Summary: Spike and Buffy dance at the Bronze. To start with, anyway...
Spoilers: Up to Wrecked and inspired by spoilers beyond that.
Distribution: Please ask my permission first, just so I know where it's
headed.
Disclaimer: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX , Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. Theirs not mine. Author's Note: PWP with no redeeming value whatsoever. Just two crazy kids getting their groove on. Feedback: Sure, fire away to jodyorjen@yahoo.com
Chapter 4: Cuts Like A Knife
Everything had gone horribly wrong tonight.
She'd broken up with Spike.
On her way home, a gang of vampires had waylaid her.
She dusted their sorry asses, but one slippery little creep got away.
She had wasted over an hour playing hide and seek with him.
After he was out of the way, she got home to find a distraught Willow
crying at the kitchen table, grappling with withdrawal.
Getting her calmed down and back in her bed had taken another hour.
A bad feeling coiled tight in Buffy's stomach.
Buffy made Dawn's lunch, smoothing peanut butter onto slices of bread.
How could she have just let him walk away?
Worse than that, told him to get away.
She scrawled out a note for her sister.
Grabbing her duffel bag, she ran back down to the docks to take care of
some unfinished business.
Bending down on the pavement, she stuffed her purchases in the bag.
She glanced at her watch.
It had been nearly four hours since Spike had walked away from her.
Her stomach ached, waves of uneasiness flowing over her.
Angry and hurt Spike was capable of a whole lot of damage in four hours.
Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she took off for Spike's crypt at a
run.
Breathless, she pushed open the door to his crypt.
It was even worse than she had imagined.
The furniture that he had chosen so carefully was reduced to wisps of
stuffing and splinters of wood. Chunks of wax from broken candles lay
everywhere. Shards of glass and puddles of liquid lay on the floor. Worst
of all, a trail of blood meandered from the center of the crypt to the hole
that led to the lower level.
Buffy climbed down.
Reaching the lowest rung of the ladder, Buffy stepped down onto something
squishy.
It was Spike, lying in a crumbled heap.
She carefully picked him up and carried him to the bed.
He didn't make a sound.
Fumbling in the dark, she lit candles around the bed.
She was able to see what he had done to himself.
A wooden stake protruded from his chest, blood soaking the front of his
shirt.
Removing the long sleeved shirt he wore, she tugged on his wrist.
Feeling something damp there, she pulled up his cuff.
He had slit his wrist.
Pulling at his shoulders, she ripped the shirt into two pieces.
Throwing it off, she grabbed his other wrist.
He had slit that one too.
She stared up in his face.
He looked like a corpse. His lips were tinged blue, his face a bloodless
white.
It was wrong, deeply wrong, to see him so still.
He was the most vibrant person she had ever met.
Fighting down panic, she carefully pulled the stake from his chest.
She pulled the top sheet off the bed and ripped it into strips, trying to
remember the combat medical training Riley had taught her.
Looking around, she found an open bottle of grain alcohol.
Did she need to clean the wound?
He was a vampire.
He couldn't get an infection.
Could he?
She was so stupid, so stupid, so fucking stupid.
She knew how to kill vamps, not fix them.
What if she did the wrong thing?
Wincing, she poured alcohol over the wound.
Spike didn't even stir.
She bound his chest and wrists tightly, doing the best job that she could.
Buffy settled him back on the pillows, pulling the coverlet up over his
chest.
He hadn't moved since she had been there.
He couldn't die, right?
Spike was a vampire, so he couldn't die.
Then why was he so still?
She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking.
What was she supposed to do?
He'd been hurt badly before.
Yeah, like when she dropped a church organ on him.
She remembered the scars that had bubbled over the side of his face.
The wheelchair he'd been in for months.
Drusilla had taken care of him, cured him.
How do you cure a vampire?
She thought of Angel.
Blood, he had taken her blood and it had cured him.
That was poison.
This was-.
Well, a suicide attempt, really.
Quite possibly a successful one.
He hadn't dusted, though.
Running upstairs, she finds the little refrigerator on its side, door
ripped off.
Inside it are three slightly warm bags of blood.
Hurrying back to Spike, she sits beside him.
Ripping a bag open with her teeth, she opens his mouth and slips the corner
of the bag inside, squeezing it.
