Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all the characters contained within. I hold no claim on them.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Set during Buffy versus Dracula and then goes seriously AU after that! Buffy is missing and Spike is the only one who has noticed. Where is Buffy and why is Spike the only one who is worried? Will the peroxide vampire be able to find her before it's too late? What has happened to the Scoobies and will they save Xander before he really becomes Dracula's butt monkey?

Chapter 37 

Her high heels clicked on the polished floor, all around her the sounds and smells that she dreaded more than anything in the entire world. Last time she’d been here was with Tara, and that was not a happy memory. Vegetable Riley had been so heartbreaking to witness, and now she was here to visit Giles. She shivered, a heavy arm dropped over her shoulders, he pulled her against his side and brushed a kiss over the crown of her head, reassuring her. 

“He’s a tough old bastard pet, no fretting till you have too. Right?”  

Buffy looked up through tear-filled eyes, a tremulous smile ghosted across her lips. Her left hand reached up, the diamond on her engagement finger catching the light as she caressed his face. “Right,” she whispered. His hand shot up to capture hers and he pressed it against his cheek, his thumb tracing over the pretty bauble that he’d bought for her on the way out of Los Angeles. Taking her hand he turned it over and pressed a lingering kiss into the palm and closed her fingers around it. 

Buffy stared at the glinting jewel mesmerised, she couldn’t believe it was hers. She was still in shock over the casual way Spike had pulled her into the small antique shop and began to examine the trays of beautiful old rings. Trying to ignore the crowd of family and friends all peering into the shop Buffy had stared at the sparkling pretties for ages, until Spike lost his patience and began to pick out a few and laid them out in front of her. The shopkeeper had been a weird smelling old demoness, all wrinkles and, if you had looked closely, two sets of teeny tiny blue horns peeked through her grey curls.  

What had weirded her out the most was the triple forked tongue that had flickered out now and then when she was describing the history of the rings. Then Spike had changed the rules and called her Slayer in front of the wizened demoness; the crone had practically flown around the counter and embraced her. So not what she’d expected from a demon, but then again what was normal these days?  

“You’re from the Slayer line? This is an honour, a real honour.” The shopkeeper babbled. “Come with me, ignore these. They’re for the tourists,” with that she pulled a bemused Spike and Buffy through a heavy silk curtain and into a veritable treasure trove. And that was where she found it, her ring, the perfect ring. All hers. Buffy wondered if she could be any happier or spoiled?  

“Pretty thing, innit?” Spike’s soft whisper pulled her thoughts back from the incense filled room and the Titanaria musical voice blessing the ring that she was wearing.  

“I love it,” Buffy stood on her tip toes and tenderly kissed the tip of his nose. 

“S’good that you have it,” Spike gave her shy boyish grin and rocked on his heels. 

“I still can’t believe it belonged to a Slayer,” Buffy eyed the Deco style ring. A flat square cut diamond set with a surrounding of smaller diamonds in a pave style. It was sleek and smooth, safe for her to wear patrolling. “Did you see her fight?”  

“Nope, wasn’t in London in the 30s, the Slayer was there for a good few years and then moved onto Paris before she was, well…you know.” Spike stared at a spot above her head.  

A frown line wrinkled her forehead, “I know, but Annabelle seems to have lived a lot longer than other Slayers from what Titanaria said.” 

“Yeah, seven years, not bad at all, but have to say the Slayer I know and love will definitely break that record. Mine for eternity, right?”  

“Yours, all yours Spike, for as long as we have together.” Buffy smiled up at him. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” he waited, wondering what sort of bombshell she was about to launch now.  

“Did you know Titanaria was a Slayer fan?”  

“Had heard her kind were lore keepers and collectors of Slayer memorabilia,” Spike smirked.  

Buffy nodded, “I figured as much, am kinda impressed with the thoughtfulness that is you.” She wrapped an arm around his waist and gave him a rib creaking hug. 

“Got me a good discount and she was a bit generous with the engagement gifts wasn’t she?”  

“The trunk full of Slayer stuff? Yeah. But I think the cash you ‘borrowed’ from Angel’s safe helped a lot.” She still couldn’t believe Angel had used the same code he had done for the last two centuries. ‘Kinda asking for it wasn’t he?’ 

