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| A Future Set in Sand - Chapter 1 | | | | - - - abc | | | 
He stepped slowly out of the shadows as he watched the girl and her friends leave the club and head out into the night, a faint smile that held a promise of danger curving his lips by the barest degree and lighting his eyes with dark frightening intensity. ‘This is more like it,’ he thought, feeling the first stirrings of interest since his arrival in this god-forsaken town.
He hadn’t wanted to come, was all set to head back over to Europe for a bit when the call had come; he’d seen no reason to change their plans, but Dru had insisted that they head across country in answer to Grandmummy’s summons, only to find the stupid bint was already dust by her precious Angelus’ hand long before their arrival. So here he was, surrounded by obsequious fools all falling over each other for the chance to impress the impotent bat-faced head of his happy little family.
The Master’s current favourite, a snivelling, whiny little brat who sat at the old git’s feet like Lord Muck, was by far the worst; how he’d managed to refrain from ripping the annoying little bastard’s head off this long, he didn’t know. And Drusilla was there right alongside the rest of his pathetic kin, worshipping the ugly bastard like he was the second bloody coming or some such. Spike, however, recognised that whatever power the stupid old git wielded from the confines of his self-made prison was only due to the idiots who bowed down to the ugly prat, all of those who voluntarily passed into the bastard’s lair and allowed him to rule over them. For Dru’s sake he had presented himself, playing the good little childe and bowing his head, all the while biting hard on his tongue to keep from telling the posturing old wanker exactly what he thought of him.
The presence of a slayer was a windfall that might yet make this little side-trip worth his while. He watched until she disappeared from sight, his eyes eagerly devouring the deceptively fragile form of the powerful, petite blonde. Like all of her kind she was compelling; the rich scent of her blood sang to him, making his fangs itch, even as her lithe curves and bright, youthful vivacity had him adjusting his suddenly too-tight jeans.
With anticipation singing in his veins, he followed in her wake, moving silently through the darkened streets with the deadly grace achievable only by a creature such as he. His focus honed unerringly on the girl and, with quiet, deadly intent, the Slayer of Slayers trailed his prey, watching, listening, and learning as she dropped each of her companions at their respective homes before moving on to her own.
*****
He’d watched her every night for the last two weeks; he already knew the pattern of her nightly rounds, and he marvelled at both the naďveté of the girl’s predictability and the stupidity of her watcher for failing to teach his charge basic survival skills. When she fought, though, she was a sight to behold; beauty, grace, power, and, despite the wisecracks and taunting banter that seemed to be as much a part of her slaying technique as were her fighting skills, a certain sweet innocence that was unbelievably appealing. All slayers were beautiful; he’d had the pleasure of defeating two and having fought a few more besides, and one thing they all had in common—apart from the obvious, or possibly because of it—was a lithe athleticism and dancer’s grace that combined into a wholly appealing package. This one just had something—more; there was a vibrancy to her that drew him, held him fascinated and entranced far beyond the time when she should have been little more than a memory. She was a diversion, he told himself. Watching her provided a distraction from the endless tedium of this town, and the incessant edifying of his patriarch.
Now he waited. He’d arrived back in the underground church after a couple of days’ blessed absence and had gone immediately to Dru’s side; she’d been bubbling with excitement and, as usual when she was in such a state, she hadn’t been making a hell of a lot of sense. From what he could gather, the majority of the old git's minions had been sent out with orders to storm the school and take the Hellmouth in preparation for the Master's release from his prison. It seemed that, somehow, the slayer was the key to releasing the ancient vampire from his tomb. The boy had been sent out of the lair a short time ago, with old bat-face spouting something or the other about how the brat was supposed to lead the slayer back to him. Why the girl would walk into a bleeding obvious trap Spike didn’t know, but he intended to be there to find out what was going on. The slayer was his; he’d set his mind on her, and he didn’t intend for anyone else to be stealing the chit out from under his nose.
*****
Spike leant casually against the wall of the crypt, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth as he watched the slayer’s approach. She appeared to be following the vampire child willingly enough, but as he watched her he noticed that there was something wrong. Something missing. He studied her face as she drew closer, gazing intently into haunted green eyes. She appeared lost—desolate.
