Thanks to Megan, Jen, Mari, and Teri for, perhaps, the fastest beta job in the world.
Only one part left after this!
Part XVI
Spike knew something was wrong the second he stepped into the mansion. No matter how much Angelus had changed, he knew his grandsire’s penchant for littering his space with fledglings remained the same. Back in the days of Holtz, it was the only way to stay alive—once the dust hit the ground, he’d grab Darla and they’d be on the run again.
It was something that had kept them undead. Something he’d passed onto his childer. Spike wasn’t a fan of lackeys, but he recognized the necessity of having pawns to take the fall and distract the goody-good guys as he made a run for it. Only now, by some perverse twist of fate, he was the goody-good guy. He was here with the Slayer to stop the apocalypse.
The small girl at his side who had somehow stolen his heart.
He knew what she was thinking, and it destroyed him to feel her in such deep turmoil. Her feelings about Dru had become especially sharp since the mating; her concern over his ultimatum—the one he hadn’t even realized he’d given until the words tumbled through his lips—had loomed over them for days. She was worried about saving her Watcher—about how it might conflict with the promise she’d made to herself to not screw anything up, and what would happen if she ended up with no choice.
It hadn’t been a fair thing to demand of her, but Spike honestly didn’t know what else he could have said to convey how he felt about his sire. He knew his own primal instincts were geared toward tearing Angelus a new one; it had everything to do with Buffy and nothing to do with the decades of torment that Dru had put him through. Knowing that Angel had been inside Buffy, had known her sweetness before Spike had even thought to give her a taste, made his insides clench and the demon roar in fury. And from the vibes that she was radiating, the pangs that Buffy felt were much deeper. She wasn’t competing with one night—she was competing with a century.
But she had nothing to compete with. Spike had given up his love for Dru a long time ago. Long before he even met the Slayer, as he was beginning to realize. Long before Sunnydale. He’d wanted to love her with everything he had, but he couldn’t; not when his tenderness was met with apathy. Dru doted on him when she needed something. She was amorous with everyone, and it had taken him a long time, even beyond Angelus’s cruel lessons, to understand that.
And yet, even if he didn’t love her anymore, he couldn’t wish her dead. She’d been too much a part of his life to hate her. Furthermore, she’d brought him to his true destiny, and for that, he’d be forever grateful. How he’d made it until now without Buffy, he’d never know. Never.
But Dru had gotten him this far, and he wasn’t about to destroy her for not loving him. Not loving him, contrarily, had turned into her greatest gift.
When this was all over, he owed Buffy an explanation. One backed by their mating. Now that he knew she loved him, and that she was his forever, spilling his heart wasn’t so terrifying.
None of it was so terrifying.
However, first things first. He had an apocalypse to stop before he got started on the eternity he had with his mate.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” he murmured.
“I hate that expression.”
“Huh’s that?”
“Peeled eyes? Gross.” She squeezed his hand. God, she was such a tower of strength, even trembling as she was. “Is it just me, or is it really quiet in here?”
“He knows, love.”
“He does?”
Spike clenched his jaw and nodded. Through a not-quite-repressed distant strand of connection that he felt with Darla, he sensed that something was incredibly amiss with the family matriarch. Unlike Dru, he couldn’t sense when things happened—just as he hadn’t sensed when Angelus got stuffed inside a soul or when the Master had gotten his arse so deservedly handed to him before he was turned to dust. He’d never cared much for his family, outside Dru, and aside from whatever teachings Angelus had pawned off, he’d attempted to block out the abuse and other nonsense once he realized that they weren’t going to be buddies.
There was allegedly some hierarchy among vampires, and in that, he was expected to respect his elders. That hadn’t happened; Spike honestly couldn’t give a fuck about his elders. Perhaps more familial vamps felt their sires and grandsires and the assorted list of an Arkansas-like family clan; he didn’t. Never had. Not with any measure of strength, at least.
