Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he’s dragged to the Hellmouth when he’d rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 11
There’d been no kiss in her little girl room. Spike laid back the length of her plush bed, holding her tight, and feeling like he’d never been this close to anyone in his entire life. And all without a kiss or a caress. It felt a lot like how he’d expect Heaven to feel, this giddy sense of comfort. This loving sense of fulfilment. And just like the git he was, he felt the urge to test its validity—to seek the end of something that made him feel so special and wanted if it wasn’t truly right.
“Buffy?” he asked, his voice hesitant but hopeful. “You sure this is what you want, luv?”
Buffy giggled, Spike’s eyes widening as he looked at her in amazement. Watched her as she propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into his awestruck face. “Spike! I just found out my boyfriend—who I really really liked a lot before I found out he was a cheating, lying yet adorable soulless vampire—is a soulless vampire. Of course I’m sure this is what I want.” Her smile revealed so much of her tender heart, her eyes betraying her sincerity of feeling for him, and all he could do was stare at her in wonder. The simple ecstasy of it crackled on the air around them.
But then he felt the doubt seep back into his body with the flashing images of her friends and watcher in his mind’s eye. The shade of his eyes clouded as sadness consumed him. “Don’t expect your mates will be half as forgiving or welcoming as you, pet.”
He looked down at her comforter and missed the fear that cast a shadow over Buffy’s face. Then determination swept it away as her mind was made up.
“They’ll be fine.” A heavy pause. “We just won’t tell them.” She avoided his eyes, knowing that she should be seeing a look of censure in them at her behaviour, but suspecting immense relief instead. Buffy could feel the undercurrent of hope and knew that she was making the right decision, even if it provoked derision when everyone eventually found out. But he needed a chance, and she wasn’t ready for her friends to judge her fairytale and bring it to an early and less happy conclusion.
Angel’s smug face when she told her friends the truth about Spike’s lack of soul—and his original plan to take her down—made her feel petulant and fiercer in her need to protect the relationships Spike had formed with her friends.
“And…well…I have to admit it would be funny to see Angel explode from the inside. He’s all ‘my soul makes me so great. I am the one true soulful vampire; Spike is an imposter. Pick me, Buffy. Pick me!’”
Buffy’s attempt to impersonate the brooding whiney voice of the Angel she’d been getting to know was hysterical and Spike couldn’t help the small puff of a laugh that escaped his lips.
“Bloody brilliant. You should go into acting, pet.”
She looked him up and down with a glint of mischief slipping through her grin. “I’d give you a run for your money, blondie.”
“Oy! I’ll have you know I was being perfectly…’m not gonna get away with that, am I?” he realised with a pout. She’d be onto every evil action now, leaving him totally buggered.
Buffy shook her head, even as amusement kept her smile in place. He was evil—and had been viciously so not so long ago. She couldn’t expect him to take up the honesty train completely overnight. That didn’t mean she didn’t have standards—just that she’d cut him some slack as he moved up to meet them.
A shy searching look and Buffy let her head fall to his shoulder, her hand free to trace slow, light circles over his abdominals. Her fingers stroked over the bump of each muscular ridge, her body thrumming with electrified tingles as quiet breaths seemed forced through Spike’s lips. Lids heavy with a desire that wasn’t so new since meeting him, Buffy let her eyes close and follow the internal lustiness. She kept her hands innocent even as her mind explored the obscene.
“So, are we okay now? You’re all free of insano vamps and duty, etcetera?” Buffy could feel his nod of affirmation against her cheek, his chest moving with the action. Her next words left him rigid, though, but Buffy was too absorbed in her imagination and where their new understanding of each other could lead to. “And you’re soulless, though all with the good, right? No eating of the population with a pulse and helping me defend the Hellmouth against those vamps?”
His nod this time was slower, affected poorly by the sudden kick of what this choice would mean for him. It was one thing to start feeling a little peculiar in his belly when he drank his victims down, completely another to recognise it as guilt and give it up in the name of love.
It wasn’t really an argument. He had Buffy in his arms right now after expecting her to shove him to the curb. He’d been a lucky bloke and it wouldn’t do now to risk it all being stripped away with her discovering his secret little pastime. So yeah, he was going cold turkey off the happy meals.
He could rip someone’s head off about it later.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
He watched from the shadows as she led one of the Slayer’s friends into the dark. The door of her place was left open, the weakened body slumped against the doorframe as he struggled with a satiated smile and a quickly abandoned attempt to reach out to her. Darla’s lip curled in contempt, her demon’s eyes glaring at the boy who just wouldn’t take the hint. He was useful for some things, it was true, but he’d not yet learned the subtle art of disappearing when she’d had her fill.
“Sweetie.” Her voice dripped with saccharine, more than a hint of her impatience for him to be gone in the forceful shove of him out her door. “You really should be getting home. You do have school tomorrow, right?” She tilted her head, knowing that it showed her off to a lovely advantage. He may not be the best toy she’d ever had, but he was sure fun for now. His connection to that frustrating little slayer added to his marketability no matter how annoying his tiresome flirting grew to be.
“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” Jesse stared at her unblinkingly for a moment, his eyes dazed and unfocused as the blood made a sludgy trek through his veins.
He swayed drunkenly on his feet and swerved sharply once he lost the support of the building’s solid structure. He fell, laughing hysterically as he struggled back to his feet. The sloppily dressed teen missed her flash of irritation as he stumbled again and finally rolled her eyes.
“Guess I took a bit too much this time. Better stay at home tonight and rest up. If you don’t replenish your supplies then you are of absolutely no use to me. Understand?” She grabbed his chin and forced him to look her in her amber eyes, her loathing plain for anyone not half drained and drowning in lust to see.
Finally he blinked and instead of rearing back in horror at the monster less than an inch from his face, he grinned, a look of relief and desire making rapid imprints on his features.
