Chapter 26
Author's Notes: A/N: For this chapter, and indeed, for the rest of the story, I created demonology based on a form of interpretation of lore present in the series, as well as interpretation present in many schools of religious thought. Everything is based on something I saw on my specific reading of certain BtVS episodes…twisted to fit my purpose.
Thank you all so much for your continued enthusiasm and support. *snuggles*
Chapter Twenty-SixHe didn’t tell her why they were running. He didn’t even tell her how he knew where to run. All Buffy knew was she’d been lying in his arms one minute, enjoying the melty goodness of his kisses and hoping against hope she wouldn’t jerk awake only to find herself in an empty bed, and the next Spike had tossed her to her feet and started screaming things which made no sense.
It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected from him, at least not with the revelation of what Paimon had asked of her. Not with the revelation of what she owed for their second chance together. No, this was more what she’d thought she’d get from Giles. The screaming. The yelling. The fear-stricken eyes and the demands of how
bloody stupid she could be, no matter how heartbroken. He even demanded once or twice how she had it to do this to him—to bring him so far only to rip paradise from his grasp. Or something of the like. It made sense in the sense that it did not.
Strange how such not-sense-making could make her feel like an idiot.
Stranger still was how Spike was running a direct path to Giles’s place without having ever been there before.
“Spike—”
The hand gripped around her wrist tightened and pulled her into a faster jog. “Quiet,” he said.
“I—”
“I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I need to.”
“I’m—”
Okay, so it wasn’t an empty threat. The next thing she knew, Spike had jerked her to a quick halt and then she was in the air, bouncing against his shoulder with every speedy stride his legs made against the ground.
“Well,” she huffed, “this was uncalled for.”
Spike didn’t
respond, he
ran. He ran so hard, she was amazed when he didn’t break stride. He ran until the shapes around her materialized into the familiar courtyard outside Giles’s apartment. He ran until they were standing on the watcher’s doorstep, and even then, it was likely only the presence of a tangible barrier that convinced his feet to stop.
“When your watcher hears about this…” Spike growled, bouncing impatiently. “I swear, love, this time, ‘m not gonna risk life an’ limb to stop a campfire.”
“He already knows,” Buffy said, wiggling to no avail. She didn’t want to acknowledge the rising surge of panic slowly seizing her insides. She didn’t want to admit how hard she was shaking. It was better to remain irritated, if not slightly put off. Her very logical mind refused to tear itself to shreds over something her incredibly smart and anxiety-prone watcher hadn’t thrown a hissy over. “Spike, he already—”
Either she was invisible, or Spike was too wound up to think logically when she spoke. He ignored her completely, instead tightening his hold on her leg with his left hand and administering thunderous pounds to Giles’s door with this right.
“Watcher!” he screamed through the door. “Open up!”
Her heart skipped and her pulse raced. “Yeah,” she said, her voice somewhat strained. “’Cause this isn’t gonna make him panic…”
“Buffy, sweetheart, I love you but if you don’ shut your trap, I might do somethin’ I’ll regret.”
“What did I do?”
Spike scoffed as though she knew perfectly well what she’d done and didn’t answer. Instead, he again pounded on the door. “Watcher!”
Buffy wished she could see Giles’s face when he opened the door; it was certain to be one for the books. However, from her vantage point all she could see was her boyfriend’s jean-clad ass. And though she wasn’t complaining, her watcher’s, “Oh good Lord!” was always guaranteed to have a two-for-one priceless expression wrapped in the package.
She’d seen them all, but she was certain this would take the cake.
“What the devil?” Giles demanded, his voice aghast. “…Buffy?”
“Invite me in,” Spike snarled, pressing forward against the unseen barrier.
There was a long, uncertain pause. “Buffy?” he asked again.
“I’m fine,” she told him, swinging a leg to ease his concerns. Not that he was truly worried; if Giles thought she was in trouble, he would have sucker-punched Spike—or tried—and done something stupid in an attempt to free her from her vampire’s clutches. “Sorry about the randomness. Will’s pulled a massive wig and he needs to talk to you.”
“Invite me in!” Spike growled as he thrust himself against the barrier again. “You stupid—”
“All right, all right! I invite you in!”
Buffy released an unladylike
oof when they started moving again, quickly finding herself tossed onto the familiar settee in her watcher’s living room. Her surroundings barely had time to stop spinning before she focused on the pacing form of her vampire as he made laps across the floor. His eyes were wide and erratic, his head shaking hard as though trying desperately to reconcile two very different trains of thought.
