A/N: A few notes…I don’t like Riley Finn. At all. He can suck dead bears. However, having said that, I do believe in writing him faithfully and not making him into the stereotype. I’m not at all sure if that was accomplished with this chapter. I just wanted to throw that out there.
Also, the ending of this chapter will be explained in the next. I know this is self-explanatory, but I’d like to avoid the very few out there that would demand how it’s possible. I’ve been watching a lot of West Wing recently, and these next two chapters will be a tribute to Sorkin and his tendency to give you the ending before going back to explain how it happened.
As always, a major thanks to Megan, Kimmie, Mari, and Yani for serving as my irreplaceable betas.
Chapter Four
Return To Me Salvation
In a hundred and forty years, he had never known such a night.
The castle looked as though it had enjoyed five centuries of aging. It sat majestically, bathed in the soft glow of the fuzzy moonlight as the magnificent orb in the sky peeped in and out of its cloudy veil. Spike had been staring at the moon for about a half hour, blowing pillars of smoke into the sky as he considered the decades that didn’t seem so long ago; those short years when the huge rock had been the quest of every major power in the world.
An unobtainable query, once upon a time. The stuff the biggest dreams of the day were made of. He remembered begrudgingly three or four poems he had dedicated to the glory of the moon when he became enraptured with the enigmatic beauty in his latter teen years. It had been so far away. So untouchable. Such a plethora of mystery.
That was a good hundred years before Neil Armstrong uttered the famous words and became immortalized among American heroes.
He didn’t know when Buffy had become the moon for him. Untouchable. A plethora of mystery. Something worth risking everything to save. The Slayer; she was one of thousands in a long line of succession, and there would be thousands more after she was gone. He had tasted the lifeline of two Slayers. He had rejoiced in their death and bathed in their blood, and ever since he arrived in Sunnydale, he had been anticipating the day that he drank from this particular Slayer’s royal fountain.
He couldn’t remember when his loathing for Buffy changed into something else. When his hatred for her softened with tender admiration. When the cheeky girl had wormed her way into his heart.
She was his match. Of every slayer he had ever hunted, of the two he had killed, of even Drusilla and the few vampire floozies he had bedded since the fall of his once great love…there was none that could have ever come close to being his equal as Buffy did.
The last thing he wanted to do was put a name to the confused emotions he felt for the girl. The things he had safely ignored until Giles barraged into his crypt and told him that Buffy was gone and Dracula was to blame. Dracula, who was more show than threat. Dracula who made up for what he lacked in strength with persuasion and magic tricks.
Buffy was out of his reach. He was so close, but he could not touch her. He felt her inside the walls of the castle. Felt her presence as fiercely as though she was standing right before him. He could nearly taste her. Could nearly smell her hair. That rich Slayer musk that drove him out of his mind whenever she was near.
Spike expelled a deep, exasperated breath and tossed his fag to the ground, stamping its light out beneath his boot. The grass was accumulating an impressive collection of discarded ciggies—a testament to how long he had been waiting outside the castle, waiting for a brilliant plan to strike. Sad fact was, there was none. Dracula never traveled alone. Even if he didn’t feel the unmistakable presence of several vampires within the fortress, the Count’s liking for a posse was almost as notorious as the demon in questions.
If he took a step with the intent of knocking down the walls, snatching the Slayer, and making a quick getaway, he risked ending her here and now. If Dracula thought he was being threatened personally, he would slaughter Buffy and be out of town before anyone could hope to touch him.
And even if he didn’t slaughter Buffy, there was absolutely no way he would leave her behind.
Vampires had an incredibly potent sense of self and awareness for others. Dracula would know if the waters surrounding his citadel became dangerous. He would know if the cavalry was coming.
Spike was captured in a vicious cycle. The longer he waited, the slimmer his window of opportunity became. If he tried to get in now, he endangered the Slayer’s life or any hope of getting to her before she was beyond their reach. The Scoobies wouldn’t understand that. Moreover, with warm, fresh blood pumping their veins, they were walking beacons for the undead.
But God, waiting outside was against every instinctive nerve in his body. Buffy was out of his reach. He had to get to her now before all was lost. Before she was lost forever.
