Drusilla was true to her word and did not use any of the ‘toys’ on the bed upon him. She did keep him tied, however, trussed to the chair with barely enough room to breathe. He bided the time by using some meditation techniques and mental conditioning exercises in preparation for doing battle with Drusilla. Knowing she had raided his mind before gave him extra incentive to protect himself from her psychic attacks.
He was busy focusing all his attention on a single spot of dirt on the rug when movement in his peripheral vision distracted him. At first he thought it was Drusilla coming back into the room, but then he realized that it had approached from the wrong direction. His senses were tingling and he tensed, then something touched his back lightly. He jumped and gasped, but a cool hand covered his mouth to muffle the noise.
“S’ok, Watcher. ‘S me,” Spike’s voice whispered in his ear and the hand was pulled away.
“Oh thank God. Spike, Drusilla is here,” he whispered back.
“I know,” came the reply from behind him as he heard the sound of ropes being cut.
“Is Buffy with you?”
“Yeah. We split up when we came in. Where’s Dru?”
“I don’t know. She left the room about an hour ago and hasn’t been back since,” he replied, pulling his now free arms forward and working his hands to return the circulation to the numb limbs.
He saw Spike take a glance at the bed, saw the shoulders tense and the faint shudder run through the vampire’s body.
“Did she hurt you?” Spike asked softly.
“Oddly, no.”
Spike gave a tight nod.
“Can you stand?”
He felt his legs and wiggled his toes, grimacing at the pain as they came back to life. “I will be able to in a minute.”
“Dunno if we have that much time, Watcher.”
“Well, I am doing my best here.”
Spike snorted. “Might have to carry you out if it comes to it.”
“Over my dead body,” he snipped back, rubbing his calves.
“Hmph, that can be arranged, Watcher. Dru comes back, we gotta bugger out of here and fast.”
“Too late, my William,” came Dru’s voice from the doorway and they both froze.
Turning their heads as one, they faced the vampiress standing by the entrance. She was glassy-eyes and flushed, and she held a bloody chef’s knife in her hand.
‘Oh good Lord. Buffy…’ Looking over at Spike, he saw an expression of horror that he was certain was on his own face.
Spike moved so that he was standing between him and Drusilla, and Giles could barely see the vampires from around Spike’s body.
“Drusilla. Darling…” Spike began, but was cut off by Drusilla’s gasp of disbelief.
“No. No! No! It’s all wrong! All wrong! Burning crickets in your head!” Drusilla cried, her eyes going crazed and wild.
“Dru…” Spike tried again, but she wasn’t listening.
“It’s not true! It’s not too late! I can cut it out!”
Giles had rarely seen a vampire move with the true speed that they were capable of, but he saw the blur that was Drusilla streak towards them. Spike barely had enough time to move further between them before she had him within reach. She grabbed Spike with one hand and literally threw him onto the bed. He landed on top of several of the weapons she had gathered there and his legs kicked off a mace and two daggers.
Both vampires let out twin screams as Drusilla straddled her prone Childe and stabbed him in the chest.
“Cut it out! Cut it out! Swirling nasties behind your eyes! What have you done to my William?!”
Barely able to stand, he rose to his feet, horrified as Drusilla continued to repeatedly stab Spike while he howled in agony.
‘She can see the soul and she’s trying to cut it out!’
Reaching a shaky hand to grab the fallen mace, he swung with all his strength and slammed Drusilla in the skull. She let out a shriek and collapsed as the blow knocked her from the bed and sent her crashing into the wall.
“Spike!” Giles gasped, dropping the mace and staggering to look at him.
Blood was splattered all over the bed and the vampire’s shirt was slashed to ribbons, much like his chest, but he was still undead and conscious. Pain-filled eyes looked at him from the contorted, demon face.
“Find Buffy!” the vampire ordered though his gasps of anguish.
“I’m here!” Buffy said, and he turned his head to see his Slayer standing in the doorway, one hand holding a bleeding cut on her upper arm, while the other held a stake at ready.
“Buffy!” he cried, joy and relief flooding into him.
“Where’s Drusilla?” she demanded.
He pointed to the crumpled body on the floor and Buffy moved in for the kill.
“No!” he heard Spike beg.
The vampire was trying to sit up, one hand reaching out in supplication, his human face back in place. Buffy paused, her eyes growing wide at the sight of him.
“No, please. I don’t care what you do with her. Chain ‘er up and toss her in the cargo hold of a slow boat to China or whatever. But please don’t kill her. Please.’
He’d never seen Spike plead for anything, but the open grief on the vampire’s face was heartbreaking. Buffy lowered her stake and made a tentative step towards the bed.
“What happened?”
“Drusilla tried to cut out Spike’s… heart,” he explained, hedging just a bit.
Spike gave him a grateful look and slumped back to the mattress, drained. He lost consciousness a moment later.
“Geeze, talk about a bad hack job,” Buffy breathed. “I hope that wasn’t his favorite shirt.”
He gave her a look that spoke of the inappropriateness of her humor and she had the decency to look contrite.
“Is it safe to move him?” she asked.
He nodded. “My guess is that if we use one of these velvet curtains as a gurney, it should be all right.”
“We just have to get him outside. Mom said she was calling Xander before we left to come here. He should be here soon.”
He acknowledged her answer as he reached for one of the dusty curtains, tugging on it. Buffy reached past him, yanking the curtain and the wooden rod down with one pull. She gave him a guilty look, but he just smiled at her. Then they worked together to wrap Spike in the heavy fabric, grimacing at the amount of blood the vampire had lost.
“We should contain Drusilla, there’s no telling when she will awaken,” he warned.
Buffy agreed and trussed the unconscious vampiress in two sets of her own chains.
