This MorningBy Liz
Well this is just bleeding wonderful, Spike thought to himself.
Hearing something of a commotion outside, he'd gone to investigate. It sounded like there was a damsel in distress, and he had hoped to find something bumpy in need of a good thrashing. He was sorely disappointed, though, when he spotted the pair across the grounds. Nothing like a surprise display of Slayer/Commando foreplay to sour the evening. It was one thing to stand outside Buffy's window and listen to her moan, but it was quite another to have her and Finn practically copulating on his front lawn.
Spike leaned against the wall of his crypt and lit a cigarette, exhaling as he tried to decide what to do with his poorly-begun outing. He was already dressed and getting rained on - might as well run to the butcher's for a few pints while he was out. Or maybe a few pints at Willy's instead. It beat spending another night listening to Finn getting his rocks off. Yeah, a drink sounded pretty good right now.
He'd been wondering what Riley would decide to do, but it looked like he had his answer. Apparently soldier boy had decided to stay and make a go of it. As he watched the pair, he marvelled at their grand stupidity. Shouting, sparring, damn near shagging in the mud – whatever game they were playing would be sure to attract the local nighttime population. Not to mention the whole "helpless Slayer" act Buffy was apparently pulling for Finn's benefit… Spike rolled his eyes as she squirmed beneath her lover, heedless of their new audience. If they were going to play games, at least they could have the common sense to play them at home instead of rolling about in the muddy grass.
Honestly, Spike had hoped his suspicions were right, that Finn was going to take off after their talk the night before. Riley seemed to know that Buffy wasn't ever going to love him. And even though Spike didn't seriously think he had much of a chance with Buffy either, he'd been looking forward to being able to visit the Summers' house without the boyfriend there to rub Spike's nose in what he couldn't have.
From the look of things, however, Riley wouldn't be leaving anytime soon after all. He couldn't see the pair very well from where he stood, but Finn's delight was obvious. Then Spike heard cloth ripping. Finn groaned in ecstasy, and Buffy was urging him, "Please, Riley…"
"Bugger this," Spike muttered bitterly, deciding to leave them to it. His fantasies of Buffy had no room for images of Riley Finn in them, so he turned to go, the sounds from behind him taunting Spike as he walked away.
And then it hit him, the unmistakable scent of blood. Slayer's blood. Her blood.
He stopped in his tracks, disbelieving. Buffy was bleeding on the ground… and Finn was getting off on it? No. That had to be wrong. But the heady, copper scent assailed Spike's senses as he listened. He could hear Buffy crying now. Her weakening heartbeat fluttered like a terrified, trapped little sparrow, and Riley's… Riley's wasn't… he blanched, the long-forgotten cigarette tumbling from his fingers as the truth slammed into him.
NO!
Spike tore across the grounds, sprinting with a ferocity and panic he hadn't felt since an angry mob in Prague brought his Drusilla to her knees. As he drew closer, he saw Riley Finn hunched over Buffy, bruising her with his mouth, punishing her with his hips as he thrust against her, and Spike said a frantic prayer to any god that would listen to please let him be fast enough. He heard Buffy's mewling cries… "Please, Riley… don't do this…" But Finn was driven by the pulse that throbbed beneath his lips. He opened his mouth, and Buffy screamed.
Spike howled in fury as he dove for the thing at her throat, tearing it from her. The two vampires collided in a sprawling, gnashing heap, and Spike's hands found Riley's neck, twisting violently. A savage roar died on Finn's lips as his larynx was crushed. The cemetery dissolved around them, and all Spike could see through the sea of red before his eyes was Finn's look of impotent rage. Then tendons and vertebrae snapped, his head separated wetly from his shoulders, and all that was left of Riley Finn was an explosion of dust and ashes.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The pungent smell of Slayer's blood called to Spike through the swirling dust, the heady fragrance of spiced copper surrounding him, pulling at his memory. He looked about and saw the temple walls. Fires raged outside, and there was screaming. Chaos. A girl in silk lay at his feet, and his hunger flared at the scent of her. It was an intoxicating aroma that threatened to overwhelm him. There was nothing on this earth so sweet as the ambrosia that flowed through a Slayer's veins.