Blood pours over the sides of his mouth, dripping down his neck.
She tries again, with the same result.
She starts to cry, powerless and desperate.
"Don't do this to me," she whispers.
She rests her head against his forehead, her tears dropping onto his face.
"I need you."
Buffy kisses his cold lips over and over.
"Please don't leave me."
She paces back and forth in the crypt.
What can she do?
Call Giles? Would he know what to do?
She doesn't have a phone and can't leave Spike.
It's up to her.
Focusing, she concentrates.
Blood. It's all about the blood.
She has to get him to drink it.
He has to wake up enough to drink.
How do you get Spike's undivided attention?
Hurt him, or fuck him.
Determined, Buffy strips off her clothes.
After finding what she needs, she returns to him.
Pulling off the coverlet, she straddles Spike's body.
Clenched in her hand is a sharp, small dagger.
She presses down on the wound in his chest, increasing the pressure
steadily until blood blossoms on the white bandages.
Getting no response, she slices her wrist, pressing the wound into his
mouth.
At first there is nothing.
Then there is a gentle, barely noticeable sucking.
She feels him drawing her blood in.
She knew he couldn't resist the blood of a Slayer.
He nurses her wrist for several minutes, his features never changing.
Blood.
With vampires, it's all about blood.
She cuts a fine line across his shoulder.
Buffy fastens her lips to the wound, sucking his blood into her mouth.
Drinking deeply, her throat burns with the richness of it.
Images and feelings sweep over her in a torrent.
Angelus embracing Drusilla, biting her neck as he fondles her breasts.
Jealousy.
Willow and Tara, looking lovingly into each other's eyes. Envy.
Dawn talking animatedly, waving around a textbook. Tenderness.
She focuses on the images and feels a thread connecting them.
She pulls hard on the connection, following it with her mind.
Suddenly, she is elsewhere.
She is surrounded by darkness.
A dim glow arises from a distant corner.
Buffy works her way towards it, stumbling and squinting in the dark.
Feeling her way along the wall, she rounds a bend and sees a line of
objects displayed on the wall, illuminated by candlelight.
A plastic box, its surface lightly traced with metal tendrils. Inside it is
a pitcher, steadily pouring blood into a chalice. The stream is never
ending, the chalice never overflowing.
A mirror, its surface flowing with moving images. She sees a slashing
sword; a burning sun; a flaming cross.
A rack of weapons. Dried blood coats the tips of arrows, the blades of
swords, the edges of knives.
A torch on the wall illuminates a display case of miniatures. Holding the
torch, she bends close to see them clearly. Some of them look familiar. One
looks like Willow. Several are smashed to pieces. One lies facing inward
and she turns it over. It is her mother.
A flat panel of glass holds Dawn's image. It continually shifts, constantly
in motion.
Buffy continues to follow the light.
She knocks into a bookshelf that holds leather bound books with large
gilded titles. Holding the torch close, she can make out a few. "Poetry"
"Lore". "Magic." "Demons." "Music".
Rounding the last corner, she reaches her destination. She blows out the
torch and tosses it aside.
She is in a chapel, a stained glass window filling the room with daylight.
The walls are covered with growing vines of roses heavy with blooms, their
fragrance powerful. Racks of flickering votive candles surround a low
marble altar.
Lying on the altar, on a bed of thousands of rose petals, is she. Golden
tendrils of hair flow over her shoulders. Clad in a pink gown, golden
slippers adorn her feet, and a delicate crown tops her head. Her chest
rises and falls, deep in slumber.
Kneeling in front of the altar is Spike. His head bent in supplication, his
quiet sobs echo through the chamber.
"I've lost you," he weeps, "I just keep losing you."
The truth of the situation hits Buffy. She is inside his fears, his
desires.
Somehow, she has trespassed into his mind.
"That's not me, Spike. That perfect, unattainable princess. That was never
me."
He turns around to face her.
Blood mars his temple and covers the right side of his face, dripping down
his neck.
'How dare you?" he hisses.
He stalks over to her, burning with fury.
Buffy stands her ground.
"Always barging in where you're not wanted. I want some peace, Slayer. I
want to be alone."
Buffy smiles at him, and then slaps him across the face.
