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| In Omne Tempus - Into The Deepest Madness by Holly (1 Review) | | abc + + + |  | | | Chapter Twenty-Four
Into The Deepest Madness
She slept only a few minutes, really, but that time submerged in her subconscious was a violent spiral of colors meshed with knowledge, comprehension tangled with justice. She saw Willow nailed to a cross; saw Spike looking at her with sorrow. And she was lost, split down the center.
Her friend was looking at her, her eyes large and dead. Her mate was reaching for her, his arms welcoming and outstretched.
Angelus was there as well. God, Angelus. And an eerily familiar woman was twirling in sunlight, giggling like a child.
“Shame, shame, shame, shame,” the girl singsonged. “The party mask deserves the blame.”
Drusilla. Yes, Buffy saw her now. The woman that had snatched her from her mother’s side when she was small. The one that had brought her to Spike, unknowingly as a mate, rather than a late-night snack. She was the one Spike had spent a century with. She was the one, more than any of the others, that truly had the power to break her.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Dru,” Angelus sneered. “Our little Buffy slept through what could’ve been a helluva break. Seems to me that the dance is over.”
“She turns him away because the red one bleeds,” the raven-haired loony continued. “On her sorrow, Asmodeus will feed.”
“Humans are so predictable,” the blonde one said, materializing from nowhere. “Did you see her earlier? She’s gonna die for her grief because she doesn’t use it. Not like we do. And now she’s abandoned her mate to embrace pain. Really, it makes our job laughably easy.”
“When the sky is dark, she awakes. Her loneliness, communion breaks.” Drusilla stopped twirling, her childish rhymes died down a corridor somewhere in Buffy’s subconscious. “He rules you, dearie,” she said. “You give him power.”
Buffy released a deep breath. “Spike…”
Darla rolled her eyes. “Honest to God, dealing with such stupidity is exactly what Spike deserves.”
“Yin and Yang.” Angelus smirked. “Too bad her boy’ll be dust before she realizes it.”
Buffy awoke to an empty room.
“Oh God.”
She felt as though she’d been sleeping for centuries. As though she was awaking to a new existence, and the pangs of outside influence no longer mattered. Her body was exhausted still from crying, her throat sore from screaming. She released a shuddering breath and turned her eyes to where Spike was supposed to be, but wasn’t. Spike wasn’t there.
The house was quiet.
It came from nowhere. A burst of knowledge that jarred her from the false world she’d settled into since the wail of police sirens destroyed her doll house rendition of reality. She knew where Spike was. Of course she knew where Spike was.
A sharp pang struck deep inside and the air around her grew thick.
“Oh God,” she gasped again. “Oh my God.”
Pain was gone. Pain had been replaced by fear.
Heart pounding, Buffy threw the blankets off her body. She tossed a quick glance to the mirror, confirming that she was still in the sweats and the cami that she had changed into forever ago. She felt as though she had been wearing the same clothing for a lifetime. When morning finally chased the night away, she promised herself, she wouldn’t touch the garments ever again.
Her bustle out of the house took all of four minutes. She struggled with her sneakers and ransacked her weapons chest. There was the crossbow that Giles had given her for her seventeenth birthday. There were her good stakes, which she spent boring nights carving into affectionate perfection and only sacrificed against particularly nasty vamps. There was a cross on a necklace that Xander had given her after she defeated the Master. There were vials of holy water that Willow had bought for her the last time she thought the world was ending.
Buffy couldn’t stop and mourn the memory of her friend now. Human feelings wouldn’t help. Something greater was driving her onward.
Her mate was in trouble. And she knew without even giving it a thought that his death would thoroughly defeat her. Too much of him was a part of her—and more than just beyond the physiological tug of their unclaimed connection. Spike was so much more to her than that.
She ignored the pang of guilt that inevitably struck. Willow was dead, and she wasn’t mourning. Not now. It felt wrong; it felt so wrong. It felt as though she had betrayed her friend by even considering a more horrendous alternative. By playing out a scenario that her mind, body, and heart suffered for even considering. But at the same time, she needed that outrage. She needed to convert pain to anger, and guilt to action. Willow was gone, but there was no time to cry for her now.
Willow would understand that.
Buffy hardened. She had to. Her mate was in trouble, and it was because of her. Because her friend was dead, because she hadn’t allowed him to claim her over the endless hours that the Order had given them. Because she’d been so focused on her fears that the knowledge of its inevitability hadn’t sunk in. Willow was dead because tonight was supposed to have been their night to make it final. If they’d made it final sooner, she’d be alive.
It was her fault. All her fault. And now, because of her folly, Spike was going to get himself killed.
No, the Slayer raged. No. She’d lost her best friend; she wasn’t about to lose the one she loved. Not like this. Not tonight.
