*****Chapter 8*****

“…Come inside! The shows about to start/ guaranteed to blow your head apart/ Rest assured you’ll get your money’s worth/ The greatest show in Heaven, Hell or Earth…”

Spike rolled carefully down the hallway. The floor was smooth in most places, but some of the seams could jar the coat across his lap, and he needed it to hide the crossbow. He paused for a moment at the entrance to the dining hall. He could sense the presences in there. Angelus and Drusilla. Minions. And Buffy.

He entered, staying to the side, out of the main floor, and hopefully beyond Angelus’s notice. The minions stood about three feet in from every wall, lining the space. Angelus was in the middle. Spike could just see him through the ranks. He was standing still, trying to look impressive and casual. Dru was with him. Spike moved quietly up to the head of the room, toward the fireplace wall. He maneuvered into the dark corner it provided. He liked having his back to a wall at times like this. And there was a wide gap between the minion line and the fireplace that gave him a good view of the center square. He schooled his features to remain slack and uninterested, for that moment when he looked up and saw her.

It made sense, Buffy supposed, that because everyone else in the Mansion was here to witness Angel finally killing her, Spike would be too. His unique signature had registered with the slayer parts in her. They’d fought often enough for her to isolate it. Funny. If any vampire in this room were going to be the one to kill her, she would have bet on Spike.

Even when Angelus showed up, she didn’t think it would be him. He tormented her, killed people she loved. He would break her, not kill her. Well, he’d succeeded with the first part. And she was ready for the second. It was the most calming thought she’d had this week, that knowledge that this was it. She was going to die. She didn’t think she’d go to hell, but it would be worth it to get away from Angelus.

She turned her head slightly, from her position beside the mantle, still in chains. There was Spike, in the corner. His eyes flashed as he stared back at her. She watched them roam down her body taking in everything. Torn clothes. Blood. The cuts that let the blood out. His eyes worked back up to her face, and linked with hers. She could see something lingering behind them. Something powerful.

Fury. That’s what it was. He must not have seen it going this way either. Maybe he could still kill her. She was all exposed. Be nice if he had a crossbow.

He wasn’t wearing his coat. He looked smaller without it. They’d both fallen so far. She wondered if he’d miss her. He’d been fun to fight. Maybe she had been too.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Angelus spoke, enjoying his role as ring master. “You all know that I made a new childe, Buffy.” The minions nodded. Angelus looked at the ground, apparently shocked by what he was about to relate. “She is here tonight, in chains, because she has disobeyed me.” Sounds of disgust from the crowd. “I know that all of you are loyal, and that it is hard for you to believe such a thing. A childe, not yet a week old, trying to escape its Sire? Monstrous.”

Buffy listened to the sounds of assent, and murmured outburst against her. It was just Angelus’s big build up. It wasn’t her fault that she was a bad childe. She was supposed to fight vampires. It wasn’t like she’d been disobedient constantly. Well, kind of.

“Some would say that I have been benevolent in having let her live this long. But I think she could be a good vampire, if only she would submit fully, as every childe should. And so, tonight I will give her a final chance to prove her loyalty to me. Bring them in.”

Something cold and heavy landed in Buffy’s stomach. This wasn’t part of the plan. Prove herself? No, he was going to kill her because he had finally decided she wasn’t worth keeping around. This was going to end. Now. And bring who in? Oh, God…

Humans. She smelled them before she saw them. Rich and warm, the demon part said. Food.

Now she was scared. She knew. She knew the minute they entered the hall what Angelus wanted from her. A kill. Her first kill, as an offering to him.

It was a group of about twelve. A couple young families. Two mothers hugging their elementary school children, the fathers trying to be protective, but just as scared. A few teenage girls. Some younger than her. They huddled together in the middle of the open space, and the minions that had made way for them moved back to block the exit. Buffy thought about history at Hemery. She didn’t remember the teacher’s name. But she remembered the pictures of the Christians being thrown to the lions. That was what this was. And Buffy was supposed to be a lion.

Angelus turned toward her. He was smiling. “Now Buffy, I’m going to unchain you.” He walked over, and unhooked her arms and legs. Her raw wrists ached in the cold air. She sank slightly, unused to supporting herself. And tired, and hungry. So hungry. She glanced at the people before her. They were looking back at her too. In horror. She was the kind of monster they feared. Not a victim like them. She was the one that was supposed to suck the life from them and their children.

“The task is a simple one, Childe. All I ask for is a kill. One kill, drink its blood, and prove that you are more than you have shown yourself to be. That you can think outside yourself. That you can think of your family. Of your sire. Please Buffy.” He leaned toward her, and spoke a convincing plea. “I don’t want to lose you. I lost you once, when you took away my soul. Don’t make me lose the only opportunity I have left to be with you.”

Buffy began to cry. She knew it was a lie. This wasn’t the Angel she had loved. This was the monster. He was using her, trying to dominate her. Twist her beyond recognition. But it was such a nice lie. She wanted to die. She wanted to be loved. She wanted the suffering to end. He wasn’t going to kill her. Not yet. He was giving her another chance.

Because her knew she couldn’t take it. Yet another chance to torment her. She sank to her knees, put her face in her hands, and continued to weep.

Angelus forced his smile into a frown. It was hard, but he managed. “You’re making me angry Childe. This is a pitiful display. And it’s not going to get you out of doing your duty by me.”

She ignored him. It was wrong to ignore her Sire, but even worse to listen to him.

Angelus marched over to the group of victims and grabbed a man. In his late twenties, slightly balding, with glasses. He through him down before Buffy. “Kill him. Drain him. Be forgiven.”