“Don’t think I can do that, baby.” His voice was slurred, his body heavy on his legs as he smirked and looked her curves up and down. He was going for sexy; she thought he was pathetic.
“Look, as much as I don’t care if your organs shut down from the loss of blood, I’m not ready yet for your superfreak friend to come bashing down my door. Be a good little stray and scat.” She said it like ‘boo’, obviously thinking she still had enough menace to make him wet his pants, but instead he lunged forwards and latched onto her lips with an amorous kiss.
“Ewwwww, can’t you take no for an answer?” A violent push sent Jesse careening against the wall of the next building, his head cracking on the bricks as he slumped down them and flopped on the ground unconscious. She felt such revulsion that her body shook, yet her gaze wandered almost immediately to find another hassle she didn’t want to have to deal with.
“If you’re planning to stalk me to death, at least be original about it.”
Angel fell away from the shadows, his moves slow and calm as he casually walked up to his sire and one time lover.
“You planning on leaving the boy there?” He stared at her, his eyes soaking up the blonde beauty that had rejected him and his soul while he purposefully blocked out the very real existence of the Slayer’s friend passed out through injury and loss of blood.
“Believe me, it couldn’t have happened to a dumber geek.” She turned her back and made to leave him, showing her disdain for his presence that made his jaw clench and his hands squeeze into tight fists.
“I need your help.” The words were out before he could think them out thoroughly, and he cringed at his stupidity when she laughed uproariously. She was beautiful when she laughed—as evil and dangerous as she was at any time, the radiance of her smile always stunned him. It explained so much about him—his attraction to Buffy for one—and he was momentarily startled speechless.
“Why Angelus,” she purred as she turned and began to stalk him, her fingers reaching out and walking up his arm to rest with a pat on his chest. “Whatever could I help you with?”
He couldn’t miss the malicious glint that challenged him, couldn’t suppress the growl that rumbled beneath his breast for the pleasure of her touch. It had been so long, too long since she’d cast him out, rendered him homeless and without family to love and provide for. He’d been a good provider—bringing home the bacon on a viciously regular basis. He felt a momentary pang of disgust before shirking it off and finding her again.
“I need you to help me find out what Spike’s up to.” His lips were tight as he watched every flicker of emotion on her face. She was an expressive woman, yet usually she settled on derision and flirty, two ends of the spectrum while she pursued her prey.
He’d expected her to refuse. Instead she looked confused which quickly changed to intrigued.
“Why, I thought our baby boy was all shiny like you. Has he been naughty?” Her smile was so infectious, so stunning that Angel often felt she’d inspire a man to breath, counteracting the undead part of his curse.
“Well, I don’t know for sure,” Angel admitted bashfully, but envy churned in his gut until he could barely stand there without committing violence. The little creep had stolen his life, had slipped in when he wasn’t looking to take over his mission and pinch his girl. “I might not have the proof, but I know Spike. You know Spike. No way is he telling the truth. Can’t you ask Drusilla?”
Darla waved her hand dismissively at that option. “That fruitloop hasn’t said a thing that made sense in over a hundred years. I doubt I can decipher her babble now if my life depended on it. Which it doesn’t.” A slow disturbing grin spread over her face and consumed Angel in its glory. “But I have an idea.” She stepped to the side and they both took in the crumpled form of Jesse. “Meet my own little pet spy. He’s got an in with the Slayer. I shouldn’t have to promise much for him to do exactly what I want. Lucky for you the boy is so desperate for me that he’ll do anything I wish.”
Angel cringed. He could feel the weight of his guilt settle heavily on his shoulders, but could feel the futility of his presence in this place even more. Buffy wouldn’t need him if Spike were to stay by her side. She wouldn’t need his soul, his muscle, or even his affection. It hurt even more that because of him, the biggest mistake of their family, Buffy didn’t even want Angel. He’d never been last on the list before. Even soulful the Powers wanted him. Had expectations of him.
Still, his soul rejected he allow his sire to use this human. Angel felt the pain of it as it ate away at the thing in him that fought against evil every day. One more look at the brunette and he closed his eyes, stubborn and selfish need making up his mind. There were always casualties in war.
“Do whatever you need to. I’ll be in touch.”
And with the swish of his coat he was gone, not even watching as Darla turned her back on her fucktoy and headed back inside.
Jesse didn’t even moan as Xander came out of hiding, the fear and shock making him shake violently as he heaved up his friend and dragged him to safety.
Xander was fuming, and not a little scared. He’d managed to get Jesse all tucked up in a hospital bed before wandering home, his head full of vampire flambé. Seeing bleached hair enter the library behind Buffy was like waving a red flag. Xander was out of his seat and jabbing furiously into Spike’s chest with his finger, emotion tying his voice up even as he spat out his hatred for the undead.
“Whoa!” Buffy gently shoved Xander away from her boyfriend, her eyes wide and disbelieving that her friends could possibly know Spike’s truth. How could they? They hadn’t believed Angel totally yesterday so it was quite a stretch that they suddenly did overnight. “What is going on here? I thought we were giving Spike the benefit of the doubt.”
Xander stood, agitated and confused as he glared holes into a suddenly wary Spike. “This whole soul thing is a great steaming pile of horse crap.” His arms crossed, he stared at the blonde couple and dared them to correct him.
“Oookay.” Was it bad that Buffy felt fearful that they knew the truth and would judge him? “What exactly brought this on?” God she hoped it was something else. Something other than the truth she’d spent the night processing and forgiving. Buffy took Spike’s hand, neither of them taking their eyes from the angry teen as Xander began to pace and throw out his arms in frustration.