There wasn’t any room for disagreement. She wasn’t going to lose Spike.
She allowed nothing else if not that knowledge. As long as she breathed, her mate would still be of the earth.
*~*~*
Spike drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t at all surprised that they were expecting him. Rather, it was almost poetic. Angelus the Villain, Darla the Shrew, and Drusilla, his own Ophelia. There weren’t many fledglings covering the main chamber of his family’s new digs—some trashy factory downtown that he and Buffy had crossed a thousand times but never investigated. He staked the few baby vamps he came across, ignoring the shudder that slivered down his spine with every step.
Angelus had known one of them was coming. He’d just been hoping for Buffy.
Wishful thinking. Spike would be dust before he let his grandsire touch his mate.
“Well, damn,” the bastard drawled. “It’s the other one.”
“Kinda sweet,” Darla observed boldly. She was seated at a table, reading the Sunnydale paper. She didn’t even glance up. “He’s come to defend her honor.”
Spike shrugged. “Jus’ thought I’d drop by,” he replied conversationally. “Angelus mentioned somethin’ about an apocalypse.”
Darla rolled her eyes and looked at him. “You know, William,” she drawled, “you were never particularly talented at playing it coy.”
“He reeks of her,” Drusilla spat nastily. “Rolls in filth and expects a treat.”
His jaw tightened and his body grew tense. “Nice to see you, too, pet.” He turned his eyes back to Angelus. “Y’know, if you wanted to piss the girl off, there are more subtle ways to go about it.”
“Ah, so now William the Slayer-Whipped Bloody is going to give me lessons on how exactly I should terrorize the innocent?” Angelus flashed a condescending smile. “This should be good.”
“No.” He tightened his hand around his stake. “’m here to right a few wrongs.”
“The only wrong I see is a presumptuous childe who’s gotten in over his head.”
“Imagine that,” Darla retorted, her eyes glued on her paper. “He thinks because he’s the mate of a slayer, he has the right to assume a moral high ground. How…pathetic.”
“You can’t really tell me that you expected me to sit by an’ do nothin’ when you came after her, can you?”
“Pathetic,” Angelus agreed. “Wholly pathetic.”
“He’s going to try to break the jar,” Drusilla cried mournfully. “Makes him cranky. Makes him bad company. He wants to kill us, Daddy.”
“Yes,” his grandsire replied. “I suppose he does.”
“His presumption displeases Asmodeus.”
Spike’s head snapped at that. “Asmodeus?”
Dru paused, grinning scandalously like a child who’d just spoiled a surprise party. “Oopsies.”
“Well, there goes the neighborhood,” Darla grumbled. “Guess we’ll just have to kill him.”
The peroxided vamp’s eyes flickered dangerously. “You can try.”
“Look at this,” Angelus said, taking a step forward. “Seems our boy’s grown an ego.”
Darla was not impressed. “God, just dust him already.”
“The meat spoils,” Dru whimpered. “No time for tea.”
“You can kill her while you’re at it,” said Angelus’s mate. “Really, her prattling is wearing on my last nerve.”
“He won’t do it,” Spike replied confidently. “Can’t bloody well afford to, can he? Dead worms don’ garner nearly as much attention as live ones. He doesn’ want me. He wants the Slayer.”
Angelus merely smiled.
His eyes flashed again and he stepped forward. For the first time in his many years, he felt nothing of the usual inferiority that resulted in standing near his grandsire. There was nothing impressive about him. Nothing whatsoever. He was a name; a face. Someone who’d bloodied history for the reputation and nothing more. He’d bullied his own sire into being submissive.
But he was just a vampire. An aged vampire, yes, but the Master himself had fallen at the stake of a sixteen year old girl. A girl who then had only touched the breadth of her powers.
“You’ve come here for retribution,” Angelus cooed. “How…sweet.”
Spike just laughed and shook his head.
Bloody pathetic.
“God, how it must bug you,” he said.
“What?”
“The Powers chose me, you git. Not you. Not the bleedin’ ringleader of our miserable family. You got stuck with her.” He nodded at Darla, whose eyes widened in offense. “You got stuck with your sire. How sodding original is that? The big bad Angelus isn’t quite as memorable as he’d like to be…not enough to make you anythin’ more than an enormous egomaniac with an inferiority complex that’s almost as funny as your sense of entitlement to everythin’ this rich world has to offer. What a bloody joke.”
His grandsire’s gaze had grown dark. “You honestly feel that I am jealous?”
“’Course you are.”
“My my my, what a big ego we have.”
“You’re not special,” Spike growled. “You’re not. Out of all the vamps in history, I’m the only one who’s ever tasted a slayer an’ lived to go back for more. Not once, not twice, but three times. First two times, yeh, standard killin’. Nothin’ to brag about too much, ‘cept I managed to do it twice in a century when you’ve fumbled it…how many times now? An’ what’s more, I’m the one that was chosen for the special seat. Not you. You jus’ weren’t impressive enough, I guess.”
