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| Sympathy for the Devil - Prologue | | | | abc + + + | | | 
Banner by Karyn
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this story. Dialogue taken from Crush, Fool for Love, and other episodes has been confirmed using Buffyworld.com.
*****Prologue*****
“You, Mr. William the Bloody, are the most self-centered person I’ve ever met!” Harmony pointed at him angrily, then crossed her arms and spread her feet slightly in a challenging stance. Her suitcases stood beside her just inside the door of the crypt.
Spike stared at her incredulously. It had already been a bad night. He’d gone to the Bronze to meet up with the slayer. Maybe get her to at least talk to him. He got brushed off of course. He tried to take it as casually as her other dismissals, but somehow this one continued to sting. He’d made a genuine effort to be friendly and she’d ordered him to leave. Later he saw her chattin’ up the doctor bloke she met at the hospital. Spike’d gotten frustrated and taken Harris’s change off the table to buy himself another beer. So stealing Harris’s dosh wasn’t friendly, but was picking up spare change evil? It was only a few bucks. He’d pay the boy back sooner or later.
Spike sighed. Had to get his jollies in somewhere. It wasn’t as though he had much to do in the world, anymore. Chip kept him from being a proper vampire. Couldn’t get a job in the demon community: he was a liability because he teamed with the slayer from time to time. Could get a job as a human, but no amount of cash was worth some fast food joint like the Doublemeat Palace. And it wasn’t as though he needed money. He’d saved plenty over the last hundred years, but he preferred to live on what he could get by the means at hand. He just needed something to do with his time.
Spike had thought for a while that he might be, not welcomed exactly, but accepted by Goldilocks and her Merry men. He’d helped with the troll…and that Glory bint that went after the Nibblet. But he never got so much as a thank you for his pains. They acted like he was just a sodding convenience. And every time he did something remotely nice, it had to be because he had some dark, evil motive.
He did. He wanted people to care about him.
The feeling had been growing on him since Dru left him for good. Spike had no strong ties. His sire was gone. His grandsire hated him. Angelus couldn’t bear to look at him or Dru while he had his shiny soul. They were his mistakes; dark, deformed creatures that reminded him of what he was capable of. Maybe if Spike had childer, he would have been alright. Wouldn’t have been so fucking lonely. But he hadn’t turned anything but minions since…but he didn’t want to think about that.
Why he picked the Scoobies to get approval from, he had no idea. Well, he knew, but he wasn’t about to admit that he respected them. They were the only people to get the better of him consistently in a century, so why wouldn’t he respect them. One catch though. They didn’t respect him. Spike used to be the Big Bad. They were scared of him. They tied him up even when they knew he had a chip in his head to keep him from hurting him. He was just a novelty now.
Spike thought he could deal with being a white hat. He could learn to play by their rules. He didn’t care about causes anymore; good, evil, it hadn’t mattered to him in a long time. If he was going to be a good guy, it would be because he had friends among the good guys. Or at least acquaintances that would care enough to pull him inside on a sunny day. But they just weren’t willing to see. The things he did that contradicted everything his vampiric instincts told him to do didn’t register with them. They were polite and selfless all the time. He hadn’t been either in a century. It takes a while to get back into the habit. And he was trying, damn it, hard enough to give him headaches. Or maybe that was the chip. Either way, whiskey only went so far to help a migraine.
This evening just made him feel worse. Lonelier and more depressed than he had been since he’d been turned. Then he’d come home to find Harmony waiting for him with her suitcases. It almost made him laugh. Harmony was calling him selfish. Pot and kettle, anyone? She must have seen his disbelief, because she started spouting. “I know what you’re thinking. You have no idea what I mean, do you? That’s just typical. I pick up blood for you. I’m sweet, and I give you blow jobs, and I try to make this place livable. Un-livable. Whatever. And you just ignore me. You give nothing back.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one that came to me for protection from the slayer. I’m the one that cleans up, I go down on you, and I listen to you talk to your bloody unicorns. What the hell are you talking about?”
“That. Just…that.” Harmony gestured vaguely. “You don’t respect me. I’m your girlfriend Spikey! You’re supposed to have some respect for me.”
In light of the events of the night, Spike felt a twinge from the direction of his conscience. His eyes wandered to the floor. Harmony kept going. “It’s always all about you. First you mope around because you can’t kill the slayer, and now you mope around because you can’t get her to sleep with you.” Spike’s head snapped up to stare at her. She huffed. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen all that crap you’ve stolen from her downstairs. Well guess what, Blondie Bear. I’m tired of playing second to the girl you have sick fantasies about. You do realize she’s the slayer, right?”
Spike rubbed his forehead. Another headache was working its way up from the back of his neck. “Yeah, Harm, I realize.”
Harmony wrinkled her nose. “That’s just wrong, Spike. But I don’t have to deal with it anymore. I’m leaving you. So bye.” She grabbed her bags and headed up the steps.
It was just Harmony. Harmony picking up her suitcases and walking out on him. Yet another woman he’d managed to drive away. His heart joined his head in the ache. He was a master vampire damn it! A bastion of the Order Aurelius. He wasn’t supposed to feel guilt. He should be able to ignore his conscience and get on with life. But in keeping with his thoughts tonight, he couldn’t stop himself from feeling guilty about the way he’d treated Harmony.
He hadn’t really considered her his girlfriend. Fuckbuddy was the term that came to mind. Cryptmate. But that wasn’t how she saw it. To her, in her perpetually teenage mind, he was her boyfriend. He’d betrayed her in thought, if not in deed. He used her the way other women used him by taking what she offered and not realizing that her heart was in it. He’d become a right bastard to put all that on her. “Harm!”
She turned to look at him, one suitcase propping the crypt door open for her dramatic exit. She set the other valise down to cross her arms again. “What is it Spikey? Gonna beg me to stay?”
He shook his head. “I…” his mouth felt dry. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For what it’s worth,” he mumbled, looking down again.
Harmony looked shocked. “You are? Really?”
“Yeah.” He swallowed, and forced himself to look her in the eyes. “You’re right. I wasn’t very good to you. Wasn’t good to you at all. You deserved better. I’m sorry. And good luck, wherever you’re going.”
Harmony grabbed her suitcases and jumped back down to floor level. She tossed them aside and ran to give him a hug. “Oh, Blondie Bear, I knew you’d come to your senses. Now things can be so much better between us.”
Spike pulled back, confused. “I thought you were leaving.”
Harmony waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, that. No, the suitcases aren’t even packed. I just wanted you to realize how you’d been taking me for granted.”
The bint played him. For half a moment Spike wanted to kill her. How dare she make him expose himself like that! Yet, everything she’d said was true. He couldn’t blame her methods. It was something the average vampire would do. Spike had kept her around for his own sake, not to save her from Buffy’s wrath. He wanted someone to fall back on. Someone beneath him, for a change. He was as self-centered around her as she’d accused him of being. And now, he could accept her back for the same reasons as before.
But if he was going to throw in with the forces of good, he might as well get used to being selfless. “Harm, I think you should pack up and go, for real this time.”
She looked at him questioningly. “Why Spikey?”
He sighed. “Because, pet, I may realize that I took you for granted, but it’s not gonna stop me from doing it again.”
“But why?”
He hesitated. He’d gone this far; he might as well be honest. “Because I don’t love you Harmony. And I don’t expect to.” He waited for the backlash.
She laughed. “Oh, that’s okay. I don’t love you either. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build a relationship on something else. We can go somewhere, get your chip out, and then you can be master of a town and I can be your queen. We’ll have sex and support each other. It works for all kinds of married people.”
Spike winced. She was managing to trample on the few relationship ideals he had left. “Maybe some people can do that Harm. But I’m not one of them. I don’t see a future for us.”
Harmony’s brows furrowed and her voice got higher-pitched. “You really want me to go?”
“No.” He could admit it. He still wanted a safety net. “But I think it’s best for you if you do.”
Harmony frowned. “Damn. Well this plan sucked.” She kicked the ground with the toe of her high heel. “Do you want to have a little farewell fun?” She asked optimistically. She blinked at him and gave a coy smile.
Unimpressed by her attempt at seduction, Spike shook his head. “No. You need to get moving if you’re going to get to shelter by dawn. Where you plan on goin’?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe L.A. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
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Spike watched the bus leave. Harmony’d kept making excuses to delay her departure. She packed slowly, she whined, she claimed she’d miss him too much. In the end he’d carried her suitcases to the depot and bought her ticket himself. He’d been feeling compassionate enough to give her some money to help her on her trip. She was more than happy to accept. They wished each other luck and that was it.
He trudged slowly away from the bus station. He felt lost. And alone. So alone. A lonely vampire heading home to a lonely crypt. It was like being a human all over again. Powerless and defeated. Life just kept throwing him nasty surprises. He would be alright if he weren’t so damned hopeful that things would get better.
‘Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul’ blah, blah, blah, ‘Never asked a crumb of me.’ Stupid bint had no idea what hope could do to a person when she wrote that. Hope was self-delusion. Hope was a tormentor. Better not to let hope drive you into going on if you were just going to be hit over the head again and again.
Lost in his thoughts, Spike didn’t hear the demon. Didn’t smell it or sense it until it was too late. He felt it sting him through the layers of his clothing. He leaped away from it, making the spine pull out of his flesh and leave a jagged cut. Vamping out, he whirled to see his adversary.
It was a Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik. Bloody great, he’d been poisoned. The creature, having finally realized that he was a vampire and not an easy meal, ran. Spike rotated his shoulder, trying to see if the spine had done any severe damage. No, it seemed to work fine.
He was a little boy sitting on the seashore, lost. His auntie had forgotten him in the press of his loud and annoying cousins. Nobody remembered little William. He was too quiet. It was lonely out here. It was getting dark. He didn’t like the dark, there might be monsters…
Spike shook his head violently. The old wisp of a memory lingered at the back of his mind. The venom was starting to take hold. He’d better get back to the crypt, quick. Sure as hell didn’t want to stand here hallucinating all night. He wasn’t quite ready to dust in the morning sun.
Even so he paused on entering the crypt ten minutes later. It was too quiet. Not even the rats came in through the sewer anymore. He stripped off the now ruined brown jacket he’d worn tonight, grateful that his duster was safe. He tossed the coat over the sarcophagus and pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels out from under the stone slab. He set it on the particle board coffee table and dropped downstairs to shower and have a look at his still-bleeding cut.
The wound on his chest was beginning to heal, slowly. He wondered briefly about the dangers of the venom. It caused hallucinations, he knew that. He supposed the symptoms would pass, given time and blood. That’s what happened when he got bitten by that damned adder in Romania.
He washed the spilled blood off under his broken pipe of a shower, then dressed in his normal clothes. Silly costume hadn’t worked. Should have known the slayer’d never see him as normal, whatever he did. Bint didn’t really want normal anyway. He went back upstairs and flopped into his comfortable arm chair. With practiced ease he downed a shot of Jack straight from the bottle, then sat back. It was still fairly early. Maybe the poison would wear off before morning and he could get some decent kip, now that Harmony wouldn’t be around to whine.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Whatever his hallucinations were going to be, he doubted they could be that much worse than real life. Hell, right now he’d welcome a break from reality.
*****
Please R&R! Thanks Linda! | | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 1 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 1
Dawn stood outside the crypt, debating about whether or not she should go in. She wasn’t scared. It was just that…Spike might be sleeping. Yeah. The sun was still out, even if it was afternoon. She didn’t want to bother him if he was tired. But she could at least say hi. Be polite. ‘Hey Spike, I was just passing by your crypt. Thought we could hang out for a while.’ Ugh. Her inner voice sounded like a desperate teenager. And since she was actually a mature several thousand years old, she’d just go in and say hello.
She pushed the rusty crypt door open slowly, gritting her teeth at the annoying squeaky sound. She stepped in through the opening and shut the door immediately. She didn’t want her favorite vampire dusted by sunlight coming through an open doorway. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she looked around the open room. So. Spike’s crypt. She’d been here first when Glory showed up at their house. It wasn’t exactly clean, but it had the basics, like a mini-fridge and cable. Kinda cozy in a creepy way. Just right for a stylish vampire like Spike.
Speaking of. She spotted his hair over the top of his favorite arm chair. He must be asleep if he didn’t hear her come in. She set her back pack down on one of the slabs next to a brown leather jacket. Spike wore the coolest coats. Wait a second, this was a tomb…eww, she wondered if the slabs still had bodies under them. And Spike slept up there, too. Gross. She picked her back pack back up and set it on the back of the sofa. Spike still hadn’t woken up.
She walked around the far side of the sofa, not wanting to get too close to him in case he woke up and thought she was an intruder. He had his eyes open. That was weird. Maybe all vampires slept with their eyes open. But she didn’t think they slept while sitting straight up in a chair. He wasn’t even leaning against the back of the chair. His right arm rested by his side and his left was stretched out over the arm of the recliner. A bottle of whiskey was dangling from his left hand.
“Spike?” This was really starting to freak her out. She didn’t think he was drunk, because the bottle was mostly full. Did vampires do drugs? She’d seen a couple of kids at school that were high and they were a lot more relaxed looking. Dawn walked slowly closer to him. She spoke a little louder. “Spike, this isn’t funny. Wake up.” She was standing right next to him now. He looked so…dead. Duh, vampire, but still. He wasn’t even breathing. Spike always breathed. When she was at the crypt last time he even breathed during his sleep.
Nervously, she put a hand in front of his eyes and waved it up and down. Nothing happened. It was like he was staring at the far wall of the crypt. Dawn pulled her hand back, thinking. She leaned forward and prodded his right arm with her index finger. Nothing happened. She poked him in the ribs. Still nothing, and that one always worked on Buffy. She moved her hand up to his shoulder shook him.
The whiskey bottle slipped out of his left hand and shattered on the floor. Dawn screeched in shock and jumped back. Spike didn’t move.
Dawn grabbed her book bag and ran out of the crypt. She needed to get Buffy. Spike needed help.
_____________________________________________________________________
Books carefully balanced, Buffy pushed the door open with her hip and clutched her keys in her right hand. She pushed the door closed with her foot and walked toward the dining room. “Hey!”
“Dawn?” Joyce hurried out of the kitchen.
Buffy frowned. “No, it’s me.” She set her books down on the table.
“Is Dawn with you?”
Buffy stiffened. Dawn got out of school an hour ago. It only took fifteen minutes to get home. “Isn’t she here?”
Joyce shook her head nervously. “No, she didn't come home from school today.” She was getting worried. Dawn hadn’t said that she was going anywhere after school. She always called if her friends wanted to go somewhere. “Oh Buffy, the news said something about people murdered - ”
Buffy shook her head. Her mom had been really anxious since Glory made it into the house two weeks ago. And Dawn cutting herself and setting fire to her diaries hadn’t helped with the post-op relaxation her mom was supposed to be getting. “It's not Glory. It has nothing to do with Dawn, I promise. Look, she probably-” the front door opened with a bang and Dawn rushed inside, “is here.”
Joyce sighed, a sound that managed to mingle both relief and frustration. She crossed her arms and fixed her younger daughter with a determined stare. “Dawn Isabelle Summers, where have you been?”
Dawn panted, out of breath from running. “I went by Spike’s crypt - ”
Buffy’s mouth fell open in shock. “You went to a vampire’s crypt? In a cemetery? Without telling anyone?” She crossed her arms in an unconscious imitation of her mother. “Were you carrying a sign that said ‘Vamp Bait’ too? Because that totally would’ve made the look.”
Dawn glowered at Buffy. “It was the middle of the day! Hello, sun light plus vamps equals dust?”
Buffy furrowed her brow in mock surprise. “Since when did you learn math?” Dawn persisted in shooting daggers at her. Buffy continued, “And that doesn’t mean Spike couldn’t have done something while you were in his crypt.”
Dawn huffed. “Oh come on! You took us there so he could protect us!” In a quieter voice she added, “I feel safe with him.”
“He protected you because I threatened to stake him if he didn’t.”
Joyce rubbed her temples. She and her sisters bickered when they were teens, but Buffy and Dawn managed to take sibling rivalry to ever expanding levels. Beneath the shouting, she knew that Buffy loved her sister and had been genuinely concerned for her safety. The fact that Dawn was ‘the key’ didn’t enter into it. But it genuinely surprised her that Buffy thought so little of William. Ah but then, he didn’t exactly show Buffy the more sensitive side of his personality.
Spike had to be the only person she knew with less self-confidence than Buffy. And they both attempted to hide their fears with biting sarcasm. Joyce knew that Buffy had endured torment while being a slayer that would have broken most other teenagers. If she was self-conscious, no one could blame her. Also, Buffy’s history with men made her naturally distrustful of them. Her father, that vampire Angel, and Riley had all managed to leave her. It wasn’t easy for Buffy to open up to others because she was afraid of being hurt again.
Joyce could see the same symptoms in Spike. He was kind and polite to her whenever he stopped by in the evenings, but around other people the nice boy inside withdrew. He was especially cautious around Buffy. He behaved as though she could crush him with one word. Him, a master vampire that had, heaven help them, killed two slayers previously, was frightened to his second death by Buffy. Joyce had begun to suspect that he might hold her daughter in higher regard than anyone else realized.
Buffy obviously saw nothing but the disdain for her that William worked so hard to project. It came naturally; he had tried to kill her, after all, something Joyce was surprised that she – Buffy’s mother - could overlook so easily. She supposed it was because, somehow, she knew that he wouldn’t try again in the future. Even with their history and that façade in place, Joyce would have thought Buffy was a bit more observant of Spike. Vampire or not, with or without that chip that kept him from harming humans, William would never allow anything to happen to Joyce, or Dawn, or even Buffy.
During their short stay with the vampire, he’d been cordial to her and friendly to Dawn. They even played cards for a while. And then the other night he’d taken care of Dawn when she ran away without ever being asked. Joyce couldn’t bear to think of what would have happened if Dawn had been out there alone. In private, he was hardly the vicious killer the history books declared him to be.
From what Joyce could tell, William was lonely. She suspected that he had a lady-friend that stopped by at least occasionally, if the lady’s sweater she’d seen at his mausoleum was any indication, but he wasn’t close to her. He never mentioned her when he stopped by. He mentioned a demon name Clem from time to time. Rarely, other names came up in the conversation. His bookie’s name was Teeth. Yet, with the exception of Clem, herself, and maybe Dawn, he had no one he really cared about. Or, more importantly, no one who really cared about him. Joyce tried to make him feel accepted in their occasional chats, but conversations about art and history could only accomplish so much.
William was alone, but he was afraid to reach out to anyone else. Joyce often wondered what it was in his past that made him so frightened of letting others near him. It wasn’t just that awful woman Drusilla’s leaving. Oh well. If Buffy really knew anything about the blonde vampire, she wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss him. “Really Buffy, William has never done anything to threaten either myself or Dawn. He wouldn’t hurt any of us, as you well know. As your sister said, you wouldn’t have left us with him if you in any way believed he would.”
Dawn smiled, triumphant. “See?”
Joyce turned to Dawn. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, young lady. You shouldn’t be running around loose with Glory around, and you are supposed to call if you’re going over to a friend’s house.”
Dawn nodded. “I’m sorry Mom, I won’t do it again, but - ”
“I sincerely hope not.”
Dawn was getting irritated. “Mom, listen. Something’s wrong with Spike.”
Joyce frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I went to the crypt, and…he was just sitting there. He wasn’t asleep, at least I don’t think he was, because I couldn’t wake him up. It’s like he’s in some kind of coma with his eyes open.” Dawn swallowed nervously. She felt a few tears burning in her eyes. “He needs help and I didn’t know what to do.”
Joyce went to Dawn and pulled her into a hug. She stroked Dawn’s hair lightly. “You did the right thing Dawn by coming to get us. Buffy will go get Mr. Giles and they’ll find out what’s wrong with William.”
Buffy was aghast. “Mo-om! Spike can take care of himself.”
“Buffy Anne Summers. That man - ”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “He’s not a man, he’s a vampire!”
Joyce leveled her eyes at Buffy. “That person has done a lot for us lately. And didn’t he help you save the world a couple of years ago?”
Buffy fidgeted. “It was for selfish reasons.”
“Well I, for one, am glad that William is that selfish, because none of us would be here if he weren’t. So no more arguments. You can call Mr. Giles from the living room. You might invite Willow and her friend Tara to go with you, in case he’s under a spell of some kind.”
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks Linda!
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 2 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 3
Giles stared into the blank eyes of the vampire. He could see why Dawn was so frightened. Frankly, he was unnerved as well. He pulled out his pen light and aimed it into Spike’s left eye. The pupil contracted. Giles removed the light, and it dilated. He repeated the procedure on the right eye. Contract, dilate. That made a coma unlikely, not that there were any signs of trauma to begin with. “I’m not sure what to make of this, Buffy. It would seem that he is functioning normally, other than the fact that he doesn’t seem to be in touch with reality just now.”
Buffy crossed her arms in irritation. She looked over at the vampire in the chair. She’d said Spike could take care of himself, but now she wasn’t so sure. He looked so…vulnerable. It surprised her. “Since when is Spike ever in touch with reality.” Maybe that was a bit harsh. Her mom was right. Spike had been doing a lot for them lately. Without pay even. Weird. She sighed. “So now what?”
Giles straightened and put his light back in his pocket. “Willow, Tara, do you sense any magic at work here?”
Willow shrugged. She looked at Tara, who shook her head. They didn’t need the herbs they’d brought with them to know that this wasn’t a spell. “Nadda.”
Tara tilted her head, looking at the immobile vampire. “His aura is kind of off. Like he’s c-conflicted. Or thinking about s-something unpleasant. Almost like he’s having a n-nightmare.”
Giles frowned. “Do you think that this ailment has some psychological cause?”
Buffy shuddered unconsciously. This was Spike. Spike didn’t go into a trance because he was unhappy. When life was rough Spike drank too much, and swore, and smoked. He wasn’t the type to have a nervous breakdown. He didn’t just sit in his chair and hide from the world. He always found something to do. Some way to get his mind off the bad and onto something else. Buffy sometimes secretly envied him for that ability to put an apocalypse on hold because he needed chicken wings. And no matter how bad things got, he could still crack jokes.
Well, maybe not when Dru left him. But he’d even gotten over that after a while. With Harmony. That one still made her go ‘huh?’ Buffy had credited Spike with better taste than that. But then, she was so distraught when Angel left that she’d fallen for Parker’s lines, so…great, now she was comparing her love life (or lack of one) to Spike’s to justify his boinking Harmony.
Since when did she justify Spike? Since when did she trust Spike? She hated to admit twice in one day that her mother was a better judge of people than she was, but it was true. Buffy trusted Spike. And that bothered her. She was surrounded by friends who were willing to do anything, including two increasingly powerful witches, and it was Spike she turned to. Not just because of his strength; because she trusted him.
Talk about a one-eighty. He was harboring Harmony and had tried to get his chip out not long ago. He’d been insulting and vile to her on patrol, even if he did help. He showed her Riley in that…place. He’d obviously enjoyed parading that before her. Yet in the midst of jeering her he was being useful.
Spike had helped Tara, helped troll victims, helped Dawn, helped Buffy’s mom, and helped Buffy. It was so much easier when he was trying to kill her. It was hard to know what to think of him anymore. Used to be Spike was reliable: will work for cash, will betray for free. But now, Buffy kept having to remind herself sometimes that he was evil. Not often, since Spike’s annoyingness and recent clingy behavior made it much easier to be suspicious of him. But still, it didn’t do for a slayer to forget that a potential enemy was a potential enemy.
And yet in letting her sister and her mother stay with him, Buffy had been treating Spike as a potential ally. Because in those moments when she forgot he was an enemy, Spike seemed to forget too. Right now, Buffy’d welcome anyone, even a vampire, willing to stick it out and fight with her. She was tired of doing it alone. Her friends and her watcher could help, but in the end they still expected her to be the Chosen One. They looked to her for guidance. Spike thought for himself; he made all the right calls when Dawn ran away, maybe he could do it in other areas. That was reason enough to help him out of whatever this was. “So what do we do? Call a shrink?”
Giles shook his head. “I’m afraid that would only be useful if Spike were able to interact with that person. We need someway of finding out was going on in Spike’s mind without his help.”
“Oh!” Willow gasped. “I have an idea. We were reading this intermediate level spell the other day that allowed someone to enter another person’s thoughts, as long as the other person was in a trance. I think that would apply here?” She looked to Tara for confirmation.
Tara thought for a moment and nodded. “It’s worth a t-try. It’s a form of astral projection into another being’s mind. I don’t know how it w-would work with a vampire’s mind…”
Giles stared at the ceiling in thought. “Vampires have essentially the same brain structure as humans. I wouldn’t think a spell for a human mind would malfunction on a vampire. Once inside the mind, however, there is the issue of the vampire’s demon consciousness. It couldn’t fail to be terrifying; might even be dangerous to the person trying to penetrate the vampire’s thoughts.”
“Then I’m the one going in.” Buffy looked at the surprised faces around her. “What? I deal with demons all the time. Trust me, there’s nothing in Spike’s brain I can’t handle.” Slowly, the other three nodded in agreement. “So, what do I need to know about this spell?”
Willow frowned. “Well, this is mostly the meditation kind of spell, not the flashy ‘fire extinguisher needed’ kind. You’ll sit across from Spike, Tara and I will chant, we’ll light a candle, and you’ll just kind of close your eyes. Voila, Buffy vacationing in Spike’s head. You’ll see a physical representation of whatever he’s thinking about. You should be able to talk to him and try to convince him to come back to reality. The spell would end on its own if you both come back. We’ll give you a rune to recite in case something goes wrong, so you can get out of there.”
Buffy nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.” Maybe this would show her if her inexplicable trust in Spike was justified.
*****
Please let me know what you think!
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 3 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 3
Buffy sat on a chair in front of Spike, breathing deeply as Willow chanted. The main room of the crypt faded from view. Suddenly, the crypt faded from view and Buffy was on her feet in a shadowy space. She tried to discern her surroundings but every time she thought she saw a familiar shape it disappeared. Once she was sure she was standing beside a chair, but it faded out an instant later. Something else popped up in its place. Light flashed intermittently and voices whispered out of nowhere. If this was Spike’s mind, she couldn’t imagine why he would hide in here. There were no constants. Nothing to hold on to.
Willow said she’d see three dimensional images of what was going through Spike’s mind…was that what the flashes were? They were going way too fast for her to understand them. It didn’t seem like there was a point to being here; if she couldn’t see what was going on, she couldn’t wake Spike up. Buffy was tempted to call out the words that were supposed to end the spell…and hadn’t ‘Let the spell be ended’ been used way too many times? But she was here. She might as well wait a while.
