Taken from “Intervention” and are used solely for the purpose of getting this damned thing to make sense. More or less. Heh.
Out
of My Head
...part XII...
.:The Trials of a Hero:.
Two terrified demons managed to drag a snarling, extremely pissed-off master vampire with snapping jaws into the room, even though his arms were securely tied behind him. Upon noticing, Glory dropped her magazine, standing up off the couch and gawking.
“What the hell is that and why is his hair that color?” she asked, the disgust obvious on her face. Jinx and Murk struggled to right Spike and stood up straight, gazing up at the goddess.
“Stunning one, we believe he is the Key!” Murk began, Jinx echoing the last two words while Spike looked back and forth between them and Glory in annoyance.
Glory’s eyes lit up and she smiled. “Really? That’s fantabulous!” she exclaimed, walking toward them. The light dimmed as she approached Murk and shoved him. “And impossible.” She eyed Spike, then began to circle him like a shark. Spike watched her cautiously. “He can't be the key, because, see, the key ... has to be pure.”
She stopped in front of him and began sniffing at him like a dog at a fire hydrant. Spike grimaced, backing away, thoroughly uncharmed by her apparent need to see if he had that nice, fresh feeling. She righted herself and looked at him. “This... is a vampire.” Spike’s eyes widened in alarm. < Bloody hell, she can tell what I am by sniffing me? > She glanced at him again, then glared at her minions. “Rule number one, vampires equal impure.”
He was beginning to see why Glory was insane. She was acting like Dru -- sweet and seductive one second, and ready to claw your face off the next. Either way, he was starting to freak out. “Yeah, damn right, I’m impure. I’m as impure as the driven yellow snow! Lemme go!”
Glory ignored his request. “You can't even brain-suck a vampire,” she sighed, patting Spike on the chest. “He’s completely useless.”
Spike nodded quickly. “So I’m just gonna let myself out.” He attempted to dart away but was stopped by the smug, grinning, ugly little face of Murk. He grimaced and backed away.
Jinx gave Glory a confused look. “But, your holiness... we observed the Slayer. She preferred the company of this one above all the others.” Glory looked over her shoulder at Spike, who was glaring at Murk and eyeing her carefully. “She treated him as precious.”
“Really? Precious?” Glory asked, the final consonant of the word becoming a hiss. She tilted her head, pushing Jinx aside and walking over to Spike again. Looking him up and down, she said, “Let’s take a peek at you, precious.”
Spike managed to muster up some of his trademark insolence. “Sod off,” he growled softly, scowling at her.
Glory raised her eyebrows, and laughed. “Oh...” The amusement disappeared and she grabbed the front of Spike’s shirt, bringing him in close to her face. “Watch what you say, sweet cheeks. Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to piss off a god?” With that, she hauled off and punched him in the nose. Spike went flying, catapulting backwards until he hit the wall. He moaned softly in pain as he slid down it., blood trickling out of his nose and down over his lip.
Glory walked toward him and tilted his head up, forcing him to look at her. She sighed. “He doesn’t look very fancy to me,” she muttered, then grabbed Spike’s bottom lip, lifting him up.
Spike yelped. “Hey! Watch the lip!”
Glory continued. “But if the Slayer protects him, maybe appearances are deceiving.”
She threw Spike onto the circular mattress that was her bed and grinned in approval when he landed on his bound wrists, crying out in pain. She followed and climbed on top of him, straddling him, then trailed one long, perfect red nail down his chest. She looked up and caught his eye. “Maybe there’s something on the inside.”
With that, she thrust the finger into Spike’s stomach, laughing in pleasure when Spike screamed out in agony. Leaning over him as she twisted and wriggled her finger inside of his stomach, she brushed his chest with the other hand in a comforting gesture. “Shh... What do you know, precious?” She jabbed at him once, harder. “What can I dig out of you?”
Spike writhed in anguish.
At the same time, about two hundred feet outside the apartment, Buffy screamed and dropped to the ground, grabbing at her stomach. Giles rushed over immediately, bending down to help her up. “Good God, Buffy, what is it?”
Xander stared at them in confusion. All he knew, all he could see, was that something was hurting Buffy, but... there wasn’t anything around to hurt Buffy. Maybe it was cramps. “What’s wrong, Buff?”
Buffy moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. “It’s the claim. Something’s going on, Glory, somebody, is hurting Spike,” she groaned. Taking a deep breath, she managed to get to her feet with Giles’ help, then wrapped her arms around her stomach, pushing against the pain. “Oh... Christ, we have to get to him!”
She began walking off toward the apartment complexes again, holding her own quite well despite the pain she was under. Xander and Giles exchanged a look, then raced after her.
Earlier plans had been nixed, and Buffy had sent Willow and Anya ahead of the group to discover where any impossible magicks had taken place. The Slayer had given them directions to a slightly posher part of town, to a few apartment complexes where several weeks earlier, she had found what Giles had called the Sphere of Dagon. The rest had gone after weapons. Now, they stood outside the very building where Spike was being held captive. A loud scream pierced the air, and Anya jumped, then jumped again when Buffy echoed it, keeling over into Giles. Willow’s eyes widened.
“Oh, no. Oh, no, it’s the claim, isn’t it? Oh, no, what are we going to do, what can we do, huh, Giles? What can we do to help her, this is not good, not good at all, what’s going to happen if the Slayer is under assault injuries that haven’t even happened to her, huh, Giles, what’s going to--”
Buffy stood straight up, cutting off Willow’s sentence by holding her hand up. “I’m fine, Will. But right now...” she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut. “Right now, we have to get to Spike.” Sucking up every ounce of sheer will and strength she had, she forced the effects of the claim away and drew a deep breath. She looked toward the buildings, then turned her head to the side in Xander’s direction. “Xander?”
The dark-haired boy instantly recognized the unspoken command and began unloading the weapons they had taken from the shop from a duffel bag that hung at his side. Buffy had attempted to leave by herself earlier, and he’d run out, trying to talk her back in, convincing her that a sloppy Slayer was going to get Spike killed. He’d brought her back in and they’d sorted through weapons, and now Xander pulled out two crossbows, handing them to Willow and Anya, along with several bolts. He offered the Slayer a machete and a crossbow of her own, and she fingered the trigger impatiently as Xander gave the Watcher a longsword. He himself took the handle of an axe with a very large, very sharp looking blade, and yet another crossbow, which he slung over his shoulders.
Buffy slipped the machete onto her back, then mimicked Xander’s actions, slipping the crossbow around her shoulders. She glared hard at the room where Spike was apparently being tortured.