When they were ready, Buffy picked Spike up and carried him towards the exit.
“Buffy, do you…” he offered.
“Nah, I got him. For a dead guy, he’s not that much dead weight,” she replied, trying to make a joke but the humor didn’t make it to her eyes. “I’ll come back in for the nut-job ho.”
He gave a strained nod and followed her as they made their way outside to wait for Xander to arrive.
*******
Spike spent the next two days bundled up in gauze and ace wrap on a cot set up in the Summers’ basement. Deemed too injured to care for himself by Joyce, Buffy was ordered to make him comfortable downstairs until he could function on his own. He had only brief, hazy memories of those forty-eight hours, and most of them were of someone shoving blood down his throat.
After two days, vampire healing had mended him enough for him to be able to stand on his own and speak without coughing up blood. He was still weak, though, and his newly closed wounds would re-open and spill blood if he moved the wrong way. As such, he spent most of his time lying down on the couch with the living room curtains drawn securely shut, watching television.
On the fourth day, he fell asleep during General Hospital and was awakened by the thundering horde of estrogen that was the Summers’ household arriving home. In the past ninety-six hours he had witnessed first hand what it was like to live with three strong-willed women, one of whom was a full bore adolescent, and all of his fantasies of what life would be like were he to be welcomed into the Summers’ inner circle were shattered completely. To be honest he wasn’t certain any man could live it and survive.
Between the constant yammering and fighting over the bathroom and the female hormones floating around, he was amazed that he hadn’t gone completely insane. Still, he quickly learned the value in making himself as small and quiet as possible so he wouldn’t get dragged into another snit between the girls or the girls and their mother. Huddling down in his blankets, he did his best to imitate a pile of discarded laundry tossed on the couch with only the top of his head and his eyes exposed.
‘If I just lay low and keep my mouth shut, they might not notice me…’
“Spike! You’re upstairs!” Dawn cried happily, rushing over.
‘Oh balls…’
The teen immediately began fussing over him. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine, Bit. Just restin’ and watchin’ telly,” he whispered, trying to make himself sound worse than he actually was.
“Well, you look better and your voice is way stronger.”
“I’ll be ready to go back to my crypt soon,” he hedged hopefully.
“Not tonight, you won’t be,” Joyce said, appraising him with a mother’s eye and seeing right through him. He did his best to look innocent.
“Mom has a date,” Dawn announced, flopping onto the couch.
Spike looked at Joyce and smiled. “Does she now? Gettin’ back into the singles scene, eh, Joyce?”
“More like Single with Children,” Joyce replied, concern and uncertainty in her voice.
“Mom got three new dresses today, just for her date! Mom, mom! Go put them on!”
“They’re really nothing special or fancy…” Joyce tried, but Dawn was insistent.
“Mom, please? I wanna see them. Besides, we need to make sure they’re appropriate attire for a first date.”
“Where did you learn to talk like that, young lady?” Joyce asked, incredulous.
Dawn fixed her baby browns on her mother and blinked. “Society and values in History class.”
Joyce rolled her eyes and gave in. “Alright, alright.”
“Yay! I’ll help!” Dawn enthused, hopping off the couch, grabbing the shopping bags and dashing up the stairs.
Shaking her head, Joyce followed, leaving Buffy alone with him. She looked at him and he looked at her, but she did not come close. She’d been quiet and civil during his time there, not snarky or argumentative, and for that he was grateful. She kept her distance, but was there if he needed anything, and she didn’t hesitate to help if he required something. She didn’t mention his loving her, and neither did he. Buffy was well into denial and he was too damaged to get into an emotional tête-à-tête with her.
Considering how things had happened before, however, this time around was a vast improvement. At least this time, the encounter with Dru hadn’t resulted in his chaining Buffy to a wall, offering to kill Dru or threatening to let Dru kill her, and his invite to the Summers’ house being revoked. Not that having Dru use him as a butcher’s block had been at all pleasant, nor was it something he would ever want to experience again, but those wounds would heal. This time, he was still welcome in the Summers’ home, albeit warily, and he had two out of three Summers women doting on him like mother hens.
“You do look better,” Buffy said, shaking him out of his thoughts. “I mean, you still look dead, but for a while there you looked deader than dead. I can see a definite improvement.”
“Thanks ever so.”
She fell silent and looked uncomfortable for a few moments.
“So, anything good on TV?”
Spike shook his head. “Just news and soaps. And you know how soaps are: stop watching for two months and you come back to find the same characters suffering the same torments only now they know that they’re all secretly related.”
Buffy giggled and her shoulders relaxed. He found that if he could make her laugh, she would let down her guard a bit and stop trying so hard to figure him out.
“And is Timmy a real boy yet?” she teased.
He gave her a grin. “Nope, still a doll, but he’s hopin’. Oh! Say, what time is it?”
Buffy looked at her watch. “4:12.”
“Oh! BBC America was running a Changing Rooms marathon!” he remembered, grabbing the remote and changing the channel.
Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Changing Rooms? Is that anything like Trading Spaces, that TV show where two neighbors destroy rooms in each other’s house and get designers to help?”
“No, no, this is the *original* show that had neighbors destroying each others rooms. Soddin’ Trading Spaces was just you yanks stealin’ our idea coz you couldn’t come up with an original idea like that on your own.”
“Is it funnier than Trading Spaces? I mean, I saw an episode where the woman designer put moss all over these people’s bedroom wall.”
She came closer and he made room for her on the other side of the couch.
“It’s brilliant. I love it when the people hate it and they cry. Saw that ponce Lawrence get shoved into a pool once. Bloody brilliant that was.”