They entered the crypt with the child leading the way, his usual arrogant sneer fixed in place. The boy’s face darkened when he spotted Spike, and the young vampire opened his mouth to order the blonde back to the lair; he was used to unquestioning obedience from the Master’s kin, but this particular vampire was something of a wild card. The flash of gold in the mocking azure eyes combined with the low warning growl that emanated from deep within the older vampire’s chest to halt his yet-unspoken command.
Spike stepped quickly between the slayer and the so-called Anointed One. “Sod off back to His Exaltedness. An’ you can tell the old git, from me, that he ain’t having her—Slayer’s mine.” His eyes burned intently into the young vampire’s until the child’s eyes dropped and, with a snarl of his own and a last glance over his shoulder at the interfering blonde, the boy scurried down the tunnels and back to the lair to let his master know what had transpired.
Buffy craned her neck, her eyes following the Anointed One’s progress down the tunnel; a slight frown creased her brow as she watched her guide disappear.
Settling back against the wall once more, one leg stretched in front of him and the other bent at the knee with his foot resting flat against the wall, Spike reached into his coat pocket for his smokes. In a well-practiced move, he flicked a cigarette from the packet into his mouth; light flared brightly for a moment as he lit it, inhaling deeply before drawling lazily, “You don’t wanna be goin’ down there, Slayer. ‘specially when there are much more interesting things to be doing up here.” His eyes trailed appreciatively over her body, and his lips twisted into a suggestive smirk that unfortunately failed to get the indignant response he had been hoping for.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” she asked dispassionately.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he announced casually.
“Yeah? I should be so lucky,” she replied with a resigned sigh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spike asked as he straightened, dropping the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot.
Buffy watched with indifference as he transformed from the epitome of casual repose to deadly hunter before her eyes; blue eyes bored intently into hers as his scarred eyebrow arched elegantly in query. Shrugging wearily, she explained, “You can’t kill me; that’s the Master’s job. Or at least that’s what they tell me.”
“And who exactly is ‘they,’ pet?” Somebody had really done a number on this slayer. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been vibrant and powerful, had made both his dick and his fangs ache to be inside her; now she was listless, resigned—pathetic. Fighting her now would be about as rewarding as fighting a kitten, only with a lot less risk to his well-being.
There was no denying that she was a pretty little chit, all dressed up to the nines for some do or another, but without the fire he had seen in her previously she was nothing special; just another pretty girl in a pretty dress. He wondered what it would take to reignite that spark, to bring out the slayer hiding inside the scared but dutiful little girl.
“My Watcher, Angel, and that book.” She sighed, her eyes closing. “I don’t know why I’m even here; I should’ve had better sense than to just follow the Littlest Vampire here, but no—I get to fulfil my destiny. Cause that’s what Slayers do,” she grumbled under her breath.
A low, involuntary growl sounded in the back of Spike’s throat at the mention of his grandsire’s name before he turned his attention back to the girl with a confused frown. “An’ what book would that be, love?”
“The Codey-Something. Some sort of prophecy.” Buffy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. “Slayers aren’t meant to live long anyway, right?”
“So, what? You’re just gonna walk down there and offer up your neck because some book says this is a fight you can’t win?” Spike growled, his eyes flashing furiously. “What the bleedin’ hell is wrong with you? You’re a Slayer; try acting like one.”
“I…” Buffy frowned slightly. “But Giles said…” Her voice trailed off as she thought back to her earlier conversation with Angel and her watcher.
“What?” Spike snapped. “What incredible words of wisdom did your watcher have that turned you into a pathetic excuse for a slayer?”
Her back straightened, her frown deepening as she glared at the blonde vampire. “What’s it to you anyway? I don’t have time for this—get out of my way.” Buffy made to shove past him; when he grabbed her arm to stop her she spun quickly, her fist connecting with his face as she ducked under his arm and ran down the tunnel. The crossbow she’d carried clattered unheeded to the ground, leaving her armed with only a stake as she fled the irritating blonde and hurried after the child vampire.
Spike wiped the blood from his nose. “Bitch!” he snarled angrily before his resentment dissipated, his mouth creasing slowly into a smile. 'Looks like there’s still a slayer in there after all,' he mused.