“Move out,” she growled in a tone that would very much rival Spike’s own. She stalked toward the buildings, gold-colored fury building in her eyes. The Scoobies swallowed at her tone, but nevertheless followed the Slayer.
They arrived inside the building and Buffy again became into general. “All right, here it is: Anya, Willow, stick together, search the second floor, Xander, Giles, explore the lobby, I’m going up to the third floor to see if I can find Spike. Go!”
She began moving up the staircase, Anya tailing after her and Willow pulling up the rear. Only they heard her quietly utter, “Bitch is gonna pay.”
In her head, Buffy’s subconscious echoed that sentiment. < Yeah, she will. And so will you if you don’t get to him in time. >
Willow watched Buffy as she continued up to the third floor of the building, stopping off at the second floor with Anya. The former demon was looking around nervously, and jumped slightly when Willow cleared her throat. She turned to the witch.
“Could you not do that, please?” she hissed. “There’s a god somewhere in this building, torturing Spike, and I really don’t want her to get torment happy with me, too.”
Willow shrugged. “Sorry... But do you think this is worth the trouble of... of saving Spike?”
Anya turned her gaze on the red-head. “What are you talking about? There’s no question about it, Spike has to be saved, otherwise everything goes ker-plooey. And not only that, but he’s claimed Buffy. So if he dies, she is going to be in some serious physical pain.”
Willow chewed her lip as they began to walk carefully down the hall. “I-I know, but... but what if Buffy doesn’t get there in time? A-And Spike tells? Having a god torture you can’t be all that fun and, and Spike wasn’t very reliable in the past anyway. What if he tells Glory about the Key?”
Anya glared at her. “Spike wouldn’t tell. He, he couldn’t tell, have you even seen the way he is with Dawn? And he’s crazy about Buffy, so if he told, heh, well so much for the lovin’ there.”
Willow sighed. “Again, I know. I’ve seen how he looks at Buffy. He’s in love with her, and she told me that she feels the same way. But still, this is Spike we’re talking about. He’s the one that held a broken bottle at my face and threatened to cut me two years ago, he’s the one that started a massacre at the high school on Parent-Teacher Night... Maybe he has changed, but torture could make him unchange in an instant. I know he loves Buffy, but...” She looked up toward the third floor as another pained, very Spike-sounding scream rang out. She glanced down at her feet. “What if it’s not enough?” she finished quietly.
Anya followed the Wicca’s gaze up the steps and frowned, worrying her lower lip.
If that wasn’t enough, then oblivion was imminent.
SO not a good thing.
Glory was having way too much fun. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t tortured someone since she’d been banished from her home sweet hell and hooked on to that stupid brat, Ben. And that had to have been, given Ben’s age, around 25 to 27 years ago. Maybe less, but who was counting, really?
Point was, she had her very own vampire to maim and break and cut, and sooner or later, he was going to give in.
And if he didn’t, she would make him.
The vampire, at the moment, wasn’t talking though, and that was just pushing her along. Oh, god it was fun trying to weasel the info out of him. Her minions were standing in a circle around them, in order to keep him from escaping, which was pointless since the little bloodsucker was chained to the ceiling, his boots barely touching the ground.
The demons were watching in eager fascination. Well, not so much fascination as it was apprehension. Glory knew that they realized that this could happen to them if one of them pissed her off the slightest bit. She was proud of that fact.
Glory was insane, but she wasn’t to the point of humbling herself.
Spike, meanwhile, was fighting unconsciousness. Mainly for the reason that he feared what the psychotic deity would do to him if he did conk out. He’d already endured so much from her. For starters, his nose was broken. Again. Glory had taken an interest in his face, and he had two black eyes, both so swollen that he could barely see save for squinting. Glory had gotten extremely brassed off and frustrated at one point, and there were scratch marks across his face to show that, dark, bleeding furrows dug deep by her claw-like nails. He could barely see from the blood that was trickling down through his eyes.
His chest was beaten to a pulp, black and blue bruises all over, and there was one, perfectly circular, perfectly ugly wound where Glory had pushed her finger into him. Glory finally turned away from him, and he allowed himself to relax a bit, unable to do much else besides hang there. He’d been attached to a chain that had been looped around something in the ceiling, and all his muscles were straining downwards. Any second now he was sure they were going to rip right off of his bones.
Oh, god, what was it going to take for her to stop?
Oh, right. That.
Glory turned around again and Spike raised his head, swallowing hard and tensing up when he saw her hands behind her back. Whatever was coming next could not be good. Christ, this woman was worse than Dru was when at her best.
This could not be happening.
Glory walked up to him, an innocent, sweet smile on her face, and Spike shied away from her wearily, unable to get very far due to his suspension. Casually, the goddess brought out her hands and Spike’s eyes widened in fear: a stake in one hand, and a long, ornate silver dagger in the other. He wasn’t sure which one was worse. The stake had its up side, because she could stab him, and the pain would last but a second. On the other hand, she could push the thing in as slowly as possible, and torture him even further. Besides, he really didn’t want to die.
And then there was the dagger. And he knew -- he knew -- that Glory would use the sharp blade to every single advantage, and he’d look like a demolished Rose-Phase Picasso painting as a result. But at least he couldn’t die from it. Well, unless he lost all his blood.
Either way, he was now scared shitless.
Glory smiled at the terrified look on his face, and pretended to dither between which weapon to use, then slowly put the blade down. Walking up to him, she gently pushed away the scraps of his destroyed T-shirt and lightly trailed the tip of the very pointy, very lethal wooden stake over his chest. Spike let out a soft whimper, trying to push away from her, and Glory reached up to touched his cheek.
“Shhh... I know, precious, I know,” she said in a soft, kind voice. “Do you want the pain to stop?” Spike nodded his head desperately. Glory smiled. “Then it will,” she continued, running her hand from his cheek to his pecs. “All you have to do is tell me who the Key is. Then the pain will stop for good, and I promise that I’ll let you go.”
She said it sincerely enough, but Spike was looking in her eyes, and he knew instantly, as well as from common sense, that he would die even if he did decide to give up Dawn.
His hesitation was quick to irritate Glory, and her impatience rose. She moved the stake up toward his heart, settling it in about two inches above the vital, un-beating organ. “Now, now, baby doll. Tell me who the Key is. Unless you actually enjoy the feeling of wood going through your skin.”
The stupid vampire still wasn’t talking. She scowled and pushed the stake in, pressing it into the same area that Riley had staked him in just a few weeks before. Spike threw his head back and cried out as she pushed it in one, two, three inches. The stake was now lodged above his heart, right between his shoulder and collarbone, and blood was seeping out of the wound, drenching the wood and running down his chest.
