Ichnobate
Part ThreeHow did this happen?" Buffy snapped, as she unwound a length of Ace Bandage. "What were you thinking?"
"Zig," Spike responded. He winced as the Slayer pushed a folded, alcohol-soaked compress into his wounded shoulder. "Turns out should’ve been zag."
"You think this is funny?" She spanned her hand across his chest to illustrate her point. "A few inches to the right and we're in heart territory. And then, you would be laughing out the other side of…the other side…where you would be right now with no mouth…or any of your…parts."
Clicking the medical kit closed, she frowned slightly before shrugging off the bemusement brought on by her habitually freewheeling syntax.
"So? Maybe it's time to switch to simulated wood?"
"Or capture a few wild vamps."
"I'm wild," Spike pouted. "Hunt, kill?" His tongue flashed pink in a sharp-toothed grin. "Pounce?"
"Vamps who won't find this so amusing."
Seeing Buffy's expression, Spike turned serious. "Okay, the new girl is a natural. You want something big and nasty in the demon department? I don’t know." He leaned forward a bit, tilting his head, to look out into the main room of the warehouse where Kennedy and Vi were sparring. "They might be ready." He glanced back at the Slayer. "But we have a certain reputation. None of the old timers are going to follow me anywhere. Plus, our recent barhopping is bound to cause gossip. Maybe we can round up a few likely candidates from the morgue."
"No," Buffy corrected. "We can go out. Patrol. Like before. But this time, no coddling. We take what comes at us. It'll be good experience for them. Let the Slayers of tomorrow fight the monsters of today…tonight.”
"Agreed."
Spike hopped off the table and swayed. Buffy was there in an instant, bracing him with her body. Her arm snaked around his waist. Their eyes met for a smoldering second and the room temperature clicked up twenty degrees. The Slayer could feel the pulse pounding in her throat.
Moving almost of their own volition, her fingertips sampled the smooth skin of her ex-lover's back. She moistened her lips. The slight movement caught Spike's hungry attention. He gaze flicked down to her mouth. The shift in the vampire's focus created a small dip in his gravitational pull and Buffy shied away. She retreated, rapidly, to the far side of the room, one hand up as if to ward him off.
He stepped after her, his voice soft and low. "Buffy--?"
She cut him off. "No, over…you should…uhm," she hesitated. Her gaze slid down to avoid his look of concerned confusion. Turning her back abruptly, Buffy got a grip on her emotions. She stared out the open door into the training arena until she felt steadier. Then, stance taut, hands jammed into the pockets of her jeans, she mumbled. "Get dressed, we have work to do."
---
"This had better work," the being wearing Eve's face growled. "I don't want another screw up."
"It will work," Amy assured. But her face, under its layers of grime, was sheet white and her hands were shaking.
She lifted a vial of orange fluid from the seat of a rusty shopping cart and measured a drop or two of the liquid into the steaming cauldron which squatted, toad-like, in the cart's basket. The contents of the vat bubbled, sending up a cloud of noxious smoke. Fumes rose to the rounded ceiling, condensing into slime. Vermin scurried and squeaked underfoot. A large black beetle scuttled across the floor, passing straight through the faux Eve's shoes.
"I declare, yaw'll live like a cockaroach," Eve2 drawled, over-playing the Georgia peach. "Alla your power, wasted. Runnin', hidin' in the sewers, afraid to show your face above ground."
"W-w-Wil-low," Amy stuttered, hugging herself as if suddenly chilled. There was a mad glassiness in her darting eyes. Her emaciated body and filthy living conditions were a testament to her fear of her former friend.
"Willow is nothin'! We'ah gonna crush her."
The First morphed into Amy's mother, as she was at seventeen, complete with cheerleader outfit and pom-poms. She primped, patting her hair and smoothing down her yellow uniform sweater, before saying, "Yes, do something right for once, Rat Girl. And we'll take you out of this gutter and make you special again."
---
The lobby of the hotel Hyperion was deserted when Anya and Giles arrived. They rang the bell on the desk several times and yelled up the staircase. There was no response.