“Creepy stalker guy, that’s what brought this on. He says he’s got a soul and he’s all good? Well, big on the NO to that one, folks. Either he’s lying or his soul isn’t worth the…I can’t think of a good way to finish that sentence, but he’s full of it, and I’m not talking of a nice shiny soul.” Xander practically threw himself back in his chair, his head falling forward hard to the wood of the table with a dull thump.
Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand and then slowly took an opposite seat and sat down. He felt suddenly very insecure—and worried about these kids getting on any side of his grandsire. None of them would survive that meeting, except maybe Buffy, but the rest were too puny to go up against the wanker’s games and come out of it alive.
“You saw Angelus? He didn’t see you, obviously, or you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.” Then the information that had spewed out in a colourful vitriolic message of hate hit him right between the eyes—in that place that was often a bit slow on the move. “Wait, what? What bloody soul? Bugger. I thought you were just taking the piss.”
Buffy cringed under his intense stare. With all her wigging over his own soul status and his undead ex, she’d kind of forgotten to go into details about what late breaking news was discovered regarding Angel. Her crude joke about the vampire and his pompous claim of soul haveage was something that seemed to have skipped right past Spike. His look of confusion and panic tore at her heart and she was suddenly afraid that he was going to reveal everything in his shocked realisation that though his own soul was made up on the spot, Angel had supposedly possessed one for countless years.
Buffy caught his eyes and very slowly, sincerely told him what they all knew—if they’d been told the truth. Again, not with the easy tests for the soul existence. “Angel came by and told us he has a soul. He had some book thingy that made Giles’s eyes bulge, but his main point was to tell us he was the real vampire with a soul.” Please don’t anyone ask Spike if he really has one. Don’t let them find out now it was a trick. Buffy felt almost light-headed with holding her breath, then found herself trying to be inconspicuous about needing to drag in great gasping lungfuls of air as Spike’s expressions of doubt caused her pain.
He felt like his very foundations had been taken to with a sledgehammer. Was the girl he was falling for making fun of him? Setting him up to fall not only in front of her friends, but against the tosser that had always ensured his failure in the past?
“There is no way Angelus has a soul. I would’ve known about it.” Except niggling little images came to barrage his brain. Darla and Angelus had been rigidly supportive of each other, never allowing for either of them to be placed in the way of danger without a way to back out of it. Lessons had been learned was all they’d say, but Spike had always envied the way they had always watched each other’s back. Even when it looked like they didn’t.
He’d always thought it made no sense when she’d kicked him out. Made even less sense how quietly he’d gone. Any normal Angelus behaviour would have alerted him and Dru to the expulsion from their close knit group, and suddenly Spike felt the weight of his misunderstanding heavy in his gut. The bitch had never told him. She’d let them believe that Angelus had bolted because he was sick of them, that it was HER call to split them up. The years of disappointment and hurt that he’d been abandoned suddenly was lifted, and though it didn’t give him any warm cuddlies for his grandsire, it removed some of the responsibility he’d felt at the loss. Altered his feeling of destiny that he’d finally gained Drusilla to care for. Events outside his control may have kept them together, but it wasn’t some preordained destiny like he’d always romantically believed.
Still, knowledge didn’t suddenly buy loyalty, not as much as this little group had earned just by trusting him and allowing him into their lives. He’d felt Angelus was off in their earlier encounter, and now that he was a little more advised of the facts, he understood Xander’s concerns.
“What did you see?” he asked, his voice low with suppressed fury. Too many times had he stood by and been made a fool of by his own family. Too many times he’d been used, lied to, and callously tormented and denied simply because he was never enough. Well, he seemed to be enough for Buffy, and in a twist of irony that hadn’t stopped his head yet from spinning, Spike was feeling bloody alright with that. Completely satisfied with the uncanny about turn of his life.
And her mates were more than enough for him. Thoughts of feasting on their blood were long gone; he saw them now as potential friends, and felt as well as saw the wisdom in waiting to reveal his lack of spiritual guidance. His soul was Buffy, and in time, he hoped they would hear that devotion and allow him to live with it.
Xander seemed startled at the anger in Spike’s voice. The vampire had so far been especially careful to remain even tempered in front of Buffy’s friends. While his plot had been to lure the Slayer in and be victorious in her death, he’d been gentle and unobtrusive so as to allay any fear they may have had that a vampire near was something to be rejected—whether with soul or not. It had worked like a charm, and now he was reaping the benefits of Harris seeing exactly how furious and concerned Spike was that Angelus had upset him with some scheme the boy had witnessed.
Their eyes met, warm chocolate brown melting the reserve as he found the sincerity that Spike didn’t have to act to own. And Xander spoke, telling them all the scene he’d overheard and where Jesse was now.
“I went to the Bronze last night. I waited an hour or two and when no one showed—” he glared at Willow and Buffy, then shrugged and smiled sadly. “I started off for home. Thought I heard Jesse in one of the alleys, and after the other near death experience, I headed down to check he wasn’t being someone’s snack.”
Buffy had taken a seat near Spike at the table across from her friend, watching with fear filled lungs that suddenly deprived her of air. Xander nodded in acknowledgement before dropping his head in his hands.
“I think we made a mistake, not telling him. I found him falling out of this blonde chick’s place. The same one that took him before.” He raised tortured eyes to the group, his guilt radiating off him so that they all felt it and sunk into the misery by his side.
“Darla,” Spike offered, though he knew that they knew her name. “Bloody game of her to take him to her place. She’s not one to take her food home with her. She doesn’t like the clean-up.”
Xander stared in shock, then the light of innocence that he’d clung to over the past week slowly faded until there was nothing left but the dark shine of a boy that had learned too much of horror and life to ever be carefree again.
“He told me it all on the way to hospital. He’s been going to her for sex—” He screwed up his nose in disgust, even as the envy battled valiantly. “And letting her feed off of him. He knew she could kill him, but he doesn’t seem to care.” Xander seemed to space out before them all, his mind repeating the details Jesse had relayed rather vividly and fought extra hard to keep his cock flaccid even as the bile trekked up his throat.