Buffy looked up from her hands, straight into her enemy Sire’s eyes. “No.” Her lips shook, and she pressed them together to stop it. She was glad that she had sounded firm.

Angelus picked the man up, and tossed him to Drusilla. “Have fun, sweetheart.” Dru giggled, and obliged. She pulled his eyes out with her long nails, one at a time, and ate them. Then she tossed the screaming future corpse to the nearest rank of vampires, who proceeded to drain him from multiple bites.

Buffy watched his family wail. His wife grabbed her children, and held them tight, shielding their eyes as best she could. She looked at the man’s body as it sunk to the floor, limp and lifeless. The empty eye holes reminded her of a movie. She wondered which one. She wouldn’t be seeing it again. Angelus was saying something, but she didn’t listen. She heard him stride toward her, and felt him jerk her head up. The pain felt right. She’d just witnessed her first live mutilation. Nothing like pain could be out of place here. “Choose a victim.”

She stared at him. Did he really think her answer had changed? It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to kill them all without her help, later. “No. N-O.” The backhand to her face was not surprising. It hit the still healing ‘A’ carved there, and it broke open again. She watched him toss the other man to the crowd as well. See. Getting the job done on their own. No need to bother her. Her demon was enjoying the smell though. It smelled heavenly. Not Sire’s blood, but still. Blood.

Angelus pulled a girl from the group, about twenty two. Dressed in a pretty blue skirt, that was promptly ripped from her body. Next went the thong underwear. He forced her onto the stone ground, and unfastened his pants. He raped her. Buffy looked away. More screaming. She’d been there. She sent all the sympathy she could to the girl. But it wouldn’t stop the death. She sensed the moment that Angelus bit her neck. He ripped it open, barely drinking, and let her flop helplessly as the pool spread. She died. The minions laughed.

“Ready yet Childe? Ready to join the fun? Ready to let your demon out to play? You smell it. You enjoy it. The fear, the blood. It is what you are now Buffy. It is what you need. You are a demon. Do your duty.” The former slayer fixed him with a glare. Pure hatred. He took that as the ‘no’ it was meant to be. He grabbed a younger girl, younger than Buffy herself. He cast her beside the most recent corpse, in the blood. He stripped her and surged inside, and yes, she was a virgin.

Buffy heard the girl shriek, and smelled the fresh blood that came when Angelus broke through. She had stopped crying. There were no more tears to be shed.

It continued. Each death more gruesome than the previous. The mothers were gone. Skin shredded, and their children covered in gore. The teenagers raped and sodomized. One of the children dismembered while living. The night passed, until only the youngest, and previously the most innocent remained. The air reeked of sex, blood, and fear.

Angelus, coated in blood and various other fluids, grabbed one of the remaining children. He shoved the quivering boy into Buffy’s arms. She looked at him. He was dressed in blue, with little sneakers. He couldn’t have been more than four. Brown haired, with deep brown eyes. He didn’t fight to get away from her, thought she knew that she was in game face. He curled into a fetal position in her lap, and sucked his thumb. He must think the devil had him. Looking up at Angelus, she decided that the devil had them all.

Angelus sighed. “This can all end Childe. Right now, if you want if to. I give you that power. Fulfill your duty to me, and I will see that these others meet there end without pain. You know that they are going to die tonight. Why make it worse than it has to be? Just one life. A few pulls on the neck. That’s all I want.”

Buffy looked at the corpses. He was right. This needed to end. And if she could ease the deaths of those that were left, she owed it to them for letting this monster out. She looked coldly at her Sire, where he stood above her. “Them first. Kill them first, quickly, without hurting them. Then I’ll do it. You know that I keep my word.”

Angelus sneered and laughed. She was going to do it at last. He shot a quick look to the minion behind her, out of sight of almost everyone. The one that had the video camera. One of Spike’s more intelligent decisions had been to film the Slayer. Nice of him to leave the camera lying about where someone with a similar use for it could find it. He looked back at the girl, and nodded. “Very well.” He walked over, and broke the necks of the children. He looked to her.

Buffy looked at the tiny boy in her lap. She put her hands on either side of his face. He didn’t seem to feel it. She twisted. She heard the sound, and saw the eyes go dark.

He was dead.

“Now drink.”

“Never.” She picked the body up, and laid it on the ground. She arranged the little limbs to be straight. She stood unsteadily and walked over to Angelus. She looked him straight in the eye. Then spit. It landed on his face, and he roared in anger. He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her from the ground. He carried her out of the banquet room into the entry way, before the doors she had tried to escape by the other night. The minions followed.

Angelus dropped her, and she did not bother moving. “Childe, you have disappointed me for the last time. I cannot have you here to corrupt those which are loyal. I hereby renounce your creation. You are no Childe of mine.”

Buffy screeched as the wound on her neck opened and bled. His bite was gone. She felt the emptiness inside her. Her Sire had abandoned her. He wasn’t going to kill her. She wasn’t worth that. He was just tossing her aside. He didn’t even care that much.

Angelus turned to his minions. “Go all of you. Sleep. This night has seen the end of my youngest childe. Forget her, and let us be restored to hunt again tomorrow.”

He walked to Dru, and they left without looking back. People wonder how artists can part with work they are so proud of. Artists only complete their task by letting their work go, to be judged. It is only failures that they hide away for themselves. Angelus felt no sense of failure here.
_______________

Spike did not follow when the crowd left the dining room. He stayed at his chosen post and waited. It was so very tempting. The smell of it had been working on him for the hours that they had been here. To get out of the chair and on to his knees. To lean over and put his face into. In that pool of human blood coating the floor and drink. Feed. Be well again.