However, he could sense that something was wrong with Darla.
He stopped as they stepped into the great hall that led to Acathla. Yes, something was very wrong with Darla.
Angelus and Drusilla stood side-by-side. The statue was behind them. Darla was nowhere to be seen.
Buffy squeezed his hand to mask her astonishment. “Well,” she said blandly. “So much for our surprise attack. Lemme guess…the blonde bitch ratted us out?”
Something dark crossed Angelus’s face. Truly dark. Spike knew him well enough to get that his famous short temper was more a product of his impatience—the same impatience that he disguised by pretending that his mind games, while fun, didn’t drive him crazy. He enjoyed the buildup, but the collapse was what he loved the most. Angelus became irritated—never angry. Not unless something was well and truly wrong.
Right now, he looked angry. Very angry.
“Spike,” he said softly. “Pity you won’t ever have a chance to teach your mate never to speak ill of the dead.”
“You are late for the party, my sweet,” Dru scolded, her eyes flashing. She giggled and pressed a finger to her lips. “Bad doggie. Where are your manners?”
“Dead?” Spike quirked his head, relishing in the rush of satisfaction that came from blatantly ignoring his sire.
“Dead?” Buffy echoed, her eyes going wide. “Darla’s dead?”
“Grandmum didn’t love us anymore,” Drusilla cooed, pouting. “She brought spoiled milk for the children.” She turned to Angelus and stroked his arm lovingly. “Daddy had to take care of things.”
“What?” The Slayer snapped incredulously. “She didn’t want the apocalypse so you, what, kill her? For disagreeing with you?”
Spike smiled wryly. All things considered, it was actually one of the more rational reasons employed by Angelus for signing someone’s death sentence. Then again, as vampires, there generally wasn’t a need for reason behind action.
“It wasn’t so much that she disagreed with me.”
Buffy didn’t bother in playing dumb. “She came to me.”
“That’s right.”
“To stop you.”
“Correct again.”
“And you killed her for that.”
“Man oh man, never let anyone tell you that you’re a slow learner, Buff.” Angelus’s eyes twinkled maliciously. “You’re certainly on a roll tonight.”
Spike’s gaze narrowed, and he gave Buffy’s hand a small, encouraging squeeze. “Wouldn’t be so impressed, mate. It doesn’ take much to keep up with you.”
“Something tells me that Rupert might disagree with that.”
A nerve was successfully struck. Buffy practically growled, her fingers flexing around the sword handle. “Why you—”
“Ah, ah. Put on the brakes. I had to put your watcher’s torture on hold. The stupid prick thinks he actually has something to live for.” Angelus crossed his arms and took a step forward. “And something tells me that you’re a big part of that delusion. I’m thinking that once I present him with your bloody, lifeless body, he’ll start singing for me.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Honestly, where do you get your lines? The Idiot’s Guide to the 101 Lamest Threats?”
“She worries,” Drusilla whispered nastily, glancing to Spike with a coy grin. “She knows your thoughts, my darling.” Then she turned back to Angelus. “Little Slayer fears her Spike doesn’t want the dove after all. That he will spend forever yearning for his raven.” A mocking cackle tickled the air; Dru framed her hands around her pussy and thrust her pelvis forward, her eyes flashing. “Mummy’s milk is always sweetest.”
Spike snarled at that, shooting a concerned glance in his mate’s direction. His hope that her inexperience with Dru’s riddles had worked in his favor was quickly dashed. Buffy was red with anger and humiliation, and she refused to meet his eyes. The pure hatred he saw flickering across her face—felt coursing through his own veins—served more to break his heart than anything else.
Once this was over, he needed to take her away somewhere. Take her away and worship her with his hands, mouth, and body until there could be absolutely no doubt as to how much he loved her. How he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. Not anything.