Spike grinned and began to walk down the corridor escorting Buffy to her Watcher’s room, mentally thanking the gods that Peaches was an old stick in the mud. The transferring of much needed funds from Angelus’s long abandoned accounts hadn’t been as tricky as he’d thought. He’d managed the calls while Buffy was busy yelling at Whistler and Kendra in the courtyard of the Hyperion, getting to help out with the Nibblet and Mum. He felt a lot better knowing that money wouldn’t be a problem, as all his favours were being used up making the gym and loft apartment a home for the two of them. Things were looking rosy on the domestic front, now all they had to do was sort out the Black Hats and fix Rupes. Spike shook his head wishing it could be that easy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Moooom! I’m bored!”  

Joyce sighed and rubbed her temples. She was tired, scared and wanted to go home; this place smelled strange and her two guardians were starting to get on her nerves. They bickered constantly and if she didn’t know better then she would’ve thought they were a married couple. But somehow the stern faced girl who’d been a Slayer gave the impression of being an Amazon, chaste and untouchable, Joyce grinned at the thought of what the girl would say if she suggested the marriage idea.  

“Mom, this place sucks, can you believe it – they don’t even have any books to read!” Dawn appeared in front of her long suffering mother and flopped down next to her on the bed, resting her head against Joyce’s shoulder.  “I wish I wasn’t this thing that put everyone in danger, then we could be at home and not here in weirdsville.” In a small voice she added, “I’m sorry, mommy.”  

Joyce wrapped her arms around Dawn. “Oh honey, you can’t think that way. Everything will be okay, I promise.” She was still surprised at how calmly Dawn was reacting to the inadvertent revelation of her being a mystical Key. Joyce figured it was because she had been told and not left in the dark to discover it for herself. 

“But Giles and Tara,” Dawn sighed. She tried to swallow the sick guilty feelings but was failing. She hated that she was the reason that they were hurting and that everyone was scrambling to protect her, but a weeny part of her was kind of stoked that she was a mystical thing. She had always wanted to be a Slayer or something supernatural ever since she’d found out about Buffy’s calling and then met everyone who was demoney or vampy but nope, she’d ended up being the boring brat sister. Now it turns out she was a magical Key, which was awesome. She was so glad that they had told her and not treated her like a mushroom.  

“No, don’t think that,” Joyce’s voiced was filled with iron. She was beginning to wonder what the hell was up with her family genes – first creating Buffy and now Dawn. Part of her was proud, but mainly she was terrified someone would come take her Pumpkinbelly off and hurt her. “Are you okay about all this honey?”  

Dawn thought for a moment and then nodded, “I think so, it’s kinda weird being told that up until a while ago I wasn’t real. But everything I remember, and everyone else remembers, feels real to me. It’s strange but I guess it’s okay. If I freak later once the adrenaline wears off you won’t get mad with me will you?”  

Joyce chuckled and hugged her, secretly amazed at how bravely Dawn was handling everything, she expected tantrums and hysterics, but after the initial meltdown – nothing. “I won’t, pinky swear.” The two of them hooked their fingers together and shook their hands from side to side.  

“You two okay?” Whistler appeared through the archway with his hands thrust in his pockets.  

“Been better,” Dawn groused with a small smile to show she was teasing.  

“I know, kiddo, sucks being here and the Powers ain’t that good with mod cons. But, hey, it’s safe and you’re protected.” Whistler glanced over his shoulder and glared at the fuming Kendra. “I know – okay woman, I’ll go ask.” With that he disappeared in a shimmer of light. The faint words of demanding Slayers being the death of him echoed around the room.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“You know, love, I still can’t get my noggin around the fact you got the Powers to protect Dawn.” Spike shook his head and looked down at Buffy’s upturned face. 

“Well, it’s not like Angel could do it anymore, Mr Drainstodust!”  

“Wot? He owed a Blood Debt, he knew what was coming,” Spike shrugged.  

“But, Spike, his fangs fell out cos his gums receded, that was plain icky!” Buffy made gagging noises at the memory of the last sight she had of Angel, slurping blood through a straw, the tentative smile he’d given her revealing the black gaps in his teeth made her want to puke all over his bedspread. Though on reflection she might’ve added some colour to the monotonous colour scheme.  

“Yeah, I know, he looked good did’n he?” Smug just oozed over those words as Spike coughed to suppress a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. His hand slipped into his pocket to check that Angel’s fangs where still there; he’d nicked them when no one was looking and was planning to have them bronzed and mounted. A mini trophy to wind up the old poof. 

Buffy eyed him with a small smile, “You realise you are weird, right?” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder affectionately, resembling a contented cat for a brief moment.  

“And?”  

“Nuthing,” Buffy shook her head and pressed the button for the lift.  

“But you love me for it, right?”  

“Course I do, Spikey,” she purred.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Sire?”  

