Chapter Thirteen: Et Tu, Damon?

Once night fell, Spike hit the streets. Though he knew he should have spent the afternoon planning out strategies with Vincent, like he had intended to, Spike had instead hidden himself away in his room. He had been too distraught to arouse any sort of interest in his clan or even in that night’s mission to reclaim the warehouse. He had just sat on the floor, leaning against the badly painted wall, staring into the dark empty room with a mind void of any real thought. He had sat there like a lump, hating himself, smoking his whole pack of cigarettes and finishing off every last drop of bourbon in his flask. A whole day wasted away in self-loathing. Now, he was outside, making his way down the deserted streets of Sunnydale, with the stars glittering above him. Spike couldn’t help but feel like they were mocking him with all their cheerful twinkling.

The vampire made his way down the street, his mood somber as he headed to the west side of town. He assumed Vincent and his gang were waiting for him; he never really did follow up on if Damon had delivered the message. At the moment, he didn’t really care. Spike just wanted to get there, deal with it, then go back to his room and wallow for as long as he possibly could.

It was his town; well half of it was anyway, so he didn’t mind leaving the house all on his own. Maybe he should be more vigilant, but again, he just didn’t care. Perhaps Spike was looking for a good brawl; he definitely needed to let off some steam. If someone or something was stupid enough to attack him, it was their funeral.

Drawing his black leather duster tighter around him, Spike tried to blend into the shadows. His thoughts weren’t so much focused on his surroundings as they were on a certain blond haired girl who he had terribly wronged. He still couldn’t believe what had happened that morning. How could he have said those things to her? Bowing his head in shame, he trudged along down the road. Gone was his usual confident swagger, replaced instead with a gloomy march, his entire being saturated with melancholy.

Spike quickened his pace. He just wanted this night to be over with.

Turning a corner, he took a few shortcuts through the backstreets, jumping over chain-linked fences and leaping from rooftops. He soon found himself near the border, snaking around the town’s many streets and their adjoining alleyways. Spike was making his way past one specific alley that looked no different from any of the others, when something he heard coming from within caught his attention. Veering off-track, Spike slowly crept toward the sound, peering over the edge of the wall to see what was hidden within the blackness of the alley.

Scanning for a few seconds, his vampire eyes finally focused on two struggling forms. He could hear cries of despair as the strong stench of blood and fear hit him like a ton of bricks. Spike also heard muffled threats and the sounds of flesh being slapped with an open hand. Someone was getting manhandled, he deduced.

Before he knew what he was doing, Spike was making his way into dark alley. He could see dark brown hair swaying frantically as a girl tried to pry herself out of some smelly bugger’s grip. She seemed desperate to get away but she wasn’t screaming for help. Made perfect sense, to Spike anyway. You start hollering for help, you’re more likely to attract some of the nasties that roam these parts than some Good Samaritan who’d be willing to risk his neck to save you.

Spike picked up on the scent of alcohol mixed in with the fear and blood. Usually he would relish in this kind of mayhem, the demon in him exhilarated by the potential hunt and violence. This time however, his mind could only focus on the little whimpers of fear that echoed throughout the cold dank alley. It was too familiar. Her cries were pounding into his head and he just wanted to make it stop.

Reaching out, Spike grabbed the sad excuse for a demon by the neck, easily flinging the lout off of the girl. He crashed into the opposite wall; the sound of his bones crunching reverberated through the suspenseful silence. Spike peeked down at the unconscious, and might he add, quite ripe smelling vamp. Hold on a sec? Spike was definitely off his game. Human. The asshole was human. The cornucopia of smells must have masked the guy’s true scent. For some reason in his mind, Spike could have sworn he had seen a defenseless blond girl getting attacked by a vampire. Wait. Blond? ‘Mind’s playin’ tricks on you again, mate. It’s not her. Totally different chit. Not to mention the fact that this one’s a brunette.’

Spike turned his head back to the fallen and beaten girl. Taking a whiff of the air, he confirmed that they were both human. What the hell were two humans doing in this part of town?

Glancing up at the wall he had thrown the thug against, Spike saw the neon glowing sign. It all started to make sense. The Lupanar. It was a clandestine brothel that catered to both humans and demons alike, and was one of Sunnydale’s best kept dirty secrets. The place was a landmark in the town’s demon underground, established long before Spike had ever set foot in Sunnydale. The Gyrnel demon that owned the place was generous enough to take in Spike’s vamps as clientele, so long as none of the girls ended up dead. That was pretty much how this place ran. For the right price, you could do whatever you wanted, just don’t kill or permanently scar the girls. But what wasn’t making much sense to Spike was that The Lupanar usually employed these giant meat-headed bouncers to keep a watchful eye over the merchandise and the assorted customers. All hell usually broke loose if anyone even tried to step out of line. How this pissant human had somehow managed to drag out a girl without anyone even noticing was beyond him. Spike shrugged at the mystery. Didn’t matter now. She was safe.

Speaking of which, Spike peered down only to see a mass of long curly chestnut hair and quivering skinny limbs. She was still crying. He didn’t understand why. No bug ugly was gonna touch her now. Shrugging again, Spike started to walk away. He felt the girl tug on his leg, refusing to let go. Getting a little bored with the whole situation, he looked back down at her, ready to tell the girl to buck up and bugger off. He stopped himself when he saw her huge glistening green eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. God, thank you so much,” the girl incoherently rambled, as she continued to kneel by his feet.

Well this was different. Spike wasn’t used to girls praising him. They usually scurried away from him, screaming at the top of their lungs. They didn’t look up at him like he was their bloody Lord and Savior. Spike stepped away from her, needing to distance himself from the unfamiliar feeling of accomplishment that was suddenly weighing down on his chest. God, why did the girl suddenly look so much like Buffy?

“No problem, pet. Just go on and get your precious self back inside,” Spike said, surprised at how soothing his voice was.

The girl vigorously nodded, sniffling and wiping away her tears. She stood up and made her way to the brothel’s back door, the sign’s buzzing fluorescent glow lighting up the small steps that lead up to the rear entrance. Opening the door, she turned back to Spike with a smile that seemed so out of place against her swollen and bleeding face. “If only we had more guys like you around here,” she commented as she slipped into the building.

Spike wondered if he had fallen into some alternate dimension. When did he start saving damsels in distress? What had possessed him to get involved? What the hell was happening to him? If any of his vamps found out what he had just done, he wouldn’t only lose all his creditability as their leader but he’d be the utter laughing stock of the entire clan. He could just hear the nickname now: William the White Hat. Why couldn’t he have just walked away?

‘You bloody well know why, you ponce!’ he internally reprimanded. An image of those sparkling green eyes flew into his head. The sounds of crying filled his ears. Buffy. It was always because of Buffy. The thought of her in this exact same alley, getting pawed at by some drunken oaf made Spike want to retch. Is that what she had looked like when his minions had caught her? So helpless and scared?

Spike stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the empty street. With his hands tucked into the pockets of his duster, he continued on. He wasn’t too far from the warehouse. Just a few more blocks really. The vampire stopped for a second and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. Empty. Great. He was dying for a fag to smoke out his jitters. Taking in a deep breathe, he took a moment to sit down on a wooden crate that was by the wall of some factory. Glancing around, he realized he was suddenly in the town’s industrial district.

Spike didn’t know what to feel. He should be disgusted with himself. Honestly, who’d ever heard of a vampire helping the helpless? Spike ran his hands over his face. But he wasn’t disgusted. If anything, he felt good knowing Buffy would be proud of him. In theory, she would have been proud. Now, he wasn’t so sure. The last words he had spoken to her had cemented his fate. She was never going to be proud of him and she was certainly never going to forgive him if he went back to her with blood on his hands. He could picture Buffy in his thoughts, the look of pure and unadulterated revulsion on her face. The whole argument replayed in his head. Spike never wanted to see her like that again. He didn’t want to be the cause of her pain anymore. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were before. Before he had opened his gob and destroyed the only bit of happiness left in their mostly miserable lives.

That was it. Spike decided. To hell with the consequences. He wasn’t going to go through with the counter-attack. He’d still go to warehouse but he was going to call the whole thing off. Make up some excuse, like Damon had fabricated the whole thing to try to create a new riff between the leader and his clan. Yeah, that was believable, right? Spike would order everyone off on their merry way and make his own way back home. He would go straight to Buff’s room where, after explaining to her that he had cancelled the raid, he would crawl on his hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness. Spike knew he didn’t deserve it, but he prayed to whichever god it was that was messing with his life to get her to just listen to him.

“Better get going,” Spike thought out loud, feeling as though a weight had been lifted. Sliding off of the crate, he headed to the warehouse, his eyes being able to make out the silhouette of the condemned building against the backdrop of the night sky. Spike consciously rearranged his posture. ‘Can’t have any one suspectin’ the Big Bad’s gone soft,’ he reflected.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he looked up to the sky. ‘Buffy, what have you done to me?’

Swaggering towards the front entrance, he perked up his senses to pick up on Vincent or his vamps. Strangely, he couldn’t sense any of them. Instead, he caught wind of another vampire. One who just that morning had refused to go anywhere near the warehouse.