But he couldn’t. There was another, equally strong smell that made him want to heave. Whenever the bloodlust became strong he remembered the faces of the little girls. Rape was an abomination. These children hadn’t deserved that. And even if the situation were different, he was not prepared to take Angelus’s leavings.

He thought briefly of the little boy. He hadn’t been tainted by the carnal nature of the vampires around him. He was fresh. He would make a meal…

But no. Buffy wanted it this way. He would respect her wish in this. He wasn’t a fool. Life with her was going to be difficult. As a former slayer she would frown on killing. Might even stake him for it. Certainly stake the minions. Hell, he’d been drinking pig’s blood for months. And only a little at a time. He’d give anything to be full, even if it was from slop. And maybe she wouldn’t object to a murderer now and then. Plenty of those about. Rapists.

That just brought him back to the now. Poor Buffy.

He heard Angelus’s speech outside. Drama queen. But it was what Spike had been waiting all this time for. He had freed Buffy to hurt her. So that she would have nothing to fall back on. The girl could not bring herself to go back to her family and friends. They might have been able to handle her being a vampire. But she had blood on her hands. Never mind that it was a mercy killing, and that those children would have been dead anyways. He hoped that Buffy could forgive herself. He’d work on that.

She was alone now. Completely, for the first time in her life. Being the Chosen One did not compare to being a cast off. She had had a purpose. Now she was dirt. She had betrayed the greatest trust placed in her: to protect humanity. It was no coincidence that Angelus had taken her to the front door before dropping her. He wanted her to lay there, broken, until the sun rose. She would realize how very inviting it looked. She would raise herself up, proud and determined, and walk outside. End the abomination she saw herself as.

The minions dispersed, gradually. After an hour, Spike maneuvered the wheel chair forward, avoiding the blood-slickened spots on the stone. He went cautiously up the hall. He saw up ahead the guard he had expected. Angelus wanted to make sure that his plan didn’t go awry. Buffy might be made of stronger stuff than he anticipated.

Or in this case, she might have help. The guard had not heard his approach. The Powers be thanked for well-oiled wheels. Spike pulled out his crossbow, and silently loaded it. He drew a bead on the back of the sentry. And then there was no sentry; just a pile of dust at the corner.

Spike hooked the crossbow strap around one of the handles on the back of his chair. He could sense no one up ahead but Buffy. He rounded the corner, and there she was. The tableau was moving.

Buffy lay where she had been dropped. She stretched out parallel to the door, facing it. She had pulled her legs up to her, and wrapped her arms in front of her. A few tears, from who knows what reserve, had leaked out. So had some blood, from Angelus’s marks. She didn’t have a plan. She knew she was being watched. She just wanted to be here, on the ground. The cold stone was real, and firm, and reassuring. She felt as though she were waiting for something.

She heard the sentry dust. So Spike did have a crossbow. She had never been more grateful. He cared. He cared enough in his own misery to come and find her. He would make things better. This wasn’t about her being his third slayer. This was about a decent end to a worthy enemy. He rolled right up behind her. His hands reached down and grasped her between her arms and her body.

She stiffened for an instant, then relaxed. She wanted whatever he was willing to give. Death, or taunts, it didn’t matter. It meant that someone found her worthy of notice. He pulled her up, and into his lap. He draped his duster, that soft, comforting leather around her shoulders, and pulled it underneath her. In a moment it was a little cocoon. Surprising. Then he leaned down, and kissed her neck. Oh, he wanted a taste? Well, that was fine. Ah, there. Fangs through the skin. Felt so much better than when Angelus and the Master did it.

Spike was as gentle as he could be. Her other scars would fade of their own accord. He needed to place a new one on her neck. He sucked delicately for a few moments. It tasted more wonderful than he’d imagined. Then he tilted her head toward him, so that she could see his eyes. “Orphan. I hereby claim thee to be my Childe, to protect, to cherish, to teach, as though first remade by me.”

Buffy stared in shock at the face of her savior. He wanted her. Not just to rule over her. No, she could see it in his face. So open, so loving. He wanted her for his family. Maybe for himself. He wanted her to be strong. He would protect her. His eyes promised it. She smiled as he caressed her face with one fine, white hand. He brought her face up to his neck. “Drink Buffy. It makes this final.”

She wavered. “I don’t know how. Angelus just opened his wrist.”

“Feel with your lips along the neck. Find the artery between the muscle and the throat. Then let your teeth down into it.”

She obeyed. Spike tried not to worry about just how wonderful her lips felt. That wasn’t what either of them needed now. Her fangs entered on target, and she took a couple shallow sips. She licked instinctively at the drops that welled up as she removed her mouth. Spike shivered. Buffy noticed, but was too tired to consider it. She was falling asleep, and gave in. She snuggled nest to her Sire. He arranged her against his chest, and began to move again.

He approached the door cautiously, so as not to disturb his drowsy cargo. He pushed it open, and was greeted by Alexa. She smiled at him, and he smiled in return. The van he had ordered was there, backed up to the entrance. He wheeled over. Chris and Alexa together lifted him, Buffy, and the wheelchair into the back. They jumped aboard and pulled the doors shut. Spike watched out the back window as the Mansion receded.

After a while the van slowed, and entered a driveway. His driveway, his garage. Once the garage door closed, he and his charge were lifted down. Morrie presented himself immediately, and Spike thanked him for his services. Spike handed Buffy over to Jacob. She protested sleepily at being removed from her Sire’s grasp, but Spike couldn’t carry her up the stairs to the loft. He’d have enough trouble getting there himself.

He managed the stairs, slowly, methodically. Alexa had taken charge of Buffy, placing her in the bathroom. With Spike’s help, she stripped the tattered clothes from the girl’s body, and put her in the tub. Spike washed her hair, while Alexa tended to the rest. Soon his childe was rinsed and dried, and wrapped in a soft white robe. Alexa carried her to the bed, which Morrie had turned down.