“Hush, leave me to think.” Dracula waved a hand at Marushka dismissively and stared off into space, in deep thought. Time was running out and things were coming to a head in a way he had not foreseen. He had only one of his women left, a Childe handed over to the Aurelian Clan and a demented goddess who was determined to drag the world into Hell to damn them all even more. She was the bane of his existence, the original accord had been one of pragmatic necessity and now, with his losses and the strain to sustain her sanity exhausting him, the Elder vampire was beginning to wonder whether he’d backed the wrong horse.  

He knew should support her endeavours more wholeheartedly – he was evil after all, but he liked his unlife the way it was. The bargain had initially been struck due to pragmatism and a need for survival – yet now, he was not so sure. As Glory’s dementia escalated and her attempts to source her ‘Key’ failed at every turn, the Master Vampire was beginning to realise that he may have been too hasty falling in with her. His losses were mounting and he could see no light at the end of the tunnel. He knew he could create more Brides to replace those lost and then he would be complete, so why did he have to pitch the world into Hades? Drac’s lean face broke into a smile, he glanced over at the slumped form chained to the foot of his bed, she was a prize beauty and he was patiently waiting for her to wake up so they could play some more before he turned her into one of his Brides. He needed a distraction from the puzzle of Glory, and a good long fuck would be a tension release.  

Her long legs were sprawled at awkward angles; cuts and grazes scabbed over, his mouth watered at the memory of the taste of her blood. A virgin at her age, in this day and era, it had been surprising and refreshing, as well as being convenient as it meant he could mould her sexual tastes to mesh with his. Something that he was savouring, he loved it when he managed to wring out an orgasm from her abused body, as she screamed and wept for mercy, for a pause in the hellish pain.  

“So, my pretty lamb, are you ready for more soon?” He rose, his lean body muscled and painted with dabs of her blood. His cock hung heavy and was crimson, he’d torn her hymen with little regard to her pleasure, and he was keeping the stains of her innocence on his cock for as long as he could. A paean to her torn purity, he ran the tip of his index finger along his budding erection and then lapped delicately at it, savouring the taste of sex and blood - his favourite combination. Dracula squatted down next to the slumped form and ran an impersonal hand over her stomach and breasts, checking their weight in the palm of his hand. His thumb brushing over the still bleeding nipple of her right breast, the gold pins he’d inserted gleamed dully through the clotted blood.  

“Still sleeping? Oh well – let me see what I can do to wake you my pretty one,” he wrapped his hand in her once sleek brown hair which had hung over her battered face, and twisted her head back.  

Then she screamed.  

A long despairing cry for help and pity that went unanswered. 

“There you are, now come, come little one, let’s get you more comfortable.” He lifted her shaking body, flipped her over and laid her face down on the bed, her arms stretched as she lay face down on the mattress facing the end of the bed, and the mirror he’d placed there so she could watch everything he did to her body.  

“Please, please, please, don’t…no more hurting please, I’ll be good don’t hurt me…” she pleaded to no avail. Her pretty face twisted into a mask of pain and terror, her horrified eyes staring into the mirror at herself and her phantom rapist. The Master Vampire knelt next to her, his hand still fisted in her hair, the other busy mapping out the soft quivering curves of her backside. 

Dracula laughed. 

“Oh, my dear, once I have finished you will be begging me to hurt you just a little bit more.” With that he pushed her legs apart and with no preparation took her final virginity with a series of harsh thrusts that tore at her rectum and made the screams pitch higher and higher as the blood he drew from her torn passage coated his cock and helped him to penetrate her tightness.  

He sank his fangs into the nape of her neck, to hold her still, to illustrate his dominance over her like a wolf, and then his hips began to move. 

“What beautiful music your screams are, call out some more, I need to hear you.” He crooned maliciously as he hips hammered into her, his hand slid under her shaking body and caught hold of her abused breasts and with a fluid motion he pulled her upwards as he rose to his knees. Her arms now stretched taut, muscles burning and tearing under the pressure, her fingernails embedded into the palms of her hands from the pain of her torture and rape. 

“Look at yourself, writhing on my cock as I take you,” he ordered. His fingers tearing her hair from her already tender scalp and his other hand twisting at her nipples, neither being left alone for long, he wanted her bleeding and alert. 

“Open your eyes or I will carve your face off,” he whispered silkily into her ear, his cock never slowing in its rape of her. Blood coated their thighs and dripped slowly onto the already stained silk sheets. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scents of blood and fear that filled the chamber. Her body was lax and her breasts shuddered with each slam of his hips. Dracula sank his fangs into her throat and sipped delicately for a moment before turning her head slightly so he could rake his incisors over her cheek, splitting the skin.  