In that instant, he was so close to forgoing all else and storming the damn place that his feet started carrying him toward the fortress before he realized what he was doing. Buffy’s tug on him was stronger than he could have ever fathomed; such that he was nearly willing to cast all else aside and forfeit whatever was left to his name to get her out. And fuck if he knew why. He didn’t. He had no idea.
He had no idea why rescuing Buffy was suddenly so important to him.
That bothered him more than anything. Buffy was the Slayer. She had been his enemy since the moment she was born. Since the moment the Powers That Be selected her to become what she was destined to become. From the moment he had plowed over the Sunnydale sign, he had known his destiny was directly related with the Slayer’s. Buffy over any Slayer he had faced, or would ever face. He had lost track of the times he had tried to kill her. He had lost track of the times she had tried to kill him. How many times they had come to an impasse for their inability to get past the fighting and go directly for the ugly death.
Now Buffy was in actual danger of dying. She was strained in the gray behind the white of life and the black of death. He had to get to her before the light turned dark forever.
And bloody hell, he didn’t know what he would do with himself if that happened. The strain he had always placed on himself to maintain distance between his query and his own ethics was wavering. When Buffy Summers had ceased being his next big kill and begun down a venue of her own, he didn’t know. But she had.
And if she died inside Dracula’s castle, a part of him would die with her.
The largest part.
He would never forgive Riley Finn for putting him in his position. For bringing feelings he wasn’t ready to have front and center. For shedding light on something he had known for a long time, and taking her away before he had a chance to explore the wondrous sensation of feeling like this again. Feeling warmth where there had only been cold. Feeling light where he had so long been in the dark.
Drusilla had been all dark. Spike didn’t know when his feelings for his once dark princess had begun slipping into something that no longer resembled love. Something twisted and unrecognizable. A vaguely fluffy feeling for the woman he had been with for a century.
The fact that Buffy Summers had all but taken her place in his heart terrified him.
The fact that it had taken something like this to snap him from his denial left his insides quivering with dread.
He had no idea when it all had changed. But Rupert had made him aware of it.
For now, there was nothing. He couldn’t stand out here all night and hope to be stricken with divine inspiration. The longer he waited, the more Buffy slipped away from him. The more danger he put her in.
He had no idea how to pull off a great escape, but he was determined to do it. If he had to look up whatever demon Houdini had sold his soul to, he would do it. But not like this; not without an idea of how to get in and out without endangering Buffy or losing the one chance he had to get her out.
Spike released a long sigh. Turn around. You’re not doin’ her any good here.
Walking away from Dracula’s castle that night was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But there was no other option. Not right now.
He had about eight hours to figure out how to get her to safety. After that, he would keep trying, but he feared his options would have dwindled to mere happenstance of luck. Still, he had to leave now before Dracula called his bluff and ended all before he stood half a chance.
Spike had never been much for plans. Sitting down and thinking out something for the better of himself simply was not his forte; when others were involved, others he cared about, he tended to get in over his head and forfeit the high ground. He recalled vividly the last time he’d visited Los Angeles. Angel had something he wanted, which wasn’t thoroughly unbelievable, and he had sworn to himself that he would take back what was rightfully his. Just as he had sworn that going to Buffy during the reign of Angelus was the only sure way to attract Drusilla away from her Daddy. Just as he had thought coming back to Sunnydale to kill the Slayer so many times would actually get anything accomplished. Every plan he had ever concocted had been foiled or abandoned, though for the first time in a long, long time, he was terrified of the results. Of what it could mean. What he could lose in turn.
He needed something that wouldn’t fall through.
Something that wouldn’t get Buffy killed.
He was so unbelievably outraged at Riley Finn’s gall; he was half-tempted to let the enormous football player know exactly how well the Initiative chip was working.
Just how much pain he could inflict before his brains started leaking out of his head.
Perhaps he could find Harmony and send her in to distract the ego-stricken master vampire. An empty smile tugged at his lips. The bint was so out of her bloody head; she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in front of such notoriety. On the plus side, she might serve in confusing the Count to the point that he let his guard down.
Spike couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
Only that he had so much time to figure out what he was going to do.
He heaved a sigh and plucked out another cigarette, striding long, heavy steps in the familiar direction of his crypt.
An hour. He would be back in an hour.