Glory scowled. Either this guy was really loyal, or he was really stupid. He was still refusing to talk. She yanked the stake out violently and that caused him more pain than it had with the stake going in. Blood gushed down his chest from the injury like a waterfall, and Spike kept his head down, shuddering and whimpering in pain.
Glory sighed and tossed the stake over her shoulder, unknowingly beaning one of her demons on the head with it. She walked back to where she left the knife, then moved behind Spike with it. “I have a riddle for you, precious,” she began, stroking his face with her free hand. Grabbing the back of his head, she pulled him backwards until he was suspended horizontally, his legs hanging limply in the air, then rested her cheek against his, smiling. “How is a vampire that won’t talk... like an apple?”
She moved up her dagger-occupied arm, then pressed the blade into his skin, dragging it viciously down his chest. Spike moaned in agony, tears of frustration running over his cheeks and bloodying up his vision and features even more. The blade ran cleanly through his skin, cutting it up like butter, digging through the muscle, and it was all he could do not to give in to the beckoning oblivion. Glory grinned, proudly displaying the large ‘G’ that she’d carved into his torso. “Think I can do you in one long strip?” she asked, positioning the knife horizontally, preparing to slice down.
That was it. He couldn’t take anymore.
“Enough. No more,” he wheezed weakly. “I’ll tell you who the soddin’ Key is.”
Buffy winced and knelt to the floor as another scream sounded and a sharp pain ran though her chest. She’d barely been given a few moments before another, sharper pain ran along her stomach.
< Great, thanks for the claim, Spike > she grumbled inside her head. It took all her willpower to stand up once again, one arm pressed against the pain in her stomach, the hand of her other arm pressed against a section near her shoulder. She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut until the pain faded away, then sighed in relief. She wiped her hand across her face, then frowned as something somewhat sticky, with a coppery smell to it covered her skin. She looked down at her hand.
Covered in blood.
She looked at her other arm.
Yep, that one too.
Glancing down at her shirt, her eyes widened in horror. The pain in her chest had taken the form of a circle, and blood was seeping down her front like she’d been wounded. Further down, on her stomach, blood had pooled out into the form of a letter ‘G.’ Quickly, she pulled the shirt up and searched for any wounds.
Nothing.
And the same went for the circle on her chest.
“Okay, this is getting a leeettle too weird for my tastes,” she said out loud. No wounds, but she was bleeding. The same way the pains appeared even though nothing was around to cause them. It was Spike’s claim. It had to be; there was nothing else it could be.
Which meant that Glory was starting to get stake-happy.
Buffy’s eyes widened in panic at the thought, and she raced up the rest of the stairs. She passed a window in the hallway as she ran, noticing that the sky was beginning to lighten, signifying morning. They’d been out all night.
If she didn’t get Spike back by the time day broke, she was never going to forgive herself.
Glory sighed as the walking and talking corpse panted and gasped, asking for water. Snapping her fingers, one of her minions ran off to the kitchen, and was back within a second, wielding a glass. This was the second thing the vampire had asked for since breaking for her, and Glory’s impatience was again getting the best of her.
She took the glass and lifted it to Spike’s lips, carefully tipping it as he swallowed rapaciously. Blood ran down his face and into the water, but Glory really couldn’t care less. He was a vampire -- one, he drank blood, anyway, it didn’t matter if it was slightly diluted with water, and two, he was nothing but an informant to her. Why the hell should she be hospitable?
When he was done, she pulled the glass away, and put on her tender, loving face.
“Is that better?” she asked gently. Spike coughed softly as a reply. She smiled softly. “Do you think you can try to talk again now?” Spike nodded slowly, swallowing and exhaling his breath as he looked up at her. “Good.”
The women seriously needed anger management. She whirled on him. “Because I’m tired of these games!” she yelled, smashing the glass into his face. It shattered into pieces, hitting the floor. She turned away, throwing her hands in the air. “’I need time, I need a drink,’ you’re a very needy little bloodsucker,” she accused, flopping onto the sofa and crossing her legs. “And it’s not very attractive.” Spike scowled at her, mentally stirring up ways to maim and torture her. Of course, she was a god, and he was a vampire.
It wouldn’t work.
“So start talkin’,” she continued, folding her arms.
Buffy crept up to the door she’d seen open. Crashing noises had sounded from it, as well as the sound of Glory’s eternal bitching, so it was obvious that this was the place. Peering in, she caught a glimpse of a room overflowing with satin pillows, silk sheets, and cashmere drapery. And in the middle of it all was Spike.
< Oh my god > she thought, eyeing his body. He’d been brutalized. Glory had truly gone overboard.
Unless, for Glory, this was only five steps away from overboard.
How had he managed to survive thus far? It was impossible! Had he been human, Spike would’ve either been dead or in a coma. Of course, it probably helped that he was dead already, but still... Christ.
Something caught Buffy’s eye on the floor of the room, and her eyes widened in alarm. She had just come pretty damn close to losing her lover.
It was a stake. And by the looks of it (the small puddle of blood around it probably gave it away), it had been thoroughly used on Spike. He had a big hole in his chest, in the same position that the circle of blood had appeared on Buffy’s shirt, and it was looking pretty damn bad.
Oh, and how about that? Glory had put a little claim of her own on Spike. It should’ve been obvious when that big ‘G’ had shown up on her shirt.
Buffy stopped and listened when she saw Spike begin to talk.
Spike nodded. “Yeah. Okay. The Key. Here’s the thing...” he began, fiddling with the chain binding his wrists together. He was weak, but it was worth a shot at getting away anyhow. He twisted them around, trying to loosen them. “It’s that guy... on TV... what’s-his-name?”
Glory frowned at him, not comprehending. “On the television?”
Spike nodded again. “That show... the prize show... where they guess what stuff costs?”
Murk, who had approached Glory with Jinx the moment she’d sat down, tilted his head. “The Price Is Right?”
Jinx’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Bob Barker!"
The demons twittered excitedly, and Murk stepped forward. “We will bring you Bob Barker! We will bring you the limp and beaten body of Bob Bark --”
Glory jumped up angrily. The demons instantly shrank back. “It’s not Bob Barker, scabby morons! The Key is new to this world...” She turned to glare at Spike. “... And Bob Barker is as old as grit.” She smiled. “The vampire... is lying to me.”
Spike suddenly broke into a case of weak, hysteric giggles. “Yeah... but it was fun. An’ guess what, bitch?” He tried tugging at the chains again, desperate to free himself before Glory could really do some damage for what he was about to do. “You’re never gonna get your soddin’ Key. ‘Cos you might be strong, but in our world?” He leaned forward and glared at her. “You’re an idiot.”