“That’s nice,” Buffy spat through clenched teeth. “But I really don’t see what it has to do with the apocalypse. Shouldn't you guys be pulling the sword out of Al Franken or whatever his name is? Or is the ritual too much for you without Giles? How sad. How long have you been around again?”
Spike grinned. “He never was a quick one.”
“Look who’s talking,” Angelus retorted.
“Oh, come on,” the Slayer continued. “He’s not the one that has to take the Armageddon for Dummies course.”
“You talk big for a girl I’m gonna be raping for the next couple days.”
“If you think that sounds threatening, you obviously haven’t lived in LA.”
She was lying. Spike could tell by how hard as she trembled, but God, the courage in her voice made him swell with pride. She might be terrified of her uncertain future, but she wasn’t about to let the enormous wanker relish her fear. Angelus saw enough simply through experience; Buffy wasn’t going to cower.
“There’s time enough to end the world,” Angelus continued matter-of-factly. “I wanted to say goodbye first. You are the one thing in this dimension that I will miss.”
Spike’s hand found the small of Buffy’s back, caressing her soothingly. Angelus was eating this up. He loved the talk-downs; the bantering; the verbal exchanges. He loved the Bond moments. He could give away all his secrets and still walk away unscathed.
Well, unless there were any gypsies around to stuff him full of soul, but the odds of lightning striking twice were slim.
“This is a beautiful moment we’re having,” his mate retorted with false sweetness. “Can we please fight?”
“You came here to fight?” Angelus retorted, frowning. “Gosh, I was hoping we could get back together. What do you think? Do we have a shot?”
Buffy actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? Sorry, I just…oh, God. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Dru was stupid enough to let Spike slip through her fingers. Don’t get me wrong; you were…well, you were certainly…present, I think. At least Spike let me know what an actual orgasm feels like.” She barked another laugh and shook her head. “You’re pathetic.”
“Bad kitty,” Dru scolded.
Angelus’s face was as raw with loathing as Spike had ever seen, and the knowledge of what was coming was the only thing that stopped him from bursting into laughter. There would be time enough for laughing at the sod when all this was over. There would be time enough for plenty of things.
Angelus took a dramatic step forward. “That sword is mine,” he snarled.
The Slayer quirked a brow, raising the blade between them. “What, this one? It was a gift.”
“Paid for in blood.”
“Don’t you mean dust?”
“You have no idea what you’re holding.”
“It’s long and shiny and has a pointy tip. I’m going for exaggerated phallus symbol.”
Drusilla clapped with glee and bounced on her heels. “He’ll paint the walls with your entrails, dearie,” she cackled, and Spike saw red. In all his years, he had never known her to hate anyone, but there was no mistaking the blackness in her eyes. It wasn’t necessary for vampires to hate—evil didn’t need motive. She was too daft, too far removed from reality to really care about what went on around her. As long as she had blood to live on, people to feed on, and strong vampire men to mollycoddle her, she didn’t have a worry in the world.
So seeing her hatred for his mate shoved him over the proverbial edge. Dru might have been the vehicle that led him to salvation, but that didn’t mean he’d align himself with her out of appreciation. And she was even more out of her mind than he’d granted if she thought so.
“Darla gave it her best,” Angelus continued, taking another hazardous step forward. “She really did. And when it’s all over, I’ll make sure history remembers her for the martyr she was.”
“Point being?”
“The sword’s not gonna save you.”
“You want it so bad?” Buffy retorted. “I’m standing right here.”
And then something happened—something stark and unexpected. A piercing wail tore through the hauntingly still air around them, and the next thing he knew, Drusilla had lunged herself at the Slayer, her red nails scratching at her neck. The move was so random, so uncoordinated, that even Angelus looked surprised.
“They chase the light!” Drusilla shrieked. “They want to send the darkness away!”
Angelus’s face went slack with astonishment, and he glanced back to Buffy, his eyes filling with rage. “You—”
“Make her bleed! Make her pay!” Dru tore at Buffy’s arms. “The light cannot have my daddy!”