And he hoped to whatever was out there that he would have an idea on how to proceed. How to get her out. Alive.
He had an hour.
*~*~*
The last thing he needed in order to maintain even a sliver of sanity was to see the face of Riley Finn. But there he was, waiting outside his crypt, a look of severe displeasure coloring the overgrown dolt’s features. As though the past twenty four hours hadn’t occurred, and the conversation that could have easily saved Buffy’s life had never happened.
Something cold shivered down his spine.
He couldn’t allow himself to consider Buffy’s life as beyond his reach. That sort of thinking would shove her firmly from the gray into the black, and she would be lost to him forever.
Though there was that small voice that warned him the line had already been crossed. That by the time he got inside Dracula’s fortress, he would find nothing but a cooling body with golden hair and smooth, near-flawless skin.
And it would be entirely Finn’s fault.
From the look in his eyes, Riley didn’t see it quite that way.
“You know, mate,” Spike drawled. “This might be the firs’ time you’ve respected my privacy enough to wait outside my home for an invitation.”
“I was about to kick the door open and I heard you coming up.”
“Ah, well there goes that, then.”
“I want to know what the hell you’re playing at.”
The vampire blinked. “’m sorry, me?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Giles says that you’re not in on this, but me…I’m not so sure.”
Spike snickered, huffing out another cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s because you’re a wanker an’ you need to learn that there’s not always a conspiracy theory to blame everything on. Especially things that make much more sense when they’re blamed on you.”
“You have something to say to me?”
His eyes darkened. “Many, many things.”
“Well, I don’t—”
“The bloody number of things you don’t would be enough to run a sodding Dateline special,” he growled. “Lemme guess…you’re here to express your dissatisfaction with the fact that Rupert came to me instead of you to find your girl.”
“My girl. Let’s remember that.”
“Yeh, I’m sure the Slayer’d love to learn that she’s been reduced to the likes of drinks an’ stereos an’ other earthly possessions.” He shook his head. “How you ever managed to dupe the poor girl into sharin’ your bed is bloody well beyond me. You let her see this side of you when no one else is lookin’? She know how you get your rocks off by bullyin’ around others, one in particular that you personally saw incapable of fightin’ back? Fuck me; I never thought her taste in men could get worse after Peaches. Guess it’s nice to be proven wrong every now an’ then.”
“Angel has nothing to do with this.”
Spike chuckled. “Ooh, does someone have an inferiority complex?”
“Shut up.”
“I never thought there’d be a bloke I’d hate more than I do my ponce of a grandsire, but I’ll say this for Angelus: he has stones. He’s been at both ends of an apocalypse more times than you’ve gotten laid, an’ he makes it worthwhile.”
“I’m sure you’d know this personally.”
A small, ironic smile crossed the vampire’s face. “Yeh, that’s how the big boys take it, right? Accuse everyone of bein’ a poofter to avert attention from their own drastic lack of masculinity. Sorry, but I don’t know it personally. Well, not personally, personally, but I do have an in with pretty much every bird the enormous ponce has ever shagged. Darla stuck with him for two centuries; Dru carried a torch for him for a soddin’ generation. An’ as someone who had to witness the star-crossed lovers an’ their endless soap opera a couple years back, I can tell you, your girl doesn’ work herself up nearly as much over you as she did for him.”
When the blow came, it was expected. The meaty fist smashed into his cheek, sending the peroxide blonde into the nearest headstone with more force than even he would accredit the former soldier. The impact tore his skin and sent a trickle of cold blood down his face, but the pain was minimal compared to the satisfaction he had indulged with the verbal toss.
“Yeh,” Spike drawled, wiping his blood away. “You’re the poster boy for moral values.”
“So says he who doesn’t know the meaning of the term.”
“Watch how you speak to your elders, boy.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
The vampire laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re bloody unbelievable.”
“Well, thanks, I try.”
“Problem is, mate, you’re makin’ this personal. All I’m tryin’ to do is get the Slayer back in one piece instead of fifty.”
“You’re not a person. It can’t be personal.”
“I could say the same about you. I’m a vampire. I’m soulless. I don’ come with a conscience. What’s your bloody excuse?”
Riley stepped forward, glowering dangerously. “What exactly are you implying?”
“You made the fumble an’ you’re lookin’ for someone to blame.”