Buffy’s face could’ve cracked; she was grinning so hard that the Mona Lisa would be envious. True, Spike was doing something incredibly stupid by baiting and extremely pissy hellgod, but then again, this was Spike. He wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t; he was practically known for doing incredibly stupid things.
Glory was getting beyond pissed, she could tell, and Buffy officially had Spike to thank for that. The second they got out of there, the moron was getting a kiss.
Well, a kiss was all she could offer at the moment. It wasn’t like she could throw him down and rape him. Vampires liked pain when it came to sex, but not in the situation Spike was in. That was too much. And besides, they would be in the middle of a battle, and she couldn’t abandon her friends. Couple fun would have to wait.
For now, though, Buffy just sat up and enjoyed the show.
Glory’s eyes widened. This, this thing, this mere vampire actually had the nerve to insult her? “I am a god!” she yelled, jaw clenching.
Spike snorted. “Yeah, the god of what, bad home perms?”
Glory’s jaw dropped and her hand went up to her hair, patting it defensively. “Shut up!” she yelped, moving forward menacingly, and wondering exactly why the vampire didn’t seem to be scared of her anymore. “I command you, shut up!”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, sorry, but I just had no idea that gods were such prancing lightweights.” < You’re pushing it, you are really pushing it... > he thought. Glory scoffed at him in disbelief. His voice dipped down to a threatening, vicious note as he stared at her. “Mark my words, hellbitch... My girl... is going to kick your skanky, lopsided ass... “ < Oooh, good one, Spike. > Glory’s head turned and she checked out her ass, still unwilling to believe that his fear had disappeared and that he was actually talking to her that way. “...Back to whatever place would take a... “ He looked her up and down and scoffed, glaring at her, his upper lip curling in disgust. “... A cheap... whorish... fashion victim... ex-god... like you.”
Each word had been said with Spike’s biting malevolence, accents being placed on each and every syllable in order to spite her.
And it worked. Perhaps too well.
Glory’s rage took advantage of the situation, and spun around, delivering a devastating kick to Spike’s middle. He winced as he heard something snap, realizing full well that the bitch had just broken three or four of his ribs. The chain binding his wrists gave way, and he flew backwards, crashing into the hallway outside the door. Doing a back-somersault, he slammed into a chair, splintering it.
Inside, Glory stared stonily at the chain that had been holding Spike before she’d literally kicked him out. Her demons surrounded her, looking up questioningly. Glory stayed silent for a moment, then said, in a dangerous voice, “Bring him back.”
Buffy jumped when Spike flew past her into the wall, and she scrambled over to him, still toting the crossbow and machete. He groaned, muttering, “Good plan, Spike,” then looked up, startled, when Buffy grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “Buffy?"
She nodded quickly, looking behind her at the minions, then back at him. “Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’m gonna get you out of here, I swear I will.” Together, they ran down the hallway toward the open elevator doors (well, Buffy ran; Spike sort of ran-walked-limped) as the hordes of little hobbits-with-leprosy charged after them. However the doors closed before they could get inside, and in a fury, Buffy shouted, “Fuck!” and slammed her foot into the door.
Spike moaned softly and slid down the wall, looking up at her. Buffy spared a glance at him, then looked behind her. Abandoning the task at hand for the moment, she grabbed the crossbow, aimed, and pulled the trigger, shooting one of the charging demons in the chest. He let out a funny little ‘eeee’ sound and flew up, landing on his back with his feet in the air, instantly dead. His comrades ignored their fallen man and continued after the Slayer as Buffy pried open the doors, shoving them apart.
She bent down to Spike and cupped his chin. “Spike, I need you to get down there, can you do that for me?” Spike gave a soft whimper that broke her heart but he nevertheless grunted and turned over on his stomach, sliding into the elevator hatch. Grabbing the machete off of her back, Buffy slashed it across the face of one of the demons nearing her, then jumped down the hatch with Spike, being careful to avoid his already heavily injured body. Opening the latch at the top of the elevator, Buffy gently lowered Spike into it as Jinx and another demon watched them from the open elevator doors. She peered up at them, then lowered herself in as well.
He stood up shakily and Buffy caught him in her arms before he fell over, brushing her fingers over his face. Reaching out her other hand, she took his and squeezed gently.
“Can you run?” she asked. Spike wobbled again and Buffy grabbed at him, wincing. “Whoops, guess not.” The elevator ‘ding’-ed and the doors opened, revealing the demons, led by Murk and Jinx, running down the staircase. Anya and Willow had run back down to the lobby at the sound of their descent, and now all of them stood at the ready for the attack.
Murk started toward the elevator as Jinx initiated the war. “You do not insult Glory by escaping!” he called out. Buffy and Spike scowled at him and simultaneously thrust up their middle fingers. Murk seemed surprised by this reaction; apparently, he’d been expecting them to be quivering in actual fear. Buffy jerked the crossbow in front of her again and fired a bolt, purposely hitting Murk in the right-of-center of his chest. The little demon cried out as he flew back, his eyes widening at the clear sight he now had of the short, powerful blonde girl. “Slayer!” he cried out.
“That would be me,” Buffy muttered under her breath, then turned toward Spike, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Stay in here, you’re too weak.”
Spike fell back against the wall feebly, lifting one arm to try and clutch at her. “Buff --” he choked, then squeezed his eyes shut as an overwhelming stretch of pain assaulted him, finally succumbing to senselessness. Buffy swallowed hard, fighting the tears that were trying to force themselves down her cheeks and ignoring the angry voice inside her head that said that she had caused this to happen to him.
Convincing herself that he would be safe inside the elevator, she ran out toward the action. Xander saw her out of the corner of his eye and took a moment to wave. “Hey! Welcome to the chaos!” he called out. Buffy shot him a grin and saluted, then dove headfirst into the fray.
Anya was standing on the final step of the staircase, shooting the bolts from her crossbow wildly at the demons that were attempting to attack her, at times taking the crossbow itself and smashing them over the heads with it. Willow had discarded her own crossbow in favor of her rapidly advancing witchcraft. There was a circle of absolute calm surrounding her, and as her chanting reached a crescendo, her head shot up and her already green eyes glowed even brighter, almost blindingly so. She threw her arms up, capturing the twenty or so demons that had been surrounding her barrier. She slammed them into the ceiling before throwing her arms toward the right and sending them flying out the windows in a rain of broken glass.
Xander spun around as a demon lunged toward him, catching the little bastard with the axe and flipped him over his shoulder, then whirled around just in time to brace an attack from another demon.