After a few minutes she noticed that the pictures seemed to be slowing down. At least, she could see them better. Hmm. Maybe it just took a while for her to get up to speed on them. Bad pun, Buffy. Ooh, yeah, that was definitely a flash of Spike off to her left. She could see his radioactive hair. Hey, was that her? It looked like her.
More time passed. It felt like forever, but then a watched thought never uncoils. Ugh. Giles would roll his eyes over that one. Anyway. She watched the still shots in Spike’s mind flip by. They didn’t seem to relate to each other. The scene would go from some little kid, to a teenager and a woman, then bounce off to Spike and – Angel? No, must have been Angelus because they were wearing old clothes and Angel had long puffy hair. Maybe these were memories of Spike’s. That would make sense, because in some of the shots he hadn’t discovered peroxide.
She saw a picture of her and Spike in an alley. Yes, definitely memories. She recognized that alley; it was behind the Bronze. They’d been there the other night, talking about his slayer kills. She saw a flash that looked like Harmony then whoosh, back to people in old clothing. Same little kid, followed after a bit by the same woman, and the same poses of Spike and Angelus. Whatever these scenes had in common, they were stuck in repeat.
The memories reached the present time then started cycling again. Buffy strained her eyes, trying to get a good look around at the earliest memory. It was a little boy sitting on a beach at night and – he moved! Buffy jumped a foot backwards, certain that the child had turned his head toward her. He’d been crying.
The subsequent figures moved too. Not much, certainly not enough to understand what they were doing, but they did move. Buffy suspected that it wouldn’t be much longer before Spike’s memories became clear. She sighed. If only Spike himself would come into focus.
So maybe she was obsessing. Was it really such a big deal? Trust? Buffy knew she had problems trusting people. But she had her reasons. People usually turned out to be liars who said they’d take you to the ice show then skipped out or cheats who went to vamp whores. Okay, maybe that was just her dad and Riley. But if you couldn’t depend on the people who were closest to you, how could you think about relying on anyone else?
Maybe if she figured out when she started trusting him, she could answer the question. Well, she hadn’t trusted him when he stepped out of the shadows with those predatory movements and said he was going to kill her on St. Vigeous’s Day. Did she trust him with Acathla? Did it actually start all the way back then, with their truce? No, not really. More like she believed that he would stick to his part of the agreement. Trust seemed to imply more than that; Buffy didn’t feel that at that point Spike had her back then as he did now. He left her to Angelus so he could escape with Dru.
So not with the trusting when he kidnapped Willow and Xander. He nearly got Cordy killed! But then there was that strange conversation between Spike and her mom in the kitchen. Her mom obviously trusted him, even when Buffy didn’t.
Buffy was tempted to award negative trust points for the Gem of Amara fiasco. Criticizing her abilities in bed, such that they were, and trying to kill her definitely damaged his credibility. Buffy supposed that she’d kind of ignored him for a few months after that since his chipped status meant he wasn’t an issue. Then he was playing both sides when Adam was around.
She’d already covered trying to get the chip out and Harmony – oops, Buffy hoped she didn’t show while they were at the crypt. The last thing she was in the mood to deal with was one of Spike’s creepy girlfriends. So sometime between the kidnapping of the doctor Riley needed and now. Taking her to the vamp house wasn’t a thing to build trust…
Buffy paused in her musings. She heard crying nearby. Without her realizing it, the memories had begun playing at a speed she could comprehend. Buffy turned around. She was on a rocky beach at dusk. She rubbed her arms as a chill breeze blew past. This was so real. If Buffy didn’t know that this was Spike’s mind, she would have thought she was actually in this place, where ever it was.
The crying was coming from a little curly-haired boy about five years old. He was dressed in short pants and a tailored jacket. The child was kneeling on the beach, all alone. Buffy looked around for parents, but no one was within sight. Jeez, who left a little kid out here all alone at night? No wonder the kid was crying. Buffy wondered what this had to do with Spike. Maybe the boy was a victim. She walked toward him, but the boy didn’t seem to notice her.
“Hello,” she said, kneeling down beside him. “I’m Buffy. What’s your name?” He didn’t respond. Didn’t flinch, didn’t look, just kept crying. Buffy was about to try again when a dog howled loudly at the moon.
The boy was startled, falling back on the sand. He raised his head and looked around for the dog with a forlorn expression. He had such piercing blue eyes. Buffy gasped. She recognized those eyes. And those cheekbones, half-hidden by still round cheeks. This was Spike. No, she corrected herself, this was William. He looked so innocent. That was all she could think. This little boy would become one of the most feared demons on Earth, but right now he just wanted his mommy.
*****Flash*****
The beach and William blinked out of existence. Buffy was in a courtyard between two wings of a large building. It seemed to be a school, judging by the number of children with books that were milling back and forth. They were all boys, none older than ten. Once again no one seemed to notice her; she was sure these kids would have commented on her obscene outfit if they had seen it. She looked around for William, assuming he would be here somewhere. The courtyard began to empty, probably the end of passing period.
Finally, she spotted a boy with curly hair kneeling by the building. William was older than he had been, taller, and with a more defined face. He was pulling something out of a puddle. It was a small chalkboard, with all the writing smudged. He looked as scared as he had on the beach. Suddenly the scene morphed to a classroom. William was standing at the front, next to a man in an ugly black suit. The professor.
The professor was holding a cane in one hand and tapping it lightly against the palm of the other. Buffy saw the chalkboard that had fallen in the water sitting on his desk. The professor began to speak. “Blackwell, you have proven once again how clumsy and foolish you are. Turn around.” Obediently William turned, and then leaned over and grabbed his ankles.
The professor raised his cane and swung hard at William’s rump. Buffy flinched at the impact. It had to have been horribly painful. Where did the guy get off beating a poor kid? It’s not like accidents didn’t happen. Buffy frowned, thinking of how many homework assignments she had intentionally skipped. The cane kept striking, to the count of twenty. William’s classmates pointed and snickered at him. Will was not a popular boy.
When the teacher finished Will straightened painfully. He limped back to his seat with teary eyes. As Buffy watched him, he turned to stare at the back of his teacher’s head. She noticed a flash of something like resentment flare behind his tears before he could hide it. She smiled. So far, she hadn’t seen much in this kid to remind her of Spike the Big Bad. But that little shine in his eyes just then that said he wasn’t as repentant and resigned as everyone seemed to think – that was her Spike. Her Spike?
*****Flash*****
Okay, seriously, this was making her dizzy. Buffy was in a fairly well-to-do living room. There was a group of people in the center. Two girls, one about fourteen and one about twelve, were sitting on a small sofa, weeping into their handkerchiefs. Beside the sofa stood a middle-aged woman that Buffy assumed was their mother. The mother was also crying quietly, but she was focused on a disheveled man standing before the sofa, literally hat in hand. He was crying too.
Beside the mother stood a young man that Buffy couldn’t see very well from her angle. She strongly suspected that she was about to get a look at a teenage William. She walked around in front of the sofa, past the guy holding his hat, and gasped. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or just keep staring. William was about seventeen, standing stiffly beside his mother in a suit cut close to his body. He looked so thin and fragile, with wire-rim glasses and dark blonde curly hair.
He had that same expression he’d had as a little boy on the beach. Lost. Forlorn. Buffy always thought it was a vampire thing, but in actuality Spike’s eyes were intense and raw no matter how young he’d been. They made the teen in front of her look much older than he was. Buffy had to stop herself from putting a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
Buffy shook herself. She wasn’t supposed to be just standing here and reliving Spike’s memories with him. She was supposed to be trying to reach him. She cleared her throat and walked straight into William’s field of vision. “Spike!” she called. No answer from him and no one else moved. “William!” Still nothing. Dammit, how was she supposed to get him out of here if she couldn’t even get him to hear her?
Everyone except Buffy was staring at the admittedly plush rugs on the floor. Suddenly William moved next to her, lifting his head to look at the rumpled little man before him. His eyes had cleared. They were still bright and teary, but there was anger behind them. The tiniest beginnings of authority. “Did he suffer?” Whoa, that wasn’t Spike’s voice. That was all refined and Giles-y. Actually, with the glasses and the suit, William was kind of like Giles squared. Ugh, worse. He was almost Wesley.
The guy William was talking to raised his head for a moment, but didn’t make direct eye contact. “No Master William, I don’t believe so. Your father was gone before we got to him.”
Buffy saw the woman – William’s mom – stand a little straighter. She spoke softly, “We shall be grateful for that mercy, then.” Her children nodded. William whispered something in his mother’s ear and she nodded. The teen went to his sisters on the sofa, mumbled something about adjourning to pray, and led them out of the parlor. Buffy followed them to another room, less grand but comfortable. The three siblings sat down together on a couch, with William in the center. His baby sisters clung to him, still weeping, as he did his best to comfort them.
Watching the grieving children, Buffy finally felt like she had the gist of what was going on in Spike’s mind. The only thing these memories had in common was the utter badness of what happened to Spike, er, William, in them. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Giles started talking about psychological causes for Spike’s not coma, but this wasn’t it. Spike was a demon. He should be bothered by burning up or being staked or starving.
So far, Buffy’d seen memories about being abandoned, humiliated, and losing someone he obviously loved. These things were all so…human.
*****
Thank you to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! Thanks Linda!
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 4 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 4
*****Flash*****
This memory took place in a bedroom. Buffy knew instantly that it was someone’s sickbed. There was a feel to the atmosphere that said death wasn’t far away. She was a slayer; she knew death. She got the same feeling from hospitals. When her mom was having surgery for the tumor, Buffy’d dreaded the thought that her mother was going to add to that feel of decay in the air.
William was sitting on a chair beside the bed. He was about Buffy’s age, twenty or twenty-one, looking solemn and very pale. He was holding the hand of the girl on the bed; it was the elder of his two sisters. She was sweating, with rivulets of liquid flowing down her gray-tinged skin. With some effort, she opened her eyes. Her free hand reached out to touch William’s face. He smiled at her and murmured, “Hello dearest,” in a tear-roughened voice.
She smiled back at him. “Tears for me, Will? They are somewhat premature. But I do not believe it shall be long before they are timely.”
Will shook his head sadly. “Do not say such morbid things, kitten. Dr. Gull tells us you will be well soon.”
Buffy could tell the doctor had said no such thing. Spike always had been a bad liar. His sister seemed to agree with her. “Brother, you have no talent for deceiving. You never have. And I have traveled far past the point at which I could have been deceived.”
William was weeping openly now. Buffy felt her own eyes becoming moist. Will grasped both the girl’s small hands between his large palms. “I am so sorry that I cannot offer you some comfort, sister.”
“I have comfort enough. I will see our younger sister again soon; she and I shan’t have been apart more than a few hours.”
Will nodded. “You must tell her how much Mum and I miss you both already.”
The girl’s eyes drifted out of focus. “She knows. She would want to make sure that you care for Mother. Mum will be lonely.”
William gave her a sincere pledge. “I shall always see to her needs. And you know I shall never break a promise to a lady.”
The girl tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a cough. “Oh Will, you would have done so without a promise. And you have never broken a vow to anyone.”
Will nodded, head bowed. “I love you so much, Rachel.”
The girl tried to answer, but she didn’t have the time. Buffy saw her body go rigid for a moment, then limp. Her eyes fixed and her breathing ceased. William gasped in surprise. A moment later, he lifted a shaky hand to close her eyes. Carefully, he placed his sister’s hands on her stomach.
William slid to his knees and buried his face against the side of the bed, his body wracked with sobs.
*****Flash*****
Buffy wiped the tears out of her eyes. That was something she’d rather not have seen. It was too intimate. She had a sister of her own. Key or not, she loved Dawn. That’s what this was all about. She needed help against Glory to keep her sister safe. Maybe that’s why Spike was so interested in Dawn; she reminded him of his sisters.
Buffy saw that a new memory had started while she was distracted. It was in the same living room where William’s family had been when they heard about his father’s death. None of the furniture had been changed, but it was beginning to show signs of wear. It looked as though William and his mother could afford to keep things in order but not to replace them.
William was standing beside the fireplace at one end of the room, staring into the flames. Buffy watched his face as the fire light flickered against it. His face had aged little since his sister’s death, but his eyes were tired. Buffy could tell that he was very near the age at which he’d been turned. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before she could finally escape the oppressing truth of Spike’s human history.
There was a man in a suit carrying a small black bag beside him. Buffy hated this memory already. The man was a doctor, who looked sad about the news he was delivering. Will’s only remaining family was his mother. Buffy didn’t want to know about her. She didn’t want to hear a doctor telling William that his mother was dying. But the two men spoke anyway.
William asked quietly, “How long does she have, Dr. Gull?”
The man sighed. “Six months. At most.”
William nodded.
All the fear Buffy felt when the doctor told her the horrible news about her own mother came rushing back. Too much. It was too much. It was bad enough having to go through this once without having to relive it with William. Without having to have this common bond with Spike. Now whenever she looked at him she wouldn’t be able to ignore that he’d been human once. That he’d had the same concerns she’d had. He could never be just a demon to her again.
She was leaving now before she saw anything else. Yes.
No. She couldn’t. She still needed him, damn it, even though he couldn’t seem to hear her when she spoke to him. She had to find some way of reaching him in here. She could see now how he could get lost in his mind. These were the kind of memories that haunted you; the kind that sucked you in until they were all you could think about.
*****Flash*****
Buffy sighed and braced herself for the new memory. She looked around the Victorian ballroom she found herself in. These people had serious money. All the women were wearing flowing silk gowns and the men were in old fashioned tuxedos. They didn’t exactly look like William’s crowd. He was kind of stuffy for these people. Buffy spotted him off to one side. He was about the same age he’d been in the last memory. He was sitting on a chair, paying no attention to the dancing and conversations going on around him.
He was scribbling in a little leather bound book and muttering to himself. “Luminous... oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better.” William, soon to be Spike, was a writer. Buffy walked closer, curious to get a look at what he was writing.
A snooty waiter walked up to William and asked him, “Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?”
William seemed annoyed by the interruption. “Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for ‘gleaming’? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see.”
No. No way! Buffy started giggling. Then she started laughing. By the time the waiter moved away she was bent almost double, trying to catch her breath in the middle of a laugh attack. Spike used to write poetry. Poetry! She stumbled over to have a look at the pages. She’d figured out by now that he wasn’t exactly a macho man as a human. He’d become a fighter after he was turned. But she’d never expected him to have been such a …well, Spike would call William a pansy.
And he hadn’t even written good poetry. Buffy’d tried to write a few poems for English classes, but none of them had been as horrible as the one William was working on. He obviously knew more about the structure of poetry than she did, but he was even worse at coming up with something decent. Judging from all the crossed out words, William was having a terrible time with this one. It was about some girl. Just then William looked up into the crowd and smiled with rapture. “Cecily...” he sighed.
Buffy followed his gaze and winced. She could see where this was headed. She watched with sympathy as William packed up his poetry and stood to go address the aristocratic lady he’d obviously been writing poems about. This wasn’t going to be pretty. This was going to be like Jonathon asking out Miss America and honestly expecting her to accept.
William wove awkwardly through the people separating him from Cecily. He found her near some men and women talking about recent murders. Buffy pricked up her ears to listen to the conversation. A guy with an ugly mustache was speaking. “I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind.”
Another man saw Spike creeping around the outside of the circle. With a condescending laugh he called to him. “Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?” Buffy suspected that it was vampires. Maybe members of Order Aurelius?
William was obviously irritated to be in the spotlight, since it prevented him from continuing to move toward Cecily. “I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for. I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty.” He glanced adoringly at Cecily.
While he was distracted a third guy snatched William’s book of poems. William grabbed for it but the taller man pulled it out of his reach. Buffy tried to grab the book, instinctively wanting to prevent their making any more fun of William, but she couldn’t get to it either. She kicked the jerk holding it full force in the shin, but he didn’t react. He laughed and said, “I see. Well, don't withhold, William.”
Mustache-man was laughing too. “Rescue us from a dreary topic.”
William had given up getting his book back and was just trying to keep it from being damaged. “Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it’s not finished.”
The one with the book looked like he doubted that smeared ink was the biggest thing William had to worry about with his poetry. “Don't be shy. ‘My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent.’” He gave a wussy laugh. “ ‘Effulgent?’”
They all laughed, not caring the slightest for William. Cecily walked off, looking irritated. William frowned and finally succeeded in grabbing his poems from the man Buffy’d kicked. Wearing a hurt expression he started to trail after Cecily.
Buffy heard the rest of the conversation distantly as she followed William. “And that's actually one of his better compositions.” “Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!” “It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!”
So that was how William got his vampire name. These must have been the people he killed with a railroad spike. Buffy couldn’t help thinking that they were no loss. Buffy groaned as she watched William timidly approach the seated Cecily. Buffy already didn’t like her. Too stuck up. “Cecily?” William breathed.
She’d been trying to ignore him, but William wasn’t getting the message. Exasperated she deigned to look at him. “Oh. Leave me alone.” Yep, just as much of a cold bitch as Buffy’d figured. Spike had poor taste in women in any century.
William gestured nervously to the people who’d made fun of his poetry. “Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I.”
Cecily was offended, like being grouped with William was an insult to her dignity. “You and I? I’m going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand?” William wavered, then nodded. “Your poetry, it’s... they’re... not written about me, are they?”
He fiddled with the binding on his journal. “They're about how I feel.”
Cecily gave a dramatic, frustrated sigh. “Yes, but are they about me?”
Buffy, who knew rejection loomed, was ready to beg him to say they weren’t. “Every syllable.”
“Oh, God!” Cecily moaned. ‘Yeah,’ Buffy thought, ‘like you’re some prize.’
William babbled on. “Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily.”
Cecily was appalled. “Please stop!”
The devotion in William’s voice was heartbreaking. “I know I'm a bad poet but I'm a good man and all I ask is that... that you try to see me-”
Cecily spoke slowly, trying to make sure he got the point this time. “I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me.” Cecily stood and walked away, sparing not even a backward glance for William. Buffy frowned. Where had she heard those words before?
William sat devastated for several moments. Then he stood and ran for the door. Buffy followed, chasing after him as he left the building the party was in and ran out into the stone streets of London, leaving a trail of shredded paper. His poetry. He collided with a tall, dark-haired man and two women, barely pausing to mutter, “Watch where you’re going!”
Buffy saw one of the women turn back to watch William run into an alley. It was Drusilla. So this was how it happened. How William died. Buffy watched Drusilla approach him. He was afraid at first, then curious, then just happy that finally someone wanted him. When Dru showed him her game face for the first time, he was startled, but welcomed it.
Buffy sighed. That wasn’t how William deserved to end. Buffy’d begun to feel protective of William, even knowing what he was going to become. He was right when he said he was a rotten poet but a good man. His turning wasn’t his fault; he just desperately wanted to be understood. She felt sad now that William was gone, and that Spike was all that was left of the poor, lovesick poet.
******
Please R&R! Thanks Linda!
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 5 | | | | abc + + + | | | I’m sorry that I haven’t replied to everyone’s comments. It’s been a busy week. Thank you for them and I promise to reply this time.
Chapter 5
*****Flash*****
It was dark. No light shone at all. Buffy could hear frantic breathing and frightened whimpers. She heard the sound of wood breaking. Then digging. Not the sound of a shovel entering the ground, the sound of hands ripping at the earth. She heard clods of dirt falling onto wood. Once she heard flesh tearing and a cry of pain. The sounds seemed to last for hours.
Suddenly there was moonlight shining on an open plot of ground filled with trash piles. Buffy saw beside her something she’d seen a thousand times in her life as a slayer. A fledgling was rising. A hand shot out and clawed for support on the smooth ground. Slowly, the fledge crawled from the coffin he’d been buried in. He’d been hidden here, not in a cemetery. Well, this was London. Watchers would be watching the normal burying grounds.
With a last push the exhausted, bleeding vampire fell out unto the ground, weeping, and gasping for air he didn’t need. William the Bloody had been reborn.
*****Flash*****
And they were back at his house? It was the same living room, unchanged from the night the doctor told William about his mother. Buffy knew that a lot of vampires went back for an easy first kill. It shouldn’t have surprised her. Angel’d done the same. It was just that she’d had higher hopes for Spike, having now seen him as William. But then if this was one of his bad memories, maybe he came to regret what happened tonight.
Spike and Dru were standing by the fire. He was covered in dirt and his clothes, the same ones he’d been wearing at the party, were shredded. Dru was looking at her childe with a puzzled expression. “You...you want to bring your mum wif us?”
Spike seemed surprised by the question. “Well, yeah. You'll like her.”
Dru gave him an affronted look. “To eat, you mean?”
Oh, Spike. Of all the foolish things to do. But he wouldn’t have known. Buffy’d seen people she knew that’d been turned. They were so happy to be vampires. Like dying solved all their problems. That must have been what it was like for Spike. No more whippings, no more people making fun of him, and no more worries about William’s mom. For once, he got to be the hero that saved the damsel.
William’s mother came into the room and saw Spike by the fireplace. “William?” She asked timidly.
Spike pulled Dru towards him nervously, looking every bit the guilty little boy. “Uh, mother.”
His mother was relieved to see him, but was irritated all the same. “Where have you been? I've been beside myself for days.”
Spike smiled happily. “You needn't have worried, mother. You'll never have to worry about anything again. Something has happened. I've changed.”
The poor woman looked at him in confusion. “I—I don't— Who’s this woman?” She gestured toward Drusilla.
“I'm the other that gave birth to your son.” Buffy shook her head. Dru and her psycho-babble. That almost made since, though.
The older woman’s mouth fell open in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
Spike was delighted by Dru’s speech. Well, it matched his poetry. “It's true, mother. Drusilla—she...she has made me what I am. I am no longer bound to this mortal coil. I have become a creature of the night. A vampire.”
Oh, Buffy knew that expression. Universal mom disbelief. She got that one all the time. “Are you drunk?”
Spike looked at the ground, embarrassed. “A little bit.” His head shot up when his– William’s– mother coughed. “Think of it. No more sickness. No more dying. You'll never age another day. Let me do this for you.”
The lady tilted her head to the side in confusion. Buffy was startled by the gesture. That was something that Spike did to this day. “What are you talking about, a-and why are you acting so strangely?”
Spike stepped up to her, pulling her into a hug. “It's all right, mother. It's only me. We'll be together forever.”
“William...”
Spike shifted into game face. “It only hurts for a moment.” He leaned down and gently bit his mother’s neck.
The scene morphed like it had when William had dropped his chalkboard in the water at the school. That must mean that this was the aftermath of the turning. Buffy had an idea how it was going to play out, since she sincerely doubted that this woman was still out there somewhere. William’s devotion to her had carried over into Spike; he wouldn’t have left her alone somewhere. Spike was on the sofa in the living room, but stood up when music began to play. It wasn’t a song Buffy recognized, but it was pretty.
“Mother?”
She walked in holding a music box. She certainly looked better than she had before. Less ill. She smiled at Spike. “Hello, William.”
“Look at you.” His smile was radiant. So full of joy at seeing this woman happy and well. So proud because he was the one that did it. There wasn’t much of the Spike Buffy knew in that smile. Maybe at this point he was still William. Just with fangs. There was no sarcasm. No hate. Just sincere…love? Could vampires love without a soul? Angel hadn’t.
She nodded. “Mm, yes. All better.”
William still looked like he loved his mother. “You're glowing.”
“Am I? Well, I suppose I have you to thank for that, don't I?” She set the music box on a table. “How ever will I repay you?”
Five of the memories she’d seen so far were about people William loved. Judging by them, everything in William’s human life had been about love, even his poetry. Maybe love was so important to him that he kept imagining he loved his mother after he died. “Seeing you like this is payment enough.”
His mother smiled. “Oh, William, you're so... tender.” She patted his face. Buffy thought, in looking at her, that she seemed colder than she had been while alive.
William was still smiling. “Well, this is as it should be, mother. You and I together. All of London laid out before us.”
“Ah, yes. Us.” Buffy could hear underlying contempt in that voice that seemed to escape William. He might be fooling himself into thinking that he still loved her, but she had stopped loving him. He just didn’t know it yet.
He smiled happily beside his dear restored mom. “First, we'll feast. Then the night is yours. Theater, perhaps. Dancing? Tell me,” he patted her lightly on the shoulder, “what's your pleasure?”
She turned to look at him with a cold, cold smile. “Pleasure? To take my leave of you, of course. “The lark hath spake from twixt its wee beak?” You honestly thought I could bear an eternity listening to that twaddle? I feel extraordinary. It's as though I've been given new eyes. I see everything. Understand... everything,” she finished with a frown at William.
Buffy knew that had to have been more of William’s poetry. She must have encouraged him about it when she was alive, the way parents did when their kids handed them drawings that could have been of houses or pink elephants. He was finally beginning to realize that something was wrong here. “Mother...”
William’s mother was beginning to creep Buffy out. She was still smiling. “I hate to be cruel— No, I don't. I used to hate to be cruel in life. Now, I find it rather freeing. Nothing less will pry your greedy little fingers off my apron strings, will it?”
William was hurt and becoming upset. It was a low blow, that after all the people he’d lost, his own mother was rejecting him. Because he really seemed to believe that he was talking to his mother, not a demon. “Stop. Please.”
She slinked closer to him. “Ever since the day you first slithered from me like a parasite...”
“What're you s - ”
“Had I known better, I could have spared myself a lifetime of tedium and just—dashed your brains out when I first saw you.” She whirled, turning her back on the confused fledgling. “God, I prayed you'd find a woman to release me, but you scarcely showed an interest. Who could compare to your doddering housebound mum? A captive audience for your witless prattle.”
Buffy watched the emotions crossing William’s face. Concern, fear, confusion. Some anger, but he stifled it. Respectfully, he murmured, “Whatever I was, that's not who I am anymore.”
She laughed. “Darling, it's who you'll always be. A limp, sentimental fool. You want to run, don't you? Scamper off and cry to your new little trollop. Do you think you'll be able to love her? Think you'll be able to touch her without feeling me?”
Whoa. Okay, seriously freaking here. “All you ever wanted was to be back inside.” She caressed his face in a way more than motherly way. “You finally got your wish, didn't you? Sank your teeth into me. An eternal kiss.”
William stumbled back, appalled. Buffy knew he had no such ideas; even as a freshly turned vampire he was curiously innocent. “No. I only wanted to make you well.”
“You wanted your hands on me. Perhaps you'd like a chance to finish off what you started.”
William pushed her back as she advanced on him. Buffy could see that he was trying desperately to understand why this wasn’t his mother anymore. “I love you. I did. Not like this.”
She nodded. “Just like this. This is what you always wanted. Who's my dark little prince?” She tried to kiss him!
He shoved her away and she hit the ground. “No!” He screamed, looking around like he wanted a way to escape what was happening to him.
His mother got to her feet and grabbed a cane. She swung it at William. “Get out. Get out!” William wrestled the cane away from her, breaking it in the process. Suddenly she transformed to vampire face. “There, there, precious. It will only hurt for a moment.”