Angelus growled. “You’d do better to remember who you’re talking to, boy.”
“’S why you killed Red, right? You wanted to feel you’ve accomplished somethin’…so yeh, you piss off the Slayer by goin’ after her chums. Not demon enough to take all of her out. Can’t even go to her, you gotta make her come to you.” He shook his head, chuckling. “See, you got it all wrong, mate. You fight slayers on their turf, not yours. Gives ‘em a false sense of protection, yeh? Really, if you were lookin’ for pointers, you should’ve given me a ring.”
“You don’t actually believe any of that crap you just spewed?” Darla demanded, rising from her seat. “This coming from the punchline of all our kind? You think you’re extraordinary for being the softest vamp in history? Please. The Powers gave you Buffy for a reason—you’re a joke.”
A scent stung the air the next second, and Spike’s insides froze.
Buffy.
“The light!” Dru wailed. “The light is so bright. My boy drowns in it.”
“He had to go outside his species to find love,” Darla continued. “That’s not special. That’s, as I said, pathetic.”
“Leas’ I have it,” Spike ground out. “’d rather die now than know an eternity without it.”
It was liberating. It was so liberating. The emotions he’d harbored for years, the emotions that he’d been told made him weak, the emotions that his family had ridiculed, were now his driving force. There was no shame in how he felt. No shame in the measures he took, or the people he loved. There was no shame in anything. The condescension in Angelus’s eyes didn’t bother him at all, nor did Darla’s mocking snort, or Drusilla’s pitiful wail. Buffy had freed him. Buffy had led him away from darkness.
She was here now. He could feel it. And if his family didn’t know, they would soon enough.
And he wouldn’t let them touch her.
“Slithers like a snake,” Drusilla moaned, clutching her stomach. She turned from the group and fixed her eyes heavenward toward the upper rafters, her body swaying back and forth. “All in shadows. Little moppet won’t join us for tea.”
“Well, as your grandsire, I can only be so happy as to appease your wish,” Angelus told Spike, eyes not wavering. He didn’t make as if he’d even heard the insane vampire’s wails.
“The party’s ruined!” the raven-haired vampire cried. “She doesn’t want her present. She’s going to take down the decorations!
A century with Dru had given Spike particular insight to her various eccentricities, and habit alone refused to let him ignore the words that poured from her lips. Something was wrong. Buffy was there; he felt it. He didn’t know why Angelus hadn’t thrown it in his face. He didn’t know why Darla wasn’t pitching a fit. He didn’t know where she was exactly, and not being able to see her was absolutely terrifying.
He couldn’t let Angelus see it, though. He couldn’t. So he didn’t spare his former a glance when she began to rant and rave. He swallowed hard instead, his eyes glued to his grandsire. “You can try,” he spat again.
The other vampire’s smile grew tighter. “I can keep you just inches from dust. Just barely undead to make sure your precious little mate shows up, looking for a fight. Which do you think would trouble her more, hmmm? Watching Dru ride you into oblivion, or a graphic detail of just how many times I defiled her friend? How she screamed and cursed her maker, begging little Buff to show up, but knowing, of course, that she wouldn’t? Oh no, of course the Slayer couldn’t make an entrance. She was too busy sucking her mate’s dick.”
“You son of a bitch!” Spike snarled, leaping forward without thought.
Angelus merely chuckled and side-stepped, offering slow, sardonic claps for his effort. “See! That was almost impressive!”
“Ooohhh,” Drusilla cooed. “You’ve angered the bishop.”
The smell of smoke permeated the air. And suddenly, he knew.
Buffy had set fire to the building. He didn’t know where; he couldn’t see the flames, but the smell was unmistakable. And just like that, their time had been sliced in half.
“Darla,” Angelus said. “I think we have a houseguest.”
That was it. Drusilla’s rants and wails suddenly became substantial, and Buffy leapt at her from the rafters. The rafters the vampire had been studying while muttering bits of prophecy to herself.
His sire shrieked in glee, capturing the Slayer by the wrists, holding her close to her chest. “Bad dolly,” she scolded. “No treats for you.”
“’Bout time she stopped lurking,” Darla retorted, jumping up. “I’m hungry.”
But Spike wasn’t listening to her or Angelus anymore. His eyes were locked on Drusilla and the struggling girl that owned his heart.
Oh God.
“Spike!” Buffy screamed.
“Spiiiike!” Angelus cackled, his voice a high falsetto. “Spike, save me!”
