Just reporting in. You know: patrol report. Reporting an encounter." She trailed off. Picked at his bench top. "Reporting... Stuff." He cocked his head, exasperated and yet worried enough to reach out and grip her shoulder. When she looked up he cocked his head toward her, prompting. He could see her aura squirming. Even if she was trying to hide her disquiet he could see it.
The phone rang. He ignored it. Buffy didn't.
"You're phone's ringing."
"Yes."
"Aren't you going to answer it?"
"Aren't you going to answer me?" The phone stopped mid ring and Annie's voice floated softly into the kitchen. She was whispering, but to a Slayer's ears it would make no difference if she had yelled. Buffy's eyes immediately flicked in Annie's direction. Giles sighed and shut his eyes briefly. Dammit.
"Oh, you have company." She straightened up. Nervous, apologetic voice. "I should go."
"Buffy, it's alright." He did not release her shoulder. "You came here to talk to me about something that is obviously upsetting you, and I wish you would stop this prancing about tell me." She didn't speak. "I am your Watcher Buffy, but I am also your friend - "
"RUPERT! Rupert, come quick. Its the Council." Annie suddenly interrupted him, her voice strained. Urgent even. Nothing flustered Anita, nothing, except for - oh no, it couldn't be. Not now, not now.
"What is it?" He charged out of the kitchen. Annie was standing, phone stretched out toward him, one hand clamped over the mouthpiece. She looked pale and sweat glinted softly on her upper lip. What the hell? Giles' heart began to race in his chest. "What - ?"
"The Council: they say he's escaped. They've lost him - " She didn't get to finish. There was a sudden crack of wood slamming into brick. The explosive sound amplified inside the house. It stabbed at Giles' eardrums and he froze for just a second, shocked. Then instinct took over and he was moving. He swiveled around on his heel, hand automatically reaching for the nearest object - his desktop lamp - and raising it to strike. Buffy appeared in his peripheral vision, stake drawn. And there in the shattered doorway, silhouetted in the streetlight, a lone figure stood. Predatory. Silent. Waiting for an invitation.
"Hello Ripper."