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| A Future Set in Sand - Chapter 2 | | | | - - - abc | | |
Buffy slid to a halt and looked around her. Hundreds of candles burned around the large underground cavern, casting faint light into the ornate archways that led to other rooms and over the broken pillars that had once supported the roof but now lay scattered on the ground. The once-beautiful marble floor was now covered in the collective detritus of decades of neglect. She made her way cautiously down the stairs and into the cavern proper, her eyes searching the shadows for any sign of either her enemy or the boy vampire who had recently been her guide.
“Welcome,” The Master’s voice echoed around her. Buffy lifted her chin defiantly and squared her shoulders, even as icy cold shivers of fear ran tingling down her spine.
The Master stepped out of the shadows and into the flickering candlelight, the Anointed One following a step behind. With an amused smile, the ancient vampire assessed the slayer before bending to whisper something to his companion.
Buffy cocked an eyebrow at the boy by the Master’s side. “How could I refuse such a lovely invitation?” she shot back, pleased when her voice came out with considerably more confidence than she was feeling.
The ancient vampire drifted closer, his hideous face creasing into a macabre mockery of a smile. "Such courage. I'm impressed. Of course, courage isn't enough. You will die here tonight."
"Maybe," Buffy retorted, her eyes narrowing in determination as she tightened her hold on the stake in her hand. "But then again, I just may take you with me."
The Master smiled indulgently at her boast before continuing on as if speaking to a small child. "You tried. It was noble of you. You heard the prophecy that I was about to break free, and you came to stop me. But prophecies are tricky creatures; they don't tell you everything." He stepped closer to the frightened slayer, ignoring the stake that she raised a little higher; in a loud stage whisper, he continued, "You're the one that sets me free!" A sharp, humourless bark of laughter accompanied his gloating before he sobered and pinned Buffy once more with his stare. "If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that!"
The loud scuff of boots sounded from the cavern's entrance, and the Master spared a quick glance in that direction. "Spike," he spat distastefully. "Colin told me about your attempted interference in my plans. I'm very disappointed in you. But, as you can see, I am a little busy at the moment; I'll deal with you and your lack of respect later."
"You will, will you? And will you be dealing with me yourself? Or were you plannin' on getting a few of your sycophants to do the dangerous work for you?" Spike asked, his voice dripping with contempt. He strode purposefully into the room, his coat flapping dramatically around his legs as he steadily closed the distance between himself and the patriarch of his line.
With a furious growl, the Master signalled the minions he had held back from the assault on the Hellmouth. Five vampires of varying age and strength stepped out of the shadows.
Spike quickly sized up his opponents; turning in a slow circle, he watched them carefully as they surrounded him. A skinny, rat-faced minion whose eyes darted around continuously was one that Spike hadn't seen before; although small and weedy, he showed a feral intelligence that Spike knew better than to overlook. He'd seen the ugly redheaded female enough to know that the sneer that graced her face now was a permanent feature, as was the nasty temper she was renowned for; she carried what appeared to be a broken section of wrought iron fencing, the ornate barbs at its tip more than enough to inflict some nasty damage. The older minion to her left was tall and strongly built, with arms like tree trunks; Spike had seen him around a fair bit since his arrival in Sunnydale and knew that he was never usually far from his master’s side. Trent—or Lurch, as Spike had taken to calling him in his head—was the quiet type, preferring to watch and listen to the goings on around him and was less inclined to spout his mouth off than the majority of the Master's minions; the man was obviously prized as much for his intelligence as his brawn, although Spike was in no doubt about the man's ability to fight. An unknown blonde took up her place next to Lurch; she was attractive, with legs that went on forever, and she carried herself with the easy self-assurance and poise of a fighter. Next to the blonde, just to Spike's left as he halted his slow turn, was a baseball bat-wielding, sandy-haired youth, dressed in tatty jeans, sneakers, and some obscure band t-shirt; he looked like he could have just stepped off the local college campus, and Spike wouldn't have been surprised if that had indeed been the young vampire’s recent home. The boy was a little taller than Spike and easily twice his weight, and Spike knew him to be one of old batface's more vocal supporters.
Spike raised the slayer's abandoned crossbow and, in one fluid motion, fired at the obnoxious minion; without even waiting to watch the boy dust, he reloaded, then spun and shot once more, watching with a satisfied smile as Lurch dissolved into dust.
