Another Dawn
by Sanguine
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence and general angst
Disclaimer: All the usual disclaimers apply (not mine, it's all Joss, etc.)
Summary: A post-"The Gift" fic
Note: This one's for the absent Clairel. Her story, "Debriefing of a Vampire", gave me the idea for this installment.
Part 3
Spike sucked the nicotine-laden smoke into his lungs and held it there. "I
need a fix, 'cause I'm going down." He laughed at himself, muttering as he
exhaled, "Mother Superior jumped the bloody gun." He flicked the ashes
into the shallow pool then sent the unfinished cigarette after the embers,
seeming nonchalant. He was anything but.
His attention turned to Dawn, pale now and sitting heavily on the slimy rock
floor of the Master's old digs. She looked pretty bad. It's one thing not eating
and not getting enough sleep. It's another having your blood drained right out
of you.
Spike hadn't been able to watch as Giles had cut into Dawn's flesh.
"Shallow cuts… Shallow cuts." The blood poured into the ceremonial
chalice. Why did everything have to be so bloody ceremonial?
Spike looked down at the chalice in his hands filled with Dawn's blood, or was
it Buffy's blood? His mind swirled with confusion. The Scoobies were looking at
him, waiting. Will was chanting away, her eyes dark. The pool didn't seem so
shallow anymore. Spike lifted the chalice and saluted them. "Cheers
mates." Then he drank. The blood, Dawn's blood. So rich. So… he shuddered
in pleasure, gulping the liquid greedily, not caring if some of it spilled from
the corners of his mouth. He felt his teeth lengthen. No. He didn't want that to
be the last thing Little Bit saw before…
He jumped.
The pool wasn't shallow.
***
Spike landed with a crash. Pain shot through his body. Where the hell was he?
Fire shot through the window. Sounds of a riot. Then he saw it… well, her. And
he saw himself too. Fighting. The Chinese Slayer.
Suddenly a hand rested on his shoulder. She spoke Chinese, but he understood.
"William."
Her eyes were pools of hate.
"You never gave my mother the message, did you?"
Her hand immobilised him, and he had to watch. Spin, kick, punch. She was good
with the sword that one. Was that admiration? Spike, the other not-so-pleasant
Spike, licked his own blood from his lips. He loved this. Violence, mayhem.
"And sod all else, right?" the Chinese Slayer whispered in his ear.
Spike didn't know the Chinese used that kind of slang.
"Yeah baby."
Her grip tightened on his shoulder. Then he saw himself, the look of desperation
in the Slayer's eyes as he took her life. "Sorry, Love. I don't speak
Chinese."
Watching her die excited him. His body responded as he remembered how it felt to
have the blood of the powerful Slayer rushing through his veins. Then Drusilla.
It was a powerful aphrodisiac after all.
His eyes caressed the young girl's motionless form. Gently the Chinese Slayer
whispered in his ear: "My mother killed herself. I was all she had."
Spike suddenly understood what her mother felt. If it weren't for Dawn, he would
have done the same thing. Killed himself.
"Remarkable."
Who the hell was that?
Then nothing.
***
Thud.
"Oh bloody hell, what now?"
A black-booted foot slammed into his face. "Where's my coat, punk?"
Nikki, the subway slayer.
Spike felt powerless against her blows. He raised his hands. "You're not as
nice as the other one."
Slam.
Blood poured from a freshly opened wound on his cheek. He tried to retaliate,
but somehow none of the punches he threw landed. "Why do all you Slayers
like playing kick the Spike so much?"
Whap. "Maybe, you asshole, because you enjoy hurting us so much. You do
enjoy it, don't you?"
An uppercut to Spike's jaw sent him flying across the subway car. He was in a
subway car? When had that happened?
Shakily he scrambled to his feet.
"Not anymore."
Nikki tossed him to the ground, straddling him, pinning him down. He was
helpless. He felt her hands around his neck.
"You liked feeling all powerful didn't you? Hard thing to give up."
"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly have a choice. That bloody chip." The
words came out as a gruff whisper.
"There's always a choice Spike… William. You know that."
"I am what I am, you bint."
"You are what you created, what you learned, what you thought you had to
be. Now you're learning new tricks, right?"
The pressure on his throat increased. The bloody Slayer was gonna pop his head
right off. Rebellion surged up.
"Old dogs don't learn new tricks, bitch."
Nikki shook her head. "What are you so afraid of?"
"None of your fucking business."
Her fingernails dug painfully into his neck, drawing blood. "Now punk. And
make it real."
"Him."
"Who?"
"William."
Nikki laughed. "You're still a freak William. Everyone still hates
and mocks you. What's the difference being Spike?"
"No one can hurt me." A pathetic, desperate gasp.
Nikki laughed again and squeezed even harder. "Yeah, right."
Spike lost consciousness.
***
His eyes opened. He was face to face with her. The shell of her. Buffy. She
looked so peaceful.
His eyes drifted beyond the body. He felt strangely detached. He saw Willow
crying. Then he saw himself, hysterical, his carefully constructed persona
dissolved under the weight of grief and failure.
"No one can hurt me."
He looked again upon Buffy's motionless body. Guilt ran through him as he
stroked her cheek. So soft. So cold.
"I'm sorry love."
Buffy's eyes opened.
"Oh my God."
Buffy sat up and slapped his hand away. "Spike. What the hell happened to
your hair?"
End of Part Three
Continue to Part 4