Summary: Spike is in for the fight of his life as he takes a vampire challenge. Buffy, now a vampire, is Spike's minion...but will she ever be his Queen?
Rating: R, for gore and adult themes
Disclaimer:Joss Whedon, the WB and Fox own Buffy and Co. Sandra owns the rest
He stopped sleeping...he couldn't seem to sleep anymore, not without someone to hold.
So, he tried that too. One night he sought out Isabelle at Madelon's, and accompanied her home. She was beautiful and willing; and very experienced with men...
But it was no good; and after a few minutes in her bedroom he left with a mumbled excuse, knowing as he did that she watched him go with eyes wild with hatred.
"Look, pal, we're closing."
It was a seedy bar in the bad part of town; but the bartender looked tough and shrewd.
Spike lifted his head wearily. "I'm off, then."
"You'd better go sleep it off."
"Can't." Spike picked up his glass with exaggerated care and drained it. "You understand...I am NOT missing her."
"Uh-huh," the bartender grunted.
"It's just that I got used to having her around, you know? And it seemed so...natural, waking up with her in my arms. But that's all it is."
"Yeah," the bartender steered Spike towards the door.
Spike sighed. "Who am I kidding? Every time I think about her, and how I made a bollocks of everything, I want to die!"
He stared bleary-eyed at the bartender. "Which is...sodding ridiculous...'cause I'm ...ALREADY dead, see?"
"Sure, pal, sure," the bartender said, shaking his head. He made to close the door on Spike; but the vampire clutched at his beefy arm.
"I got scared," he said with sudden clarity. "She got close to me...and I drove her away because I...got scared."
"Well, buddy," the bartender drawled, "then you better go and get her, right?"
Spike stared at him. "Go get her?" he repeated.
He took a deep unneeded breath. "Thank you, mate," he said gratefully. "You're a true friend."
"Any time," the bartender said, firmly locking the door.
Spike hesitated, then lurched off down the street. For the first time in weeks he had a goal- he had to find Buffy. And then what? A little voice in his brain asked.
"Then..." Spike said aloud, " then...I'll apologize. Right, so I'll have to grovel a bit. Oh, who am I kidding? I've got to crawl! But even if I have to get down on my knees and beg, at least it's a start."
What about Angel? the voice mocked. What'll he be doing while you're busy crawling?
"Sod Angel!" Spike shouted.
But he knew it wouldn't be that simple. Buffy and Angel had been together ever since that night Spike had released her...and his mind drew him a vivid picture. He could imagine them; Buffy in Angel's arms, sharing his bed, giving him kisses...as many kisses as he wanted.
"Never mind," he told himself. "Swallow it. It doesn't matter anyway; not if there's a chance in hell she'll take you back, chum."
But that might be too much to ask; why would she take him back? She was free now, free to be with the man she loved...why would she even look at Spike twice, after the way he'd treated her?
Spike groaned; his case seemed hopeless. Why had he been such a fool? If only he had the chance again, he'd move heaven and earth to win her love! He'd court her properly...with flowers and presents. He'd...
"Stop it," he ordered. "No point whining about the past. First thing first- FIND the bloody girl! And then....start crawling."
As always, there were ways to find someone, even someone who'd rather not be found.
"Spike!" Angel's voice reflected his shock. "What are you doing here?"
"I...came to see Buffy."
Angel just stood there in the doorway, staring at him like he'd sprouted horns and a tail..."You're drunk!"
"Look, mate," Spike clenched his jaw. "I just need to talk to her...ten minutes?" He'd come prepared to beg; but he wanted to start with Buffy, not Angel.
"Buffy," Angel began, "isn't..."
"I'm only asking for ten sodding minutes!" Spike screamed.
He forced it out..."Please..."
"Spike, I'm trying to tell you...Buffy isn't here!"
Spike felt stupid and slow, unable to take in Angel's meaning.
The other vampire looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't seen her since that night she walked out on you; she wouldn't come with me! She jumped in a cab, and...I haven't seen her since!"
"Not...with you?" Spike repeated numbly. He felt a brief surge of elation because she hadn't gone back to Angel- followed by a jolt of pure terror. "We need to find her!"
"Oh?" Angel questioned coldly. "So now you've decided you do want her around? What's the matter, sick of your latest playmate?"
