Sang et Ivoire

By Holly

Chapter Forty-One

The library was ill-equipped with consecrated emblems and crosses. In the years of their working together, William and Giles had been expertly on guard to preserve a vampire-friendly environment. The days preceding their leave of Sunnydale had not found reason to bring wooden stakes and vials of holy water. No one could ever accuse Buffy of being unqualified in her preparations - however, the thought simply had never arisen. They were not here to slay vampires; they were shooting for permanent soul restoration.

The bindings he had her in were not going to hold. That concerned him on a purely minimal level; it was the way her eyes followed him that had him rattling in apprehension. The chain around her neck was acting to the fullest of its potential, weakening her to the point where her struggles were unproductive.

But that would not last.

William didn't allow himself to stop and think. He knew he would lose all resolve if his thoughts caught up with him. If the reality of the situation he had inadvertently worked himself into combusted in aluminous knowledge, he was sure to break down in the forfeit of all hope.

And he could not allow that.

"Phone, phone, phone," he muttered hurriedly, diving over mountains of comforters and pillows. He felt the creature's eyes boring into his back and did his best to ignore it. "Where's the bloody phone?"

Porphyria sat solemnly in the corner, bound to a chair, cross burning around her neck. The smoke rising off her skin emanated the most abysmal scent he had ever had the misfortune to endure. He wondered if Angel's keepsake would wear a hole through her chest cavity. Wondered how long it would hold her docile before the pain became too much.

The voice that echoed resoundingly in her sweet tone killed him all the more - he could not help himself. William collapsed as the world crashed around him. He could not look at her. The face of the thing he created. A creature constructed out of his own shortcoming. Someone's idea of a cruel joke to respite the release of such pure ardor.

It was the suffering she wanted. The suffering she was waiting for. When the tide crashed effectively behind his eyes, Porphyria leaned toward him as far as her constraints would allow. She was simply beaming with the prospect of a new toy; collecting it like church collapses. "Poor Spike," she drawled nastily. "Now then. Don't you see what love does to people?"

He refused to grant her his eyes. Anything that insinuated he was listening. The never-ending crusade to locate the phone occupied his full attention.

"I told you once that the power of your charm was enough to make me disgusted with myself," the creature continued mockingly, delighting in her victory. "To think...the power of your love was enough to yank away my poor soul. Not even the fun way, you spineless coward."

William's eyes brightened in discovery, and he leapt for the phone as it shifted soundlessly under one of the goose-down pillows. Once in grasp, he knew he could not keep his back to her. Not under such circumstances. Drawing in a breath, he turned, dialing, and fixed a trained dead-set gaze on her disdainfully spiteful grin.

The volume was loud enough for the entire library to answer. "Hello?"

"Ripper! 'S Will. Somethin'-"

"GILES!" Porphyria screamed. "Giles, he hurt me! Oh God, GILES!"

That was it. William growled maliciously and hurdled to his feet. "Shut your gob!" he barked. "You stupid bitch! I'll-"

Separated by an ocean as they were, he saw the look on the Watcher's face fall as clearly as if he was standing before him. The creature continued crying her insolent pleas in a shrill that could undoubtedly be heard throughout the neighborhood. The visage she presented was so achingly horrific that he felt he would go blind with the weight of self-degradation if he lingered another second.

William stumbled into the hallway outside his bedchamber, panting harshly into the phone. "She...Ripper, she-"

"I can tell," came the solemn, desolate reply. "Oh dear. Our friend is back. Quickly...how did it happen?"

"I..." His eyes fell shut in sore responsibility, and the dull pain harbored in his chest screamed for release. "I din't mean to. I wouldn't 'ave 'f I'd known. God, you gotta believe me. She...I..."

A cold note of lasting familiarity struck Giles's tone. One that he had not heard in years. One he had hoped never to stress again. It washed his aching muscles with an artic storm. He understood then. Everything came to light with painful simplicity. Despite what happened now, what they decided to do from here, things would never be the same. Never. The library was tainted to him now. A place of ill-conceived hopes and ideals. He had destroyed the woman he loved with the burden of declaring his own. He could not hope to keep her for the world.

