A/N: This chapter really had me stumped. I went through a couple of false starts before I finally came up with what's written here. The next chapter will be better. And longer, I swear!
(Note: Some dialog taken directly from the episode.)
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon.
I crawled out of the world
And you said I shouldn't stay
I crawled out of the world
Can I make it right
Can I spend the night
Alone
-Angie Hart, "Blue"
November 12, 2002
8:01p.m.
The Bronze
Spike sat alone at the bar, listening to the live band and working his way through a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was his night off from patrolling, and he was bored. He was starting to consider blowing off the whole take-the-night-off-and-relax thing when a woman with short blonde hair approached with a cigarette in her hand. "Got a light?"
The vampire smirked, "People still use that line?"
"It's not a line," the woman's lips quirked in a flirtatious smile, "Unless you want it to be."
"Sorry, pet. Already spoken for."
The woman sat herself down on the empty stool beside him. "If you're spoken for, how come you're drinking alone?"
He shrugged, "'Fraid my lady has to work tonight."
November 12, 2002
8:01p.m.
Sunnydale Cemetery
Buffy hated patrolling alone. It used to be no big deal, but ever since Spike started patrolling with her, it just wasn't that enjoyable alone anymore. She checked the link for probably the fifth time so far and was perversely glad to sense Spike's boredom. It just wouldn't be fair for the vampire to be having the time of his unlife while she was just slogging by. She was starting to consider calling it a night early when she came across a fresh grave. As she knelt down to examine the loose soil for signs of disturbance, a hand suddenly burst out of the ground.
"Here we go."
Spike accepted a cigarette from the pack the woman held out to him and got out his trusty Zippo. He lit the woman's cigarette first, then his. Always the gentleman.
The woman blew a tendril of smoke above their heads, then turned to him with a look of frank curiosity. "So, you're from England?"
"What gave me away?" he drawled.
The woman chuckled. "Mind if I ask what brings you all the way to Sunnydale?"
Spike tapped the ash off his cigarette into the small ashtray on the bar. "Came about a girl."
"Your girlfriend?"
"Yep." She didn't need to know that he originally came to town with the intent to kill Buffy.
"Lucky girl," the woman declared, "I don't think any of the guys I've dated would've uprooted their lives to come after me. 'Specially not to a place like this."
"Oh, I don't know," Spike shrugged, "'S not too bad here. Night life gets pretty exciting."
She uttered a delicate snort of disbelief. "Seriously? This town's a graveyard."
My point exactly, he thought with a grin. After a thoughtful pause, he held his free hand out to her. "Name's Spike."
Smiling, the woman reached for his hand when her arm accidentally bumped his whiskey glass, spilling its contents across the bar, some of it dribbling onto Spike's jeans. "Oh, god! I'm so sorry!"
Grimacing, Spike grabbed a wad of napkins and dabbed at his pant leg. "Good thing I wear black," he muttered, "Doesn't show any stains."
"I'll keep an eye on your seat if you wanna go to the restroom and clean up," the woman offered.
"Yeah. Thanks." He got up from the bar stool and made his way to the men's room. When he returned a few minutes later, he found a newly filled glass waiting for him.
"I ordered you another," the woman said, apologetic, "Sorry again about the whole knocking stuff over. Sometimes I'm kind of a klutz when I'm nervous."
Spike gave her a puzzled look as he resumed his seat. "What've you got to be nervous about?"
"Are you kidding? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"
He barely managed to keep a straight face. "Not so much."
The woman leaned towards him as if sharing a secret. "Well, for your information, you are drop-dead gorgeous."
Spike chuckled, his ego bolstered by the praise. "Well, you're not exactly hard on the eyes, either, pet."
He picked up his glass and took a generous sip.
The fledgeling was a bit tougher than most. Apparently, the guy had some tae kwon do training before he was turned. Buffy found it kind of annoying that martial arts were so popular in Sunnydale, although it did tend to make new vamps overconfident, and therefore stupid. The smart ones always ran. They usually got staked anyway, but at least they knew they weren't up for taking her on.