Spike felt the apology teeter on his lips. “Some are seduced by the bite.” He wanted the words to be more, but couldn’t make it expand in meaning to these that had no real knowledge of what they were beginning to deal with. They were new to this game, to his breed, and even the Slayer, as young to the role of warrior as she was, didn’t know the fools sex and blood could make of a man. Particularly a spotty one lured in with the promise of some mind-blowing sex and blood play.
But the Watcher was aware. He knew the lure of a vampire’s bite, knew the danger many put themselves willingly in once they succumbed to their curiosity and danced with almost certain death. Spike could see the acknowledgement in the stuffy git’s eyes and was surprised at the level of compassion he felt for these humans that chose to rub shoulders with his kind and come out winners. And righteous. It was enough to make Spike determined to fight, to show he was more than what his family had claimed him to be.
“I-I believe it’s almost impossible to reject the desire one feels when they are bitten,” offered Giles hesitantly, knowing that it was small explanation to Xander who was obviously hurting a great deal.
“And so not the point,” Xander huffed, his hand suddenly slapping hard down on the table and making them all jump. Giles stepped forward, ready to intervene if this tale proved too much for the boy he was just getting to know.
“We can help Jesse. Chain him up somewhere till he gets his head back in the right place. It was this Angel guy that worries me. He came in here with the big talk, soulful warrior of the people yadda yadda, and he made a deal with this really dangerous babe. They plan to use Jesse as bait to find out what Spike’s deal is. If not saving a human from the evil clutches of the monster that almost killed Jesse isn’t part of his new job description, then it’s beyond time the guy got terminated. All in favour, say aye?” And he gathered up the stick of wood he’d been concealing up his pant leg in his sock and brought it down with an emphatic crack against the table.
Buffy felt almost too afraid to turn to Spike—was desperate to not reveal in some subtle glance or worry that her boyfriend would fail the tests Darla and Angel set up for him. The truth of what this was finally hit her and Buffy felt sick at the responsibilities that were pushing brutally hard on her shoulders.
“He was so desperate to out Spike as an impostor that he was going to sacrifice a human?” Buffy’s voice lacked the usual strength that made them all step back in respect to her position. This revelation had her rattled. If someone who claimed to have a soul was willing to let a boy possibly die in the course of proving his argument right, then he wasn’t one to be trusted. She’d known both Angel and Spike for the same period of time, and not once had Spike threatened one of her friends. She’d never felt unsafe with him; never had to question if he would protect as well as inform her about his opportune warnings.
“Not only a human, pet. But one of your mates.” It was so matter of fact that there was no argument and Buffy knew that the time spent considering the soul versus no soul debate was superficial and stupid. To compare them wasn’t enough. She had to search deeper to know what to do, though losing Spike at this time was something she wouldn’t contemplate. His lack of soul didn’t concern her, and she was sure once he’d shown his new loyalties that it wouldn’t bother her friends either.
“So, we have to take this Darla out as soon as possible.” Grimly determined, the Slayer sat back and marvelled at how simple the solution was. To save her friends, to save her love life, she had to rid them of this one vampire. How hard could it be?
“Won’t be so easy, pet. She’s an elder and she’s the Master’s get, favoured childe and all that. Strong, cunning and vicious as hell. She taught Angelus everything she knows.”
Giles stepped forward again, his eyes suspicious as he looked warily at Spike and kept himself on the opposite side of the table. “Yes, Buffy. Angel without a soul is not a vampire you want to tangle with normally. It would seem that the Aurelian clan are an imposing group. I should think you would be careful and tread lightly.”
Spike glared. Something was up. Looked like the little Watcher had finally done some homework. “No need to pussyfoot around with the details, Rupes. Slayer knows my history. She met Drusilla last night. It’s sorted. Yes, Darla isn’t going to be a walk in the park, particularly if Angelus is in the background. But I’ve got Buffy’s back. Nothing is going to happen to her as long as I’m around.”
“And how long exactly would that be, Spike? What are your plans?” Giles shifted nervously and wondered at the spontaneous snort of amusement from Spike before the blond shuffled his feet, dug his hands into his duster pockets and leaned forward to stare intently at the one whose job it was to put Buffy in the line of fire every day until she perished.
“Plans always have a way of buggering me up, right and proper. I’m wingin’ it.”
And that was that.
Spike stared the Watcher down, his lips shaped in smugness that had the older human squirming.
“That’s all well and good for you, but for Buffy to have any measure of success in this venture she will undoubtedly need to rely on a plan.” Giles stood tall, nodding at his slayer before offering his thoughts on what he considered to be the most logical course of action, and Spike just leaned back to soak it in.
He was in, finally in the Slayer’s circle and for all intents and purposes tolerated. The redhead kept darting him looks until he dared to return them, and her encouraging smile did everything to warm his heart. So many years he’d existed without true acceptance and he’d never realised he’d craved it quite to this extent. Never really knew how it would feel to be included in a plan that was to save lives rather than destroy them.
As the group discussed the pros and cons of attacking Darla before she could influence Jesse further, plotting sneaky ways of surprising Darla with a shapely stick to the heart, Spike sat back and admired them all. The stalwart Watcher who guided his slayer with a steady yet frustrated hand, her friends who stood by her despite not knowing her for long or being previously acquainted with the world of their nightmares. There was so much about them that was impressive and it was all that Spike could do to stay seated and not give in to the sudden urge to show affection. He couldn’t do that. ‘Big Bads’ didn’t hug their food, except now they were friends and not something he’d easily select off his menu. Still, it seemed somehow too awkward and not something he wanted to expose himself over. Tying himself up in emotional knots for Buffy was enough for now. So he let his heart swallow these knew emotions, felt them swirling around and influencing the smile on his face.