And yet there was still Africa. Somehow, some way, they had to get to Africa.

Porphyria screamed madly from the shadows of her seclusion. "LOOK AT THE BLOOD!"

"I can't believe you would do something so foolish," the Watcher snapped. "When you're so close. When you know what is at stake! What were you thinking, Will? What possibly-"

"We didn't shag," the peroxide vampire said softly. "I knew enough not to do that - thanks ever so for the confidence. Y'really think Buffy woulda done somethin' so stupid with the way she was feelin'? When she knew what would happen? 'F you don' trust me, at least trust 'er."

A note of tangible remorse hung in repose. The affects of apology were immediate. "God, Will," Giles replied. "I'm sorry. I...I believe I've been speaking with Xander quite too much as of the recent. How did it happen, then?"

"I...I told 'er...I told 'er before we went to sleep that I loved her." William sighed heavily. "Don' fall off the wagon so soon, mate. 'S my fault. I shouldn't...I-"

"You told her you loved her?"

"I 'aden't...I've been such a blind idiot. I 'aden't at all-"

"GILES!" Porphyria screamed in the background. "Giles! He did it! He did this to me! Baby hurt me bad. No biscuits for baby."

There was a painful, relenting pause. "She...tell Red to try the curse again. I can't do this. Tell 'er-"

"She's not here," the Watcher replied, his voice rising octaves. "She went with Angel back to LA. Wesley received a phone call from their associates...they needed as much help as they could get. I'll do my best to get a hold of her...Will: you must get Buffy to Africa. Perhaps there-"

The peroxide vampire's eyes bulged. "Because she's gonna fight for her soul now? Ripper, p'raps you don' get the entire gig. But-"

Giles continued as though he had not spoken. "If I cannot contact Willow before you arrive...William, I'm entrusting this to you. You can do it, can't you?"

No forethought was required. The reply was instant, coated with conviction and the strongest strings love could afford. "Of course I bloody well can!" he sniped. "But goddamn, Ripper, you gotta get a hold of Red. I don' know how the hell I'm gonna get her there without 'er jumpin' into a stream of sunshine or somethin'. Or 'er breakin' free an' runnin' a stake through my chest. She has Peaches's necklace on now an' that seems to be balancin' her...God, you-"

"There's a drug you can administer," Giles said hurriedly. "You say you have her incarcerated for the time being?"

"'S not gonna hold, mate..."

"Then you best hurry. I have supplies and mixtures at the flat. Are you listening, Will? The normal dose will not be enough for her. A slayer bred with vampiric abilities...no, no...not enough at all. You'll have to give her two, perhaps three-"

"Jus' tell me what the fuck to make an' I'll make it!" The sounds stemming from the bedchamber were increasing in frequency, cries made with torturous contempt. "How long before you can get-"

"You're not hearing me," the Watcher berated sternly. "You cannot wait for Willow to perform the curse. I'm not even sure if it would be affective at our proximity. Angel was never specific in the...there's every chance that it would, but you have to get her to Africa. Do you understand? You have to get her to that demon before she does something she'll never forgive herself for."

The world tumbled to a hauntingly low reality. William felt the room spinning and fought to maintain balance. The safe hold was gone. There was no reliability to depend on. It was just him. Him and Porphyria. Him and Porphyria...and Africa.

"I'll do my best," Giles was saying. "But you can't wait. If she gets out and does more damage...Will...you must get her out of there. Do whatever it takes. Just do it."

"I understand," he replied catatonically. "Get 'er to Africa. I can do that. Where...what do I need?"