Spike stepped back as the remaining minions charged, ducking beneath a vicious kick from the blonde only to take a hard blow to the side of the head from the nasty little redhead's makeshift club; knocked to the ground, he fell onto the crossbow, snapping the drawstring. With a curse, he kipped back to his feet, snarling furiously as he advanced to rain a series of kicks and blows on the small female. A sickening crunch echoed around the cavern as her arm snapped beneath his boot, and the ornate iron bar she’d wielded as a weapon clattered to the ground.
Buffy took advantage of the distraction and lunged towards the Master, only to have her stake deflected at the last moment as he returned his attention to her. A sharp hiss of pain escaped his lips as the stake grazed down his arm. With a growl, he backhanded her as his other hand snaked out quickly to capture her, closing painfully around her throat.
The Slayer swung her arm up, knocking his hand away as she ran towards her unlikely ally; suddenly, the Master's laugh echoed around the room, chilling her to the bone, and she turned back to face him. He extended his arm, his hand open toward her, and she froze, unable to fight as he held her captive with his hypnotic powers. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder, horrified at her inability to control her own limbs, helpless to do anything but watch as the vampire slowly approached, his hand twisting in the air as he exercised his power over her. Her breath came hard and fast as he circled around her, slowly drawing closer. Despite the fear that encompassed her, she lifted her chin defiantly, wide, terrified eyes meeting those of her would-be-killer with fierce determination; if she was going to die, she would die as a slayer.
“Snap out of it, Slayer. Prophecies can be broken,” Spike hissed, blocking a punch from the rat-faced minion and using its momentum to send it crashing into the whimpering redhead, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. “Nothing’s set in stone, love.” Breaking the now-useless crossbow into a serviceable stake, he quickly dispatched the two fallen vampires.
A loud screeching interrupted his plea as Drusilla wove and swayed her way into the room, coming to a halt several feet from where the Master and Buffy stood. Her pale skin and long white gown glimmered in the candlelight, and she swayed gently in a mindless, oddly soothing rhythm as her eyes wandered sightlessly around the room; she stared both at and through each of the room's occupants until her gaze finally came to rest, wide and horrified, on empty air.
“No! The sunlight comes, and everything is dust. Nothing but ashes scattered across the floor,” she cried, her hands tearing pitifully at her face and hair. Drusilla's wailing stopped as suddenly as it had begun, her head tilted to one side as if she were straining to hear something; suddenly her eyes widened, and she continued, “My William is the Phoenix. Tears will fall like dust from the sky, and then he will know that it is time to fly. He will soar to the stars, and they will whisper their secrets to him. Beautiful wings made of spun silk and sunlight that glisten and gleam. And good little girls will go home at last, where they are tucked safely in their beds at night by loving mummies and daddies." She paused for a moment, her brow creasing lightly with concern before she continued, her voice small and child-like, "Only mummy left so many years ago—pretty art that wouldn't move, but was a special gift from daddy. Daddy's gifts were always special—just for his princess. Poor daddy has been sick for such a very long time; time now to go on a holiday, and he will be all better, and princess will take such good care of him." She nodded sagely to herself before adding as an afterthought, "And bring him tea and cakes."
Drusilla blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. A soft, gentle smile played across her lips as her eyes focused on the entranced slayer, and she reached a hand towards the other girl. "Such a pretty birdy," she whispered as she took a step closer. "Such a shame to lock her in a gilded cage."
"Dru, get out of here," Spike yelled as he staked the leggy blonde minion, then turned towards his oblivious sire.
A clawed hand reached out lightning fast, closing roughly around the smooth white column of her neck. “Enough, Drusilla,” the Master ordered sharply. “Can’t you see we're busy?” he continued, his voice now patient and soothing. Without taking his eyes from the enthralled slayer, he brought his other hand up to gently caress Dru’s face. With a sharp twist, he separated her head from her body, her dust swirling downwards to settle on the dirt-covered marble floor.
Spike’s roar echoed around the cavernous chamber, the stake dropping unheeded from his hand as threw himself across the room. His lips pulled back in a snarl, and his blue eyes burned with cold fury as he closed on the elder vampire.
The Master watched as Spike approached, taking an involuntary step backwards in the face of the blonde's anger. The ancient vampire's momentary loss of concentration was all the slayer needed to free herself from his control and, as Spike launched himself at the Master, she fell into a fighting stance, waiting for an opportunity to join the fray.