At last they’d decided and it was time for action—the part that Spike excelled at and looked forward to sharing with his…girlfriend. Grinning giddily, Spike realised how innocent that term was and how much he loved it. He loved everything about his current existence, this diversion into the light, and if that included a blonde petite slayer who smelled delicious and who had a heart the size of the continent, then he’d just have to suffer it.
“Right, let’s bleeding well get on with it then.”
Buffy gave last minute encouragement to those staying behind and took his hand in her warm fist.
He just couldn’t get rid of that smile.
The plan, as he’d suspected it would be with his uncanny luck with such things, was blown all to fuck as soon as they reached the hospital and found Jesse’s bed empty. It was simply too much energy to even roll his eyes. Spike tensed, finding himself in such new territory that he didn’t know how to act, wasn’t sure how to care that this boy was more than likely back in the clutches of his greedy great grandsire. He knew what was likely on the cards for him, and even if they did manage to restrain him and keep him away from the cravings Darla had been capitalising on, Jesse was more than likely on borrowed time. Spike had never seen a human seduced into the darker realms of life and made it out with any semblance of their former existence intact.
Buffy felt like screaming, but instead she just kicked the bed. Through the window, she watched the foreboding night that the turning in of Mr. Sunshine had left behind, feeling the swell of defeat on her shoulders. Its weight almost buckled her knees forcing her to the floor. She had this feeling, a leaden ball swirling around in her gut that something bad was about to happen, and whatever it was it would destroy their innocence for good. Well not her, she’d been deprived of innocence the second she’d killed a person with a demonic face—the first time her life was touched with murder by the loss of Merrick.
Spike draped an arm across her shoulders, hugging her to his chest as if he knew what she was thinking. He knew vampires though, unlike her with her limited experiences and associations anyway, so perhaps he did. Maybe even better than her. She was betting that his being of the demon would be an edge on understanding the realities of vampirism that an outsider could never grasp. Slaying was still of the new as far as her nightly activities went, but he’d been out in the darkness a lot longer. He’d been around for worlds longer. He knew the depths of the evil Jesse had immersed himself into. And most horrifying of all, he knew Darla.
The look on Spike’s face scared Buffy the most. It was a look that said he knew it was too late, and that he just didn’t know what to do about it. Tears prickled and she felt the cover of slayer slip precariously as she gave into the weakness of grief, barely held on her feet by a persistent vampire with need in his heart.
“Buffy? Pet, you can’t give in to it. He’s not dead yet, luv. Not if Darla plans to use him to follow me and dish up the dirt.”
Momentary hope blossomed in her eyes and Spike cursed himself for giving it to her. He knew it was unlikely that Darla would stick to the plan, not if she now knew Xander was aware of it. And she’d know. She’d wonder where the silly git got his fresh blood and why he wasn’t looking as peaked as the night before. Why he was flushed in his almost overwhelming need to be bitten hard, again, before the new blood had a chance to take.
Still, Buffy dealt with the realities of the world and no matter what he said, or which bubble he burst, he knew it would be just one at the front of a long line of them. If she wanted to cling to the string of this one just that little bit longer, he’d tie it to her wrist. He could do that.
“Where is he?”
The anger in the voice behind them made them both jump guiltily. They were in effect already mourning, and Buffy had thought she’d been very convincing in managing to keep Xander and Willow at the library. Seeing the hard determination in the boy’s eyes now, Spike felt like chuckling at how naïve she’d been. The life of Xander’s best mate was in the balance. No way was he going to stay out of danger while Buffy sought a little justice.
“W-we think he’s gone back to Darla.” Buffy tried to hide her quick swipe at tears but Xander saw it and his jaw flexed in fury.
“He isn’t dead yet. I’d know it—in here,” he claimed desperately, slapping his hand over his heart. “I am his friend, right? I didn’t save him last night to lose him to that bitch now. Let’s go.” Xander turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, his hand flexing in preparation of when it would hold a stake over the black heart of the one who had seduced and ruined his friend. He’d assumed the role of General and Buffy was faltering to catch up and gain it back.
“No, Xander. This is my job. I’ll get him back, but I can’t have you in danger too. Angel’s a loose cannon. We don’t know if he’ll be there or what he’d do if he was faced with losing his chance to out Spike.” Buffy’s voice was frantic, seeing too closely the possibilities of losing everything and everyone. Another friend narrowly bent on revenge could easily end up in a matching casket to Jesse, and had she really just admitted Angel had something to out?
The boy didn’t notice the falter in her step when she verbally slipped and virtually admitted he had been lying about the soul, that there really was something for Angel to find, but Spike did. And he hurt for her. Holding his secret shouldn’t be something she did, not if it was going to cause her pain. Now that he’d had the luxury of real friendships, he knew what it would cost her to be cast aside if her friends found out he was soulless and that she’d known and continued to lie. If they left her side, he didn’t know if she could remain strong every night. It was something slayers had never had—friends. Not even family that he could recall. Except the two he’d fought against and won. The Chinese girl—he’d pretended to not know what she asked him, knowing she was more than likely off her nut to ask him, her killer, to go and tell her mum she was sorry. Only way he’d be calling on that lady would be to see if she tasted as sweet as her daughter—or if the fire of her blood was strictly a slayer delicacy. The one in New York—he’d heard rumours and had even thought he’d detected a heartbeat as he fought her, but even that tenuous link hadn’t been enough to rid her of her lethargy. A son hadn’t been enough to fight for when she was surrounded by no one but the kid and her watcher. Keeping them emotionally bereft had seemed to make them fighting machines, but no one could exist without love forever. Not even when the burden of responsibility was a weight heavier than the world.
No one should exist without love forever.