“Damon? What the hell are you doing here?” Spike wondered, as he walked toward the dark vampire.

Damon, whose presence was illuminated by a nearby functioning lampost, was lounging about on the front stone steps of the warehouse’s main entrance. Jumping to his feet and with a spring in his step, he made his way closer to Spike. “Surprised to see me?” he asked with a sinister-looking grin on his face.

“Yeah…What happened to not wanting to clean up my mess?” Spike asked, eyeing Damon as he edged closer to him.

“Change of heart I guess,” Damon casually stated. His superficial tone set off silent alarms in the back of Spike’s head.

“‘S that right?” Spike asked, taking a few hesitant steps toward Damon.

“Uh huh,” Damon casually replied, stopping a few feet from Spike.

“Where’s Vincent?” Spike inquired, glancing around.

“He’s not coming,” Damon answered, smiling widely at Spike’s malcontent reaction.

“Why the hell not?” Spike vehemently asked, his jaw clenching at Damon’s clear display of disobedience.

“I didn’t tell him to meet us here,” the dark vampire responded, carelessly examining his hand as Spike fumed at him just a few paces away.

Spike angrily stepped toward Damon, pointing his finger at him. “I’ve just had about enough of you, you pillock! The raid is officially off. You better hope Natasha held onto that whip she likes so much. If not, she’ll have to find a new one. And you know how much fun she gets outta breakin’ ‘em in,” Spike sneered threateningly, watching Damon recoil a little.

Damon shook off the threat, regaining his composure and resuming the menacing smirk he usually sported. He suddenly started to laugh. Spike watched, completely baffled; Damon’s impudence was completely inexplicable and absolutely inexcusable. Nevertheless, the black haired vampire continued to chuckle, clearly mocking Spike. “You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice still light and giddy.

“What the fuck are you blathering on about?” Spike was used to Damon’s rebellious ways, but this was beyond rebellion, this was pure insubordination.

“Well, you seem to think that I would actually waste my time and play messenger boy for you. Why should I go trouble Vincent when this catastrophe is all your fault?” Damon wondered, his tone steady and fearless.

“Because I bloody well ordered you to!” Spike roared, his voice breaking through the night’s silence.

Damon laughed again. “Oh Spike. See that’s what you’re not getting. Why should I follow your orders?” he asked, reclining on the lamp post he was standing by.

“You have some nerve. You follow my orders ‘cos ‘m your fucking leader!” Spike gritted out, livid with the vampire he had once considered worthy enough to be one of his seconds-in-command.

Damon’s strolled over to Spike, his mood more calm and serious, the laughter still there but only in his grey eyes. Standing face to face with his leader and spotting the ice cold fury in Spike’s azure glare, Damon smirked. “Not for long.”

Spike didn’t fully understand the meaning of Damon’s statement. Glancing away as Damon took a step back, Spike’s mind grappled with what he had just heard. Looking back up and seeing Damon’s smug face, Spike suddenly knew something was very wrong. Before he could reply, the net dropped.

Thrashing wildly, his gaze never left Damon’s as at least ten humans ambushed him. He knocked two to the ground, but the rest kept a strong hold on the net. Roaring like a rabid animal, Spike struggled against those who were trying to restrain him.

“DAMON!” Spike screamed as the treacherous vampire arrogantly smiled, menacingly waving goodbye as he slowly faded away into the shadows.

Spike kept on fighting. He could feel himself getting brutally hit; fists, kicks, blunt objects. It didn’t deter him though. All he could think of was Buffy. He wasn’t going to be there, which meant that she was going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Damon had betrayed him and was no doubt heading to the house. He was going to go after Buffy and Spike wasn’t going to be there to protect her.

A jolt of electricity shot right through him. His body tensed as he rigidly collapsed to the ground. He groaned loudly from the pain but it hadn’t been enough to knock him out. Gazing up through the holes of the net, he saw the face of a man he’d thought he’d never see again. The word ‘Watcher’ crossed his mind as another jolt sent him into a dark oblivion.

 

Chapter Fourteen: He’s Gone

She was running again. It was always with the running. Night after night she exhaustedly tried to flee as the laughter, that creepy maniacal laughter, followed her wherever she went. Her neck tingled, like that feeling you get when someone is standing right behind you, just a little too close for comfort. He was going to catch her soon. Buffy hated this. She was practically running blind, sometimes tripping over herself as he chased after her, always only a few steps behind.

Then something changed. Buffy’s unconscious mind, the one that had created this frighteningly unrelenting world, seemed to have drastically tilted on its axis. Her sole purpose in this reality was gradually conforming. For the first time ever in any of her dreams, she actually slowed to a halt. Pivoting around, she realized Mr. Ominous wasn’t chasing her after her anymore; well she assumed he wasn’t, it was hard to make out anything in the black of night that enveloped her. Buffy stood completely still, her head spinning and her insides twisting as she felt what seemed like the cosmos themselves realigning. There was a shift in the air and the need to get the hell away suddenly converted into a need to run to someone.

That someone namely being Spike.

Buffy had the sudden desperate urge to find Spike. Buffy’s conscience, the part of her that could not forget the sins that the vampire had committed against her, was muted and walled out in this dream dimension. At the moment, all she knew was that she had to see his face again; she had to know he was alright. Voluntarily sprinting further into the black abyss she had once cursed, Buffy madly dashed down the winding unpaved road, hoping that this time it might actually take her somewhere. She prayed it’d lead to Spike.

Buffy bolted upright out of bed, extremely alert. That was weird. She hadn’t woken up screaming and the sheets seemed to be lacking their usual layer of cold sweat. Really weird nightmare. ‘Could you even call it a nightmare?’ she wondered as she held her head in confusion. The memory of her cataleptic experience was slowly fading, but the emotions they had conjured up were still just as vivid. Looking around the room, she realized that Spike wasn’t back yet. Buffy let out a short sigh in disappointment. She didn’t know why, especially after what had happened between them last night, but she really wanted to make sure that that stupid vampire of hers was okay.

‘Hold on a sec?’ Buffy thought as she almost rolled off the bed. Did she just refer to Spike as ‘hers’?’

The whole disaster that had been last night was still fresh in her mind. After Spike had left, she had crawled into bed, still crying her eyes out. Only when she had dried out all of her tear reserves had she finally managed to fall into an exhausted sleep. The cathartic sob session hadn’t only been emotionally therapeutic; it had helped clear away the gloomy clouds hanging over her head. Oh Buffy was still pissed and the feeling of being punched in gut wasn’t going away any time soon, but at least she didn’t feel like crying anymore. She was confident that she could now think more clearly without getting so emotional. So when, her now more logically capable brain wondered, did I exactly think of Spike as ‘mine’?

Buffy reasoned it must be her post-fight frazzled mind not thinking straight. She was supposed to be mad at him now, so she casually shrugged off the possibility that her slip up had been a subconscious disclosure of her true feelings for the absentee vampire. Sluggishly padding over to bathroom, Buffy turned on the tap. Splashing some cold water on her face, she washed away the sleep from her eyes and then grabbed a clean white towel from the rack next to her to wipe down her face. Placing the towel back in its place, Buffy looked into the mirror, her eyes drawn immediately to her neck. She lightly brushed her fingers over the two little puncture wounds; they had healed pretty well. ‘Probably won’t scar too noticeably’. Gazing at the marks, Buffy realized just how cautious Spike had been and the amount of restraint he must have had used when he had bitten her. She could tell just by looking at them that he had tried so hard to not hurt her. Slowly drawing her hand over her chest, Buffy took in a quivering breath. Too bad he hadn’t been so careful with her heart.

Buffy made her way back into the room, settling down on the couch as she mindlessly flipped through the channels, needing to find some form of distraction. When her channel surfing resulted in absolutely nothing decent to watch, she began to roughly increase the rate at which she pressed the ‘up’ button on the remote. Growling at the indiscernible images flicking across the TV screen, she chucked the remote to the floor, the batteries flying out into the air. Though it appeared to be that her anger was directed towards the poorly programmed weekday morning television, it was actually the furthest thing from her mind.

‘How could he have said those things to me?’

Spike had made her feel so dirty; he had technically called her a slut. When he had had her pressed up against that wall, all the memories of two months past had remerged and Buffy was back on the cool ceramic floor, dressed in one of his dirty black tees, chained to the bed, letting him use her body. When those words had passed from his lips, in Buffy’s mind, she was his slave again, degrading herself just to not get hit, just to survive another day. And he was that monster again, the one towering over her as he tried to break her. In her mind’s eye, for the briefest second, Spike was her merciless Master again and that’s how it was always going to be.

Buffy knew she had pushed his buttons a little, but it didn’t mean it gave him the right to go ballistic on her. The niggling guilt that she had been trying to suppress since she had woken up from that dream had finally broken through her tough resolve. Not all of what Spike had said to her the previous night had been completely untrue.