Buffy looked around and snatched her crossbow up, taking out another demon, until Murk, who had removed the bolt from his chest, advanced on her and kicked it out of her grasp. She spun to look at him and received a punch to the face. Recovering quickly, she kicked Murk down to the ground, then ducked as another demon decided to attack. Kicking Murk twice more, she punched the second demon, then spun around and kicked a third.
Leveling the handle of the axe like a quarter-staff, Xander smacked a demon in the face with it, then fended him off before swinging around and stabbing a second demon in the chest. The first demon recovered and attacked him again, punching him twice. The first demon made an attempt to punch him a third time, but Xander ducked and caught him on the chin with the axe handle. Smacking him a few times, he shoved the blade into his belly and jerked upwards before retrieving it and spinning around.
Murk shot back up to his feet and assaulted Buffy again, aiming a fist at her face. Buffy blocked the punch, brought her leg up in a snap-kick, then ducked another punch. Pulling her arm back, she snapped her fist at him, a punch which he blocked. Knocking him upside the head with a foot, she punched him twice more, catching him fully off guard. Then, spinning, she thrust her foot out and caught him on the side of his head, sending him flying.
As he slashed yet another demon, one more of the little bastards snuck up behind him, catching Xander in a headlock and pointing a very sharp knife at his throat. Xander gurgled and let out a strangled cry. Giles, who had been slashing demons left and right with the longsword, heard him and rushed to his side. Lifting his sword above his head, he brought the hilt down hard on the demon’s head. He fell backwards and Giles brought the blade of the sword down, stabbing the little monster in the belly. Free now, Xander gave Giles a grateful grin, then dove headfirst toward a reviving demon, tackling him to the ground. Straddling said demon, Xander began punching him gleefully.
Now he knew why Buffy enjoyed this so much. It was a kick-ass stress-reliever!
Finally, he grabbed the dagger that he had swiped off of the other demon before he’d been set free and drove it down into the demon he sat on. Xander stood up and brushed himself off, glancing around. He spotted Jinx and Murk running back up the steps and called out, “Buffy!” before he was tackled from the side by another demon who hadn’t had the smarts to escape with the ones that had gotten away.
The Slayer jerked her head up in time to see Jinx and Murk retreating, then rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Her head twisted in Anya’s direction, the former demon shrieking as one of the few demons left began grabbing at her. Buffy darted toward the girl and struck a blow to the back of the demon’s head. Grabbing either side of his face as he turned around to her, she twisted, snapping his neck cleanly.
Looking around to Xander, she saw that the demon he was now combating with had his arm wrapped tightly around Xander’s throat. The boy jabbed his elbow into the demon’s stomach, then turned and began punching him in retaliation. “Xander!” Buffy called out, hefting her machete up in the air. Xander turned and, seeing what Buffy had planned, ran and hid behind Giles. The Watcher turned and scowled at him.
Buffy threw the machete, watching grimly as the sharp silver metal flew through the air and embedded itself into Xander’s assailant. And suddenly, all was silent. Buffy looked around and noticed that the lobby was now littered with nothing but dead demons. Her eyes latched onto the elevator and she rushed down the steps. “Giles!” she called out. “Get that piece of shit off of my machete, I’m not leaving it here!”
Hurrying toward the elevator doors, she sank to her knees and crawled in, taking in Spike’s face. She wasn’t sure what was worse: that he was so bloody that the red cascade hid most of his serious injuries, or the fact that he had serious injuries underneath the blood. She drew a deep shaky breath, then pulled him into her arms, grunting softly as she lifted him. It was easier picking him up when he wasn’t unconscious, mostly because he helped her boost up, but carrying a sack of one-hundred forty some-odd pounds of dead weight vampire was putting a serious strain on her muscles.
She carried him out of the elevator, staggering slightly under the weight, and walked to the middle of the lobby, viciously kicking aside one of the dead demons, as if it was redemption for what their master had done to her lover.
Xander, who had otherwise been occupied (Anya had thrown her arms around him in relief a few seconds earlier and had a grip like an octopus at the moment), stopped kissing his girlfriend and froze in absolute shock at the sight of Spike’s battered body, Willow and Giles parroting him with their silence. Anya glanced at him and held her hand over her mouth, her skin tinting a bit green and hinting at nausea. “Oh, my god,” she whispered.
Buffy remained quiet for a moment, studying his face. She’d been incredibly close to losing him, and the last thing he would have remembered of her was her voice calling out his Sire’s name. How incredibly stupid was she, exactly?
She lifted her head and peered out the doors of the apartment building, eyeing daybreak wearily. She turned slightly, protectively hiding Spike from any stray rays of the rising sun. She glanced at her mentor. “It’s morning. I’m not gonna let him fry. We need to get him out of here.”
Giles stared at his charge quietly for a moment, examining the girl’s despondent face. Carefully, he removed his coat and placed it over Spike, draping it over the vampire’s torso. Buffy looked up at him slowly and he smiled gently at her. “I’ll go collect my car,” he said softly.
Buffy returned his smile with a weaker one of her own. As he turned to leave, she called out, “Giles!” He turned slightly, looking at her. She bit her lip. “Thank you.” Giles smiled, nodding his head, and continued walking.
Buffy lowered her head, returning her gaze to Spike. She shifted him slightly and sat down cross-legged on the floor, placing him in her lap. Willow moved over and wrapped an arm comfortingly around Buffy’s shoulders, and the Slayer allowed her shoulders to shake from her sob. Anya pulled away from Xander and moved to sit in front of Willow, murmuring something to the witch about a healing spell. The ex-demon placed a gentle hand on top of Buffy’s, and gave the Slayer a tiny, brave smile. Buffy sniffled, but managed a smile back. It wasn’t very often that Anya expressed sympathy. Buffy had a feeling that Anya knew about her emotions concerning Spike.
Xander quietly stood back, gazing at his three women. Willow, his best friend since diapers; Anya, his other half, his girlfriend and lover; and Buffy. Jesus, what could he say about Buffy? She’d been his crush, his best friend, his consort, his muse, his saviour (more times than he’d like to admit)... most of all, she was his idol. He’d stood by her for so long, and watched every single torment that she’d ever been put through, saw her fly through each and every opposition with ease. She’d had her heart broken more times than California law should have allowed. She’d been put through the ringer because of her duties, and once, four years ago, she had even died because of those same duties. And yet, she just kept going. She amazed him with every breath she took.