It was a strange realization. Spike felt so far away. He heard himself snarl from a distance. Watched his fangs descend and his eyes flash yellow as he whipped something out of his back pocket. He felt the stake in his hand. Felt the tiny splinters of wood that pierced his skin when he tightened his grip, and the familiar resistance as he whirled his sire around and slammed the pointed end into her chest. He watched it all from far away, but simultaneously experienced every second of it. Watching as her eyes went wide with sorrow and regret, suspended astonishment washing through the halls.
“My William,” she gasped, and then she was gone in an explosion of dust.
Spike glanced up, his face stone, seizing Buffy’s wrist to yank her behind him.
Nothing.
He didn’t feel a thing. Not a bloody thing. And perhaps that would have worried him once, but not now. Not when his mate’s skin was a map of bloody riverbeds, thanks to Drusilla’s claws. No amount of sodding gratitude would ever prompt him to stand by while the woman he loved was hurt. And in doing that, Dru had become just another face.
“Oh my God, Spike,” Buffy gasped. “You—”
“You presumptuous little bastard,” Angelus barked.
Calmly, Spike stroked the inside of his mate’s wrist with his thumb. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He felt the race of her pulse, and it was enough. “Jus’ taking a chapter outta your book, mate. Wasn’ it you that always said I’m a follower?”
“So you fucked my slayer—”
“Yeh, well, I can’t help it if you don’ manage to do things right.”
Angelus snarled again, and this time, Spike saw the strains of control snap completely. And while untimely, the sight provided one hell of a satisfying rush. Control wasn’t something the elder vampire gave up easily—even when provoked. He took a sip of his grandsire’s fury and found it exquisite.
“You were always a mistake,” he growled, his eyes flashing. “Drusilla’s shining prince that could never quite give her what she needed. Sure, we tolerated you. Darla thought you were good for a laugh, and you were always oh so eager to learn.” He flashed Buffy an unpleasant grin. “You should’ve seen the stuff we had to teach this one. Would you believe he didn’t know how to eat a woman out until Darla held—”
Spike sucked in an angry breath, but before he could get in a word, he was blown away by the force of Buffy’s hatred. “You know, if you’re going for the gross-out factor, you’re gonna have to try a little harder,” she growled. “I slept with you, remember?”
“Oh, baby, I could never forget.”
Buffy tore from Spike’s side before he could make a move, fueled with fury that had to be his—that she had to feel from their connection. She was a blur of motion, a flowing stream of violent poetry, and she was so channeled with rage that even he couldn’t touch her.
“Mmm, yeah!” Angelus cooed, ducking a series of blows, his arrogance never fading. “Maybe if you’d been this lively, your precious Angel wouldn’t have been so quick to bolt.”
Spike broke forward, but she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, and he couldn’t get close enough. God, he might as well have not been in the room at all. “Buffy!”
“You sick sonofabitch!” She took another swipe at his head, her swing messy, her form crippled by fury. “You—”
“I like what you’ve done to her,” Angelus called to him. “Definite improvement.”
“No!” Her leg kicked at his ankles, stealing his balance. It was like watching giants fall—the surprise in the elder vampire’s eyes was worth the world. It bloody figured. Angelus had always overestimated his own power while underestimating that of others. Buffy lowered the sword to his throat, planting her foot on his chest. “You don’t get to look at him. You don’t get to talk to him. You’re dealing with me, now.”
“Ummm, hello! My family, Buff; not yours. And I say, the kid needs a time-out.”
“Yeah, well, I think your body would look better without your head. Which theory do you wanna try first?” She pulled the sword back and flashed a cheeky, dangerous grin. “Well, since I’m on top…”
In as many years as he had existed, Spike had never experienced a moment where time was put on hold—not until tonight. Just a few minutes ago, he’d dusted his sire—the woman he’d loved for a century—and time had stopped for him. Now he was caught; he wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be there for her when she collapsed, but his legs refused to obey. He saw it coming—saw the flash just seconds before she did, and time absolutely stood still.