She perched on the very edge of the couch as the program returned from commercials to rejoin the ‘red team’ in the midst of converting someone’s attic bachelor pad into a Costa Rican love nest.
“Ewww, that is the brightest shade of orange I have ever seen in my life,” Buffy commented.
“They’re British, pet. We never get to see the sun so bright colors look wonderful to us.”
The camera closed in on a second can of paint, this one deep turquoise. “Ewwwww. Are they color-blind too?”
Spike just chuckled and settled in to watch Buffy react to the show. She was so caught up in being repulsed by British fashion sense that she didn’t notice that he was staring at her. She was so expressive and alive that he almost started to cry. He’d missed her vibrant personality so much after Willow had resurrected her. It was a gift to see it now.
A few minutes later, Joyce came down to model her first dress and the television was turned off. Spike made more room on the couch and he, Dawn and Buffy played audience to Joyce’s modeling. The first two dresses were very nice, but the third was a knock-out. It was a long black slip dress with calf-length slits up each side and painted lilies on the front.
“What do you think?” Joyce asked, taking a small spin in front of them.
“Mmmm, I might like it more than the others. Could you spin again?” Buffy answered.
Joyce obliged and spun again.
“Ooo, I’m not sure. Once more,” Dawn said.
Joyce turned and Spike caught the mischievous glints in the girls’ eyes.
“Now could you go the other way?” Buffy requested innocently and Spike had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
Joyce started to turn in the opposite direction, but then stopped, wising up to her daughters’ antics.
“You’re messing with me.”
Dawn and Buffy giggled.
“We just wanted to see how many times we could get you to do it,” Buffy admitted.
“Was that five or four-and-a-half?” Dawn joked.
“So is anyone going to talk about the dress?” Joyce asked.
“It’s very nice, Joyce. Like that one on you,” Spike replied.
Joyce put her hands on her hips. “You said that about the other two dresses, Spike.”
Spike shrugged. “It’s true. Though you do look particularly radiant in that one,” he smoothed, turning on the charm. She flushed and looked pleased.
“I like it,’ Dawn said definitively.
Joyce suddenly became uncertain. “You’re sure? It’s not too, you know, mom-ish?”
“Oh. That was why I liked it,” Dawn said.
“You’re both crazy! It’s not mom-ish at all!” Buffy insisted. “It’s sexy! It screams randy-sex-kitten-buy-me-one-drink-and-I’ll...” She paused and grimaced. “Wait... that’s not really good either.”
Joyce looked to Spike and he knew he was in trouble. “Spike?”
“Errr… It’s definitely a dress a mature attractive woman such as yourself would wear.”
Joyce sighed. “Oh, I’m so glad you agreed to help… Oh God, what time is it?”
“Four-twenty-three,” Buffy replied, looking at her watch. “You have lots of time ‘til seven. Vast acres of time in which you could plant crops. Now tell me about this Brian and what his intentions are.”
“Yeah, Mum, who is this mystery man who wants to sweep you off your feet?” Spike piped up, enjoying Joyce’s nervousness.
“Maybe he’s a gigolo. Was his shirt all shiny?” Dawn asked, worried.
“Could you see his chest hair? Was he wearing lots of gaudy jewelry? The rings’ll give ‘em away very time,” Spike added seriously, but his eyes were laughing.
“No, he works at a publishing house. A nice, normal guy, okay?” Joyce explained. “I met him my first day back at the gallery when I was still kinda shaky. You know, starting over. He asked a question about these antique cameos and I was so lost ‘cause Carol did the ordering while I was sick. But it turned out he didn’t know anything about them either, so we had a lot to talk about.”
“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Dawn questioned.
“Dinner and then a movie. Or maybe it was a movie and then dinner. Which might be better because then we can talk about the movie. Or maybe a movie isn’t a good idea at all, because you can’t talk during and then what’s the point of any of it. Also, what kind of a restaurant? One with candles and romantic music, or is that pushing it?” Joyce answered, unsure.
“I think a date should be in a real fancy restaurant, then champagne at a night club with a floor show, then ballroom dancing,” Dawn said.
“Unfortunately, we’re not dating in a movie from the thirties. Spike?” Joyce asked, pinning him with a worried, expectant gaze.
Spike squirmed and punted. ‘When in doubt, remind ‘em you’re a vampire…’ “Oh, I dunno, Joyce. In my time, a good time for me and Dru was eating the floor show in that night club Bit was talkin’ about.”
Joyce rolled her eyes and looked to her eldest. “Buffy? What do you think? Should I try to make things romantic or sort of let him set the pace?”
“Oh no, Love-Doctor Buffy is not in. I’m not qualified to give dating advice.”
“Seriously, Joyce, it’s all about chemistry. If this Brian-bloke and you have it, then you’ll know what to do,” he offered.
Joyce wrung her hands and bit her lip. “Oh God-- Brian. What time is it now?”
“Four twenty-four. One minute after you asked us the last time.”
“You’re sure this dress is okay?”
“Spin again. Real fast this time,” Dawn said, grinning.
Two and a half hours later, two of the walking estrogen bombs were ready to leave. Joyce, radiant in her dress and makeup, was awaiting her date, and Buffy, even more radiant in a gold sweater and tight black pants, was heading out to a Spring Break party at Sunnydale University. Spike had urged her to go for a little fun time; that he and Dawn would be fine on their own. That was when Joyce announced that Giles would be coming over to keep an eye on Dawn and attend to the ‘undead English patient.’
“Okay, Mom, Xander’s here. Have fun on your date,” Buffy announced as she bounded out the door.
Spike followed her bouncing hair enviously, wishing he could go with her. He loved to watch her dance, but it would save him the humiliation of getting thrown through a window by that Warren-geek’s sex-bot.
