Chapter Twenty: You Won't Get to See the Tears I Cry

Giles groaned as he held the frozen ice pack to his bruised face, sighing as it instantly soothed his battered cheek. He was sitting at the dining room table again, a headache pounding away in his head, becoming increasingly aggravated by Xander’s agitatedly incessant pacing. Willow was at the Watcher’s side, patting him sympathetically on the shoulder while Oz and Cordelia sat across from him with troubled expressions on their faces. It had been the unexpected sound of shattering glass that had propelled them all downstairs, where they had found him out cold on the basement floor. After being splashed with countless buckets of water and subjected to the harsh odors of smelling salts, Giles had finally been stirred back to consciousness. He was brought back upstairs where he was now downing a full bottle of aspirin in attempt to thwart the Riverdance that was maliciously tapping away in his head.

Xander was becoming impatient, constantly fidgeting with his hands as he walked the perimeter of the room. Hating the unspoken silence, he asked what was already on everyone else’s mind. “So what do we do now?”

“It all depends,” Oz calmly replied, his manner a polar opposite to that of his restless friend.

“On what?” Xander asked, his voice straining.

“On what exactly Giles knows about Buffy,” Cordelia answered. An underlying threat was made clear in her tone, warning them that something better be done to save her best friend…or else. “So tell us Giles, what did the Billy Idol wannabe tell you before his lackeys clobbered you over the head?”

“Damon lied,” the Watcher calmly answered, not allowing Cordelia’s lack of subtlety to get to him. “Buffy is not being hidden away in some undisclosed location. She is and always was imprisoned at Spike’s central lair,” Giles minimally elaborated.

He could only hope that Buffy was indeed still at the main house, alive if not well. Spike’s haunting pleas to be set free, to save the defenseless girl from probable death were still ringing in his ears. Giles couldn’t bring himself to think of the possibility that Spike might not have reached Buffy in time. His guilt for keeping the vampire locked up, to fulfill his own vengeful agenda, was threatening to resurface. Giles was going to have to cling to the belief that Buffy was still alive, until he was proven otherwise.

The Watcher knew that his own life should have ended last night. If Spike had been the vampire Giles had truly thought him to be, he would have been buried six feet under by now. Yet here he was, living, breathing, possibly suffering from a mild concussion, but still alive nonetheless. You didn’t simply torture a vampire and expect to live to tell the tale if he somehow manages to escape. The fact that Spike had decided not to kill him, along with all the other unconventional details Giles had learned about the Master vampire during his short stay, had made one thing clear. Spike was no longer the monster he had once been.

“We’re gonna get her out of there, right?” Cordelia indignantly asked, the bitchy persona she had mastered in L.A. re-emerging in her behaviour.

“Of course we are!” Willow retorted, suddenly feeling very defensive, before she meekly glanced up at Giles. “We are, aren’t we?”

The Watcher never got the chance to respond.

“Are you all nuts?!” Xander exclaimed, his nervous pacing coming to a complete halt.

Cordelia threw him an irritated, contemptuous look. “I don’t speak spaz. You wanna translate for all of us who live in a sane, English speaking world?”

Xander gritted his teeth. Queen C was starting to get on his nerves. “Oh, I’m crazy, am I? Well I’m not the one suggesting we break Buffy out of the main house when we just spent the last few days torturing the vampire who’s in charge of the place!”

“You’re assuming he’s even there,” Cordy retorted. “You told me he was in pretty bad shape. How can you expect us to believe that Spike made it straight across town in the condition he was in? He probably passed out before he got his ass halfway there and had to hide out somewhere from the sun.”

Xander smiled. He wasn’t going to point out how wrong she was just yet. “So in your infinite wisdom Cordy, how exactly do you propose we get Buffy out of there?”

“Well, if Spike isn’t at the house yet, he’s stuck hiding until sundown. He’s not gonna get anywhere near Buffy until probably late into the night, which gives us plenty of time to go in and get her,” she explained, feeling quite pleased with herself.

“That’s a super plan. A real winner,” Xander remarked with fake enthusiasm as he gave her a really moving double thumbs up. “Just one itsy bitsy minor detail you’re overlooking.”

Cordelia crossed her arms. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“The sewers. Vamps around here can get anywhere in town, at anytime of the day, just by venturing through Sunnydale’s good old reliable sewer system. Even say…a few minions carrying their injured leader back to their lair,” Xander condescendingly stated, grinning smugly at Cordelia as he took a seat beside Willow.

Cordelia huffed, pouting when she realized that the annoying doofus was right. Turning to look at Giles, she didn’t notice that the said doofus was suddenly losing his self-righteous attitude, only to stare longingly at her sulky lip. “So Buffy’s just doomed? You guys aren’t going to do anything?” she fearfully inquired.

“Of course not,” Giles reassured. “However, Xander’s argument is still a very much legitimate one.”

“Okay, so Spike’s probably at the house by now but we can still work around that,” Willow said, wanting to get the ball rolling.

“Damon did betray him,” Oz pointed out, trying to help out his girlfriend. “That’s gotta be distracting.”

“Ooo! That’s right. Spike’s probably real busy with the payback, meaning lots of Buffy rescue opportunities,” Willow added in her chipper, Willowish way.

“Damon did intend to usurp Spike’s claim over the clan. It’s probably a literal war zone over there,” the Watcher postulated.

“So how’s this supposed to convince me that we shouldn’t get Buffy out of there, like as of now?” Cordy asked angrily, feeling like fate had played a cruel joke by sticking her with these indecisive, and sometimes idiotic, would be heroes.

“It’s not,” Giles dejectedly replied. “As much as Spike has surprised us in these past few days…”

“Like with the not killing you?” Cordy interrupted, unimpressed that that would be considered some kind of notable accomplishment.

“Among other things,” Giles muttered before continuing.

“Yeah, like the whole hero shtick and being in lov—oomph,” Xander absentmindedly started to utter before Willow elbowed him in the stomach.

“Hero?” Oz wondered, quirking an eyebrow.

“In love?” Cordelia also questioned.

Xander’s eyes went wide, realizing that he had majorly screwed up. Giles had told him and Willow that no one else was to know about Spike’s feelings for Buffy. It would only confuse them and make the mission much more difficult to accomplish. As for the incident of Spike’s rescue from Oz’s werewolf self, Willow had asked him and Giles to keep it a secret. She had said that his werewolfness affected him more than he let on. She didn’t want him to find out and hate himself for something he had had no control over. Xander had agreed to keep his lips sealed on both issues, thinking that he was at least capable of keeping a secret. So much for believing in himself. He should’ve just asked Willow to do some kind of memory wipe spell to clear his mind of all incriminating tidbits of information. Xander was starting to get real tired of the taste of his foot in his mouth.

Glancing from Willow to Giles, he gulped when their worried and scolding faces offered him little help. “Uhhhh…yeah…you know…Goofy old Xander. Just making with the sarcasm.”

“Definitely see the ‘goofy’ but you’re gonna have to keep on explaining if you want us to get the sarcasm,” Cordelia skeptically stated.

“Okay, well, remember how Spike kept on saying he had to save Buffy from Damon. We all know that it’s just because he doesn’t like to share. And the whole love thing? I was about to say that the vamp’s totally in love with himself,” Xander desperately tried to cover up, sweating bullets and laughing his nervous laugh. “I was just trying to say, in my usual, sarcastic kind of way, that Spike’s not so surprising. Did I mention I was being sarcastic?”

“Yeah, like a bunch of times already,” Cordelia answered, turning away from Xander, no longer interested in his anxious ramblings. “You were saying Giles?”

“Yes, well, even though I don’t believe Spike would harm her, it’s just not safe for Buffy any more, especially now with the likely power struggle that must be going on within the clan. It is imperative that we get her out of there.”

“Finally, somebody is making some sense!” Cordelia announced while giving Xander a poignant look. Xander responded by venomously glaring back at the arrogant brunette.

“Okay, so the plan is to get Buffy out and hope we don’t get ourselves killed in the crossfire. Makes tons of sense to me,” Xander quipped. He was usually up for whatever vampire-ass kicking that came his way, but running blind into the lion’s den wasn’t his idea of, well, a good idea.

“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Giles stated as he pulled off his glasses to habitually wipe them clean.

Xander’s shoulders slumped in acceptance. “I know.”

A few moments of quiet passed throughout the group as they came to grips with what had to be done.

It was Oz who broke the silence with his usual dose of logic. “This might go without saying but wouldn’t this be about the time to start coming up with some kind of plan?”


********


Buffy mewled as she stretched out, loving how she felt sore in all the right places. Spike chuckled as he threw the empty box of cookies off the bed, slipping beneath the satin sheet beside her.

“All better now?” he asked as he rubbed her stomach.

“Hmmm. Much better,” Buffy sighed contently.

“Good. Now I can ravish you all over again,” he stated, growling as he playfully pounced on top of her.