Bloody good thing he was determined to stick around, even if her friends wouldn’t have him once they learned the truth. He couldn’t let Buffy know what it meant to be alone. The darkness would be too deep for one such as her to keep clear of, and he felt his heart unload that little bit more toward her that he had something to offer. Wasn’t much. He didn’t even know if it was good. But it was pure and he didn’t feel like she was revolted by it—not if the previous night was any indication. As dark as he was, he could hope that his love would be a light for her. He’d always been raised to believe in love—the power of it and the vast need of it in this world. He’d loved Drusilla—or thought he did, at least. Didn’t hold a candle to the wealth of sacrifice he felt when he looked at Buffy. His love was pure, and it was deep. And it was hers. For as long as she wanted it.
For now they were on the move. Xander continued to shrug off Buffy’s attempts to not just slow him down, but get him out of the mix completely.
“Xander, you can’t go into this with us. It’s just not safe. How can I do my job if I’m worrying about you too?”
The brunette jerked away, his eyes hard in their temper as he stared down his friend.
“I’m doing this, Buff. Nothing you and your wonder dog can do will stop me.”
Buffy stepped back as if slapped, Spike staring at the boy that he’d thought he’d had a shot of being mates with.
“You wanna have a go, Whelp?” He was all gruff and vigour, though he felt something inside seize up with the unexpected pain of losing something he’d never expected to have in the first place.
Xander had the grace to look embarrassed, and took a small step back before turning an apologetic expression to Spike.
“Look, I didn’t mean that. You’ve given me no reason not to trust you, and you’ve done more than help us in all this. I’m upset and I let my mouth do unnecessary laps of the Xander Hall of Insert Foot. I’m sorry.” His eyes implored Spike to understand his panicked reaction and see the insult for the desperate attempt to be in control that it was.
Spike could feel his body—previously taut in defence and ready to spring—loosen and risk a softening toward the boy. He knew what it felt like to fear the loss of someone that was cared about. Too many times to mention he’d thought Drusilla was as good as gone. As much as he was impatient with her now, as at an end as his reign of deluded love was, he never wanted her to be gone from his world.
He shrugged, a look of geek-like understanding passing between them before Xander turned and started back on his purposeful march. Buffy made as if to renew her objection, but Spike held her arm, shaking his head ‘no’. He understood the need that flowed through Xander for vengeance. The sadness in Buffy’s eyes showed that she did too. She was just afraid to lose more to this situation than she had to.
It was in a charged silence that accompanied their walk behind Xander, Spike feeling the warmth through his body as he ventured a touch to Buffy’s arm, feeling the tingles of happiness that she wanted him, him the man even as they made their way into battle.
Xander paused on the corner and turned a hate-filled glare down the alleyway, his hand up to stop them moving beyond him. A finger drifted to his lips to indicate quiet and they all stood and watched, stunned, as Angel stopped at a door, raised his fist to knock before thinking better of it and twisting the knob till it clicked and opened for him.
His angry voice burst loudly down the alleyway to their ears before the door was snapped shut. Buffy was just a second too late from grabbing Xander’s arm and preventing him jumping into a situation he wasn’t prepared for.
The boiling rage that evil had tainted his friend was enough, sparking Xander into motion he hadn’t planned on. He’d thought Jesse would see the foolhardiness of his actions and would still be lying and healing in his hospital bed waiting for visitors. In no part of his mind had he believed his friend was so stupid as to go back to his own personal freak show.
Not sparing a thought for thought, not caring about back-up or preserving his own life, Xander was off.
And the Slayer was left with the wretched vision of seeing her friend burst into a vampire nest with no details about what he would encounter and armed with nothing but bravado and a stake he wasn’t that used to wielding. Buffy’s heart rate increased even as she felt her feet turn to cement blocks and hold her motionless in the face of danger. Spike dragged her fast in the same direction Xander had bolted, his hands not quite rough but very urgent. Numbed in mind and body, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder as she was dragged into evil’s den—if not for Spike…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Angel hadn’t been able to lift his head from his hands since he’d signed the death warrant of that boy. His sense of competition and pure intolerance of the vampire who had contributed a large injection of risk and danger to their family from the beginning was working hard at making him relinquish control. Not for the first time since he’d left Darla, with her pet collapsed in the alley, had he considered going back and retracting the deal. As much as he needed to know the score with Spike, as much as he suspected his grandchilde was up to something evil and dangerous, his soul cried that sacrificing a human to get the dirt was not the way to go about it.
Raising his head, he stared at his hands and marvelled at how well they shook. He looked convincing, like this tearing of motivations was not a small thing that he’d decided. That the pain of sacrificing life was not something he’d chosen lightly. Yet it had been something that had easily tumbled from his lips, his acceptance of Darla’s offer, and as much as he grieved for the life he already knew Darla would extinguish as soon as his use was at an end, Angel was ashamedly content to let the arrangement stand.
That didn’t alleviate his anxiety that she would doublecross him. Once his soul had made peace with his selected casualty of war, Angel felt the need to be sure Darla would do as she’d promised. Would use the little bite victim to good advantage and sort out his Spike problems.
With a lightness that both worried and relieved him, Angel donned his coat and left his apartment, the eyes of a predator scanning the surroundings. He hoped against hope to come across his bleached family so he could take action now and not have to depend on the reliability of Darla’s pet.
The term didn’t even make him cringe now. It seemed that once his head had resigned the boy to death, he didn’t need to worry about the decision. It was done, and the end results could be nothing but a benefit. If he found out Spike was pretending to be trustful, if he could prevent Buffy from being slain by her supposed boyfriend, then he’d more than done his job. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that the boy was as good as gone, whether Darla did the honours or not. He knew what happened to those that craved what Darla was freely giving him.