“Goodnight honey! Have a good time!” Joyce called after her.
He heard the sound of a car door closing and then the vehicle drove off. Dawn was upstairs in her room, so he and Joyce were alone. Ignoring the protesting of his wounds, he rose to his feet and approached her.
“You really do look stunning in that dress, Joyce,” he said honestly.
Joyce flushed and smiled. “Thank you, Spike.”
“How are you feeling?”
The woman’s smile widened. “Really, really good. The headaches are gone and I feel wonderful.”
“Doc have you on any medication?” he hedged.
Joyce shrugged. “I’m supposed to be taking Coumadin, but it makes my gums bleed something terrible.”
He frowned. “Now, now, Joyce, if the doc says you should take it, maybe you need to talk to him about a different drug if that one’s not workin’ for you.”
“It’s a blood thinner, Spike. I take aspirin instead.”
He gave her an incredulous look and she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Really. And who’s the mom here anyway?”
“You are, Joyce,” he answered immediately. He might be a vampire, but he was a well trained vampire.
“That’s right, and I know what I’m doing so don’t worry about me.”
His vampire hearing caught the sound of a car pulling in the drive.
“You’re date’s here, Mum,” he told her.
She immediately smoothed her dress and fluffed her hair. “How do I look?”
He gave her a tender smile. “Radiant.”
She looked at him gratefully and he added, “And you do know that if this bloke is anything but a perfect gentleman, I’ll contract out to have someone eviscerate him and hand him his intestines since I can’t do it myself.”
Her smile faded, but then she laughed and shook her head, opening the door.
“Goodnight, Spike. Rupert will be here around 8:00. Keep Dawn, and yourself, out of trouble until then.”
“Wot? That mean I can’t sell all your furniture and dance to rock music in my boxers?”
Joyce gave him a look that turned evil, and he suddenly knew where Buffy got her impish streak. “You don’t wear boxers, Spike.”
Giving him a final smile, and ignoring his stunned look, she walked out to join her date.
********
Spike and Dawn were sitting in the living room when the clock struck eight. Dawn was painting his nails their usual black (she had noticed that the manicure Harmony had given him weeks ago was in dire need of repair) and yammering about boys. He was pretending to pay attention and nodding and making agreeing noises at appropriate intervals. Then Giles walked in to save him.
“Rupert! My fellow countryman! Please tell me you brought alcohol,” he called as Giles entered the house.
He saw Giles taking in the tableau before him and watched the man give a visible sigh of relief that he would not be alone with a female teenager.
‘Spineless wanker…’
“Spike. It’s so good to see you up and about,” Giles greeted, thankfully carrying two six-packs of beer.
He plastered a smile upon his face. “Well, you know. It takes more than my psychotic ex-girlfriend using my chest as a cutting board to keep me down.”
“Well, yes, I have learned from experience that vampires are remarkably resilient.”
“Yeah, we are. Is that Corona?”
Giles looked at the beer he was carrying. “Yes, it is.”
Heedless of his wet nails and Dawn’s disapproving glare, he held out a hand. “Pass one over, Rupes.”
Giles came into the room and handed him a bottle obligingly.
“Ta,” he said, opening the bottle with his teeth and taking a swig.
Dawn made a disgusted sound and put away the nail polish. “I’m gonna go do my homework,” she groused sullenly and stalked from the room.
They watched her go.
“Have we been reprieved?” Giles asked.
Spike swallowed his mouthful of beer. “Not a chance. I give ‘er an hour tops. We’re too good of an opportunity to miss.”
“Good lord, I can’t imagine what it must be like to live with a teenaged girl, let alone two other… headstrong women.”
“It’s easy. Ya just gotta remember three things. One: keep your mouth shut and your head down. If they don’t notice you, you’re in the clear. Two: the answer to any question they ask you is ‘yes’, unless of course it’s the dreaded ‘does this outfit make me look fat’ question. In which case, the answer is a vehement NO. Even if she looks like week-old stuffed sausage in it, the answer is still no. Three: if your girl is an insane bitch who wants to destroy the world, bugger outta there as fast as you can,” he explained, counting off on his fingers.
“Thank you for that useful and helpful advice, Spike.”
He took another swig of beer. “Always glad I can be of service.”
Giles came and sat next to him, his face serious.
“I was going through that journal you lent me. The one where you wrote down what you remembered from the other timeline. It would seem that we will learn of Warren very soon.”
Spike nodded. “Yeah. Tonight. His sex-bot crashes a party over at the uni. I was there before. Got tossed through a window. Glad I’m not there now. ‘S good enough if I’m here to learn about it, right? Then I can go contact him to make me one of Buffy.”
Giles nodded uncomfortably. “Yes, that would seem logical.”
“Unless you think we can skip it this time ‘round. Do without the bloody bot.”
Giles pulled out his own beer and opened it. “No. I think it would be best to keep things as they were. As distasteful as the idea is, a robot Buffy to act as a decoy could prove quite valuable.”
“Yeah.” He finished the beer and reached for another. “How we gonna break it to our girl? Buffy’s not gonna take it well and I don’t wanna bugger things up. She knows I love her.”
Giles nodded. “I know. She asked me and I told her. She took it well, I think, all things considered.”
Spike agreed. “Yeah. And things are goin’ okay. Between us, I mean. Last time it was a complete disaster.”
“So I’ve read. Really Spike, did you honestly think chaining her up and offering to kill Drusilla for her would make her believe you loved her?”
Spike looked away. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Giles just shook his head and took another drink. “Speaking of Drusilla, I received word from my contacts in Argentina. Our box arrived safely. They will follow our instructions to leave it in broad daylight and break the lock. She’ll have to wait for sundown before she can escape so they’ll be long gone by then.”
