Service Unit
Chapter Thirty Four – Hungry
Spike twitched awake suddenly, blinking as he tried to figure out what had woken him. He looked around the room, his eyes stopping briefly on the bloody blankets, the medical equipment, and the doorway, but nothing had changed. He checked Buffy and Dawn, but they were both still asleep, their breathing deep and even. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. He'd only been asleep for a little over an hour. He listened, but the only things he could hear were a ticking clock in the living room and the breathing of the two women.
Then he felt it. He twitched again as his demon slotted itself into its normal place inside his head. It was an odd sensation. He wasn't used to it being… separate. It had always just been there… part of him… and when it had gone away it had left a noticeable hole, an empty space that had made him ache with loss.
Spike tried to call it forward, having to consciously think about the process for the first time in over 120 years, and he felt his fangs lengthen beneath his lip and his brow crunch into the demon's visage. His vision sharpened, the details of the room springing into nearly painful clarity, and the scents he was surrounded with suddenly assaulted his nose. He breathed deeply, taking it all in, then smiled a fangy smile. He felt whole for the first time in over two decades.
An image suddenly appeared in his head of a pile of bloody meat and bones and Spike winced, his smile morphing into a defensive showing of fangs. He was sure that Uposs was sending the image, telling him what would happen when he dragged Spike back down since Spike hadn't serviced Buffy like he'd been told to. The image changed to a mostly whole but screaming Uposs and then more images fluttered by in rapid succession, almost as quickly as a movie projector. Spike's smile returned, wider than it had been before. He was watching his demon destroy Uposs. The scenes drew to a highly satisfying conclusion and he sent a thought to the demon, "Thanks for that, mate. Glad you're back. Now things can return to sodding normal around here."
Another image appeared and Spike snorted laughter. The image had been Liam, chained and gagged, sitting on the chair that Spike and Buffy had shagged themselves stupid on a few hours ago. So that's what she did with him. Clever, wicked girl. Love the gag. Bet he's right pissed he's got to wear it. Git does love to run his mouth. You know what? Think I need to see this live and in person.
Dawn had moved down a bit in her sleep, and her nose was currently pressed into his ribs with the crown of her head jammed into his armpit. Her warm breath was tickling a little and Spike carefully lifted his arm off her, trying not to get tangled in her long hair, then he turned toward Buffy.
Buffy had turned over and her back was pressed up against his side as she used his bicep for a pillow. He slid his arm out from under her head, again being careful of the IV tubing, then stilled until she settled and started snoring lightly again. He peeled the tape off his arm then pulled the needle free of his vein. A small dribble of blood welled up from the puncture and he lifted his arm to his mouth and licked it off, sealing the small wound.
He sat up; clamping his lips down against a grunt of pain, then looked down at himself. He gritted his teeth and lifted the towel. His bits and bobs were nestled amongst three ice packs. He grimaced as he gingerly removed them then looked over the damage. His balls were slightly swollen and tender to the touch, and his penis was several different colors. Bloody hell. He poked lightly at the large bruise that covered most of one side and winced. It was dark purple in the middle, fading to various shades of green and yellow toward the outside. He turned his focus to his backside, shifting slightly and lifting a hip far enough to slip his hand under his rump. He lightly prodded the area around his anus, wincing again when his fingertip pressed on one of the tears. Could be worse, I suppose. He glanced at the clock again. Actually, it should be worse. A lot worse. Considering the coring Liam was givin' me and how my cock felt like it'd been ripped off the last time he slammed me into the couch, I should be in blinding agony right now. Not to mention all those bits of couch that'd been jammed into my belly.
He settled carefully back onto the bed then leaned back just a little, picking at the smallest square of gauze that was taped to his belly and carefully pulling it away. There was a neatly stitched hole underneath. He scratched absently at the stitches with one hand while he used the other to pull off the rest of the gauze squares. Fourteen puncture wounds were scattered across his stomach, all neatly stitched closed. And every single one itched. He inspected them closely. They itched because they were nearly healed. The holes were completely closed over, the new skin pink and tender and whole.
He'd never healed this fast before – well, in the slave dimension he had, but he was sure that Buffy hadn't given him any of his yellow slave goo. Those punctures should have taken nearly a week to heal even if she'd packed him to the rafters with human blood, so… He turned to look at Buffy and felt for the threads of the blood bond. They were still there, but weren't any stronger than they'd been the last time he'd checked. His brow furrowed. If she hadn't given him her blood… He swept his tongue around his mouth then broke into a grin. It had been a lot of years since he'd had it, just over a century, but it's not like he would ever forget what it tasted like. Sire's blood. He laughed quietly under his breath. Buffy had bled the poof.