He watched her now, staring at her face; took in her distraught form, cradling Spike so close, so protective of him. She looked utterly devastated. Yeah, he hated Spike, but the truth was, the blonde jerk had grown on him. He’d begun to anticipate their barb fights and pool matches, the name-calling competitions and what-not. And as much as he hated to admit it... ever since Buffy had dumped Riley, ever since Buffy had latched on to Spike... He had never seen the girl happier since before Angel had become Angelus. And it really grieved him to realize that it was Spike’s doing.
He had followed her on patrol once when he’d noticed her extra-perky behavior -- he and the others had deduced that she must have been seeing someone but the relationship was still too new to thrust the guy past her attack-dog friends. He had stayed at least two-hundred paces behind her, but followed closely enough to have a good view. When Spike appeared the instant she stepped on to the cemetery’s grounds, he’d expected Buffy to become cold and distant, telling Spike to just get the hell away from her. Instead, he’d had to turn away when Buffy had grinned and thrown her arms around Spike, obviously euphoric to see the bloodsucker.
He hated the idea of Buffy being with another vampire. This girl had become like his sister (his little sister if he wanted to be technical; she was younger than him), and the thought of any harm coming to her from another vampire, after all the chaos that Angel’s evil twin had caused, drove him crazy. She was worth so much more than that, his Buffy.
But the thing about Buffy was that she’d always had things in common with Spike. The ones that stood out the most in his mind were both being as stubborn as asses, both challenging tradition in every which way, and both loving with all their beings.
Xander hadn’t forgotten Drusilla. He wished he could, the damn psychotic bitch, but he’d been there when Spike had returned to Sunnydale after the whole Acathla mess. He’d seen how empty and hollow Spike had been because the looney had broken up with him. And he’d seen Spike the year before, almost always giddy when in the company of his beloved Princess. He’d adored Drusilla, worshipped the earth at her feet.
Buffy had likewise adored Angel, though not to the same extent. Angel had been her first everything, almost. She had loved that damn vampire with every part of her being, and unfortunately, it had nearly killed them all. But it hadn’t been her fault. All she’d done was love him -- she hadn’t known anything about the repercussions of his curse.
He thought back to past times that he’d seen the two together. Thanksgiving last year; the horrible Willow-spell-gone-awry that had convinced them that they were engaged; their intimate little dance at the Bronze a few weeks ago, and countless other times. Spike was enamored with the blonde Slayer, and Xander knew now that Buffy was just as enamored with Spike.
He didn’t like it, and he probably wouldn’t for the rest of his life. But Spike made Buffy happy. And if Spike was what she needed, then Spike was what she was going to get.
He walked over as Willow and Anya moved about a foot away -- probably to do a spell -- and slipped off his jacket. He sat down next to Buffy and gently nudged her arm. She looked up at him and he smiled slightly as he spread the jacket over Spike’s bottom half. Buffy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He shrugged.
“Hey... somebody’s gotta stay around to beat me shamelessly at pool,” he explained. The tiniest of grateful smiles cracked Buffy’s face, and she openly sobbed, resting her head on his shoulder. Xander sighed softly and wrapped his arm around her slight form, resting his head on top of hers as she cried softly.
About ten minutes later, a honk signified Giles’ return.
Buffy had kept her word to Dawn. She had pulled an E.T. and phoned home to alert her sister that Spike had been recovered. She’d needed to hold the phone about a foot away from her ear when Dawn shrieked, and Buffy had heard a very distinct thump and crash! She assumed that her sister had gotten overly excited, had Dawn-bounced either her mother or Tara and knocked them down, dragging a vase or lamp along in the process. The thought amused her.
But not by much.
Anyway. That was why her mother, Dawn, and Tara were all standing at the door impatiently when they arrived. Joyce clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of Spike’s prone body under Xander and Giles’ coats. Dawn’s eyes widened when Buffy entered with Spike, Giles, Willow, Anya and Xander in tow. Tara immediately went over to her girlfriend, looking at Spike wearily, her eyes filled with trepidation. She exchanged a glance with Willow, but the red-headed Wicca shook her head, remaining silent.
A hysterical scream cut through the air when Giles and Xander removed their coats and Dawn’s eyes fell on Spike’s bloody form. “Oh my god! Spike, oh my god, what happened to him, what did she do to him?!” the teenager shrieked, rushing towards Buffy and grabbing at the body of her protector.
Buffy jerked away from Dawn desperately, trying to keep a firm hold on her lover. “Dawn! Dawn, stop, otherwise you’re gonna make me drop him!” she cried out. Joyce, her jaw dropped in dismay, walked up behind Dawn and wrapped her arms tightly around the girl, turning her face away from the gruesome mess of Spike’s face.
Buffy looked around uneasily, her movements jerky and unsure. She focused her gaze on her mother. “He needs to stay somewhere. I won’t leave him alone in his crypt.”
Joyce responded immediately, pushed on by the heartache she felt at the sound of her youngest daughter’s sobs and the fear and worry she saw in Buffy’s eyes. “He can stay in my room, however long it takes. I’ll use the sleeper couch until then.”
Buffy gave a small, curt nod and looked around before starting up the steps. Giles followed behind her, quietly speaking to her about heavy blankets for the windows.
The Scoobies and the remaining two Summers women watched as the three disappeared, and finally Willow sunk heavily onto the couch, her face in her hands. “I feel awful about Spike, and horrible for Buffy, I really do... but what if he told Glory about the Key?” she asked quietly.
Xander wrapped his arm tightly around Anya, stared up the staircase quietly, then looked back at his best friend of twenty years. “He didn’t, Will. Don’t know how I know. He just didn’t.”
Willow nodded.
Giles had helped her clean him up as best he could. Now she wasn’t sure why they got rid of all the blood. Because honestly, Spike looked worse without the gore running over him. Her lover was now sporting two, blue-black shiners on both eyes. His lower lip had been busted open. His nose was broken. Deep, red furrows covered his cheeks.
The brand new stake wound in his chest was bright red and throbbing, no where near healing; it had only now just started clotting, and the slightest movement would break it open again. Bruises covered his arms and chest. There was a big, ugly round wound in his stomach. She assumed that had been the first claim-affect wound she’d felt, outside the apartments. From the looks of his middle, he had a few ribs broken. And there was that big, hideous signature Glory had left on his torso.
She had insisted that they wrap him up to get rid of it faster.
Her Watcher had stayed a little longer to toss some heavy winter blankets over the windows of Joyce’s room, and they’d spread a canvas sheet out on the bed to keep the blood from damaging the covers. He was gone now, as was most everybody else except Willow and Tara. Willow was downstairs, explaining to Dawn what had happened.