Jacob brought blood for Spike, and he drank greedily, until he was sated. The minions bid goodnight, and shut the door when they left. Spike was exhausted by this time. He looked at his bed. Buffy was fidgeting slightly. He kicked off his boots, then lay down beside her. She immediately rolled toward him, and cuddled close. Spike put an arm over her, and tucked her head beneath his chin.

They slept peacefully.
*****
Please R&R.

*****Chapter 9*****

Angelus paused in his pacing around the bedroom, sensing for the sun. It was still at least ninety minutes away, damn it. It must have been three hours ago that he’d finally tossed away Buffy in front of the minions. It was a moment that he would treasure for the rest of his existence, on earth or in hell. The look on her face was a supreme joy. Pure despair. Now he was waiting for word that she had ended herself.

Much as he would have loved to witness it in person, it could not be. She had to believe that he had given her up entirely in order to kill herself. Between her slayer sense and her vampiric nose, she would know he was watching. As long as there was a way out, she would be willing to take it. Vampires have an inordinately strong sense of survival. Nothing but a direct order from a superior in the bloodline will cause them to risk their second life. Suicide is common among the disillusioned and heartbroken, but it is necessary for there to be no hope in sight.

Besides, his video camera man would be back before dawn, and would be more than able to record it. And thinking of the errand the boy was running just made him even more impatient to reach the end of the night’s giddy festivities. Maybe if he was very cautious, he could sneak a look at her. He pulled on fresh clothing, his own having been put in the garbage after the party. Maybe he should have saved them. They weren’t fit to where, but ah, the memories.

A glance at Dru showed that she was asleep on the bed, naked. They had had their own little bash once they got back to the room. It had included a fair amount of Irish whiskey, and he grabbed a bottle on his way out, ready to toast again to his success. He walked stealthily out into the corridor and down toward the front entrance. Not wanting to be dusted, Angelus kept careful watch for the guard he had placed on Buffy, in case of her attempted escape or reentrance into the Mansion proper.

He was in the hall that intersected with the foyer before he realized that something was wrong. The guard was not where he’d been stationed. Approaching the position, Angelus observed a small mound on the ground where the minion should have been. Dust. Forgetting caution, he darted around the corner to where Buffy should have been. She was gone. It wasn’t that there was dust in her place. There was blood, and a few scraps of fabric that had once been her clothing, but no dust. She had escaped.

The whiskey bottle collided with the front door. Fucking little cunt was not supposed have the will! How could she do this to him? She would have been his masterpiece. She couldn’t have done it alone. No. He’d seen to her debasement too thoroughly. Who would dare defy him here, in his own house?

The Watcher? The man wouldn’t have stopped at the front door. He would have found Angelus and tried to kill him. He would have failed, of course, as he had the first time. Too much ground to cover without the minions hearing the scrape of hurried shoes. And not her little friends, either. They lacked the stones.

He sniffed the air, asking for a hint. Just the familiar smells of the Mansion. Minions, blood, himself, Dru, Spike. Spike? He barely left his room except to go to the gardens or the banquet room. There was only one reason for his scent to be here.

Angelus charged out of the entryway to the crippled vampire’s room and through the door open wide. The bed hadn’t been slept in. The bedside lamp was in pieces on the floor, as was the table that had been there. The wheelchair was gone. He tore open the closet, and ripped out the bureau drawers. All empty.

No words. Nothing to describe how his bastard grandchilde would suffer when he was found. It was beyond even the description of Angelus’s imagination; Europe knew just how vivid his mind was, too.

Angelus streaked back to his room and jumped on Dru. She woke slightly and stared dazedly at him. “Dru. Dru wake up! Where have they gone? Where has Spike taken Buffy?”

Dru stared at him a moment and then released a tormented wail. “My boy has left us! Gone, gone forever and I’m never to see him again.” Tears slid down her cheeks.

Angelus grasped her arms and shook her. She kept crying. “Where have they gone Dru? Answer me!” He slapped her hard. She continued to weep, and refused to speak again. After a moment she was asleep again, too drunk to stay conscious for long.

Angelus roared in fury, and went to rouse his choice minions. He chose twenty-five for the task. If Spike’s clothes were gone, it meant he’d had transportation, probably the old DeSoto. They were to search for it, or word of it. Check all the demon bars and his known associates. Check butchers shops and spy on Buffy’s family. Someone must know.

He needed something to amuse himself before Dru woke fully. He felt a conversation with that spineless snitch Willy was just what he needed about now. He ducked into the garden, and leaped the wall. Once on the other side, he went at a dead run.
_______________

Oz had transported drunken band members from concerts to their houses, while also carrying their equipment, and several six packs. The van was packed. But it had never seemed as full as it did right now. There were five guys in the band, plus a drum set, guitars, bass, etc.; so it wasn’t that two adults, four teenagers and a truckload of weapons took up more room. Maybe it was the atmosphere of anticipation that filled in the silence that made the load seem heavier.

They were sitting on a side street just over a block from the Mansion. They were waiting for Giles to give the word. He was staring at his watch, waiting for ten o’clock to come. Oz looked at Willow to see how she was fairing. Of all the people here, she was the most-tender hearted. What they were about to do would hit her hardest, and he would be there for her. She didn’t need him right now, though. She was wearing her resolve face.

She was the most lightly armed in appearance, but that was an illusion. Her magic had grown in a scary way the last few days. Every time she went to bed having exhausted all of her reserves, she showed up the next day with even more power. He had no doubt that she was poised to become an extremely powerful wicca during the next few years. She was stake girl, their stealth fighter. She could levitate the wood in to take out the guards they’d be facing.