Buffy burst into to fit of giggles as she tried to squirm away from the onslaught of kisses. “C’mon Spike. Stop,” she whiningly laughed, pushing him off of her.

Spike grudgingly did as he was told, sitting back and looking adoringly grumpy. Buffy could only smile at the boyish pout he was giving her. “Don’t get me wrong. I would love to waste the rest of the day with you, in this bed, but shouldn’t you be getting downstairs? You know, to lay down some of that serious retribution on Damon’s ass?”

Damon. Just the sound of his name made Spike’s blood instantaneously boil. Yet as much as he wanted to seek out revenge, Spike had to admit that the wretched, traitorous vampire had been the last thing on his mind. Glancing back to look into Buffy’s warm smiling face, he reluctantly realized that some of Damon’s rants hadn’t been completely untrue. Buffy did distract him from his clan. He should be downstairs right now on damage control, fixing whatever mess Damon had left behind, and not burdening Vincent and Natasha with his dirty work. Instead he was here, in Buffy’s room, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in her hazel eyes and find solace in her warm embrace.

Spike kissed her on the cheek. “What can I say luv? You could make a bloke forget his own name.”

Buffy blushed at the compliment. “So what happens now?”

He jumped out of bed, picking up his black jeans from off the floor. They weren’t in the best condition but he could live with a few bloodstains. Slipping the previously discarded denim back on, Spike gave Buffy his patented smirk. “Simple, pet. I bust a few skulls, reclaim my rightful place at the top and then finish off the night with a relaxing Damon bonfire. Once that’s all set, everything can go back to normal.”

Buffy’s cheerful face dropped at his last remark. “Back to normal? You mean back to the way things were before?”

Spike appeared puzzled by her suddenly somber expression. “Yeah?”

How else would he want things to be?

“Does that include me?” she whispered, bowing her head as she pulled the black satin sheet up to her chin.

Spike grew worried. “What are you gettin’ at?”

Buffy peered back up into his bewildered cerulean gaze. “Me? Us? Will we go back to the way we were before?”

“How can you even ask me that?” Spike apprehensively inquired as he went in search of a clean shirt. “Of course we won’t.”

“So I’m free?”

Her words echoed throughout the room, causing Spike to stop dead in his tracks. “What?” His voice croaked as he turned back to stare at her.

“If things aren’t gonna be the way they once were, you have to let me go,” Buffy quietly replied.

“You wanna leave me? Is that what all this is about?” Spike was freaked. Where the hell was this coming from?

Buffy shook her head. “I never said that, Spike.”

“Then what are you sayin’?!” he exasperated, grabbing a black cotton tee from out of the wooden dresser drawer.

“I want to know I have the choice. That you trust me enough to make my own decision to stay,” she assertively replied, her eyes locking with his.

“So, you don’t want to leave. You just want the choice. Is that it?” he wondered, staring at Buffy as though she had gone completely bonkers.

“It’s about trust,” she gritted out, not liking his badgering tone. “If you care about me like you say you do, if you really do lov—”

“Don’t you bloody dare say it!” Spike furiously shouted, marching over to her, menacingly hovering above her.

Spike was livid, beside himself with revived anger. How could she possibly question his love for her yet again?! Spike had thought they had gotten past this. What did he have to do to prove it to her?

Buffy’s apparent doubt was like salt in the already festering wound that was his insecurity. One that still stung from when she had been unable to stutter out a simple ‘I love you, too’. The timid, unsure William within him couldn’t help but wonder what it was about him that no one could seem to love. Cecily, Druscilla and even his own vampire mother had all rejected him in some way, shape or form. Every single woman he had opened his heart to had never truly loved him back. The uncertain fear that he would eventually have to add Buffy’s name to the list was beginning to appear to be less and less of an uncertainty.

Spike felt the sudden urge to violently throttle whoever had come up with the asinine philosophy that it was better to love than to be loved. They had obviously never experienced the despair of rejection. They had obviously never been him.

Glaring down at her, Spike released a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. “You want me to trust you, is that right?” he grumbled.

Buffy could only nod in response. She hadn’t been expecting the sudden outburst; she had to admit, Spike was scaring her. And she knew that that was never a good sign.

Spike sneered before pulling the cotton black t-shirt over his head, yanking it down over his torso. Once dressed, he refused to move from his spot, his temper flaring beneath the façade of a cool exterior. “Thing is pet, it goes both ways. What’s it exactly that ‘m ‘sposed to place my trust in?”

“Me,” she quietly replied.

Spike laughed, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “You? What specifically about you, luv? You expect me to just put all my faith in your heartfelt sentiments of ‘not hating me’?”

Buffy flinched from the truthfulness of his spiteful remark. She couldn’t really blame Spike for his anger. She was asking him to completely let go, to give her all his trust when he hadn’t been given any real reassurance that she wouldn’t break his heart. To Spike, giving her back her freedom was a gamble, one he was just too afraid to loose. If Buffy had simply told him that she loved him, they wouldn’t be at a standoff right now. Though she knew she had let him in and he was deeply rooted in her heart no matter what was to happen, how could Buffy progress their relationship when she was still technically being held against her will? Maybe that had been the real reason why her mouth had lost all sense of function when she had been put on the spot. How could she tell someone who was keeping her prisoner that she loved them?

The guilt she had been feeling for the whole ‘I love you’ debacle slowly began to disappear as something within her gradually hardened. Didn’t she have the right to ask him to prove his love? If Spike did love her like he said he did, wouldn’t he want her free? Wouldn’t he have already unlocked the large wooden doors that kept her trapped in her room? What right did Spike have to be upset with her? She was just asking for what was rightfully hers in the first place. If he could just trust her, without any reservations or fears that she would betray him, if he could do that even without knowing whether or not she loved him, then Buffy would know. She would know that he did genuinely love her and she would probably be able to finally tell him. Buffy knew it was a lot to ask but now she was certain the test was necessary. If only Spike could see her love through her actions and not dwell upon what had been left unsaid.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t so, leaving them at an impasse. Spike wouldn’t let her go until she told him she loved him and Buffy would never profess her love until she was freed. Neither one wanted to take the first step, to be the first one to cave in. It was nothing but unnecessary fear and stupid pride holding them back, trapping them in an endless stalemate.

Buffy stared down at her lap, away from Spike’s infuriated glare. It would be futile to fight the issue.

“You’re not gonna let me go, are you?” her voice was hoarse, thick with disappointment.

The anger that had been contorting his features into an unpleasant grimace began to slowly slip away. Finding such desolation in Buffy’s dull, hazel eyes immediately calmed the ragging storm of emotions that had been fanning the flames of Spike’s temper. Even though his anger had not been completely extinguished, he suddenly felt very ashamed of himself. Spike shook his head as he looked away from Buffy’s sorrowful gaze.

“No, pet. ‘M not,” Spike replied, picking up his blood encrusted duster from off the floor. “It’s too dangerous out there right now, with Damon and all. You’re safer here.”

His excuse didn’t convince her in the slightest, and his utter disregard for the real issue, namely his inability to trust her with her own freedom, upset Buffy immensely. Wrapping herself up even tighter in the bed’s few blankets, she turned her back to Spike, hating how her nudity made her feel all the more vulnerable. “Fine, whatever,” she bitterly muttered.

“Luv…” Spike implored, wishing she would just accept his decision. He was still pretty upset that Buffy had wanted to leave him and that she had questioned the sincerity of his feelings, but the intensely blinding rage that had initially arisen from her not so simple request was finally abating. It was replaced instead with a sadness that Spike had not felt since Druscilla had left him. Anger had finally given way to grief.

Releasing a dejected sigh, Spike rubbed his eyes. His head hurt and he just wanted things to go back to the way they were just hours before. How could everything go from so right to so wrong so quickly?

“C’mon pet, don’t be this way,” he continued to plead.

Refusing to budge, Buffy kept her back to him. “Just leave me alone,” she said softly.

Spike could tell she was crying, her body was shaking with quieted sobs. The tension in the room was high and his guilt was increasing with every passing second that he spent standing by the bed, watching her as she silently cried. Unable to stand it any longer, Spike threw on his black leather duster as he headed to the room’s only exit.

Slamming the door behind him, the emotionally distressed vampire flew down the hall, needing to get his mind off of everything that had to do with Buffy. Getting back to business, regaining control over his broken clan would have to suffice as his much needed distraction. The thought of killing Damon resurfaced, and though it was quite necessary and undoubtedly promising to be a fun filled romp, it would not solve all of his problems. But it sure as hell would make him feel better, even if only for a little while.

 

Chapter Twenty-One: Preparation… Preparation…Preparation


The house was quiet. A little too quiet for Spike’s liking.

Heading down the stairs, he spotted Natasha and Vincent standing together in the middle of the house’s large foyer. Their troubled faces, along with the fact that Damon wasn’t hogtied at their feet, told Spike that things weren’t good. He cleared his throat as he approached them, announcing his arrival.

“You look better,” Vincent casually commented though his expression remained concerned.