“Thanks, mate. You didn’t have to…”
“Yes, I did. Not even Angel could bring himself to kill Drusilla. She is a tragic, but necessary, part of your lives. Besides, I owed you a life. You no doubt saved mine when you convinced Angelus to stop torturing me 2 years ago, and most likely saved me again when you placed yourself between me and Drusilla four days ago.” Giles gave him a knowing glance. “And yes, I did notice that. I am a *Watcher* after all.”
“Still, it meant a lot to me. Thank you,” he repeated, then smiled. “So, is the plan to get completely knackered before Bit comes back down?”
“It’s that bad, is it? I thought you said it was easy.”
“Okay, I admit it. I lied. It’s pure Hell, and us vamps are supposed to like that sort of thing. I swear Dante forgot the tenth level of Hell, in which men are forced to endure the never-ending torments of teenaged girls tittering about clothes, make-up and boys, and throwing hormone-driven temper tantrums.”
“Oh dear. A fate worse than death,” Giles commented dryly.
“Or undeath.”
“Do you need rescuing?”
“You offerin’ a spot on your couch?”
“If you still need it.”
He thought a moment. “I could use another day or so of rest and there’s never tellin’ who’s gonna pop in to the crypt. But I’m healed up enough to go back if you want to keep your couch open. I just can’t handle any fightin’ or movin’ about too quick. Not for another day at least.”
“Well, we’ll see, shall we? Spend the night at my place and go back to your crypt tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Thanks, Rupes.”
“Can’t have you going insane and staking yourself before we defeat Glory, can we.”
He grinned. “I’m not gonna stake myself, and I think I’m already certifiable.”
“Really? What makes you think so?”
“I’ve lasted four days in this house without going berserk, I’m starting to know the difference between Ivory soap and a Dove bar, and I’m actually beginning to recognize some of Bit’s boy bands,” he confessed.
Giles eyed him warily. “A true sign of an unstable mind.”
The loud cacophony of one of Dawn’s said boy bands began pounding from upstairs as Dawn turned up the volume on her stereo. Both men cast eyes to the ceiling, noticing how the foyer light swayed with the beat.
“Oh, for the days when teenagers were hors d’oeuvres,” Spike bemoaned.
Giles sighed and handed him another beer.
Buffy came home around midnight to relieve Giles of Dawn and vampire duty. Giles’ relief was evident on his face, even though Dawn had been sent to bed an hour ago.
“Dear God Buffy, there’s only so much I can take. We’re simply going to have to change the system. A fourteen-year-old is too old to be baby-sat. It’s not fair to her,” Giles said.
“What did she make you do?” Buffy asked knowingly.
“Well, we listened to some aggressively cheerful music sung by people chosen for their ability to dance, then she painted Spike’s nails while we ate cookie dough and talked about boys.”
Buffy struggled to hold back a laugh and only partly succeeded. “I’m so sorry, but if it makes you feel any better, my fun-time-Buffy party night involved watching a robot throw some guy who hit on her across a table.”
“A robot? That’s interesting,” Giles commented.
“A robot? Really?” Spike added, coming to stand beside Giles. He’d dressed and was prepared to leave. “How do you know it was a robot?’
“Well, if she wasn’t a robot, she was a very cheerful, wickedly strong girl able to toss me across a room.”
“Are you hurt?” he blurted.
Buffy waved her hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Just have a bruise. We’re going to work on it in the morning. Or, if you wanted to hang out a little longer, we could…”
Just then Joyce came through the door, a happy smile on her face.
“So who wants to hear everything?” she enthused.
“...listen to Mom talk about boys.”
“Yes, right! Must go! See you tomorrow! Good-bye, Joyce,” Giles said hastily, hurrying out.
“Bye, Rupert,” Joyce said, waving one hand.
“I’m gonna go with him, Slayer, Joyce. Ol’ Rupert’s got some scroll or some such he thinks might have some info on that Glory bint, but it’s written in one of the demon languages I know how to read,” he lied smoothly.
Buffy looked taken back. “Really? He didn’t say anything about it to me.”
“He just found it tonight before he came over. I promised to look at it for him and see what I could make of it.”
“Spike, are you sure you’re all right to leave?” Joyce asked worriedly.
He gave her one of his winning smiles. “I’m just going to play over at Rupert’s house and have a sleep-over. I promise we won’t stay up all night reading comic books and lobbing spitballs at each other.”
“Ewwww,” Buffy said.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re up to it…”
He gave Joyce a quick peck on the cheek. “I am. I’ll pop by tomorrow to see you. I’m so glad you had a wonderful time on your date. I do want to hear about it, but if I don’t go now, Giles will leave without me.”
“Dawn traumatized him that much?” Joyce asked.
“She made him eat cookie dough and listen to her talk about her teenage crushes at school.”
“I think she’s scarred him for life.”
He smiled. “No doubt. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Spike,” Joyce said.
“Night, Spike,” Buffy repeated.
He walked out and Joyce closed the door behind him. As he walked to Giles’ car, he heard Joyce joking with her daughter about leaving her bra in her date’s car, and laughed when he heard Buffy’s cry of “Mother!” in response.
He paused and looked back at the house, feeling lightweight for the first time since he had been sent back. Joyce was healthy, Buffy knew he loved her and hadn’t completely shoved him from her life, Dru hadn’t needed to be killed and Giles was actually giving him a chance to prove himself. Maybe things were finally starting to look up.
“Good God! That’s horrible! Don’t do that!” he heard Buffy gasp.
“I left it in the restaurant,” was Joyce’s reply.
He heard the sound of footsteps as Buffy ran up the stairs, yelling, “No more! No more!”