Buffy saw in his face the exact moment that William realized what he had to do. It was his final act of…love. “I'm sorry.” He shoved the broken cane handle through his mother’s heart, and her game face disappeared. She looked like his mother again, smiling for a fraction of a second before she crumpled to dust.
William fell to the ground before the pile that had been his mother. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and Buffy heard the occasional sniffle. He drew his legs up to his body and began to sob, as he had for his sister.
Buffy watched him as he grieved. This went beyond acting the part of loving son. William really had loved his mother, even after he lost his soul. It shocked her that that was possible. She’d always figured that Spike was just obsessed with Dru, not in love with her, but now she wasn’t so sure. He’d stuck with her even when she cheated on him. What other reason could he have, besides love? But Angel hadn’t loved her. Not when he lost his soul. Did that mean he didn’t love her as much as she thought he had? William’s mother had certainly loved him in life. But as a vampire she didn’t. Maybe William’s mother and Angelus had stronger demons than Spike did.
That didn’t make sense though. Buffy’d fought both Angel and Spike when they let their demons out. Spike had come far closer to beating her in combat than Angelus. Maybe it wasn’t about the demon. She’d been thinking earlier that these memories of Spike’s were about human things. Maybe there was more humanity left in him than she realized, and less in Angelus.
_______________________________________________________________________
Giles stood to one side of the crypt, watching its other occupants. Willow and Tara were sitting side by side on Spike’s sofa, staring at some sort of cooking show. Spike himself was as inert as he had been when they arrived. And Buffy hadn’t twitched since entering Spike’s mind over an hour ago. His eyes focused on her more often than not, since he didn’t see the joy in watching someone on the telly cook a horrible American version of Shepherd’s Pie.
Her breathing was steady. When he was certain that the young witches weren’t aware of his actions, he would take her pulse. It was more rapid at some moments than others, which he found curious. Apparently whatever Spike was experiencing was having a profound affect on Buffy.
That was a bothersome thought. It was bad enough having to send her on missions where she could be killed by demons, turned, or critically injured. He’d lost more sleep than he would have believed possible over nightmares in which he sent his slayer out to her death. But having her stuck inside the mind of this vampire was worse yet.
There were too many things that could go wrong. Astral projection was a risky affair. If the person projecting was drawn too far out of herself she might lose the ability to return to her body. She’d die, without ever having the chance to defend herself. And what was she seeing in there? Torture, turnings, images more disturbing still? If she brought Spike back out, what kind of emotional damage would she have suffered? Giles would rather have lost an ally and let Buffy keep her peace of mind.
Spike was a boon to them, of course. He was annoying, caustic, disrespectful, and had atrocious taste in television programming, but he had saved Buffy’s life many times. For that, Giles couldn’t say that he regretted Spike assimilating himself into their lives. But he wasn’t worth sacrificing Buffy.
The crypt door swung open suddenly, and Xander popped inside. “Hey, so what’s the 411 with Fangless? Anya said something about him being a tomato.”
Giles sighed. “She means that he is in some form of vegetative state.”
Xander snorted. “So he sprouted roots?”
An unexpected voice answered him from the recesses of the crypt. “No. It’s her what’s growing roots in my boy’s head. Twisting ‘em together.”
In a single fluid motion Giles grabbed his crossbow, swung it in the direction of the voice, and flipped on his hand torch. He searched the dark for the source of the words. A shadowy figure stepped slowly forward. A woman, tall and pale, with dark hair. One he recognized from years past, when he was tied to a chair. “Drusilla.”
She smiled.
*****
Thanks for reading! Thanks Linda!
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 6 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 6
Giles heard Willow and Tara moving off the sofa, headed for the relative safety of the sarcophagi where Xander was standing. He kept his eyes focused on Drusilla, hoping that the three young people would not attempt anything rash. Drusilla might be insane, but she was still a master vampire. One with powerful thrall.
Giles lowered his flashlight as Drusilla stepped out of the shadows. Apparently she’d come up through a trap door in the floor. He tossed the light onto the sofa so that he could better aim his crossbow. As much as he wanted to fire a bolt at Spike’s sire, he couldn’t take the chance of missing her heart and inciting an attack. Buffy was between himself and Drusilla; she’d be the first victim. Giles edged closer to the chair holding his slayer.
Drusilla smiled at him. She closed the remaining distance between herself and her childe. She put a hand on Spike’s forehead, as though checking him for fever. She petted his head lightly. “Poor boy. Needs his mummy. Not her!” She finished with a hiss, pointing at Buffy. Her head whipped around to stare at Willow and Tara. “Taste like the garden, they do. Put her in my sweet William’s head. Nasty weed.” She tilted her head back, looking at Giles again. “They can take her out.”
Giles shook his head. “No, that decision is Buffy’s. She’ll come out when Spike is ready to come with her. She’s helping him.”
Drusilla stamped her foot angrily and put her hands on Spike’s shoulders. “No! No, no, no. She’s not the cure. Pricked by a nasty, he was. Pushed deep inside, poisoning him against me when I come to take him back to his family.”
Giles frowned. “You know what happened to Spike? Was he attacked by something?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugly. Plunged in deep, put ideas in his head.” One of her thin hands ghosted down to stroke a spot on Spike’s chest.
Giles risked a look to Xander. He nodded for the boy to come over. Drusilla watched Xander approach with curiosity. Giles handed Xander the crossbow. He stared Drusilla full in the eye. “May I see?” She regarded him suspiciously, but moved back from Spike.
Giles leaned forward and pulled down the collar of the vampire’s tee-shirt. A thin, relatively fresh cut was visible. Spike had been cut by something. Poisoned? Giles schooled himself to speak in as slow and clear a manner as possible. In essence, he was talking to a violent, two-hundred year old child. “Drusilla, we want to help Spike. We want him to come back here, and to get Buffy out of his mind. Now to do that, we need to know what did this. Can you tell us what demon hurt him? You said it gave him ideas.”
She nodded sagely. “Pale and tall and big. Gentlemanly. Doesn’t eat you when first you meet. Makes new worlds with every sting.”
“New worlds?” Giles queried.
Drusilla laughed gleefully. “Oh, yes, the magician. Rabbits and ducks. Pulls ‘em out of your head!”
Giles tried to sort through the clues he’d been given. It would all be so much simpler if she could speak in plain English. He pulled his glasses off, polishing them nervously on his jacket. “A demon that stings its prey. The venom has a debilitating effect, allowing the demon to feed at its leisure. New worlds. The prey hallucinates…” He turned to Drusilla. “Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik? Was that the demon?”
She nodded. “Such a funny name.”
“Um, Giles? What’s going on?” Willow asked hesitantly.
“Spike has been stung by a glarghk guhl kashma'nik demon. They inject their victims with a hallucinogenic chemical. If not treated, the victim loses touch with reality over time. He or she enters a hyper-real delusion stemming from his or her state of mind at the time of the attack.” They needn’t have sent Buffy inside Spike’s mind after all.
Willow nodded. “Okay. So…what do we do?”
Giles thought for a moment. “The cure should be listed in one of the books we use for demon identification at the Magic Box. Willow, you and Tara go there and find the recipe. Bring it and the ingredients required back here.” He cast a glance at Spike and Buffy, then turned his attention back to Drusilla. He sincerely hoped that Buffy returned to them soon.
________________________________________________________________________
*****Flash*****
She and William were standing in a swank hallway. He was still wearing the clothes he’d been buried in, so it couldn’t have been long after his mother’s death. It was the first time Buffy had seen him genuinely angry since she’d come to know him in Spike’s memories. It was an expression she’d seen a hundred times on Spike in the present, right before something got pummeled. She turned to see what had made him so furious.
Drusilla was lying on a bed with her skirts hiked up. What else was new? A man was standing between her legs, his long hair disheveled from bedroom aerobics. Eww. Dru’s friend was in serious need of some conditioner. He tilted his head back – it was Angelus. He smiled at William’s shocked face, then leaned over onto the bed. Drusilla smiled happily. “The little children didn’t come out to play. Did you miss me, pretty William?”
William’s mouth opened and closed quickly. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He might have been at a loss for words, but Angelus wasn’t. With a sarcasm Buffy recognized all too well, he replied, “I'm sure he did, Dru. After all... you are his destiny.”
Dru’s face softened. “Oh. That's so sweet.”
Angelus began laughing as William continued to stare in outrage. Dru started laughing too. Buffy shook her head. No wonder modern Spike didn’t like to be mocked. “Don't touch her!”
William’s grandsire continued to smile. “Little late for that, Willy.” He stood, walked over to William, and grabbed him by the arm. “And I really don’t like it when you raise your voice to me.”
Dru smiled, completely oblivious to how much it was hurting William that she’d betrayed him so soon after making him. “William, don't play such a sad tune. Give us a kiss, then.”
William looked back to Angelus. “Why did you...? You knew. You knew she was mine.”
Angelus’s brow lifted. “Did I?”
That was too much for William. “You knew bloody well!” He pulled loose from Angelus, punched him, and tried to push him over. “Unh-aaaugh!”
The fight spilled out into the living room, but didn’t last long. Angelus wasn’t concerned; he knew as well as Buffy that a fledgling had no chance against a master vampire. William lay on the ground, winded, after only a couple punches. “Just don't get it now, do you?”
He pulled William up by his vest and pushed him onto a couch, next to a couple of dead people. He pushed the bodies off onto the floor, then sat down next to William. “Well, you're new... and a little dim. So let me explain to you how things are now. There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can take what you want, have what you want... but nothing is yours.” Drusilla walked out of the bedroom, her skirts still out of order. “Not even her.”
William shook his head violently. Buffy sighed. William was too romantic to see the truth; she’d known he would be. “You're wrong. We're forever, Drusilla and me.”
Drusilla gasped. She’d obviously thought no such thing, but the idea amused her. “Are we?”
Angelus thought it was funny, too. “Ah, still the poet now, aren't we, Willy?”
“William.” He spat.
Angelus smiled condescendingly. “Right. William. You know, you really should find a new name for yourself. It just doesn't strike the right note of terror.” He stood and walked over to Drusilla. He stood behind her. “Tell you what... William. If you want her...” he put his arms around Dru possessively. “come and take her.”
Drusilla held out her hands dreamily. William didn’t even think about it. He rushed forward off the sofa to rescue his damsel in distress. Buffy supposed that was how he rationalized it at first. That he made himself believe Dru was just obeying her sire, she really wanted to be with William. Buffy could see that it was the only explanation he could understand. He thought that because he loved her, she had to love him in the same way. It was that way with his mother, when she was turned.
Angelus threw Dru off to one side as William charged. He grabbed William’s shoulders and twisted him violently off his feet and onto his back. The wind was knocked out of William, and he lay stunned for a moment too long. Then Angelus was on top of him. He’d grabbed the fireplace poker while William was down and began hitting him. On the stomach, across his ribs. Again. And again.
Buffy willed Angelus to stop. But he didn’t. William rolled over onto his battered chest and tried to crawl toward Dru, who was just watching. She didn’t even try to interfere. Buffy figured Angelus had taken a poker to her more than once. Her suspicions were confirmed when Angelus addressed the fledgling on the ground. “She’ll not save you, Will my boy. She knows better than to go against my wishes.”
William was bleeding out onto the floor, but Angelus didn’t care. He smashed the boy’s back and head, until finally William stopped moving. Then Angelus straddled his back, grabbed William’s head and wrenched him up so that he was facing Dru. “You’ve called her sire up ta now. You’ll give me that title from this moment on, ‘cause you’ll learn nothing from her outside a bedroom, and then only when I permit you. She is mine. You are mine. If you live it’s because I will it so. You will call me sire.” He boxed William’s ears. “Say it.”
“No,” William croaked.
Angelus’s arms encircled William’s battered torso. They squeezed hard, ripping a horrible cry of pain from William. “Say it, boy.”
William was on the verge of tears. Buffy couldn’t tell if it was from pain or from having to admit defeat. From having to lose Dru. “Sire…”
Angelus smiled. “That’s a start.” He dropped William without a thought and headed back to Dru. He pulled her out of the room. She spared one look for William, bleeding on the floor. She gave him a little wave and a smile. A few moments later Buffy heard them in the next room. Having sex. It disgusted her.
William lay where he’d fallen, half unconscious, and crying.
Buffy backed away. She’d thought William’s human memories were depressing, but this was just horrific. No wonder he’d used a fireplace poker on Angelus during their deal over Acathla. He’d wanted revenge for what William had suffered back then. So it was Angelus that taught William how to be vicious and cruel. How to be Spike.
William. It pained her to see him hurt this way and to see Angelus doing it. She’d known that she’d be seeing memories involving Angelus; she’d been prepared for this. And yet, she had a sinking feeling that after she got out of Spike’s mind, she’d never be able to look at Angel the same way again.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thank Linda.
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 7 | | | | abc + + + | | | Beware. This chapter contains graphic imagery. Those of you having read my story ‘Mastery’ know my meaning.
Chapter 7
*****Flash*****
Buffy arrived in the newest memory just in time to see William bent over and retching blood in the corner of an alley. She wrinkled her nose in surprise. After a few moments he leaned up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The air he gave off was different than that of the previous memories, in which he’d been uptight and naïve. This William, with his disheveled hair and suspenders, was darker. He’d been a vampire for several months at least; he was getting the hang of the whole predator vibe. More Spike.
Buffy frowned. If he was getting to be a tough guy, why was he throwing up in a side street? She was betting it wasn’t because he ate something that disagreed with him.
Laughter echoed between the narrow walls. Great, another Angelus memory. Buffy and the still-fledgling vampire turned in the direction of the sound. She could just make out Angelus kneeling in the dim recesses of the alley. He was on top of a victim. It was a young girl, struggling faintly against him, her weak fists barely tapping the sides of his face. He had one of his hands across her mouth, preventing her from screaming. Blood stained his mouth, and her neck bled profusely. He’d begun feeding but paused for some reason. Maybe he just wanted to see what she’d do if he…
He wasn’t straddling her. He was between her legs. Her skirt was torn and bloody. His other hand was buried inside her clothing. His hips rocked against her.
He was raping her.
Buffy wanted to look away, but she was frozen in shock. Buffy stared as Angelus ground his hand on top of the hidden spot between his victim’s legs. The girl went rigid, obviously from orgasm. Angelus followed shortly after. Then he smiled down at the young woman who’d gone limp beneath him, unable to fight anymore. Her face was pained, mortified, and overwhelmed. She was still bleeding badly. After a few moments her eyes dulled, and she exhaled a final time.
Angelus watched, avidly drinking in the sight. Then he laughed. “Such a softheart, Willy, to be losin’ your supper during one of our lessons.”
Buffy thought back to when he’d had William on the ground in the last memory. He’d said he’d be the fledgling’s teacher. She’d assumed that meant Angelus would show him how to stalk his prey and survive over time. Buffy hadn’t suspected that this was the kind of lesson William would be given.
Apparently he didn’t approve either. “My name is Spike,” he said, trying for bravado. The scene he’d just witnessed had left him too shaky to be convincing, though. He straightened himself up and tried to sneer in his ‘sire’s’ direction. He’d begun to use the harsher accent Buffy associated with him. “And I don’t see the bloody point to this mess. A clean feed’s better. They may be food, but they don’t have to be…that.” He gestured vaguely to the corpse. “You could at least have put her out of her misery.”
Angelus shook his head in an irritated and superior way. He stood slowly, not bothering to fix his clothing. “Willy, Willy, Willy. You jus don’ understan’ do yea? It’s not about what they deserve. You’re still thinkin’ of ‘em as people. You must know that’s odd for a creature of the night such as yerself?”
William gave a very Spike-like smirk as Angelus approached him. “So? What’s it matter? I’m still in control of my destiny, even if I’m not so hard up that I have to dip it in my dinner.”
Angelus gave him an indulgent smile, standing uncomfortably close to him. “Now boy, this isn’t about gratification. I’ve told you that, but as usual ye weren’t listenin’. It’s about power.” He grabbed William by the shoulders, spun him, and forced him into the wall. He crushed the smaller vampire, preventing a struggle with his much larger body. “Power. Mine, over my art.” He leaned forward to whisper in William’s ear. “And in this case, lad, that’d be you.”
Buffy jumped as Angelus jerked free William’s suspenders and shoved down his pants. William fought back, but it was too late. He couldn’t escape from the position he was in. Buffy’s hands strayed up to cover her mouth as she realized where this was leading. Angelus was talking again. “See boy, first you give ‘em a taste of what you have planned. Gets their blood goin’ and the fear up. Can smell it on you now,” he sniffed.
Angelus shifted to game face and sank his fangs into William’s jugular. William shrieked and struggled to no avail. “Then you take a nice sample of what’s inside their veins. Don’t want ‘em to have a chance to get away. You want ‘em weak, but you want ‘em to struggle. No fun if they don’t fight back.” He smashed William’s face into the wall. Buffy saw blood running down the brick.
William scowled in pain, his nose broken. “Fuck you, Angelus.”
Angelus shook his head. “No, no, boy, other way around.” Then he adjusted his hips.
Buffy turned her back to the scene, unable to keep watching. But the sounds were just as bad. She could hear Angelus grunting as he pushed inside William. She could hear William whimpering as his skin tore. Then there was the sound of flesh being slammed into the unforgiving brick wall. More grunts of satisfaction from Angelus. Moans from William. And then a horrible, sickening crunch and scream that Angelus quickly stifled.
Buffy heard William slide to the floor of the alley. Heard Angelus straighten his own clothing and take a few steps back. “Guess your hips weren’t made for this. Good thing you’ll heal. You’re a right good fuck, boy. I’ll be remembrin’ that, if you manage to make it home afore dawn.” He began to walk away.
“Sire…” William rasped. “Please don’t…leave me here.”
Angelus laughed again, hard and loud. “Consider it a test of what you’re made of. You pass, and you keep your existence another day. If not…well, then I’ll take good care of Dru.” Buffy heard his footsteps leave the alley and quickly fade.
Bracing herself, she cast a glance at the pile that was William, prone on the ground. His face had been scraped down to the bone from rubbing against the brick. His pants were around his knees. His front was facing the wall, and his shirt tail covered almost everything, but she could see the blood flowing from his rear. Immediately she wanted to throw up. But none of this was real, even if it had happened just this way. She didn’t even have a body here to vomit with.
It was worse when William began to move. His face contorted in pain, eyes streaming, and his limbs shaking furiously, he pulled his pants back on. They could barely be got back up his cracked hips, but he managed somehow. He collapsed, panting after that small victory. Sniffling, he pushed himself to his knees. He tried to pull himself up onto his feet, but keened in pain as the move applied pressure to his broken bones and fell back to the ground.
He didn’t try to stand a second time. Instead he pulled himself along the through the dirt. Buffy just stood, still in shock, as he dug his fingers into the ground. He drug himself forward, inch by inch. He paused to rest for a few moments at the mouth of the alley. He spotted a lamp post a few feet away, and crawled to it. He used it to pull himself upright, grimacing and crying quietly all the while.
Buffy walked with him as he took each agonizing step toward wherever it was he was calling home. She looked at the sky. It was early morning. She supposed he didn’t have long before the sun came up. That thought scared her, even though she knew he must have made it somehow if he was still alive. But that didn’t stop her from worrying for him.
She breathed a sigh of relief when a cab rounded the corner and William hailed it. The driver gave him a strange look, seeing as he was covered in blood and earth, but looked the other way when William offered double the normal price. Injured and weak, he barely managed to pull himself inside the carriage. Buffy frowned as the cab pulled away from her. William would be going back to Angelus. That’s where Dru was. He’d never leave her. Buffy would have liked to believe that he wouldn’t have to deal with the bastard that did that to him.
She’d been right. Humanity was the difference between William and Angelus. William liked being a vampire because it gave him freedom from what he was as a human. He wanted control over himself and liked being able to scare people. But he’d still wanted to play fair. Spike, the vampire William had grown into, still did. Sorta. At least with Spike there was a certain kind of honesty. He was proud of being a predator, but at the same time she knew that if he’d ever beaten her, he would have been kind enough to just kill her. Those were the rules.
Angelus, on the other hand. He couldn’t care less about fair. There wasn’t a scrap of sympathy or understanding in him. Did a soul really make that much difference? Or was the Angel she knew just a shell to hide the monster. How close to the surface was the soulless vampire? She’d known what he was, but somehow seeing it happen made it much more real. And he’d managed to hide exactly how brutal he’d been from her until he did lose his soul. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted to know.
Angelus didn’t even begin to consider other people in what he did. Everything was for his own pleasure and his own reasons. But Angel was different. At least that’s what she used to believe. He’d killed his sire for Buffy’s sake. He’d broken one of the most horrible vampire taboos. And that was with a soul. She couldn’t see Spike ever harming Dru, for any reason, and he didn’t have a soul.
Angel hadn’t loved Darla anymore. Sure, they were on the outs, but they’d been together for a hundred and fifty years, once. If he had killed her for Buffy’s sake, when she’d only known him a couple months, how deeply was he capable of loving? How much had he loved Buffy? He left her after only a few years. For her own good. Not that she’d ever really bought that. He just thought it would be easier on both of them. He was right, but he could have come out and said that.
Part of her just wanted to say the hell with it. Leave. But if Spike could survive all this, then she could survive watching it. She was getting angry with him for forcing her to see all this shit. To see Angel as he was, to rob her of the chance to love him in the future. To know how much better Spike could be without a soul than Angel. Ruining what few ideals she had left.
________________________________________________________________________
Giles stood leaning against the right-hand sarcophagus. Xander was across from him, sitting on the other. Both of them were watching the figure sitting in the middle of the sofa, her back toward them. She was watching someone on the telly pound steak on a cutting board. Giles smiled mirthlessly. No doubt Drusilla found the little trails of blood the meat left on the counter fascinating. At least it kept her quiet.
Xander shifted uncomfortably. “How much longer do you think it will be before the girls get back?”
A shake of the head was Giles’s reply. “I’m uncertain. I imagine they are still searching for the right ingredients.”
Xander’s eyes flicked to Drusilla and back. In a quieter voice, he asked, “And what are we gonna do about Elvira? Should we…you know…” he made a staking motion with his hand.
“She’s dangerous; we don’t want to provoke her anymore than necessary.” He glanced at the female vampire again. “I doubt Spike would appreciate waking up covered in his sire’s ash.”
Xander snorted. “Since when do we go with what Spike wants? Just because he starts dressing like a human being doesn’t mean he suddenly is one. He’s useful, even entertaining sometimes, but come on. He’s gonna get staked as soon as the chip’s gone.”
A sigh escaped Giles. The boy had a tendency to be bloody tiring. “Right now, our concern is the present. And in the present, Spike is voluntarily helping us fight a hell god. Buffy feels, and I agree, that he is a necessary evil.”
“Can we at least tell him to stop hanging around Buffy? It bugs me the way he’s so interested in her lately.” Xander’s hand encountered something soft resting on top of the stone. He pulled it toward him; it was the brown jacket Spike had been wearing the other night at the Bronze.
A frown creased Giles’s face. “What do you mean ‘hanging around Buffy’?”
Xander shrugged. “He shows up whenever she’s on patrol, and even when we’re at the Bronze. He was wearing that-” he tossed Giles the jacket, “-and blue jeans when we were out last night. I came back from the bar and he was sitting at Buffy’s table, bugging her. Then he stole my change and left.”
Giles fingered a tear on the front of the jacket, one that corresponded to the location of Spike’s injury. He must have been injured the previous evening while wearing it. He wondered vaguely what possible goal Spike could have had in suddenly changing an image he’d maintained for the last decade. Xander had said ‘dressing like a human being’. Perhaps Spike wanted to be seen as such. But by whom? Buffy? Whatever for. “Tell me more about this interest of Spike in Buffy, Xander.”
“You remember when the troll attacked? I got to playing pool with him in the Bronze beforehand, and it was all ‘What does the slayer think of this?’ and ‘What does the slayer think of that?’…”
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thank you so much to Karyn/kargrif for the lovely banner! See first chapter for it!
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 8 | | | | abc + + + | | | Sorry for the delay in posting; I had finals to slay.
Chapter 8
*****Flash*****
Angelus had Spike tied naked in front of a curtained window. Darla and Drusilla were reclined on a sofa to William’s right, half hidden by shadows. Angelus was standing beside the window, holding the curtain cord. He gave it a tug, letting sunlight stream in on Spike. The younger vampire screamed in pain. After a few seconds, Angelus closed the curtains. Buffy could smell Spike’s flesh burning. Angelus walked over to him and grabbed his hair roughly. In the fledgling’s ear he whispered, “Now what did that teach you about insulting Darla?”
Spike, skin raw and still smoking faintly, glared defiantly at Angelus. “You’re a piece of shite, you bogtrotter bastard, and so’s your whore of a sire!”
“Wrong answer, boy,” Angelus purred, releasing Spike and walking back to the curtains. He yanked them open wider this time, much to Darla and Drusilla’s delight. The process was repeated several times.
When Spike finally apologized, his skin was burned black. He remained suspended from the ceiling, leaking some kind of clear fluid all over the woven carpet. Darla came over and stood before him. One of her hands reached out and scraped harshly over his chest. Spike let out a gurgling moan of pain. But the hand was merciless. It traced all over him, torso, legs, arms, and crotch, aggravating his injuries.
Eventually Darla got bored. She and Angelus wandered out of the room, pulling Dru with them. Dru clucked at Spike, telling him how naughty he was as she was led away. Probably to the closest bedroom. That was where most of these memories ended. Buffy was getting used to it. Witnessing the tortures from a century ago.
The rape in the alley had been the first of a string of memories in which the vampire whose mind she was touring was tormented, usually by Angelus. The reasons varied. Usually he’d disagreed with the senior vampire. Buffy wasn’t sure whether to admire Spike’s courage at continuing to try and put Angelus in his place, or shake her head at his foolishness.
Buffy breathed a sigh of relief when Spike passed out. She was calling him Spike now, not William. After the last half-dozen memories of him being abused by his vampire family, there was little of William to be seen in him. Yet somehow she suspected that William wasn’t so far gone as he seemed. There were moments when Spike showed shreds of his former self.
*****Flash*****
Like now. Drusilla was lying on a bed, her back bleeding from being whipped, while Spike tended her with kind words.
It was like the person she knew as Spike was a shell. William didn’t become Spike deliberately. He’d created a shield called ‘Spike’ because he needed the defense against Angelus. Against Darla. Against Dru. To survive. You don’t meet that many vampire poets.
Buffy wondered how far the Spike persona went these days. Early on in the memories it was obviously still William pretending to be tough. A few hits with a whip and the Spike façade fell away. Now…it was harder to reach the part of him she called ‘William’.