"A bit of everything. There's a book there. You know the one in Greek? It's called... God, I'm not going to pronounce this right...it's Daimonez dhlhthriashz. You remember it? The one that deals with mixtures and spells to use on demons. The potion is called Anikanothta tou Qanatou. You do understand Greek, right?" He did not wait for verification. Questions were rolling off with such rapidity that he had no time to stop. "Of course you do. Yes. Do you think you can manage to knock her out? You need to keep her incapacitated as long as possible." The Watcher paused, a heavy note settling in his tone. "Good God," he said. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this again. If I could be there-"

"Don't." William glanced to the closed door, flinching as another high-pierced accusation flung to a crowd that was no longer listening. "Don't even, old man. We both know this is the last place anybody would wanna be."

He hung up without awaiting a reply. There was nothing else to say.

"Hold the phone, luv," he said, speaking to no one.

"Spike?" Porphyria cooed distantly, the notes of horrid despair leaking away from her voice. "I realize I've been terribly naughty, and I've learned my lesson. I won't ever kill a slayer again. That's your job. I get that now. Be a dear and untie me so I can go all Buffalicious on you, okay?"

The platinum vampire shivered and turned, making the long march back into the heart of his endless purgatory. He saw the eyes of the creature that was not his girl. The face he had created on an act of whimsy. She was right...too right. His love had destroyed her. Here she was: a monster of his own making.

But there was no way he could have known.

"I gave you happiness," William observed blandly.

"You wanna make me really happy?" the Buffy-creature retorted suggestively. "Let me go, lover, and I'll show you what-"

"I gave you happiness."

"So you noticed this too, eh?" She was wriggling now, the cross rubbing tantalizingly against the blackened mark in her chest. "And now you're killing me, baby. You don't want that. You don't want to kill the woman you love. Let me go and-"

"How?"

Porphyria arched a brow. "Well, I'm no expert, but I'd think you'd start by-"

"How did I give Buffy happiness?" It was beyond the brink of believability. He knew she loved him, but happiness was not something the Slayer came by with a man in her life. If anything, it often caused her more grief than release.

And he had given her happiness.

"By being a careless motherfucker who said the goddamn wrong thing!" she screeched, straining forward in her bonds. "Let me the fuck go, or I swear, you won't know what pain is by the time I'm through!"

"Daddy's got to go out." He was not aware of who was speaking, but the voice sounded remarkably like his own. All sense of substantial veracity was gone, rendering him at an absolute loss. "But he'll be back soon enough. Be a good girl for Daddy."

Then he hit her. Hard. A nice firm slam to the back of the head as she collected her thoughts, strong enough to cause extensive damage to one of lesser stamina. The creature growled a dying threat before falling limp. Where the fuel behind his strike had originated, he did not know. He barely felt the aftereffects. Barely felt anything beyond the knowledge that he had precious little time.

The sun was still hours from rising, but that wasn't enough.

"Make things right," William murmured, moving for the door. His words were a reflection of his earlier promise, repeated subconsciously for an unknowing audience. "'F it bloody kills me, pet..."

At that moment, it seemed it would.

*~*~*

The sun had just peeked over the horizon by the time the concoction was prepared. A quick trip to Giles's apartment supplied him with everything he needed, and despite his inner will, he knew the actual preparation needed to be done where he could keep any eye on the creature harbored in his bedroom. He spent the entirety of that time in the foyer of the library, there and not there. So far beyond himself that the only consistent thought to maneuver through his conscious was the repetition that the potion had to be made. That he would fail her, Giles, everyone if this one deed was not done right.

And still, the knowledge that he - William the Bloody - had provided her that one moment of true happiness had yet to firmly sink in. It was not in character with a man of his nature. Despite everything that had happened, everything to suggest the opposite, such reality was so far beyond him that the mere thought was too much to grasp.

How could he have given her happiness with words? Just words. Nothing more. Nothing less. Words were an intangible entity - one could not grasp a sentence or promise and coddle it in their arms. Words were nothing beyond the expression of oneself. She had known he loved her. She said so time again.

And yet...