“Just needed some rest is all,” Spike distractedly responded as he scanned the downstairs rooms. His brow creased at the unusually low numbers of vamps sleeping in the darkened corners of the house.

Natasha quickly brought his attention back to them. “Yeah, well I hope you’ve gotten your fill of ‘rest’,” she sardonically remarked, making quotation marks in the air. Spike simply reeked of sex. There was no way that ‘rest’ was the only thing he had been doing while under Buffy’s care. “Because Damon’s missing and so is half of your clan.”

“What?!” Spike hollered in disbelief.

“Yes, Spike. I’m afraid it’s true. Damon has managed to escape and he has taken with him a large portion of the clan,” Vincent assured. “Those that have stayed loyal are mostly our minions, though Damon did sway a couple of them to his side. We’re still uncertain about our vampires in the different outposts. We don’t know if Damon’s gotten to them yet.”

“Arrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!!”

Spike furiously threw a nearby chair across the room, making it smash into pieces upon impact against the hard wall.

“I told you he’d flip,” Natasha whispered in Vincent’s ear, wincing as another piece of projectile furniture flew over their heads only to crash into tiny bits right next to the first chair to have felt Spike’s wrath.

“That bloody fucking pillock!” Spike tossed an old chipped vase against another wall.

Just fucking fantastic! First the stupid spat with Buffy about her bloody freedom, and now this. It was bad enough that the bastard had stabbed him in the back by handing him over to the Watcher and his White Hats. Spike growled loudly. Damon couldn’t even face him, he just ran away with his tail between his legs, with all his brainwashed, treacherous, good for nothing vampires.

Taking in long, unnecessary breaths, Spike tried to get it together. He could say he hadn’t seen it coming. He could claim that he would have never expected half of his clan to abandon him. But Spike knew that wasn’t the case. He had ignored Damon’s unrelenting denunciations, and had somehow kidded himself in thinking that a few boasting displays of his own power would be sufficient enough to put an end to whatever uprisings the dark vampire might have initiated. The rift in the clan had started the day Buffy had been brought to him. He had been just too ignorant to have noticed.

“He’s clearly gathering his forces. Damon will retaliate,” Vincent stated when he noticed that Spike had finally composed himself.

The two vampires watched as Spike paced the foyer, his hands on his hips as he considered his next move.

“What d’you want us to do?” Natasha asked, growing impatient.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Spike turned to face them, having made up his mind. “Send out a few vamps. Get ‘em to find out what they can ‘bout the outposts. If Damon hasn’t gotten to the vamps there yet, I want ‘em brought back ‘ere,” he firmly ordered.

“Why bring them all here?” Natasha wondered, a little intrigued.

Spike smirked. “Damon wants a war, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for the obvious answer. “Then ‘m gonna need an army.”


********


On the outskirts of the dangerous part Sunnydale, an old abandoned farmhouse flirted with the edge of the town’s border. And just a few yards from this old, rickety house was a huge, unused barn; the perfect place to house a fugitive vampire and his group of loyal minions.

Damon stared down at the large group, sitting high above them on the wooden ladder that led up to the hayloft of the crowded barn. He could feel the excitement in the air as it hummed with the scents of fear that always accompanied new and untried endeavors. The buzz of their mingled voices prevented him from picking up on any one particular conversation but Damon knew exactly what they were all discussing. These blood lusting creatures below him were dying for some action, having grown bored and hungry from the lack of hunts and raids since the last one on the Bronze. The occasional human might have been captured but the thrill had left them and the perks of being a member of Spike’s clan had eventually become a drawback. Damon smiled to himself. He was going to give them just what they needed.

It was the dead of night, and the dim interior of the barn was patterned with gloomy shadows. There was no available electricity to tap into for lighting and torches just screamed bad idea in a place filled with dry, flammable hay. Yet even despite the lack of light, it was still a sight to be seen. A proverbial mass of game faced vampires, waiting for him to change their destiny, to return their lives to the way they should rightfully be.

Having decided that his new clan had waited long enough, he gestured to those vampires he had stationed at the doors to close them, sealing everyone in complete darkness. Relying on his heightened vision, Damon then signaled one final time. A wash of moonlight immediately illuminated him as the minion swung open the wooden shutter to the barn’s only window, high above the large timber doors. The natural spotlight drew every single vampire’s attention to their new leader, silencing them instantly. Damon waited, knowingly building up the suspense for when he finally decided to speak. However, his flair for the dramatic was incapable of stifling his impatience. It was show time.

“The dawn of revolution is upon us,” he began, his voice booming as it reverberated through the attentive silence of the barn. “The clan you once knew is no more.”

“I have brought you all here for greater things, to commence a superior, stronger clan from the likes of which the world has never seen. We will return to the ways of old, where I will lead you through a glorious age of carnage and bloodshed.

“The past clan was a travesty, a disgraceful amalgamation of the undead where there was not one single blood tie to our leader. Yet, all of you here are truly linked to me. I have either sired you or you have been turned by those I have sired.”

Damon paused when he noticed a few vampires suddenly appear extremely apprehensive. The pungent smell of their fear reached his receptive nose. He realized he had forgotten about the fledglings he had taken from Natasha and Vincent. The wheels in Damon’s head slowly began to turn as he stared down at them.

“For those of you who are not bound to me in any sort of way, yet still found it within yourselves to abandon the clan you have grown so accustomed to, it will be you who will find a place at my side. You will partake of my blood and I will make you my exalted Childers. It is this blind faith and unbelievable bravery which you have shown without any sense of reservation which will make you fine examples for the rest of this clan. Through this we will all be joined by blood and become a clan in the truest sense of the word!”

The hum of excitement rose once again, gradually escalading into numerous shouts of agreement and exhilarated exclamations of admiration. Damon soaked up the accolades from his gullibly devoted vampires. They were the perfect lot of minions. None of them exceeded him in age or experience. None would try to take the clan from him. All would look up to him in fear and awe.

Damon held up his hand, which instantly quieted the large group of vampires down. He wasn’t finished yet. “However, for our dreams to be realized, drastic measures must be taken. The clan we have abandoned, though considerably weakened, is still in existence. We must rid ourselves of them for they are a diseased limb of the vampire existence. And like all infected parts, they must be cut off before any growth is to occur.

“Spike has turned himself into a plague upon his own clan. He has ignored his duties and has become unworthy of the title of leader. I admit that I did try to claim the clan for myself but only in the hopes of returning it to its past glory. I know now that I had been a bit impulsive. I know now that a new clan had to built, one bonded by blood.

“Spike had also allowed himself to be captured and to be tortured by mere humans. He is weak and distracted. He has become blinded by his whore. His human pet who takes precedent over his own clan! It is because of this perverse fondness for humanity that he has neglected his fellow vampires, his own kind!”

Another burst of roars erupted in response to Damon’s rousing words. He motioned again for them to quiet down, a smile splayed across his lips.

“Tomorrow night we shall return to our old lair and reclaim it for ourselves. We shall purge this world of those we had once called brothers, for they have been tainted with Spike’s humanistic persuasions. They must all be destroyed. Nothing connects them; there is no blood between them. They shall scatter like rats the second true loyalty will be asked of them. The lair will be ours. The town shall be ours. We will achieve the glorious vision which Spike could have only dreamed of aspiring to. We will take back what is ours! We will see victory!”

Damon dramatically thrust his arm up into the air, the minions below mimicking his exact actions. His already bloated ego began to bloom even more as the vampires below him began to chant his name. Though elated on the inside, Damon only gave the crowd his sinister smirk as an indication of his appreciation. He did not stop them this time around from making as much noise as they wanted, especially when they were praising him as if he were a god.

A cornucopia of emotions materialized throughout the throng of vampires below. Zeal, anger, fear, hunger and even lust played across the faces of every undead bloodsucker within the barn. Damon chuckled a little. ‘It’s gonna be hard to get any sleep around here,’ he reflected as the scent of the looming sunrise filtered into his sensitive nostrils. Signaling to the vampire stationed at the barn window, he ordered for it to be closed, blocking out the moon’s iridescent glow. Many other vampires also sensed the upcoming dawn, gazing up in attempt to find their leader when he had suddenly disappeared into the darkness.

“The sun approaches and so comes with it our daytime slumber, my friends, for tomorrow we embark on a journey to reclaim what was once ours. We shall need our rest.”

Damon observed the large group slowly calm down, readying itself for sleep. He smiled to himself for the hundredth time that night. Who would have ever thought that those rhetoric classes his father had forced him to take as a teenage boy would have finally come in handy? Too bad he never got the chance to thank the old man before he died.

‘I was having too much of a good time ripping out his throat anyway.’


********


Giles remained transfixed in the basement corner as a whirl of activity occurred before him. To an outside observer, he would have appeared to be in deep contemplation, with his arms loosely crossed over his chest as he chewed on the tip of his specs. Yet he wasn’t. His mind was a blur, a mash of chaotic images that matched the atmosphere of this hectic basement.