“What—”
Spike’s eyes flared and he cast his half-smoked cigarette to the ground in a flash of fury. “I bloody well gave you everythin’ you needed to avoid this, White Bread.”
“You told me nothing! I asked you if I should check out mansions and—”
“I told you to go home to your girl. Somethin’ you obviously had a problem with. An’ as much as you’re hopin’, pointin’ fingers at me’s not gonna get her back.” He shook his head again. “She’s gone an’ it’s your fault.”
“You had something to do with it, I know it.”
“Do you listen to yourself when you talk, or do you drift in an’ out?”
“I swear—”
Spike spread his arms. “What in God’s name would I have to gain for helpin’ Drac? Do you know what the wanker does to the girlies he pursues? You don’ fuck with sired Slayers. No one wins from that.”
“And you honestly expect me to believe that Dracula doesn’t know about Slayers?”
“You gotta understand the thing about him; tall, dark, an’ deadly…not too much with the smarts. Buffy’s the firs’ Slayer he’s ever had the gall to go after. His usual bird is small an’ frail an’ too fixed on her place in society to worry about things like intelligence.” He quirked a brow. “So far, does this bloke sound like the type to do his research?”
“Oh, and I suppose you did?”
“You’re damn right I did. I didn’t meet a slayer for fifteen years after I firs’ heard of them. The firs’ one I killed came three years later. You’re for bloody sure I did my homework.” A condescending chuckle erupted through his lips. “Slayers are the only things in this bloody world that demons have left to fear, besides each other. You honestly think a newbie vamp would go after her without knowin’ exactly what he’s gettin’ into? You’re off your bird.”
“Then why wouldn’t Dracula?”
“Because he’s not a newbie vamp. He thinks he’s learned everything there is to learn.” Spike expelled a deep breath and cast a hand through his peroxide locks. “’m not nearly as stupid as you’d like me to be, boy. You wanna learn yourself the goods on slayers, you come to me. I’ve done nothin’ but follow the sacred line since I firs’ heard tale. There’s no one who knows it better.”
“No.”
“No? You really wanna argue with me ‘bout this?”
“No. I mean, you’re just as stupid as I’d like you to be.” A pause. “Just not in this.”
It wasn’t an apology or even an acknowledgment, but it was something. And it was as far, Spike wagered, as he and Captain Cardboard would ever get with civility. Either way, time was running out, and he had yet to conjure a suitable plan that did not involve storming a castle and becoming a pile of dust.
“You better toddle off,” he said. “Slayer’s still out there. I’m sure she won’t be too mightily pleased when she learns her super honey decided to talk up all the reasons he thinks he’s better than me instead of comin’ to her gallant rescue.”
That seemed to strike a nerve, and for a minute he thought the soldier was going to waste more time by scolding him on points that mattered for absolute shit while the Slayer’s life dangled in the balance. It made him wonder, though he figured Riley was likely suppressing. It couldn’t be simple, knowing you were the reason your girlfriend was in the clutches of the world’s most notorious vampire.
“Yeah, well…yeah.” Riley started past him at that, not meeting his eyes. “I still have the north side of town to hit. I just…I wanted to know if you knew anything.”
“Accordin’ to you, that’s impossible.”
“Just let us know if you get word, okay?”
You’re the last person I’m goin’ to when I get her out.
“Yeh,” Spike agreed. It was easier than the other. “Right.”
And then the door to his crypt was between them, and that was that. He was in the cool seclusion of his home, left to himself once more. Left to the reminder that Buffy was gone and he was her only hope; time was now more a factor than ever.
He was left to darkness.
Only…he wasn’t alone.
He was anything but alone.
It came slowly at first. A steady sense of recognition that came at the expense of shoving established boundaries aside. Something was different here. Something had changed. It was a presence he knew painfully well; a presence that struck both a terrible fear and the most overwhelming sense of relief through his worn body. There was blood. That unmistakable scent of the essence of the undead. She was here; stretched between thin lines of life and death. She was here.
Oh God.
“Oh God,” Spike gasped, freezing at the entry.
No. Please no.
But she was there. He saw her. She was standing in the middle of the room, her back to him. And she was as still as death.
“Buffy.”
To be continued in Chapter Five: The Skies Are Falling…
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