Warning- Someone comes on to Spike in this chapter, but nothing happens
Scene 2
Everything he’d accomplished vanished in a split second. He wasn’t confident Buffy truly loved him, but he knew he’d gained her trust in the very least. Now he was back at square one and he didn’t know his next move. He was always with a plan, even though most of them never worked out. This time, however, he came up with nothing. He wasn’t for giving up, but the circumstances seemed bleak.
Spike sat down at the bottom of the stairs because he had nowhere to go in the large house. He wasn’t welcome here but he couldn’t leave. He glanced upward towards where Buffy fled. He sighed. He had to help her. Not for selfish reasons (although retrieving some of her affection was a bonus), but because it was the right thing to do. People grew from experiences; it made them who they were. And let it be for good or worse, memories of him changed her, even if that be a fiber. A fragment less of Buffy was a fragment less than should be.
“I feel your sorrow rolling off you in waves. It sickens me the same way it did with Wesley.”
The vampire’s lips twitched. He hadn’t even sensed the mighty Illyria approach. He swiveled to find her eyeing him from five steps up, as if he were a bug about to be squished by her heel.
Spike swiftly got to his feet. “Sadness is a powerful emotion.”
“Yes. The most potent,” Illyria stated, matter-of-factly.
Spike was quick to disagree. “No. Love. Love is the most potent.”
She simply stared for a long while. “I do not understand this emotion. You mortels speak highly of it, yet it brings you grief.”
“But it can also bring happiness.” Spike snorted. “Funny. It is the best and worse thing this world has to offer.”
She narrowed her eyes, taking him in. He could never figure out what was going on in her little head. Spike was a perceptive individual, but he couldn’t get past her mostly passive expression. Sometimes he wondered if she were plotting her revengeful supremacy despite her recent loyal acts.
Why did she choose to accompany him here? What did she have to gain from it? She was an enigma he couldn’t solve.
“Would you like to engage in a battle of the muscle? It may erase your mourning for the slayer.”
When did Spike ever turn down a fight?
“I could go for a rough and tumble,” Spike said.
They headed down to the basement where a workout room was set up. To the right there was an array of equipment: pommel horse, treadmill, punching bag, ect. The other side was partitioned with blue mats for hand-to-hand. Spike and Illyria faced off. Spike danced on the balls of his feet, awaiting her first move. She didn’t act, and it ended up being him to start up the whole thing. He slammed his hand into her middle. She stumbled back. He began to punch her with a fury. She dodged most of them easily.
“Come on, pet, give me all you got,” Spike provoked.
He regretted the statement when she picked him up and threw him into the drywall. She hovered over his fallen form.
“Your emotions impair your skill. Would you prefer for me to subdue you in another way?” Illyria offered.
Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Such as?”
Suddenly her skin-tight outfit vanished. He was greeted by a blue-tinted, but otherwise flawless nude body. Spike gulped as her hands slid up to her breasts.
“I offer you this body to do as you wish.”
“Uh, are you . . .?”
“I wish to perform a mating ritual.”
Illyria lowered to her knees. She crawled over to him. Spike flinched as far away as he could.
“As flattering as this is, luv . . .” Spike began.
She leaned forward. “Does this shell not please you? Would you rather the previous form? I would shift to your slayer, but my powers do not permit it.”
He held out his left hand and gently pushed her away. “No, your- shell is quite nicely put together. It’s just . . . How should I put this?”
Her forehead creased. “I do not understand.” Her eyes lowered. “Your body responds in contradiction.”
Spike quickly shut his coat to hide his bulging member. “Yeah well . . . Look, ducks, I’ve done the comfort shag bit, doesn’t work. No one is Buffy. As hard as I try to fool myself it just doesn’t work.”
Illryia stood up. With a flash she was clothed again. She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Spike ordered.
Illryia cocked her head.
Spike scrambled to his feet. He stepped toward the ancient being. He listened hard. No, it couldn’t be! But it was there. A tiny fluttering sound, he hadn’t imagined it.
“You examine me as if I were a specimen to be studied!” Illyria spat.
Spike’s eyes widened in shock. He met her violet orbs. “Was Wesley a naughty watcher? I can hear two heartbeats. You’ve got a bun in the oven.”
“I require no nourishment.”
“A bun . . . no, a baby.”
Illyria stiffened. “You lie!”