Xander had already strapped on the secret weapon, and was waiting, stone faced. When asked how he’d manged to get a flame thrower, he just smiled and shook his head. Beside him was Cordelia, who had invented an easy access belt for her crossbow darts, kind of like a bandolier. She claimed it was faster than using a quiver. Joyce, as she insisted she be called in place of Mrs. Summers, was similarly attired. Giles and Oz had gone with the more traditional quiver approach, though Oz had an actual bow. His cousin had taught him how to shoot years ago. Of course, his cousin had also turned him into a werewolf.

He’d love to meet Angelus on the full-moon again, and have the memory of it the next day.

Last night, he and Xander had come for final recon at sunset, ready to dust a few more minions to keep up appearances. But even though they waited for two hours, not a single minion left the house. They heard some noise coming from inside of the Mansion, and went to the windows to investigate. A boost from Xander had gotten Oz high enough to see into some kind of a giant dining room. The scene was best described as ‘orgy’.

He hadn’t been able to see the near wall, but he could see Angelus and a crowd of humans. Clearly, the secondary objective of the mission was going to be a mute point tomorrow. He’d watched Dru dig her claw-like fingernails around the eye sockets of one man and pull out the eyeballs. He was then tossed to the crowd. Mob mentality. Yuck. Even by demon hunter standards, yuck.

They’d retreated to Buf- Joyce’s house, and told Giles. He’d been thrilled. Angelus was at home, and wouldn’t be leaving. It meant more rest for the team, not having to worry about the ceremonial minion dusting. And all the vampires would be tired this morning. Too bad about the humans, but they would have been dead anyway. Oz knew that being a werewolf he had a tendency to overlook bloodshed; it was part of his life, unfortunately. He wondered what Giles’s excuse was.

“It’s time,” Ripper decreed.

Oz hit the gas, and pulled away from the curb. They stopped out of sight of the Mansion. No one was staying to mind the car, since, well it was daytime, and they were fighting vampires. In a moment they were all on the pavement.

Giles prepared to give a last briefing to his troops. They were as ready as they could be; it was for him to be the drummer, and set the rhythm. “Remember. If something goes wrong, head to the outside. Dive out a window if you must to escape. They won’t be able to follow unless they are wearing cloaks or blankets, and then they’ll be easy targets. Do not, for any reason, stray from the group. Let’s go.”

They walked out of step and quietly to the kitchen entrance. It had been decided that it would be the least traveled area of the Mansion. Giles and Joyce went first, flanked by Willow and Cordelia on the sides. Xander and Oz watched the rear. Giles eased opened the unlocked door, and looked inside. The idiot minion on guard had his back to them, watching the telly. He widened the gap and entered, sneaking up on the back that was toward him. The minion must have been young, not to hear his heartbeat, or smell him. Were they so short of people that a fool was on guard?

The vampire sensed him at the last moment and turned, but Giles had him round the neck and Willow had levitated a stake to his heart before he could respond. She pressed it in slightly as Giles spoke. “Answer or have your tongue cut out. Tell me where your Master’s room is.”

The minion squeaked an answer through the crushing pressure on his throat. He was no martyr, not when the room was filled with armed people. “The end of this hall, last on the right.” Willow plunged the stake in, and tried not to breathe the dust.

They moved in formation down to the specified room. Another guard had been just beyond the kitchen. Apparently the vampires had some sort of relay system. It was good for them, Ripper thought, that today the morons of the Order were manning it. They reached the end of the hall, and he tested the door knob. It was unlocked, as well. He through open the door and the entire group rushed in. Oz and Xander did as they had been told, and kept watch on the door.

If they had turned around, they would have seen Drusilla on the bed, crying softly, and clutching a little doll. Miss Edith no doubt. Giles approached, never for a moment lowering his weapon. At six feet, he spoke to her. “Drusilla. Where is Angelus?”

She looked at him as though unsurprised by his presence. “Gone to find my Sweet William who has stolen away my Little Sister. They’ve left me, gone to the white house and the trees. All alone, even Daddy gone. Spike and Sister and the five little soldiers gone to make home. All gone. Never see them again. Miss Edith is sad, so sad.” She stared at the doll again for a moment. “Miss Edith is angry too. Mustn’t let Daddy be hurt. No. NO!” She shrieked and threw herself at Giles. He braced for the impact, trying to raise his crossbow, but she was already dust.

Joyce inserted another bolt in her weapon, and reset the string. “For Buffy.” The others nodded.

Suddenly, they heard a rush of feet. Minions, alerted by Dru’s scream. Giles yelled to run and they leaped out the door. He shoved Cordelia and Willow to the forefront as he watched the minions pour into the hall behind them. Their exit cutoff, they ran toward the front of the Mansion. They took twists and turns until they dodged through a door into the dining room.

Bodies. Bodies everywhere. Congealed blood on the floors and walls. They paused for an instant then continued in their flight. Xander stopped and braced himself halfway across the open space. He waited until the others were several feet behind and minions were flowing in through the door they’d come through. The rest of the team saw his plan and stopped. They aimed. On an unspoken cue they all fired.

In an instant the room was filled with fire and flying arrows. The minions dusted left and right, coating the air with powder. Somehow they recognized Xander through the mayhem as the one causing the most destruction. Several of them had crossbows, and attempted to disable him directly. No shaft could reach his body through the wall of flame he kept before them. One had an idea, a memory from a history class from long ago. He moved to the wall, to a point at which he was almost abreast of the human. He aimed for the tank the boy was wearing.

Willow saw the explosion. Saw Xander catch fire. Heard him yell. And it was as though she wasn’t Willow. She was more.