"Right. So you can just sit here feeling sorry for yourself, worshipping at
the altar of your failure."
Spike raises his fist, swinging to hit her.
She catches it, holding his hand in a steel grip.
"I need you to come back with me."
She turns his hand over, unbending his fingers, and slips it into hers.
"You think you failed me. But you're wrong."
She gently kisses his fingers.
"You brought me back to life."
Lifting her head to hers, she kisses him, putting all of her feelings into
it.
She feels his features change.
Pulling back, she looks into the face of a demon.
"You can't bring yourself to see me as I am. I'm a demon," he growls.
"You're more than a demon. It's just a part of who you are."
"It's a part you can't ignore. It's the reason you hide away what we have."
"It's a part of you that I desire, Spike. It's part of why I need you."
He pulls her into his embrace.
Suddenly she is elsewhere.
Spike has her pinned to the bed, pounding away inside her as he drinks her
blood.
Relief that he is here, alive, sends her over the edge.
Sparks of color and light explode inside her mind, as she is overwhelmed
with pleasure.
She hears him roar his release as comes.
He lies on the bed next to her, his golden eyes flaring in the dark.
Beads of sweat cover his body and he is shaking hard.
"More blood," he rasps.
She fetches him the bags of blood and watches while he consumes them
quickly.
Spike lies back, completely spent.
She pets him gently, rubbing the ridges of his forehead.
He turns to her, pulling her close to him.
"I'm sorry," says Buffy," this whole thing was my fault."
"I knew the score, Slayer," he croaks." We have a bit of fun, no one finds
out, everything's grand."
She rolls on top of him, bracing herself with her arms so she doesn't hurt
him.
She leans down to kiss his lips.
"That's not all this is."
Cupping his head in her hands, she gazes into his eyes.
"There is a bond that we have between us. I can feel it when I'm not with
you. I can close my eyes and see it, this long silvery chain that connects
us. I felt sick inside, knowing something had happened to you. I went
inside your mind when I drank your blood. What we have- I don't even
understand it."
She bites her lip, looking confused.
Gingerly, he rolls her off him, spooning her.
"Rest now, pet."
Exhausted, they lie together, falling into sleep.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 5: Lesser of Two Evils
It is dark as a tomb. Well, actually, it is a tomb. Crypt, really.
I am lying in the arms of my beloved. I come awake to the smell of her, the feel of her, the fact of her. It is the most content moment I have experienced in my unlife.
An electronic beeping breaks the peaceful silence. The sound is naggingly familiar.
I lie there, trying to place it, until Buffy rolls over, jostling me. Immediately, my chest flares up with pain.
"Bloody buggering fuck!" I yell.
The lamp flips on and Buffy rolls back towards me. She clutches a small blue cell phone to her ear.
"No, Dawn, that wasn't directed at you."
She pulls a face at the telephone.
"Yes, you can go to Janice's. I will call her mother and make sure it's okay, and then I will call later and make sure you're there. Call me if you need me."
Hanging up, she leans forward and kisses me gently.
"Morning, sleepy head. I think you've been out since last night. You were still sleeping when I left this morning, and when I got here tonight."
"What's with the cell phone, love?"
"Got it today. I need to be able to stay here and take care of you. Now Dawn or the Scoobies can call me with the latest emergency."
She holds up the phone and pretends to listen to it.
"Apocalypse, anarchy, mayhem? And we're out of milk? Sure, I'll be right there."
Turning for a moment, she hands me a black phone.
"This one is yours."
She shows me how it works, punching different buttons.
"Me. Home. Dawn's cell phone. Magic Box."
She smiles at me.
"You'll know your phone is ringing when you hear this."
The electronic chimes of "Mexican Hat Dance" begin to play.
Placing the phones on the nightstand, she turns back to me.
"How are you feeling tonight, sleeping beauty?"
I try to sit up and am wracked with another wave of pain.
"Like I shoved something wooden into my chest."
"We're going to have a really long talk about that when you're feeling better."
Buffy helps me sit up, propping me up on some pillows. She must have brought them from home; they smell like her.
"Time for you to take your medicine. Slayer blood, it's good for what ails you."
She bares her neck, revealing two fresh bite marks.