Dru burst into game face. The fangs of another vamp were near his mate. It was a split decision at that. Spike wasn’t even aware the stake had left his hand until he saw it spiraling across the room. He didn’t realize what he’d done until it shattered through the back of the woman who’d been his life for a hundred years, and he didn’t feel pain until her body crumpled to dust, and Buffy fell to the ground. It all happened so fast. So fast.
In a blink, a century had been erased. His body was consumed with agony, his physiological ties to his sire screaming out in endless protest. Buffy was on her feet the next second, her eyes wide as she found his.
In that look, they knew each other. Truly.
It had certainly shocked the hell out of Angelus and the other one.
“Oh my God,” Darla gasped.
“You presumptuous whelp!” Angelus screamed. “I’m gonna—”
Spike wasn’t listening. The flames were visible now, licking the rafters where Buffy had materialized just seconds before. There was no time now. No time for anything.
The Slayer was at his side the next beat, knocking Angelus off his feet. Spike closed his hand around hers, turned, and ran like hell was chasing them.
Outside it was thundering, and the skies were a symphony of light.
It was going to rain.
“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Spike snarled, turning to his small mate when they were far enough away from the factory to ease his raging nerves. “You could’ve—”
“I burn down buildings full of dangerous vamps, remember? It’s kind’ve my M.O.”
“You could’ve been killed!”
“You went in there by yourself! You didn’t even let Oz…” She shook her head. “Why, Spike?”
“Why?” A long, humorless chuckle rumbled through his lips. “You really gotta ask why?”
In the distance, a roll of thunder crashed.
“What if I’d lost you?” she cried, fighting back tears. “I can’t lose you.”
Spike melted, but his body was still rigid. His mind wouldn’t let him forget the vision of Dru exploding into dust. Of Dru falling victim to a stake he’d thrown. “Lose me?” he retorted. “Lose me? You daft girl, do you have any idea what I jus’ did for you?”
How could he throw a stake into the back of his sire, of the woman he’d worshipped for a century, and feel nothing in the aftermath? Nothing beyond the pain of watching his maker dissolve? How was it possible?
Maybe he was truly heartless.
“Spike, please…”
He looked up again. His gorgeous angel was standing just feet from him, her chin wobbling, her eyes tired and hurt. He’d never loved her more than he did at that moment, but he’d discovered some things about himself tonight that he couldn’t so easily reconcile.
The factory was burning. Dru was dead.
He loved Buffy, granted in ways that surmounted anything he’d felt for his sire, but the night felt changed. Tainted with something beyond Willow’s fresh blood, or the horrors of their besieged paradise. As though he’d been given back his reflection and discovered a truth about himself that he had never before faced. He never thought he’d be able to stake the woman to whom he owed his existence. Never.
He felt cold and barren. Buffy’s eyes were on him. Her lovely, tear-filled eyes. He wanted desperately to take her into his arms, murmur how much he loved her into her hair, and promise that it was okay, that everything would be all right.
But he couldn’t, because it wasn’t. And he didn’t know if things would ever be right again.
He’d felt nothing. Nothing beyond the tug on his conscience that his sire was dead at his hands. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t human, and it was barely vampiric. It was something else entirely.
“Go home, Buffy,” he said softly.
“Spike—”
“I need to be alone for a while. Go home.”
She was crying openly now, but he couldn’t look at her. Instead, he turned around and walked away without waiting for a reply. Watching her weep broke his heart.
But he’d discovered something about himself tonight that terrified him. Beyond anything else. And he needed to be alone. He needed to sort it out.
He needed the woman he was leaving behind, but he couldn’t reach for her now.
There had only been two people in all his life that he’d cared about to die at his hands. His mother in the infancy of his turning—a memory that haunted him still, occasionally spurning nightmares that were near impossible to shake. He remembered lying awake for days after that, after Dru had fallen asleep or was banging Angelus in the other room. Remembered thinking of the look on his mum’s face, the words she’d taunted him with, the feel of the stake as it plundered through her chest.
His world had been devastated at that, and he found then that he truly was a vampire. Not William—he’d become Spike that night.
Now Dru was gone, and there was nothing. Nothing but the want of something. The want of a feeling to let him know that the years with her, as hollow as they’d been, hadn’t been for naught. That he could feel beyond his instinctive urgency to protect his mate, or the wail of a childe that had just lost his sire. That he wasn’t the type of vampire—man—who could walk away from killing a woman he’d shared so much with without so much as a flinch.
He needed time without Buffy. Because if he was that sort of man, he didn’t deserve her.
It was fruitless, of course. He carried Buffy with him wherever he went. He was never without her.
And as for Dru; her teeth had been near his mate. There was no greater sin.
A shuddering breath reverberated through his body. No greater sin.
Lightening flashed and thunder rolled, and the skies opened then. It began to rain at long last.
To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Five: And Here We Are In Heaven…
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