She glanced to Giles, who was watching her boyfriend warily. He looked torn between reaching for the nearest weapon and comforting the poor guy. At the moment, Buffy could really sympathize.
Though if Giles chose the
weapon venue, he’d have his ass handed to him. And something told her he knew that.
“D’you know?” Spike asked finally, startling them both when he broke out of his pace. “D’you know what she did?”
Giles blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“Buffy—”
“The bargain,” she explained quickly. She would be lying if she said her heart didn’t slow with relief when Giles’s face relaxed and tension rolled off his shoulders. He was obviously expecting something new and dangerous and worse than what they already knew. At least she wasn’t insane; Spike was the one who was wigging over information they already had. “The powers-go-bye-bye bargain.”
Giles nodded, turning his eyes to Spike and favored him with a patented
and-you-got-me-worried-for-this glare, which Buffy very much appreciated. “Yes,” he said calmly. “Buffy told me everything. Earlier tonight, actually. Before you…urrr…arrived at the library.”
Spike blinked. “And?” he demanded.
“And?”
“’m sorry, but are we talkin’ about the same thing?”
“I thought we covered that with the powers-go-bye-bye thing,” Buffy muttered, her eyes falling downward. Her fingers were occupied with the fabric of Spike’s tee. She frowned. Since when did she wear Spike’s clothes?
He must have dressed her in it during the blur between her confession and the getting-here. She didn’t remember it.
“Am I really the only one here who knows what that means?” Spike demanded, the shrill in his voice jerking her head upward again. Yeah, she was definitely wearing his tee. He was dressed in jeans and his duster. Nothing more.
God, how they must look to her practically-father.
Giles cleared his throat. “I…well, your concern being what it is…the removal of Buffy’s powers will—”
“Kill her.”
In that instant, all sound was drowned by the theatric and purposeful beating of her heart. And then Buffy’s ears began ringing. Her throat swelled. Her skin burned. Every nerve in her body pricked with life. She could almost hear her blood rushing through her veins, and it sounded, strangely, much like standing in the ocean. Listening to waves crash against a pearly shoreline as clouds feathered the sky. As sun blistered her moon-kissed skin. Standing in a place where she belonged but could not stay. Torn indefinitely between two worlds.
She remembered what it felt like the first time. Not dying, rather being told she would die. Walking in on Giles and Angel debating a prophecy that literally had her name all over it. She remembered it. It felt like centuries in the past, but she remembered it well.
She remembered how terrified she’d been. How lonely. How unsure. How
young.God, had she really
ever been that young? Compared to the amount of life her memories had restored, it all seemed so long ago.
And now she was sitting in her watcher’s home, surrounded by sound but deafened to everything but the noise her own body made. The thunder. The ocean. The emptiness.
The
nothing. Buffy must have passed out, for the next thing she knew, she was blinking her eyes open and her head was in Spike’s lap, his face a worried, anguished mess, his hands caressing her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I jus’ lost my head.”
“What happened?”
There was a deathly silence; then she remembered. She was at Giles’s. She was on his couch. She’d just learned she was going to die.
Oh God. “It won’ happen, kitten,” Spike promised her softly, his fingers gently caressing her temple. “I won’ let it happen.”
“I…I don’t…”
A very familiar throat cleared. Buffy’s eyes pressed shut. She knew what the sound meant. A year and a half under Giles’s guidance, she knew how to read the signs.
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner,” her watcher said softly. “I’m so sorry, Buffy.”
“Will you guys please stop apologizing to me?” she muttered, wincing as she sat up. She didn’t get far; Spike’s grip on her was ironclad. He was evidently determined to not let her from his side…not that Buffy minded. She settled under his arm and sighed, trying hard to conceal how hard her body trembled. “I just need—”
“Spike is right,” Giles confirmed. God, she’d never heard him sound so haunted. Nor had she ever seen the hollowed circles of his eyes. It was as though life itself had been stripped from him. “He’s right.” There was a long pause; she felt she should say something, but she didn’t know what so she didn’t try. Giles exhaled slowly, then finally looked up. “Vampires and slayers…are intimately linked. More so than any other demons. They are of the same mold. The same fabric, if you will. As the laws of life govern vampires, there are some shared…traits with slayers.”
Buffy swallowed hard. Her skin was cold and clammy. Sweat lined her brow. Still, she didn’t speak.
“I suppose the best way to explain it would be to…to understand where your power comes from.” Giles rose to his feet, a handkerchief in hand even though his glasses remained on his nose. It was as though he felt better simply holding it. “Buffy…you are…and you always have been…part demon.”