Oz was spun around by catching an unlucky bolt to the arm, when he saw her. Her eyes were black, almost as though they sucked the light from the room. In a deep voice she called out “Extinguish!” and gestured to Xander. Water appeared suddenly in the room, directly over the burning boy, washed over him until the fire was quenched, and disappeared before it touched the ground. Giles ran forward and grabbed the charred form. He hoisted it over his shoulders and yelled retreat.

Oz, Cordelia, and Joyce ran full speed after him. Willow followed, walking backwards, and chanting over and over, “Insinerae, Insinerae, INSINERAE!” At each word another vampire exploded in flames.

Once outside in the hallway, Willow’s eyes reverted to green, and she wavered as though about to collapse. Oz caught her and half dragged her out toward the front doors. They ran outside, and made the van in a few moments. Once he was sure that Willow was safely inside, he made for the driver’s seat. He headed immediately for the hospital. It was kind of hard to drive with an arrow in your arm.

Giles sat in the back frustrated beyond description. Xander groaned, his wounds oozing a clear fluid. His skin flaked onto the floor in places. Another instant aflame and he would have been lost. Angelus was gone. Spike had Buffy, still alive. They’d failed.
_______________

Buffy woke feeling warm and content. She wondered why. Did she die? Maybe this was heaven. Could vampires go to heaven? Heaven smelled nice. She sniffed. Heaven smelled really nice. And had strong arms. And soft skin. She opened her eyes and realized that she was staring at someone’s neck. She pulled her head back slightly, and her eyes met deep blue orbs. Spike.

She smiled, and he smiled back. He ran a hand through her hair, stroking gently. “Good morning Buffy. How do you feel?”
*****
Thanks to everyone who kindly reviewed last chapter! I’m grateful for the support.

*****Chapter 10*****

Spike had been awake for hours before Buffy opened her eyes. Ever since he’d felt that sudden pain that told him his Sire was no more. He didn’t move, didn’t scream, didn’t look for something to be killed. Nothing to be done, after all. Dru was already gone. His dark princess would never be seen again on this earth. It was a strange feeling, the loss of his Sire. She’d been his everything for one hundred and twenty odd years. And at the same time, she’d never been his.

She felt for him as Sire to Childe, not as her love. Oh certainly, love was involved, but not the kind she felt for her beloved Daddy. Spike had been jealous when he first realized that as a fledgling. Had been jealous when she turned away from him when Angelus returned, after so many years of faithfulness. But he found that now, when she was dust and memory, he didn’t begrudge her the love she had not shown him. It was hers to place where she would; if he hadn’t been smart enough to see that, it was his own fault. He wouldn’t have left her anyway; she needed him.

Poor Dru. What were her last thoughts? Was she lonely? He hoped not. Lonely was a horrible way to die. It was how he’d died. Maybe she didn’t even know she was dead. Maybe the Watcher, had to be him or one of Buffy’s mates, caught her by surprise, and she was sitting in a field somewhere in the netherworld, picking daisies with Miss Edith. He didn’t believe she’d go to hell; half the time she didn’t know what she was doing, just followed her vampiric instincts or listened to Daddy. She wouldn’t be punished for crimes she had no conception of.

He wandered for a while amidst memories of Dru, smiling and laughing. Her giggles were something he had always delighted in. He would never hear them again. That thought forced a few tears out from behind his eyes. He didn’t mind. Dru was worth them. She had been the last of his family. Angelus certainly didn’t count anymore. Spike had broken with him and his other childer, wherever they were around the globe. He wished idly that he could have saved Dru, but she would never have come with him. And she would have been a danger to Buffy, who was his childe.

She was his family now.

Buffy. He looked at the slight form still cradled in his arms. She looked so peaceful and fragile. Breathing in an unnecessary rhythm. He realized for the first time that she was warm. Not hot like a human, but she was giving off just enough body heat to raise the temperature of the blankets, and of his skin where they touched. She hadn’t tossed or whimpered once he joined her on the bed, something of which he was very glad. He had feared nightmares would start to plague her right off. The marks on her skin, Angelus’s A’s, were fading. No more than jagged darker lines against her tan skin now. The emotional scars…well that was anyone’s guess.

She was so young. Just a bit over seventeen. The younger they were, the more resilient, that was certain. She had been, or hell, maybe still was a slayer. Just what was the qualification for that? Anyway, that gave her strength. Add to that the fact that she was now a vampire, and made of much sterner stuff than she could yet realize, and you had a girl who would heal completely, given time. Spike, having spent the last century caring for an insane woman, would be more than capable of helping her recover.

He needed to be careful with her for these first few days. She couldn’t be allowed to isolate herself, or shy away from the necessities of vampire life. Much as he believed in his power to continue on in this world, Spike knew that it was always a possibility that he would precede her into a final death. She needed to be well adjusted and independent in case of that eventuality. There was so much to teach her.

He also had to find out what view of vampire life Angelus had given her and discourage it. He would have twisted it to meet his own needs in breaking her. He would have programmed her to certain scenarios, giving her a set response that would allow her to avoid punishment. Spike wanted to avoid triggering those at first, give her time to acclimate to her new situation.

He spent the remainder of his time before her awakening searching for the perfect greeting. Something innocent, and innocuous, but something that would give him a read on her mood. ‘How do you feel?’ Yes, that was the simplest thing he could formulate. He had asked after she opened those beautiful amber eyes, and smiled at him. She promptly burst into tears.

Proof that successfully escaping Angelus was a fluke in his unending stream of bad plans. Shit.