“Smile for me, Samantha, smile for your Master.” The captured soldier could do nothing but stare sightlessly into the mirror, wishing she had never come the Hellmouth for a look around whilst she had been on break from special ops training. She’d go past lamenting her lost virginity, something she’d been saving for her wedding night, now all that was left was to give in and let it be over. 

The soon to be ex-army girl sighed and closed her eyes, anything to avoid looking at her broken and beaten body. She began to pray for her eternal soul, she knew what was coming. 

It would be over soon. 

And when she woke – she wouldn’t care anymore. 

~~~~~~~~ 

She shook.  

“Come on pet, he’ll be waiting for you.” Spike placed a calming hand in the small of her back. They stared at the closed door, Buffy was filled with nerves knowing that Giles lay on the other side. She didn’t want to see her Watcher pale and weak with tubes sticking in him. He was supposed to be the one who was strong and standing over her, glasses in hand making with the research and support.  

“Buffy?”  

Buffy whirled to face the familiar voice. “Willow?”  

The two girls flew into each other’s arms. Both of them weeping and exclaiming their joy and excitement at seeing each other again. Spike thrust his hands in his pockets and watched the reunion with a small smile, his eyes busy scanning the corridor for danger. He was on high alert after the latest disaster that struck them. He frowned for a moment, a flicker of movement in the shadows was brief and then a young man strode out of them. He was dressed in scrubs, floppy brown hair and oozing earnestness; it put Spike’s hackles up on end.  

“Pet, got a nosey parker.”  

Buffy reluctantly let go of Willow, she grabbed hold of one hand and held onto her friend as she stared at the newcomer. He smelled weird but seemed kinda cute in a bland sort of way. “Hello?”  

“Hi, I’m one of the Interns helping with Mr Giles, are you his niece Buffy?” Ben thrust out a hand, all too aware who she was. He’d seen her bruised and battered body chained to the wall in Drac’s chambers but Glory had pushed in and taken over his body before he could save the petite girl. Guilt assailed him. ‘Mark up another victim that I couldn’t save,’ he thought grimly.  

“Umm,” Buffy stared dubiously at Willow, looking for confirmation to the whole niece thing. 

The redhead nodded briskly, “Oh yeah, this is Giles’s niece, yuppers this is Buffy.” Her babbling was a familiar sound and managed to bring a smile curving to Buffy’s lips. 

“Nice to meet you,” Ben let a neutral expression fall over his face as he gestured to the door. “Go on in, it’s a private ward, so no stupid rules about visiting. If you need me or have any questions I’ll be at the desk over there.” He pointed to the other end of the corridor and with a quick nod he left, skirting past Spike and trying to not react to the seething warning growl.  

“Spike,” Buffy raised her brows in warning, “less with the grrr argh!” She exclaimed, raising her fingers to her mouth in an approximation of fangs.  

“Sorry, but he was a ponce, something off about that one.” He rubbed the back of his head in thought for a second, aware that both girls were staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain himself, but he couldn’t. “Must be lack of kip and all,” he shrugged, his eyes straying to the figure of the doctor.  

Buffy loosened her death grip on Willow’s hand and smiled apologetically at her. “Sorry for the finger ouchies.”  

Willow stretched out her cramped fingers and shook her head at Buffy. “S’okay, after the hug and rib creakage what’s a few broken fingers,” she teased. Her face lit up with good humour, the lines of stress fading away.  

“Pet, come on, Rupes is waking up.” Spike jerked his head to the closed door. His heightened senses picking up on the increased sounds of breathing and the slight speeding up of the older man’s heartbeat through the shut door. He could hear the soft inhalations of Glinda under the beeps and static noise of the machines that the Watcher was hooked up too. “Red – Glinda’s in there too? Thought it was a private ward…” he trailed off, confused at the broad smile on Willow’s face. 

“Tara’s in there, she’s fine, I managed to fix her.” She babbled as she pulled Buffy into the room. Ignoring the muttered protests and dragging feet of her friend, Willow figured unless one of them dragged her in there Buffy would still be standing outside when Giles checked himself out. 

“Tara’s okay?” Relief flooded Buffy, all the guilt over leaving them both vulnerable and exposed to attack lessened by half. Now all she had to do was face Giles. ‘Oh god he looks so old…’ 

“Christ,” Spike wiped his hand over his mouth. His eyes riveted to the slumped form of the Watcher. Every visible inch of his skin was covered in bruising, but what was worse was the contraption they had him immobilised in. It looked like a torture rack of some sort. Unconsciously he stepped up beside Buffy, pressing against her side in silent support.  