"Where could they be?"
"Dead?"
"Possibly…" The idea touched Giles at the heart. But he couldn't afford the luxury of grief. There was far too much to do. And when the hour finally came to cry, he would have far too many friends to mourn. "I hate to simply take what we need but we haven't much time."
"And we need it more than they do. Especially, if they're dead."
He looked at her, aghast. "Anya, I really don't think that the issue of stealing someone's research material comes down to…."
"Sure it does," the ex-demon interrupted. "Dead people don't need books. They don't even read. Well, some of them read. Vampires. Dracula. And Spike. Does Angel even know how?"
"Of course, Angel can read," an indignant voice snapped, from the staircase behind them. "And write…he'd rather draw…but, still."
Giles whipped around, crossbow cocked to fire from the hip. But he didn’t loose the quarrel. Instead, his eyes lit up with happy recognition when he saw the speaker. "Cordelia," he sighed, lowering his weapon. "We didn't think anyone was here."
Cordy waved a hand at the ceiling. "It's a big honking hotel, Giles. Is Buffy with you?"
"That's what I said when we drove up," Anya nodded. "Not "Is Buffy with you" but "Big honkin' hotel."
"And you are?" Cordy asked, finally reaching their level. Her smile wavered, becoming a trifle forced, as recognition struck. "Oh…it's you. You changed your hair."
"Yes, several hundred times, actually," Giles put in, moving to meet the newcomer.
His remark drew a look of reproof from his companion. “Her hair is different, too.”
“Oh, is it?” Giles blinked, fumbled with his good breeding for a second and managed an appropriate comment. “Ah, shorter? Yes, lovely. But our primary concern at this particular moment is finding Angel and Wesley."
"Welcome to the club," Cordelia replied. "Pull up a chair and we'll discuss it all in mind numbing detail but first answer my question." She mimed out her words as if she was speaking to the hard of hearing. "IS-BU-FFY-WITH-YOU?"
"Yes, I heard you quite clearly the first time, Gilbert Morris," Giles growled. "And no, she is not."
Cordelia slumped. Sinking down on the lobby's central sofa, she propped her chin in the palm of one hand and mumbled. "Figures."
Giles and Anya exchanged a worried glance. The ex-demon acted out something. When she received no glimmer of understanding from Giles, she leaned closer. "Poke her," she stage-whispered.
"What?"
"See if she is real," Anya hissed. When Giles continued to look blank, Anya gave a tiny impatient sniff, rolled her eyes and flounced over to sit next to Cordy. "Cheer up," she suggested, shoving at the other woman's shoulder. Cordy jumped and scooted pointedly away. Anya smiled, going on as if nothing untoward had occurred. "Are you upset because some harbingers of unimaginable evil have arrived in town, spreading terror? Are there signs of coming apocalyptic destruction? Has Angel gone mad or reverted mysteriously back to his vampire roots, torturing and killing indiscriminately?"
Cordy glared at the ex-demon. "What are you babbling about? Giles, what is she babbling about?"
"Sorry," he muttered. "Anya do be quiet. And Cordelia, try to concentrate. This is very important. Has anything unusual happened in the last few weeks?"
"Unusual?" Cordy gaped. Giles nodded his encouragement and she launched into a tirade. "Unusual? Well…let's see…a huge lava beast sprang up out of the ground at the exact spot where Angel's miracle son was born. It killed a lot of people, terrorized the city, beat the crap out of our side…oh yes…and made FIRE rain down from the heavens!"
"Fire?"
"Of the apocalyptic kind, yeah. Come on Giles, Sunnydale is three hours away, how could you miss it?"
"We…we've been preoccupied."
"Nobody's watching the weather channel?"
"I'm afraid not," Giles took a moment to digest the new information before speaking again. "Cordelia…this beast…could be connected to the source of all evil."
A new voice spoke from the doorway, "So, you've seen him too?"
"Stay right where you are!" Giles barked, leveling his crossbow again as he targeted the obvious demon entering the lobby.