Buffy groaned loudly as she laid herself out on the couch, throwing her arms over her face. Had she been selfish? Spike was always bending over backwards for her. He was constantly trying to do right by her. Deep down she knew it but for some reason last night she didn’t want to believe it. The moment Spike had refused to tell her where he was going, she had wanted to hate him. It was just too much like it had once been between them. The look of dominance in his cold eyes kindled a fire in her that she had thought had been extinguished long ago. Buffy had openly doubted his feelings for her and she had ignored her own. Why? She wished she knew. Why couldn’t she trust him?

‘Well, you were right to be suspicious. He was going out to kill somebody,’ she reflected.

‘Yeah, but if you hadn’t been such a bitch maybe you could have stopped him, talked him out of it even,’ she internally countered.

Buffy whined childishly. Why was everything so hard? At the drop of a hat she had basically spat on his claim of love for her. Buffy had been so quick to forget, so quick to doubt him. She knew that was why he had flipped. If only she had been a little more trusting. The whole disaster could have been averted.

Buffy was terribly conflicted. She was so angry with Spike but she felt bad about how she had pushed him too far; it was her mistrust in him that had forced his temper to fly over the edge. She knew that the wrong words could easily come out when a person was delirious with rage. It didn’t mean the words didn’t cut any less. Now, not only did she feel guilty about hurting Spike but she felt like it was her fault if anyone had gotten killed in his counter attack on the warehouse.

Buffy wondered when Spike would be home. She needed to talk to him, to resolve this, but how was she going to be able to look at him again knowing what he’d done? Buffy’s head suddenly hurt from too much thinking. It didn’t matter at the moment. What was done was done. She just needed to see him again. Must have been why her dream had been so different from all the others. Her subconscious had been trying to tell her what was taking her all morning just to figure out. She had to settle things with Spike. For both their sakes.

Buffy stayed mulling over her thoughts on the couch, not paying much mind to the time that was passing by, that is until the front door violently burst open. The unexpectedness of it caused her to nearly fly up into the air and land on the floor. Glancing over the back of the leather couch, she saw Natasha and Vincent walk in, their eyes scanning the room.

“Buffy?” Natasha called out, her voice tense as she portentously strutted around the room, looking for the blond human girl.

“I’m here,” Buffy announced her presence timidly, peeking from behind the back of the couch.

Vincent closed and locked the door once he had seen Buffy for himself. The two vampires marched over to her, their faces void of any emotion, which frightened Buffy. She tried not to look them straight in the eye, unsure what the etiquette was with these two. Sure, she’d had casual conversation with Natasha before but everything had changed after that night at the Bronze. She was supposed to be Spike’s slave. Plus, she wasn’t completely certain what to do when Spike wasn’t around. Buffy really didn’t want to offend these two vampires, especially when Spike wasn’t there to protect her. She hoped he had been right about these two, that she could trust them.

Natasha and Vincent rounded the couch, stopping in front of Buffy, standing intimidatingly above her. She dared to glance up at them. Natasha’s large brown eyes were gazing right back at her, the dark beauty’s brow was furrowed and a look of both trepidation and sheer fury marred her face. Peering up at Vincent, Buffy realized that it was the first time she had ever laid eyes on the vamp. He had a nicely structured face, not as chiseled as Spike’s but still nice, and his hair was dark brown with flecks of grey. She surmised that he must have been turned when he had been in his forties. His expression was stoic, but his hazel eyes were a collage of emotion. In Buffy’s opinion, neither of them looked very happy.

“W-what’s wrong?” she asked, fear making her hesitant to speak.

Natasha narrowed her eyes as she scrutinized Buffy’s seemingly innocent and oblivious demeanor. When Natasha was convinced that Buffy was sincerely confused and not simply using a dumb blond routine to hide anything from them, she spoke. “Did Spike say anything to you last night?” the vampiress asked, crossing her arms.

“Like what?” Buffy asked back, genuinely perplexed as to why they were questioning her when they could just wait for Spike to return.

Natasha groaned, visibly becoming impatient. “Like did he say anything about where he was going or what his plans were?”

“Not really. He said he was going to the warehouse, near the border. I think he said on the west part of town,” Buffy offered, trying to recall exactly what Spike had said to her the night before.

“What was he going there for?” Natasha inquired, her agitation increasing. Why she was getting so upset, Buffy didn’t know but it was making feel a little uneasy.

“H-he said he had to take back the warehouse,” Buffy answered, sitting on her hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking.

“Why the fuck didn’t he tell either one of us? He wouldn’t go out on his own,” she yelled at the small blonde.

Buffy flinched slightly, her body tensing, readying for fight or flight. Neither were really an option but Natasha was freaking her out. She tried to respond but she was loosing control over her voice. “I-I d-don’t know.”

“Natasha, calm yourself. There’s no need to raise your voice at poor Buffy,” Vincent interceded, motivated by the mounting scent of the girl’s fear. Kneeling down in front of the Buffy, Vincent gave her a comforting smile. “Now Buffy, is there anything else you remember that Spike might have said last night?” he asked in soothing tones.

Buffy glanced up to Natasha, who was pacing in front of the TV like a caged panther, ready to pounce at any moment. Definitely a good cop, bad cop routine. Buffy took in a shaky breath and shook her head. “No. But he was kinda angry. I don’t know if that helps,” Buffy said still nervous as Vincent patted her on the knee.

“That’s fine, lamb,” he told her, his voice still steady and his expression still pleasant. Buffy decided then and there that she liked Vincent. If he wasn’t a vampire, she wouldn’t have minded to get to know him a little better. She watched as Vincent got up and walked over to Natasha, the two quickly whispering to one another.

“What’s with all the questions?” Buffy asked, shrinking when Natasha angrily glanced over at her. “I-I mean, why not just ask Spike. Isn’t he back yet?” she asked apprehensively.

“Spike’s been captured,” Natasha stated matter-of-factly.

Buffy eyes widened in shock. “W-what?”

“Damon just arrived here today, makin’ a lot of noise about some ambush,” Vincent enlightened. “He claims that a bunch of human had outnumbered them and where he had somehow miraculously managed to escape, Spike hadn’t been as fortunate,” he skeptically elaborated.

Buffy was inwardly distressed. If Spike was gone, she had no one to protect her from the ass-load of bloodthirsty vampires wandering around the house, just dying to get a piece of her. She’d be put up on the auction block and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening. Her heart started to hammer away in her chest and a cold sweat broke out all over her body. Buffy was officially freaking out.

Yet even though she was petrified beyond words, scared that she might die a violent death at the hands of some vicious vamp that very night, there was something else that frightened her so much more. The mere thought that she would never see Spike’s infuriatingly cocky smirk or hear his annoyingly inappropriate innuendos was agonizingly devastating. She was on the verge of hyperventilating just from the idea that he would never again look at her with the undying love that was always present in all of his cerulean gazes, even if only in the slightest glimmer, even when she didn’t really deserve it. Buffy fought back the tears that were building up and cleared her throat. “So what do we do now?”

“‘We’ aren’t doing anything. Vincent and I are going out to find Spike,” Natasha retorted, not hiding her blatant disdain for the human girl.

“But what about me?” The high-pitched question instantly flew out of Buffy’s mouth, her panic rising as it played with her vocal chords.

Vincent sighed. “Damon is too busy vying for power at the moment. With Spike’s unexpected disappearance the whole clan will be in certain upheaval for a few days. You’ll be safe so long as you don’t draw attention to yourself,” he explained reassuringly.

Buffy was slightly confused by what the elder vampire had mentioned. “You mean they aren’t going to look for Spike?”

“All the other vampires in this clan are nothing but utter lemmings; they have no loyalties, and will follow whichever flavor of the week vamp that comes along and scares them into submission. Hell, they’d follow a sac of potatoes if it could give out orders,” the older vampire sardonically commented.

Vincent paused for a moment, feeling he was straying off topic. “As Spike’s lieutenants, it is our duty to find him and to rule in his place until he returns. Actually it’s Damon’s responsibility as well, but he’s acting as though Spike is gone for good,” he explained, the concern for his abducted leader evident on his crinkled brow. “It is why Natasha and I believe something is seriously wrong. When we asked him about the location of the attack, I noticed an irregularity in his behavior and his answer was clearly preposterous.”

“What did he say?” Buffy asked, feeling a little less intimidated and a little more put at ease with Vincent.

It was Natasha who answered though. “Damon said it happened near the bronze, which is complete bull shit because that place is crawling with our vamps. There’s no way Spike would have gotten attacked without someone else coming in to help him out,” she vehemently stated.

“From what you said, we believe Spike must have been attacked at the warehouse,” Vincent told Buffy, kneeling down in front of her once again, taking her warm hand in his cool one. Buffy tried not to recoil at the vampire’s touch, not wanting to come off as being unappreciative of the kindness he was showing her. Instead she focused on his kindly face, giving him her full attention as he continued. “Damon must have lured him there somehow. It is him who you must worry the most about, Buffy. The moment he has trampled his competitors and consolidated power over the clan, he will come after you. It’s been no secret how he feels about Spike and his lil’ pet human.”