But it was still there. Humanity. She realized now that was what she had trusted in Spike. He was a balance between demon and human, even if the human pieces were mostly mental. Maybe that was why he had such bizarre mood swings. His mind was pieced together from parts of two very different things.
Mostly he showed the demon pieces. She could understand that. After all, you couldn’t afford to get attached to your next meal. He hadn’t seen humans as anything but that since he was turned. But now, with the chip, he had to deal with people again. So that part of him that was still William-y was closer to the surface than it had been since before Buffy’d met him. Maybe she’d seen that humanity and through some unknown slayer instinct realized that Spike was now less enemy, more friend. And that was pretty impressive, seeing as she was not usually known as insight-girl.
And in truth, sometimes it was obvious that he’d changed. Spike acted like a decent guy with her mom. They liked talking about soap operas together. He’d made himself Dawn’s big brother, even if he wouldn’t admit to it. He’d watched out for Dawn when she snuck out of the house and helped find her later. Buffy wouldn’t have expected him to be best friends with Xander, but Spike wasn’t nearly as insulting to him as he once was. Spike wasn’t real friendly with Anya, Giles, or Willow, but he never went out of his way to scare Tara. And he hadn’t threatened to kill any of them in a long time.
So yes, definitely showing human traits. While still acting like a jerk around Buffy.
His attitude, his insults, and his swagger were all weapons he’d used against Angelus. They were his normal defense against things that made him insecure. He was nice with Dawn and Joyce Summers because they weren’t a threat to him. Since he still lashed out at Buffy, she could only assume Spike saw her as dangerous to him.
It bothered Buffy that her most significant ally didn’t trust her enough to lay down that mask.
It wasn’t like she was mean to him. Maybe she hit him once in a while. Broke his nose occasionally. But that wasn’t a big deal and he usually deserved it. He was evil. At least, he used to be. And he used to be able to hit back.
Buffy frowned. A tiny little burn of guilt started in the pit of her stomach. That was the kind of thing Angelus had done: hurting a defenseless William. She hadn’t thought of Spike as a person. Buffy couldn’t let herself be cruel to him anymore. She didn’t think it would be so easy using him as a punching bag now, anyway. Not after seeing where Spike came from.
*****Flash*****
Angelus was sticking a hot poker into William’s side. It looked painful
Buffy sighed. She’d had the question of why she trusted Spike answered. She felt secure with her decision. But having glimpsed William, the sweet little poet that was hiding underneath the curses and bleach, she wanted to get a better look at him. Shocking as it was, she wanted to be Spike’s friend.
________________________________________________________________________
Giles allowed the conversation he’d been having with Xander to lapse into silence. The images and memories Xander’s words brought forward sent his mind down frightening paths. He pushed the disturbing theories that had formed in the back of his mind aside in favor of focusing on the situation at hand.
The crypt door creaked open a few inches. Giles tensed as he saw the point of a crossbow edge through the small opening between the door and the frame. He relaxed as Willow’s head appeared above the crossbow. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, at which she flashed a tight smile before pushing the door open the rest of the way. Tara entered behind her, carrying one of the cheap paper sacks Anya stocked for Magic Box purchases.
Tara set the ingredients on one of the sarcophagi. She nodded to Xander, who had jumped down from his stone seat, and to Giles. She looked over to where Drusilla was sitting on the sofa, apparently oblivious to the arrival of the two witches. “Everything o-okay? N-no attacks…” she said in a concerned whisper.
Giles shook his head, matching her tone. “No. It would seem we’re part of a cease fire of some sort. She will not be aggressive as long as she believes we’re helping Spike.”
Willow closed the door before moving to her girlfriend’s side. “I’m sorry we were gone so long. It took forever to find the antidote and convince Anya to let us pay for things later.”
“Get everything?” Giles asked.
With a frown, Willow shook her head. “All but one ingredient.” She fished a photocopy of the recipe out of her pocket and handed it to Giles. She took a breath, then rushed to explain. “We need some venom from the gahr – um, demon that stung Spike. After we have that it’s an easy potion to brew, just put the elk bile on to boil and add the powdered ingredients - ”
“Yes, thank you, Willow,” Giles replied. “You and Tara have done an excellent job on this.” He sighed. “However, that leaves us with a rather significant problem. We have to find a way of tracking the glarghk guhl kashma’nik. We cannot trace it from the site of the attack, as we do not know where that is.”
“What about going over to Willy’s and playing beat the bartender?” Xander asked. “That’s always a good way to start.”
Giles shook his head. “They are not a particularly social demon, certainly not the kind to frequent bars or mingle with other species, so Willy is not likely to be of assistance in this case.”
“The gentleman likes the trees,” Drusilla murmured from her spot on the sofa. “The sun holds a ball, winking at him through a thousand fans. He doesn’t want to dance.”
Giles exchanged a glance with the three young people beside him. He stepped closer to the sofa. “The demon is in the forest?” He queried. She gave a distracted nod, still staring at the television. “Drusilla…can you find the gentleman?”
Her body turned toward him, her arms splayed across the back of the couch. Her head tilted coyly to one side. “Are we to play a game for sweet William?”
Giles nodded. “Yes. We’ll…” he groped in the recesses of his mind for a good analogy. Drusilla continued to watch him, unblinking. At last he lighted on an idea. “We’ll play hide and seek. We’re on the seeking team.”
She beamed at him. “To find the gentleman?”
“Yes. And afterward, we have to bring him back here, to help Spike.”
Her expression darkened. “He’ll be a king and banish the naughty slayer.”
Giles was not quick to answer. He felt that he needed to make something clear. “Drusilla, we will not bring Spike back if you harm any of us. That includes Buffy. Do you understand?”
She thought for a moment, then nodded. “Wicked girls play nice for their princes.”
Giles sighed. “Very well then. You and I will go hunting.”
He heard a snort from behind him. “Giles, you cannot be serious,” Xander whispered. “Not only is she a vampire, but have you noticed how many French fries are missing from her happy meal?”
He resisted the urge to take off his glasses and glare in Xander’s direction. The boy was trying to look out for him, after all. “Yes Xander, I understand the situation. But we need that demon, and she can find it.”
“Then let me go with you. Just in case she forgets about the whole ‘play nice’ pledge.”
“No. I need you to stay here in case Tara or Willow need anything. Ladies,” he looked to Willow and Tara, “start brewing the antidote. Hopefully we’ll be back within the hour.”
They nodded. Willow gave an uneasy smile before handing him her crossbow. “I think you’re gonna need this. And don’t you dare get hurt. Buffy would never forgive us. Or you.”
Giles flashed her a small, reassuring smile. “I shall keep that in mind. I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of the slayer, after all.” She smiled back.
Xander chuckled. “Yeah, well, she’s pretty fearsome. Killer sense of style, and all. Hey G-man?”
“Yes, Xander?”
“Good hunting.”
*****
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| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 9 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 9
*****Flash*****
Buffy found herself looking around a small, bare bedroom. Darla was standing beside an open closet, packing dresses into two large suitcases. A low bed, pieces of blue-glazed pottery her mother would have killed to own, and strings of beads hanging from the doorway gave Buffy the distinct feeling that they were in China. The beads rustled as Spike walked into the room.
He looked a little more disheveled than he had in previous memories. Maybe it was part of his bad boy image back then, like the blonde hair and the jacket were now. What really drew Buffy’s attention was the cut in Spike’s eyebrow. This was the first memory that contained it. It hadn’t turned into a scar yet; it was still raw and reddish, but at least a couple days old. It must have been made with a blessed weapon to leave that kind of mark.
When she’d asked Spike at the Bronze about his slayer kills, he’d said the first one in China had given him that scar. The Spike she was looking at now had recently killed a slayer. She would have thought he’d still be swaggering over the victory. Out getting drunk or having fun with Dru. But right now he looked angry. Distressed.
Darla was deliberately ignoring him. Buffy knew she and Spike had never gotten along, so she wasn’t surprised. She got the impression that Darla had wanted William dusted long ago. After being ignored for a few moments, Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and addressed his grandsire. “Where is he?”
Darla kept her back toward him. “Where’s who, William?”
Spike gritted his teeth, but didn’t rise. “Angelus. Where is he? He came to see you two days ago, and we haven’t seen him since then.”
In a clipped tone, Darla replied, “He’s gone.”
Spike frowned. “Gone where?”
“I couldn’t care less,” was Darla’s flippant reply. “I’ve seen him for the last time, as far as I’m concerned.”
The younger vampire was aghast. “What the soddin’ hell do you mean? He’s your bloody childe. How could you - ”
Darla turned around, tossed a dress on the bed, and put her hands on her hips. “I sent him away. I told him never to come crawling back to me again.”
Because he had his soul. That had to be it, the timing was right. Angel didn’t talk much about his past, but Buffy knew he’d gotten the soul in Romania, and then followed his family to China trying to rejoin them. Darla must have known he still had his soul and told him to get lost. Spike didn’t seem to know anything about it. He was genuinely puzzled as he asked, “Why would you do that?”
Darla practically growled out her answer. “Because he isn’t a vampire anymore. Those idiot gypsies in Romania and their magic castrated him! He’s not the killer I trained. He’s nothing.”
Spike’s mouth fell open in shock. “That’s…that’s why you told Dru and me to kill ‘em.” He looked at the ground for a moment, thinking. “You lied to us. You said he left us in Romania to go see Penn in Italy.”
Darla let loose a harsh laugh. “Yes, well, I’ll not ask you to forgive me for being too embarrassed by my ridiculous childe to own to what really happened.”
Spike shook his head. “How could you leave him? It wasn’t his fault - ”
Darla gave a very impolite snort. “He’s the one that ate that Rom princess! He’s disgraced me. I’m better off without him.”
Spike sneered back at her. “Yeah? Well what about us? What about me and Dru? He wouldn’t leave without telling us. He loves us.”
Buffy shook her head at Spike’s naiveté. Even with a soul, Angel found it very easy to avoid complications by just departing. Darla was openly laughing at what he’d said. “Loves you? He likes to fuck the two of you. Or he did. Now you’re nothing to him.”
Spike’s fists clenched. “Don’t say that!”
“Why not? It’s true. He can’t stand to look at you with that bright shiny soul of his. He told me so. He said he looks at the two of you and wants to vomit.” Darla went back to packing. “He has even less regard for you two fools than I do, now. And that’s quite an achievement.”
Spike’s face flashed with emotion. Buffy could see that he wanted to deny it all. Somehow, in spite of all the beatings and torture, he’d come to love Angelus. Spike had a remarkable ability to love, no matter what. He was angry at Darla for telling him this and mad at himself for asking. Buffy thought for a moment he might try to hit her, but he didn’t. His face became despairing, then resigned, then more or less neutral. His eyes remained haunted.
He let his eyes wander to Darla’s suitcases for the first time. “Where are we going?” He asked with a flat voice.
The vampire opposite him chuckled again. “‘We’ are not going anywhere. I’m going to the Master’s court.”
A sigh escaped Spike. “Fine. When’ll you be back?”
Darla gave him a fierce glare. “I’m not coming back.” Buffy knew she was frustrated that Spike hadn’t realized what was about to happen. She had probably wanted to sneak out without telling him anything. Personally, Buffy wanted to smack her. She was a self-centered bitch who’d thrown away her childe and was about to abandon two young vampires that needed her.
Spike smiled humorlessly. “So you’re leaving us too, then?”
“Finally you get something right.” Darla closed her suitcases, having finished packing.
Spike shook his head, still smiling inanely because there was nothing else he could do. “And you don’t care at all what happens to me and Dru?”
Darla grabbed her hat from the bed and began expertly pinning it to her hair. “You can go to hell for all I care. I wash my hands of you. And what are you worried about?” She said primly. “You’re the new slayer-killer. You’re a brand-new master. Surely two master vampires can survive on their own. And if they can’t, it just goes to show that I was right. You two should have been dusted as fledglings for being so far beneath the standards of Aurelius.”
Buffy saw the anger building again in Spike at those words, so like the ones Cecily had uttered years before. This time there was no stopping the explosion. He darted around the bed and punched Darla in the stomach. He kept up a continuous stream of blows aimed at her. Buffy was impressed. Spike had learned a lot about hand to hand combat, but not quite enough to defeat a vampire more than two hundred years his senior.
Darla managed to toss him off, and he hit his head against the open closet door. Stunned, he lay there, watching as Darla straightened her clothing, grabbed her suitcases, and walked out without another word. She didn’t even look back.
A few minutes later Drusilla came to the doorway. She frowned at the sight of Spike lying on the ground and went over to him. She sat down beside him. Spike rubbed the back of his head gingerly. He seemed to be recovering. He put an arm around Drusilla, pulling her close. She ran her fingers lightly over the side of his face. “Where are Daddy and Grandmummy? Miss Edith says they are not here.”
Spike nodded slowly. “She’s right Dru. They’re not here.”
She looked sad at the news. “When will they come back?”
Spike grimaced, then forced a smile. “Not for a long time Dru. You see, they want to see how the two of us get on alone. They’ll be watching though. Makin’ sure we’re alright.”
Drusilla didn’t look like she believed that anymore than Spike did. “Spike. I’m scared.”
He pulled her into his lap, wrapping both arms tightly around her. “Me too, luv.” He said hoarsely. “Me too.”
They looked as lonesome as Buffy felt some nights after she finished slaying. It was like no one in the world could help you. You were singled out, even when you were surrounded by other people. In the earlier memories, she’d resented her connections to William through his ailing mother and worries about his sisters. Well, that was then. Buffy found she didn’t mind having this in common with Spike. It gave her a feeling of …fellowship.
*****Flash*****
Buffy was more than surprised to be standing in front of Angel, after that last memory. His hair was shorter than it had been and his clothing was a lot more modern. Spike was beside her, wearing a brown leather coat … with a swastika arm band? And with black hair? Hmm. Maybe the peroxide wasn’t so bad.
He sucked his cheeks in irritation as he glared at his grandsire. Then he walked past Angel to a ladder and began climbing it. Buffy guessed they must be in a ship of some kind; the walls were rounded, so maybe it was a submarine.
Spike disappeared from view, then the scene went dark for a moment before Buffy found herself staring at waves. She wasn’t in them, just kind of watching from a far as she had when William climbed out of his grave. She realized she could see Spike in the water. He had lost the coat and some of his clothing. He was swimming, but she couldn’t imagine that he knew where he was going. She couldn’t see land, or a ship, or even the submarine he’d come from.
Or been thrown out of. That must have been why he was so angry with Angel. He’d tossed him out into the water, miles from anywhere. The tiny figure of the vampire was swamped by waves as he continued to swim. The sight of him was jarring. He looked so isolated. So alone. No land in sight, dawn a few hours away, and yet he kept swimming. Buffy wondered if –
Wait. Why the heck were Angel and Spike on a submarine?
*****Flash*****
Buffy found herself in a dark, smoky room. It was filled with little round tables, like the kind in sidewalk cafes. About half the tables were filling with men and women a little older than Buffy, all dressed entirely in black. They looked like those people in old fifties movies that did drugs and played bongo drums. Some of them were smoking; it didn’t smell like cigarette smoke to Buffy.
They were watching a guy on a on a little stage at one end of the room. He was perched on a stool, reciting poetry into a microphone. Buffy wasn’t really paying attention while he finished up his poem, which was something about clouds. She was scanning the audience for Spike.
She spotted him at a shadowy table far from the stage, alone. That surprised her. He was already a master vampire during the fifties, and they usually went around with minions. She figured he would have at least had Drusilla with him. He was wearing a tight black turtle neck that clung to his thin frame and black trousers. His hair was shaggy but not long, and was back to its natural color. He was leaning over the table, looking nervous and drinking.
The crowd applauded Mr. Clouds and he stepped down. An announcer beatnik guy hopped, actually hopped, up on stage. He took hold of the microphone and said, “Well thank you, Reggie, for that groovy composition. Next up we have a stylin’ cat named William, who wants to share some of his stuff.” He gestured toward Spike.
Spike downed the rest of his drink, stood, and strode toward the stage. He looked calm, but Buffy could see the tension in him. She could understand. This was probably the first time his poetry had been heard in public since the night he died. He’d been ridiculed horribly. It took a lot of courage to share it now. That was why Spike hadn’t brought anyone with him. He was still afraid.
He strode up on the stage and took a deep breath as he pulled out a few folded pieces of paper from his back pocket. “Call this one ‘Eternity’. ‘Her hair black like the roads we drive, her nails sharp as a scythe…’”
Buffy winced as the boos and hisses started. She didn’t know what the audience was complaining about. This was soooo much better than his earlier work. Spike kept reciting his poem over the cat-calls, but after a few seconds his voice began to falter. Two minutes in and he bolted. Buffy ran after him. He darted out a side door into the alley behind the building. He stood with his front toward the wall, his jaw clenched, his head down, and a couple tears running down his cheeks.
It was tragic how much time he spent crying in alleys.
*****Flash*****
The next fifty years must have been pretty decent, because the Spike that ran past her looked like the one she’d met three years ago: bleached, gelled hair, long black duster, red over-shirt. She followed him. He was moving incredibly fast down a narrow, stone street, passing old fashioned buildings covered in snow. And he looked incredibly pissed.
Buffy could see light coming from a wide open space, like some kind of town square up ahead. She could see a crowd of people there. Spike slowed down to a walk when he was twenty yards from the end of the street. He edged toward the side of the building on his left, hiding himself in the shadows as he crept toward the people. He reached the corner and peered around. Buffy heard him growl involuntarily at the sight that greeted him. She stepped forward into the crowd to see what had happened.
In the center of a round mob of people stood a tall statue of a man on a horse. She could see a dark-haired woman whose arms were tied to the sculpture, the ropes thrown over the horse’s back. It was Drusilla. Her clothing was torn and she was covered in blood that poured from cuts along her arms and sides. She was barely standing. If it weren’t for the ropes pulling her upright by her wrists, she’d have collapsed long ago. She was crying in obvious pain.
The crowd was whistling and shouting at her in a language Buffy couldn’t recognize. There were about seventy people, both men and women, around the square. Most held torches and stakes, though she saw the occasional flashlight and shotgun. It was a scene from an old fashioned horror movie come to life. Spike watched, aghast. His eyes flashed an angry yellow as he searched the square for a way to rescue his love.
Suddenly a man holding a sword jumped up beside Drusilla. He dropped his weapon and grabbed her hair, wrenching her head back at a painful angle. He shouted at the crowd and they shouted back, applauding in a frenzied way. He turned back to Dru and grabbed the hem of her dress, ripping what remained of the fabric covering her. He grabbed one of her breasts and leered into her face. She tried to recoil but there was nowhere to go. Then she screamed.
Buffy saw the exact instant Spike’s control snapped. His game face surged forward at the same moment he leaped at the fringes of the crowd. It was a stupid move, strategically, but he didn’t care anymore. Buffy saw him snap the necks of four people before anyone realized he’d moved. He didn’t stop even when they did see him. He roared a challenge at the crowd even as his elongated nails slashed throats.
He was beautiful. Fluid, powerful, elegant, and brutal. They tried to burn him with their torches but he didn’t back away. One guy shot at him with both barrels, but he didn’t flinch. Spike was merciless. He left not a single person within reach alive as he cut a trail through the mass toward Drusilla. Buffy tried to feel sympathy for the people he was killing, she really did. But then she remembered what they’d encouraged the leader to do to Drusilla. Even if she was a monster, she didn’t deserve that horror.
These idiots obviously knew what she was. They should have known better than to try this.
Spike was moving faster than she’d ever seen. In their battles together she’d admired his form, speed, and stamina, but this…was indescribable. He’d killed at least twenty people in five minutes of fighting. The ones that witnessed the horror he wreaked scattered, not daring to look back. The mob was reduced by death and more were fleeing. Ten minutes in and only thirty people remained. They were untrained, sure, and Spike was incredibly lucky they hadn’t rushed him, but he was still magnificent.
He killed a few more people before at last reaching Drusilla. He snapped the ropes holding her, lifted her with care, and ran. Buffy followed, but the few people that remained in the square didn’t, having finally realized that William the Bloody wasn’t something they wanted to mess with. He would have been easy to track; Drusilla’s blood ran down his legs and coated the streets.
Spike burst into what must have been their lair, sending minions scurrying away. Buffy didn’t blame them for running from their master when he was covered in blood and shaking with anger. Spike ended up in a bedroom lined with Drusilla’s dolls. He deposited his moaning sire onto the bed and covered her with a blanket. He grabbed a knife from the bedside table, slit open the side of his neck, and pulled her face to the wound.
She drank weakly, clinging to Spike and shivering. He held her tight, murmuring nonsense to calm her. Her bleeding slowed eventually, but she wasn’t healing. Buffy didn’t know much about vampire physiology, but losing that much blood couldn’t have done her any good.
Spike was rocking her now, speaking quietly. “Don’t worry Princess. Spike’s got you. Spike’ll get you well. We’ll see you well. No matter what luv…”
Buffy felt herself nod as she finally understood. This was why Spike came to Sunnydale. Dru had been almost killed in that square. She’d needed the blood of her sire to heal completely, and Spike was determined to provide that.
Finally they were getting to territory Buffy knew. Maybe now she’d have a chance at getting to Spike. Morbidly fascinated as she was by all this, she needed to get Spike out of here. She had no idea how long she’d been in his mind, but Giles must be worried by now.
*****
Please let me know what you thought! Thanks Linda! I'm sorry I haven't been replying to my reviews here. I'm incredibly grateful to you all but time has been short. Please forgive me. | | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 10 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 10
It was refreshing to be outside after staring at the interior walls of the crypt for so long. It was cool outside for California, with little wind. The moon was waxing, somewhere past crescent but nowhere near full. It gave enough light to hunt by.
Giles allowed his companion to lead the way. His fingers twitched closer to the trigger of the crossbow he carried. He’d been denying the instinct to end her all evening, but now, with the weapon he needed in his hand and the prey straight ahead, it had never been more tempting to dust her. But he reminded himself that she was needed, and that those he cared for were safe while he was here with her, keeping her busy.
Not that he felt safe himself; rather, he’d grown so used to uninterrupted anxiety over the years that he rarely noticed it now. It was the sudden sparks of memory that Drusilla pulled out from the recesses of his mind that made him wish for a fortunate accident. Her thrall had made him confess such a horrible secret where torture could not. She’d made him fail, tricked him by assuming a beloved shape.
“William would be very cross with you, you naughty man.” Drusilla commented as she skipped lightly over tree roots at the edge of the forest.
Giles slowed his pace, peering into the darkness under the trees. It took him a moment to realize that Drusilla had actually been talking to him; she hadn’t said a word to him since leaving the crypt, though she had talked to herself a great deal. “What was that?”
She frowned at him, tilting her head back in a predatory gaze. “William would be quite angry if his Mummy were ash.”
“I don’t intend to harm you. Unless you go back on your word.” They had moved beyond the first trees now, heading east. The moon was just visible through the leaves of the tall oak and birch.
She laughed, a sound that Giles found disturbing at anytime. More so when he was alone with her. She turned a coy smile on him, “It’s not you that’ll play archer to me, t’will be Princess. I’ll aim with pretty gold arrows, dove-feathered, at my apple.”
Giles’s brow furrowed. Drusilla’s references were far-flung; she’d obviously had some classical education before her turning. This casual mention of Eros’s weapon could be a response to the crossbow he carried, a premonition, or it might be a fancy concerning her childe. Best to find out now, rather than later when Spike was waking. “Do you mean Spike? Do you think he will come with you after this is over?”
She seemed affronted by his question. “William loves his Mummy.” She said simply, as though that were answer enough.
His response was rote, something he knew to be suspect but that Council indoctrination still pushed to the front of his mind. “Vampires do not love.”
She gave him a serious, but condescending smile and shook her head. “Oh, we can, you know. We can love quite well. If not wisely. And William loves his Mummy,” she repeated in a firm tone.
Giles nodded slowly as he replied, “Yes, I’m sure he does. But you remember, Dru, you left him. He may choose not to…”
She wheeled suddenly on him, hissing. Giles could see her eyes threatening to spill over with yellow and gripped his crossbow tighter. “Ashes! What could I do with him betraying me, tasting of what she could give!” Dru gestured wildly in the direction they’d come from. She calmed suddenly, and in a dainty move ran her palms down the front of her dress. “There’s still a chance for him to come back to Mummy. We’ll make our family whole again.”
Taken aback, Giles felt perhaps he should try another venue. “Surely, though, you realize he can no longer hunt. The government put a chip…”
She sneered at the trees. “Tin soldiers put funny little knick-knacks in his brain. Can't hunt! Can't hurt! Can't kill!”
“Yes,” Giles agreed. “He could scarcely do what you’d require of him.”
She snarled back. “I don't believe in science. All those bits and molecules no one's ever seen. I trust eyes and heart alone. No little tinker-toy could ever stop him from flowing. It’s her that’s done it,” she finished a short growl. “I’ll feed him proper, make him strong again, make him mine.”
She stared at Giles for a few moments, as though daring him to contradict her, but he wasn’t foolish enough to try again. Eventually she turned back to the trees, scanning unhappily for the demon they were hunting.
Giles found himself brought forcefully back to the conversation he’d been having with Xander earlier in the evening. They’d been talking about Spike and the way he’d taken to dogging Buffy’s steps. Giles could believe that Spike was stalking Buffy, obsessed by the slayer he couldn’t kill. But the manner in which Dru reacted to Buffy’s presence in Spike’s mind, her dark hints about Spike’s attentions being focused elsewhere than on his sire…Giles found his fears that Spike had developed an attachment to Buffy confirmed.
Drusilla was unhinged, certainly, but he’d never known her perceptions to be wrong.
A crash sounded to his right, and he saw a glarghk guhl kashma'nik leap forward with a roar. Drusilla’s frightening smile was carried over as she shifted to game face. Giles didn’t hesitate to draw a bead on the creature’s less vital areas.
________________________________________________________________________
*****Flash*****
She’d been trying to guess what Spike’s first memory involving her would be, based on what she’d seen so far. The scenes with his family, his torture by Angelus, and his rejection by Cecily. She would have liked to think that her mom hitting him over the head with a shovel would have been on the list, but she knew that it wouldn’t. Sure, he’d been disappointed then – heck, he’d been about to kill his third slayer – but he must have known he’d have other chances.
No, Spike’s thoughts on her right now could only start in one place, at one time.
The Spike of three years ago pulled his fangs out of the frightened girl he’d been feeding on. He was surrounded by minions and victims, in what used to be a club. He was staring with a good mix of fear and hatred at Buffy circa ’97, who was holding a stake to Drusilla’s chest. “Everybody STOP!” He yelled, ordering his minions to retract their fangs.
Buffy watched her sixteen year-old self smile tightly and reply, “Good idea. Now you let everyone out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray.”
Drusilla whimpered quietly, “Spike?”