He’d been brought here, his presence sanctioned by Powers far higher than any other he knew of, to keep his eye on the Slayer and to help her whenever she needed it. Angel didn’t feel any doubt at all that she needed it now. She was trusting the wrong vampire, letting Spike too close to her where he could strike without warning and do more than a little damage. He felt like she’d made a fool out of him—with Spike’s help—and it fuelled a rage deep inside that Angel feared.
He’d reached Darla’s door before he knew it, paused and inhaled the ghastly stench of human flesh that had been fucking his sire and getting off on the flow of his blood down her throat. Angel couldn’t hold back the growl, didn’t even think to let his soul out to berate this primitive response to mate and food. He’d left, she’d moved on and this boy wasn’t that close to Buffy yet. Wasn’t someone her heart had become too attached to. What did it matter if he perished through becoming involved in dangerous addictions?
It was all he could do not to punch a hole in the door to announce his presence and then intimidate the boy into unmanly fear as he whipped Darla off the parody of a cock and beat them both senseless. He stopped at the sight, feeling his control slip as Darla growled at him, blood dripping from her fangs and tongue with the boy laid out unconscious and pale on the bed. His heart faltered, his body ghostly and Angel had to fight to control his hunger.
His soul didn’t feel a thing.
Spike had never felt such seething hatred toward his family ever before—not when they’d chastised him, or made fun, and not even when they’d beaten him bloody to remind him of his place in the group. Always he’d held an underlying perception of awe that he’d been chosen by someone to exist—to be meaningful within the world, even if it was one he’d never even known about. Now the disgust oozed throughout his body and he felt no fear at all that the Slayer would go hell bound on each of their asses—if Harris didn’t get there first.
He stood back and watched as the scene unfolded—observed his supposedly souled grandsire as he slowly reigned in his lust for the kill that had so obviously been taking place when he’d burst onto the scene. Spike wasn’t fighting any kind of struggle within himself; he barely even noticed the scent of freshly spilled blood as he lit up a cigarette and leaned up against the doorframe. The show was just too entertaining to make him want a snack break—not that he’d ever be stupid enough to get the munchies for one of the Slayer’s friends.
Xander had been on the end of a vicious shove that had sent him careening to the bed his drained friend lay upon and there he gratefully stayed—his face a picture of grief and horror—as Buffy whaled on the cause of all this heartache. Darla.
It was the first time Spike had ever seen the blonde bitch scared. She’d obviously just managed to grab an oriental satin robe before the Grand Imposer barged into her boudoir, possessive growl at the ready though he told all and sundry he was souled up. What a load of absolute bollocks! Not having one himself didn’t make Spike stupid. He had enough of William left in him to know what a conscience and a will to do right by others meant—how wanting something good altered a body’s perceptions and actions. Peaches had done little by way of proving his new status—other than the lack of corpses piling up in the area with his own especially artistic bite. If Angelus had a soul, then Spike couldn’t work out what exactly it was doing for him. His complexion might have suggested a less than stellar diet, but the way he’d surrendered up a life in order to jockey positions ahead of him in the Slayer’s favour…well, it was a bit much for Spike to believe this soul he professed to have was that meaningful, nor much in the way of guidance. It was barely even a leash for the more disturbing of Angelus’s personality traits.
Spike grinned at the magnificent sight of Buffy and Darla going at it, fists both making impact too accurately to leave nothing but mere bruises behind. Both girls bled and again Spike marvelled at the extraordinary control his demon had over his normally lustful urges. A twitch in other parts told him that the lust wasn’t altogether absent but it was the lithe grace of his girl that turned him on, not the delicious sweetness of her life’s blood.
While not exactly in control, Buffy seemed to be holding her own, hurling emphatically crude observations at Angel’s decidedly soulless behaviour over her shoulder. The useless git was cowering in the corner, the confrontation and the inability to justify his actions apparently making the guilt finally surge forward and overwhelm him. That, or he’d taken some acting lessons since he’d left.
All of a sudden, Buffy was propelled with blinding speed into the far wall, her petite form leaving a matching imprint in the cheap plaster. Her furious thrust to her feet did it in and her arm disappeared into the dusty remains of a once solid wall, Spike chuckling at how his girl just didn’t know her own strength.
She glared at him—initially, and then she winked, a gentle smile teasing her lips until she felt her gaze falter back to the bed and her deathly pale friend and his lack of movement. Spike almost gasped as the veil of the Slayer visibly inched into place and the furious warrioress stomped her way back into the fight. She stood back a little way, her eyes never leaving the threat in front of her as she challenged Angel about his duty.
“If you don’t stake her, I will,” she hissed, tolerance and understanding long absent from her voice. Tears made her voice crack, the girl in her struggling with the burden of seeing a friend dead as a supposed ally stood useless and conflicted.
Spike could see the shock reflected boldly in Angelus’s midnight dark pools of menace and wondered how he could suck anyone in with his puppy dog act. The great lumping forehead shook as the wanker met the eyes of his sire, her furious gaze almost striking him down where he stood. The lines had been drawn, Spike could see it as clearly as he had seen the moment Dru had betrayed him with this tosser. Buffy didn’t see it and he doubted she was quick enough to catch onto Darla and Angelus’s age old tricks to protect each other.
The stupid bitch rocked and parried, slowly manipulating Buffy into a position on her own on one side of the room and Darla with two of her familial vampires at her back. Spike could see, from his angle, the gloat that was already spreading across her face, her sickly sweet grin taunting Buffy with a knowledge she only thought she had. While she consolidated that line, renewed her power over the biggest git on the planet, Spike stubbed his cigarette into the carpet, smirking with evil pleasure at the fizzle and melt of the cheap blend. He took a stake out of his inside pocket, marvelling at the feel of his own instrument of death in his hands—something he’d never thought he’d need to possess. He spun it in the air, a supernaturally fast rotation before he caught it and almost playfully plunged it into Darla’s back. Her scream of mixed outrage and terror amused him as she just managed to turn around and stare at him in shock before she crumbled into dust. She settled on the floor in front of him and Spike didn’t even bother to step over her filth as he made his way to the bed, knowing without any doubts that Buffy could handle Peaches in a castigating minute. He ignored the snarls of fury, and Buffy’s surprised yet amused ‘eep’ at the resolution of her fight as he stared down at the forlorn figure of Xander.