After Spike’s escape, the Watcher had brought the entire team back to headquarters. The small group, his own mini-lieutenants, had been forbidden to discuss what had transpired while Spike had been brought into their inner sanctum. Giles had even banned them from mentioning that Spike had actually been captured. No one else had to know. The ex-Watcher did not want them to.

All around him the hustle and bustle of the town’s only demon hunting force did not stir him from his trance. Nothing seemed to wake him; not the group of teenagers sharpening stakes and making crosses from scraps of wood; not the technologically competent young men repairing and maintaining the taser weapons; not the collection of women restocking the first aid kits; not the more hulking group of young men who were sparing with each other; not Willow and her few apprentices as they worked on producing more of those ‘sun bombs’; not even Xander and Cordelia, with their constant bickering could shake Giles of his distracted state.

The Watcher couldn’t explain his sudden lack of concentration. It wasn’t as though his head was in the clouds. If anything he should keep his wits about him, considering he was about to send out some of his best fighters to get Buffy back. Perhaps he was just numbing himself to the experience, preparing for the worst by not allowing himself to think about anything at all. He wasn’t certain but he just prayed that the stone in the pit of his stomach was simply nerves and not some foreboding omen that they were about to fail. Giles didn’t know what he’d do if he lost any of them.

“Giles?” a small voice called to him through his mental fog.

Slightly flustered from the unexpected disruption, Giles looked down to see a concerned Willow as she tried to get his attention. “Wha…Huh…Hmmm…” Clearing his throat, he impassively answered her. “Yes, Willow?”

“Umm…The girls and I finished making the SB’s,” she informed him, dismissing his odd behavior.

“SB’s?” Giles wondered, thrown off by the unfamiliar abbreviation.

“Sun Bombs, Giles,” Willow explained. “Anyway, since that’s now out of the way, I wanted to go over what I saw when I did the locator spell on Spike.”

Willow’s words were like a splash of cold water to Giles’s consciousness, awakening him from whatever stupor he was in. “The torn shirt? It worked?”

The redhead nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, it did.”

Giles noticed the rolled up maps in her hands. He gestured to the desk he’d been standing beside, helping Willow to roll it open on the desktop. There were actually two maps; one of Sunnydale, which had been marked red at the location of Spike’s lair and the other which made Giles eyes widen in surprise. “These are the blueprints to the main house. How on earth did you acquire these?”

Willow smiled broadly. “Went back to my roots,” she cryptically stated, causing Giles to frown in confusion. “I hacked into Sunnydale’s historical archive, and there it was, an entire file on the layout schematics to the old Mackenzie manor. I would’ve gone to City Hall to get it myself, but you know, wouldn’t have been able to get past all those vampires,” the witch gleefully elaborated, mentally patting herself on the back. “So I printed them up, taped them together and made us all a pretty nifty map.”

Giles smiled at her. He could always count on Willow. “Quite ingenious of you, Willow. Wonder why we’ve never thought of it before?” Giles commented as he stared down at the map.

Willow shrugged. “Well…we never really needed them before. It’s the first time we’ve been crazy enough to even consider going into Spike’s lair.”

“Yes, well, you were saying about the locator spell?” the Watcher inquired, trying to get back to issue at hand.

Willow nodded, pointing to the pencil markings in one of the rooms on the blueprints. “Spike spent most of the day in this room. It’s probably where Buffy is being kept.”

Giles gave a curt nod in agreement. The vampire would have wanted the girl by his side. Even in his battered condition, he would have wanted to ensure that she was safe and protected. That much Giles knew for certain. Wherever Spike was, so was Buffy.

“Has Oz returned with the scouts?” the Watcher asked as he continued to stare at the map on the table.

Willow frowned as she shook her head. “No. They’re not back yet.”

Giles also grimaced. He had sent out his best scouts, Oz included, to scope out the ruling vampire’s lair. The Watcher needed an assessment of what exactly they were up against. He knew it was risky and he would have never done it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Giles had faith in Oz’s sense of judgment. He couldn’t picture the boy doing anything too foolish. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but worry.

“We’ll just have to wait until he returns before making any brash decisions,” Giles told the troubled witch.

“How long do you think it’ll be before he gets back?” Willow inquired, her green eyes glancing back to the blueprints on the desk so as to not show Giles how worried she really was.

“Probably not until right before dusk. He will most likely want to inspect as much as he can while the sun is still up in the sky,” Giles reasoned, giving Willow a sympathetic look.

“I just hope he’s okay,” Willow quietly stated as she played with the tattered corner of the map.

“You hope who’s okay?”

Willow’s eye immediately brightened when she turned around to find her boyfriend standing right behind her, a slightly perplexed expression on his face.

“Oz!”

The somewhat vertically challenged man had to stagger back a bit when he found himself with an armful of girlfriend. “Hey Will. It’s good to see you too,” he chuckled as he gave her a quick peck on the lips.

“I was just kinda worried. You’ve been gone for a while,” Willow explained sheepishly as she gave Oz a little more personal space.

Oz took her small hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as his warm gaze met with hers. “Hey. I’m okay,” he reassured.

Giles cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with breaking up the tender moment the two young lovers were having. “What have you discovered?”

Oz gave Willow one last smile before turning to Giles. “The guys and I staked out the house and we think we have an idea where Spike’s holding Buffy,” he began to enlighten them as his eyes fell on the map. “Is that the house?” he asked, pointing to the blueprints.

Willow nodded. “Remember how I started doing that locator spell this morning? Well Spike was in this room the whole time,” she clarified as she indicated to the map.

“Is that the room facing Mills Road? The one with the huge window?” Oz wondered earnestly.

“Yes it is. Why?” Giles replied, baffled at the young man’s uncharacteristic eagerness.

“That’s gotta be the room Buffy’s in. Spike’s scent is all over that side of the house,” Oz elaborated.

“Hooray for residual werewolf superpowers!” Willow happily cheered before her face scrunched up into another frown. “Hold on a sec. How close to the house did you have to get so you could smell it?”

Oz gave her a lamenting pout but he was interrupted before he even had the chance to respond.

“The real question is how could you have identified Spike’s scent?” Giles wondered, surprised by the new information his best scout had just given him. “You weren’t exposed to him long enough during his stay here for you to commit his scent to memory.”

Oz shrugged. “I just took a whiff of his shirt, you know, the one Willow was using for the locator spell? Sniffed it before we set out,” he offhandedly elucidated. “And even if my trail wasn’t the strongest, he’s the only vampire I know that smokes like a chimney.”

Giles grinned at the young man’s logic. “Well then, I would say there’s no time like the present. From what you’ve told us Oz, and from what you have derived from your locator spell Willow, we should put all our focus on that room and pull Buffy out before the sun sets,” the Watcher began to rattle off instructions, not noticing that his subordinate was not quite yet finished.

“Umm…Giles?”

“Yes, Oz?”

“There’s some other stuff that you should know about,” he began to clarify, causing Giles’s forehead to crinkle in puzzlement. “When I was out there with Mark and Chris, we almost got spotted by a few vamps.”

Willow gasped at her boyfriend’s admission. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked, the worst case scenarios playing in her head even though the simple fact that Oz was standing right in front of her should’ve been evidence enough to nullify all her worries.

Oz gave her a comforting smile. “I didn’t want to worry you. Like I said, I’m fine, really,” he reassured. “Look, the point I was trying to make was that they didn’t see us and while we were hiding from them, we overheard something.”

Giles became troubled. What possibly could two lowly vampires have to say that would affect their mission to rescue Buffy? It was the Watcher’s turn to let his imagination run wild with worry. “What did you hear?” he urgently asked, his voice tense.

“Damon flew the coop and took half of the clan with him. They think he’s gonna come back tonight, with minions and all, to finish off what he started,” Oz explained.

“You mean kill Spike,” Giles filled in the blank.

“Exactly. So I’m thinking, if you wanna sneak in and snatch a Master vampire’s best watched possession, why not do it when his attention’s somewhere else?” Oz suggested, a grin forming on his face.

Giles appeared hesitant. “So, you’re saying we should wait until nightfall, when utter mayhem is bound to break loose at the main lair before getting Buffy out of there?”

Oz nodded indifferently. “Yeah.”

“Brilliant,” the Watcher responded with a broad smile.

Willow kissed Oz on the cheek. “I never knew you were such a mastermind strategist,” she teased.

“It’s a gift,” he stoically joked back.


A/N: Just a little shameless self-promotion here but if you love agnst and wish season 7 had gone a little bit differently, check out my other fic Out of the Shadows.
 

Chapter Twenty-Two: If You Were Meant To Be My Lover I Wouldn't Have To

July 19, 1879

At times I feel like the world has turned against me. That the beauty I used to find in all of God’s creations has now not only lost its innate luster, but has transformed into a repulsive shell of its former self. I fear that at times I am alone in my view of the world and that it is only the naïve ramblings of a wishful man that I put down on paper.