After about ten minutes of vigorous fighting, Buffy finally staked the vampire. Brushing the dust off herself, she glanced at the name on the tombstone: Holden Webster. Sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe they went to high school together.
"Nice work," an eerily familiar voice commented, "Although you could have finished him in half the time if you weren't so eager to show off your abilities."
Buffy turned to find herself confronting a portly, balding man sporting a thick mustache. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in shock. "Merrick?"
The man who'd been her first Watcher quirked a sardonic eyebrow. "You don't look all that pleased to see me."
"S-Sorry," Buffy stammered, "It's just been a while. Also you're dead."
"I'm aware of that," Merrick stated bluntly, "I was there, after all."
"So, how the hell are you here now?"
"I've been sent," the Watcher declared, "by the Powers That Be. I'm here to give you a warning."
Buffy frowned. "What kind of warning?"
The apparition took a step closer, his feet not making a sound. His brow was furrowed in a serious frown Buffy remembered so well from when he was alive. "While you're out here patrolling the graveyards, a master vampire has been killing and siring people throughout the town and hiding the bodies so you won't find them before they've turned. He is slowly building an army against you."
A mixture of anger and dread rose up in her. "I never heard anything about a new master vamp in town."
Merrick gave her a pitying look. "He's not new, Buffy. He has been here for quite some time."
"What? Who?"
Again, that look of pity, which only made her want to punch his ghostly face. "You know him, Buffy," Merrick stated cooly, "It is William the Bloody."
"Should at least walk you home," Spike offered, "Not a good idea for a woman to walk the streets alone at night."
The woman smiled. "And they say chivalry is dead." She tossed a couple of bills onto the bar and stood up, shouldering her purse. "Sure your girlfriend wouldn't mind?"
"Escortin' a lady safely home? That'll probably earn me some brownie points, as a matter of fact." Spike grinned and followed the woman out the door. The streets were relatively quiet this time of night, everyone either inside the various drinking establishments or staying at home. Spike shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he and the woman strolled side by side.
"It's not that far," she told him, "I usually go this way. It takes a little longer, but it's quieter."
Spike let her lead the way down a lonely side street that was little more than a poorly lit alley. In his predatory days, he would have picked such a street to wait for easy prey to come along. Prey like the woman beside him, who, now that he thought about it, still hadn't given her name. Spike gave a mental shrug; not like he planned on seeing her again.
They neared an intersection when two figures stepped out from behind a building, blocking their path. They were tall, burly men that exuded an air of menace. One of them raised his hand and metal gleamed in the faint light of a distant streetlamp.
"Give us your wallet and your bag," the second figure ordered.
The woman gasped at the sight of the gun. Spike just rolled his eyes. His nostrils flared as he took in their scent. Humans. Bugger! Not much he could do against them with the bloody chip in his head. Still, it wasn't as if he could pass up the chance to play the big damn hero. "Tell you what," he countered, swaggering closer to the wary muggers, "Why don't you two blokes shove off, and I'll let you keep all your bits and pieces."
The muggers gawked at him, then started laughing, incredulous. Spike grinned in response, bracing himself for the brawl to come. Behind him, the woman touched a medallion she wore around her neck and whispered something that sounded like a prayer.
"You're—Whuh—" Buffy was speechless. She didn't even know where to begin with how wrong Merrick's statement was. "That's impossible," she finally blurted, "Spike wouldn't do that. He couldn't even if he wanted to! The chip—"
"Ah, yes," Merrick sneered, "The notorious chip the government implanted in his brain."
"Yes," Buffy nodded emphatically, "He can't bite people anymore."
"And you're certain this chip still works?"
Buffy gaped at him. "Of course it still works! What, you're telling me he's been faking it?"
"Think, Buffy," the Watcher reasoned, "When was the last time you saw him so much as shove a human out of his way?"