Buffy couldn’t help it. She knew he was confused, and that crying when she woke up in bed next to him probably wasn’t helping. It was just that she felt hungry. She knew that in this house in meant something different than it had at the Mansion but the memory was so strong and so overwhelming that the sobs came on their own. Angelus wasn’t even here, but his torment lingered. She flashed to other memories of her captivity, and continued to weep. It just wasn’t fair.

He was at a loss as to what was wrong. She wasn’t trying to get away from him; if anything she was holding on more tightly than before. When she woke her hands had been resting on his biceps, and her cheek was laid against his collar. She had paused for a moment when she heard the question, then her eyes dilated and in an instant her arms clutched him around the neck, and her head was buried between them against his chest. He held her tight, but it was hard to give comfort from this position, when he could barely see her.

He didn’t want to push her away to change position, so he held firmly to her torso and rolled onto his back. He sat up gently, with her across his lap. His legs protested the angle, but he pushed himself back so that he could recline against the iron headboard. Buffy’s crying showed no evidence of slowing, and her knees were pressing against tender parts of his anatomy that were just beginning to get the feeling back. He lifted her enough to maneuver her legs to one side, so that she was sitting on his lap.

Bewildered as he was, he knew one thing about women and tears: it was best to let her cry. She’d been through hell, it was her right. He put an arm around her shoulders, pushing her chest against his. He began to rock her, slowly, back and forth. She didn’t resist, just hung so tightly to him that he felt as though they were joined at the skin. Rocking. Rocking and humming. That’s what his mother did when he was a little boy, scared, or sick, or lonely. He began to hum, tunelessly at first, since he didn’t know very many comforting songs. Soon he realized he was humming an old favorite of his mother’s, the one she’d used for him.

Buffy absorbed the comfort gratefully. She needed it as much as she needed blood. It seeped from her Sire into her, his touch helping to reassure her. The memories stayed in her mind, but the intensity lessened. Her crying slowed, and her gasping breaths quieted. She realized she had a chokehold around Spike’s neck, so she relaxed her hands, and they wandered down beneath his arms, then linked behind him in a loose hug. She moved her head to rest against his shoulder, and sniffled slightly.

Spike felt some of the tension leave her, and stopped his rocking at the behest of his lower back. Those muscles hadn’t had this much use in a while. He rubbed her back soothingly, and gave her a few minutes to rest. She seemed almost to doze, as though the sudden effort had tired her, despite her long sleep. He adjusted her position, so that he was supporting her back against one arm. Her face inclined against the upper part of his arm, and her eyes were closed.

He wanted to wait until she spoke, of looked at him, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t known for his patience, but he was truly becoming concerned. “Buffy? Luv, are you alright?” She opened her eyes, and stared up at him. She looked peaceful. “Are you hurt, pet?”

Buffy smiled. He looked so lost, and worried about her. She nuzzled against his shoulder. “No. Just being emotional Buffy.” He was rubbing her arm in a faint circular motion. It felt nice.

“Did I do something wrong?” He hoped he hadn’t bollocksed up his first day as her Sire.

Buffy shook her head quickly. “No you just asked me how I felt.” She swallowed. “And I felt hungry.”

He tilted his head to one side and stared at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that pet.” She shifted a little and looked away. Oh. “But I bet Angelus made you pay for what he gave you, didn’t he?” She nodded and continued to avoid his eyes, obviously embarrassed.

He wasn’t going to tolerate that. “Buffy, look at me.” He waited until he had her attention. He reached the hand that had been on her arm up, and curled it around the side of her face. “Nothing that happened in there was your fault. You don’t need to be ashamed off it.”

Buffy stared at him pleadingly. “I just went along with it. I stopped trying to fight. I - ”

“No. Angelus had tortured people for centuries. He’s got it down to an art. You picked your battles. That’s a slayer tactic, pet. Remember the first rule of slaying?”

“Stay alive.”

“There you are.”

Buffy toyed with the hem of his t-shirt. “Master, did Angelus - ”

Spike started, and his eyes clouded slightly. He spoke gently, “I’m not your master Buffy. You’re not my servant. You can call me Spike; if that makes you uncomfortable, you can call me Sire.”

“I like that best.”

“Okay. What were you saying?”

It was harder to ask than she expected. And she knew the answer, but she had a feeling that hearing him say it would help. If Spike had gotten over it, she probably could. “Did Angelus… do to you the kind of things he did to me?”

Spike sighed. “Yes luv. But not all at once. You have to understand that the Angelus that’s here now isn’t quite the same one I knew, before the soul. This one’s a bit barmy; probably all those years of being forced into knowing his conscience.”

Buffy frowned. “A soul’s not a conscience?”

“Oh, no, a soul’s just the thing that holds the different pieces of you all together; makes you acknowledge the conscience. Without a soul, you can just ignore it and listen to the demon instead.” Buffy was still frowning. “What’s wrong now?”

“I feel kind of dumb. Do all vampires know this stuff? The Watcher’s Council never said anything like that.”

Spike snorted. “What the Wanker’s Council doesn’t tell their slayers doesn’t make the slayers question the morals of goin’ out and stakin’ every demon that comes by. And don’t feel dumb. Don’t ever say that about yourself. My childe is not dumb.” Buffy giggled. “You’re not yet a week old. I’ve been a vampire for 116 years, ‘ve had time to learn this stuff. You didn’t have a decent sire right off, but you do now. There’s so much I’m going to show you.”

Buffy thought he sounded proud. He really did enjoy the idea of being the one to open her eyes to her knew status. And she was anxious to learn. She could sense the sun, she could smell him in a crowd, and she could hear butterflies outside their windows. That was only the beginning. She could feel power in her, from sources as yet unknown. But she didn’t think she could learn on an empty stomach; she never had before. “Can we start with the education of Buffy Summers after breakfast?”