His stomach rumbled just then and Spike's grin widened. Think I'll go have a snack.
XXXX
A quick search of Buffy's closet had turned up the clothes she'd told him about, stacked neatly on a shelf. He'd thought about putting on a pair of jeans, but had ultimately decided against it. His injured nethers would be distinctly uncomfortable crammed into tight denim, so he slipped into a pair of soft cotton sweat pants instead. He pulled on a t-shirt and, leaving his feet bare, padded out into the hallway.
Liam was glaring at him when he stepped into the living room and Spike smirked. "The 'not able to run your mouth' is a good look on you, Liam. Especially like the pink. Suits you." He stepped toward the couch, being careful to hide the grimace until his back was to the dark-haired vampire. That was a lot of blood. It was starting to dry, the edges of the puddle curling and flaking, and Spike backed up, grimacing again as his eyes fell on the back of the couch. The bloodied bits of wood sticking out of the blood-drenched fabric made his guts clench in remembered agony. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then turned to the sound of Liam laughing quietly through his nose.
Spike squared his shoulders, wrapping his 'Big Bad' persona around him like a cloak, then he lifted his shirt, motioning to his healing wounds as he walked toward Liam. "I'm feeling much better, in case you were wondering, and I'm also feeling a bit… peckish. Came to get a snack… Sire."
Liam snarled around the gag and Spike chuckled as he walked around to the back of the chair. "Don't much care for bein' helpless, do you? Bein' at the mercy of someone else." He leaned down, calling his demon forward as he did, then whispered into Liam's ear, "It's really got to be chappin' your backside to be at MY mercy. Shoe's fittin' quite nicely on the other foot, innit? You'd better get used to bein' on this side of things, you wanker. I've plans for you. And, as Buffy would say, they don't involve hugs or puppies."
Liam's snarl changed to a deep growl as his head was tipped to the side and Spike scraped his fangs down the larger vampire's neck. Liam tried to jerk his head out of Spike's grasp, but Spike twined his fingers through Liam's hair and held on tight. "My fangs haven't completely grown in, so this might sting a bit. Hope you don't mind." He sank his fangs to the gum line in Liam's flesh and Liam howled through the gag, straining against his bonds.
Spike drank deep, taking hard pulls of Liam's blood until his belly was full. He slipped his fangs out then shook off the demon and licked his lips. "Should be fully healed in a few hours. Ta." Spike let go of Liam's hair and his head drooped forward. Spike stepped around to the front of the chair and looked over his captive, smirking again when his eyes landed on Liam's groin. "Looks like Buffy's already started dishing out some punishment. Clever girl." He raised his eyes to the ceiling and asked, "What was it you said?" He looked at Liam with a grin. "Oh yeah… gettin' hit in the willy hurts. Truer words were never spoken, my friend."
Liam raised his head and glared, snarling around the gag. Spike bent at the waist and propped his hands on his knees, peering into Liam's eyes. "Do you still have it?"
Liam dropped his gaze and shook his head. Spike leaned closer and sniffed deeply. "Yeah, it's still there. Can smell it, but just barely." He straightened up. "Well… that changes things a mite, doesn't it?" Liam looked up at him, a hopeful expression on his face. Spike balled his right hand into a fist and swung, hitting Liam square in the jaw and snapping his head to the side with nearly enough force to break his neck.
Liam's eyes were blazing with fury when he turned his gaze back to Spike just in time to have his head snapped in the other direction by Spike's left fist. Spike stood back and regarded the other vampire with a thoughtful expression. "Can't dust you outright, can I? Not with your daughter's soul still in residence. Wouldn't be right, her havin' to spend eternity in hell 'cause you're a twat. 'Sides, she's not the one did this to me."