“How long before you think he’ll come after me?” Buffy asked, trembling.

“Probably no more than two days, but Natasha and I will surely have found Spike by then. Now that we know where to start, we’ll track him down in no time,” Vincent answered thoughtfully, patting her on the hand. “But don’t worry, lamb. When Spike returns Damon’s entire claim to fame will become null and void. He won’t be able to lay a finger on you.”

Despite his best efforts to reassure her, Buffy didn’t feel any less petrified about the whole situation. “S-so basically what you’re saying is that you guys are going to go find Spike while Damon’s too distracted to stop you, and I get to wait here like a sitting duck?”

Natasha tapped her nose with her index finger in confirmation. “Yup,” she quickly replied. “So make sure you keep quiet. Don’t even breathe loud.”

Vincent stood up and moved to stand next to Natasha. “Keep the door locked, luv, and keep a stake handy at all times,” he advised as the two vampires turned to leave. Vincent paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, and I wouldn’t advise sleeping tonight either, ducks.”

Before Vincent and Natasha got to the door, Buffy rushed over to them. “Thanks. I know this isn’t something you normally do, you know, trying to help out a human and all,” she said sheepishly, trepidation still tainting her voice.

Natasha turned to face Buffy as Vincent unlocked the door. She didn’t appear very pleased by the human’s gratitude. “Let’s just get one thing straight, alright Blondie? I’m doing this for Spike and only Spike. For some reason he likes having you around, so I sure don’t want him anymore pissed off than he’ll probably be when he gets back because he finds out his precious little Buffy is dead,” the vampiress pointed out, her tone biting with spite. “Who knows? You’re probably a great person and if we were both humans, or even if Spike had actually had the right sense to turn you, I bet we would have been the best of friends. But that’s not how things are and that’s not how they’ll ever be, so don’t delude yourself in thinking I’m doing any of this just for you.”

Vincent opened the door, holding it open for Natasha. She moved to walk through but stopped and turned one last time to Spike’s human slave girl. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d hope Spike’s still alive because I just might let Damon have you.” With that said, Natasha haughtily marched out of the room.

As the brunette had spouted out her venomous diatribe, Buffy had slowly shrunk into herself, eventually bowing her head to avoid Natasha’s intense and enraged glare. Vincent took Buffy’s quivering chin in his hand and lifted her face up to his. He was smiling down at her, his brown eyes tender with sympathy. “Don’t listen to her, lamb. She partly blames you for what happened to Spike. Things just haven’t been the same since you showed up,” he comforted, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Personally, I like you. You have a spark in you that I’ve rarely seen in my hundreds of years of existing. It’s actually quite refreshing.” Vincent released his gentle hold of her face, content to see a slight blush creep over her cheeks as a tiny smile tugged on her lips.

“Take care Buffy,” Vincent said as he turned to leave.

“Promise that you’ll bring him back to me,” Buffy sorrowfully implored, her suddenly tear-filled eyes betraying her attempt to put on a brave face.

“I promise,” Vincent assured, slipping out of the room as he closed the door behind him. Buffy hurriedly bolted the door and reinforced the lock by placing a chair beneath the doorknob. She ran to the bed, grabbing the stake she hid under her pillow and slipped beneath the covers. Buffy shivered as she gripped the piece of wood as if it were her only lifeline. Almost on impulse, she bent slightly over the edge of the bed, her free hand reaching under the mattress. Grabbing hold of what she kept tucked away, she pulled out a leather bound journal. Getting comfortable again, she flipped open the book with her free hand as the other help the wooden weapon to her chest.

A few days ago, after Spike had unintentionally blurted out his incoherent ramblings of love when he had first fed from her, Buffy had acted on the urge to pull his journal out from its hiding place. She kept it by her bed and read from it, obviously only when Spike wasn’t around. She found out that it was only the front half that was just scribblings where as the second half actually chronicled a bit of William’s life. It made her feel safe and at the moment, it made her long for Spike’s return all the more.

‘Please let him be okay,’ she prayed as she began to read William’s secret musings. She was beginning to understand some of the emotions behind his entries. It was easy to relate to loneliness and insecurity when you’re the only human in a house full of vampires.

Buffy snuggled deeper in her blankets, still shaking, feeling as though she couldn’t get warm even with all her coverings. As ironic as it was, it was Spike’s cold body that she yearned to warm her. A tear slid down her cheek as she closed the journal and lowered her head to her pillow. “I don’t care what happened last night between us,” she choked in a whisper. “Just come back to me Spike.”

 

Chapter Fifteen: Whisper to a Scream

A groan escaped Spike’s lips as he slowly regained consciousness, his clouded mind struggling to focus on his surroundings. The persistent soreness in his knees told him he had been kneeling down on the hard cement floor for some time now. The dull ache in his shoulders brought his uneven attention to his arms, which were pulled back around a stone pillar, tied together by thick coarse ropes. Weakly lifting his head up, Spike glanced around, barely making out through the hazy darkness a mess of tables, chairs and computers screens. The large open room he was in had a cold, dark and dank quality to it which made Spike assume he was being held in some sort of basement. In the corner of his eye, he caught glimpse of a few small blackened out windows. He had no idea how long he’d been knocked out, and though Spike could sense the sun outside, he had no clue what time of day it was specifically. His head fell back to his chest from an inexplicable exhaustion but when his face hit bare flesh, he realized he was missing a few articles of clothing; his shirt and duster were gone.

Feeling as though he had been thrown head first into a frozen lake, a short period of clarity washed over Spike. He knew what was about to happen, what was in store for him if he didn’t get the hell out of there. Spike desperately tried to rip the ropes apart, but for all his efforts, he couldn’t get himself to break free. That was when he picked up on the scent of magic in the damp air and shuddered at the thought that he was being magically drained. No vampire strength, no resistance against whatever was going to be thrown his way.

‘Watcher’s got a witch helpin’ him with his dirty work,’ Spike numbly reflected as he swung his head back into an upright position. ‘Speaking of which, where the hell is the poncy bastard?’

As if on cue, a single light bulb lit up above him, its light swinging back and forth, casting moving shadows on the face of the said Watcher who was holding the pull string. His stern face glared down at the vampire as he slowly lowered his hand to his pocket. “I see we’re finally awake,” Giles derisively stated.

“What have you done to me, you wanker?” Spike grumbled, feeling as though his head was stuffed with cotton.

“Just a minor modification. Can’t get any information out of you if you manage to break loose,” Giles casually answered as he approached the crouched vampire.

“And what information is it exactly that you think I have to divulge?” Spike wondered, swaying a little from his lightheadedness.

Giles grew suddenly very somber, his face contorting into a discontented expression. Walking up to the vampire until he was hovering right above him, the ex-Watcher glowered down at Spike. “Where is the girl?” he asked in a solemn tone.

Spike flicked his glossy blue eyes up at Giles, an amused smirk plastered on his face. “What girl?”

It was then that Spike came to the realization that his reflexes had also been affected by the hindrance spell; he didn’t even have time to react when he saw the fist fly straight at him. Giles struck the vampire across the face, causing Spike’s head to snap to the side. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Spike returned the Watcher’s murderous glare, undeterred in his refusal to answer the question.

Rubbing his knuckles, Giles paced back and forth in front of Spike, his determination evident in every stride. Glancing back at his prisoner, his small amount of patience began to dwindle. “I’ll only ask you once more. Where is the girl, Spike? Where is Buffy?”

“Well, that’s actually askin’ twice more, now innit?” Spike retorted smugly, feeling his head clear a little. Pulling on his restraints in the hopes that the spell was dissipating, he came to the unfortunate discovery that he was still as weak as a newborn kitten. It all made sense to Spike, the spell was to weaken him, not to completely numb him from the experience. No point in torturing a bloke if he can’t feel it.

Giles smacked Spike again across the face. Spitting out more blood, Spike moved his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken. The vampire peered up at his would be torturer, noticing his tightened fists and the knots in his prominent brow. The barefaced hate the Watcher was giving off was enough incentive for Spike to cooperate. He couldn’t do a damn thing to escape; he might as well play along. “What makes you think I have her?”

“I have it under good authority that you are keeping Buffy hidden away,” Giles informed, removing his glasses and wiping them down before placing them back on his face. “For what purposes exactly, god only knows,” he added, sickened by the thought of the possible atrocities the vampire could have already committed against the poor girl.

Though his lip had been burst open by Giles’s onslaught of punches, Spike kept in deceivingly good spirits, smiling despite the blood. “And what authority would that be?”

Giles’s lips drew into a stubborn thin line. Spike continued to smirk; he knew he had hit a sore spot. “It was Damon, wasn’t it?” the vampire inquired, all of a sudden very serious. Spike took the Watcher’s inability to reply as a definite ‘yes’.

A loud, somewhat maddened laughter escaped Spike’s lips. “Oh this is just too priceless!” He continued to chuckle uncontrollably. “You actually believed him? A vampire? I have to say, Watcher, I expected so much more from you,” Spike ranted as he burst into another fit of laughter. “Rupert Giles, the Wayward Watcher!” he giggled out.