"Giles," Cordy sighed in evident exasperation. "Will you stop waving that thing around? It's just Lorne."
The green demon shifted his grocery sack to free an arm and twiddled his fingers at the trigger-happy Watcher. "Howdy, Hi! Welcome to our humble abode." He raised an eyebrow at Cordelia. "Friends of yours?"
Cordelia made the introductions. "Giles? Lorne! Lorne? Giles! Oh, and this is Anya. They work with Buffy."
"The SLAYER?" Lorne shouted. "Praise Ma Bell and pass the ammunition." He glided across the room, dropped his paper bag burden next to Cordy and, skirting the pointy end of Giles' weapon, offered the man a warm embrace. "Oh, Marshall Dylan are we ever glad to see you," he gushed. Standing on tiptoe, he rubbernecked over Giles' shoulder. "So where is she? The Sheriff of Sunnydale? The Big Noise? The little Bazooka-packing Mama?"
"Not with them," Cordelia supplied.
Lorne back-pedaled in dismay. "You're kidding?"
Cordy shook her head. Giles offered a helpless little shrug of confirmation. And Lorne, too, stumbled to the sofa, sitting down hard. Anya immediately prodded him in the ribs. Lorne jabbed her back and there was a brief flurry of juvenile finger play. Squeals and gasps became yelps and grunts as demon and ex-demon sparred. When it turned into full-out wrestling, Giles interceded. Grabbing Anya by an elbow, he dragged her to a new position on the couch.
Lorne coughed, straightened his tie and turned his attention to Cordelia. "But…you called…right? And they're here?"
"I called," Cordy confirmed. "But I guess our troubles aren't important enough to rate the Slayer. Time was Angel couldn't get a hangnail without her showing up to coo over it but times change and…"
"Wait," Giles interjected. "Cordelia, are you saying you CALLED Buffy? At home? On the telephone?"
"No, Rupert," Cordy flared. "I opened a window and shouted really loud. Yes, I mean, I phoned. Several times. No answer. Just the stupid machine. And not one of you had the courtesy to call back."
Anya caught Giles' eye. "The First."
"And the third and fourth time, too," Cordy remarked.
"I meant the First Evil," Anya explained. "And I was speaking to Giles. Try not to take everything so literally."
"It must be intercepting our messages," Giles surmised. "Blurring our perceptions…or?" He paced off the space in front of the seated trio, working out the ramifications and gathering his thoughts. Removing his glasses, he rubbed a hand over his face. Then, targeting on Cordelia, he asked, in very clear, precise diction. "Where is Angel?"
"You didn't tell him…" Lorne began.
"Oh, for the love of God," Giles yelped, turning a fiery glare on the hapless demon. "Let's not start this again. No, she didn't tell me. I don't know. We got NO calls in Sunnydale. We don't know what's going on. NOW…WHERE…IS…ANGEL?"
"We don't know," Cordy said, simply, her voice catching with concern. "He and the others." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Wesley, Fred, Gunn, they all went to Wolfram and Hart to rescue Connor. But that was three days ago. They never came back."
Lorne nodded his agreement, cocking a thumb at Cordy. "What she said, Mr. Vesuvius."
Giles stared for a long moment. He combed a hand through his hair and brought himself under control. Then, he joined Anya and the Angel Investigations duo on the sofa.
---
"Vi, get your guard up they're coming around for another pass."
"OH, GOD!"
"Spike, help her. Amanda, Molly, Rona take out the one on the left. Don't let it corner you. Chloe get behind me. Willow?"
"Here!"
"Can you get to Kennedy? See how bad it is?"
"I've got her, Buffy," Willow called. "Just keep them off us for a minute."
The three remaining Xtorsax charged in ragged formation. Barbed tails lashed. Maws opened on endless rows of teeth. Buffy pushed Chloe behind a tombstone and sprang to the roof of a handy mausoleum. She did a double spin off the high point and flew feet first into the nearest demon's face. The creature's jawbone disintegrated under the blow and it fell. Buffy ground her heel through skull and scales, straight into the demon's brain, finishing it off. A spray of black slime arched up to hit her in the chest.