"You have to keep your energy up. You need my blood."
"Not your blood. It is an aphrodisiac, love. If I try to drink it, I'll want to have sex, and there is no way I can do that in this condition."
"Well, you did last night."
"And it nearly finished me off."
I can barely remember making love to her or feeding from her; the whole experience seems distant and unreal, like an opium dream.
"I spoke to Giles to find out how to heal your wounds. He said that my blood would enhance your healing."
"You told Giles what happened?"
"That you were staked in the chest. Skipped the self-inflicted part."
She takes a deep breath.
"I told him that we're lovers."
"Is that some kind of joke?"
Buffy looks at me, her eyes deep and serious.
"What we have, it's not going away. Not ever. If I can accept that, so can everyone else."
I am reeling. I never thought that she would do this.
"But, Buffy-"
"Anya already knew. The cat is out of the bag. End of discussion."
She studies me closely, apparently not liking what she sees.
"I can't stand seeing you this way. You need to drink."
She stands up and strips off her clothes.
The girl is so damn stubborn.
"Slayer, will you just give it a rest-"?
Buffy pulls off the covers and slides between my legs. She takes me in her mouth, sucking me in slowly, inch by inch. She licks me gently, delicately.My body responds, my erection growing in her mouth.
Bliss pours over me in waves. The one I love, the one I never thought I'd have, sucking me.
Her tongue flickers over the head of my cock. It feels so very good, and my orgasm begins to build.
The warmth slips away from me.
"Baby, don't stop. Suck me. Fuck me. Anything."
I feel something slither up my legs. Her lips envelop mine as she slips me inside her.
"Now, oh God, now-."
I grit my teeth, trying to hold back.
Buffy's voice whispers in my head.
"Come inside me."
She slides her neck across my mouth, and clamps her muscles around my cock.
I plunge my fangs into her neck as I explode into her. Heightened by the affect of her blood, I ride a prolonged wave of release. Her sweet blood burns inside me like the finest whisky.
I am drunk with her, drunk with love.
'You're mine."
The last thing I hear is her voice.
The world starts to come together again.
I hear Buffy's voice, raised in panic.
"Well, he's not getting any better! He's still unconscious and his bandages are soaked through with blood again."
Opening my eyes, I see Mr. Gordo.The stuffed pig is lying on the pillow next to me.
Looking around, I see Buffy pacing, talking into her phone. She turns and looks at me.
"He's awake. I have to go."
She pulls me into her arms, rocking me back and forth like a child. Buffy kisses me deeply, frantically. I kiss her back, enjoying the taste of her. Her kiss deepens, her tongue slipping inside my mouth.
Salt.
I pull back, and see the tears running down her face.
"You've been out cold for two days. It was like- you were in a coma. You were just lying there."
She sobs harder, her whole body shaking.
"I can't stand losing you. I just can't take it."
I let her cry it out while I pat her shoulder.
"It's alright, pet. So I slept for a while. Just a bit knackered."
She pulls away from me, anger flashing in her eyes.
"Spike, you're an idiot! You have no idea-."
She stands up, wringing her hands.
"The wound in your chest isn't healing the way that it should. It's been three days and it's still an open wound. My blood isn't helping. In fact, it seems to have made things worse."
She wraps her arms around herself, staring at the floor.
"I did some research while you were out. Spoke to come contacts. Tara stayed here, watched over you."
Buffy speaks softly, still staring down.
"You have to drink the blood of your sire."
I am stunned, absolutely floored.
"I have to drink- from Dru? But that would mean that-"
She turns and glares, her eyes red from crying.
"You're dying. Something has gone wrong. Giles thinks maybe there are splinters from the stake in your chest that are keeping you from healing. Or- someone else suggested that you just lost too much blood all at once."
"But I feel fine. Hurt but fine. I've been hurt worse than this and mended."
"Look, there is no time to argue with you. Just trust me on this. Time is running short. You have to drink blood from the Master's line. Drusilla was last spotted somewhere in Mexico. Darla is - unavailable."
The muscle in my jaw starts twitching involuntarily.
"Angel."
"He's willing to do it."
"Fuck that!"
Furious, I swing my legs over the bed and stand...
Only to look up into Buffy's concerned face.