Her head started ringing again. “What?”
“It is simply the way—”
“What?” Spike kissed her temple. “’S not so bad, kitten.”
“How…I don’t…” Her skin went numb. “I…I don’t…I can’t…I…”
“This doesn’t change anything,” Giles said quickly. “You are
still completely human. Only…with this added. It doesn’t change
anything. Nothing about your birthright or your heritage or…or anything, really. As it is, the Latin derivative of
demon is the word
daimon…which, coincidentally, is a derivative of the Greek. And by tradition,
daimons are neither evil nor good. There are some who are good—some whose role is to balance the scales between the virtuous and the malevolent. Plato describes daimons as being ‘supernatural beings between mortals and gods, such as inferior divinities and ghosts of dead heroes.’ There are a number of non-human creatures who pose no threat to humanity and, by and large, live
normal lives. The confusion comes in the Judeo-Christian interpretation of the word…which characterizes all demons as something inherently wicked.”
Buffy swallowed hard. She felt only marginally better. “Okay…”
“And for every great power, there exists its equal and opposite counterpart,” Giles continued. “This is true in every living thing, Buffy…from human souls—the good versus the corrupt—to demons. Vampires represent the evil of the demon which lurks inside them. Slayers represent the good.” He paused. “Slayers are also given immeasurable advantages in strength and authority…at least in the form of the Council and spirit guides…which is why many have speculated there can only be one. Really, though, I have no answer for that. There has…there are many questions in this universe which remain unanswered.”
“Imagine my surprise,” Spike drawled.
Feeling was slowly returning her to veins, but too slowly. She feared she might pass out again if he didn’t hurry to the point. “Okay…so…demon is me,” she said quickly, knowledge and understanding running in a headlong collision course. “I is demon.”
“But you are also human,” Giles argued. “As are vampires. That’s what makes you…unique. You are living; they are dead. Your human side is dominant, your demon recessive. Their demon side is dominant, their human recessive. It’s what makes them half-breeds in the eyes of the demon community. You tap your power from your demon side, and…some vampires, such as Spike…”
The vampire at her side squeezed her shoulder and kissed her brow. She barely felt it.
“…have special access to their residual humanity. Arguably, some have more…access than others. Just as some slayers go drunk with the power of their inner demon, some vampires feel more than others. Some feel nothing at all.” Giles cleared his throat again. “It depends on the vampire or the slayer in question, I suppose. However, point being—”
Buffy nodded numbly. “I’m getting it.”
“You cannot simply
remove the demon from a vampire. To do so would render the vampire nothing more than a…”
“A corpse,” Spike supplied, shuddering. “The demon’s the only thing keepin’ us alive after we’re killed. To take it away would…”
“But I’m not dead,” Buffy argued. “Vampires need their demons in order to—”
“Without your demon counterpart to sustain your human self, you will wither into nothing,” Giles explained solemnly. “Slayers are predestined for their fate. Vampires are not. And since slayers are predestined, they are immediately molded to be dependent on the inner demon. Or daimon. Or whatever you wish to call it. Without the…without the daimon, the human part of the Slayer cannot survive. They are two halves, you see…of the same…they need each other. And with the passing of the Slayer, the inner daimon taps the next in succession. Every girl with…potential…has a daimon inside her. It merely rests until it’s tapped…if it’s tapped at all. If the girl grows too old to be called, the daimon remains dormant all her life…but it remains.” There was a long, pregnant pause. “Buffy…Paimon could not touch your soul, but he has access to your power. And…and unless we have the means to stop him, you will—”
“I’ll die.”
Giles swallowed hard and nodded again. “I’m afraid so.”
It was strange; the note in his voice was distanced. As though he’d never seen her before. As though they hadn’t been each other’s family since she first stepped into his library. As though she hadn’t placed her life in his hands over and over again. As though she hadn’t saved the world. As though all of it was for nothing.
It wasn’t intentional. She knew his tone was no indication of his feelings. His eyes alone were enough to feed her the truth. But it still haunted her. At that moment, he seemed so far away. So out of reach.
This was it. The catch. The golden catch she’d always known lurked in Paimon’s words. Beyond his attempt to keep her and Spike apart, beyond denying her the memories which belonged to her and always had, beyond the deceit intrinsic to his very nature, this was it. The catch.
The thing she’d never wanted was to be herself. The thing that had gotten William killed in the first place, then, hadn’t been the Slayer or the power which came with it. It had been her.