I know what they think of me, those uncultured brutes. They claim my works of poetry are nothing more than mere travesties of art, yet they themselves, who are so forthcoming with their criticisms, would not recognize true art even if the Muse Erato herself struck them over the head with it. I am not an angry man and I surely do not hold onto grudges. Those sentiments only poison the soul. It is difficult however to remain positive when the world around you has turned itself against you. If it was not for mother and her genuine encouragements, I fear my scribblings would have been put to an end ages ago.

I am faithful in my obligations. I do what is expected of me in this day and age, yet I find no pleasure in any of it. I am trapped in this existence and my only solace is here, in my bed, by the sparse light of a candle, with this journal in my lap, its pages open to me so that I may pour my heart out into it. My duties have imprisoned me; my responsibilities have become a cage upon my life. I am trapped and no one truly knows the loneliness I must endure.



Buffy closed the leather-bound journal, unable to continue on to the next entry. Tears threatened to spill once again down her face. Despite the disbelief that these words were actually those once written by Spike, Buffy couldn’t help but relate to the feelings they evoked. Though the circumstances were completely different, William felt stuck, helpless to everything that was going on around him. Just like how Buffy was feeling.

Sighing, she slipped William’s journal underneath her pillow before gently resting her head back down on its downy softness. Buffy didn’t want to think about what was bothering her but she couldn’t help it. She was still angry with Spike but if anything it was just an extension of what she really felt. A big old heaping bucket of disappointment.

Spike had denied her freedom and with that had completely botched whatever potential exchange of ‘I love you’s that were heading their way. Buffy knew that her refusal to reciprocate his declaration of love was most likely the reason why he hadn’t let her go. It didn’t change how she felt, though. If he loved her, he would stop being selfish and grant her her freedom. And there was that disappointment again.

Maybe she should tell him. Then he could stop being such a butthead and finally let her go so they could go back to the kissing and the loving and forget about the whole stupid ‘who shoulda said what’ mess they were currently in. If only it were that easy. As much as she hated to admit it, she had her pride to consider. Spike had failed the test and Buffy wasn’t about to go on bended knee to proclaim her love for him just to be liberated from the prison he had created. She wasn’t even completely sure that if she did actually say those three little infamous words that Spike would actually be able to push his own pride aside and let her go.

So what did it all mean in the long run? The hell if Buffy knew. The only thing that was for certain was that Spike’s love was conditional and that he still saw her as his possession.

God, why did he have to be so stubborn? After what they had shared? How couldn’t he know how she felt? Why couldn’t he just trust her? Frustrated tears finally began to cascade down her cheeks, further wetting the already damp pillow beneath her flushed face.

Spike couldn’t possibly think that things between them would return to the way they were just hours before. ‘He better not,’ Buffy bitterly reflected as her heart ached. She wanted to love him so much, she just couldn’t.


********


So here he was again. Outside her door, alone in the dark hallway, his hand tentatively placed on the brass doorknob. Nothing but a little bit of history repeating. The only difference was that he wasn’t hesitating because he was nervous. Though Spike did feel a little guilty, he was not the wrongful party this time around. Or so he firmly convinced himself.

The day had been spent in preparation for what was to come at dusk, leaving the house in a state of pure pandemonium. The number of vamps that had returned from all over town was less than what Spike had been expecting. Apparently, after Spike’s unanticipated return, the fugitive Damon had not only fled with half of the house’s resident vamps but had intimidated every single vampire he had encountered to pledge undying allegiance to him. For those who had refused, the pillock had actually staked them, strategically increasing his numbers while figuratively fucking Spike right up the ass. The vamps that had come back to home base had been the lucky few who had not bumped into Damon and his recalcitrant vampire brigade.

It was almost show time; Spike could smell the sun settling below the horizon. He figured he should tell Buffy about what was going on. But that’s all he was there for, nothing more and nothing less. There wasn’t going to be any heartfelt pleas of forgiveness and there sure as hell wasn’t to be any going back on what he had said. Spike had no intentions of freeing her, especially since she clearly didn’t love him. Not in the way he thought she did.

Those few hours of heaven they had spent together that very morning would have pushed Spike to the conclusion that Buffy did in fact love him. He knew she was going to say it too if not for her noisy stomach. Spike let out a disappointed snort. Saved by her own gastrointestinal tract. That was definitely a new one. Spike would’ve understood if Buffy had told him she was scared, if she was unsure about loving him but the bint hadn’t said a word. Instead Buffy had bloody well gone and demanded her freedom.

Had she ever really cared about him? Or were the past few months just an act to get in his good graces so that he would set her free? He could have sworn Buffy loved him. Spike had seen it in her eyes when she had tenderly asked him to make love to her. Why would Buffy even request such a thing if she didn’t love him?

Spike’s unbeating heart sank a bit more as realization pulled the metaphorical veil from his eyes. A menacing growl escaped his lips. ‘You were takin’ for a ride mate,’ he thought furiously, his jaw instinctively clenching, nostrils flaring with rage. ‘Been nothin’ but a fucking act!’ The knob in his hand suddenly crushed under the pressure he was unknowingly exerting. ‘We’ll see who’s played the fool.’

Squaring off his shoulders as he stood up straight, Spike roughly turned the misshapen handle and shoved the heavy door open, storming into the barely lit room. Buffy was in the exact same place he had left her, on the bed, laying curled up on her side, her back purposefully turned to him. She didn’t stir at all; leaving him unsure as to whether she was asleep or simply just ignoring his presence. With a searing fury and newfound determination, Spike marched over to her side of the bed, his boots pounding against the tiled floor. Ready to grab his slave by the throat and tell her to shut up and spread ‘em, his voice faltered at the sight of Buffy’s face.

Tear tracks were visible down her reddened puffy cheeks; her hazel eyes were filled with sheer misery. Had he done this to her? Christ, Spike hated it when he made her cry. It made his gut twist and churn and brought back the ugly memories of when she had openly despised him. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he had inadvertently hurt Buffy when he hadn’t sincerely considered or even really listened to her plea for freedom. Could it be that she had been holding back, waiting for him to at least say he’d let her go before she would voice her feelings for him? Spike mentally shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. What if Buffy was really playing him for a fool and flew out of the room the second he decided to giver her the choice to leave? Not only didn’t Spike want her walking the streets of Sunnydale all alone and unprotected, he didn’t want to let Buffy go. What if he never saw her again? Spike just couldn’t bear the thought.

“What?” Buffy huffily sniffled, furiously staring up at him.

Spike’s expression of concern instantly turned impassive, his soft blue eyes transforming into cold orbs devoid of all emotion. “Something’s come up,” he said callously. “Damon’s run off and he’s got most of the clan with ‘im. He’ll be back after sundown.”

Buffy sat up suddenly, clasping the bed sheets to her chest. “What’s going on?” she asked apprehensively, panic quivering her voice.

“Damon’s gonna come back and try to take over the clan,” Spike somberly explained, trying to ignore the automatic feeling he had to comfort Buffy, to run to her and wrap her up in his arms.

“What?!” Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with trepidation. She could still feel the dark vampire’s cool breath on her neck from when he had tried to rape her. What if he succeeded the second time around? What if she ended up being a spoil of war? What if Damon killed Spike? The last thought suddenly made Buffy feel very nauseous. “What’s with this guy? Why does he hate you so much?” she wondered, trembling slightly.

Spike released a ragged exhale. “Goes back to before I even stepped foot in this town. After the Master got dusted, his clan was up for grabs. Both Vincent and Damon were contenders to be the next head honcho. Problem was I stepped in, took all of it from right under their feet.”

Buffy just stared at him puzzled. “So they just handed it over to you?”

Spike shook his head, turning his gaze to anywhere else in the room other than Buffy’s distraught face. “I did something that set me apart from the rest of ‘em. Skyrocketed my status is what it did. Vincent never really cared but apparently Damon’s been in a huff ‘bout the whole thing ever since,” he clarified, censoring exactly what it was he had done to get mostly every vampire in Sunnydale to fall in line.

Buffy picked up on the blatant omission but didn’t bother to pursue the issue. She was upset enough as it was with Spike. She didn’t even want to imagine what possible atrocity he had committed that would’ve been considered vile enough to gain the respect of the town’s vamp population. Buffy decided to remain quiet. She didn’t know what else to say.

Spike continued to speak, needing to fill the silence, petrified of what would happen if he stopped talking. “The git failed before and he’s gonna fail again,” he remarked confidently.

The chill that was making Buffy uncontrollably shiver wouldn’t seem to go away. Spike’s haughty statements didn’t reassure her at all. The thought of Damon returning, along with other vivid recollections of his unwanted touches and forceful advances, made Buffy tense with dread. Just when she thought they were out of the woods, clear of whatever danger Damon had posed, this had to happen. Now he was back and she was going to have to return to being in a constant state of fear.