Buffy herself had been up here since she’d come home. That had been about two hours ago. Eight-thirty AM, the most ungodly time in the world to be up. She hadn’t closed her eyes once in the last twelve hours.
She was standing at the door now, a cup of tea that her mother had brought her in her hands. She was gazing at Spike silently. What else could she do? He was only unconscious... but if he were human, she would be staring at a corpse right now.
Okay, so she already was. An unanimated corpse, then. Nothing inhabiting his body. Just a raw, bleeding, dead body.
She was the biggest bitch in the world.
She had allowed fear of past relationships get the better of her, and had done something she had never thought she was capable of -- she’d broken Spike’s heart.
What kind of woman did that to the man they were in love with?
< A bitchy, cold-hearted, insecure one > her subconscious responded in a reproachful tone.
Flesh-and-Blood Buffy lowered her head and stared into the tea cup. Chamomile, with just a bit of eucalyptus and lemon, something to help soothe her, her mother said. Soothing.
Pfft. Yeah, right.
She was wound up tighter than a spring. Spike hadn’t moved once in the last -- she glanced at the alarm clock -- two hours, fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Not even to moan or shift. He was dead to the world.
Dammit, there was that word again. Dead. Dead, dead, dead. That was what Spike would have been if she hadn’t gotten there in time. That was what she would be if Spike ever woke up and reverted back to hating her.
She liked when he loved her a lot better.
But she knew she deserved whatever was coming to her. An Angry Spike was fun to mess with, a Drunken Spike was amusing to watch, but a Heartbroken Spike was a force to be reckoned with. She wondered briefly just what kind of torture it had taken him to win Drusilla back from that Chaos demon. He had obviously gotten her back, and then she’d dumped him again for a fungus demon. According to that chatterbox moron Harmony, anyway.
She wondered what sort of torture she would be in for when he was feeling good enough to repay her for her cruelty.
Of course, there was one tiny little upside in this. Back at Glory’s lair, Spike had been insulting Glory, doing his best to rile her up. He’d mentioned something about ‘his girl’ kicking Glory back to her little hellhole. That had to be good, right? He was referring to her as his girl?
Unless ‘his girl’ was Dru or Harmony, which she truly doubted since Dru didn’t seem to care enough about her boy anyway, and Harmony was... well, Harmony.
She might be in the clear after all.
She looked toward the bed again, and jumped in barely contained excitement. He was waking up. She darted to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing his hand. “Spike?”
The vampire’s head turned slightly to the right, and when his scratch marks met the cool pillow, he hissed in pain, grumbling under his breath. “Bitch,” he muttered, his hand shrinking out of Buffy’s grip.
Buffy looked down at her empty hand. Then again, maybe she was screwed for all life, because she had driven the man who loved her away. She sighed sadly. “I deserve that. I am a bitch. I’m so sorry, Spike, I... I was just scared...” Spike grunted softly and shifted again, and Buffy nodded. “No, you’re right, that’s no excuse. I should have talked to you, told you. I shouldn’t have said all those awful things to you. I’m so, so sorry, Spike.” She bit her lip and decided to try her luck. “Can you forgive me?”
He growled softly, then gave a soft ‘hmph’ and cracked his eyes open. “First off, luv, I was talking ‘bout the hellbitch. I wanna know where she went so I can fuck her up for doing this to me.” Buffy gave a tiny smile.
Which disappeared in the next second. “An’ second, I’m not so sure I want to forgive you. That was absolute bullshit what you pulled back at my crypt, Slayer.” Ooh, ooh, bad, he was back to calling her ‘Slayer.’ He only did that when he was truly pissed at her.
She sighed. “I know, I know, I never should’ve--”
“Bloody right, you shouldn’t have!” he snapped. At the sight of her shrinking back, his gaze softened and he sighed, his voice taking on a plaintive, pleading tone. “Why would you do that to me, Buffy? You know how I feel about my sire. It wasn’t enough that the jackass had to lose his soul and take Dru away from me, but how do you think it feels to know that his poofier, self-righteous half was the one you loved? He was your first love, Buffy, how in the bloody fuck can I compete with that? Then to hear his name come out of your mouth when...” He trailed off and turned his head away.
“I wasn’t thinking about him, Spike,” Buffy said, catching his hand again. “I was thinking about you... nothing but you... I couldn’t think of anything else. You... I don’t know what you do to me, Spike. But I like it. Because it makes me feel... because it makes me happy. I didn’t have that with Angel. I never had that with Riley.” Spike grunted at the use of the soldier’s name. Buffy smiled and continued, reaching up and touching his cheek. “So why do I feel happy with you? I guess that’s the major extra-credit question. And I think I know the answer to it.”
Spike’s eyes quirked upwards to it with barely disguised interest. Buffy leaned forward and kissed the shell of his ear. “I love you,” she whispered.
About a second later she had to use every ounce of Slayer strength to keep Spike from leaping out of bed and mauling her with kisses. She pushed him down onto his back gently, then tilted her head, pressing her lips softly to his. “I love you, Spike,” she murmured again, smiling.
Spike stared up at her, looking as though he had something to say, but he remained silent for the moment. Finally, he sighed and looked away. “I still don’t know if I can forgive what you did. You can’t just do that, luv, whether you love me or not.” He sighed again. “Give me some time to mull it over. Alone.”
The smile dropped off of Buffy’s face, and she looked down, stinging tears pinpricking her eyes. “Right. I understand. I’ll just... leave you alone.” He nodded absently, and Buffy sighed walking towards the door.
She was halfway out when he called her back. Frowning, she tilted her head at him. He quirked his lips to the side in an imitation of his renowned sardonic smile and shrugged.
“Had enough time to think it over. An’ to be honest, I’ve never been much of a thinker. More of a ‘get up an’ do-er.’ Point I’m getting at is, I’m a sorely whipped, fluffy little puppy, an’ I’m yours. You’re forgiven.”
Buffy stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. Then one of the little voices in her mind kicked her ass into gear. A smile grew across her lips and she exhaled in astonishment, then gave a soft, happy, ‘I-can’t-believe-it’ laugh and ran over to him, hugging him as hard as she could without stirring any of the wounds under their gauze and dressings. “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing his neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Spike glared down at her. “All right? You think this is all right? Woman, go get your top checked!”
Buffy grinned and scrunched her nose up at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you, Spike.”
He gave a one-armed shrug. “Not your fault. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Now stop saying you’re sorry.”
Buffy nodded quickly. “Right, you’re right. Sorry.” He growled. She giggled. “Okay, okay, last time, I’m sorry for being sorry!”
“Slayer!” he barked. “Knock it off!”