William shook his head heavily, tears blurring Greek terminology into a massive inkblot. The Watcher was not mistaken in his understanding of the foreign idiom, but it had admittedly been years since the need to sit down and read had arisen. There were a thousand languages he was exposed to, fluent in many and well rehearsed enough in the rest to get through changing society. Greek had been offered in his boyhood days, and his mother had insisted he learn every form of verbal communication possible.

He did not know how to thank her.

Every half hour, he made himself cover trek up the stairway to check on his unsolicited dozing guest. There was no sure way to tell if she was still unconscious or performing a wondrous mirage of such based on sheer appearance. William walloped her steadily with each visit and received no reaction. She remained submissive and silent, not arising to any temptation, however wicked. Resoundingly still and suspicious.

The potion Giles suggested would be strong enough to hold her for at least two days - hopefully more. William kept brewing until he ran out of surprise, refusing to let himself stop until he had enough servings to accommodate four vampires at best. The instructions recommended insulin shots for dependability but assured that drinking straight from the mouth guaranteed the best results. He filled two vials and poured the rest in rich helpings of blood. Best to keep her fed and maintained - killed two birds with one stone.

Passenger flights to Africa were booked until the end of the week, though William kept constantly ahead of the game. A cargo plane was due to leave that afternoon, and he would be on it. Reverting to old habits for such lengths. It was an odd feeling.

Porphyria was still dormant when he approached with the treatment. She had slumped over - her eyes peacefully shut, a look of pure contentment spreading her features. It was an expression that belonged steadfast to the Slayer. She had no right to attempt its claim. A rush of pain and anger tackled him blindly, and he hissed a seething breath through his teeth and drew in another of cold, tasteless air.

"You bloody bitch," he murmured. There was no reply.

Several paces forward presented no change. A few more and she remained neutralized. It wasn't until a mug full of drugged blood was under her nose that the creature finally stirred.

"Mmm...that you, baby?"

William released another breath, his resolve hardening. "Drink up," he commanded roughly.

"You're feeding me, now?"

"Can't very well 'ave you dyin' on me, now can I? Come on, Porphy. Open wide."

At that, her eyes opened. Narrow slits of lifeless merriment that nearly doubled over in joy to see the barren look on his face. "You don't want me to die, then?" she replied saucily. "Have something better in mind?"

"Enough of that. Drink before I force you."

"Gee. Why does that sound familiar?"

The reaction was immediate. He drew his hand back and hit her hard, menacing gaze never leaving her. When she looked back, he felt his insides engulf with cold reassurance. Every glance simply did more to prove the same. That was not Buffy. That was a creature that he could kill if he had to. If it came down to it.

By God, it would not come down to it.

The infliction did little to wear Porphyria's dark sense of humor. She chuckled to herself, flexing her jaw and offering a helpless shrug. "Go ahead, Spike. Beat on me all you want. Sure, it's easy for you now. I almost had you before, and I can do it again." She glanced at the cross around her neck. It was smoking still but seemed to have lost its power over her. He knew better. A battle of stamina was all it was. She was an expert at maintaining self-discipline. "You don't play by the rules, you bad boy, you."

"Sure, luv. Keep treadin' down that road. I'll be sure to let you go right quick."

She flexed her brows suggestively. "Why don't you do it, Mr. Big Talk? Force me to drink. It'll be funny."

William grinned poignantly. "'F tha's the way you want it."

Whether or not she ever saw it coming was in the eye of the beholder. She had not the time or space to defend herself; the shot came from the right and dove elegantly into her arm. Before she could react, pull away, or even throw him a menacing glare, he pumped the dosage in full.

Then it was over. Her muscles went pliant and limp and she expelled a slow moan before slipping from consciousness. The noise was so Buffy that it nearly made him flinch.

Nearly.

William reached for the cup filled with pig's blood, arched her neck for a convenient and ran his forefinger over her lips. A sigh compressed tightly against his body. The need to breathe had never been as potent when he was alive.

It was not time for such reflections.

"Sleep tight, kitten," he whispered. "It'll all be over soon."

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