"Oh, Gross," she yelped, wiping at the mess. "My comfy shirt. Why can't they just die without all the special effects goop?"
Nobody heard her rhetorical question. Spike had his hands full with a hysterical Vi and his own demon adversary. Amanda, Molly and Rona were taking turns swatting the stuffing out of their foe.
"Buffy!" Willow screamed.
The Slayer pivoted, looking toward her friend. Willow was straddling Kennedy's fallen form and shielding them both with a bubble of greenish light. Her magical ward was all that stood between them and the slavering jaws of two more Xtorsax.
Buffy did a quick head count and cursed. "Damn, there are five of them, now." She raised her voice to ask. "Where are they coming from?"
"The sewer," Spike shouted in answer, pointing toward the street with his sword.
Buffy glanced in the direction he'd indicated. Another Xtorsax was climbing out of an open manhole. It seemed to be stuck. It thrashed about, alternately pushing and clawing at the ground as it struggled to free its demon-sized body from the human-sized sewer pipe.
Meanwhile, the beast facing Spike bellowed and charged. And for a heartbeat, Buffy was torn. She started toward Willow and Kennedy but saw, almost immediately, that Spike would be able to assist her friend in defending the fallen girl. Leaping lightly to one side, the vampire had easily avoided the other demon's mindless attack. A half-second later, Spike's sword whirred through the air in a glittering arc as he lopped off the head of his opponent. Before the beast hit the ground, the vampire was running toward Willow's besieged position.
"I'll see to the girls," he called. "You block up that bloody cornucopia."
Buffy nodded her understanding. Snatching the pike out of Chloe's hand, the Slayer turned and sped toward the open manhole. The Xtorsax demon was nearly free of the sewer pipe. It roared a challenge at the Slayer as she ran toward it. Without slowing, she drove her pike straight into its open mouth. This time she danced back, avoiding the black spurt of brain goo.
"That oughta hold you," she announced, only to see the carcass buck and shudder, moving upward as another Xtorsax pushed at it from below. "Or not."
Releasing her weapon, Buffy shoved down on the body with both hands, hoping to cork the opening. The dead thing bobbled beneath her and was abruptly snatched back into the pipe. Losing all resistance, Buffy fell forward, nearly following the carcass into the abyss. Her abandoned pike caught on the rim of the manhole, held for a moment and then shattered into a dozen pieces.
Buffy dropped her shoulder and rolled to one side, snorting out her frustration as another Xtorsax popped up like a whack-a-mole. Flipping to her feet, the Slayer kicked out from the hip, catching the demon in the head. It hissed, snapped and snarled but finally was forced to duck back into the sewer to escape her relentless pummeling. Given a moment's respite, Buffy looked around for a way to permanently seal the opening. She spotted a freestanding tomb, did a quick mental triangulation and smiled.
Snatching up the largest piece of her fragmented weapon, Buffy dashed to the far side of the sarcophagus and set to work. She pounded the pointed end of her makeshift lever under the edge of the marble lid and heaved. The lid didn't budge. She tried again, exerting herself fully. Grunting and sweating, she strained against the huge weight of the stone, barely shifting it.
"Hey," she called, over her shoulder. "Need a hand here!"
Chloe and Amanda joined her, before she finished speaking. A moment later, Spike was there. And the lid crashed over onto another emerging Xtorsax, crushing it and sealing the rest of the demons in the sewer. Buffy slipped to the ground, gasping.
"T-t-too h-heavy."
Spike looked down on her in surprise. "Not a bit of it."
"Sh-sh-sure," Buffy wheezed, resting her head against the marble side of the tomb. "When we- we're all pu-push-pu…" She stopped talking, one hand clutching at her chest. She tried to stand and only managed a useless scramble.
