Warning: Spoilery for Season 5, through
“Forever.”
Disclaimer: All characters herein are property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy—even Spike (darn his sinister attraction). I’m just borrowing.
DEAD RINGER
Chapter 4
BLOODY DETERMINATION
“…So she grabs me by the throat, and over her shoulder, I see *him.*”
“‘Him’ who?”
“Spike. He’s going to be there, Giles. He’s going to help her kill me…*us*.”
Giles sighed, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.
“How sure are you about this, Buffy? I know a few of your dreams have been prophetic, but…”
“Of course I can’t be totally sure. But if there’s even a *chance* of him betraying Dawn…I know what I have to do. And I can’t believe this, but I have a feeling it’s going to be harder than I thought. It’ll be like killing something defenseless. And it’s *so* much weirder since what he…well, what he told me. You know.”
“Buffy, perhaps you shouldn’t be the one to…take care of…Spike. Xander and I could do it, surely. He can’t fight back, after all. We could just go into his crypt tomorrow afternoon, and…”
Buffy collapsed into a nearby chair in the training room. Shoulders hunched, eyes down. Fingers fidgeting nervously.
*God, I don’t want to stake him. Why am I having such a hard time with this? He’s my enemy…always has been. It doesn’t matter if he can’t kill me—he can hurt me in other ways. I should’ve done this a long time ago. Why didn’t I?*
“No, Giles. I should do it myself. We’ve been ‘dancing’ together for years. I think he’d want it to be me. Maybe I can let him get some shots in…if the chip allows. Let him think we’re really “fighting” for one last time.”
Her voice was low. She didn’t want to do this. Giles was more worried than ever about his charge. She had too much coming down on her. But she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions. He’d never judged her, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Buffy, you know I’ll support you, whatever you do. Just let me know if you need anything. Shall I tell the others? You might want someone to talk to, uh…after it’s over.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. I…thanks, Giles, for not making this harder.” She paused, frowning. “You know, when I picked up Dawn from the library, I found out he’d been there. The librarian told me he was researching his family tree. William, pre-‘The Bloody’ stuff, apparently. I wonder why he’d…?”
Buffy shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter now.”
*There’s no point in wondering anything about Spike, ever again. It’s going to be over soon.*
********
The name “Spike” caught Dawn’s attention as she wandered aimlessly through the part of the store nearest the training room. Buffy and Giles were talking about Spike—and, not surprisingly, they didn’t sound too happy. Dawn crept closer to the door. Not that Spike was her best friend or anything, but she wasn’t mad at him anymore like she’d been after that Buffy-napping incident. That had been way creepy, but he’d been really sweet right after Mom died. That whole idea about doing a reanimation spell had been stupid—Dawn had the feeling Spike had only gotten involved to keep her out of danger. She’d felt really guilty after the Ghora demon had taken a bite out of him, but Spike was totally cool about it. Since then, she’d dropped by his crypt a couple of lunchtimes. Of course, Buffy didn’t know—she’d have gone seriously ballistic. But what she’d just overheard wasn’t about scary stories over lunch with Spike. There was determination in her sister’s voice. And “determined” Buffy generally resulted in dustiness for any vamp in sight. Except this wasn’t just *any* vamp.
“…take care of Spike…”
“…should have done this a long time ago…”
“…let him think we’re fighting one last time…”
Buffy sounded serious. Deadly serious. And that could mean only one thing. A few months ago, Dawn would have considered these empty threats. Buffy had had plenty of chances to off Spike, but since the chip, had never taken him seriously enough to do anything. Even after the stuff with ADAM. And Riley. Even after he’d chained her up in his crypt. She sometimes wondered if there wasn’t something deep down in Buffy that *liked* having the surly bloodsucker around. But it looked as if things were about to change—permanently. And Dawn knew it had to do with her. Buffy would do whatever was necessary to protect her.
“If she stakes him, it’ll be because of *me.*”
But that wasn’t going to happen.
She heard the sounds of punching and kicking emanating from the training room. They’d be busy in there for at least an hour. Anya was at the other end of the store, in deep discussion with a customer. Dawn slipped behind the counter and hit the “No Sale” button on the cash register…
********
Spike started slightly at the knock on his crypt door. Couldn’t be the Slayer—she was never that courteous. Whoever it was, it wouldn’t do for them to see what he’d been up to. He squirreled the pen and notebook away under the sofa cushion. He hadn’t been able to sleep this afternoon, for some reason. Unusual, that. No matter the trouble, he’d never suffered from insomnia. As bad as things had ever gotten, he could always sink into sweet oblivion for at least a few hours. But lately, his mind had been too restless, humming with thoughts, memories…questions. So he’d taken to writing things down. Sometimes his dreams, sometimes recollections of William’s life…even the odd snippet of poetry.