If Spike had thought watching the slayer fight was exhilarating, it was nothing compared to fighting by her side; they moved with graceful synchronicity, anticipating each other's movements in a flawless, seemingly-choreographed dance that soon wore the Master down despite the superior strength and power the elder vampire's years granted him.
They spun and kicked, blocked and punched, a constantly whirling blur of motion as each struck fiercely before moving swiftly out of range as the other stepped up to take their turn; they never allowed the older vampire the chance to close with either of them, or the respite needed in order to exercise his control over the Slayer's mind.
As Buffy blocked a particularly ferocious blow from the now-furious Aurellian patriarch, Spike slid into place at the Master's back. "Slayer," he called, his hand reaching expectantly towards her in the hope that she would understand his request. Without losing a beat, the Slayer tossed the stake she held in her right hand to Spike while bringing her left up to connect with the Master's jaw, spinning him around to face the hatred and contempt burning in the golden eyes of his wayward descendant. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he watched helplessly as Drusilla's unruly childe plunged the Slayer's stake into his heart.
Relief flooded Buffy's body as she watched the ancient vampire dissolve into dust. She looked up, catching Spike's eye as he wiped his hands roughly on one denim-covered leg, and beamed happily at the vampire. "We did it."
"That we did, pet. Told you prophecies could be broken, didn't I?"
Closing the distance between them in two quick steps, Buffy threw her arms around his neck, taking the vampire completely by surprise when she pressed a quick, grateful kiss against his cheek. "Yes, you did. Thank you, Spike."
"Anytime, Slayer," he assured her as his arms slipped around her tiny frame, returning the hug and smiling as he pressed her body firmly against him. "Such a beautiful little thing," he murmured against her hair before ducking his head and allowing his fangs to slip gently through the warm, fragrant skin of her throat. His arms tightened, one hand fisting in her hair to hold her still as she struggled against him. A low moan of pleasure sounded deep in his throat, and his already-forming erection hardened further as the rich, intoxicating blood slid across his tongue.
AN: For the purpose of this story the Master turns to dust like all the other Joss-verse vampires.
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| A Future Set in Sand - Chapter 3 | | | | - - - abc | | |
He drank slowly, savouring the sensation of the warm blood as it coated his tongue before flowing down his throat, imbuing him with the unmistakable and truly remarkable feeling of strength and power that was unique to slayer's blood. Her struggles gradually lessened and then stopped; as her heart began to labour, he lifted his head, gently lathing the wound to stop the bleeding.
From the moment she'd thrown her arms around his neck his mind had been made up. He no longer wanted to fight and defeat this girl; in fact, he never wanted to see her defeated. He wanted her for his own, with all her fire and spirit intact. She was remarkable, and he didn't want to drain her and leave her body unwanted on the filthy floor of the Master's lair; however, he wouldn't take her by force, wanting to leave the decision to her. He wanted a consort, an equal and willing partner, and he didn't have very much time in which to convince her.
Turning on all the charm he’d garnered over the last hundred and twenty years, he spoke quietly, "You deserve better than this kind of life, love. Better than being the Council's pawn." He supported her carefully with one arm as he stroked the hair back from her face; allowing his face to shift back to his human guise, he fixed his eyes on hers and willed her to see the truth in them. His sire was gone, and for the first time ever he was alone in the world; this girl would understand, had herself known loneliness for too long. Granted, he had seen her with her friends, but he recognised the loneliness in her, could see it in her eyes; even surrounded by her mates, she was all alone, as slayers always were. "You don't have to die here tonight, kitten. Let me show you how amazing life can be, show you the world and all its beauty."
Her eyes widened at his words and she shook her head, her struggles beginning anew; he held her close to him until her strength waned, her efforts ceasing once more. "Shh, love. 's up to you, kitten. 's your choice, has to be your choice, little one. Just think about it. No more slaying. No duty. No unlamented early death with nothing but a short notation in the Council's records. You'll never be alone, love. I'll show you wonders you've only ever imagined." His lips brushed against her hair before trailing down the baby-soft skin of her cheek. He murmured soft endearments between kisses as his lips moved gradually along her jaw, eventually dancing whisper-soft across her lips, gently teasing until she hesitantly responded. Spike slowly deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to trace across her lip and moaning softly when her tongue snaked out to brush tentatively against his; her soft little sigh of pleasure thrilled him more than he would ever have imagined.