"Look at the wonderful mess you’ve made."
He gazed ravenously at the blood matting her honey blonde hair. No, not blonde, there was a raven black braid draped over her shoulder. The pool of red spread like a halo on the dusty floor, and – no. It was grass. A blonde girl in the grass, but the irresistible scent was the same. He wanted to drink this girl, to slake his thirst on the fire that poured from her, feel the hands that had scarred his brow clutch at him, trembling, until she breathed her last. But he had already killed her. Even so, she lay at his feet, still breathing. Still bleeding. And the blood called to him, compelling him to taste her. He could feel the heat of the fires closing in around him as the rain continued to fall, and seconds passed, measured in the faint heartbeat of this girl on the ground…
"And the second - the second - that happens, you know I'll be there. I'll slip in… Have myself a real good day."
The craving urged him on, his legs unsteady as the train sped through the tunnels of New York. It berated him. Stop resisting! Just taste her! How could he have snapped her neck and not tasted her? A Slayer at your feet, and you didn't even…
"You taste like ashes…I look at you, and all I see is the Slayer."
Struggling through visions of China and the subways of New York City, through exotic spices, the smell of leather, and the elixir that called to him as it spilled onto the grass, Spike warred with his demon. At his side, he clutched his hand into a fist. Black nails dug into his flesh, and he winced at the pain. The train slowed, and the fires began to die down. His hunger screamed a final protest. Take her! She's helpless!
He brought his first up sharply, driving it as hard as he could into the ridges above his brow. The blow rocked him back on his heels, and blood trickled from his forehead. But the pain was good. He shook his head, banishing his demon, and he was back in the cemetery, looking down at Buffy. And for the first time since he'd charged the vampire at her throat, he finally saw her clearly.
Oh god, no…
"Buffy!" He went to her, choking back panic as he saw how badly she'd been beaten. He put a trembling hand on her chest, feeling it rise and fall with the sound of her weak but steady heartbeat. Relief flooded through him as bitter tears stung his eyes. He had almost been too late. Christ, he'd almost walked away and left her here to die.
"Come on, Slayer," he pleaded. "Stay with me, luv."
Her eyes fluttered open as she looked up at him, and he answered the question he saw in them.
"He's gone, pet. I've got you."
Then they closed again, her mind taking her mercifully away from the pain. He spoke to her, even though she was likely unconscious. "Stay with me, Slayer. It'll be alright. Come on, you've shaken off worse." He didn't know if it were true, but if she could hear him, he needed her to believe it. He needed to believe it.
The tears in his eyes broke free when he saw her arm twisted grotesquely at the shoulder. He kept talking, as much for his benefit as hers, hoping she wouldn't hear the fear in his voice. "It's dislocated, Buffy, but it'll heal." He thought about trying to pop it back into the socket, but he knew the pain would be excruciating. For both of them. Not that he wouldn't endure it, but he was no use to her rolling on the ground in agony because the damned chip disapproved of his first-aid technique. He had to get help. But if he took her to the emergency room, there would be too many questions he couldn't answer, especially given her current state. Head wound, dislocated shoulder, shirt ripped open, her breasts bruised and bleeding where that bastard had…
Spike shook off his duster and wrapped her in it as gently as he could. And he needed something to help stop the blood that continued to seep from the gash in her head… Without a second thought, he removed his favourite red shirt to press against the wound. She whimpered in protest as he moved her, but he had to get her out of there. It wouldn't be long before others caught the scent of so much blood. Spike knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would kill anything that tried to lay a hand on her tonight, but she didn't have that kind of time.
"Hang on, pet. It's time to go." He lifted her gently, cradling her battered body against him. Then he ran, tearing through the rain, desperate to reach the man he trusted to save her.