Spike looked reassuringly at her, though both Buffy’s could tell he was scared. “It's gonna be alright, baby. Let them go!” The other vampires let go of the idiot vamp worshippers, who took off as fast as they could run.
“Down the stairs,” Buffy the Younger told Spike. He backed down as she moved up. When she reached the top she shoved Drusilla down at him. Spike caught Drusilla, holding her tight enough to crush bones in his relief. An instant later he was chasing Buffy, but the door wouldn’t open. He descended back to Dru, taking her in his arms and murmuring softly. They clung tightly to each other.
Buffy the Elder walked up to the couple and spoke loudly. “Spike! Spike listen to me. This is a memory. It’s not real. Spike? Spike!”
Spike continued to console Drusilla, clearly unaware of the slayer that was now jumping up and down beside him.
*****Flash*****
Okay, what the heck? Spike knew who she was now. She should be able to reach him. Shouldn’t she? She should have had Willow or Giles come with her. They were better at figuring out this kind of thing than her.
She looked around at the newest memory. She was in a large, dark room that had one wall lined with dolls and another decorated with chains. Obviously a lair. There was a bed in the center that had one occupant. Spike. Buffy peered through the dim candle light, trying to get a better look him. He was apparently asleep. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his bare legs stuck out limply from the bottom of his blanket, which meant…
Yep, totally naked vampire lying under those sheets.
Buffy was caught between blushing and wanting to get a closer look. It was Spike, he was…not-all-that-evil, ally-type with really good fighting style. But not at all someone she should want to ogle. It wasn’t like she’d never realized he was attractive. Numero Uno, Buffy Summers was not blind. Numero Dos, Buffy Summers was temporarily engaged to Spike last year. After that much time in close contact with Spike’s lips, there was no way she could have missed that he was, well, hot.
She’d seen it that first night at the Bronze, before she even realized he was a vampire. It was obvious. Sculpted cheeks, slim but muscular build, bad boy image. He oozed sexuality in a clean and well kept way that the average vampire couldn’t pull off. The average vampire didn’t shower or floss, something Buffy knew for a fact. Spike at least knew what toothpaste was, since Giles had complained one day about the vampire using up all of his.
When he fought he was beautiful. Elegant. Poetry. Not the kind of poetry he wrote. The kind of poetry that Shakespeare and those others guys wrote. And she admired his form.
But Spike was off limits. He was a vampire. He might love deeply and with his entire being, he might be unfailingly loyal, and he might have a poet’s heart, but he was still vampire. Soulless. But not the Angelus kind of soulless. Because Spike was nothing like Angelus or Dru.
Okay, back to reality Buffy. Or Spike’s version of it. Now was not the time to debate Spike’s attractiveness. And really, there was no debate. Spike was sexy, just not on the menu. She walked closer to the bed, steeling herself to look at the naked vampire she was trying to help. As she got closer, she realized he was injured. His left side was badly burned, as though he’d been caught in a fire…
The fire at the church Spike had done Drusilla’s ritual in. When Buffy’d knocked him into a church organ. When he’d broken his back. Right on cue, Spike’s eyes opened. She could see his disorientation, his surprise, his pain. The wounds on his side must have been hurting him. Then he tried to sit up.
Panic blossomed in his eyes. He reached clumsily for the head board, pulling himself up with the bars. Buffy couldn’t imagine what it felt like, suddenly realizing that part of you no longer worked. He threw back the blanket, giving Buffy a full frontal view that she tried desperately to ignore. That job was made easier by Spike’s obvious terror as he ran his hands along his legs, trying to get some sensation from them.
Where was Dru during all of this? She should have been here, waiting for him to wake up, to comfort him. He didn’t deserve to be alone when he found out something as horrible as this.
He reached into a drawer in the little bedside table to his left. He grabbed a knife out of it and in one swift movement plunged it three inches deep into his left thigh. He stared at it, mouth slightly ajar, clearly not feeling its presence in his flesh. He poked the hilt of the knife, as though willing himself to feel it. But it wasn’t helping.
His eyes were moist with unshed tears as he yelled as loud as he could, “Drusilla!” He yanked the knife out of himself and threw it across the room. He rolled toward the edge of the bed and yelled again for his sire, his voice thick. Suddenly he seemed to lose his balance and tumbled off the edge of the bed. He landed hard on the floor, unable to break his own fall.
He lay shivering on the ground, in too much in shock to do anything but cry. Eventually Drusilla came in and began cooing over him, but he still wept. Her desire to reach out to him was as strong as it had been in the earlier memories. There was just something in both Spike and William that called to her, beyond trust and beyond physical attraction. She was starting to like him. As in Like.
Shit. Giles was going to kill her.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thank to Linda, my beta!
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 11 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 11
*****Flash*****
The sickening sound of Dru and Angelus screwing was getting uncomfortably familiar to Buffy.
Well, obviously in this memory Angel had already lost his soul. Buffy was in the Crawford Street Mansion, judging from the creepy hallway, and the two vampires she could hear through the door she was facing. So that also meant this was after the Judge, after Jenny’s death, and after Giles burned down the factory.
Back then the Scoobies had been moving between disasters, from the kid-killing demon at the hospital to the possession of the school to the transformation of the swim team into fishy demons. It was the big lull in Angelus’s attacks before Acathla. She had figured he spent the time plotting up new tortures for her and her friends. But surprise, he was actually screwing Drusilla into the carpet.
Buffy turned from the door, ready to find something else to listen to, and came face to face with Spike. Or she would have, if he weren’t sitting in his wheel chair. Once again, he didn’t act as though he saw her. In fact, he looked like he was staring through her, right at the door that hid Angelus and Dru. Buffy stepped closer to wave her hand in front of his eyes, but he continued to focus on the door behind her.
The burns on the side of his face were mostly healed now. She could see the jaw muscles below both his cheeks tense with anger. His eyes radiated loss and a feeling of, not disbelief, but betrayed sadness. Buffy supposed it could have been because he was thinking about Dru’s unfaithfulness. It must have been horrible, to have her leave him after all those years he’d cared for her after Darla left. After he’d saved her in Prague. After he’d loved her with everything he had. But it wasn’t enough for Dru.
It must have been like being reduced to fledgling status all over again. Just without the ability to move freely. Buffy reached her hand up without thinking, running her fingers along his left cheek. She could feel the softness of his skin and the hard, sharp bone beneath, but still he didn’t respond. His eyes never moved, his head never shifted, almost as though he were in another world.
Maybe he couldn’t feel her because it wasn’t really her body touching him, just astral projections of her fingers. It felt real enough to Buffy, so why wouldn’t it feel real to Spike’s mental projection of himself? If that’s what this was. This was a memory, something that had already happened. Maybe Spike wasn’t actually here in the way Buffy was. Could he be watching all of this? Or could he only feel and see what the memories let through?
Perhaps she’d never had any chance of reaching him in these memories. All of this was in the past. Spike was part of the present. So where was the present him? Not in the wheel chair in front of her. He was buried in here somewhere; he might be on a level she hadn’t reached yet.
The Spike of this memory slowly looked down at the stone floor of the hall. His arms reached for the wheels of his chair, and he backed away from the door. He headed down the hallway, with Buffy following him. She heard a T.V. laugh track a few moments before they entered a room containing three minions. They were watching re-runs of an old seventies game show, judging by the huge amounts of orange in the set decoration.
They were seated on a ragged claw-foot sofa, and though they must have heard Spike enter, they didn’t stand to greet him. They didn’t look at him at all. Buffy hadn’t spent much time in vampire courts, but she was fairly certain that this was not the way minions treated masters. Unless they wanted to be dusted. Spike seemed annoyed, but not surprised by their behavior. He cleared his throat loudly, trying to get their attention, but not one turned a head in his direction. “Hey,” Spike said forcefully a moment later, “I want one of you to go get me something to eat. Now.”
Finally, the least Cro-Magnon looking of the three sighed in annoyance and met his gaze. “Go get it yourself. You aren’t our Master anymore, and our show’s on.” He didn’t wait for Spike’s response; instead, he went back to watching the game show.
“Yeah,” one of the other minions grunted. “Go hunt for yourself. Wheels.”
Spike’s eyes shifted to gold for a moment, sparking with anger, then suddenly back to the cool human blue they had been. He looked so lost, wandering in sad thoughts. But he said nothing. He wheeled his chair out of the room and into the corridor, continuing along it past other rooms, some of them filled with minions. Buffy supposed they all thought he was a joke now.
Angelus probably encouraged them to laugh at Spike. Look at the poor, helpless vampire. Angelus probably ordered them not to feed Spike, too. That was why he’d been so thin when he came to Buffy’s rescue while the police were arresting her for Kendra’s death. No wonder Spike had been willing to come to the slayer for help against Angelus. And he had still waited months before betraying his grandsire. Only when Angelus wanted to start the next apocalypse did Spike turn against his elder.
Loyal to the last. That was Spike.
Buffy followed him as he rolled down the hallway, until they turned a corner to face an open doorway. Spike paused his wheelchair before reaching the door, and a good thing too, because the doorway led to some kind of garden. A currently very sunny garden. For several long moments Spike stared at the line of sunlight a few feet beyond him, his eyes glazed and his face taught. Then he braced his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed himself upward.
The chair shook from the weight he was putting on it and his arms quivered as his feet slid off onto the ground. He forced himself to balance on his stiff, shivering legs, before removing his hands with care from his wheelchair’s arms. He was upright. He lifted one unsteady foot and took a step toward the sunlight.
“God, Spike, no. She isn’t worth it,” Buffy murmured. She was tired of being quiet in this place, saving up her words to try and reach him. It didn’t matter if she spoke to his image, since it couldn’t hear her. “You’re better than this Spike. Really.”
His steps, short and awkward though they were, carried him toward the light. His brow began to sweat with the effort each inch’s advance took. Until finally, his atrophied muscles gave and he sank to the ground. He lay still a moment, then crawled, not toward the sun, but toward the wall. He propped his back against it and using his hands managed to straighten his legs. He stared at the sun for a moment, then turned away, tears forming in his eyes. His hands came up to cover his face and mute his sobs.
Buffy kneeled down beside him and laid a hand uselessly on his shoulder. “Can’t even kill yourself the way you want to, huh? You know, I bet you’re glad this plan failed. I know I am. If you’d died I would have watched the world end from a jail cell.”
*****Flash*****
Spike was standing with his back to a small open air café or bar, judging by the sea of white metal tables behind him. Farther back stood a stucco building with Spanishy architecture. Fairy lights had been strung between poles ringing the café so that the scene was very bright, even though it was dark outside. Drusilla was sitting at a table near Spike, and there was a slimy demon with antlers standing to one side. So that was a chaos demon. Buffy watched a thin strand of his ooze stretch and fall to the ground. Bleagh.
Drusilla’s taste could not be explained. She had a perfectly loyal and reasonably attractive vampire to dote on her and she went out after hours to play with Mr. Ooze. This had to be the moment when she broke up with Spike, the incident he’d cried about in her mother’s kitchen.
Drusilla’s intense stare was trained on Spike’s back. “Why can’t you kill her?”
Spike wheeled, obviously furious. “You’re the one who keeps bringing her up!” He began pacing. “I haven’t said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She’s on the other side of the planet, Dru!”
Dru shook her head, a sorrowful expression on her face. “But you’re lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won’t you push her away?”
That was odd. Spike always said Dru couldn’t stand him because he’d made the deal to stop Acathla. To judge from what Dru was saying, they’d actually been fighting more about his obsession with Buffy rather than his betrayal of Angelus. Well, that explained why Spike came all the way back to California to try to kill her, even if he hadn’t managed it.
So Spike was fixated on slayers. Big whoop. Was that a surprise to anybody? Surely Dru, who’d been around when he killed the first two, understood that. Dru was nuts, and that explained a lot, but Buffy couldn’t figure out why she thought Spike’s fascination with Sunnydale’s slayer was such a threat.
Spike shook his head, looking as confused as Buffy felt. “But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this.” He gestured toward the chaos demon.
The demon looked uncomfortable. “Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here,” he said, gesturing between the two vampires with a mug of beer.
Drusilla spoke in earnest. “I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes.”
Spike pointed at the chaos demon in outrage. “So this is my fault now?”
Buffy noticed the demon was getting more uncomfortable. Maybe he’d heard of Spike’s reputation, or maybe he just wanted to get out of this awkward situation. He smiled nervously as he spoke. “I didn’t know she was seeing somebody. I should take off.”
Spike crossed his arms with a frown. “Yeah, why don’t you do that?”
The demon blew Dru a kiss before striding off, leaving a sticky trail behind on the dirt. Drusilla watched his retreat for a few moments before turning back to her former boyfriend. “You can’t blame the ghoul, Spike. You’re all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer.”
Without giving Spike a chance to reply, she stood and loped after the tall antlered monstrosity. Spike stayed frozen for a few seconds before striding after Dru. But she was already gone from sight, without having ever looked back. His steps slowed until once again he was standing still.
Out of the corner of her eye Buffy caught movement. A waiter with very curly horns sticking out over his ears walked cautiously toward Spike carrying a tray with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. “Senor? The lady and gentleman have left?”
Spike laughed, a dry, hoarse chuckle. “Yeah. They’re gone.” The waiter bowed and made to leave. “Wait. Leave the bottle.”
“Si, Senor.” He left the tequila on the table nearest Spike and trotted away as fast as his hooves would carry him. Spike grabbed the bottle by the neck and swung it to his lips, drinking the clear liquid rapidly. Obviously he wanted to get started on the bender that would take him back to Sunnydale.
It was strange to know that she was the real reason Dru and Spike had broken up. Before, she’d been one of several reasons, but now it, it seemed like she was the person that had come between them more than any other. Yet one more thing Spike had managed to overcome hating her for. She was going to have to make this up to him, somehow. She felt bad that his good act had brought him so much pain.
She didn’t, however, feel guilty for separating him from Drusilla. No, Buffy wanted him as far from his sire as possible. Not because of the recently discovered fact that she was starting to like Spike in a more than friends way. That wasn’t a factor because she wouldn’t let it be one. Dru was bad for Spike, and Buffy wanted him to continue to fight for the right side. That was it. Yes. No jealousy. Nobody mentioned jealous Buffy.
*****Flash*****
It was another break up scene between Spike and his sire. It must have been after he returned from Sunnydale to win her back. Buffy wondered if he really did torture her into submission. Whatever he did, it didn’t go far to convince Dru that he’d given up thinking about Buffy. She threw him away as she had before, ranting about ashes and little Buffys dancing around his head.
The only real difference this time was that it was a fungus demon, not a chaos demon, that Dru went chasing after. And wow, but that thing made the chaos demon look pretty. And the smell…ugh.
And that was the end of Spike and Dru.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks to Linda, my beta.
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 12 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 12
The sun shone brightly inside Spike’s mind. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, with a light breeze to let everyone know that fall was around the corner. Buffy remembered this day oh so well. She was standing in the commons of UC Sunnydale, watching the Buffy of last year fighting Spike, Gem of Amara on his finger.
This was how Spike lost his chance to walk in the sun ever again. That was why he was reliving this memory. He’d been a god among vampires for maybe half an hour, then he’d lost it all.
He was in the middle of one of his speeches. It was amazing, when Buffy thought about it, how often he made speeches, and usually to her. She could remember the words of every one of them clearly. It had shocked her when she first realized that Spike knew as much about giving lectures as Giles. The idea wasn’t as outrageous to her now that she’d seen what a brainiac Spike was when he didn’t play at being a badass.
Caustic as his words tended to be, Spike’s observations were always spot on, something else that she valued in him. The ‘You’ll never be Friends’ speech to herself and Angel in the Magic Box was an insightful tear jerker that helped her see the need to move forward. The ‘History and Conquest’ tirade at the Thanksgiving Chumash attack might possibly have influenced her A minus final history paper during that first college semester. Then there was the sermon in the alley behind the Bronze a couple weeks ago…
She’d suffered his cutting words on innumerable occasions, but the rant this memory of Spike was on currently was the one she hated most. Not because he ridiculed her about Parker. He was right; she’d been naïve and innocent. She hadn’t known who Parker really was, any more than she’d truly known Angel when they first came together. Parker hadn’t deserved her brief affection, but she’d been too caught up in him to recognize that. Spike had seen, as he always did. Then he went a step too far.
Spike delivered a powerful kick to freshman Buffy, speaking in a superior tone of voice. “I wonder what went wrong. Were you too strong? Did you bruise the boy?” Right there. That’s where Spike lost this fight. It wasn’t bad enough to ridicule her history with men. He had to make her remember how strange and different she was. She was the slayer. A freak. “Come to think of it seems like someone told me that. Who was it? Oh, yeah. Angel.”
Her previous self jumped up and kicked Spike over a planter. She had him down in seconds, her hand on the ring. “Take it off me this way, we both burn.”
She hadn’t cared. She wanted him gone. “Really? Let's see.” The ring slid off and Spike howled in pain, running for the nearest sewer.
Her hatred for Spike had been at its peak at this moment in time. Mostly because he continued to force her to see realities she wanted to ignore. She was the slayer, something she should have accepted a long time ago. It was old news, but still it hurt sometimes to know that ‘normal’ was beyond her reach. She’d tried for normal. She’d dated Riley. But was Riley normal? He was an ex-super soldier getting suck jobs behind her back. If that was normal, she’d rather have the life of a slayer. Oh, wait, she did.
Buffy supposed what she really wanted wasn’t normal; it was the security she associated with normal. Things like friendship and love. Well then maybe she’d already reached her equivalent of normal. She had good friends, at least. Of whom Spike was going to be one. She had her mom and her sister. And her newly reinstated watcher. They all supported her, even if they didn’t always understand what she was feeling. They all loved her.
Except Spike of course. He didn’t love her. He was a vampire. Not that he couldn’t love; just that, what vampire in his right mind would love a slayer? For example: Angel. Split-personality, serious control issues with and without the soul. Not all there. Not that Spike was what she’d call completely sane.
Yet Spike was the one that knew her best. That was the real reason she listened to him spout his theories at her, even when he was evil. Because he understood what it meant to be her.
He had begun to treat her like a friend. What would it be like, she wondered absently, if he were to love her? It was silly. Even if she was starting to crush on Spike the tiniest little bit – ugh, she sounded like Dawn – it didn’t mean he would be interested.
*****Flash*****
Spike was standing on a rise above the college, staring down at freshman Buffy on patrol down below and talking to himself, “Watch your mouth, little girl. You should know better than to tempt the fates that way. ‘Cause the big bad is back, and this time, it’s...”
He was too intent on her to sense the masked soldiers creeping up behind him. One of them aimed his taser at Spike’s back, and fired. Buffy heard the wind rush out of Spike’s lungs as he hit the ground, stunned.
A pair of soldiers grabbed him, dragging him along the ground toward a van Buffy could see parked on the street behind them. They weren’t exactly gentle, and being bumped on the ground over and over forced Spike to rouse himself. Buffy followed along, watching as he took quick stock of the Initiative soldiers.
He kicked himself free of the pair dragging him just as they reached the van, but there were five others in the squad that ringed him. He was on his feet in an instant, kicking their taser muzzles away from him. Spike punched at their faces, kicked their knee caps, and dodged blows, trying to break through the circle they formed around him.
Seven against one wouldn’t have been so bad with regular humans. But the Initiative had been pumping these guys full of steroids for months, maybe years. One of them managed to bring the butt of his weapon down on the back of Spike’s neck. He stumbled, and they mobbed him. They couldn’t shoot him without the risk of hitting each other, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t beat the hell out of him.
Spike disappeared under the mounds of bodies, all punching and kicking him simultaneously. It looked almost as though he were being smothered by the black mass. Buffy caught sight of his arms and legs, flailing and trying to aim punches, but unable to make an impact.
She saw his head hit the ground, but they kept kicking him in the stomach. God, it was horrible. At last a voice Buffy recognized called out, “Whoa, whoa! Stand down, stand down. Dr. Walsh doesn’t like her specimens permanently damaged. Tranq him and get him in the van.” Riley, leading the troops. It wasn’t that he minded them beating up the vampire, just that Dr. Walsh might get angry. That was his logic.
One of the other boys pulled out a tranquilizer gun and aimed it at Spike. When he spoke, Buffy realized it was Forrest behind the mask. “Okay, Dracula. Welcome to the Initiative. ‘Cause you’re never gonna leave.” Then he fired, hitting Spike in the chest.
*****Flash*****
It was her old dorm room. The one she’d shared with Willow. College, like memories of Parker, seemed so distant. They were before Glory and Dawn, before her mother’s illness. Before she got over hating Spike.
Speaking of Spike. He was sitting on Willow’s bed…with Willow. This must have been how Spike discovered about the chip after he escaped the Initiative. Buffy could read the tension in his frame, his hands clenched on the blankets he was sitting on with Willow. The redhead had been crying recently, probably over Oz, since he’d left not long before this. “I don’t understand. This sort of thing’s never happened to me before.”
Willow didn’t look too scared, more puzzled. “Maybe you were nervous.”
Spike frowned, and shrugged. “I felt all right when I started. Let's try again.” He leaped suddenly at Willow, causing her to shriek, but pulled back when the chip fired. He tried again, but as before he couldn’t touch her without electricity shooting through his brain. “Ow! Oh! Ow! Damn it!” He stood, kicked the dresser, and started to pace.
Willow’s brow furrowed as she tried to come up with an explanation for Spike. Buffy had to smile. Here Willow was in danger of being eaten, and she still managed to be concerned for her fellow beings. “Maybe you’re trying too hard. Doesn’t this happen to every vampire?”
Affronted, Spike growled, “Not to me, it doesn’t!” His voice sounded panicked. Buffy didn’t blame him. She’d ridiculed Spike when he came to stay with Giles, happy about his predicament. But now it felt familiar to her. It reminded her a little of the Cruciamentum. She’d been a slayer one morning and then suddenly, with no explanation she’d lost her powers. She couldn’t do the ordinary things she’d been doing for years. And she’d only been a slayer for three years; Spike had been a vampire for over a century. How much worse was it for him after all that time to discover that he couldn’t be in charge of his own life any longer? That his means of survival was taken from him.
Willow spoke quietly, “It’s me, isn’t it?”
Spike paused his pacing. “What are you talking about?”
Willow looked almost as though she were about to cry. “Well, you came looking for Buffy, then settled. I--I... You didn't want to bite me. I just happened to be around.”
Spike snorted. “Piffle!”
Willow continued to babble. “I know I'm not the kind of girl vamps like to sink their teeth into. It’s always like, ‘ooh, you're like a sister to me,’ or, ‘oh, you’re such a good friend.’”
Spike had probably figured out by now that Willow wasn’t actually anxious to be bitten, just acknowledged. He shook his head. “Don't be ridiculous. I'd bite you in a heartbeat.”
“Really?” Willow sounded so hopeful.
Spike sat back down on the bed beside her. “Thought about it.”
“When?” Willow asked eagerly.
Spike mused for a moment, then smiled. “Remember last year, you had on that... fuzzy pink number with the lilac underneath?” Spike directed one of his sly smiles and as much charm as he could manage under the circumstances at her. Other than the fact that he was there to kill Willow, he was really being quite sweet. Buffy wondered if he recognized how rejected Willow had felt after Oz left. He probably did. He knew what that was like too well not to realize. And even though he was scared because he couldn’t bite Willow, he was still taking the time to comfort her. His prey.
The redhead perked up a little at his praise, in spite of the reminder that Spike had kidnapped Xander and herself in the memory he mentioned. “I never would have guessed. You played the blood-lust kinda cool.”
He nodded. “Mmm. I hate being obvious. All fang-y and ‘rrrr!’ Takes the mystery out.”
Willow prodded just a little farther, seeking that last bit of reassurance. “But if you could...”
He nodded again, giving her another sad, nervous smile. “If I could, yeah.”
Willow put her hand on his arm. “You know, this doesn’t make you any less terrifying.”
Spike shook his head violently, tense jaw muscles revealing his fears as he stared at the floor, eyes wide and moist. “Don’t patronize me.” He paused for a moment. “I’m only 126.” Again Buffy felt the urge to touch him, reassure him.
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” Buffy heard the change in Willow’s tone from sincerity to distraction as Willow eyed the bedside lamp. Spike having been kind to Willow didn’t change the fact that he came there to eat her. “Why don’t we wait a half an hour and try again? Or...” She grabbed the lamp and smacked Spike over the head before running for the door. It was locked, but the Initiative saved her the trouble of having to unlock it by breaking in. Willow ran out. One of the soldiers pointed his weapon at her, but Riley ordered him not to shoot.
Spike charged out of the room, smashing one of the soldiers into the wall. He tried to bite the man but the chip kicked in. He struggled frantically as the soldiers piled onto him in a frightening reenactment of his initial capture. They’d caught him again. When he stopped struggling, the soldiers started a debate on whether or not to take Willow with them.
Spike waited for a few seconds then burst out of the arms holding him. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and hit the nearest commando over the head. One of them fired a gun at Spike, but he blocked the shot with the extinguisher. It exploded, giving him the smoke screen he needed to get away.
Buffy was unspeakably glad that he’d escaped. If Riley’s crew had recaptured him…it was too frightening to think about what they would have done to one of her favorite vampires.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks to my beta, Linda! I’m sorry this has taken so long to get out, but school has started out busy and will probably just get worse. Please bear with me.
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 13 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 13
Giles pushed open the crypt’s door, nodding in greeting to Xander, who had been standing on guard near the entrance. The young man looked warily for Drusilla, and not seeing her glanced at Giles, his eyes questioning. “She’s outside,” he replied to Xander’s unvoiced query. “Guarding the demon.”
“It isn’t dead?” Xander asked, confused.
Giles shook his head wearily. “No. Unconscious. We may not be able to remove the venom if it’s dead. We’ll dispatch it after Spike’s awake.” He set his crossbow atop the nearest sarcophagus before leaning heavily against the stone.
Willow and Tara had moved Spike’s coffee table to one side, setting their cauldron and tripod up in its place. A small magic fire, fueled only by will, heated the steaming contents of the pot while Tara stirred carefully. Three strokes clockwise, three strokes counterclockwise, and then again. Willow had been watching, but rose and came to stand near the two men. “Are you okay, Giles? You look kinda tired. And dusty,” she added, looking over his disheveled clothes.
He snorted. “Yes, well, the the glarghk guhl kashma’nik as a species are not known for giving in without a substantial fight, even against a master vampire and a well-armed human.” He flexed his left hand, the knuckles of which were bruised. “I assure you, Willow, that I’m fine. Just, as you say, tired. And perhaps a bit sore.”
Xander frowned, but didn’t comment. “Okay. So what now?”
“We extract a sample of the venom and complete the antidote,” Giles replied. “How soon will you be ready to include the venom in the potion?”
Willow thought for a moment. “Well, it’s got another…say, sixty strokes before we can add the final ingredient, and then it needs to brew for half an hour.”