He felt her racing heart flutter as it began to falter, skipping in an erratic, labouring beat, and he reluctantly broke off the kiss. "Need you to decide, love." His gaze captured hers once more, entreating her to say 'yes'. He watched as her eyes came back into focus, losing their recent lust-filled haze as she studied him before seeming to come to a decision, smiling shyly as one little hand reached up tentatively to cup his face.
"I'm scared," she confided quietly.
"I know, love." He pressed a tender kiss against her palm. "I'll be here with you, won't leave you. Won't ever leave you, kitten."
Her face scrunched in frustration, and she shook her head slightly before continuing. "No. That's not what I mean... I... I don't want to hurt my mom. Or my Watcher. Don't want to kill them," she finished, her voice catching in a soft sob.
"Shh. No, love. I won't let that happen, I promise. I'll take you away from here. Won't ever come back," he assured her, gently claiming her lips once more in a soft, chaste kiss. "Take you far way, baby."
"Promise?" she asked, her eyes brimming as she clutched at him desperately, her legs weakening as her heart continued to struggle.
"I promise, pet. I promise." He held her close, supporting her body with his own as he once more sought her gaze. "Please, love, I need you to decide," he urged again.
Buffy swallowed hard, her tongue snaking out to wet suddenly dry lips. She nodded slightly, her whispered agreement barely heard as she buried her face against his chest and allowed the tears she had battled to fall and soak into the soft black material beneath her cheek.
Spike allowed his features to shift once more and drew a sharp claw across the inside of his arm; he turned Buffy carefully in his arms until her back rested against his chest, then brought the wound to her lips and brushed soft kisses against her hair, murmuring gentle words of encouragement as she drank. "That's my girl," he told her proudly. "Drink up deep, love. Gonna be so strong, baby. Gonna be so powerful. Such a beautiful girl. My lovely slayer." He continued his encouragement as she drank deeply of his blood, knowing that the more she took now the stronger she would be when she rose. As he felt her weaken, he turned her once more, cradling her against his body as his arms encircled her protectively. "'s alright, kitten. Time to sleep for a bit, love. When you wake, we'll be together, an' a long way from here," he assured her as he found his mark once more. Her heart struggled fiercely for a moment, then faltered, and he felt the life slip from her as he bent to gather her limp, lifeless body in his arms.
A minute shift in the shadows at the far end of the cavern caught his attention, and he gently lowered Buffy to the ground as he focused his senses on the deep shadows around the ornate archway. A slow, predatory smile curved the corners of his mouth as he identified the source of the movement. Spike stalked across the room; the heady aroma of fear that mingled with the arrogant child's scent brought more satisfaction than he would have imagined, and Spike felt a thrill of anticipation course through him. He was going to enjoy this kill. He quickly closed the distance between himself and his prey and, as he neared the archway, the boy bolted out of the shadows in an attempt to break past him. Spike's hand shot out with the lightning speed of a master vampire, catching and hoisting the child into the air by his throat.
"Put me down," the boy ordered, summoning as much dignity as it was possible to maintain while dangling in the air and gasping for the air with which to speak.
Slamming the child hard against the arch that had recently been the boy's refuge and holding him so that their eyes were level, Spike slowly tightened his hand. He felt the crack as the boy's windpipe crushed beneath his hand and watched with pleasure as Colin's eyes widened, the fear rolling off the boy in almost tangible waves.
"See, the thing is, I don't take orders—from anyone. Most especially not from some pissant little git who couldn't fight his way out of a Girl Scouts jamboree. I don't care how fucking 'anointed' you are. Do you understand me?"
The child's eyes widened further, tears of fear brimming as he nodded vigorously.
"Good. I'm glad we understand each other," Spike smirked as he closed his hand, watching with satisfaction as the Anointed Brat's dust swirled towards the ground.
"Buffy. No!" A grief-filled roar sounded from the entrance, and Spike spun around to see his grandsire staring in horror at the Slayer's lifeless form. A human boy tore out of the tunnel and was unable to stop himself before colliding with the grieving vampire, the momentum carrying them both over the ledge to tumble, cursing and snarling, into a mess of limbs on the floor of the cavern.