Spike turned and moved to the loveseat, lowering himself into a comfortable sprawl across the cushions. He leaned back against the arm then folded his arms behind his head, considering the furious vampire for a few long minutes before taking a deep breath. "You know, it's funny, before the soul – mine, not yours – I probably wouldn't have survived this… experience. Well, I'd have survived in the physical sense, but I'd have ended up bein' nothin' but an empty shell. Lights are on but no one's home, yeah? Wheel's spinnin' but the hamster's dead. 'Specially with my demon goin' into hiding like it did. A vampire with a demon in hiding is pretty much just a stronger flavor of human, innit? Yeah, the body can take the punishment, take the pain, but without the demon to carry the load – provide that layer of insulation, as it were – the mind just breaks. Humans aren't meant to be in constant agony for an extended period of time. They can take it for a while – most could handle a few hours, some a few days, even a few weeks, but you start moving into months or years, and… snap… their minds break like an old, dry twig."
Spike smiled over at Liam. "Was my soul kept me from goin' completely sack of hammers. It couldn't provide a full layer of insulation, of course… I did totter 'round the bend a bit… but for the most part, I'm as sane as I ever was, and I have my soul to thank for that."
Spike sat up, still wearing his smile. "So… since your daughter shouldn't have to suffer for the sins of her father, the first item on the agenda will be findin' a way to free her soul. Then…" his smile morphed into a fierce grin, "…you get to spend quite a lot of time wishing I'd dusted you." He held up a hand. "I know what you're thinking – 'But your soul won't let you do that.' – and in most circumstances, you'd be right. My soul won't let me torture someone for fun or profit, but you? Yeah. My soul has absolutely no problem at all with retribution."
XXXX
Spike dropped the scrub brush into the bucket of bloody water and reached into the bucket of rinse water, wringing out the rag. A few more swipes and he'd be done. The rag plopped into the bucket and he got to his feet, bringing the buckets with him. He backed up several steps and looked at the hardwood floor with a critical eye. Then he slid into game face and looked at it with his demon eyes. He could still see… and smell… traces of blood – he shook off his demon – but it would be undetectable to any human who didn't have a full CSI unit at their disposal.
"And that'll be the job done." He cocked his head, listening intently. "Just in time, too. Buffy will be waking soon."
He carried the buckets into the utility room and dumped them into the floor sink in the corner then rinsed them out and set them on the edge to dry. The scrub brush and rag were a lost cause, so he quickly slipped out of the flat and dropped them down the incinerator chute then stepped to the end of the hall to peek out the window. The sun was just sinking over the horizon. He looked out over Rome, watching until the blazing colors of sunset faded into twilight, then he turned and headed back down the hall.
Breaking the ruined couch into small enough pieces to fit down the incinerator chute had been a job of work. He'd had to use his vampire strength – and a few choice pieces from Buffy's weapons chest – to get it done, but he'd managed it without making enough noise to wake the dead… or his girls. He'd originally planned to just cart the whole thing out of the building and toss it into the bin, but when he'd gotten to the lift, he'd found that the couch wouldn't fit. He'd tried the stairs next, but apparently one needed some sort of keycard to access them, and he hadn't felt like ransacking Buffy's flat to find hers. The building likely had a freight elevator somewhere – how else had they gotten the couch up here? – but he hadn't wanted to go looking for it. Besides, it probably needed a card, or a maintenance worker would have to operate it, and trying to explain why one not-overly-large man was carrying around a huge couch covered in blood was more effort than Spike had been willing to expend. And, because the sun had been up, he'd have had to explain why he was on fire when he got back to the building.
Spike stepped back into Buffy's flat and looked it over as he locked the door behind him. The living room looked quite large now that the only pieces of furniture left were the love seat, a couple of chairs, and a few accent tables. The missing couch and coffee table left quite a large gap in the space, and the lack of area rugs – he'd rolled them and put them in the closet to be cleaned later – added to the sense of openness.
The chair in the corner caught his eye and he smirked at it. It looked like it had a pile of laundry sitting on it; only the laundry was moving… and had feet. When Spike had started sweeping up the bits of exploded coffee table, Liam had started making disparaging faces and noises at him. When Spike had picked up Liam's bag of toys, not bothering to look inside except to replace the knife and whip that had been sitting on the couch – he already knew what kinds of things would be in there and didn't need a refresher – Liam had started snarling. Spike had put the bag in the closet next to the rugs then had gone into the bathroom. He'd rummaged in the linen closet until he'd found an old sheet then he'd tossed it over Liam's head, securing the corners under the legs of the chair so Liam couldn't shake it off.
Spike walked toward the chair and the laundry tensed. Spike tipped the chair back and freed the corners of the sheet with his foot then set the chair back down and lifted the cloth. Liam was glaring when his face was revealed – big surprise – and Spike smiled. "I'm hungry again."