"What?" Spike blinked; what was Angel talking about?
"We met her on the way up to your suite," Angel said flatly. "She told Buffy you'd sent for her."
"What...was she like?" Spike asked fearfully.
Angel looked worried. "A Dru type; Buffy seemed to think you...knew her pretty well."
"Isabelle!" Spike shouted. "If she's got Buffy..."
"How could she?" objected Angel, but he was alarmed now. "Wait! Where are you going?"
"To get Buffy!" Spike snarled.
"You can't go there in your condition! Spike...it's less than an hour before dawn!" He broke off, not wasting more words on the disappearing vampire. "Now what?"
"Where is she?" Spike demanded, bursting into the Hawthorne Street mansion.
Isabelle looked up in alarm, turning reluctantly from her intimate embrace with Gunther von Drache.
"WHERE IS SHE?" he almost screamed. "I know she's here, Isabelle!"
"Spike. You're drunk," Gunther's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Spike glared at him. "I am not playing, von Drache. You know why I'm here. I want to see her!"
"What for? She is with me, now," Gunther smirked. "What's more, she has found a great deal of pleasure in my bed. She won't thank you for this romantic rescue, my friend."
Spike's stomach clenched. "You forced her..."
"No, Spike. She was willing...more than willing." Gunther spoke with such utter conviction that Spike wavered.
"I still want to see her," he told the German. He HAD to see her, to plead with her...
"You want her back?" Gunther's voice was incredulous. "Even after..."
"Yes!" Spike said, almost shouting.
Gunther gave a short, sharp laugh, and beckoned one of his minions. "Ask my lady to come down," he instructed.
He turned his attention back to the other male vampire. "You know, Spike, I was told you would be a formidable opponent. But instead, what do I find? A weak, womanish fool!"
Spike ignored Gunther's insults. Soon...soon, he'd be reunited with Buffy; and he needed to think...to plan how to persuade her to go with him. Somehow, he had to convince her that he would care for her better than either Angel or Gunther. If only...
He heard her footsteps behind him, swallowed hard, and turned to face her.
And forgot to breathe.
"Spike!" Drusilla greeted him happily. "Miss Edith told me you'd be coming!"
"Where?" he shouted. "What have you done to her?"
Gunther couldn't answer; it was Isabelle who summoned his minions; and as it was, it took five of them to drag Spike away from their Master.
"Spike," Drusilla said reproachfully, "you won't play."
"He must have gone mad," muttered Isabelle.
"No," Dru said, in her childish sing-song. "It's the Slayer. Spike ALWAYS liked the Slayer, even though he pretended not to! Miss Edith heard him, telling the Slayer to come and dance."
"Is it so?" Gunther's throat had been carefully bandaged, but his voice was a harsh rasp. "So, Spike, you have parted with your fledgling, have you? It's good to know. What a queen she would make!"
"But Gunther," Isabelle's dark eyes clouded. "You promised to make ME your queen!"
"Did I?" Gunther looked at her coldly. "We shall see. But- I think that I must add the former Slayer to my harem."
"Spike won't like that," Dru commented pleasantly.
Gunther laughed belligerantly. "Spike won't be in a position to interfere. You..." he nodded to the minions, "take him to the front door and wait for sunrise. Then- throw him out!"
Spike fought them off as best he could; but lack of food and sleep, plus the debilitating effects of the liquor, had taken a toll. They dragged him up to the double doors.
"If we open the door, the light may hit one of us," objected a young vampire.
"Let's throw him out now," suggested a second.
"Von Drache said to wait," the third protested.
"YOU wait! I'm not going to risk it!" the first insisted.
"Konrad is right," the second put in. "Look- there isn't time for him to find shelter if we throw him out now."
"He can barely stand up," agreed another. "I'm not getting caught out in daylight- dragon or no dragon. Von Drache can go to hell!"
He wrenched open the door; then shoved Spike down the steps. Spike's balance was already impaired, and he fell sprawling, flat on his face.
He struggled in vain to rise, knowing that the sun was already edging over the horizon. Then- there was the shrieking sound of brakes; and a hand on his collar heaved him into the back seat of a car with dark-tinted windows.
Spike forced open his bleary eyes to see a little man in the driver's seat, peering at him curiously.