I am flat on my back on the floor, and my chest is throbbing in constant waves of pain.
"Spike? Sweetheart?"
The Slayer called me sweetheart. I really must be dying.
"I drink from Angel or I kick it?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Bollocks," I whisper, as I pass out again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 6: Drink Deep
When the vampire turns and sees my face, he lets out a shrill scream. Plunging my stake into his heart, I dust him. Stalking through the graveyard, I search for more prey.
A group of vamps sucks the life from a girl in an empty crypt. One feeds at her breast, one at her thigh, and one at her neck. They are all dead before they even know I’m there. Rivulets of blood flow from the girl’s body. She turns her head and looks at me. “The blood is nearly gone,” she whispers.
It is Drusilla. Sitting up, she stretches out her arms, beseechingly. “Help my child,” she says. Her face shifts.
“Hold my child,” says Darla. An infant rests in her arms. I take it, cradling it close to my chest. “He has his father’s eyes,” says Darla, in a voice filled with love. Looking down, I stare into the midnight blue of Spike’s eyes. I lose my grip on the baby, and he begins to fall. Slowly, slowly, he falls, and I am helpless to stop it.
I awaken to a knock at my bedroom door with a start, my heart pounding. “He’s here,” says Dawn, her face swollen from crying.
I kiss her gently, smoothing her hair. “Everything is going to be alright, Dawnie.”
I try to compose myself as I go downstairs. He and Cordelia are waiting there, Angel holding an infant in his arms. “You brought the baby,” I say softly.
Angel smiles at me.“Would you like to hold him?” I take a step back. “No, no thanks.”
I grab my coat from the banister. “Well, let’s do this thing.”
Angel kisses his child and hands him to Cordelia. “You know what to do.”
She sighs impatiently. “Yes, Mr. Overprotective, I can handle it.” She grabs the blue and white bunny blanket off his shoulder and steps into the living room.
Angel and I walk outside through the dark, quiet streets of Sunnydale.
“Seems like old times,” he says.
“Yeah, just like.” I wish it were like old times, it was a lot simpler then.
He gives me a thoughtful look. “How is he?”
“He’s worse. Worse than I can describe.” I find myself hurrying a little.
“I’m so sorry, Buffy." It seems like he really means it. "I came as soon as I could. Things are really complicated right now.”
I give him a small smile. “I understand complicated.” We reach Spike’s crypt. It is empty and bare, devoid of any personality.
We climb down the ladder to the lower level. The interior is welcoming, flooded with light. Tara is sitting next to Spike in his bed. She is reading to him from a book on her lap. “Come to me in dreams, that I may live my very life again though cold in death-" She breaks off, looking over at us.
Angel stares at Spike, his face rigid with shock. My lover is dying. His skin is as pale as the white sheets he is lying on, his cheeks sunken. There is no movement, no spark of animation there at all. His body has become a bloodless husk. I touch him, reaching out with my mind to feel the link between us. There is nothing there. “I can’t feel him anymore.”
Angel takes my hand. “Oh, Buffy, I didn't realize it was this bad.”
I drop his hand and move to Spike. “Please, just help me make him better.” Tara and I exchange a look. “Let’s get this started,” I tell her.
Tara sets down a wooden tray on the bed. With a long wooden match, she lights several tapers and a cone of incense. The smell of sandalwood permeates the crypt. Touching us gently, she marks a crescent moon on each of our foreheads with oil.
Next, she lights a bunch of sage. “Define our circle," she intones. White smoke fills the air, then forms into a visible barrier enclosing the four of us. “Lilith, we invoke you." She cuts her wrist, dripping the blood into a bowl, and repeats the action with Angel and myself. “Lilith, accept this blood as our offering.” She lifts the bowl with both hands. “We implore you to restore what has been broken.” The blood begins to spiral and churn inside the bowl.
A red mist envelops Spike. Beginning at his head, the mist swirls down his body. As it reaches his chest, it spits forth several splinters of wood. He shakes and twitches, his back arcing in a seizure. I move to go to him. “No!” says Tara firmly. “You must not interfere.”