Spike laughed. It was a nice clear, friendly laugh, and it warmed her further. “I suppose we can arrange that. Can you reach my neck?” She nodded. “You remember how to do it?” She nodded again. “Go ahead then.” He tilted his head back for easier access.

Buffy sat up and put an arm on his opposite shoulder to steady herself. She pressed her lips against his neck, feeling for the vein. He really did smell nice. She delayed inserting her fangs for a few moments to feel his soft skin on her lips. She bit down gently, hoping that she didn’t hurt him. His blood was sweet, and strong. Sire’s blood, her demon said. She drank savoring the taste. She felt a little shiver run through her; she was kinda getting turned on drinking from him. She hadn’t from Angelus. She liked this feeling.

Spike held himself still. He tried desperately not to focus on what she was doing. But it was undeniably erotic. She took such dainty sips, like he was some rare dish she was thoroughly enjoying. He was getting aroused, and felt his blood descending. He was shocked to realize that if she kept this up, he was going to end up hard. He hadn’t had release since the accident. And fuck, how long had it been since he actually had sex? Dru’d been too ill for almost seven months beforehand to be of assistance, and he wasn’t about to cheat.

He wanted Buffy. She had appealed to him since that first night, when he watched her dance. A little young for his tastes, and a slayer; otherwise he’d have been tempted to get her alone. And he had her alone, right now. Oh, fuck, this wasn’t a good line of thought. He control, and Buffy didn’t need him coming on to her now, especially considering how Angelus had abused mealtime with her.

Spike restrained himself as much as he could, thinking about Angelus screwing Darla, about Angelus and Dru, about Angelus and … Buffy. That one did the trick. It gave him back the control he needed, though the scent of her own arousal threatened to drive it away again when it reached his nose. He was so distracted trying to keep his reactions under control that he forgot about telling her when to stop.

Buffy continued to pull on his blood, taking deeper sips when he didn’t stop her. She was almost full when she realized that he wasn’t completely with her. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving. He looked even more pale than normal. “S-sire?”

Spike jumped awake, his head dizzy from the loss of blood. His childe was panicking. He patted her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. We’ll just go down and I’ll get some brekky myself. Plenty of pig’s blood from the butcher.”

“You’re not hunting?”

“Too dangerous. Angelus might see us out and about. Can’t have him finding us until we’re strong enough to fight back. And I need to introduce you to the others.”

“Oh.” Buffy looked down at herself, and realized for the first time that she was only wearing a robe. “I don’t have any clothes. And I’m clean.” Her brow furrowed.

“Alexa and I cleaned you up last night. I had her look into some before we brought you here. She said she put some things in the dresser for you. You go grab some. The bathroom’s in there,” he gestured to a door on the far wall of the bedroom, “so you change and we’ll head down.”

He’d seen her naked. That was the only thing she processed immediately. Huh. She grabbed some clothes, pretty close to her size, some brown jeans and a pink top. Alexa was kind enough to include panties and bras, which she hid in with her other clothing. She marched over to the bathroom, set her clothes down, and looked in the mirror. There was nothing there. She shrieked, and in an instant Spike was beside her.

Spike hugged her, and turned her back to the mirror. “Easy luv. I’m sorry Buffy. Stupid of me not to think about it.”

“It just feels wrong,” she whimpered against his skin, “not seeing me. Like I’m not here. And what if I look ugly? I won’t know how to fix it.”

Spike grinned, but didn’t laugh. This was serious to her; it was serious to every new vampire. “You could never look ugly love. Mirrors still bother me sometimes. It’ll get easier.”

Buffy sniffled again, ashamed to feel the tears starting for the second time this morning. “Don’t I look ugly now?” She gestured to her ridges and fangs. “I don’t even know how to get rid of them.”

“Buffy look up here.” She did. He was in game face, staring down at her. She’d never noticed how expressive a face with ridges could be. He looked kind and patient, even with his demon out. He really was rather attractive as a demon. “Beauty is relative. For a human, a face like this isn’t something to be proud of. But you’re dealing with vampire standards now. And you are the most lovely vampire I’ve ever seen.” He willed her to see the sincerity.

“Really?” He called her lovely.

He nodded. “Mm-hmm. Now watch me pet. Think about what you look like as a human. Reach into your memory, and picture yourself without your lumpies.” His game face receded slowly.

Buffy did as instructed, and felt her face shifting. She reached up and felt her former smooth forehead and nose. She ran her tongue along the bottom of her incisors. Yep, no fangs. “Thank you Spike.”

He smiled into those sweet green eyes. “You’re welcome Buffy.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“Hey. How come we don’t lisp in game face? Angelus does.”

“’Cause Angelus never could get anything right. I’ll bet you a fiver he can’t even program a digital watch.”

She laughed. “No, he can’t! I asked him to set the time on mine once while I was digging for something in my purse, and he didn’t know how!”

Spike smirked. “See? Now get dressed pet. My tummy’s gurglin’.”
________________________

Angelus stared at the ashes around his bed. His childe, all but six of the minions he’d left behind, and every drapery in the dining room destroyed. Drusilla gone. Now he’d be stuck with fucking his food. And his food certainly didn’t have her experience. And her prophecies and visions weren’t his to see anymore, either. That meant finding Spike was going to be a hell of a lot harder.

Damn Watcher. Should have killed him along with that teacher he was trying to lay. He’d figured she was the more dangerous one at the time. And now he had two burnt out layers courtesy of Ripper.

Someone was going to pay for these insults.
*****
Thanks to the readers and reviewers for sticking with me!

Best wishes to all our brothers and sisters in England. God be with you in these trying times.

Next