“You alright, mate?” He was hesitant in his approach, feeling confused and out of place for the first time since he’d entered this balls-up of a confrontation. The sight of the boy’s tears did something to Spike that he’d not felt in almost a hundred years—not since he’d failed the dying wishes of a Chinese slayer by not knowing her language. Once he’d learned the meaning of her words, he’d felt a sadness that he was never meant to feel as a vampire. He was never meant to know compassion for the pulsers, not even for his own kind really.
As he looked at the lifeless form of Xander’s friend, he felt that chilling sense of not being enough or never being on time to make a difference. The slowing thud of the nearly dead teen’s heart suddenly meant something other than the glee over a good healthy feed. This one would have consequences, and he only hoped it wasn’t against him that they materialised.
“How could he let this happen?” Xander turned wet shimmering chocolate eyes toward Spike and almost begged him to answer in a way that made sense. Though looking at it from an entirely different angle was enough for Spike to see that none of it could make sense. Death was death. It was selfish; it was inevitable. But the timing of this one—so soon—it had been preventable. The boy had had a death wish. Spike wished that for the sake of his new friends it wasn’t so, but he wasn’t God. He couldn’t have done anything different. They chose to keep Jesse in the dark, and as much as he hurt for them, all Spike could do was step aside and be haunted by their pain.
“You should give him a nudge, mate. Get to say goodbye.”
“W-what?” Xander turned from Spike, checked over Jesse and saw an infinitesimal shudder where his heart should be strongly beating. Xander jolted to his feet in surprise, a wobbling finger pointing at what he thought was already a corpse. “H-he’s still alive? Oh my God, can’t you do something? We should get him back to the hospital.”
Spike held his gaze as he shook his head slowly, deliberately. “He’s just barely alive. Not even if I was Superman and I gave him my powers could I save him now. Best to just accept it and try an’ say goodbye.”
“No. I can’t just accept that. He can’t be dead.” Eyes that refused to let go stared down on his friend and Xander gulped to hold back the flood of tears as they choked his throat. Cold hard calculation suddenly entered the moment though, and Xander turned back to Spike with steady intent. “So, if you were really Superman, you’d give Jesse your powers to save him?”
As bizarre as the question was, Spike felt it was some kind of test—felt his own paranoia at the outcome of an ‘I don’t really have a soul’ discussion would be explosive in a really bad way, and he needed to show his sincerity from the start. And the truth was, maybe not for the whelp—not yet—but definitely for Buffy he’d do whatever it took to minimise her pain.
His nod of affirmation was strong and steady, and Xander returned it with decision.
“Turn him.” The words were shot at him, only a thin sliver of tolerance dividing the hate from need.
Spike slowly shook his head, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You really don’t want me doing that.”
Xander glared with the look of a boy seizing the last of his options—despite that option being both scary and repulsive.
“I really do,” he confirmed, his lips tight and his hands splayed on his hips.
It was one of those moments that Spike knew he was bound to face from time to time—if not even more frequently than that. A situation where he’d be confused between the ambiguity of right and wrong. Would granting the boys wish be doing the right thing, or creating a bad even more than if they’d left Jesse to die of his own ignorance? He was tempted to turn to Buffy and demand she take this responsibility off him by making the decision, by consoling her friend into commonsense before things spiralled out of control. But having her cuss Angel out was both entertaining and essential, and Spike had never surrendered his free will to anyone in the past. He couldn’t ask it of her. He couldn’t make her be responsible for the death or unlife of her friend.
The responsibility of either agreeing or torpedoing the plea was agonising. Spike felt caught, despite being totally off Buffy’s radar as she chewed Angel out for being the gutless wonder Spike had always known him to be. The desperation in every jerk of Xander’s body made him feel nervous and he couldn’t help but dart worried glances at all the players in the room. The boy that was minutes away from a full organ shutdown, the Slayer that would stake him for turning her friend, her other friend that would surely dust him if he didn’t, and Angelus that would sit on his high and mighty stool the second Spike was revealed for the demon he never refuted being.
The only thing that felt right to Spike was his urge to fight it, to make Xander see sense before they did something they couldn’t come back from. Before Spike had added to the terror of the night with the shape of someone this boy and the redhead had cared about for years.
“Look, Harris, he won’t be coming back as your friend. You’re not doing him any favours by making him a demon.” Spike blanched at the fight that surged in the powerful puff up on the school boy.
“We can help him come back right. Help him not give into it and be a monster. Look at you. You did it.” There was an age old wisdom in the chestnut eyes that shocked Spike. He had been worried about encountering this moment and finding out what it meant for his security amongst this crowd. “Maybe it was something Buffy said, or maybe it was how you don’t act all cut up about the past like him.” He jerked a thumb at Angel and Spike could see the curl of his lips and the repressed desire to spit on him. “I don’t know how I know, and I don’t know how it makes me trust you over him—other than the fact that he did nothing to save my friend—but I know that even without a soul, you’re twice the vampire he is. If Jesse can be like you, where’s the bad?”
Fuck, he wanted to argue so badly, catalogue each and every time a rabid beast had replaced the unassuming human possessed by evil. But all he could remember was himself, his shyness and his need to impress his new family. To be the best vampire he could be to make them proud of him—just like he’d strived at his crap poetry to have his mother’s good favour.
So, despite the warning bells, and despite the sense of wrong that almost screamed through his blood, Spike bent and lowered his lips to the mark on Jesse’s neck, and made a man a monster.
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