The mist continues down to his feet and fades away.“With the force of love the claim was made, " Tara chants. "With the blood of the kindred the bond was forged. By the will of Lilith may the link be restored.” The bowl shakes and spins, the blood draining down to the bottom until it is empty. A metal chain appears on my wrist, the long silver links reaching to a similar cuff on Spike’s.
“Mighty Lilith, dark goddess, we thank you for your favor and entreat you to depart.” The bowl turns to dust in Tara’s hands. “Dissipate.” The circle around us disappears. Tara collapses, and Angel holds her up.
I lean over Spike. The bandages that cover his chest are intact. I rip them off, using them to wipe off the blood around the wound. As soon as I wipe it clean, it begins to seep blood again.I shut my eyes, pulling along the cord that ties me to him. I follow the chain, moving through a series of black rooms. All I can see is darkness. For what seems like hours, I search, finding nothing. I return to myself. “I can’t find him. I can’t find anything.” I turn and look at Spike. He is fading away before my eyes.
Tara takes my hand. “We’ll do this together.” She takes Angel’s hand. I take his. We form a circle, bound together. I am walking through the dark rooms again. “Illuminate,” says Tara.
The room floods with light.
She and Angel follow behind as I trace the chain to its source. We walk through room after room. Some are recognizable, some obscure. None seem familiar. I walk through a doorway and stop. The chain has ended in nothing. I look around the room. In the farthest corner, Drusilla sits next to a roaring fireplace. She is curled in an armchair, reading a book. I turn to Angel and whisper. “My chain has ended. But Drusilla is in here. Do you think she knows how to find Spike?”
Angel grimaces. “It’s worth a shot. Depending on her mood, we could just get a bunch of gibberish.”
He walks over to her, kneeling in front of her. “Hello, Dru.”
She drops the book in her lap, clapping her hands. “Angelus! You came for the farewell party for my William. ”
“Do you know where Spike is, Dru?” he asks patiently.
She nods her head, eyes flashing with excitement. “He was in all these lovely books.”
Drusilla gestures behind her to the empty bookcases. She holds up the one from her lap.
“Now there is only this one left.” Angel grabs it from her and tosses it to me.
Drusilla turns to stare at me, amusement washing over her face. “The quest is over, princess. The blood is nearly gone.”
I turn to Tara. “Get him out of there. Now!”
“It’s up to you, Buffy," she tells me encouragingly.
“I don’t know what to do.” I open the book on a table and look at it. There is a watercolor, covering two pages. A tranquil field stretches to a wide blue lake. At the edge, there is a figure. I lean forward, as if diving into a pool and find myself sitting on the grass, watching the play of sunlight on the water. Spike turns and smiles at me. His hair is a glorious blond in the sunlight. His cheeks bloom with health. He's wearing chain mail, bright and unmarked.
He reaches out and touches my face with a warm hand. The chain on his wrist pulls on mine. “I’m glad you’re here, pet. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” He kisses me, deeply and sweetly.
I grab his hand, placing it on my heart. “It’s not time to say goodbye. What we are. What we have. It has only begun.”
“Too much time has passed. Love has failed. The quest is done,” he says, staring at the horizon. I stand, forcing him to his feet.
I pull my arm over his head, wrapping the silver chain around his neck. “Angel, Tara,” I speak in my mind. In my free hand a chalice appears, golden and bright. “Drink,” I say, raising it to his lips.
He looks into my eyes. “You don’t understand what this means, Slayer.”
Power rips through my body, blazing across the chain that connects us. The words come to me unbidden. “For love I have claimed you. By blood I have bound you. Return to me.”
His eyes blaze defiance.“You need to release me, Buffy. You don’t understand what you’re playing at here.”
I pull tightly on the chain, forcing his head downwards. “For love I have claimed you. By blood I have bound you. Return to me.” Slowly, unwillingly, he drinks. I release the chain.
The sun disappears under a cover of clouds. Darkness falls, a crescent moon visible in the sky. The wind whips the water into fierce, churning waves. Spike stands before me, his leather coat whipping around his legs. The moonlight reflects the stunning white of his hair.
His eyes burn into mine over the rim of the chalice. Draining the cup, he hands it to me. Blood stains his lips. “The ritual is done. The claim is made. We are bound, as one.” Jerking my wrist, he pulls me close. He whispers in my ear. “Bound for eternity."