Having had about enough of Spike’s hysterics, Giles abruptly kicked the vampire in the gut. Spike pitched forward from the pain, but the ropes stopped him hitting the floor. He felt a hand violently grip his head, yanking at his short platinum blond locks to lift up his dangling head. Spike was suddenly face to face with the enraged Watcher, his searing hate burning metaphorical holes into the vampire. “I did what I had to. It was the only way to get her back without getting my people killed,” Giles spat out.

Spike feigned being scared by the ex-Watcher’s aggressive actions, his eyes wide in a transparently fake expression of fear. Another bout of laughter came from him as he dropped the charade, loving how easy it was to mess with the broken old man. “Oooooo, ’m shakin’ in my boots Rupert.”

“Shut up, you git,” Giles grumbled as he let go of Spike’s head.

Sitting back upright, Spike’s pleased azure stare followed the pacing Watcher. “You actually took his word for it,” Spike not so much as asked, but remarked, still stunned by Giles’s abnormal behavior. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

Giles irately strolled over to Spike, pointing his finger at him furiously. “You shut the bloody hell up! We had no choice. To save Buffy, we had to take a chance.”

“And you blew it!” Spike yelled back, nearly vamping out. “‘Cos yeah, I had Buffy, but I wasn’t fucking hiddin’ her anywhere,” he heatedly threw back at the Watcher.

The look on Giles’s face transformed from pure contempt to utter disbelief. “What?!”

“You heard me, Watcher. Right as we speak she’s all alone at the main house, with Damon, who by the way hates both me and her with a fiery passion. Thanks to you, you fucking git, Buffy’s got no one to protect her!” Spike growled as he pulled on the ropes, his frantic need to save the woman he loved from uncertain death growing with very passing second.

“You’re lying,” Giles responded, sounding as though he wasn’t completely convinced by is own denial.

Spike stopped struggling and looked up at the middle-aged Englishman with untainted sincerity in his gaze. “Wish I were.”

Giles ignored Spike’s apparent honesty, unable to let go of his distrust for this particular vampire. “I don’t believe you. I know you all to well, William the Bloody, and protecting young innocent girls is not part of your perverse repertoire.”

Spike snorted apathetically. “Think whatever you’d like, mate. No amount of flapping my gums is gonna convince you otherwise. Already got your mind made up.”

“If you don’t wish to be cooperate, we’ll find ways of dragging the truth out of you,” Giles warned, a glimmer of Ripper flashing across his face.

“Doesn’t matter what I say. Gonna torture me either way. Always knew you had it in you Watcher,” Spike quipped, leaning his head back against the large pillar he was bound to.

Giles harshly backhanded Spike, the veins bulging in his neck as his vision blurred in rage. “Don’t you dare presume to know me!”

Spike gurgled out a guffaw as a trickle of blood fell from his nose. He gave Giles his trademark smirk. “Know you more than you’d like.”

Giles stormed into the darkness, stepping out of the range of the basement’s only light source. The Watcher marched his way back to Spike, his mind clearly set on doing something not-so-fun to the vampire as he roughly grabbed him by the neck.

“Really? Know me well enough to expect this?” Giles asked as he dumped a whole bottle of holy water on Spike’s chest. The sound of singeing flesh and Spike’s stunned cries broke through the basement’s eerie silence.

Once the pain had slightly subsided, Spike stared down at his reddened chest, tilting his head in appreciation of the Watcher’s handiwork. “No. Can’t say I was. Dippin’ a little into the dark side, aren’t we Rupert?” he leered in a hiss as a breeze of air hit his irritated skin.

“Fuck you, you pillock,” Giles gritted out. “You don’t know me. You’ll never know me. Just because you…” he trailed off, becoming incredibly flustered. Closing his eyes and taking in a long calming breath, the Watcher tried to get himself under control. Gradually opening his eyes, he gave the vampire a long detached stare and continued with what he had been trying to say in a neutral tone of voice. “Just because you killed her doesn’t mean you know me.”

A new found insightfulness filled Spike, his blue eyes widening in response to the Watcher’s words. “Ohhh! So this is all this is? Little bit of vengeance ‘gainst the vamp that did in your Slayer?”

Giles’s countenance turned on a dime. Gone was his newly calm and collected demeanor, replaced instead with the Ripper persona he’d thought he had long since buried. Snatching at the cross that was hanging around his neck, he ripped it off and forcefully pressed it against Spike’s shoulder. The vampire convulsed madly, screaming in delirious pain as the smoke from his burning flesh billowed around his head.

Giles lingered for a moment before slowly pulling away the cross, leaving his victim panting from the severe pain. Spike roared in frustration as he once again struggled to get free but his vampire strength was still waning. Waiting for Spike to settle down, Giles remained quiet until his impassive eyes met with the vampire’s intense blue ones. Kneeling down in front of Spike, the Watcher never broke eye contact. In a steady voice, he began to respond to Spike’s allegation. “Torturing you won’t even begin to heal the countless wounds you’ve inflicted upon me.”

Spike didn’t appear the least bit threatened. “Do what you’d like. Wasn’t lyin’ before. Just remember the longer you waste your time tryin’ to get a lie out of me, Damon’s out there, free to hurt Buffy.”

“I know that’s not what you’re worried about,” the Watcher stated. “Are you afraid that we’ll find her? That you’ll loose another girl to torment with another one of your sick obsessions? That you won’t be able to beat and demean her any longer?” Giles maliciously asked as he stood back up. “You afraid we’ll take her away before you can finally kill her?”

Spike growled at the audacity of the ex-Watcher’s spiteful questions. “I swear, if you let her die, I will move heaven and earth to make your life a living hell,” Spike spouted angrily as he morphed into game face.

“Too late,” Giles retorted, menacingly cracking his knuckles. “And aren’t you making a bit of an assumption here?”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“That you’ll actually still be all in one piece when I’m through with you,” Giles forebodingly declared, pulling out a plastic stake from his back pocket, amused by the fear in Spike’s saucer wide amber eyes.

“Oh balls!”


********


The late afternoon sun filtered in through the glass of the large dinning room window, its rays shinning down on a small group of friends, who were at the moment casually sitting around a worn-down wooden table. Appearances can be deceiving and the atmosphere was anything but cheerful as gut wrenching, blood curdling screams emanated throughout the house. With every bellow of pain, the group flinched, unable to restrain themselves from feeling sorry for the miserable vampire downstairs. Even if he was the leader of the clan that had ruined their lives for the past three years, Giles was seriously wailing on the poor bastard.

“Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!” reached their ears from the partially open basement door.

Xander pushed himself out of his seat and slammed the door shut, hoping it would dull down the nerve rattling noise. Sitting back down beside Cordelia, he balked again at the newest screech, lowering his face to his hands. “Thank God we cleared the house before Giles got his mitts on Spike. I don’t even know how much more I can take,” he complained.

Cordelia patted the brunette on the back. “It shouldn’t last too long right? I mean, how long could it possibly take to torture a vampire?” she wondered, glimpsing over at Willow and Oz who were sitting directly across from her.

Willow gave the new girl a saddened look. “Depends on how much of a fight Spike puts up,” the redhead replied.

“And you also gotta consider how much Giles hates him. So I’m thinking it might be a couple days,” Oz chimed in, taking hold of Willow’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“I get the whole hating Spike thing, cuz you know, evil vampire and all, but a couple of days? Isn’t that a little obsessive?” Cordy inquired suspiciously.

Xander slowly lifted his head back up and turned toward the confused girl. “See, you’re new to this so I’ll let you in on what everyone here already knows,” he said in the quirky way that only Xander could get away with. “A few years ago, Captain Peroxide down there roared into town, killed Sarah and then made it his mission to turn the rest of our lives into the living hell we’ve all come to know and love.”

Cordelia was confused by the name drop. “Okkaaayyy. Who’s Sarah?”

“Giles’s Slayer. We didn’t really know her that well but we know they were close,” Willow answered, sorrow evident in her voice.

“What happened?” Cordy asked, her concern mounting. If Spike could kill a girl endowed with super strength, what chance did Buffy have?

“We don’t really know. Giles doesn’t like to get into specifics and we try not to bring it up,” Xander explained, his body tensing at the lack of noise coming from the basement. He didn’t want another scream catching him off guard.

“So when did she die?” Cordelia asked, feeling as though she needed to know everything about Spike’s victim. In her misguided logic, it made sense to know everything about Spike and the people he’d hurt; it just might shed some new light on how to save Buffy. Her desperation was making her grasp at straws and she could care less if she was opening up old wounds.

“Like Xander said, it was right before the town went all to hell. I still remember that day at school when we found out she had died,” Oz responded, deviating from his usually stoic and silent manner.

Willow nodded her head. “Yeah, I remember the announcement but everyone else just shrugged it off. Guess we can thank Sunnydale’s freakishly high mortality rate for everyone’s lacking sense of sympathy.”

“You’re kidding?” Cordy asked, stunned.

“Nope,” Xander sadly replied. “Plus it didn’t help that Sarah was a total social pariah.”