Buffy whimpered. She was simply too emotionally exhausted to deal with the threat of Damon’s looming retaliation. She had experienced every possible human emotion in the past twenty-four hours, everything from the highest peaks of joy to the lowest recesses of sadness. If anything else were to happen, Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d be strong enough to survive it.

“What should I do?” she asked meekly, twisting the sheets tighter around her small body.

Spike’s azure gaze reluctantly returned to hers; he didn’t want to see the despair in her eyes again. Luckily for him, her head was bowed, her golden hair shielding him from whatever expression was on her face. Inhaling unnecessarily, Spike patted himself down, searching for his pack of smokes. Pulling one out, he lit it up and took a long drag before answering Buffy.

“You’re not gonna do anything, pet, besides getting dressed. Tash’s gonna stay up here with you the whole time. You’ll be safer that way,” he told her as he released the gray smoke from his dead lungs in a single stream through his nose.

‘I’d be safer if you’d just let me go,’ Buffy crossly thought but still kept her line of sight away from his. She said nothing, not even coughing when the foul scent of tobacco smoke assaulted her nose.

Spike knew there was nothing more to be said. Without a word, he marched toward the door, about to exit the room when he abruptly stopped short of walking through doorway. He could see her in the corner of his eye, her blond head curiously lifting up to watch him leave. Keeping his focus out on the hallway, Spike began to speak.

“I know you must bloody well hate me for keepin’ you ‘ere but I can’t just let you go. ‘Specially not when Damon’s out for blood. ‘m not gonna let anything happen to you, luv. All hell’s gonna break loose and ‘m gonna need to know you’re safe. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he hoarsely finished.

Buffy said nothing, her gaze transfixed on her folded hands.

Spike nodded. He hadn’t expected her to respond. With one last glance he made a move to step out into the hallway, abruptly stopping to a complete halt when he heard Buffy’s low, bittersweet voice.

“Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

Though the words seemed casual, they were in fact tense, laced with worry and even minute traces of –dare he say it?—love.

Spike smiled sadly. “I’ll try.” It was his only reply before disappearing out of the room, locking the wooden door and heading downstairs to an unknown fate.



A/N: The Muse Erato is one of the Greek Muses. She's the Muse of romantic poetry.

 

Chapter Twenty-Three: Showdown

The suspense in the house was so thick that Spike could almost choke on it. It was a pitiful site if he’d ever seen one. Beside the pathetic vamp count he had going for his side, Spike could actually smell the putrid scent of fear coming off of the remainder of his clan. They were gathered before him in the immense downstairs foyer of the lair, anxiously waiting for the sun to set. Spike grumbled disapprovingly. This wasn’t an army. Hell, it was barely a militia. Other than maybe Vincent and Natasha, all the other vampires were pretty young, inexperienced fledglings, some not even a full decade old. Spike could only hope that the bloodlust, that inconsumable desire for violence, would be enough to fuel his ragged pack of minions to victory. If not, there was always a vampire’s ruthless survival instinct to depend upon. Spike pinched the bridge of his nose. At least he hoped there would be.

Vincent and Natasha stood on either side of him, their appraising eyes focused also on the group crowding the entrance hallway. Usually Spike would have reveled in the palpable fear that was surrounding him but instead it made him want to retch. If he had been the cause of the fear then maybe he could have enjoyed it. He was still a vampire after all. Yet his own vampires weren’t afraid of him at the moment. No, he was to be their savior from the danger that was heading their way. They were scared shitless of Damon. It made Spike hate the double-crossing vampire all the more.

The terror in the air increased with every passing minute, correlating with the progression of the setting sun. Spike wanted to scream at them to suck it up. They’re vampires for chrissakes! Act like it. But it wouldn’t do any good. This wretched lot of the undead was all he had going for him. Spike was going to have to make due. He didn’t have much of a choice either way.

Turning to Natasha, Spike gestured to the stairs with a flick of his head. “Get up there, Tash,” he ordered.

The vampiress nodded. When Spike had first told her what her role would be during the upcoming fight, Natasha’s first impulse had been to argue with him. If there was going to be any chance of Spike coming out of this battle still in one piece she needed to be there, fighting at his side, not playing bodyguard for Buffy. She had almost been offended when he hadn’t so much as asked but demanded that she watch the girl. Natasha had bit her tongue though. She knew Spike was going to need piece of mind during the mayhem and if that meant she had to protect his little human girlfriend, then she’d do it.

Before turning on her heel to leave, Natasha gave Spike one last poignant look. “After all this is through, you owe me big,” she stated. “If you’re not a big pile of dust, that is.” Feeling like she had made enough of a point, she moved toward the stairs.

Natasha was stopped short when Spike roughly grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. He wasn’t angry but his ferociously blue eyes bore into hers, threatening her with every conceivable type of pain if she failed to keep Buffy safe. “If I so much as see a scratch on her…”

Natasha brushed off the threat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’ll dust me and piss on my ashes. I get it. Now if you don’t mind,” she growled as she yanked her arm from out of his grasp. “I have a human to baby-sit.” With that said, Natasha marched up the stairs, her heeled boots stomping against the wooden steps.

Vincent chuckled slightly at her behavior, but quickly converted the laughter into mild coughing when Spike turned his head to glare at the older vampire. Clearing his throat, Vincent reverted back to his previous state of attentiveness. “Don’t think the clan will survive this,” he remarked, his eyes scanning the short expanse of restless bodies before him.

Spike let out a derisive snort. “Clan’s finished, mate. Been finished for quite some time now. This lil’ endeavor’s just to make sure Damon gets what’s comin’ to ‘im.”

“And after all this is through?” Vincent somberly asked, turning his head to look at his leader.

Spike shrugged indifferently. “Don’t know. Haven’t given it much thought really. Hard for a bloke to think in terms of ‘after’ when he’s just tryin’ to get through the night. ”

Vincent gave Spike a knowing grin. “So nothing else is bothering you?”

The platinum haired vampire grimaced. “Even if there was, s’none of your business.”

Spike’s sour disposition could not wipe the smile from Vincent’s face. Sighing, he patted the younger vampire on the back. “Don’t worry, mate. She’ll come around.”

Spike choked on his own astonishment. “What did you just say?!” he sputtered.

Vincent chose not to respond other than to give Spike one last smirk before turning his attention back to the piss poor excuse of an army they had going for them.

Utterly gobsmacked, Spike continued to stare at the apparently psychic Vincent for a few more minutes before turning his own gaze to the crowd. Though his eyes landed upon the group, his mind was elsewhere. How the bloody hell had Vincent known about his little tiff with Buffy?

Buffy.

Spike closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to push her from his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about her right now. He just might get depressed enough and let Damon stake him. Thoughts of the golden goddess imprisoned in the upstairs bedroom were going to have to play second fiddle to those concerning a certain dark and deranged vampire. If Spike dwelled on what was happening between him and Buffy, then he would surely be dust by sunrise. He was just going to have to ignore the dull ache in his chest.


********


Buffy sat quietly on the large, unmade bed. Like Spike had instructed, she had dressed herself in her jeans and one of Spike’s clean black cotton tees. Her hazel eyes slowly followed the moving figure before her, going back and forth in time with the other person in the room. Watching Natasha pace made Buffy more and more apprehensive with each passing second. It was like déjà vu. Memories of the visit from Vincent and Natasha from when Spike had disappeared began to resurface. Unfortunately for Buffy, Vincent’s soothing presence wasn’t there this time to accompany Natasha’s stinging harassment. Strangely, Buffy wished the vampiress would say something. Her nerves were on edge and a little bit of verbal distraction wouldn’t necessarily set her at ease but it wouldn’t hurt.

Stomps echoed throughout the quiet room. Buffy could tell that Natasha wasn’t happy about having to miss out on the fight so that she could guard ‘the human’. Her blatant displeasure made Buffy all the more uncomfortable. She would welcome another confrontation with Spike just to get Natasha to leave. The chick gave her the creeps.

“Ummm…so…I’m guessing things aren’t looking so good?” Buffy threw out, risking getting her head literally bitten off.

Natasha turned her head abruptly to glare at the blonde girl, never faltering or slowing down in her pacing. “Picked up on that all by yourself, Blondie?” she snapped, on the verge of snarling.

That was it. Buffy was getting sick and tired of vampire crankiness being sent her way. To hell with the danger of getting bit. “God, what is your damage?!”

Natasha nearly tripped over her own two feet at Buffy’s exclamation, doing a double take at the girl’s gutsy bravado. “Say what?”

Buffy exhaled dramatically. “What the hell is your problem?”

Natasha let out a contemptuous laugh. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! Miss Buffy finally grew a pair!” She made her way over to Buffy, menacingly inching toward the bed the girl was sitting on. “I so don’t need this shit!”

Buffy got up and stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be intimidated. Crossing her arms, she waited until Natasha was just a few feet in front of her. “And you think I do?!”

Natasha returned Buffy’s glare. “Look, all I know is that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I should be downstairs, duking it out with Vincent and Spike. Instead I’m here to watch out for your skinny ass!” she announced, her voice harsh with disdain.