"Buffy?" Spike knelt down, inspecting her for injury. Spotting the stains on her blouse, he growled, causing Amanda and Chloe to edge back warily. He turned to stare at the scattered demon carcasses. The Slayer toppled sideways. Without looking, he caught her in one arm, pushing her upright. Facing her, again, he took both of Buffy's shoulders in a fierce grip and shook her slightly, ducking his chin to peer up into her eyes. "Luv? Listen to me. Did you crack a skull? Get any of the venom on you? The black sludge from inside their heads? Did you get it on your skin?"
Buffy's mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Dark spots were already dancing in front of her eyes. The thought hit her that she was going blind. It was getting harder to breathe. She clawed at her throat for a moment, panic rising in her, before looking into his face and nodding her head emphatically.
"Balls," Spike yelped, surging to his feet. "Fuck, Bloody Hell." He desperately scanned the vicinity. "Nothing close…nothing…Willo— " He glanced toward the witch, saw she was tending Kennedy and repeated himself. "Fuck!"
There was no time to explain. He knew what he needed. He knew what to do. Time was the issue. His encyclopedic knowledge of poisons mocked him, supplying cold facts. Only twenty-five minutes, it reminded him, from the onset of symptoms until death. Mentally, Spike listed what he required to save the Slayer life, water…lots of water and baking soda, hind's breath, vinegar, rosemary, oil of mint…! Basic necromancy materials, readily available, but where could he take her. His mind catalogued the options.
Call someone? Xander—no. An ambulance—too many questions. A taxi—too long a wait. Willow could magic them somewhere—too risky. Run, carry her, take her to the cure….
Home—too far.
Xander's place—further and not a good bet for ingredients.
Warehouse—closer but still not a good store of herbs.
Stores? Downtown…magic shop…closed! Fuck!
"Fuck, Fuck, Fuc…" A glimmer of an idea danced through his racing mind. He focused on it. "Yes!"
There was a place he could take her, closer than any other, ten minutes tops, and with the necessary items for an antidote. He had an invite, hopefully never rescinded. Dropping to one knee, Spike grasped his beloved's wrist and pulled her over his shoulder. He shifted her weight into a fireman's carry, stood and, without a word to the others, broke into a run.
"Where are you going?" Chloe bleated. But she was speaking to the night air. Spike was gone.
The Slayers in waiting shuffled over to gather in a loose huddle around Willow and Kennedy.
"Will she die?" Amanda asked.
"I don't think so," Willow said, peaking under her makeshift bandage to check the serious gash on the fallen girl's forehead. "I've stopped the bleeding. But we’ll have to carry her home. She's out cold."
"Oh," Amanda said, looking down at her fellow Potential. She blushed, shifting self-consciously.
"I think she was talking about Buffy,” Vi remarked, under her breath.
"What?" Willow blinked, only then noticing she was in charge of the group.
---
"And the building was completely sealed?"
"Is sealed. Still. The fire department has people working on it around the clock but no luck yet."
Giles and Cordelia were in Wesley's former office going over his selection of ancient texts. Anya and Lorne had grudgingly agreed to check Wes’ apartment for any books of value to the fight.
"And this BEAST," Giles prompted. "You say you saw it in a…vision?"
"Yep, big as life," Cordy nodded. "I got this pipeline to the Powers. So Angel can get the head's up on incoming baddies. Guess I’m not the same girl you knew in Sunnydale. Spent some time on a higher plane. Loved, lost, ruled a world. And I get these mind-blowing visions. Except, courtesy of the Powers, my mind didn't get blown so much as demonized."
“Excuse me?”
“I’m part demon now,” Cordelia explained, with a small flutter of her hand. “So I can handle the vision-y side effects. But I don’t eat people.” She frowned, slightly. “Or…I haven't…not so far. Some glowing, some floating and these ‘YOU ARE THERE’ visions of the future…and before you ask, no stock market info, no lottery numbers, no big sales at Neiman Marcus, bibkus. Just lots of nasty, smelly, frequently horny creatures.” Giles opened his mouth on a comment and she pointed two fingers at him. "Big bad things WITH HORNS, Rupert.”