“She didn’t have any friends?” Cordelia wondered.

“Well, we talked to her but we were never really close. She was a loner, always hanging out at the library. It makes tons of sense in hindsight but at the time everyone thought she was some sort of delinquent recluse,” the witch elaborated, a grim look on her face.

“Giles was the librarian, right?” Cordy inquired.

“Hence all of Sarah’s solo retreats to the library,” Xander quickly confirmed.

Willow chuckled. “Remember when everyone thought that she and Giles were having some kind of illicit affair?”

“Ewwww,” Cordy disgustedly reacted.

Xander gave her an annoyed look. “It wasn’t true.”

“No d’uh. But still: Ewwww,” she restated.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, not even the slightest sound making its way upstairs. “Do you think he’s done?” Cordelia wondered.

Right when she asked that question, the most horrid scream ripped through the entire house. Willow and Xander instantly flew into the nearest available arms. Xander instantly pulled away from Cordelia, trying to brush off the dreadfully uncool incident where as Willow buried her face in her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Guess not,” Oz impassively observed.

“Will, how long is that spell of yours supposed to hold up?” Xander asked, his nerves on edge.

Willow lifted her grimacing face back up to look at her best friend. “As long as Giles needs it to work.”

“Couldn’t you maybe make up some kinda excuse, like claim the spells gone wonky or something to pull Giles out of the basement?” Xander wondered, desperation in his voice.

“I don’t think that’d be a god idea. That spell's kind of a one shot deal. The ingredients are like impossible to find and we were only able to do it cuz Giles was saving up for a special occasion. And I so don’t wanna deal with a grouchy Giles,” Willow protested.

“Then could you at least come up with some kinda blocking spell or maybe conjure up some mystical ear plugs? I’m about ready to jump out of skin here, Will,” Xander pleaded, holding his hands over his ears, readying himself for another one of Spike’s tortured cries.

“I’ll try, but it might take a while. It’s gonna be kinda hard to concentrate,” the witch offered as she left to gather some of her magic supplies.

“Thanks Willow,” the antsy brunette called out in relief. Xander dropped his head in his hands again, shaking it in uncertainty. “Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked dismally.

Cordelia immediately and adamantly answered. “Of course we did the right thing! We have to find Buffy! How could you even ask that?”

“I’m all on board for saving your friend Cordy, but letting Giles get his hands on Spike is like opening up a whole other can of worms. And I’m talking like the big cans you get from Cosco, filled with snarling, razor sharp-toothed demon worms,” Xander inventively explained, peering up at Cordelia.

“What the hell are you talking about?” the girl wondered, noticing as a silent exchange passed between the two guys.

“We kill vampires Cordelia. We don’t torture them. If we did, we’d be no better than the monsters we hunt,” Oz stated stoically.

“And the longer Giles is down there, the bigger the hole he digs for himself. I just hope he knows what he’s doing before he gets in way too deep,” Xander added, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

Another roar flew out of the basement, this time nearly sending Cordelia into Xander’s lap. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, a look of desire passing between them. Cordelia blushed as she turned away from his hungry stare, excusing herself as she mumbled something about helping Willow.

Xander sighed as he watched the new girl leave, returning his gaze to the only other person left in the room. Oz gave his fellow vampire hunter an uncharacteristic yet all knowing grin, which was deliberately ignored. Looking at his watch, Xander took note of the time. “Better get going. Sun’s gonna set soon.”

“You don’t think Giles is gonna keep it up while I’m down there, do you?” Oz asked as he stood up, his usually relaxed demeanor shifting into that of agitation.

“For your sake, I hope not,” Xander answered, placing his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders as they headed out of the dining room. “Who knows, maybe we’ll luck out and you’ll break free and accidentally eat Spike. That’d sure put an end to Giles’s torture the vampire crusade.”



********


The full moon’s pale glow barely invaded the dark empty room, its soft light shinning through the big bay window. Buffy sat at its edge, having pulled open every heavy curtain in the room, deciding that once the sun rose, it would be her best defense against any hungry vampires who might decide to pay her a daytime visit. This way, all she had to worry about was just surviving through the night.

So here she was, staring down at the grisly moon-lit town below, whittling herself another stake as her mind unintentionally wandered. As she stared out into the expanse of town’s numerous dark scattered buildings, Buffy’s thoughts were filled with images of a certain platinum haired, devilishly handsome and infuriatingly sexy vampire. It’d been less than a full day since she found out he’d been abducted, and Buffy felt as though she hadn’t seen him in ages.

A sigh caught in Buffy’s throat when she spotted an inquisitive vamp strolling around in the street below, glancing up at her window. Scurrying away, Buffy hid, pressing her back against the adjacent wall. After a few seconds, she dared to take a peek. The vamp was still there but he appeared to have lost interest in whatever he might have seen in the upstairs window. Buffy exhaled as she regained her composure, sitting out of sight on the ceramic floor. Clutching at the half-made stake, tears of dread began to well up in her eyes. She hoped Vincent and Natasha found Spike soon. Buffy wasn’t sure how much longer it would be before some of the vamps actually acted on their curiosity.
 

Chapter Sixteen: Cassette Tapes and Flying Fur

Giles exhaustedly slouched against the hard brick wall, across from a just as drained but still unwavering Spike. Neither one was giving in. No matter how much pain Giles could inflict, Spike wouldn’t budge. Breathing heavily, the Watcher pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat off his brow as he observed the stubborn vampire. Spike’s eyes were closed, his slumped body swaying on its knees as the taut ropes held him up. The skin on his front was red, peeling and chaffed like a son of a bitch. His face was a mélange of blue, purple and crimson with an unsightly black eye making it nearly impossible for him to see. Spike’s once unmarked chest was covered with gaping wounds that had at first bled quite profusely, but were now just painful holes in his tortured flesh. The loss of blood was in no doubt affecting him. The vampire was a picture of agony, but he still wouldn’t surrender and Giles didn’t know how much longer he could keep it up at this ineffective pace.

Spike giggled to himself, oblivious to the other man’s scrutinizing gaze. The ex-Watcher was unquestionably a sick one. He had made sure the hindrance spell messed with all of Spike’s vampire abilities, including his vampire healing.

The few seconds of silence were finally broken by Giles. “Had enough?” he asked, still slightly out of breath.

Spike chuckled as his voice took on a girlish quality. “No, not anymore, Mr. Watcher. I promise I’ll be good. I was a bad vampire and you’ve shown me the light. Please let me go,” he sluggishly replied.

“Patronizing me will only prolong your stay here further,” Giles cautioned as he stood back up.

Spike growled, knowing the Watcher was right. How the bleedin’ hell was he going to get out of this soddin’ basement? He needed to get to Buffy fast but Spike was afraid that if he went along with what Giles wanted, if he lied and told him where Buffy was supposedly ‘hidden’, what would stop the Watcher from plowing a real stake through his unbeating heart? If Spike caved in, Giles would no longer have any use for him. He’d be free to do what he’s been no doubt waiting years to do; he’d kill Spike and Buffy’s fate would be forever sealed.

Spike felt as though he was being torn in two different directions. He couldn’t let Giles kill him but the longer he stayed there, the longer Buffy was unprotected. He hoped that Vincent and Natasha were looking out for her. They wouldn’t turn their backs on him, would they? Damon had, and he was one of the few Spike had first trusted when he had arrived in Sunnydale. He felt like such a moron. Why didn’t he get rid of Damon when he still had the chance? How stupid and blind could he have been these past months to have completely ignored every bald-faced sign that was sent his way? ‘If she dies, it’s all your fault, mate. No matter who you blame, it’ll still be your fault.’

The vampire opened his one good eye and watched as Giles moved back out of the light, quickly returning with a small cassette tape player. Spike quirked an eyebrow. “What you gonna do now? Turn on some Bob Dylan and pull out the good ole switch blade?” he joked as his laughter eventually converted into a fit of coughing.

“No, I’m not. And it was a straight blade, you ponce,” Giles indignantly quipped as he lowered the player in front of him. Kneeling down, he looked into the vampire’s glazed cerulean eyes, making sure that his own pain was evident in his focused stare. “You should remember this. You’re the one who recorded it,” he stated somberly as he pressed the play button.

At first Spike thought that the Watcher had completely fallen off his rocker, but then as the sound of a sweet, soft spoken voice filled the void space of the basement, he knew exactly what it was. It was the tape, the one he’d sent Giles all those years ago. The one with her last goodbye on it.

Giles turned up the volume. He’d heard the tape a million times, played it to himself at least once everyday just to hear her voice again. In the short years he had known Sarah, she had been the closest thing to a daughter, to a family, that he thought he’d ever have. As a Watcher, he had been taught not to allow his emotions to interfere in his relationship with his Slayer but he had quickly learned that that was impossible. With being so far away from the Council’s ever vigilant eye, and with the numerous of unprecedented issues his Slayer had to deal with on the Hellmouth, convention had been thrown completely out the window. Sarah was everything a Watcher, and a father, could have ever wished for. The greatest tragedy was that her death hadn’t even been for a noble cause. There had been no final battle, no honor in her unjust demise. And it was thanks to this one despicable vampire that his Sarah had died so disgracefully.