Giles nodded. “Then in an hour we’d best be prepared for a ripe bit of chaos. Drusilla believes Spike is going to leave Sunnydale with her when she goes. I sincerely doubt that he will, given their recent history.”
“You think she’ll go crazy?” Xander half-smiled when Giles and Willow raised their eyebrows. “I mean, crazier than she already is?”
Giles shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea what we’re in for.”
________________________________________________________________________
*****Flash*****
Spike was running from the Initiative. It sounded simple enough, but Buffy had never considered what exactly fleeing from them involved. Hiding out in a crypt maybe, or racing through the sewers. The scenario she was watching play out now, in Spike’s head, consisted of a string of memories taken from different places and different days that bled together into one long nightmare.
They hunted him furiously. It amazed Buffy that a single vampire, even one as special as Spike, would entice them into such a long and fruitless chase. But then of course Dr. Maggie Walsh didn’t want one of her precious experiments, like Spike’s chip, to get away.
And so for a week he evaded capture.
First he tried to get his car from a cave on the outskirts of Sunnydale. The soldiers patrolled that area, though, and he had to fall back. He cased the bus terminal, the train station, even a rental car agency in his desperation to find a way out of Sunnydale. Always the presence of soldiers, monitoring the town they’d secretly claimed.
Leaving wasn’t possible, so he concentrated on staying clear of the soldiers. Spike couldn’t stay still for more than a couple hours at a time, because they were always following. He could hide in a cellar for a little while, or a cavern, but could never rest for long. An hour’s sleep and then he was moving again, night and day pursued. He could move faster at night, because he didn’t have to spread a blanket over his head for the sun, but it was never fast enough to lose the commandos.
Buffy watched him try to break into a butcher’s shop one night, since he’d obviously accepted that he couldn’t feed from humans. But the Initiative had counted on that. They were there waiting as Spike broke the glass. He ran fast for a creature that hadn’t eaten in days, too scared to let his weakness affect his speed. When the commandos were far enough behind he collapsed on the nearest patch of grass, dry heaving from the exertion. Nothing came up. Then he stood and continued to trudge forward.
On another occasion, Spike stumbled on uneven ground, falling and skinning his palms, but unable to pause for more than a moment. He picked himself up and licked morosely at the blood as it welled up through the cuts. Buffy could hear his short, low growls as he tasted his own blood, the first he’d sampled in a long while.
He went back to Harmony and begged. That went well. Not. She chased him away with a stake. Buffy couldn’t bring herself to say Harmony was unjustified after what Spike had put her through, but...he was literally starving.
As the days had passed he’d grown paler, his skin turning grey. His red eyes pleaded for sympathy, dark circles highlighting his lack of rest. His clothing hung loose on his frame as he clutched his duster to him to block out the cold. Pitiable. Like that statue they talked about in art classes. Spike needed help. That was how he came to stand on Giles’s doorstep and beg admittance.
*****Flash*****
Spike walked out of a bar on Seventh Street, swaying ever so slightly. He wasn't exactly drunk, just less than sober. He paused just outside the door, looking around for possible threats, Buffy figured. The street before him was deserted, though, so he pulled his coat close around him and headed in the general direction of Restfield Cemetery. If he was living at the Alpert Crypt, then this had to be after Giles got turned into a Fyarl. She couldn’t place the time more exactly than that.
Huh. She’d half expected memories from his time among the Scoobies. Being chained in the bathtub at Giles’s, being forced by Willow’s spell to kiss his worst enemy. The big baby must not have hated it as much he let on. And after all, Buffy wasn’t that bad of a kisser. Actually, she was relieved that as unkind as they had sometimes been to the poor vampire, they hadn’t ranked among these wretched experiences.
Spike looked so small, clutching his leather duster to him and wandering down the empty street. Only, it suddenly wasn't as empty as it had been. Three guys had exited the club after Spike. They were all a bit over six feet tall and kind of burly. The first had a shaved head and four earrings in one earlobe, the second had a pierced chin and a clashing orange t-shirt and green jeans, and the final member of the trio looked like King Kong. Really. The man was seriously hairy.
They were more than just your common everyday pick pockets. Buffy could tell murderers from muggers any day. It came from hanging out in so many dark places. These guys were dangerous. Their shadows fell long and ominous in the low glow from the streetlights.
They didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. They stood on the sidewalk, laughing at something one of them had said and smoking. Then Baldy, who appeared to be the leader, looked in the direction Spike had taken a few moments before. Spike was only about two blocks away, his back to them. Baldy looked to his two friends and nodded in Spike's direction. They seemed to reach some silent agreement and headed after the blonde.
Oh God. The chip. Spike was chipped. These idiots were going to catch up to him and he wouldn’t be able to stop them from doing whatever the hell they wanted.
Spike didn’t seem to notice their approach, more proof that he’d been drinking. When he finally looked over his shoulder Buffy saw his instant comprehension of the situation he was in. It came with a flash of fear so brief that most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but then she’d gotten accustomed to reading Spike’s face. The face which now became closed, with hooded, arrogant eyes, and smile of self-confidence and disdain in place. A mask was now his primary protection.
He released his duster to flow around his body, changing his shadow and his impact in the process. He didn't stop walking, but went with a firmer stride. His whole persona switched from pitiable to something threatening and powerful. An intelligent gang wouldn't have targeted him, since he appeared to be nothing like prey. He was pure predator.
It was good defense, and in fact the only defense he could put forward with the chip.
But it was ignored. The three stooges continued to close in on him, fanning out to cut off his escape routes. They got to within ten feet of him before Spike began to run. The bald leader shouted "Where you goin' Billy Idol?" as he and his three followers sped up their pursuit. Spike streaked down the road, far outstripping them in his flight toward the end of the block.
He leaped out into the road straight into the path of an oncoming car. The driver swerved, hitting him a glancing blow before speeding off. Spike overbalanced, hit the ground, then scrambled up to try and escape, but his stalkers had caught up with him.
Kong tackled him from behind, skinning Spike's cheek on the asphalt below them. Spike fought back on instinct, landing a solid blow to Kong's shoulder that only succeeded in triggering the chip. Spike moaned and went rigid, temporarily paralyzed. Kong and the jerk in the orange shirt grabbed him under his shoulders and drug him off the street. They pulled him to his feet then threw him back first at the wall of the building beside them.
Baldy, who ran like a five year old girl, finally came up. He grabbed Spike's hair at the top of his head, slamming his skull back into the bricks. Buffy could see a red stain spreading out from the point of impact. Baldy began jamming his hands in Spike's duster pockets. He found Spike's cash and a packet of cigarettes, stashing both in his own coat. "Fuck. You're pathetic, aren't, you Billy? Won't even fight back."
"Maybe he likes it!" Snickered the orange shirt.
"Yeah," Kong laughed, "Look at those clothes. He's a fag."
"That right, Billy?" Baldy asked with a sneer. "You into us? Let's see." He grabbed Spike's crotch roughly.
Spike snarled and vamped out, trying to scare them. Kong and the orange shirt flinched as Baldy jumped back. With the other man's support gone Spike couldn't seem to stand and slide down the wall into a crouch on the sidewalk.
"What the hell?" Orange shirt yelled.
"It's a trick!" Baldy shouted as he pulled a gun that had been well-concealed in the small of his back to aim at Spike's head. "Stop whatever the fuck that shit is or I'll blow your head off!" He cocked his gun.
Buffy had never seen a vamp who'd been shot through the head. She wasn't sure what kind of damage a bullet would do, let alone how much pain it would cause. Spike must not have felt it worth the risk of a bullet, and slowly his game face melted away.
Baldy lowered the gun a fraction and in an angry, disbelieving voice demanded, "You like playin' games, Billy? What are you, you freak?"
"Please," Spike said quietly, his eyes screwed shut.
"Please?" Kong asked with a laugh.
"You've got my cash. Please, just take it and go." He winced, eyes still closed, as though it pained him to ask. It hurt Buffy to watch him forced to beg this scum. To cower before humans he wouldn't have bothered to eat a few years ago. She was going to beat the crap out of these idiots if she ever found them. She'd never felt tempted to seriously harm a human being before seeing them.
"Yeah," Baldy snorted, "we'll leave." then he fired. Three shots hit Spike in the chest. His eyes snapped open and he howled in pain. Then seizing his only chance, he slumped over, feigning death.
His assailants laughed to themselves, having, like all denial-ridden citizens in Sunnydale, discarded the notion that they'd met a vampire. They did leave, but not before Kong kicked Spike in the stomach as a farewell. Spike didn't flinch, probably expecting it.
He didn't move after they left, just stayed lying on his side while tears spilled out of his eyes and blood trickled slowly from his chest.
"Stop this Spike. I know you're in here somewhere." Buffy said tiredly. "Stop torturing yourself like this."
Buffy couldn’t take much more of this emotional abuse. Watching and unable to stop Spike's robbery and molestation by three of the people her job said to protect did nothing to ease her mind. But she'd nearly reached the present she'd come from. There couldn't be more than one or two more memories between her and Spike. Could there? Or did this just go on and on and on...
*****
Not to worry, we’ll be exiting Spike’s head within the next two chapters. Please let me know what you thought! Thank you to Linda, my beta.
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 14 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 14
*****Flash*****
Spike was standing outside her window on Revello Drive, beside the tree she had used to climb out of her bedroom in her early days in Sunnydale. His feet were spread, his shoulders back, and his face tilted upward. His left hand rested in his duster pocket while his right hand dangled at his side, holding a forgotten cigarette.
Buffy could remember catching Spike behind that tree and pulling him out of hiding a couple weeks ago. Cigarette butts had littered the ground, proof that he’d lingered for a long while, watching her house. Judging from this memory, he made a practice of watching her.
She knew that occasionally Spike snuck into her house. She’d caught him at that, too. He’d claimed that he was stealing junk from the basement to pawn. Between the Queller demon, her mom’s surgery, Riley, and the daily Dawn crisis, she’d never taken the time to confront Spike about his new hobby. She should have been outraged by his behavior, but it didn’t actually bother her all that much. He never took anything important, he probably needed the money, and he never made any move to harm her family.
She found it infinitely more disturbing that he still spied on her than that he foraged in her cellar. When he stole, it was just about money, about survival. That she could respect, even if it was annoying to have him pop up at random in the dark. But stalking her was personal. Why would he feel a need to track her movements as he did when they were enemies?
Buffy shook her head. She needed to stop jumping to conclusions about Spike’s motives. When she’d first entered his head she’d known that she could rely on him. She knew him well enough now to know how difficult betrayal was for him. Whatever this memory was, it wasn’t about Spike trying to find her weaknesses.
He already knew them all, anyway.
Maybe she could get a clue if she figured out what he was watching. The problem was that he really couldn’t see anything from this angle. No curtains were open on his level and all the lights were off in the house. It wasn’t that late at night, judging by the moon. Her mom and Dawn would have been up if they were home. Spike would surely have been inside now, though, if the house were empty.
Spike’s eyes drifted closed, and his head cocked to one side as though he were listening. Listening to something she was doing in her house with the lights off. If Buffy concentrated hard enough, she could hear a low moaning sound coming from the second floor of the house, in the vicinity of her bedroom. It was the sound that Riley made when they were…God. Spike was listening to her boink Riley.
Ewww. That was just creepy. Why the hell was he doing that? Did he think they were his own personal porn channel?
But he didn’t really look like he was enjoying this. Good thing, because otherwise she was going to slap him when they got back to real life, friendship and mild crush not withstanding. He certainly didn’t look turned on. Actually, Spike looked almost pained. Sad and resigned, much as he had when Dru had gone off to play with Angelus, while remaining within earshot of her adoring, but heartbroken, childe.
Judging by the sudden grunt upstairs, Riley had just finished up. The sounds faded to heavy breathing and then to nothing at all. Spike’s head bowed forward, his eyes opening to stare blankly at the ground. Buffy was reminded forcibly of his memories as William. Uncertainty and distress radiated from beneath the cool, graceful vampiric exterior, the inner humanity in Spike showing clearly.
Buffy was going to make a wild guess and say that Spike wasn’t upset about Riley’s love-life. Open-minded as she knew vampires tended to be about sex in general, Spike held only hate for the former Initiative soldier. That meant that what bothered him about this situation was the fact that Buffy was up there with Riley. Spike seemed, well, jealous that Riley was with Buffy.
Was it possible that Spike was interested in her, the way she was starting to be interested in him? No, that was crazy. Surely she would have noticed a thing like that. But there he stood, that discomfited look on his face that only showed up when the people he adored kicked him in the teeth.
Perhaps she’d seen the signs but explained them away as something else. Maybe that was the real reason he’d been watching her, following her around on patrol and home to her house. He always had an insult ready, though. Could he have been trying to cover up feelings for her? And that last time he was in the house, right before the Queller attacked, had he been stealing photos? Of her?
And then when he’d shown up in the Bronze the other night. Trying to be friendly and ingratiating, dressed in normal clothes. Did he want her to see him as, not just a person, but as a potential date? Boyfriend? Or something more serious still? She would have to confront him about this when they got back to the real world. She had to find out if she was imagining things or if he really did want to be more than friends.
And if he did want it to be something long-term, did she want it? Attraction was not issue. She’d already admitted to it. But was she willing to take the risk of being with another vampire?
Buffy looked over at Spike, who was still standing lost in thought beside the tree. Suddenly he jumped, shaking his hand as though in pain. His cigarette had burned enough to his fingers, and he hadn’t even realized it. He stomped on the grass where it had landed as he blew on the slight burn.
If someone she trusted, someone she could be herself around, could love her to that kind of distraction, then she would be foolish to let it go. When she lived her life between apocalypses, she didn’t have time to play it safe. Buffy set her shoulders as memory Spike walked slowly away from her house. If he was interested, so was she.
If. She wasn’t entirely convinced yet. It was just one memory.
*****Flash*****
Riley through open the door to Spike’s crypt. Spike was drinking from a wine bottle, but corked it and set it aside. With great sarcasm he asked, “What took you? Guess it takes a while to get back to full strength after those bites.”
So this was post-vamp whorehouse biting. Buffy sighed. So many things had gone wrong with Riley, she had no idea who to blame for what at this point. But it was past now, and quite possibly Spike was future. It would explain why he’d gotten such a thrill out of showing her Riley in that awful place. He’d wanted to disgrace Riley before her. What was it they said about love and war?
Riley yanked Spike out of his arm chair while Spike protested, “Hey! Hey, let's be reasonable about this.”
Riley smashed him against one of the crypt’s pillars. “You may have noticed, Spike,” he said with a punch to Spike’s face, “I left reasonable about three exits back.”
Spike snorted. “Look, I’m not the one who got you into this. Don’t kill the messenger.”
Riley’s angry sneer didn’t phase Spike the way the stake he was suddenly holding did. Buffy gasped as the point was plunged into Spike’s heart. “Why the hell not?” Riley asked.
Spike yelled in panic and pain. “Ow! Bloody hell! Oh god!” When he realized he wasn’t dusting he looked down at the hand holding the stake. “Hey.”
Riley yanked the stake back out, eliciting another pained moan from Spike. “Plastic wood-grain. Looks real, doesn’t it?” His hand went to Spike’s shirt collar again. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on with you, Spike. Stay away from her. Or we’ll do this for real next time.”
Riley took a few steps back, like he was getting ready to leave, when Spike began laughing quietly. “Oh, man. You are really under it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
Spike nodded to Riley. “Look at you. All afraid I'm hot for your honey.”
Riley sneered. “Because you are.”
Spike stared at him for a moment. “Well ... yeah. But that’s not your problem. Even if I wasn’t in the picture…”
Buffy tuned out the conversation, something about Riley’s worthiness. It didn’t matter. Spike had admitted it. He wanted to be with her.
Riley had known before she did, and that was a surprise, since he wasn’t all that much more observant. But then in matters of the heart it didn’t really take much to be more with it than Buffy. Now, for once, maybe she had a chance to do things right in a relationship. Not that she expected things with Spike to be rosy, if they even got that far.
Man, she was going to have to go a long way to convince Giles and Xander not to stake Spike.
Rocky as it was likely to be, she knew she could count on Spike to help her keep things balanced. This was what she wanted anyway, a counterpart. He’d tell her when she was out of line, and if she hurt him, she’d know. She could read him so easily now. For the first time in a long while, Buffy felt genuine hope about tomorrow.
“You actually think you've got a shot with her?”
Spike sighed, reaching for the wine bottle he’d set aside earlier. “No, I don’t. Fella’s gotta try, though. Gotta do what he can.” He took a drink.
“If you touched her... you know I'd kill you for real.” Buffy crossed her arms. Riley was gone, but if he ever came back he wasn’t getting near Spike.
Spike snorted, unfazed. “I had this chip outta my head, I’da killed you long ago. Ain’t love grand?”
He tossed the bottle to Riley, who began drinking. Spike went on quietly. “Sometimes I envy you so much it chokes me. And sometimes I think I got the better deal. To be that close to her and not have her. To be all alone even when you’re holding her. Feeling her. Feeling her beneath you. Surrounding you.” There was the poet she’d come to hold dear. “The scent ... No, you got the better deal.”
Riley gave a low, unhappy chuckled. “I’m the lucky guy.” He shook his head and took another drink. “Yeah.”
Buffy stared at the crypt floor, chagrinned. She managed to make guys miserable more often than she made them happy. She was going to have to watch that with someone as sensitive as Spike, however tough he pretended to be.
*****Flash*****
Another alley. That couldn’t be good.
Buffy and Spike from a couple of weeks ago were standing in the alley behind the Bronze. It must have been right after Spike gave her that uncomfortable lecture on how he’d killed his second slayer by playing off the slayer death wish. Buffy’d been offended at the time by the suggestion that she actually wanted to die. But sometimes, in the deep dark of the cemeteries, when no one was around, she could almost believe that what he’d said was true.
He was just finishing that part of his speech. “You know I’ll be there. I’ll slip in... have myself a real good day.” He was standing very close to her, closer than comfort allowed. With a step back he continued, “Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you’ll like it as much as she did.”
An ominous feeling washed over Buffy. Impending doom hung in the air over this back street. There was something she should be remembering here. Something she’d done. Why else would Spike be reliving this memory? Had she already screwed up her chances with him? She made a sincere wish to whatever power might be listening that it wasn’t so.
It wasn’t what the Buffy that had come to Spike for advice wanted to hear. Outraged, she replied with subtle menace, “Get out of my sight. Now.”
“Oh... did I scare ya? You’re the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to,” he taunted.
Her counterpart was getting angrier. “I mean it.”
Spike refused to back down. “So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!”
The atmosphere crackled around them. Sensing the shift in the scenario, Buffy’s past self said uncertainly, “Spike...”
He tried to kiss her.
Oh, no.
The memory Buffy leaped back in disgust and shock. “What the hell are you doing?”
Spike grabbed her arms and spoke with earnest urgency. Exposing himself to whatever censure was coming. “Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance.”
No, no, no, no, no! She didn’t want to remember this. She didn’t want it to be true. God, she’d done it. She really had. Already. Right here. Without even knowing what she was throwing away.
“Say it’s true. Say I do want to.” Past Buffy pushed him roughly to the ground. “It wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you.”
She threw out the bills she’d promised him. The scattered on the ground around him, much like his hopes.
And then. She. Said. It. “You’re beneath me.”
Said those horrid, hated words and walked away, not waiting to see the rejection and absolute terror on the face of the man she’d thrown to the ground. The person who loved – yes, loved, she could see it on his face – her without reserve.
Buffy watched as, with as much dignity as he could manage between his tears, he gathered the crumpled offering she’d thrown at him as if he were some prostitute to be paid for his services and dropped in the gutter. He looked after her, and hate blossomed in sorrow’s wake. No wonder he’d come after her with a shotgun after she’d said those fateful words.
God. She was Cecily.
*****
Please let me know what you thought! Thanks for your advice, Linda.
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 15 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 15
Could Spike look beyond her idiocy that night? She knew that she needed to focus, that she was still in Spike’s head and that there was still work to be done there, but she was so scared that she’d lost him already. She was hoping so fervently that he could forgive her that she missed most of the next memory.
It had something to do with Spike watching Harmony leave town on a bus. Buffy couldn’t feel much sympathy on that count. If Harmony was finally gone, that meant one less obstacle between them. She’d made enough stumbling blocks already; she didn’t need competition. Not that Harmony was much competition. Spike was wandering through the cemetery, heading for home, when suddenly a large, pale demon leaped out of nowhere and stabbed him with a deadly looking spine.
Then everything went black. The memory just ended, not fading out as the others had, but just halting. Was that strange demon the reason Spike had gone into a coma? Had he escaped, stumbled back to the crypt, then fallen under the influence of whatever poison had been injected into him?
It must have been terrifying to be alone in the dark, slowly succumbing to these memories.
When the picture came into focus again, she was on a rocky beach at dusk. She could hear crying; it was coming from a little curly-haired boy about five years old. He was dressed in short pants and a tailored jacket.
She sighed. They were back to the beginning.
________________________________________________________________________
Willow ladled some of the goopy liquid out of the cooling cauldron and into a glass. She looked to Tara for confirmation and got a nod from her girlfriend. Willow stood and walked toward Giles, who was watching the immobile Buffy and Spike. “Giles?” He looked over. “It’s ready.”
“Good,” was his brusque reply. “Let’s get her out of there so we can end this night.”
Tara frowned at Giles’s request. Hesitantly, she prompted, “I t-think it might be best to give Buffy a little longer. It’s better if we can let t-them come out of this on t-their own. S-safer.” She hastened to add, “And S-spike’s aura has been changing since she went inside. I t-think s-she’s getting closer to bringing him out.”
Giles’s lips thinned and his eyes cooled. Tara could tell that he wanted to object, but he held his peace. He gave a slow nod. “Very well. Thirty minutes.”
________________________________________________________________________
Buffy was tempted to speak the words to end the mind-meld spell when she saw little William on the beach for the second time. She didn’t seem any closer to reaching Spike than when she’d first stepped inside his head. And she now knew Spike had been attacked by another demon. She could leave and tell Giles that they needed some kind of antidote. He’d know what to do.
She’d waited, though, taking a few moments to stare at the little boy, so scared and alone. It amazed her that she hadn’t believed Spike capable of human feelings. He smiled, he wept, and he loved. She wanted so much to help him, to see him free of these horrors. The beach faded away to be replaced by a family meeting in which a teenage William discovered that his father had died.
Wait. Hadn’t there been something between these two memories? She could remember William being punished for dropping his chalkboard. The memories had changed for some reason. Willow’s magic words were forgotten as Buffy watched to see what other changes had occurred.
The cycle from past to present was infinitely faster this time. Almost half the memories Buffy had seen previously were missing. She noted that the scenes that had slid out of the slide show were the least terrible ones, including some of Angelus’s less horrifying torments and the loss of the Gem of Amarra.
The remaining flashes were shortened versions of the memories Buffy had previously viewed, the worst moments of the individual scenarios having been preserved. The instant that William’s sister died remained, while her words of comfort for her brother disappeared. Dru was tied by the mob in Prague, abused by her captors, while Spike’s rescue of her did not occur.
It was as though the tragedy of Spike’s life was being compressed and concentrated into the most humbling spiral of pain possible. It was hurricane of thought, whipping around and around and around.
Another memory cycle began, skipping the early deaths of Spike’s family and going straight to the party scene with Cecily. Then to his mother’s turning, then to his first beating by Angelus. The sea of memories had grown choppy from all the scene-shortening. Each moment was being stripped to its harshest core.
Another cycle, Cecily and his vampire mother preserved, but Angelus was first present in an alley, raping William. Most of the twentieth century was missing now.
Buffy knew, suddenly, where this was headed. She was approaching the eye of this storm of anguish. The center of it all. Spike. The memories began to bleed together the closer she got to him. They didn’t happen in separate rooms or alleys or times. There was no longer any background but stark black, with guest figures appearing suddenly in a tiny circle of light, seven feet across.
Buffy watched as William, in glasses and uncomfortable suit, confessed his love to Cecily. “You’re beneath me,” she murmured.
Game face at the fore, William’s mother leered at her horrified son. “There, there, precious. It will only hurt for a moment.” William murmured, “I’m sorry,” as he staked her.
Fledgling Spike, violated and battered half beyond recognition, lay on the ground before Angelus. “Consider it a test of what you're made of. You pass, and you keep your existence another day. If not...well, then I'll take good care of Dru.”
On the floor beside a dresser in China, Spike watched Darla leave without looking back, abandoning him and Dru to their fate.
An injured Spike whose legs barely functioned sank to the ground, too exhausted to reach the Mansion’s courtyard and kill himself. Gradually he sat up, covering his face to weep.
Drusilla spoke quietly to her betrayed childe. “I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes.”
Spike, chipped and helpless, pleaded with the men who’d assaulted him. “You've got my cash. Please, just take it and go.”
Having been thrown to the ground behind the Bronze, Spike could only stare at Buffy as she sneered, “You're beneath me.”
When memories next cycled it wasn't William that appeared before Cecily. It was the Spike that Buffy knew, dressed all in black from docs to duster that kneeled on the ground, head bowed, that heard Cecily's dreaded phrase. And when his mother mocked him next, the figure on the ground sat immobile and unchanged, arms crossed and rocking slightly back and forth.
This was her one and only chance to reach her vampire. For the first time since she’d entered his head, she was facing his conscious self, not a mere memory. Buffy walked forward carefully so as not to frighten Spike. She stopped about two feet away from him and called quietly, "Spike?" His head turned slowly toward her. His eyes, dull and glassy, met hers for a few instants, before he dropped his gaze to the ground again.
Buffy frowned as Dru murmurred in a sad tone, "You taste like ashes." Her own shadow self appeared a moment after Dru faded. Buffy stepped quickly between Spike and the ghost of Buffy's past. She kneeled in front of him and put a hand to the side of his face. Once again he looked at her, apparently surprised by her actions. She didn't blame him. He'd been listening to a memory of her tell him that he was beneath her for hours.
"Spike, I need you to listen to me."
He shook his head, trying to look away, but she pushed her hand back to the nape of his neck to keep his eyes facing hers. "Not how it goes," he mumbled.
She took a deep breath. "This isn't real Spike. You were stung by a demon. You're hallucinating. We're inside your memories. We need to get out of here-"
"No!" he said forcefully, and shoved her arm away. He stood and stormed away, to the edge of his small circular world. "It's a trick. It's not how it goes. It doesn't change." He kept his back toward her, tension obvious in its lines.
Buffy stood and followed him cautiously. "It doesn't change for you. I understand that. But it should, Spike. You should be able to make new memories, not just relive these same ones again and again and again."
His head shook and he flexed his fists at his side. "No. No. It doesn't get any worse. New memories mean it gets worse."