Buffy took a firm step forward, purposefully getting in Natasha’s face. With a simmering hatred, she calmly began to speak. “You think I want to be locked up here while God knows what’s going on downstairs?! I could care less if Spike told you to protect me. If you wanna leave, then go ahead, if not, stop with the fucking pacing! It’s driving me nuts.”

It was Natasha’s turn to cross her arms. “You know I can’t just leave you here. Spike would…”

Buffy cut her off. “Of course, Spike! Gotta keep the Master happy. Gotta do as you’re told, like a good little minion,” she mocked, not having any patience for Natasha’s blind loyalty. “You know what? I don’t think you can even be that mad about having to baby-sit lil’ ole me. It’s your fault I’m here. It was your idea to bring me back to Spike that night the Bronze got sacked, am I right? It was you who ‘saved’ me from Damon.” She didn’t wait for the vampiress to respond, but Buffy could see she had hit a nerve. Placing her finger on her chin, she carried on. “Guess that makes you one pretty big hypocrite, doesn’t it? Whining and complaining about taking care of Spike’s pet human when you basically brought me home from the pound.” Buffy grinned proudly. ‘Take that!’

Natasha fought the urge to gawk at Buffy’s unabashed insolence. Instead she set her features into an unimpressed scowl. “We never expected him to actually keep you. I wasn’t bringing you home from the pound so much as from the meat market. You were supposed to be a midnight snack,” the vampiress bitterly retorted.

The news didn’t really shock Buffy. She’d heard it all before. “Guess he wasn’t hungry.”

Natasha scoffed indignantly. “Yeah, just horny.”

The vampire never saw the fist that flew at her.

Staggering back ungracefully, Natasha clutch at her cheek. When complete comprehension of what had just occurred settled in her mind, she instantly vamped out, snarling at Buffy. “You bitch!”

Ready to pounce on the girl, Natasha came to a screeching halt when a silver cross was dangled in front of her face. The vampiress instinctively cringed, jumping back a few feet. Amber eyes remained fixed upon unrelenting hazel as Buffy continued to hold up the palm sized crucifix. The blonde reached over to the bed, grabbing her stake from beneath her pillow with her free hand. Natasha didn’t react to the appearance of the weapon. A few moments of tense silence passed before Buffy spoke. “You don’t like me and I sure as hell don’t like you, but were stuck here whether we like it or not. So how’s about you take a seat, relax and play like the good little watchdog Spike wants you to be.”

Natasha knew that the cross wouldn’t really hurt if it burned her and she knew she could easily dodge the stake. She knew it but she wasn’t going to act on it. The vampiress couldn’t help but admire the spitfire before her. Natasha was beginning to see what Spike saw in the California girl. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded. “Okay, Blondie. Whatever you say.”

Buffy didn’t let her guard down as she watched the dark vampiress sit on a chair that was close to the bed. Staying wary for any sign of deception, Buffy slowly lowered herself onto the bed, dropping the cross out of her hand to let the necklace hang from her neck. Her grip on the wooden stake became just a little tighter. She couldn’t understand the sudden change in Natasha’s attitude but she wasn’t really complaining.

“So…”Buffy said unnervingly. “What’s really going on downstairs?”

Natasha let out a distressed sigh. “You're right. It’s not looking good.”

As Natasha went on to explain what problems were being faced by the remainder of the broken clan, Buffy gradually became catatonically hysterical. Things turned out to be much worse than Spike had made them out to be. The all consuming fear was beginning to return. As she remained frozen in place on the large bed, all Buffy could think about was that there was a real chance that Spike could die. He could die tonight and never truly know just how she loved him. Buffy clung to the hope that he’d keep his word. That Spike would try to not get himself killed.


********


Spike could smell them coming. The sun had set at least twenty minutes ago, and he could sense the approaching mob of undead outside his door. Nodding to Vincent, the two vampires made their way through the thin crowd in the main hall, heading toward the front of the line to greet the soon to be unwelcomed guests. Neither one said a word to the other as the stood in front of the immense wooden doors, counting down the seconds until they burst open.

In those last moments, Spike couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Buffy. He knew he shouldn’t because it would get him killed but he was weak. She made him weak. He thought of how angry she was at him for keeping her locked up and how upset he was at her for not loving him back. It didn’t change how he felt about her though. Spike still loved her. Still love’s bitch and all that rot. Images of Buffy sprang forth in his mind. Some were of her peacefully sleeping, while others were of her tear stained face and even a few were of her writhing beneath him, her lips parted in a strangled moan, her hazel eyes glazed over with lust. Yet none of these affected him like the images of her smiling, lost in a single moment of happiness. So rare were the instances when she would completely let herself go and playfully laugh along with him as they talked about nothing. It was those moments he cherished the most and it was those moments that kept him going. Spike had to defeat Damon, even if just so that he could experience the pleasure of seeing Buffy smile again. He wasn’t about to let that pillock take that away from him.

The pounding on the door stirred Spike from his reverie. Turning to his right side, he gave Vincent a saddened smile. “Nice knowin’ you Vince. Hope to see you on the other side.”

Vincent’s stern expression didn’t change yet his eyes were soft as he stared at his friend. “Remember to be merciless, Spike,” he solemnly remarked, his body shifting into a stance that would enable him to spring into action the second the occasion called for it.

Spike gave him his most devilish grin. “Way ahead of you, mate.”

The doors flew open, revealing Damon’s dark form, leading his pack of traitorous vampires. Spike grew concerned, though refused to show it, when he saw that the double-crossing vampire’s horde of minions had packed the entire street in front of the old house while the remnants of his clan could barely fill the front hall. This wasn’t going to be a war. It was on the verge of becoming a massacre.

Growls echoed throughout the dead silence, emanating from both sides of the battle line. Damon tried to smugly stare down Spike and the vamps standing behind him but none of them even blinked. However as Spike’s icy cerulean eyes skimmed over the huge crowd behind Damon, his cold deathly gaze landed on a few unsuspecting fledglings, making them instantly recoil in fear. It made him smirk. ‘Yup, I still got it.’

Being the impatient one, Damon had just about enough of the stand off. “Nice to see you’re back to normal. Guess the Watcher didn’t do too much damage,” he remarked with an arrogant smile on his face.

“What can I say? ‘m a survivor,” Spike unenthusiastically responded, unaffected by the other vampire’s badgering.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?” Damon quipped as he gave Spike’s ragtag clan one last look over. “You’re gonna need as much luck as you can get if this is all you’ve got going for you.”

“‘S ‘bout quality, mate, not quantity. But you wouldn’t know much about that now would you?” Spike retorted, exhibiting a deceptive air of confidence. He didn’t want to give Damon the satisfaction of knowing that he was worried.

“Stand down, Spike,” Damon said, getting straight to business.

“No.”

“Then you give me no choice,” the dark vampire stated calmly before abruptly turning on a dime and launching himself at Spike.

It was at that exact moment that everything broke out into utter chaos. The second Damon had crossed the line vamps from both sides flew at each other, colliding into a mess of bodies, nothing but fist and fangs. Damon’s advantage in numbers suddenly became a weakness as the majority of his vamps remained outside, unable to squeeze into the house. Not only that but every one of his vampires that did manage to enter was quickly slaughtered.

Spike had easily ducked Damon’s attack, sidestepping away from the hit as the rest of his clan raced past him, heading to the front of the line. The darker vampire spun on his heel, turning to face his old Master. They immediately began to circle one another, waiting for the other to make the next move. It was Spike who threw the first punch. Damon swiftly recovered and threw one of his own right hooks, but Spike easily blocked it and delivered a jaw crunching uppercut in return. They broke apart, circling each other once again.

“Where are your cocksure comebacks now, Damon?” Spike asked, smirking.

The other vampire growled, ignoring the blood that dribbled down his face. “Ask me again when I’m finished kicking your ass.”

Spike laughed. “I’d like to see you try. You’re bloody pathetic, you know that? Can’t ever face me on your own, can you? Always gotta have other vamps or even sodding humans at your back. It’s sad really,” he taunted as they continued to circle.

“Oh now I’m sad?” Damon bitter replied. “Well I’m not the one in love with a human.”

Spike snarled. “Don’t you dare speak of her. I should’ve ripped your head off for even touching Buffy!”

Damon’s lips twisted into a sinister grin. “Got it bad, don’t ya? Bet her blood tastes real sweet, especially after a good hot fuck. That’s what you kept her for, wasn’t it?”

“Watch it you git before I rip your heart out through your arse,” Spike threatened, his jaw clenching as he tried to control his hate. He couldn’t afford to lose his head. There was just too much at stake.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Spike. Temper, temper. Wouldn’t want to let your anger get the best of you. You have the girl to consider. Wouldn’t want to leave her in the hands of a fiend like me. God knows what I’d do if I got my hands that little, tight body of hers,” Damon jeered, his smile spreading wide at the thought of Buffy under his control.