"Hmmm," he commented to someone else, "he looks even worse than you did when you were scrounging around alleys, crying about the past and dining off rodents."
"Shut up, Whistler!" snapped a familiar voice.
Spike blinked. Angel? His head shot up and he glared at his sire. "What're YOU doing here?" he asked venomously.
"I don't know!" Angel retorted. "And- I'm trying not to think about it!"
Whistler chuckled. "Now...let's all make nice. And relax, because we've got a drive ahead of us."
"Drive where?" Spike demanded, clutching his splitting head in both hands.
"To find Buffy, of course," Angel replied. "Whistler thinks he knows where she is."
"No," Whistler corrected, " I said I knew where she'd go. Where people always go when they're unhappy...home."
"Sunnyhell?" Spike considered this; for the first time in days he felt a ray of hope. With increasing awareness, he was recalling his last trip to Sunnydale....drunk and disorderly though he'd been, he yet knew enough to grasp that he'd come home. "Home, sweet home...."
Odd, he'd never realized before that he thought of Sunnydale as home...shouldn't home be London? Or perhaps Prague? Even L.A. seemed a more suitable habitat for him...
Whistler gave him a knowing look. "Home is where the heart is," he smirked.
Spike decided to ignore him. This wasn't the situation he'd have chosen- showing up on her doorstep with Whistler and Angel in tow...but beggars couldn't exactly be...besides, at least he was still around...a bit seedy and down-at-heels, but...
"Bloody hell!" his voice made both Whistler and Angel jump. "I can't show up like this! I need...a shower, and some clean clothes! I need..."
"To sober up," added Angel dryly.
Spike glared at him, but held his tongue.
"Sorry, Spike," Whistler's voice wasn't unsympathetic. "We haven't got time for that! Besides, it might work in your favor....you never know, with women! Maybe she'll feel sorry for you, like a mangy old dog, and..."
"Arggh!" Spike almost shrieked. "I can't...I don't want her to see me like this!"
"Too late," Whistler said cheerfully, "we're here!"
His car pulled up in front of a familiar house.
"It isn't sundown," Spike protested, desperately stalling.
"In case you hadn't noticed," Angel said bitingly, "It's pouring! There's a storm and it's black as pitch. Now- out!"
He opened the door and gave Spike a shove that sent him reeling onto the lawn- where he promptly tripped and fell into a muddy puddle. He could hear the squeal of the tires as the car took off. Eventually, it filtered through to his brain that, dark or not, it wasn't a good idea to be outside at this time of day. He dragged himself to his feet...and squelched up the steps onto the porch, leaving streams of water in his wake. The door opened before he could knock.
With a sinking sense of deja vu, he said "Joyce."
And waited.
"Yes, dear," her mother answered calmly. "Just like you, right?"
"No!" Buffy glared. "How come you keep inviting Spike in, anyway? You never liked letting Angel in."
"I don't like Angel," Joyce admitted. "I didn't like him BEFORE I knew he was a vampire!"
"Joyce," Spike said seriously, "You are a wonderful woman."
Joyce blushed.
"I don't believe this!" Buffy exclaimed. "When did you two form the mutual admiration society?" She turned her attention to the unhappy male dripping onto the carpet. "Look at you! You look like hell. And...you're drunk!"
"I know I'm bloody drunk!" Spike yelled. "Why does everyone keep telling me that?"
"I'll make some chocolate," Joyce offered, tactfully disappearing into the kitchen.
Her absence made Spike feel suddenly forlorn. Buffy didn't exactly look approachable; and his sodden clothes were causing him to shiver.
She noticed. "You come with me...right now!"
Half an hour later, when both he and his clothing were clean and dry, Spike felt more like himself...he sat nervously at the dining room table, sipping hot chocolate while frantically wondering what he was going to say to Buffy. She was still mad at him- he could tell. Joyce gave his arm a sympathetic pat as she left for her gallery; and Spike felt a little better.
"I, uh, guess you're surprised to see me," he said awkwardly.
Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Yes."
That didn't sound encouraging. He decided to start over.
"I need to talk to you." There. Not bad. Sounded firm and manly. Pleased, he took a huge gulp of his chocolate, choked, and coughed.