She was tempted to touch him, comfort him physically, but he hadn't reacted well to that the first time. "But it can't get any better either, Spike. It can only get better if you make new memories. And to make new memories I need you to come with me." She pressed her palms together, pleading silently.
He spun slowly to look at her, head cocked to one side, eyes suspicious. "You want to make it worse..."
Adamant, Buffy shook her head, "No, Spike, I-"
He advanced, his menace clear. "Haven't you done enough?" He stopped less than an inch from her, but Buffy refused to retreat. "You said it. I'm beneath you. I get it. I knew it before you said it. Now leave me alone!" He grabbed her by the arms and shook her violently. "Why? Why won't you leave me alone!"
Buffy pushed back against his chest, keeping her focus on his eyes. "I came to take you out of here, Spike. I'm not leaving without you." He roared with anger and his fangs and sloped forehead burst forth. Buffy realized what was coming an instant before his fangs were in her neck. It hurt, which didn’t shock her, because she wouldn't have expected him to be gentle. He thought she was a new tormentor come to taunt him.
The violence stopped instantly. Almost as soon as his fangs penetrated her, his attack ceased. After a moment he pulled back, a look of uncertainty and bewilderment on his wrinkled face. Buffy put a hand to her neck where he'd bitten her. No blood. No wound. She supposed astral projections didn't have blood.
"You're not bleedin'," Spike murmurred. "Chip didn't fire."
She put her hand back on his face, and this time he didn't shake it off. "That's because this isn't real Spike. This is just memories. We need to get back to the real world."
He frowned, his fangs worrying his lower lip. "It'll get worse..."
"It won't get worse," she said urgently. "It'll get better. I promise you, Spike. I'll make it better."
He sniffed. "You hate me out there."
Buffy lowered her eyes for a moment, unable to face the raw fear and loneliness in his yellow gaze. Her voice shook a little as she answered him. "Maybe I used to, Spike. But that's changed now that I finally understand who you are."
"I love you," Spike said in a quiet, hoarse voice. He looked away, awaiting her rejection.
"I know. I know," she petted his cheek, trying to reassure him. But she wouldn't lie to him. "I don't love you Spike." She could see tears starting in his eyes. "But I think I could. And I want to try."
"Really?" The hope his voice held was painfully sincere.
"Yeah," Buffy replied softly.
His game face receded cautiously. "This a crumb, then? Somethin' to keep me goin'?"
Buffy's other hand came up to frame his face. "Spike, if you'll trust me, if you'll come with me, you can have the whole damn cookie."
His answer was so quiet, Buffy barely heard it. "Okay."
________________________________________________________________________
Buffy was sitting down with her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened them and saw Spike seated across from her in his chintz arm chair, rigid as he had been when Willow began the spell to put Buffy inside his mind. His blank, fixed eyes still stared straight ahead, unwavering. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy could see Giles and Willow heading her direction, but she remained focused on Spike, searching for any sign that he’d followed her back into the real world.
Very slowly, Spike blinked.
The blinked again.
And then chaos broke out in the crypt.
*****
Please let me know what you thought! Thanks as always to my beta, Linda.
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 16 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 16
Giles stared at his watch. The half hour he’d promised Tara was nearly up and he couldn’t have been more glad. He knew it was a foolish thought, but he couldn’t help the notion that every moment Buffy spent in Spike’s head drained a little of her own connection with reality. Could Spike shape her thoughts during her excursion into his mind? Suspecting as he did where Spike’s thoughts on Buffy tended toward of late, the concept frightened him beyond words.
“Relax, Giles,” Willow said suddenly.
He jerked his head up, surprised by her comment. “Pardon?”
She smiled at him. “If you keep staring at your watch like that, you’re going to melt it. It’s just five more minutes. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
Giles shook his head. “Optimism has never been my forte. Not with my slayer inside a vampire’s head, said vampire’s sire outside mumbling at the stars, and a glarghk guhl kashma'nik tethered to a tombstone a few yards away.”
Willow frowned. “Okay, yes, all good reasons to be worried. But I just don’t want you to give yourself a heart attack or something. Deep breaths don’t hurt anyone.”
He sighed. “I give you my word, Willow, I’ll relax when I feel that Buffy is safe. When ever that may be,” he finished with a glance at Spike.
Confused by his tone, Willow prepared to ask Giles what he meant. She was interrupted by a soft call from Tara, who was pointing at the seated slayer and vampire. To her surprise, Willow saw that Buffy’s eyes were open.
Giles followed Willow’s line of sight. Immediately, both witch and watcher headed for the slayer.
________________________________________________________________________
It was hard to say what did it. Perhaps the sudden approach of Willow and Giles seemed aggressive to Spike. Or maybe everything is frightening to a coma victim waking from an interminable and difficult sleep. Whatever the reason, the expression of confusion and disorientation that Spike wore when he first woke transmuted an instant later into terror.
Too surprised to act, Buffy remained seated while Spike, in his rush to escape the humans only feet away from him, toppled over his arm chair and sprawled on the floor. He scrambled back, pressing himself against the stone wall of the crypt as he edged toward a trap door in the ground. It would have been funny, Buffy thought, if Spike hadn’t been trembling in fear.
Buffy stood quickly, motioning for Giles and Willow to stay where they were, just behind her chair. A brief look around showed that Tara was in the back of the crypt, but Buffy trusted her to stay still without a reminder. Spike looked wildly between the four occupants of the crypt, finally settling his eyes on Buffy, who was nearest. She couldn’t tell whether or not he recognized her; his wide eyes expressed only panic. Quietly, she called to him. “Spike?”
He flinched, but didn’t flee. His head tilted to the side and his brow furrowed, as though he were trying to make sense of his situation. Buffy tried to help him. “It’s Buffy, Spike. Do you remember us talking? Hmm? We talked about needing to wake up. We talked about how what you were seeing wasn’t real.”
His eyes flicked to her neck, as though searching for the phantom bite he’d placed there. He gave her a nervous nod when his eyes returned to her face. Buffy gave him an encouraging smile just as the crypt door opened, the groan of its hinges unmistakable. All heads turned toward the figure that entered.
Drusilla?
How Dru came to be here, now, Buffy hadn’t a clue. Immediately Buffy’s stance became defensive as she kept a wary eye on the advancing female vampire. Spike seemed just as surprised to see Drusilla as Buffy, so she supposed that he hadn’t known his sire was in town.
Dru’s eyes roved over the interior of the crypt as she entered, assessing the people inside. She lingered for a moment on Buffy, an expression of disdain crossing her pale face before her attention turned wholly to Spike. The smile she directed toward him was accompanied by the words, “Hello William. Mummy’s come to fetch her boy. Say how glad you are to see Mummy.”
Buffy waited for Spike to do something – to acknowledge Dru, to fight her, to run. But he stood shaking and bewildered until his sire was within ten feet of him. Then his fear of Dru, perhaps prompted by the horrific memories he’d been reliving, forced Spike into game face. He growled low and lifted his hands from the wall, clenching them sporadically into fists.
That was the only prompt Buffy needed from Spike to go for Dru. Her hand moved to the small of her back, withdrawing her ever-present stake. She brought her arm forward, twirling the weapon to the proper position. She maneuvered cautiously, trying to slip past Spike’s overturned chair when a hand grasped her wrist. She whirled to see who had halted her. It was Giles, his face intense as he looked from Buffy to Drusilla and Spike, shaking his head.
Buffy realized that he wasn’t shocked to see Dru. He’d known she was here. Not just in Sunnydale, but at Spike’s crypt, right this moment. Buffy couldn’t fathom what had happened to make Dru’s presence tolerable, but clearly the drama she had witnessed in Spike’s head was not the only one that had unfolded tonight. She flashed Giles a puzzled expression as Drusilla began moving toward her childe once more, but Giles shook his head again, mouthing the word ‘later’ as he released her arm.
Buffy turned her attention back to the two vampires. Dru was cooing softly. “Now, now, my Spike, time to come with mummy. We’ve been napping long enough, darling. Time to wake up and go home.”
Buffy’s grip tightened on her stake. Dru was less than five feet from Spike, who’d reached the nearest corner and still gazed fearfully at his sire through yellow eyes. Buffy wanted to go to him, to put herself between him and the female vampire, both because of his horror at facing Dru and the irritation she felt at Dru’s words. His sire had no claim on Spike now. He didn’t belong to Dru.
Buffy prepared to disobey Giles, tensing to strike, but she was saved the trouble by Spike himself. As Dru reached out her hand toward his face, Spike roared and struck clumsily at her extended arm, forcing it back. He crouched slightly, ready to spring, while he continued to snarl at a stunned Drusilla.
Dru backed slowly away from Spike, keeping her eyes on him alone. She shook her head and murmured to herself. “Poor Spike…so lost. Even I can’t help you now.” Buffy watched Dru exit the door of the crypt, but she couldn’t be bothered to give chase. She needed to help Spike.
Buffy laid her stake on the chair beside her, and ignoring a sound of protest from Giles, gradually neared the vampire. He was panting heavily, equal parts frightened and angry. She stopped well back from Spike, giving him a moment to calm and to notice her. A wrong move might drive him to attack, triggering his chip, and she didn’t want him to suffer anymore tonight.
It took a few seconds for him to turn his head from the direction in which Dru had disappeared to look at Buffy. He straightened from his fighting stance an inch at a time, still tense. “Spike…” she said softly. He cocked his head, listening. “I know this is confusing. But you’re awake now. It’s going to be okay.”
His game face receded, watery blue eyes replacing gold. “Buffy?” he murmured urgently. “Is this real?”
She nodded. “Yes, Spike. It’s real.”
He started as Giles, no doubt worried by Buffy’s nearness to the unnerved vampire, began moving toward them again. Buffy motioned forcefully for him to be still. The movement stopped, but Giles didn’t look pleased. Spike swallowed, then lowered his eyes, and in a whisper confessed, “I’m scared.”
Buffy took a few cautious steps nearer. The fear Spike was showing was so at odds with his vampire image that she couldn’t help thinking that at this instant he was another person entirely. “I know, William. I know. We’ll fix this.” She glanced at the trap door by his feet. “You want to wait for me downstairs? I’ll be down in a few minutes. I need to talk to Giles.” Spike bit his lip and nodded. Buffy nodded with him, wanting to reassure him as she kneeled and carefully lifted the panel in the floor. As soon as there was enough space for him to drop through, he ducked down the passage.
Leaving the trap ajar, Buffy turned to face to her watcher and the agitated expression he directed at her. Buffy supposed he could have been annoyed by her recklessness in approaching Spike unarmed, but somehow she doubted it. Giles was perceptive. Maybe he’d already figured out from the way she’d been treating the vampire that she was drawn to Spike.
Now wasn’t the time to address Giles’s worries about her love life, though. Slayer and watcher both knew that business came first, lectures came second. Spike was the priority right now. “Giles, Spike got stung by a demon right before he went into the coma. I think it-”
“Poisoned him, yes. We discovered that and acted accordingly.” Giles turned her attention to a small cauldron set-up in the crypt’s living room area. “Willow and Tara have an antidote prepared. We were about to bring you out of Spike’s mind so that we could administer it when you emerged on your own. With Spike. Or William,” he said with a raised brow.
Buffy ignored the insinuation with which Giles spoke that name. “Give me the stuff. I’ll take it to him.” Off to the side, Tara began ladling a bluish liquid into a cracked mug. Buffy sighed. “What time is it?”
“A bit after nine. You’ve been in there about four hours,” Giles replied.
Buffy shook her head. “It felt longer.”
Willow brought the antidote forward and handed it to Buffy. “Here we go, yummy antivenin.”
Buffy sniffed the contents and wrinkled her nose at the smell. “I’m supposed to get Spike to drink this?”
Willow gave her a sympathetic nod. “Yep. Just be glad he doesn’t know what the ingredient list was.”
Buffy smiled tiredly at Willow and Giles. Willow smiled back. Giles didn’t. “Listen, guys, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for everything you’ve done, but it’s getting late. It’d probably be best if you got out of the cemetery and away to somewhere safe. Especially with Dru out there.”
“She’s probably gone, since her mission’s failed,” Giles murmured. “But that’s likely a wise precaution, in any event.”
“You might be able to calm S-spike down better if w-we’re gone, too,” Tara said quietly as she came to stand beside Willow.
The redhead put an arm around her girlfriend. “We’ll just get our stuff together and head out. Xander’s outside guarding the demon-”
Buffy’s eyes widened. “Demon?”
Willow nodded. “We needed the demon that stung Spike to complete the antidote, so Giles and Drusilla went out and caught it.”
Buffy glanced at Giles. He gave a tired shrug of acknowledgment. “Well, that’s…um, you know, I honestly don’t know what to say to that.”
“So anyway,” Willow continued, “Xander can give us a ride home after we get rid of the glar guhl…big scary demon thing.”
“I’d better go do that ‘slaying thing’ on whatever it is,” Buffy commented.
Tara shook her head. “I think S-spike’s condition is m-more urgent. Xander and Giles can d-deal with the d-demon.”
“Yeah, Buffy,” Willow agreed, “None of us will be able to get Spike to drink that stuff. Oh, there’s more potion, if you need it, but one dose should be plenty. Good luck.”
“Good night, Buffy,” Tara added.
“Night guys. Thanks for everything.” The witches moved off to gather their things.
Giles remained a bit longer. “How long do you plan to stay here, Buffy?” His tone suggested more than casual concern.
Buffy sighed. “As long as it takes to make sure Spike’s alright. Then I need to go home and check in with Mom and Dawnie. They were pretty worried about Spike.”
Giles nodded once, then spoke again. “After you’ve done that, I’d like you to stop by my flat. I think we should talk.”
She could see it in his eyes. He did know that things had changed between Buffy and Spike, even if he wasn’t sure of the exact nature of the new relationship. Hell, Buffy didn’t know herself. She sighed. “Okay. I’ll tell you about Buffy’s Adventures in Spike-land and you can tell me why Drusilla decided to vacation in Sunnyhell.”
He still didn’t smile at her attempted humor. He didn’t even shake his head and mumble about her punning ability. Buffy wasn’t looking forward to the conversation they’d be having later tonight. “I’ll see you if a few hours, then,” he returned.
“Yeah.” He turned to leave. “Giles?”
“Yes, Buffy?”
“Thank you. For keeping things together out here.” She gave him another, tentative smile.
Giles’s reply was simple, “You’re welcome, Buffy. I can hardly expect you to be in two places at one.”
It was a joke. A very British joke, but still a joke, so that was good. And yet his face remained closed, as though the humor was a reflex, not a sincere wish to be witty. “Har, har,” Buffy snorted to herself as Giles exited the crypt.
Buffy took a few deep breaths and listened to the sudden quiet in the tomb. She felt wiped out from the hectic fifteen minutes since she and Spike had returned to the real world, but her night was far from over. She made her way to the trap door and carefully descended to the basement level, mindful of the glass of blue stinky stuff that was going to cure Spike.
It was dark when she reached the lower platform, only the light from the room above breaking through the gloom. “Spike?” she called quietly. He didn’t answer, and for a brief moment Buffy feared that he had slipped back into the sleep she’d just rescued him from. Then, as her eyes became more accustomed to the low light, she saw a pale face and bright hair a few yards away.
He was sitting on a coffin, staring at the ground. A mattress covered in threadbare blankets and pinkish sheets sat on the ground behind his make-shift chair. On another coffin to one side of the mattress, Buffy could see the remains of several burned out candles and torn paper back books. It was a humble place for William the Bloody to sleep. Buffy thought briefly of taking him away somewhere more comfortable after she’d given him the antidote, but he seemed at ease here. It was home, for him.
She sat down beside him on the coffin, but still he didn’t look at her. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. “I need you to drink this, Sp- Will.” He raised his eyes to look at the glass she held out to him. He sniffed once and turned his nose up at the concoction that must have smelled worse to vampire senses than to human ones. “Yeah, I know. But you need this to keep the memories away.”
His head jerked up and a ghost of the fear he’d worn earlier flickered through his eyes. Buffy rubbed her hand on his back, trying to give the comfort he’d been unable to receive while they were in his mind. “Please Will,” she pleaded. “Trust me here.” Her heart clenched as one shaky hand reached out to wrap around the cup. Afraid he’d drop the mug, Buffy helped him bring it to his lips and poured it gently into his mouth. He swallowed it, though his face contorted at the bitter taste.
Buffy set the now empty glass aside and stood. She moved before Spike, holding her hands out to draw him to a standing position. He followed her directions without question as she led him to his bed and motioned for him to lay down on it. He curled up on his side, drawing his knees up like a child. Buffy pulled a worn comforter over him and ran a hand over the side of his face. He gave her a questioning look, wide eyes wondering and fearful.
Buffy let herself lean forward and press a kiss to the cheek she’d been stroking. His breath caught as she pulled back, his expression now awestruck. She rubbed his shoulder again, tenderly. “I’m going to see if I can find some new candles, Spike. Just rest here.”
He nodded in understanding. Buffy rose from her crouch and moved to a small alcove beneath the ladder. She’d seen some boxes of some kind over that way. When she reached the spot she saw not just boxes, but a sheet thrown over a table that might have supplies under it. She grasped the sheet firmly and pulled it down.
She gasped at what she saw laid out before her.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks to my beta Linda.
| | | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 17 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 17
Shrine.
That was the only word that described the sight revealed as the sheet fluttered to the ground, forgotten. Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a shocked cry as hundreds of images of her own face stared back at her. Photos. Sketches. A dummy wearing a wig and what looked like the cashmere sweater she’d accused Dawn of stealing. And then there was the underwear. Thongs. A camisole or two. Socks? Even a pair of shoes that she remembered throwing out because they were too slimed to salvage.
The table was littered with clothing, while the pictures had been pinned to an old message board resting against the wall. Intermingled with the images she could see papers that looked suspiciously like poetry. It was overwhelming to see herself displayed like that. The eyes of the dummy followed her as her gaze roved over the spectacle.
He’d made it from her things, trying to get close to her in the only way he could. He’d stolen, scavenged, and built a monument to her because he was in love with her and couldn’t have her. God. Spike didn’t love half-way, did he? For him love came with obsession and adoration. When he fell, he fell hard. That’s why his worst memories were of rejection. Cecily, Dru, Buffy.
She had to force herself to see this collection in that light. It wasn’t because he wanted to harm her, or was stalking her out of malice. She believed that, truly. But it was going to take time for her to get used to the strength with which Spike felt for her. She wasn’t anywhere near as taken with him. She couldn’t even pretend to make light of his feelings, if this was what he did to stay sane when he couldn’t be with her. Any joking on her part would hurt him.
It still disturbed her that Spike would do this; it wasn’t sane human behavior. But that was the point, wasn’t it? The reason Giles was freaking and the reason Riley told Spike he didn’t have a chance with her. Spike was a vampire. Buffy couldn’t expect him to act exactly like a human being. She would either have to learn to deal with Spike’s demon nature or learn to live without him.
Being with Spike wasn’t going to be easy. Buffy saw that now with a clarity that her tentative thoughts about a relationship with Spike had lacked when she first formed them. She’d known there would be problems getting acceptance from the others, but she hadn’t thought that she and Spike could be obstacles to each other. She should have, given her dating history. But insight wasn’t usually her thing.
Buffy’s hands shook. She was supposed to be finding candles, getting some light for the traumatized vampire. But she couldn’t deal with him while this…altar was behind her. She grabbed the most offensive item, the dummy, and ripped the shirt over its head. She grabbed an empty box and tossed the sweater inside. She tore the pictures and drawings off the backboard, shoving them into the box as well. More clothing, more paper, all of it.
She clapped a lid firmly over the top and breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t feel so exposed, now. She found the candles she’d been looking for, set them atop the surprisingly light box of trinkets and paper, and walked back to the bed. She set the box down on a coffin and set the candles up. Next to the melted wax of the previous lights there was a bent book of matches. She struck one, and soon the lower crypt was illuminated by the soft glow of the candles.
Kneeling next to the mattress, Buffy noticed that Spike’s tired, hooded eyes were focused on her. She could imagine what his thoughts had been as he listened to her destroying his shrine. Building that was the kind of thing she would have slayed him for yesterday, helpless as he was.
Right now, Spike looked as exhausted as Buffy felt, and that impression was strengthened by the obvious worry lining his face. Lips pursed, he spoke in a weary tone. “If you’re gonna yell at me, go ahead. Hit me, if you want.”
He seemed resigned to whatever punishment she would devise, obviously too worn to protest. “I’m not going to yell at you. Or hit you.” Buffy sighed. “I’m going to take this stuff back home. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t steal it again.”
“I won’t.” He frowned. “Figured you’d be angrier than this, way you were goin’ at the stuff.” His expression penitent, he whispered, “Didn’t mean for you to see it.”
Buffy shook her head slowly, trying to put words to her thoughts. “I’m not angry. Weirded out, yeah. But after a few hours watching you from the inside out, I think I understand why you did it.”
One slow nod answered her. Eyes unfocused as he stared up into the darkness, searching for the answer to some unknown question, Spike mumbled, “Suppose you remember what I told you when you were knockin’ around in my head, tryin’ to wake me up.”
Buffy remembered. She remembered his anguished voice as he half sobbed his love to her. As he agreed to trust her for the very first time. “Um-hmm.”
He turned his head on the pillow to meet her eyes. “So you know, then, that I love you.”
He said it quietly, without hesitation. Buffy gave him a shy smile. “Yeah, kinda got that.”
“Still don’t want to hit me?” he asked uncertainly.
It hurt that he had to ask that, though Buffy knew that would have been her response to his heartfelt confession, had she not grown acquainted with the person Spike was beneath the bluster. Through that same new understanding of him, she understood that the fear he felt now was not of being hit, or even dusted, but of being rejected. Of the words ‘beneath me’. So with a shake of her head she said simply, “Nope.”
A puzzled expression drifted across his face. Spike licked his lips and asked softly, “Do you…would you, I mean…like to kiss me, then?” He broke off into a sheepish yawn, then watched her with soft, expectant eyes.
Buffy smiled as she laid her palm against his cheek, lightly stroking the bone with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, breathing her scent in deeply. “Maybe later. Right now, you need to rest. And I need to run home, then go and convince my watcher than I’m not crazy.”
His eyes widened, blue and scared as they had been on that beach long ago when he was a little boy. He swallowed, not quite successful at keeping the anxiety out of his voice as he asked, “You’re leavin’?”
Her fingers trailed up over his ear, running through his gelled hair. “I have to. But if you want, I’ll come back after I’m done.”
She saw Spike’s hesitation, perhaps because he feared to admit just how unnerved the memories he’d relived had made him. How much he needed to know that he wasn’t alone as he had been in them. In the end, he nodded.
Buffy petted his face a moment longer, until he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then she stood and lifted the cardboard holding the remains of Spike’s idol of Buffy worship. She paused, considering the weight of pictures and drawings inside. With one hand she reached inside and pulled out a random image of herself. She was smiling at the camera, looking much happier than she’d felt in a long time.
She closed the box and set the picture on the bed, next to Spike’s hand. As she climbed up the ladder, box under one arm, Buffy saw his fingers curl around the likeness of her.
________________________________________________________________________
“Buffy?”
Buffy propped the front door open as she maneuvered her box-o-stuff-taken-by-Spike through. “Yep, it’s me.” Buffy set the box down on the stairway and turned toward the living room and the sound of her mother’s voice.
Her mom, dressed in her nightgown and robe, was seated on the sofa beside a pajama-ed Dawn. A bowl of popcorn sat on Dawn’s lap while The Princess Bride played on the T.V., the colors of the oft watched video bleeding together. Buffy walked over and sat beside her mother, receiving a brief hug in greeting. Dawn was watching her with anticipation, no doubt waiting to hear the scoop on Spike. Joyce spoke first. “We were wondering where you’d gotten to.” Her mom’s arm settled around Buffy’s shoulders. “How’s Spike?”
Buffy was sure she could think of more difficult questions to answer, but that was a doozy. ‘Fine’ was the first thing that came to mind and the farthest from the truth, but the whole truth was too overwhelming to reveal to a fourteen year old and a recent tumor survivor. So something truthful, but not too honest was the response Buffy needed to deliver. “Awake. He got stung by a demon and the venom put him into a coma. Willow and Tara mixed up the antidote for him.”
Dawn smiled in relief. “Great. I knew he’d be okay.” Averting her eyes, Dawn asked nonchalantly, “Did you tell him I’m the one that found him?”
Her eyes rolled automatically at her sister’s antics as their mother sighed. “No, I didn’t. I will later, if you want.”
Dawn shrugged, eyes on Fezzik. “If you want. Doesn’t matter.”
Buffy and her mother both suppressed a few laughs, before Joyce suggested, “Why don’t you come in the kitchen, Buffy. I’ll make you some tea.”
Buffy suspected that tea wasn’t the only thing on the menu, but to get away from Dawn’s very wide and very impressionable ears, she said, “Sure,” and followed her mother into the other room.
Joyce put some water on to boil and set out some bags of chamomile while Buffy supervised. “Honestly, Buffy, I can make tea without tiring myself out.”
A nod from Buffy greeted her statement. “I know. But now you’re going to sit down at the bar while I get the mugs.”
“As you wish.” Joyce gave a mock sigh of resignation and seated herself on a stool. “So, Buffy, how is William? Really.”
A tired sigh that Buffy couldn’t hold back escaped as she set the fruit patterned china on the cabinet. “He’s doing better than he was.”
“What was it you weren’t willing to say in front of Dawn?” Joyce asked, keeping her eyes on Buffy’s down turned face.
Her fingers drummed lightly on the counter as Buffy explained. It was a surprisingly quick retelling, what with the omission of all that emotion and pain on Spike’s part and the guilt on Buffy’s. She didn’t pretend to believe that her mom didn’t know Buffy was editing the story. Moms were good at that. “…so Dru’s gone, Spike’s better, and I have to go and talk with Giles then get back to Spike.”
The tea pot whistled, and as Buffy poured out the heated water, her mother queried quietly, “Get back to Spike?”
Buffy’s hands shook a little as she carried the mugs to the bar. With a nonchalance that reminded her of Dawn’s behavior in the living room Buffy hedged, “Yep. He didn’t want to be alone.” Oh, that was smooth, Buffy. Sounds like you’re going back there for clandestine activities of the naughty kind.
Her mom didn’t comment on the phrasing, though. “I didn’t realize you were on such good terms with William that you’d do him that kind of favor.”
Buffy cradled her mug in her hands, staring at the little bubbles around the tea bag. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.”
“Well, being in someone’s mind is a better way to get to know him than walking in his shoes.” Joyce sipped her tea. “And if you and William become better friends, I think that’s a good thing.”
Her mouth twitched as Buffy asked, “What if, say, we got to be more than friends?”