After quickly freeing himself from the ungainly human, Angel surged to his feet, his demon visage to the fore as he stepped cautiously toward the girl, his eyes frantically searching the room for Buffy's murderer.
"Get away from her," Spike ordered, making his way back across the room in a furious swirl of black leather; he stepped over the Slayer's prone body, his fists clenched tightly at his side as he prepared to protect his childe.
"Spike," Angel snarled.
His grandsire's voice dripped with too-familiar contempt, and an answering growl formed deep in the blonde vampire's chest.
"What have you done?" Angel demanded, his eyes flicking between the wound on his grandchilde's arm and the trace of blood on Buffy's lips. "Where's the Master?"
"You're standing in him," Spike responded dryly, keeping his attention fixed on the older vampire and ignoring the human who was struggling to his feet.
"The Master's dead?" the boy asked brightly. "That's great. That means that Buffy..." His voice faltered as his eyes lighted on his friend's motionless body.
Angel winced, his eyes drifting once more to the beautiful girl he had begun to hope would one day be his.
"Buffy?" Xander's eyes flicked between the two vampires. "We're too late, and he killed her?" he asked despondently. "Looks like you were right," he told his companion bitterly. "There was nothing we could do."
"The Master didn't do this," Angel growled.
"Too bloody right he didn't," Spike agreed. "No way that useless prick could've beaten the Slayer," he added, his eyes sparkling with pride as he glanced at his childe.
"I should kill you," Angel growled.
"You can try," Spike replied, shrugging nonchalantly, purposely trying to infuriate the older vampire.
"You know him?" Xander stared at the dark-haired vampire before adding, "Why does that not surprise me?"
"Keep out of this," Angel warned. "Better yet, leave. Go get Giles and the others. Spike and I have some—unfinished business—to take care of."
"Keep out of it? That's my friend laying there. Yet another one of my friends dead because of you filthy bloodsuckers, so don't tell me to stay out of it." Xander glared at Angel for a moment before turning his attention to the blonde. Without another word, he launched himself at Buffy's killer, fury and tears blinding him; he didn't see the blow coming until Spike's fist contacted with the side of his head, sending him crashing hard into a nearby column. Spike watched the boy's progress through the air until he landed with a heavy thunk against the marble, slipping to lie in a broken and bloodied pool on the floor.
A resounding growl drew Spike's attention back to his grandsire with just enough time to duck out of the way, taking only a glancing blow to the shoulder; recovering, he bounced lightly on his toes and sent a vicious kick flying towards the heavier vampire's chest, knocking him back and away from the helpless slayer. Spike's every instinct told him to guard his childe at all costs, as he knew that this souled-up version of Angelus wouldn't hesitate to kill Buffy.
The two faced off, each eying the other warily. A lot had changed in the hundred or so years since Angelus had lorded over his unruly childe, but as each prepared for the fight, they felt the years melt away as long-buried feelings surged to the fore. Grief, anger, sorrow, affection, and bitterness, as well as pangs of regret for what might have been, warred within each of the men as they faced off.
Shaking off the ghosts of the past, Angel glanced past the blonde to the lifeless body of the young girl who had so recently begun to worm her way into his heart.
"Why?" Angel asked, his voice filled with despair. "Why did you have to do this to her? Wasn't killing her enough? You had to go and do this to her?"
"This was her choice," Spike stated flatly, his eyes hardening as the older vampire moved fractionally to his right, attempting to circle around him and get closer to the prone slayer; with an exaggerated step, he placed himself, once more, firmly between Buffy and her great-grandsire.
"No," the brunette denied vehemently. "Never. Buffy would never choose this."
"Yeah?" Spike asked with a smirk, scared eyebrow cocked mockingly. "Maybe you just don't know the girl as well as you think you do."
The furious roar echoed around the cavern as Angel's fist connected with Spike's jaw before the younger vampire had even had time to process his elder's movement. His head snapped back, and Spike felt his mouth fill with blood; with a laugh, he wiped the blood away in a slow, calculated move before licking his finger clean in one long, lascivious swipe of his tongue. "Pretty little chit," he mused, watching with satisfaction as fury, horror and disgust flashed across his grandsire's face. "Passionate, too. One hell of a ride, I'd guarantee."