He shook his head. “Nope. I caught it loud and clear when you were doing your temptress act. You’ve got a little one stashed away. That or one of those aliens off that movie.”
Her hands shook. “No, impossible. This shell has not connected with another.”
Spike pointed at her and grinned with accomplishment. “Fred! Her and Wesley before the presto-change-o. It’s hers.”
Illyria’s back bumped into the door. “You speak with a poisoned tongue.”
“R-right. Is that another way of saying I’m lying? Sorry to disappoint but vampires have excellent eardrums.”
She reacted the only way she knew how. Violence. She tossed him aside and ran up the stairs.
Scene 3
Kennedy dragged Willow to a noisy club. It was an attempt to make-up, or so Willow thought, but the abrasive cacophony that they played, and the gothic theme going on was headed in more of the other direction.
Willow winced as she was bumped by someone in the massive crowd, almost spilling her diet coke. Her head hurt from the pounding vibrations filtering from the stage.
“Can we leave!?” Willow shouted over the noise (she couldn’t think of it as music).
“What!?” Kennedy yelled.
“CAN WE LEAVE!!?”
Kennedy’s face fell. She dragged Willow over to a quieter corner. “Why? You don’t like it here?”
“It’s so loud and . . . gloomy.” Willow gestured to a gargoyle statue.
“I thought you liked this mystical stuff.”
“Witch mystical, not vampire-wannabe mystical,” Willow clarified.
“I think it’s cool. You go ahead and go, I’ll stay.”
Willow gaped as Kennedy stomped off to the dance floor. She got swept in the grinding, sweaty bodies. Willow shook her head and turned. She gave her non-empty glass to the bartender before walking out.
The chilly night air hit her instantly. Willow hugged herself, wishing she had a car to shield herself from the elements. She sped up her pace. Something blue caught her peripheral vision from the alley she just passed. She looked over, wandering if it was her imagination. No, there it was again. A streak of blue zoomed toward her. Willow gasped and ducked to avoid it. What the hell?
She peeked into the alley. She squinted from the intense glow that consumed the alley. All she could make out was a blurry masculine and smaller feminine blob. They seemed to be going at it with magic. Well, mostly the female was being clobbered.
Willow had to do something. But who should she help?
The female witch got slammed into the wall. She noticed Willow. “Help me, please! He’s going to kill me,” she pleaded.
The warlock shifted to acknowledge the new presence. He shot a huge spray of red fire. Willow jumped behind the corner. She took a deep breath. Okay, that decided which side I’m on, she thought. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
Willow prepared herself and went back into the line of fire. He had no time to counter-attack. Willow summoned Andraste, a war goddess. The warlock got caught up in a whirlwind of black smoke. When it disappeared he had vanished.
“Ooops,” Willow whispered.
The witch dragged herself to her feet. She gazed at Willow with wide eyes. “What did you do?”
“I-I don’t know! I meant to weaken him not make him go poof.”
The witch sighed. “At least he is gone. Thank you so much.”
“Oh.” Willow smiled. “You’re welcome.” She extended her hand. “I’m Willow.”
The other witch grabbed hold of it. “Edea.”
Scene 4
Buffy felt emotionally drained. She tried to take a nap but couldn’t manage to drift off. She kept rolling from one side to the other, restless. She finally gave up and stared into the darkness.
I overreacted, Buffy thought. She remembered the Spike in her dreams, her ‘bleached angel’. He’d been so tender and caring. She’d felt so secure and warm in his arms, knowing that was where she belonged. She knew he would always take care of her. The real Spike was just trying to protect her, maybe not in the right way, but he had good intentions.
She got up, knowing what she had to do. She had to apologize. She’d give him a chance; get to know him all over again.
She opened the door, but never got a chance to get even one step outside it. Sophie, one of the young slayers, bumped into her. By the look she displayed Buffy knew something was wrong.
“What is it?” Buffy braced herself for the reply.
“She jumped out the window! Just crashed through! I unlocked the door, but it was too late! She’d been ranting about slayers not doing their duty and that she needed to do hers.”
Sophie was hysterical, shaking, and breathing hard. Buffy touched her arm.
“The wild slayer we captured?” Buffy asked.
Sophie nodded.
“Dead?” Buffy pressed.
“Her neck broke.”
Buffy closed her eyes, letting it sink in.
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