Buffy had to pound him on the back. "You are a problem, Spike," she sighed.
He felt a spurt of rage at his lack of suavity. "What's the matter, pet? So I'm no bloody gentleman. I can't make big sad puppy eyes at you, like that flaming poofter Angel! If that's what you want then you've got the wrong man!"
"Obviously," she said dryly.
Spike forced himself to take a deep breath. He wasn't going to get anywhere yelling at her. "I'm trying to tell you...that I'm sorry!"
She stared at him in shock. "You're sorry?"
"Yeah..." he glanced away. "I know I didn't...treat you well. But...it would be different, if..."
"If what?" her voice was unmoved by the pleading look in his eyes.
"If you...came back. I know you are free now; and you're probably happy to see the last of me, but I...want you back."
"Why? To have someone to order around?" Buffy asked icily.
"No! I...never meant... all I wanted, the ONLY thing I ever wanted, was to keep you with me!"
She looked at him silently for a long moment. "Did it ever occur to you just to ask me?"
In a single blundering movement he got to his feet, turning his back on her to stare sightlessly out the window.
"I thought...I was sure...you'd refuse me," he muttered.
There had never really been anyone who'd wanted to stay with him. He remembered his pretty mum..."Not now, William! You're getting my dress wrinkled!" Slapping him. But he was only six, and he'd wanted a kiss...
And Drusilla..."But Spike, I'm going out with my Angel tonight..."
He turned around to face Buffy. "I used to obsess about you...mostly about how much I hated you. You were in my head...always there, until I figured the only way to get rid of you was to kill you! And then- there you were...the prize in the arena. And I knew I had to have you, no matter how much I hated you, because I loved you more than anything in the world."
His voice trailed off uncertainly...he said, with a trace of wonder, "I think I loved you from the beginning; I just didn't know it."
His throat closed; there was nothing else he could say to her, anyway.
Buffy looked at him, standing there for all the world like a small boy hoping against hope that the shiny package under the tree would somehow be for him....
Impulsively, she held out her arms to him.
He gave her a single incredulous look...and then he grabbed her; with a whoop of pure joy he lifted her, swung her off her feet, rained kisses all over her face...
"I have ...one ...condition," she gasped; for the first time she was glad she didn't have to breathe.
"Anything!" he promised, wild with delight. "Anything you want..."
"I want you to stop killing," Buffy told him quietly. "You can feed without killing."
"Agreed," Spike looked at her anxiously. "Is that the condition?"
"No...but it 's something I want very much. The condition is..." she hesitated.
"I want to be the only woman in your life," she told him. "I don't want you with anyone else, ever." She knew that some of the Masters had many lovers- both human and vampire. But she also knew that was something she would never be able to accept.
That surprised a crack of laughter out of him. It seemed ironic- that the thing she asked of him was the one thing he was so eager to give.
"Oh, love...that's not a condition," he managed. "That's...a necessity! I couldn't cheat on you if I tried....you've ruined me for anyone else!"
She tried to frown at him; but her lips quirked up into a smile. "See that you remember it."
Spike grinned at her, the old cockiness flaring again. "Remind me, love?"
"Oh, I will," she took his hand and led him towards the stairs. "Sooner than you think."
"Come," he ordered two younger minions. "Bring the torch; and the prisoner."
"It's almost midnight," said one of the women nervously.
"There's time enough," said the other. She flitted lightly among the graves..."Here it is, Gunther."
The man turned to one of the minions. "Dig," he ordered. He indicated the shovel that the other minion carried.
The young vampire looked dismayed. "But Master..." he pointed to the cross that topped the gravestone.
Gunther's blow knocked him flat. "I said dig!"
Whimpering in fear, the vampire picked himself up and began to dig.
Drusilla smiled. "Mind the head...we'll need that." She turned to her lover. "We must stay within the circle at all times."
"Yes, Dru," Gunther said uneasily. "You're certain this will work against Spike and the former Slayer?"
"Oh, yes. This will mean the defeat...and death, of one," said Dru happily. "The conquest of the other."
"I want Spike dead; and the girl added to my household," Gunther said stubbornly. "Nothing else is acceptable."
"Come, Miss Edith," Dru crooned to the doll in her arms. "Now we must draw the circle. And call a Slayer...to fight a Slayer."