“Yes…well…fascinating,” Giles said, selecting another book and tucking it into his rucksack. “A higher plane, you say?”
“All knowing. All seeing. Not as much fun as you’d think.”
“I can imagine,” he said. Removing his glasses, he looked at her with a kindhearted expression. “Cordelia? If Angel doesn’t turn up in a week or so, maybe you should come back to Sunnydale. Your powers could prove useful in our battle. And if this Beast and the First are connected then…”
“This is my home, Giles,” Cordy stated, flatly. “And I’m going to be here when Angel gets back. I’m sorry. I know I might be able to help…and if I Vision in on anything about this great evil of yours…I’ll…well not phone…call Western Union, maybe…or send a psychic postcard to Willow…”
Giles considered the firm set of the young woman’s chin before conceding defeat. “Very well, it is your choice, of course. But if you change your mind…”
“I’ll let you know. But I’m not leaving until Angel comes home.”
---
“Almost there, Baby,” Spike panted, the quick rhythm of his feet causing his speech to staccato. “Hang on, now. Just a little further.”
He leaped over a hedge, cut across a well-manicured lawn and dashed up the steps of the apartment building. Disdaining the elevator, he took the fire stairs three at a time to the second floor. He counted off the doors, kicking in the third one from the stairwell. No barrier. Stumbling over the threshold, the vampire did a quick assessment of the floor plan and made for the bathroom. He didn't bother with lights.
Plastic rings clattered against the rod as Spike shoved the shower curtain aside and dumped Buffy, unceremoniously, into the tub. Ripping off her shirt and camisole, he tossed both garments aside with a snarl. Her boots, jeans, panties and his soiled tee-shirt followed. Once she was naked, he propped the Slayer against the tub's tile wall and examined her for the telltale blacklight glow of Xtorsax venom under the skin. It was there on her hands, neck and chest. Holding her in place with one hand, he turned the cold water on full blast. Buffy mewed and shifted feebly as the chilled spray lashed at them, rinsing away any exterior traces of poison.
Jittery with concern and acutely conscious of the passing time, Spike debated leaving her under the shower while he prepared the antidote but decided the risk of drowning was too great. He repositioned her a few times, chaffing at the delay, the seconds counting off in his head. Four full minutes clicked by before he was satisfied with the spotlessness of Buffy's skin. Only the purplish black mottling of the spreading poison in her system marred her perfection. He could see it clearly now, on her chest and hands. Dragging her from the tub, he settled her gently on the floor and, without turning off the shower, rushed back into the hall.
He dashed into the kitchen, skidding on the tile. Opening the refrigerator, the pantry and every cupboard as he went, he started pulling items out and piling them in the sink. Occasionally he would set something on the countertop.
"Rosemary, almond oil, oil of mint, marjoram, baking soda, hind's breath…vinegar…vinegar? Vinegar?" He reached the last cabinet, stepped back and surveyed the bottles and boxes he'd cast aside as useless. No vinegar. "Bloody Hell, Anyanka," he screeched. "You've got hind's breath in the house and no soddin' vinegar?"
He turned on a light and checked again. No luck. Returning to the refrigerator, the vampire scanned the shelves for anything approximating the missing ingredient. He was close to giving up, about to go door-to-door begging at the neighbors, when he spotted a bottle of Asian marinade near the back of the bottom shelf. He eased the bottle out and lifted it overhead to read the label. Pineapple juice, papaya, sesame oil, rice wine vinegar… Spike gave a sigh of relief. Using a knife, and exaggerated care, he separated the vinegar and juice from most of the oil and spices, pouring it off into a cup. He popped the partially filled mug into the microwave, turned the dial to one minute and prepared the rest of the potion.
---
"What do you mean they aren't there?" Willow asked.
"I mean nowhere in the house, didn't come this way, not here," Xander returned, on the other end of the phone.
"But," Willow reasoned, "they aren't here at the warehouse. Amanda and Chloe said Buffy was hurt. She was having trouble breathing. Where would he take her?"