The sword swept in a low arc toward Angelus’s neck, and he gasped. He gasped and his eyes shone bright. A true flash of color—the light that Drusilla had screamed about—and then it was over. The rage marring his face vanished and he fell back, panting for air, his expression confused and worn. And it was suddenly over.
Buffy saw it too, the sword checking in mid-flight and then dropping from her hands, clamoring heavily to the concrete floor.
“Oh God,” she murmured.
Spike’s legs were weighed with lead, but he moved toward her just the same. “Kitten—”
“Buffy?”
She staggered back in horror. “Oh, God.”
“Buffy…” Angel fought to sit up, blinking as though he’d only now regained his sight. “I…I can’t—”
A choked sob tore through Buffy’s throat, and the next thing Spike knew, she lunged forward, sinking her fist into Angel’s gut. Then again. And again. Her body was trembling, tears rained down her cheeks, and she hit him. She hit him until she lost her balance, until she was straddling his waist to leverage her punches. Until the ground around her was painted in Angel’s blood.
And the screams that stabbed the air tore at Spike’s heart.
“You sonofabitch!” she roared, ignoring his cries of pain, the blatant confusion in Angel’s eyes; ignoring everything but the power of her grief-laced fury. “Give me one reason! One good reason!”
Spike rushed toward her as the weight began to lift. “Buffy—”
“One reason!”
“Buffy!”
He didn’t know how it had happened. Somehow, he was the one pulling her off Angel, holding her as she struggled in his arms. She was sobbing; her voice weak with the power of her outrage, but it didn’t stop her from screaming. And by the time Spike had her away from the other vampire, she dissolved. Completely dissolved. The confused vehemence in her eyes broke him all over again.
It took looking at him, meeting her mate’s worried gaze, for Buffy to return to herself. “Oh Spike,” she whimpered, then buried herself in his embrace.
“Shhh…” He pressed a kiss to her brow and turned her head away from Angel, rocking her as his grandsire gathered his bearings.
A century of wishing for this couldn’t have prepared him. And when he met Angel’s eyes, he felt nothing but disgust. No hatred. No anger. Not right now.
“Spike…” Angel croaked, fighting to regain his feet. “What’s going on?”
It wasn’t until the older vampire took a step forward that Spike felt a fresh surge of anger. He vamped quickly and took a step back, tightening his arms around his trembling mate. “No,” he growled. “You don’ see her. Don’ touch her. You don’ know what you’ve done, but you will in a few minutes.”
Angel coughed and leaned forward, pressing his palms to his knees. “I don’t—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Spike…I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“Get out.” He took another step back. “Out of Sunnydale. If you try to come near her again, I’ll kill you.”
“I…” Then it hit—the realization. The dawning. He watched time return to his grandsire, watched a tower of fortitude collapse. Watched him melt in devastation, and for reasons beyond him, it wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought it would be. Angel gasped again and his face dissolved with tears. “Oh my God. Oh, God, Buffy…”
The trembling slayer in Spike’s arms hardened at that. She was still, then she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “You heard him,” she said. “Get out.”
“Buffy. Oh God, I can’t—”
“Get. Out. I mean it. Get out. I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”
“Buffy. Please! I need help. Help me!”
She tugged at her mate’s arm and shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Go help yourself.”
Spike slid his arm around her waist, steering her away. “Your Watcher?” he muttered.
“Yeah. Then take me away from here.”
He nodded and kissed her temple. “Anything you want, baby.”
“I want to be away from here.”
Then away he would take her. Anywhere she wanted to go. Away from Sunnydale, away from the broken vampire on the floor—away from everything.
As long as she wanted, he’d keep her away.
He’d move the stars to give her what she wanted.
To be concluded |