“Buffy…Spike…so good to…” Giles faltered, the energy expended inhaling to speak had drained him. Instead he gave a wane smile, lines of pain bracketing his mouth, his bloodless lips pressed in a firm line. The air tubes hooked into his nostrils slipped slightly, Buffy stared at Tara’s hand as she slipped it back into place. He couldn’t turn his head or move, not even if he wanted too, his body was being held immobile by steel and wires.  

“Oh god, Giles, what did I do…” Buffy squeaked, tears falling unnoticed as she moved closer and gently ran a finger over his lax hand. She was terrified of putting any pressure on his battered skin and her touch was feather light as her hand shook. She looked up at Tara anguished, “Tara, I’m so sorry for leaving you both.”  

“Buffy, don’t, we all knew the risks and figured that Glory wouldn’t attack in broad daylight, it’s not your fault, it’s no one’s fault but Glory’s.” Tara’s voice was firm and brooked no dispute; she shook her head when Buffy opened her mouth to speak. “Giles and I will not put up with this!”  

“Christ, Rupes, the sods did a good job on you, looks like you’re on the rack,” Spike slipped an arm around Buffy’s waist to hold her up, offering silent support with a gentle squeeze. “You okay, Glinda?” he added, accepting the slight nod from Tara with a faint sigh of relief.  

Giles coughed, humour twinkling in his eyes, “Hurts – like a sod,” he wheezed, sweat appearing in his hairline at the effort of speaking. 

“Hush, Mr Giles, you need to keep still and rest,” Tara reached over and gently mopped his brow. “Willow, can you do anything?” she appealed to her lover. Willow nodded and stepped around the bed to stand next to Tara. Raising her hands she began to mutter under her breath, invoking Aesculapius, Tara’s soft voice joined in and the two Wiccans began to chant louder. Small sparks of light began to fly off the tips of their fingers, their hands held over Giles’s immobile body. A pale yellow glow began to envelope the supine body of their mentor and friend.  

“Pet, run interference, I can hear a nurse coming,” Spike jerked his head towards the door, his blue eyes never leaving the bed. There was something off about Red, her powers smelled okay but there was a whiff of something different about the girl and he was curious. Also, he figured Buffy’s diplomatic skills where better than his; he would’ve slammed the door shut in the biddy’s face with a snarl. Unlike his girl who’d pushed the nurse backwards by stepping through the door and was doing her best impersonation of a Valley Girl. He could almost hear her twirling her hair through her fingers as she chattered away like a Blue Jay. 

“Spike?” Giles called out, his voice a bit stronger. Spike shook his head and refocused his attention on the bed and the Wiccan chanting.  

“Rupes?”  

“I feel all warm and tingly,” Giles giggled, the euphoria from the healing magicks, together with the doses of painkillers he’d been given, combined into a high that he’d not experienced since the Seventies.  

“Good to know mate, just keep your warm and tinglies under the sheets, don’t want to shock the socks of the girlies now, do you?” 

“Nope, they – ah, ow…might never survive the shock!” Giles joked as he slid into a deep healing sleep. 

“Sheesh, last thing I wanna see is Giles’s bits and pieces,” Willow shook her hands letting her wrists relax as Tara giggled in agreement.  

“All done?” Buffy breezed back in, letting the door slam shut on the nurse as she sailed over to Spike’s side and snuggled up against him.  

“For now, he’ll feel better soon.” Willow sank down tiredly on a chair and rested her chin on her hand.  

Spike grunted as he reached over for the chart and began to flip through it. His face darkening at the notes scrawled on it. “Balls…” 

“What?” Buffy peeked over the clipboard trying to squint at whatever had upset Spike, her heart in his mouth.

“Red, you know about this? Glinda?” Spike asked, his voice pitched low and deep, worry thickening his already pronounced accent. 

Willow ducked her head, unable to look Buffy in the eyes. Leaving Tara to be the one to break the awful news, she was not able to raise her head despite Tara’s sympathetic touch. 

“Buffy – I…I…I’m sorry,” Tara stumbled over the words unable to hurt her friend by telling her Giles’s fate.  

“S’alright, Glinda,” Spike gestured for her to be quiet. He turned and took Buffy’s shaking hands in his and gripped them tightly offering reassurance.  

“Looks like the docs think that Giles won’t be able to walk anytime soon. That bint managed to break his back and, well, his legs…”  

Buffy jerked as if she’d been hit with a bolt of lightening and then collapsed into his arms in a dead faint. Not hearing Spike’s final words. 

“He’s paralysed, poor sod. Paralysed…”

tbc...

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