*Oh yeah, Spikey ol’boy—you’ve taken a swan dive into the deep end of the poof pool. Well on your way to drowning, too.*
More knocking, this time accompanied by a familiar voice.
“Spike, I know you’re there. C’mon—get up and let me in!”
The Niblet. He smiled to himself. Couldn’t help but like the kid—she was smart, cute, and damn near respectful of him. Like someone else he’d once known. He was secretly pleased every time she stopped by, though he took care not to show it. He rose to answer the door.
Dawn looked over her shoulder as she rushed into the crypt, as if expecting to be followed. She went over to the crate he used as a coffee table and slammed down some money. Her eyes were wide with worry as she turned to address him.
“Spike, you’ve got to get out of here.”
“Yeah, well I’ve been telling myself the same thing for the past couple of years, kid, and yet here I remain. Glutton for punishment, I guess.”
“Well, unless it’s capital punishment your jonesin’ for, you have to leave here—tonight.”
Dawn looked scared—really scared. Something was seriously wrong.
“What’s this all about, little bit? Why’s it so important for me to leave Sunnyhell—and where’d you get this money from? Hope you didn’t crack open your piggy bank just for little ol’ me…”
“It’s…Buffy. She’s gonna stake you. She had a dream—about Glory killing everyone—you were in it. She’s convinced you’re going to have something to do with it. That you’re gonna help Glory ‘cause you’re mad at Buffy, or something like that. Whatever—she’s planning to kill you, Spike. Now you’ve got to go. I took this money from The Magic Box—”
“Wait a minute, you nicked it? That’s not like you…”
“Spike! Are you listening to me? Buffy’s gonna stake you—you have to go!”
Spike shook his head, his mind a muddle of disbelief and denial. She’d threatened this plenty of times, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t—actually go through with it—could she? True, she’d been furious about recent events. She’d made it clear in no uncertain terms that she didn’t share his feelings, but he’d been sure that the de-invitation was as far as it would go. If she’d wanted him dead, she could have made it happen ages ago…
*God, Slayer—you really hate me that much…*
Dawn watched as various emotions played over the vampire’s face. He looked stricken—more so than she’d ever seen him. He didn’t want to accept what she was saying.
“Listen, this is serious. If you’d seen her face, you’d know what I’m talking about. You know that look Buffy gets…on patrol? The Slayer face. She’s got a mission. It’s not really you—it’s because of me. She’s scared to lose me, she’ll do anything to protect me. She sees you as a threat, so you have to…go.”
“She should know I’d never do anything to hurt you. *You* know that, don’t you, Dawn?”
She stepped closer, tentatively touching his sleeve.
“Yeah, Spike—I know. Like I said, this is more about me than you. I-I don’t want you—or anyone—to die because of me. Buffy’s just really scared, and she’s not used to that feeling. Maybe later, she’ll be thinking straight, but now, I think it would be best…”
She was right, the kid was. He had to leave.
********
The crypt door burst open, exposing a rectangle of inky darkness.
“Spike? Where are you?”
The hand gripping Mr. Pointy shook ever so slightly. She felt stillness in the dusty darkness. The place was devoid of the energy that accompanied his presence. Strange, how an undead being could exude the life force *he* did. The air around him always buzzed with…*something*…that jangled her nerves. But he wasn’t here now. He was gone—long gone. The beam from her flashlight swept the room. He didn’t have much in the way of possessions, but his t.v. had disappeared—and that likely meant he had, too.
*Damnit. I was ready. I really was. Could have done it this time.*
Buffy sank down in the ratty old armchair. It smelled of blood, smoke, bourbon. It smelled of him. Her right hand finally relaxed, dropping the stake to the floor with a clatter. She leaned over, elbows on knees, hands grasping her head, and released a shuddering breath.
And then she cried. Dry, heaving sobs of pure relief. But relief soon dissipated trampled down by the now-familiar, desperate fear.
*The job’s not done. He’s still out there, and he’s like a time bomb. He could take Dawn away, and everyone else. He might not want to, or even mean to…but I can’t take that chance. I have to find him and finish this. Even if it changes me forever.*
And it would. Somehow, she knew that it would.