“Hey Giles,” the girl spoke, fear trembling her timid voice. “I-I guess this is goodbye.” She broke off, choking away a sob. “I’m sorry. I tried to stop it but there were just too many of them.” She stopped again, this time actually crying. “I’m scared, Giles. I-I don’t wanna die,” the voice of Sarah continued as she wept hysterically. “I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry. I love you, Giles,” she croaked, crying for at least a minute before finally whispering, “I’m sorry.”

The Watcher lowered his finger, pushing the stop button. He tried to push back the tears. Listening to it always made him want to break down into sobs but he couldn’t. Not in front of the thing that had taken his Sarah away. He watched as Spike remained perfectly still, his blue eyes still focused on the small black tape player.

“Why the hell would you play me that?” Spike asked, slowly looking up at Giles.

The Watcher was slightly taken aback by the confusion, and what appeared to be guilt in the vampire’s face. In all honesty, playing the tape for Spike had nothing to do with Spike. It was more for Giles, for his own closure. Maybe deep down there was a part of him that wanted Spike to experience the all consuming grief that he was forced to endure day after day but it was all just wishful thinking. Giles knew that Spike could never feel anything, let alone show remorse for what he had done. He never expected this though. Giles had never once imagined that Spike might actually regret what he did. The naturally inquisitive Watcher side of him wondered what had happened to this vampire to make him at least acknowledge his past transgressions and perhaps make him feel guilty about them too. Did it have to do with Buffy? Did Spike truly care for the girl’s wellbeing? Was he actually telling the truth? Was Buffy really in danger?

As Giles contemplated Spike’s integrity, the vampire’s gaze remained glued to the tape player. It seemed like so long ago when he had had that tape made; he had done it to rub salt in the old Watcher’s wounds. Spike even remembered what he had done when he had turned the tape recorder off. He had finally found a way to cure Dru. It was a spell, undeniably that of the black arts variety and he had threatened some shaman with his life if he didn’t perform it. For it to work though, Dru had to drain the blood of a Slayer. So, like the ingenious strategist that he was, Spike drew the Chosen One to the factory, made her think he was conducting some diabolical scheme to destroy the world. The lure had worked and he caught himself a Slayer. He recalled being quite pleased with himself, having killed two birds with one stone and all. Dru was strong again and he had added a third slayer to his list.

It was supposed to be a triumphant and glorious memory but as Spike listened to the tape, he tried to recall the ritual, but all he could see was Buffy tied up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she mumbled frantically against a mouth gag. He knew the Slayer had actually looked nothing like Buffy, but as Sarah’s voice echoed throughout the room, he could only see his beloved pleading for her life. Spike knew from when he had surprisingly saved that girl outside the Lupanar the previous night that Buffy was starting to get to him. He never realized though that she had become his conscience. Guess he could officially say she was his soul.

Giles suddenly snapped out of his inner ruminations and snatched the tape player off the ground, pulling the cassette out and placing it back in his shirt pocket, the one closest to his heart. Spike kept silent, unsure of what the Watcher was going to do next. He hoped the physical torture was over with but he couldn’t help but feel that the old coot was going to try and use some psychological torture instead.

“You ruined my life the day you killed her,” Giles stated, returning to his place by the wall, across from the vampire.

Spike was getting aggravated. The Watcher had some serious issues that he hadn’t yet resolved and Spike was supposed to what? Sit around and play therapist while God knows what was happening to Buffy.

“She was a Slayer, I was a vampire. That’s how the game is played,” Spike responded unemotionally.

“Right, because that’s all anything is to you, Spike. Just a game,” Giles remarked with revulsion.

“Villainize me all you want Watcher. If it helps you sleep at the night,” Spike gruffly retorted.

“I don’t need to make you the villain of this piece, Spike. You did that all on your own when you turned this town into your own little vampire amusement park,” the Watcher gritted out, his rage returning at the thought that he had been stupid enough to believe that the vampire was capable of mustering up even the slightest bit of guilt.

Spike coughed again, peering up at the Watcher. “Let me go,” he demanded, his voice firm but with a detectable note of desperation.

Giles had not expected the sudden shift in attitude but it would take much more than that to even make him consider freeing the vampire. “No,” the Watcher curtly replied.

“She’s going to die if you don’t let me go,” Spike reiterated grimly, feeling like a broken record player.

“She’ll die if I do let you go,” Giles corrected, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. Gazing down at the clearly distressed vampire, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wasn’t about to let Spike go but he’d at least listen to whatever fabricated reason the vampire had to validate his release. “If what you say is true, if Buffy is in great peril, why would you even care?” Giles skeptically inquired as he slowly walked around Spike.

“Because she belongs to me,” Spike angrily answered, his cobalt eyes following the Englishman as he circled around him.

“So you don’t want someone else profiting from your investment?” the Watcher continued to ask, taking off his glasses and placing the tip to his mouth.

“You’ve got me right pegged, Inspector Clueso. Now let me the fucking hell loose!” Spike insisted as he wrestled with his binds.

Giles stopped in front of the vampire, glaring down at him. “And why the bloody hell should I?”

“How many soddin’ times do I have to tell you? He’s going to kill her!” Spike declared, letting down his defenses by showing the Watcher the desperation in his eyes. The vampire’s body shook, partly from frustration by also from conviction. He was tired of running around in circles and he needed Giles to see he wasn’t lying. Buffy needed him and he’d be damned if he let some pissant, washed up Watcher stop him.

Giles saw it. At first he thought that he had been mistaken because there was no way in hell that he would have ever expected to see what he’d picked up on in Spike’s behavior. This wasn’t a monster looking to reclaim what he thought was his stolen property. It was the actions of a man who was beside himself with worry for the woman he loved. The thought nearly knocked Giles off his feet. It also made him sick to his stomach. What perverse delusions did this vampire have that he thought could even resemble love? Vampires were incapable of feeling true love, and were especially unable to express it. The Watcher stared down at Spike as though he had grown another head, his mind trying to wrap around the concept that this monster could ever genuinely care for someone. It was just too much for him. Giles needed to get away. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the light, leaving a puzzled Spike to continue to fight with his restraints.

Opening the basement door, Giles nearly plowed into Xander and Oz, who had been heading downstairs after grabbing a bite to eat. Obviously rattled, the Watcher had forgotten about the time. Avoiding the young men’s concerned stares, Giles offered a nod in ‘hello’. “Xander, I need you and Willow to watch over both Spike and Oz tonight,” he instructed as he moved past them.

Both seemed perplexed by their mentor’s strange behavior. “You alright, G-man?” Xander asked as Giles marched up the stairs.

“I’m fine,” the older man mumbled back, not slowing down in his retreat.

Xander turned to his friend, even more troubled by the Watcher’s actions, yet it was Oz who said what the brunette was thinking. “He didn’t yell at you for calling him G-man,” he concernedly noted.

“I know,” Xander agreed as he stared up at the stairs. Shrugging off the incident, he gestured toward the basement door. “C’mon, let’s get you downstairs before you start growing claws.”

The two hesitantly made their way down the wooden steps, never taking their eyes off the vampire, who appeared to be passed out at the moment. Careful not to wake Spike, Oz tiptoed to the cage, and with Xander’s assistance, locked up for the night. Xander turned on another light above the oversized dog pen before he pulled out two chairs, sitting on one while waiting for Willow to come down. Within a few minutes, the witch was slowly making her way downstairs, smiling at her best friend who was clearly nervous about watching over both a vampire and a werewolf for the night.

“Hey Xander,” she whispered as she handed him a tranquilizer gun, quickly running to the cage to kiss her boyfriend goodnight.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the weapon, holding onto it tightly, watching as Oz got ready to transform.

“Sorry but I didn’t have enough time to make you those magic ear plugs you wanted,” Willow sheepishly apologized as she took her seat next to Xander.

“Don’t sweat it. Captain Peroxide’s out cold for the night anyway,” he shrugged as he pointed to their seemingly unconscious prisoner.

“Oh,” Willow squeaked, as she covered her mouth with her hand. She’d noticed Spike on her way downstairs, but after having a good look at him, the redhead was a little disturbed by the condition he was presently in. “Giles did all that?”

Xander sighed. “It’s called torture for a reason, Will. What’d you think all that screaming was about? Giles wasn’t spending the whole day down here tickling him into submission, that’s for sure,” he seriously stated as he stared at the badly beaten vampire.

“I know that, Xander, but saying it and actually seeing it are two totally different things. It’s kinda giving me the serious wiggins,” Willow dejectedly replied.

“Gotta agree with you there, Will. Definitely not one of Giles’s finer moments,” Xander commented.

The two friends’ ears perked to the noise of Oz’s changing, the small man letting out a small shout before his body conformed into its werewolf manifestation. Willow cringed slightly as she watched, inching closer to Xander as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders in moral support. No matter how many times she saw it, it always got to her when Oz went through his metamorphosis. She was just thankful it was the third night of the full moon. They wouldn’t have to worry about it again until another month from now.