A sigh from Joyce made Buffy look up. She never failed to be amazed at how many expressions her mother could wear simultaneously. There was acceptance, and whimsy, and love, and concern, all at once. Spike could do that, Buffy thought to herself. Joyce took another sip from her glass. “If the two of you become more than friends, then I suppose I could get used to the idea. But promise me you’ll be careful. As much as I like him and believe in him, he’s still a bit unpredictable. The two of you are destined for some pretty fierce arguments.”
Buffy’s brow furrowed. “Mom…I don’t mean to pry, okay, maybe I do, but…was it worth it? All the arguing with Dad and the affairs and the divorce?”
Her mother’s hand settled on Buffy’s wrist, warm from the tea mug and firm. “I wouldn’t change anything about my life, Buffy, except the way I treated you back then. You deserved my support, and I didn’t often give it. I won’t lie to you. Splitting up with your father was the most painful thing I’ve ever done. I loved him, and that just slowly went away.
“But I can still remember the good days. They were worth it. And my daughters will always be worth it. If you’re asking me if the chance of getting hurt outweighs the benefits of being with someone…well, I’d say you know as much as I do.” Joyce stared at the counter. “I know that you and Riley were never as close as that. But I seem to recall another vampire you liked. You never told me too much about Angel. But I got the impression you were in love with him.”
Buffy nodded. “I was. Very much.”
Joyce pressed gently, “And was it worth it? Loving him?”
“Yeah.”
“Then there’s your answer,” Joyce removed her hand from Buffy’s wrist.
Buffy stared at her mother for a moment, before coming forward quickly and giving her tight hug. Not slayer tight, but tight. “Thank you, Mom,” she said with a quiet sob.
Joyce kissed her daughter’s hair. “That’s what moms are for, sweetie. Now go upstairs, get fixed up, and go talk to Mr. Giles. Dawn and I will see you tomorrow.”
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks as always to my beta, Linda.
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 18 | | | | abc + + + | | |
Chapter 18
Buffy dressed for comfort. After all, she’d be sleeping in this stuff when she got back to the crypt. So she carefully tied on her jogging pants and picked an older t-shirt, one not noticeably stained, and completed the look with a pair of soft canvas sneakers. She might as well get Spike used to the unglamorousness of Buffy at bedtime. Not that he would be seeing her at bed time again for a while. No. Just that he should know what he might possibly be getting into.
As she pulled her hair up into a loose bun she spared a glance for the box sitting on the bed. Spike’s collection of Buffy-centric treasures, or at least what remained of it. With a sigh she approached it and lifted the lid to look at the contents. Her hand in reached inside, raking through photos and little scraps of paper covered in Spike’s handwriting. She reached for one of them, hesitating. It was his poetry; should she read it?
Well, really, it was written for her, so where was the harm. She pulled out a crinkled sample and smoothed it against her bedspread. Spike had pretty writing. Much prettier than hers, she thought with a grimace. The script flowed lightly along the page, smooth and strong and curly. Buffy’s eyes focused on the beginning of the short poem and she read, ‘In the darkness of my life I see her, bright and strong and swift./ She of beauty royal, muse divine? A woman with a gift./ Every line and feature holds her charm and grace/ With never a rift/ To mar her face./ She who lights my world, makes me soar, gives my spirit lift.’
She stared at the paper, touched by his words. Spike’s poetry had truly improved over the past one hundred years. But even if this little rhyme had been as rotten as the poems Spike wrote for Cecily, Buffy would have found it beautiful. Knowing the man and knowing his feelings, she couldn’t think anything else. Gently she folded the paper and put if back inside the box. Buffy covered it with its cardboard lid and slid it under her bed.
Quietly Buffy crept down the stairs and out the front door, unspeakably glad that it was she and not her watcher that had found the shrine and the poetry in it.
________________________________________________________________________
The exterior lights at Giles’s apartment were on, as they always were when Buffy was expected. She stood on the front mat for a moment, trying to build up her courage. She raised a shaky hand and knocked twice on the oak. A moment later she heard her watcher’s voice call out a gruff, “It’s open.” Her hand landed on the knob, twisted it, and pushed the door open.
Buffy entered quickly and shut the door behind her. Once the light from the carriage lights outside was blocked, the interior of her watcher’s house seemed so dark. The only illumination in the downstairs came from the pendant lamps in the kitchen. Giles was sitting on one of his barstools, staring at the Formica countertop. Beside him sat an unopened bottle of scotch and an empty glass tumbler.
He’d changed out of his suit after leaving the crypt and his glasses were absent, but even in jeans and a button-up shirt there was something formal and cool about him. She might be a slayer, but there were times when Giles unnerved Buffy more than any demon. It was rarely deliberate, but that didn’t make him any less frightening. He became so intent, so quiet, so motionless that it felt like she was a specimen in a jar that he was examining. It terrified her that one day he might look at her in that way with disgust instead of anger or confusion as he sometimes did.
True, he wasn’t looking at her at the moment, but the way he wasn’t looking at her still managed to be intimidating. He hadn’t said another word, though she’d been standing there for almost five minutes. No polite offers of a cool beverage, no asking her to have a seat, and no little Gilesy half-smile. Buffy was at a loss. She crossed her arms over her chest and said in a quiet voice, “Hey Giles.”
“Buffy,” he replied evenly.
She took a few steps toward him, stopping beside the countertop three feet away from him. He didn’t attempt to make conversation, so Buffy felt obligated to fill the empty air, well aware that she was going to start babbling as badly as Willow if she didn’t get more than one word responses. “I got Spike to take the cure. He seemed better when I left. Then I stopped by my house and changed. Dawn and Mom were glad to hear that Spike’s okay. Dawn doesn’t want us to know, but she totally has a crush on him.”
She waited, but his only response was a nod. Maybe he’d answer a direct question. It would be rude not to, right? And Giles was never that rude, even if he was distant. With a swallow, she asked, “So did you and Xander get the Gargle – um, demon, taken care of?”
“Glarghk Guhl Kashma'nik,” he stated automatically. His eyebrows rose and his head shook slightly. “No, actually. It seems that after Drusilla left the crypt, she decided to take it with her. Xander wasn’t certain whether or not he should stop her, so in the end she led the creature away by its chains, back into the woods.”
Buffy smiled momentarily. “She always did have strange taste in men.” For the first time, Giles looked at her. His expression reflected so many thoughts, but most of all she could see the irony he found in her statement and a certain, almost cruel, amusement. Disturbed, Buffy looked away. “S-so, anything special about this demon?”
When he replied it was as though he was reading from one of his musty books. “Nocturnal. Injects its victims with a neurotoxin that slowly induces a vegetative state. It tracks and eats them at its leisure.”
“So it thought Spike was dinner?” she asked.
“Most likely.”
Giles continued to stare at her, unblinking. Buffy was too tired to keep dancing around like this. She sighed. “Just say it, Giles. Tell me I’m insane.”
“Why would I say something like that?” Giles asked in a sardonic voice. He turned so that he leaned against the counter, propped up on his arm. “Tell me, Buffy, why I would have a reason to doubt your sanity.”
A deep breath filled Buffy’s lungs. This was it. With a fast exhale, she confessed, “Because I’m falling for Spike.”
There was a snort from her watcher as he lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “Yes, I can’t imagine how, with decisions like that, I might find you a bit off.”
Frustration and anger were building in Buffy. “This isn’t a joke, Giles.”
He barked out a short laugh. “I hope not. If it is, it’s bloody unfunny.” He let his hand fall and fought to keep his voice level as he answered her. “I had my suspicions that you were becoming so inclined, given your treatment of him when he woke from his coma. It seemed more than simple sympathy.”
“I promised I’d help him. I couldn’t do that without being kind,” was her defensive answer.
“Perhaps not.” He cleared his throat. “And yet I know that this morning, kindness was not a feeling you associated with Spike. Your contempt for him is legendary.”
“I despised him,” she agreed. “but I…things have changed.”
Giles leaned forward. “Because of Spike’s feelings for you?”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “You know about that?”
Giles nodded. “Yes, I’d surmised that much from Xander’s description of his attentions toward you.” His lips pursed and he looked back to his countertop, unseeing. “You’re an adult Buffy, one capable of making her own decisions. You’re intelligent, and strong, and I trust you with my life. With the lives of others.
“There are so many obvious objections I could make to this, Buffy. I will not insult you by reciting them, but-”
“You mean how he’s a vampire and I’m a slayer? That he could get my friends, or my family, killed? That he could betray me? That he’s evil? That he’s soulless?” Buffy asked. “Believe me Giles, I’ve thought of all that.”
“Well, have you thought that perhaps these new feelings are a lie?” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “I could live with the possibility of mutual affection between yourself and Spike, as unworthy as he is. But I have difficulty believing this change of heart can be sincere, when you spent hours inside Spike’s mind, possibly being influenced without your knowledge by the illusion to which he fell prey!”
“It wasn’t an illusion.” Buffy murmured. “It was memories. Horrible memories. Spike was reliving the worst parts of his life, over and over and over, with me along for the ride. It wasn’t something he just imagined. It’s possible for the venom to make that happen, right?”
Giles mused for a moment. “The hallucinations are based on the thoughts of the prey at the time of infection. It’s the subject’s own mind that creates and maintains the delusion, so the realism would vary between victims. They provide their own cage.” He sighed. “The nature of the fantasy doesn’t mean that you weren’t affected by it.”
“I know love spells, Giles. I remember what it felt like to be engaged to Spike. This isn’t some magic curse.” Buffy shook her head. “I witnessed his life, Giles, and yes, that’s influenced me because it made me see things I’d been ignoring. That has nothing to do with spells or venom. I feel like I met the real Spike for the first time. And I liked him.”
“Memory is the most deceptive of guides,” Giles responded irritably. “Imperfect and subjective.”
Buffy shook her head. “Not these memories. They were real, vibrant.” She looked away for a moment. “Some of them were experiences I remember. His memories and mine match up perfectly. More perfectly than I’d like, sometimes.”
Giles clenched then unclenched his hands. “That doesn’t mean seeing Spike is a good decision.”
“Please Giles. You said you trust my judgment.” She took a step nearer to her watcher. “I know him so well, Giles, better than you can imagine. I’ve seen him as a man and as a vampire. He’s had the most terrifying and painful experiences but somehow survived. He’s strong. He’s loyal. He loves so deeply-”
He cut her off. “Like Angel? Your supposed soul mate?”
She shook her head. “No. Angel was a stranger. I never knew him. Spike, I’ve seen at his very worst. He can be a good man.”
Giles stood and closed the short distance between them. “You said it yourself, Buffy. He’s a demon. No soul, just a chip. One day that microchip is likely to malfunction, and if his feelings for you falter-”
Adamant, Buffy declared, “That won’t happen. He loves me.”
“It’s still possible. What then?” Giles demanded.
She sighed. “Then I’ll kill him.”
“Do you hear yourself, Buffy?” he asked, disbelieving. “Is it rational to open yourself to this kind of pain?”
“No. Probably not. But I can’t ignore his feelings for me or mine for him. Yes, it could come to that, some day.” She stared at him, unblinking and adamant. “I was beginning to doubt I’d ever be able to get close to someone again. I will not lose this chance just because of what might happen someday in the future.”
“Buffy-”
“It hurt you when Jenny was killed,” Buffy stated.
He frowned, taken aback. With a slow nod, he acknowledged her observation. “Yes, it did.”
Her eyes flashed as she demanded, “Would you give up the time you had with her to avoid the pain?”
Giles shook his head and stammered, “T-that’s a different matter.”
Buffy blinked. “No it’s not.”
“Yes it is,” he insisted
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not!”
“Yes, it-” he broke off, staring for a moment at the carpet. The corners of his mouth ticked, and Buffy thought for a moment he was smiling. “You know, you can be rather stubborn.”
She huffed. “Maybe, but I’m not the only one.”
Her watcher sighed. “Have you told your mother about this?”
“Mm-hmm,” she affirmed. “Mom says we’re bound to have some terrible fights.”
“Yes, I would say that’s given,” Giles agreed. Another sigh. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”
Buffy shook her head.
Giles looked up, as though asking for patience. Resigned, he pleaded. “Will you at least promise me to be careful around Spike?”
“Don’t worry, Giles.”
“Little late for that, I’m afraid,” he countered, “with my daugh- slayer dating William the Bloody.”
“Well, we’re not actually dating yet. We have to talk about things.” Buffy smiled and wrapped her arms around her watcher’s waist. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
Giles brought his arms up to return her hug, pulling her against him. “Thank you.”
With a sniff, Buffy whispered. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but I-”
“Never. Disagreeing with me isn’t a crime. Some would probably call it a virtue.” Buffy laughed. “You’ll always have my approval, Buffy.” He patted her shoulder lightly. “Spike on the other hand…he’ll need to earn it. And I intend to make certain that he does.”
________________________________________________________________________
Buffy knew when she entered the crypt that something was wrong. She could hear Spike’s cries from the upper level. She darted down the ladder in time to see Spike writhing on his mattress, face contorted in fear. Buffy ran forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, calling out loud, “Spike! Spike, wake up. It’s a dream, Spike.”
With a gasp his eyes opened. He saw her and grasped her arms for support as he panted, still panicked from his nightmare. “I’m here Spike,” she assured him. He nodded, calming slowly. His eyes stayed glued to her as though he expected her to disappear at any moment. Buffy gave him a small smile to reassure him. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”
He swallowed and in a rough, tired voice replied, “If you’re here out of pity, I’d rather you just go home. I couldn’t take it if you left tomorrow.” He hung his head, as though embarrassed by what he’d admitted. There was no bravado in him now, just an honest need to be near someone.
“I’m staying, Spike,” she said firmly. “I’m not leaving you.” She pushed him back down against the mattress and stroked his face gently. His hooded eyes closed, and after a few minutes his unnecessary breathing evened out.
Buffy lay down beside him.
*****
Please let me know what you think! Thanks to Linda, my beta!
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| Sympathy for the Devil - Chapter 19 | | | | abc + + + | | | Chapter 19
Buffy knew, as she swam toward consciousness, that she wasn’t in her bed on Revello Drive. The sheets surrounding her had a different texture than her own. Also, the air here was colder than it was in her cozy home. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her blurry vision. The mattress on which she lay rested on the ground in a dim, dirt-walled room. There was a coffin beside her.
This was Spike’s crypt and Spike’s bed. She’d come here last night and woken him from a nightmare, then stayed. The mattress fit two people easily, so she’d crawled in beside him under the covers. She had lain awake for a while, listening to him breath, but no other dreams had troubled him. Instead her eyes explored his sleeping face, admiring those high cheekbones and pale skin. Eventually, she fell asleep.
Buffy’s hand reached for the other side of the bed, but failed to encounter the body of the vampire she had comforted. She sat up to gaze around the crypt’s lower level, but didn’t see him. The burned out stubs of the candles she’d lit the previous night lay extinguished on the wooden surfaces of the coffins, replaced by new, tall sticks that flickered periodically. Spike must have lit them. Perhaps he’d gone upstairs.
There was a slight difference in the room from her memory of the previous night. On the casket at the foot of the bed, at a safe distance from the candles and the leisurely drip of their wax, was a thin binder. Buffy pushed up onto her knees and edged forward along the bed. She leaned against the coffin foot board and reached for the folder, repositioning it in front of her.
It was a battered black photo album with the single word ‘Album’ embossed on the cover in gold script. Buffy bit her lip, debating as to whether or not she should open it, but in the end her curiosity won out over her discretion. Gingerly, she lifted the cover, wincing as the old spine cracked in protest. Buffy carefully flattened the binding against the coffin lid before glancing at the first photo within.
Her eyes widened and her hand rose to stifle a gasp that threatened to escape her. What she saw before her was an old, yellowed photograph lovingly preserved on expensive paper. It was a portrait of a family – mother, father, and three children – wearing Victorian garments. The mother held two very young girls in white dresses and caps on her lap. Beside the father stood a boy of about six, wearing a little suit with a lace collar. William.
Buffy smiled. Spike had taken care to safeguard this precious, delicate piece of his history, reminding her that as always, his humanity was not far beneath the surface. Buffy searched the faces of the people in the picture. Spike had a loving family, with a gentle mother, adoring sisters…and though Buffy had never seen his father in Spike’s memories, she recalled the tears he and his sisters had shed upon the man’s death. He’d loved his father. Looking at the patriarch in this photo, she could see a similarity between the two men, especially about the eyes.
Cautiously, Buffy turned the page. This time she was faced by two close-ups, one each of Spike’s parents. They were younger here, perhaps just recently married. Another page turned brought images of the two sisters he’d lost to influenza. Rachel, the eldest, was about fourteen when the image was taken. Another page brought a picture of William in his early twenties, standing beside his seated mother. It must have been just the two of them at that time.
On the opposite page was a document, written lengthwise. Buffy tilted her head to get a better look at it and noted with some surprise that it was a diploma. Spike had not only gone to college, he’d achieved a Master’s degree in English Literature. With a wicked smile, Buffy thought to herself that here was blackmail if she ever needed it. Not that she would do that to Spike, having promised herself to be fair with him from now on. Unless of course he tried something first…
The next page produced a family portrait of a very different and much more shocking nature. Before Buffy was an image of the members of Order Aurelius, or at least Spike’s branch. Angelus and Darla sat on a couch holding hands. On the opposite side of Darla sat Dru, looking demure. Behind the sofa stood two male vampires. The shorter one, a stocky man with an arrogant smile, Buffy didn’t recognize, but the second was Spike. He must have been a very young fledgling when the picture was taken. His smile was soft.
The pages of the album that followed contained a few more pictures of the vampires Spike called family, interspersed with sketches that looked to Buffy like portraits drawn by Angelus. The later pictures featured only Spike. Well, Spike and Drusilla. Buffy couldn’t help a little jealousy at seeing the evidence of how long the two of them had been together. She focused her attention on Spike as she continued to turn the pages, smiling at how his appearance changed over the decades.
Only about three quarters of the album was filled. Turning to the very last picture, Buffy saw that it was the same small photo she’d allowed Spike to keep from the hoard he’d taken from her home. The one she’d laid beside him before she left to speak with her mother. Buffy felt humbled to see her image along with these people that Spike had loved so deeply.
Footsteps sounded on the ladder. Buffy looked up in time to see Spike descending, a cardboard drink cozy held in one hand. Quickly, she closed the book and set it back in its original position, though she knew Spike must have seen her looking at it.
His words confirmed the fact as he approached the bed. “’S okay. You can look if you want.”
“I’m sorry,” Buffy apologized belatedly. She stared at the cover. “I should have asked.”
The mattress shifted as Spike sat down heavily beside her, tucking his feet up against the coffin and placing his cardboard drink carton atop the wood. “Was plannin’ on showin’ it to you anyway,” he murmured, with a gesture toward the book. His weary tone made Buffy meet his gaze for the first time that morning. Despite a night’s rest, he still looked worn from his experience the previous day. Quietly, he continued, “You’ve already seen the stuff I was tryin’ to hide, outside and in.”
Buffy stared into his eyes, nodding slightly to acknowledge the truth of what he’d said. In his eyes she could see how raw, how exposed he felt before her, and how frightened he was of how she would judge him. Buffy lifted a hand slowly and set it on his arm. She squeezed the muscle beneath her fingers as, in a steady, reassuring voice, she declared, “I’m still here.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, as though he barely believed it. “I noticed.” He swallowed nervously, then turned his head to consider the drinks he’d brought with him. Buffy’s hand was dislodged as he reached for one of the ceramic mugs wedged into the too-small holes. “I, uh, made coffee. Figured you’d want some.”
Eagerly, Buffy accepted the warm glass. She wrapped her cold hands around it. “Thanks.” She took a sip as he reached for his own cup. It steamed in the cool air of the crypt just like her coffee, but the liquid inside was a deep red. “Hungry?”
He gave a shy nod. “Hadn’t had anythin’ since…since before I went under.”
“Two days ago,” Buffy supplied, realizing that he didn’t know how long he’d been in the grip of the poison.
A frown marred his features. “Felt like longer.”
“Did it ever,” she agreed.
He glanced at her, curious. “How long were you inside me?”
“A few hours,” she told him with a sigh. “But even that seemed like days, what with – well, the memories.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you, in there.”
It took a moment for Spike to respond and when he did it was with a single word. “Bad.” Buffy watched his eyes close around suppressed tears as his jaw clenched. She set her coffee aside and reached for him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as she slid beside him. They were pressed hip to hip as Buffy’s other hand, warm from the coffee, rose to pet his strained face. Raggedly he breathed, “Keep waitin’ for it to start all over again. Of all the bloody things to hallucinate, I pick that shite.”
“Giles said it comes from whatever you were thinking about when you were stung.” She sighed. Gently, she prompted, “Do you remember how you got infected?”
“Had a row with Harmony after I left the Bronze, t’ other night. Took her to the bus station, gave her some money, and said goodbye. Walked back through the cemetery, thinkin’ about how hopeless it was. How every time I got to thinkin’ I had a chance at bein’ someone I just got buggered over.” He snorted and opened his eyes. “Figured it might be better to give over and just live with how pathetic I’d always been, instead of keepin’ up hope of somethin’ more.”
Neither spoke for some time after that. Buffy waited silently. She kept her hands on him to reassure him that she was there. She felt him calm, felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as his breathing steadied. “That was why I got the pictures out,” he admitted. “To remind myself that it wasn’t all that way. Lot of it was bloody brilliant.”
“I’m so sorry,” Buffy blurted out.
His face was puzzled as he regarded her. “Told you it was alright to look at the pictures, pet. I don’t mind.”
Buffy shook her head. “Not about that. Well, yes about that, but that’s not what I meant.” His eyes stayed with her, encouraging her to speak. Breathing deeply, Buffy confessed, “I’m so sorry for making you feel hopeless. And for saying that you were beneath me.” He shivered at the reminder of that alley and Buffy hastened to add, “You aren’t. God, Spike, I’ve treated you like dirt, like worse than dirt. No one, least of all you, deserves that.”
His brow furrowed in surprise at her apology. Buffy knew it wasn’t what he’d expected. Hesitant, he countered, “It wasn’t just about you.”
“I know,” she affirmed, now fighting tears of her own. “But I helped. And I’ll always regret that.”
“Don’t, luv,” he pleaded. “You have enough to worry about without adding that rot to the mix.” His arm came up to mirror her embrace of him, pulling them tight together. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.
Buffy sniffed. “You still love me, after everything I’ve done to you,” she marveled.
The look he gave her showed just how ridiculous he thought she was being. “’Course. Can’t help it, can I? You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You’re in my gut ... my throat ... I’m drowning in you, Summers,” he whispered.
“So you’re interested in being my boyfriend?” She queried.
“I would suffer through this every day for a chance to be yours,” he avowed.
The intensity of his eyes as he spoke threatened to overwhelm Buffy, but she forced herself to focus. “It’s not like that for me,” she declared ruefully. “I’m willing. I really, really, really like you. I know that I could love you, Spike. That I will love you if we end up together. But you have so much passion about this. I haven’t felt that strongly about anyone since…” she left Angel’s name unspoken. It wasn’t necessary. “I’m afraid of disappointing you,” she finished apologetically.
Spike shook his head. “Slayer,-”
“Call me Buffy.”
He nodded. “Buffy. The only way you could disappoint me would-” he sighed. “I couldn’t stand it if I thought you were doing this ‘cause you feel sorry for me.”
“No, no! I-” Words weren’t her things. She had trouble talking about breakfast, how was she supposed to express her feelings to Spike? Frustrated, she almost yelled, “I want to be with you because I’ve seen who you are on the inside.” That didn’t sound bad. “You laugh at death. You’re selfless with the people you love. You’re loyal.” She smiled. “You wrote me poetry.”
He grunted. “You read some of that drivel, did you? I get it. It scarred you for life and now you’re not in your right mind.”
Buffy laughed quietly. “I loved it. Nobody ever wrote me poetry before.”
“Sure you aren’t a little off?” He asked timidly. “Crazies are the only ones that ever liked my scribbles.”
Exasperated, Buffy shook her head. “You’re the second English guy to ask me if I’m crazy since yesterday. What is it with you people?”
Spike licked his lips, considering. “You told the watcher ‘bout this?”
“He guessed. He’s going to be watching you more than me, now, so make sure you behave.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Behave as much as it is possible for you to behave.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t come back here and stake me,” Spike mused.
Buffy sighed. “He’s not happy, but he said it was my decision, which it is. Mom said the same thing.”
Disbelieving, he asked, “You told Joyce?”
She nodded, surprised by his tone. “Is that okay?”
“Bloody hell, ‘course it’s okay. It’s just…you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”
His tone was full of wonder. Buffy realized that she’d managed to give him back his hope. Throat tight, she replied, “Mm-hmm.”
Still unsure, he asked, “What can you possibly see in me? I’m a demon. Unworthy.”
“I know you’re a vampire Spike. But that doesn’t mean as much to me as it used to.” She wasn’t sure what else she could say to make him believe her sincerity. A memory of a memory rushed to the forefront of Buffy’s mind and she recalled the moment of William’s turning. Dru’s words were as accurate a description of Spike, then and now, as Buffy had ever heard. “‘A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory. You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.’”
He sighed, recognizing the lines. “At least you left out the burning baby fishes swimmin’ all around my head.”
“That’s because I’m not crazy. But Dru was right. That’s the man you are. I’m not going to ask you to be perfect. Just to be you, William or Spike, but most of all, mine,” Buffy declared. “Please trust me, Spike, like you trusted me to bring you back to the real world. We have a chance at being together. I want to take it.”
Eyes moist and voice shaky, he groaned, “God, luv, so do I.”
The tears Buffy had been suppressing on and off throughout their conversation burst forth at his tender admission. Spike pulled her over to him so that she was half straddling his lap so that he could wrap both arms around her. He squeezed her tightly, forgetting his strength, but Buffy didn’t care. She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him with the same ferocity.
Time passed and they refused to move, to break the spell. Sometime after her tears had dried, Buffy heard Spike’s voice beside her ear. “Luv? Can I kiss you?”
Buffy smiled. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He leaned her head back with a delicate touch. He licked his lips before tentatively pressing them to her mouth. With ardor she’d thought forgotten, Buffy responded, keeping the pressure between them firm as she slid her hand around to cup the back of his head.
They broke apart panting. One of Spike’s hands lifted to trace the side of Buffy’s face. In the barest of whispers, Spike murmured, “Effulgent.”
Buffy kissed him back.
Fin.
*****
Response to Challenge #155. AU after the first scene in Crush. Out on patrol Spike gets stung by a glarghk guhl kashma'nik demon and becomes lost in his memories. In an attempt to find out what's wrong with him, Buffy goes inside his mind and discovers the truth about William the Bloody.
Thank you to Kargrif for the Challenge, the Banner, and the Icon.
Thank you to my beta Linda for her input and for keeping my head sowed on straight.
Thank you to the reviewers.
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