“On the dessert cart!” Joyce called after her.
Spike shook his head and continued on his way to where Giles was waiting.
‘God I love these Summers women!’
*******
Without the loud banging of Buffy and Dawn going through their morning routine to rouse him, Spike slept late and did not wake until Giles called his name. He rolled over, shaking away sleep, and blinked at the man standing next to him.
“Mornin’ Rupert,” he greeted, stretching, then winced and gasped as his wounds protested. “Ow!”
He touched his black T-shirt where the bandages were underneath and his fingers came away stained with blood.
“Oh, bloody hell.”
Giles sighed. “Well, I was about to tell you that I was headed to the Magic Box, but it seems we need to attend to your wounds beforehand.”
He didn’t protest as Giles helped him take the shirt off, revealing the blood-soaked wrappings.
“Oh dear. Well, let me get some bandages,” the Watcher said, frowning at the sight.
“Got enough for a job this big?”
“With Buffy Summers as my Slayer, do you honestly have to ask that question?” the man replied, heading for the bathroom.
“Point.”
Giles returned with several packages of gauze bandages and a pair of medical scissors. Then he cut away the soiled dressing to reveal the still seeping stab wounds.
“Good God, Spike, I thought you said that you were healing.”
“I am. Just healin’ from the inside out ‘s all. If you look, they’re not as deep. Don’t go all the way into my chest anymore. ‘S just surface bleeding now. Been a lot worse before this. Buffy helped change ‘em. Didn’t want Bit and Joyce seein’ all the blood.”
Giles frowned and used gauze pads to staunch the wounds. “That was probably wise.”
“Why did you take me there, anyway? Not that I minded bein’ cared for by Nurses Summers, but I was shocked to wake up in Joyce’s basement.”
“We knew that you were seriously injured and would require care. We also knew that, with her infatuation with you, if Dawn wasn’t able to see you during your recovery, she would most likely sneak out to find you. It was a matter of insuring that Dawn stayed safe and wasn’t haring off to the cemetery,” came the reply.
“Hmmph. Kinda like goin’ into a burnin’ house to fetch the kid’s hamster coz you know if you don’t do it, the kid will,” Spike observed.
Giles flicked him a glance. “Precisely.” He padded more gauze onto the wounds. “There. I think I’ve got the bleeding stopped.”
“I think so too.”
Giles pulled out the wrapping and began dressing the gauze in layers of bandages.
“What are your plans for today?” Giles asked him.
“Swing by my crypt and get the box I have there so I can go to that Warren git and order the bloody bot. No help for it, the wanker’s gonna leave town soon. Maybe go see Joyce. I promised her I would pop in today but I’m feelin’ knackered.”
“Probably from the blood loss. I do have two packages of blood in the refrigerator from the last time you stayed here, and I’ll bring more home this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Watcher.”
He reached for his bloodied shirt, but Giles grabbed it first.
“This is ruined. I’ll loan you one of my old sweatshirts for now until we have time to stop by your crypt.”
“I’ll prolly go back there tonight. Another day of vamp healin’ and these should be just nasty scratches.”
“If you think that’s best” Giles commented, going to fetch a sweatshirt from his bedroom.
He brought back an old Manchester United sweatshirt and handed it to Spike.
“Man United, Rupert?” he questioned, looking at the insignia.
“It was a gag gift from an old classmate. Why do you think I don’t care if you bleed all over it?”
Muttering under his breath, Spike carefully pulled the sweatshirt on and covered the bandages while Giles heated him a mug of blood. He gave the man a thankful nod when Giles handed him the warm cup.
“If you’re sure you won’t need anything, I’ll be off. If you have any troubles, call the Magic Box.”
“Thanks, Rupert. If I’m not here, don’t worry. As I said, I have to go out.”
“Do be careful. Vampires are flammable in sunlight, you know.”
“Oh dear, are we really? Good thing I’ve got my trusty blanket then,” he replied, wide-eyed.
Giles shook his head and gathered his coat. “Have a good day, Spike.”
“You too, Rupes,” he called as Giles left.
After the Watcher had gone, Spike went back to sleep. He awoke late morning, ate the last bag of blood, checked his bandages to make sure he wasn’t sieve-Spike, and tidied himself up a bit. Then he took the blanket and his duster and made a dash for the sewers. The effort hurt his wounds so he had to rest a bit before making his way to his crypt and then to the robot geek. It took him a while to get there. The trip was the most walking he had done since the incident with Drusilla and he kept getting lightheaded. He got there just as Warren was packing up to leave. Luckily, he’d changed into his usual black on black and was able to intimidate the git into making the Buffy-bot for him without too much trouble.
Business with the loser who would try to take over Sunnydale completed, he headed for the gallery. Unfortunately, when he got to there, Joyce’s assistant informed him that Joyce had gone home. He rested at the gallery for a while, perusing the new acquisitions, then made his way back to the tunnels. It was slow going for him and he hoped he would get to the house before Buffy or Dawn came home, but he wasn’t sure if he’d make it. As it was, he knew it was already after one and he still had a ways to go.
Over an hour later, he finally arrived at the manhole on Revello. He listened carefully for sounds of traffic before pushing his already exhausted body out of the tunnel and making a quick run for the front porch. Blessedly, the door was unlocked so he zipped in, fighting back the wave of dizziness that hit him, and slammed the door shut. Safe. Leaning against the front door, he pushed away the vertigo and stumbled for the kitchen where he hoped blood bags were kept in the refrigerator. He found three and he was so hungry that he drank two of them cold.
It was only after he regained some sense of balance that he noticed the stillness of the house.
“Joyce?” he called.
There was no answer.