Buffy nodded. “Right. Sorry.”
He turned an irritated gaze at her. “Buffy...”
She giggled. “Okay, I’m done, I promise.”
He grunted. “Good. Now get over here an' gimme a kiss.”
Never one to disobey -- actually, always one to disobey, but not when it came to certain things in relationships -- she leaned forward and covered his mouth with her own.
And oh, the world of Spike-kissage. Probably the only thing better, according to him, would be kissing her. Or a few other things that he clearly enjoyed doing. Soft, warm, melty kisses that turned her insides to mush and if she was standing, she probably would’ve had to lean on him for full support.
From his point of view, this was just the first step toward the pinnacle of All Things Buffy. She was so warm, so hot, so scalding, her nimble, impertinent little tongue dashing in and out of his mouth, quirking his lips, tracing his gums and reaching nearly to the back of his throat.
Which reminded him. He needed to have that little mouth on areas other than his own lips more often.
The sound of a throat being cleared from behind them made Buffy jump and break the kiss. She turned around, startled, then scowled at the tall, lanky form of her sister.
Dawn stood at the door, blue eyes mischievously bright, and pink little mouth quirked in an amused little curl.
“Busted. Is Buffy being good to you, Spike? Anything I need to call her on?” she asked, turning her gaze to the slightly-frustrated vampire on the bed.
He looked at her, and his gaze became affectionate. He lifted his arm, wincing slightly at the pressure it placed on his ribs, and wrapped it around Buffy’s shoulders. “Actually, big sis here isn’t such a bint after all, Pint-size. Second 'fore you came in, she was admitting to being a bitch and lowering herself to apologize to me.”
Dawn’s eyes widened. “You mean Buffy came off her pedestal? And I missed it? Dammit!”
Buffy glared at her sister. “Watch your mouth. And that qualifies for a hey. Hey!”
Spike chuckled and motioned to Dawn. “C’mere, Nibblet.”
Dawn happily bounced over and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. “I’m so happy you’re here!" she mumbled into his skin. "I don't know what I would've done if Buffy hadn't gotten you back."
Spike closed his eyes and smiled slightly. "Well, I'm here. In helluva lot of pain, but here. No worries. I'll heal."
Buffy tilted her head. "Are you supposed to be up here?"
Dawn immediately became defensive. "Mom's in the kitchen making Spike hot chocolate and warming up some blood; she didn't say I couldn't come up here, she just said I had to be on the couch when she got back!"
Buffy grinned. "Then you should get back now. Mom has a Spidey sense, too, y'know. The one that tells her when her daughters aren't listening to her?"
Dawn grimaced, then nodded. "Right." She turned and headed toward the door. "Now, no channeling the Discovery Channel bunnies, okay? Unless you want Spike to strain a few different muscles," she said slyly, looking at her sister.
Spike shot up and reached for her, regardless of his injuries. "Why you cheeky little--" The repercussions of his actions caught up to him and he slithered back against the bed in pain, whimpering. Dawn giggled and ran off down the hallway.
Buffy smiled down at him, stroking his forehead. "No moving, Spike. You'll start to bleed even worse."
The vampire grunted and glared at her. "Yes, Mum."
Buffy's grin grew wider and she squirmed onto the bed next to him, her hand still attached to his, and rested her forehead against his.
Spike smiled, and sighed, breathing in the sweet vanilla of her skin and the aromatic lavender of her hair. This was how it was supposed to be. This was where he belonged. With Dawn running around the house, taunting them and humiliating Buffy like a good little sis would. With the woman he loved cuddled up next to him, loving him back -- and he had no doubt that she loved him now, not after what she'd done to get him back. And Joyce was downstairs in the kitchen making him some hot chocolate and blood, for Christ's sake!
Granted, it was going to take a while for Joyce to get used to the idea that her daughter was in love with another vampire, and vice versa after all the shit that poor woman had gone through. First Angel, who'd been pretty much normal in all aspects (except for the obvious one). And now him. Granted, Joyce liked him better than she'd ever liked Angel -- enter a smug grin here -- but he had once been hell-bent on killing her daughter. His mind called up his first meeting with the brave, brazen older woman -- more particularly, an especially painful axe to the head, and a vicious "Get the hell away from my daughter!"
Now he saw where Buffy got it from. He had never expected the Slayer to have friends and family on her side.
But yeah, Joyce probably wouldn't be too happy that a vampire was putting the life-time commitment-y thing on her eldest. But he could prove himself to her. Once again -- Spike, not Angel. Joyce liked Spike -- not Angel. And anyway, she would have to get used to it. He supposed that this was his home now, after all. Buffy had dragged him in, and he was pretty sure he was never going to come out. But still -- Joyce -- the matriarch of the small family, the one who fixed him hot chocolate with the squishy little marshmallows in it, who had comforted him when Drusilla had broken his heart. Dawn -- the inquisitive little twerp, the snoop, the one with the college-level vocabulary and the sarcastic dry-wit; she truly was a Bitty Buffy.
And then, of course, his Buffy. His Slayer. His enemy. His lover. His everything. The beautiful woman with a heart of gold, the Slayer that had broken all the rules by falling in love with a vampire, the Slayer who had actually been brave enough to quit the Council, and in his eyes, the greatest, most powerful Slayer to ever walk the face of the earth. She had eternally tainted him. Not that it wasn't a good thing. Very, very good, in fact. No other soul-less demon could claim that they'd fallen in love with the Slayer and had her love him back.
Angel absotively, posilutely did not count!
Hey... he actually belonged somewhere, now. He was welcomed with open arms into the Summers' household. He was respected and treated as an equal by Joyce, Dawn adored and admired him (and he could swear the little chit held quite a fancy for him, too), and to Buffy... he had suddenly become the world. He was her happiness, her joy. And Buffy herself had given him so much already. Just by trusting his love and loyalty, and allowing him to freely enter her home for four straight years, she had given him... everything.
She'd given him a family.
She'd given him a home.
She'd given him a reason to live.
Hell... that was a lot more than he'd ever been given before.
And as for the whole evil thing...? Well, he was pretty sure there were other areas in and around the house where he could truly unleash it on Buffy in his own creative way. Up against a wall, the doors, the bathroom, the washing machine...
The thought brought a truly blissful grin to Spike's face.
< Heh. >
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Author's Note: I realize that my version of Spike's torture is more severe than in "Intervention," but it had to be, for the sole-specific reason of making Buffy feel even more guilty than she already did for the stunt she pulled. It's nothing personal - you all know I love Spike. But sometimes you gotta push for the horrible to get what's worth getting at.
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