Buffy's frown deepened as her mind raced.
"So, how can you be certain the chip is still functional?" Merrick continued.
"Spike is not feeding on humans," she insisted, "I'd know."
"Would you?"
"Yes! We have a connection." She yanked the collar of her shirt down, exposing the Claim mark. "I can feel what he feels. He couldn't hide something like that from me."
"So, those times when you are not together, when you sense his elation and the thrill of violence, you know for a fact that he is merely fighting other demons?"
Buffy gritted her teeth, fighting the twinge of doubt his words brought. "This is crazy. I don't believe—I don't believe you." She glared at the apparition. "I mean, how do I even know you're really the ghost of Merrick? You could be some kinda shape-shifter thingie, o-or a hallucination. Maybe I'm dreaming!"
Merrick reached out and swiped at a nearby tombstone. His hand passed through the solid granite as if it wasn't there. "This proves I am not a shape-shifting demon," he said, "Now I will prove I am not a hallucination, either. Come with me." He turned and walked away.
Buffy was tempted to go in the opposite direction, but morbid curiosity won out. Growling under her breath, she tromped after the alleged ghost. They ended up leaving the cemetery behind. Merrick took them down a series of empty side streets, turning seemingly random corners until they reached an intersection faintly lit by streetlamps too far away to do anything but deepen the shadows.
Something stirred, and Buffy's eyes widened as she realized it was a man sprawled on the ground. She ran over and knelt beside him. There was a ragged wound on his neck; an unmistakeable vamp bite. Not much blood, though. This guy was almost completely drained.
"What happened?" she asked, hoping the man would last long enough to answer her, "Did you see who did this to you?"
"Man," the victim rasped, "Took my friend."
Buffy glanced to her left, saw a patch of blood on the pavement. A second victim, carried off by their attacker. "What did he look like?" she urged, "The guy who attacked you?"
The man struggled to get the words out, fighting grogginess and the encroaching darkness. "White hair...Brit..."
An icy finger slid along her spine. "B-Brit? The guy h-had an accent? An English accent?"
"Girl..."
"What?" Buffy leaned over him, almost pressing her ear to his weakly moving lips.
"Girl...with him..."
She swallowed painfully. "Did he hurt her, too? Did he hurt the girl?"
No answer. When she drew back, Buffy saw the man's eyes were glassy. She pressed her fingers to the carotid on his unbitten side and felt no pulse. She sat back on her heels. "He's dead."
Merrick stood over her, his expression one of sympathy. "I am sorry you had to find out this way, Buffy. But your judgment is clouded when it comes to Spike."
"It can't be him." Buffy desperately searched the link, but all she picked up from the vampire was a sense of calm, almost boredom.
"Ask him," Merrick calmly challenged, "Ask him where he was tonight, what he did. He will not be able to give you a satisfactory answer."
Spike was never very good at lying. Buffy swallowed a painful lump in her throat. When she looked up a moment later, Merrick was gone.
Spike dragged the corpse into the basement of a house whose owner hadn't been seen by the neighbors in weeks. The basement was more of a root cellar, with an earthen floor instead of concrete. Much of this earth was loosely packed, as if it had been recently disturbed. Spike picked up a shovel that leaned against a nearby wall and started digging.
"You don't know hurt. Everything that's happened to you before is gonna seem like cake compared to what I'm going to put you and your friends through, and I am not a fan of easy death. Fact is, the whole good versus evil, balancing the scales thing? I'm over it. I'm done with the mortal coil. But believe me, I'm going for a big finish."
Willow stared in horror at the creature that had taken the form of Cassie, the precognitive girl who recently died. "'From beneath you, it devours.'"
The thing that wasn't Cassie flashed a sinister smile. "Oh, not it. Me."
Her grin widened to grotesque proportions, splitting her face open, turning her entire self inside out, until she winked from existence. Willow was left alone in the university library, trembling from the gruesome image and the even more horrific threat this unknown enemy had made.