Furrowing his brow, he turned up his vampire hearing and listened. No heartbeats, no living sounds at all. He wondered if Joyce had decided to go out.
‘Maybe left early to pick up Nibblet. I hope she wasn’t waiting for me to get here and thought I stood her up.’
He took a step out of the kitchen into the hall and the smell hit him. Vomit. He looked down to see a wet spot on the carpet.
‘Fresh.’
Concerned, he sniffed the air, trying to uncover any more clues as to what was going on and a new scent assailed his nostrils, one he knew far too well and did not want to ever smell in relation to a Summers: death.
Half-panicked, a sick feeling in his gut, he traced the smell to the living room couch, the same couch he had lain on just the day before and bantered with Joyce and the girls. The scent was all over the cushions, intermingled with Joyce’s unique odor.
‘No…’
More scents assaulted him: Buffy, Giles, strangers, the antiseptic tinge of medical supplies… and he could feel his senses becoming overloaded.
“No… nonononononononononono. Oh god, no,” he gasped to no one, then switched to gameface and roared. “NO!”
His only answer was silence.
It took him hours to stagger his way to Sunnydale General Hospital. It probably wouldn’t have taken him quite so long if he hadn’t collapsed in a sobbing heap in the tunnels and vomited up all the blood he had drank. By then he was soaked in sludge from the sewer, covered in his own vomit, and couldn’t stand his own smell let alone subject anyone without vampire senses to it, so he had to go back to his crypt long enough to clean up and change clothes.
The sun had almost set by the time he finally crawled up the tunnel that led to the hospital basement, and his legs barely supported him as he struggled down the hall. He was numb, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other, using the wall to keep him upright.
“… still examining her…” came a fragment of Giles’ voice to his sensitive hearing and he locked on to it, tracking its location.
His movements seemed leaden, his mind not fully inside his body, as he followed Giles’ voice to a waiting room down the hall from the morgue. He came upon a scene of Buffy, Dawn, Giles, and the Scoobies all sitting forlornly in the sterile, too-bright room, and stopped in the doorway, unable to force himself to go any further. If he did, it would mean it was real and not a nightmare from which he could not wake.
“Spike!” a tearful Dawn called, and he barely had time to register her movement before she was in his arms, hugging him. The pain was excruciating. He gasped, staggered and she let him go, horrified that she had hurt him.
“Oh God. I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” she apologized, bursting into tears.
He reached for her, needing to comfort her in spite of his pain. “‘S’ok, Sweet Bit.”
She came into his arms, gently this time and he held her loosely, but his eyes were on Giles, naked and pleading as the man came over.
“Rupert?” he managed, his voice small.
Giles took off his glasses, wiped his eyes and shook his head. “Spike, I’m so very sorry.”
“But… we had ‘er on blood thinners. She said the Coumadin was making her gums bleed so she was taking aspirin instead…”
“We don’t know the exact cause of death yet. The medical examiner hasn’t finished his examination.”
“But we just saw her yesterday. She was fine. She smelled fine.”
Giles looked at him with sympathy. “From everything we know so far, it appears to have happened very suddenly. I doubt there was much warning.”
“I don’t understand. I did… I warned…”
“You did everything you could, Spike. There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”
‘But there must have been. She’s still dead! I must have missed something… How could I have missed something?’
He looked to Rupert, begging to understand. “But…”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, Spike. It’s not your fault.”
‘But it must be. Otherwise, Joyce’d still be alive.’
Giles raised his eyes to see the doctor standing in the waiting room doorway.
“Doctor,” he said, calling attention to the man’s presence.
Buffy looked up sharply, a half-terrified look on her face, then she stood and approached stiffly. Dawn pulled herself out of Spike’s arms and faced the physician.
“Okay, I’ve examined your mother’s body…” the doctor said.
“Can we see her?” Dawn asked.
“Dawn. Not now,” Buffy admonished.
“The on-site report seems to be more or less accurate. Your mother did have what looks like an aneurysm, a sudden hemorrhaging from a ruptured arterial vessel near where the tumor was removed,” the doctor explained.
“Shouldn’t we have known about that, that it was a danger...” Buffy said.
“Sometimes these things are detectable and sometimes they’re not. Joyce was aware of the possibility of a rupture, and the effects. She didn’t even get on the phone, so clearly this was very sudden. She may have felt a little nausea and probably passed out as it happened. I doubt there was much pain, and even if someone had been by her side…”
Cold ice washed through Spike as realization hit him. ‘An aneurysm, not a blood clot. But Bit told me it was a blood clot! I know she said it was a blood clot! Oh, God! And I pushed to get her on blood thinners and that made it worse! It *is* my fault! It’s all my fault!’
“-- it’s doubtful this could have been dealt with in time,” the doctor was finishing.
“Well, thank you, Doctor...” Giles said.
“You’re sure there wasn’t a lot of pain?” Buffy blurted suddenly.
“Absolutely. I think we can be almost positive about that,” the doctor said with assurance.
‘Liar. She bled to death from internal hemorrhaging. And she couldn’t soddin’ clot her blood coz I was a wanker and pushed for her to be on blood thinners. Oh God, what have I done? Joyce… Oh Mum, from wherever you are, can you ever forgive me for screwing it up so royally?’
“What, ah, what needs to happen now?” Giles was asking.
“Well, there will be some forms, and some decisions you’ll need to make...” the doctor replied.
“Buffy, why don’t you let me handle those as much as I can,” Giles told Buffy.
‘Good. Good old Rupert’s takin; over. He’s got it. He’ll take care of it. Don’t need me. I’m a useless waste of space who just killed Joyce Summers. Oh god oh god.’
“We will need you to sign a couple of release forms…” the doctor was saying to Buffy.