This time, when Angel attacked, Spike was ready for him; his own fists flashed out in response, one blocking the potentially painful attack and the other aiming true to strike the larger vampire's stomach. As Angel doubled over with a loud grunt, Spike spun quickly, the heel of his Doc connecting effectively with his grandsire's temple. Before he had time to enjoy his brief victory, Angel fell on him, the larger man's fists striking in rapid fire against his chest and abdomen.
They continued to trade blows, their fight an intricate a combination of street brawl and chess match as each tried to manoeuvre the other closer or further away from the Slayer's still form. A powerful punch to Spike's jaw sent him flying across the room to land painfully against one of the many broken columns strewn across the floor; he watched in horror as, rather than continue to advance, his grandsire instead turned to make his way towards the girl. Spike threw his arms out to steady himself and heard a clatter as his hand knocked against red's makeshift club; wrapping his hand around the weapon, he kipped quickly to his feet and shook his head to fend off the momentary wave of dizziness. With a furious growl, he charged the older vampire, the wrought iron post held in front of him like a lance.
At the sound of Spike's roar, Angel spun around to continue the fight and dispose of his trying descendant once and for all. As the dark-haired vampire turned, the sharp point of the fencepost caught him just below the diaphragm and continued its journey upwards, exiting between his shoulder blades. Spike's fury carried them across the room, past the blonde's sleeping childe to the long-unused altar on the far side of the once-beautiful church. Delighting in the older vamp’s screams of pain, Spike's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he veered slightly from his original course and buried the sharpened wrought iron barb into the aging wood of the large, ornate cross at the side of the alter.
"I seem to recall a lesson you once tried to teach me, 'bout what's mine an' what's not." Spike spoke clearly, the better to penetrate the fugue of agony encompassing the now-smoldering vampire. "Consider this payment in kind," he concluded, flipping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it before stepping back to watch dispassionately as his former tormentor was consumed by righteous fire. Angel's agonised cries cut off suddenly as his body crumbled away, and Spike tossed the half-smoked cigarette negligently onto the ground to mingle with the fresh pile of dust.
After checking to make sure that the slayer had taken no harm and then moving her carefully into the shadows, Spike made his way to where the boy lay in a crumpled heap. "Looks like you get to help your mate out after all," the vampire mumbled to the unconscious figure as he hefted the dead weight onto his shoulder. With a last glance around the room to assure himself of Buffy's safety, he made his way quickly up the tunnel and out into the night.
Spike moved fluidly through the shadows, despite his burden. Exiting the cemetery, he quickly glanced around; the streets were deserted at this time of night, and he made his way without incident to where he had left the car. After securing his childe's meal carefully in the boot, he drove back to the tunnel entrance and set off underground once more.
*****
Spike passed the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign and pulled the car over and onto the shoulder, dust clouding around the black behemoth as he threw her into park. Slamming his hands repeatedly into the steering wheel, he swore furiously; he should never have come here, never have given in to Dru’s demands. If only he had taken her to Europe as he’d originally planned, she would be safe, rather than littering the filthy floor of the Master’s tomb.
Looking down at the still, silent form resting on the seat next to him, his anger diffused fractionally; he reached down to smooth back an errant strand of gold from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment against the soft, smooth skin. He didn't love her—his heart was Dru's, and always would be—but he wanted her. She was magnificent—beautiful, powerful, and vibrant—and she was going to make a hell of a vampire.
Brushing her cheek gently, he murmured quietly, “’s just you an’ me now, pet. Guess there's not a lot of point worrying about what coulda been, is there, love?” Drawing several slow, deep breaths, he calmed his raging temper. His fingers continued to absently caress the soft, silken skin of the Slayer's cheek. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he drew a hand brusquely across his face and whispered a final goodbye to his sire before turning the ignition and pulling back out onto the asphalt.
As he pointed the DeSoto’s nose down the road once more, he realised it was time to begin a new journey. With his powerful childe by his side, he would make a new life; the future was theirs, to make of it what they would. He planted his foot on the accelerator; he had promised to take her away from there, and he intended to keep his promises to this girl. He would show her the world, and lay it at her feet if that was what she wanted; everything was theirs for the taking, and together with his beautiful slayer he would take it one mile at a time. Starting with putting as much distance as possible between them and the Hellmouth before his slayer rose.
the end
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