That was it. Spike had had enough with the talking. It was time for some violence, his demon craving vengeance for the betrayal that had yet to be avenged. Vamping out, Spike growled as he leapt into the air, crashing down upon Damon in a flurry of solid punches and roundhouse kicks. Spike wanted to beat the asshole into a bloody pulp for having the audacity to even utter Buffy’s name. He would make sure this Judas-with-fangs suffered. A malicious smirk tugged at Spike’s lips at the thought of tearing out Damon’s heart, just to show it to him before he pierced it with a stake.


*******


Hours had passed. The air had become thick with the dust of the brutally slain. The heady scent of spilt blood was so intoxicating that it only added to the vicious frenzy that had seized the dueling creatures within old the house. Although Spike had feared that his vampires were too inexperienced to triumph in this unfair battle, Damon’s mutinous brood was much more wet behind the ears. There were casualties on both sides, yet it was the opposing team that began to falter, enabling Vincent and the remainder of the clan to push the enemy back out onto the street. The few older vampires tore through the groups of fledglings like wildfire, dusting two or three vamps at a time with their bare hands. A stalemate had been reached by early morning, neither side making any dents in the other’s advances. After an endless night of combat, two equal parties remained trapped on the asphalt battleground, continuing their violent dance, waiting until one side finally surrendered.

Spike and Damon were no different. The two had somehow stumbled out of the house and out onto the road, bringing their fight just behind the front lines of the mini-war which was consuming the small neighborhood. Neither vampire showed any sign of weakening, though their appearances were nothing if not completely thrashed. Spike had sustained minor injuries, a cut lip here and a bruised cheek there. Damon’s face on the other hand looked like a bloody bag of minced meat. Amongst many other cuts and lesions, one of his eyes was swollen and he was bleeding profusely from his broken nose. Both vampires had severe neck wounds, having found ways to get by one another’s defenses long enough to go for the throat. They were coated in thick, slick layers of their own and each other’s blood. It was like one of those gory scenes out of a Tarantino flick, blood just everywhere. And yet they were once again circling each other, stuck in an endless loop of pounces and pauses, unable trump the other with one final, deciding blow.

A trail of crimson dribbled down Spike’s chin as he gave Damon a toothy grin. “Getting tired mate?”

Damon snarled in response, baring his fangs. “You wish.”

Spike chuckled. “You know you don’t have it in you to keep it up,” he declared, his voice suddenly taking on an angered tone. “Look around, you ponce. This whole rebellion thing’s ‘bout to go down the crapper. Your lil’ wannabe clan’s ‘bout to get itself obliterated and you look like a bucket of shit.”

Damon came to a stand still at Spike’s criticism. With a questioning look and a quick lift of his brow, the dark vampire broke out into a fit of his menacing, blood chilling laughter. “You actually think I’d bring all my vamps with me here tonight? Boy, are you retarded.” Sobering from his momentary lapse of sanity, Damon’s golden eyes squinted into a glare. “No Spike, what you saw here tonight is only a third of what I have at my disposal. I always have a contingency plan. That’s where you and I differ. My clan’s always gonna come first.”

Spike let out an unimpressed snort. “Yeah, so long as it keeps on bein’ a means to an end at gettin’ at what’s mine.”

“You never deserved it. You stroll into town and get everything handed to you on a silver platter,” Damon hissed. “But not anymore. This clan and this town will be mine. I’m gonna take back all the things you’ve stolen from me,” he righteously remarked as his mouth twisted into another evil smile. “Including Buffy.”

Spike didn’t even reply, instantly flying at Damon with another hard assault of punches. His fury was giving him the upper hand, knocking Damon down again and again. Every move his opponent made, Spike blocked and immediately retaliated. It seemed as though it was finally going to end. Spike was at last going to be rid of Damon once and for all. Unfortunately, amongst all the blood and mayhem, neither of them noticed the imminent sunrise.

Spike pounded his fist into Damon’s bloodied face. “You will…” punch “never…” smack “have Buffy!”

Damon gurgled an incomprehensible response before Spike threw him across the street and into a hard brick wall of a nearby building. The defeated vampire slumped to the ground, no longer able to hold himself up.

Preparing himself for the kill, Spike took a few steps forward, wanting to draw out the wonderful moment of victory. It was after the fourth step that the sun decided to peak over the horizon, filling the street with bright morning sunlight. The vampires that were not instantaneously incinerated stopped fighting and threw their singeing bodies into the closest bit of shade. Damon forgot all about the threat that Spike posed when he caught sight of the day’s morning light crawling along the pavement towards him. Clumsily scurrying into the shadows, a battered Damon fled from light, following his vampires in retreat.

Spike watched all around him as the world became illuminated. Ironically the sun had become his greatest ally. The feud with Damon wasn’t anywhere near finished and the pillock would eventually return. Yet Spike was still standing, having survived to fight another day. And so long as he stayed fighting, Damon would never get his hands on Buffy. That was what mattered the most to Spike. For the moment, his golden girl was safe.

Spike’s inner musings were cut short when his face shifted back into its human guise as he involuntarily squinted. Something bright was shining in his eyes. Something like the sun! Instinctively Spike threw himself into a dark shadowed corner in an attempt to get away from the sun’s deathly rays.

Hold on a tic?!

Spike stared down at the unmarred skin of his hands. They were still pale, not even the slightest hint of a sunburn could be detected. Why wasn’t his skin smoking and why the bloody hell didn’t he burst into flames? Spike stared out at the brightly lit street from the shady corner he was standing in. Glancing down once again at his untarnished self, he took a step back into the light. Holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the intense sun, Spike let out a whopping laugh.

It was unbelievable. How could this possibly be? The sun wasn’t turning him into a big pile of dust. Spike suddenly clutched at his chest. No. No heartbeat. So he hadn’t been turned into a human. So then what the hell was going on? What had happened to make him completely impervious to the deadliest threat to a vampire? Spike’s mind raced for an explanation, running over the events of the past few tumultuous days. The Witch. It had to be. Something to do with the spell the Watcher had made her cast to turn Spike into a weak kitten. What other explanation could there possibly be?

With a spring in his step, Spike made his way across the sunlit street. “Well isn’t this just…” his smile faded as he stood before the open doors to the lair. “Neat.”

His good mood faltered at the sight of the house where his clan had once resided. The burnt ashes of those who had fallen lay scattered across its front steps. Obviously not every vamp got out of the sun in time. Spike could only pray they had been Damon’s as he stepped into the trashed house. The doorway and adjacent walls had been demolished and the main hall had been turned upside down. Broken glass, splintered wood, broken furniture, dried blood and even more ashes littered the floors of the lower level of the house. ‘What d’you expect mate? It was technically a war zone.’

As Spike scanned and surveyed his ruined lair, a feeling of unease took over him. It felt as though something wasn’t right, like something was missing. He didn’t like the feeling and it made him want to run up to check on Buffy. Turning to head to the stairway, Spike nearly stampeded over Vincent.

“Bloody hell! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a bloke like that?” Spike yelped, jumping back in surprise.

“I would be more vigilant if I were you. Can’t be so careless with who you turn your back to. Especially since Damon’s escaped,” the older vampire reprimanded.

“It’s good to see you too, Vince,” Spike replied, giving his comrade a good-humored smile.

Vincent let out an amused yet slightly vexed sigh. Of course he was happy to see his leader had survived, but his British stodginess prevented him from showing it. “Have you checked in with Natasha? She must be tearing her hair out by now.”

Spike shook his head. “Just ‘bout to head up there before you snuck up on me,” he jibbed as the two made their way upstairs.

“You should have known I was there. Don’t let yourself get distracted Spike. You were lucky this time but who knows what will happen the next time you and Damon face off,” Vincent pointedly noted.

Spike sneered at the mention of the vampire he had nearly defeated, dismissing Vincent’s disapproval of his apathetic outlook. “D’you see any of our vamps out there?” he asked, deliberately changing the topic.

Vincent nodded. “A few. They’ll be making their way back soon. Not sure how many are still standing though. Probably should look into that.”

Spike shrugged as he reached the door to Buffy’s room. The feeling that something was gravely wrong returned, this time with much greater intensity. Without a second thought or moment to reflect, Spike broke through the door, tearing it off of its hinges in his haste to see Buffy. What he saw made his heart metaphorically stop.

The heavy dark curtains that usually covered the large bay window had disappeared, flooding the most of the room with deadly sunlight. The glass of the room’s only window was shattered to pieces on the tiled floor. Part of the room was on fire, small sparse flames licking at pieces of upturned furniture. The bed had been flipped and television had been smashed in. Spike could see Vincent rushing over to an unconscious form on the floor. He suspected it was Natasha, who had been lucky enough to have been knocked out of the sun’s direct path when the attack had occurred. Whatever had destroyed the room had spared the vampiress.

Spike remained unmoving as he stared out into the destroyed space before him. The only thing that played over again in his mind was a single sentence composed of three simple words.

Buffy was gone.

 

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