Buffy was looking overwhelmed and shocked. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her he was sorry, but he couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat, choking him as the guilt crashed down.
“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Giles interrupted, then addressed Buffy, “I’ll figure out which ones you need to see.”
Spike looked up at Giles, his vision alternating between black and red, and he began to pant heavily. It was all hitting him now: the helplessness, the reality of his failure. Rupert was filling the role of reliable father-figure, just as he always did. And him? He did what he always did when faced with the futility and uselessness that was his existence.
He ran.
Giles found him in his crypt hours later, piss drunk, half-naked, and screaming the refrain from Depeche Mode’s Blasphemous Rumours at the top of his lungs.
“I don’t want to start
Any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God’s
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find
Him laughing!” he roared in gameface.
He’d ripped open the stab wounds with his nails to make them bleed again and poured an entire bottle of whiskey on them, just for the benefit of the added pain. The look on Giles face when he came in convinced Spike that Giles thought he’d gone completely crackers.
“Spike! Spike, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”
He turned his head to look at the Watcher, his soul and demon wailing in his head.
“Kill me! Kill me, Rupert!” he cried, pointing towards the weapons chest where he kept the stakes.
Giles stormed over to him and slapped the bottle of bourbon he still had in his hand, sending it smashing to the floor. He gave a manic giggle at the sound of shattering glass.
“No,” Giles refused. “I will not.”
“Kill me! I’m an evil monster! I killed Joyce!”
“You did not. Joyce Summers’ death was not your fault.”
“But it was! It was!” he insisted, looking up at the man, begging him to understand. “I got it wrong, Rupert! It was a bloody aneurysm! Not a blood clot! And I pushed to get ‘er on soddin’ BLOOD THINNERS!”
“Which you told me yourself that she wasn’t taking because she didn’t like the side effects,” Giles replied vehemently.
“It doesn’t matter! Don’t you see! I still got it wrong and she’s still dead!”
He saw Giles attempt to keep his temper. “Spike, some times these things are just meant to happen and there’s nothing we can do.”
“Then why send me back here?! Why give me a chance to make it right if there’s nothing I can do in the first place?!”
“Maybe to help you learn what you can and cannot change. Just because Joyce still dies in this timeline, doesn’t mean you should give up. You have to believe that there is a reason why this has happened.”
“What? Now you’re tellin’ me to believe there’s a bleedin’ higher purpose to all of this? You told me that before when they shoved this damn chip in my brain! It’s was bollocks then and it’s bollocks now! I’m a useless waste of space who deserves to die! Kill me you spineless bastard! KILL ME!” he screamed, lunging for the man.
The chip fired, blinding him with even more pain and he howled, falling from atop the sarcophagus and crashing to the floor.
“I don’t have time for this, William! Buffy and Dawn need me. And I can’t be coddling you!” Giles scolded.
He began to laugh maniacally at the cosmic joke that was his unlife. He didn’t see Giles storm over to the refrigerator, pull the bag of ice he kept there for mixed drinks out and stomp back over until the bag was dumped on him, covering his naked chest with frozen ice cubes. He yowled and sputtered from the shock of cold.
“Pull yourself together and stop this nonsense! We need you. Buffy needs you and Dawn needs you,” Giles ordered.
The words only made him laugh more.
“God damn you, Spike,” Giles seethed, cracking at the seams.
“Already damned, Rupert. Now send me to Hell!”
It looked like Giles might actually do it. The man’s face went red with anger and his fists clenched, but then a new figure came into view and he calmed as Tara laid a hand on his arm.
“Tara?” Giles said, surprised.
“It’s okay, Mr. Giles. I’m here to help,” Tara answered.
“No no no no no,” Spike protested, trying to crawl away as Tara approached him.
“Spike…” the witch whispered.
“No, Glinda. Get away. Get away. I’m evil. I destroy everything I touch.”
She ignored him and knelt by his side, one hand coming around his head to press a sachet to his face.
“Breathe. They’re calming herbs: chamomile, marjoram and lavender,” she said gently.
“Vampire, don’t need to breathe,” he said, but needed to inhale in order to speak, and the fragrant scent filled his nostrils. Its effects were immediate and he began to calm down. Aromatherapy was so much more powerful on vampires because of their heightened sense of smell.
“Shhh. Just breathe,” Tara soothed.
“Tara. Oh thank god,” Giles said.
“I thought you might be coming here and suspected that you could use my help, so I followed you,” she admitted.
“It was a foolish thing to do, but I’m glad you did. I admit that I am at a loss and out of patience.”
“Buffy and Dawn are your primary concerns. I understand that. It’s okay. I can take care of him,” she assured.
“I need to go check on Buffy, but I don’t want to leave you with him. It’s too dangerous for you to walk back alone.”
“Willow knows I’m here. I have a spell. I can call her if I need…”
“Don’t leave me with her, Rupert,” he begged. “I’m evil. I’ll hurt her. I won’t mean to…”
“Hush,” Tara said. “You’re not evil, Spike.”
“But I am…”
She stroked back his hair tenderly and looked him in the eye. “I can see your soul, Spike. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“But I killed Joyce.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was. I got it wrong.”
“You did everything you could,” she insisted.
“But it didn’t work. And I tried,” he told her, the grief coming up as his rage faded.
“I know you did, Spike.”
“I did. I swear I did. I tried, Glinda. I tried so hard,” he repeated, needing her to understand.
“I believe you.”
“I did. Really I did…”
“I know.”
The anger was gone and only despair was left, and he couldn’t hold it back anymore. It swelled in him, rushing up like a storm surge, and came pouring out. As it crested and broke, Tara took him into her arms and held him as he cried.
*******