“I didn’t want my power,” Buffy whispered, her throat dry. “I didn’t want it.”
“I know,” Giles replied softly. “I’m so sorry, Buffy. I…”
“How did you know?” she asked, but her question was directed to the vampire at her side. The one whose face was a tortured mess of contemplation. “Giles…I told him and… I told you and you knew immediately. I don’t understand…the Council…they don’t—”
“’ve done my homework, love.”
Spike’s voice sounded even further away than her watcher’s.
“What?”
“Slayer obsession, right? I buried my nose in every bloody book I could find. The sort of stuff the higher-ups eventually put under lock an’ key.” He favored Giles with a scathing glare. “Your watcher must’ve skipped that day in class. It’s jus’ one of those things, huh Rupert?”
“My studies on slayers and their origin are nearly twenty years old. It was never…something we were supposed to memorize.” Giles frowned. “It was simply there. An explanation. The purpose. It made sense and I accepted it. But I’ve never viewed any slayer…I’ve never viewed Buffy as…” He sighed heavily, his eyes weighed with guilt and self-condemnation. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. It just…it wasn’t a part of my training. I was meant to work in the field. My duty was to protect you…prepare you…understanding the basics of your powers is…it’s something I was…something I knew but nothing truly
important to the task.”
Spike snorted. “Yeah. Knowin’ where your girl’s power comes from—”
Buffy elbowed him. “Will…shut up.”
A ghost of a smile tugged on her watcher’s lips. It was humorless and sad, but there nonetheless. “The demonology behind the Slayer is the concern of the Council’s…more prestigious members. There isn’t anything about the Slayer, her power, or the truth of her nature that the Council doesn’t know. But there is quite a bit the Council don’t share with watchers…simply because we are so…so close to them. We develop…attachments.” He grew silent again. “I’m so sorry, Buffy.”
“There’s nothing to—”
“I should’ve known.”
“So…what? So we would’ve known a few hours earlier that I’ve essentially…” She swallowed hard, her eyes finally misting. “I did it willingly, Giles. I think I would’ve done it even if I’d known—”
Spike’s grip on her tightened. “Don’ say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“’m not worth it—”
“—and yet, see how much that wouldn’t have changed my mind.” She offered a watery smile and kissed his lips. “I would’ve given Paimon anything. You would’ve, too.”
Spike’s beautiful eyes widened in protest. “But I’m—”
“What? A demon?” She laughed, and the sound wasn’t pretty. “Join the club.”
It was twisted and strained. The knowledge of her heritage didn’t disgust her, but there was a certain element of fear in learning something so monumental about oneself. Something which shook the foundation of knowledge. Of everything she’d ever learned.
“Buffy—”
“So I die. It’s only fair. You got to die last time.”
A shadow crossed her vampire’s face, a shadow divided between anguish and outrage. “You’re
not goin’ anywhere.”
“I think Paimon would beg to differ.”
“I’ll kill him if he tries—”
“No.”
Spike’s eyes widened, desperation leaking through. “Buffy, you can’t do this. You
can’t do this to me. You can’t give me back everything an’ then—”
“Will—”
“You
can’t. I won’t let you. Christ, lemme die first. I’ll—”
“No.”
“I won’t lose you. I
won’t. Not like—”
“Not like I lost you, you mean?” Buffy demanded, the mist in her eyes crystallizing into tears. “Not like I had to watch you die for me? Because hey…that was good enough for you. If it’s not good enough for me, then I—”
“So you’ll just let this happen to get back at me, is that it?”
“Will, please!”
He tore himself from her side the next minute, falling to his knees in front of her, his hands seizing her shoulders. “You listen to me,” he growled, his eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears. “You can’t do this. I don’t care what you bloody signed. I don’t care if you dotted every ‘i’ an’ crossed every sodding ‘t.’ I don’ give a flying fuck if God himself couldn’t smash this stone of yours. You’re
not leaving me. You’re
not. Even if I have to follow you through Hell itself, I’m
not givin’ you up.”
Buffy’s vision was such a blurry mess. She couldn’t see him. She just felt him—felt his pain. His sorrow. His worry. Over her. All over her. But there was nothing she could do or say. There was nothing, because it was already done. It was over.
She would fight. She would lose. She would die.
She’d given them both life only to make Spike suffer what she’d suffered.
He was going to watch her die.
Only there was no miracle cure. There was nothing he could forfeit to save her. Nothing she would allow him to forfeit if he could.
She had five nights to live.
Five nights left with him.
They truly were even now.
TBC