Though he appeared to be out for the count, Spike was actually wide awake. Well, more like fuzzily conscious. After Giles had stormed out of the basement, the vampire had been left to do nothing but worry. When he had heard footsteps heading downstairs, he decided to pretend to be asleep. He really didn’t feel like dealing with anymore humans at the moment. Spike picked up on the scent of the werewolf, which surprised him. He couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. One of Giles’s demon hunters was actually part demon himself. He could sense the other two humans as well. The stink of magic was strong around one of them. ‘Great. Now the Watcher’s got his witch to be my sitter.’

Spike tried to pick up on the whispering that he was hearing. The sudden and strong urge to scream at the top of his lungs was getting harder to suppress. He couldn’t hear anything. He’d been stripped of every advantage being a vampire gave him. ‘The witch is a strong one,’ he reflected as he briefly opened his only functional eye to stare down at his crotch. She better‘ve not messed with any other certain aspects of his vampire constitution. ‘‘Probly can’t even hold my liquor like I used to,’ Spike bitterly thought, feeling a little groggy. He tried to stay awake but the loss of blood was finally taking its toll. Spike soon feel into an involuntary sleep.

Willow and Xander sat quietly, their focus alternating between the dormant vampire and, for now, the composed werewolf. Willow exhaled a short breath. “Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.”

“Don’t jinx it, Will,” Xander reprimanded in a whisper. “Cuz as much I feel like Captain Willard with this gun, I so don’t wanna have a reason to use it,” he rambled nervously.

Willow however lost interest in what he was saying, her attention centered instead on the vampire. Holding her hand up to silence the bumbling brunette, she asked, “Do you hear that?”

Xander feared the worst. “Hear what? I don’t hear anything. Are you picking up on something? Is it some kind of witchy, high frequency distress signal? Or is it-”

“Xander, shut up for a sec and listen,” Willow scolded as she slapped her hand over his mouth.

Leaning a little forward, Xander picked up on what at first sounded like mumblings. Mumblings that were coming from Spike. Pulling his face away from the witch’s hand, Xander seemed a little blasé. “He’s just dreaming, Will.”

“No really?” Willow sarcastically responded. “Listen to what he’s saying you doofus.”

“I’m not a doofus,” Xander indignantly defended as he perked up his ears. Straining a bit, he heard what it was that had gotten Willow all huffy about.

“Buffy….” Spike groaned. “Don’t hurt….Damon…don’t hurt her…” Spike incoherently muttered in his sleep, the worry for his girl weighing down hard on his subconscious.

“What’s it mean?” Xander asked in a whisper, getting instantly shushed by Willow.

“Lemme listen,” Willow said as she leaned in further, trying to make out what the vampire was saying.

“Buffy…’m sorry…don’t hurt…Damon don’t….no….Buffy…love you so much…never meant…’m sorry” Spike uttered, choking out a sob as his nightmare progressed, mirroring his worst fears.

Xander fell out of his seat as Willow gasped in shock. “Did I just hear what I thought I heard?” he bewilderedly asked as he got up off the floor.

“He loves her,” the witch repeated the vampire’s words, still completely stunned.

“He’s lying,” Xander instantly blurted out, unable to believe what he had just heard.

“Xander, he’s asleep,” Willow rebutted with an unimpressed expression on her face.

“Are we sure? I mean, he could be faking it, you know, make us feel bad for him so that we’d let him go,” he tried to reason.

Willow shook her head. “No, he’s definitely having a nightmare. And I think he really loves her,” she resolutely stated.

“You can’t be serious? Will, he’s a vampire. He’s the vampire.” Xander tried to convince his best friend.

“And Oz is a werewolf,” Willow countered thoughtfully.

“Big difference. Monumental difference. As different as the Pacific Ocean is wide kind of difference,” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

“I think we should tell Giles in the morning,” the redhead stated, ignoring her friend’s rant.

“You know he’s not going to believe us,” Xander remarked as he leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable again.

“I know, but we still gotta tell him,” Willow said as she sadly glanced over at the tormented vampire who continued to mumble in his sleep. She just couldn’t explain it but she truly believed Spike loved Buffy. Willow had no idea where this sympathy for the vampire, who was basically considered to be public enemy number one, came from but she knew how blurry the ethical line could be. And being a girl who was in love with the most unexpressive man in Sunnydale, she knew when a guy was genuine when he said he loved a girl. And Spike without a doubt loved Buffy.

A sudden loud bang pulled Willow out of her inner reflection. For some strange reason Oz was becoming extremely agitated and was roughly throwing himself against the cage door. The abrupt noise of metal clashing pulled Spike out of his short nap, making him groan groggily. “What’s a bloke gotta do to get a few winks,” he whined as he slowly came to, his face dropping when he realized where he was.

Oz growled menacingly at the vampire, thrashing against the steel bars of the cage, and unbeknownst to everyone, dislodging the door’s weakened hinges with every crash. Spike vamped out and growled back at the werewolf, unsure why the pup was suddenly acting up. “Quit your barkin’, you mangy mut!”

Willow and Xander slowly stood up, remaining completely still like deer caught in headlights as they helplessly watched Oz collided against the cage door. With one final crash, the werewolf was suddenly free, springing toward the vulnerable vampire.

“Xander, shoot him!” Willow screamed.

Fumbling frantically with the gun, Xander dropped the weapon as he tried to load the dart. He quickly tried to recover, but his nerves were making it hard to get the thing working.

Meanwhile, the werewolf had lunged at Spike, ferociously biting him in the shoulder as the vampire tried to unsuccessfully fend him off. “Get this fucking thing off of ME!” he yelled, roaring in wolf’s face as he thrashed beneath the beast.

Not liking the taste of dead meat, Oz lost interest in the easy target, his attention gradually diverting to the two other people in the basement. Slowly pulling away from the vampire, the wolf stalked toward the Xander and Willow, growling as he readied to attack.

“Xander,” she whimpered fearfully. “Hurry up.”

Finally having loaded the gun, Xander pulled the trigger but it wouldn’t shoot. “It’s stuck,” he announced in a frantic high pitched voice.

“Well, fix it,” the redhead ordered as they slowly backed away from the approaching werewolf.

“I’m trying,” he cried out as he shook the gun.

Oz roared loudly, crouching as he prepared to pounce. Willow’s eyes flew from a still struggling Xander to her wolf boyfriend who was about to eat her to the amber eyes of a pissed off vampire. Willow knew what she had to do. She knew he was their only hope.

“Libero.” The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to contemplate what she’d done.

It was like a bolt of lightning had hit him. All the energy that had been drained out of him all came back in one sudden rush. Effortlessly ripping off the ropes, Spike stood up and turned to the wolf. He grabbed its hind legs as it leapt through the air, stopping the beast just short of a few feet from two helpless humans. Holding on, Spike sent the werewolf flying, brutally tossing him against the steel cage. The wolf instantly rebounded, back on its feet, growling at the vampire who stood between it and a good meal. Spike stood on guard, waiting for the beast to lunge, baring his fangs as he growled back a warning to the oversized dog. Oz coiled up his body and pounced on Spike, who was expecting the attack. With cat-like reflexes and swift maneuverings, he locked his arm around the wolf’s head in an attempt to hold him down. “Do it now! Shoot him!” he yelled to Willow and Xander.

Xander finally got the trigger unstuck; he raised it up and aimed it at the two unsteady demons in front of him. He couldn’t get a lock on Oz; he was moving and thrashing too much. Spike kept on spinning around with the werewolf, trying to keep the upper hand he had on him. “Pull the fucking trigger already, you git!” Spike hollered at the boy, his hold on the wolf waning.

“I’m trying,” Xander squealed. “It’s just really hard to-” The first dart hit Spike in thigh. “aim.”

Spike staggered back a little, pulling Oz along with him. “Not me! Shoot the fucking dog!”

Xander aimed again, this time getting Oz in the back. The werewolf continued to struggle against Spike until he fell to the ground, the tranquilizer finally taking its desired effect. Spike, however, staggered to the two people tensely standing in front of him. Fighting the drug that was flowing through his veins, he ungracefully yanked the dart out of his leg and handed it to Xander. “Makes s-sure you aim a lil’ better next time.”

“Sorry,” Willow meekly apologized as Xander stood completely dumbstruck.

Spike drunkenly waved off the apology. “S’nothing.” He then collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

“What just happened?” Xander asked in utter disbelief.

“I undid the spell and Spike saved our lives,” Willow answered just as surprised.

Xander stared down at the sleeping demons, his eyes flicking between their deceptively passive faces. Staring back up at Willow, an expression of sheer astonishment on his face, he said, “Giles is so not gonna believe us.”

A/N:
For those who are unfamiliar with the film Reservoir Dogs, the Bob Dylan reference is actually from a torture scene in that movie.
Also, Captain Willard was the main character in one of Xander's favorite movies, Apocalypse Now.
*There are also a few lines from Lies My Parents Told Me
 

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