"Hospital?"
"Oh, yes, hospital…that would be good," Willow sniped. She switched to a deeper pitch. "A demon injury you say, nurse get me some wolf's bane stat and pay no attention to the fire and brimstone outside must be that time of year."
"Alright, alright…less Noah Wylie. We should still check there. Maybe he took her to my place?"
"It's too far. Why didn't they just go home?"
"I don't know, Will. Can you do a locator spell?"
"Not here. I need a few things from home."
"Okay, tell me what you need. I'll bring it to the warehouse. Dawn and Andrew can wait for word. Meanwhile, we should clear the phone line, in case they try to call. Don't worry. She was with Spike, right? So he's probably helping…unless…" A terrible thought struck the man. "He wasn't acting all crazy, was he?"
There was a brief conference on the other end of the line.
"Cursing, growling…more scared than anything. And Xander…that scares me."
---
"Come on, Luv!" Spike pleaded. "You're scaring me."
He cradled Buffy's head in his lap and pressed his fingers to her neck. Spike knew it was useless. He had taken too long. The sick swirl in his stomach told him. Buffy’s cold stillness, as he massaged the antidote into her discolored skin, told him. The drumming of the shower drowned out any auditory signs of life. Uncertainty kept him on task. But his sense of time was merciless. He sought her pulse, knowing it was hopeless. He had taken a few minutes too long.
The beat of it shot up his arm, warming him. Anyone else would be dead but her rhythm was steady under his fingertips, a singing tribute to Slayer stamina. Buffy was still fighting. He hugged her close, wishing he had more to offer up in thanksgiving than a repentant sinner's prayers. Another ten minutes ticked away before she began breathing normally. A short time later, she struggled to rise, pushing against him. Spike helped her sit, settling her back against the side of the tub.
"Is that Thai food?" She rasped.
Her question coupled with the relief washing through him, made Spike laugh out loud. "'Fraid not, Pet!"
"Oh," she pouted. "Slaying always makes me…hungry."
"I remember," he whispered. His soft insinuation made the Slayer smile. They shared a moment of easy reminiscence.
It passed as Spike crouched next to her, examining her body in dispassionate detail. Gently gripping her wrists, he rotated her hands, looking for any trace of the poisonous glow. Acutely aware of her nudity and his proximity, Buffy’s mouth dried up. Her heartbeat quickened and the scent of her arousal flared. She shifted, uncomfortably.
"Spike? What happened to my clothes?”
“Venom," he replied, lifting her hair up to examine her neck. "It was on your skin…I had to….”
“Where are we?"
"Anya's apartment."
"Anya?"
"She issued an invite…once."
He didn't explain further, it wasn't necessary. Buffy knew Anya too well. The ex-demon would never have invited the half-mad Spike into her home. It had to have been before…in the heat of drunken passion. Even through the reek of vinegar, Spike could smell the change in her mood. A slight flare of pain accompanied the drop in her desire.
Reaching past her, he tugged a towel down from a rod and covered her with it. "We're in the bathroom," he warned. "It was the only place, the poison was…" His voice broke and he stopped talking; knowing nothing he could say would make it better.
Buffy shifted, straining to see him in the dark. "You saved me." He didn't respond and she reached out, patting about until she found his hand. She squeezed his fingers. "It's okay now."
She didn’t need to say more. He leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers. Cool tears splashed onto her breast but he didn't speak, even when she took him into her arms. They held the position for a long time before he pulled away.
Buffy didn’t want the moment to end. She wanted to keep him close. "Wait…"
"I need to call the others," he apologized. "Tell them you're safe.” She sensed him moving away, emotionally as well as physically. When he reached the doorway, he paused, outlined against the dim light from the kitchen. He turned back to look at her. “Give it another five minutes and you can shower off the marinade but don't touch your clothes. I'll find you something else to wear."
He went out, flipping the light switch on his way. Unforgiving fluorescents glared off white tile.
Buffy flinched.