Season 5. Begins with
‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost
immediately.
When Dawn makes the ultimate
sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind
snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become
afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help.
Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her
friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could?
Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away
from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can
one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the
fight and gives up hope?
Thanks to
Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me!
Her suggestions and commentary that always makes me smile!
Rating / Warnings:
NC17.
Spike/Other. Threesome B/G/G action involving Spike, Buffy, and BuffyBot.
Main Character Death. Plenty of angst.
Content is only suitable for mature adults.
Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that
some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or
find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Dawn slipped
away from the group that was gathered in the front room of the abandoned gas
station and went back into the garage where their prisoner, General Gregor, was
tied up to a pole. She walked up to him tentatively, her heart in her throat.
“My sister
isn’t gonna be able to stop Glory, is she?” Dawn asked him, her voice wavering
despite her best efforts to sound brave and unafraid.
Her hands were trembling with fear, she clasped them together to try and get
them to stop. It didn’t really help.
Gregor shook
his head. “The Beast is a god. Have you any idea the power she wields?
Your sister will die … you will die – the world will be cast into darkness, the
universe will tumble into chaos. That is what you were created for – that is
what you will bring.”
“B-but … if I
… die now … here,” Dawn stammered, blinking back tears and swallowing back hot,
acrid bile that appeared suddenly at the back of her throat.
“The world
will be saved. Your sister, your family, your friends will be safe,” Gregor
assured her. “Untie me. I will make it fast … painless. You can save them.”
Dawn’s sob
turned into a gag. She lurched to the side, dropped to hands and knees, and
retched onto the floor, unable to stop the fear and anguish from roiling her
stomach and stabbing painfully at her heart. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t
want anyone to die. She didn’t want to be the Key; she just wanted to be a
teenager. She just wanted to be normal. She just wanted this nightmare to end.
“You have the
power to stop this, Key. If you die now, Glory will fade, she will not be able
to hurt anyone. She will be unable to open the portal. You can save them all – or you can kill them all. The choice is
yours,” Gregor continued.
Dawn pushed
herself up from the floor, spitting the bile from her mouth. She stumbled over
to the sink on the wall and turned on the faucet, rinsing her mouth and
splashing the cool water on her face. You can kill them all or you can save
them all, the General’s words echoed in her head. The sobs returned as she
leaned over the sink. Her body was wracked with the painful realization that
Buffy would die – probably all her friends would – and it would be her fault.
She wasn't real. She wasn't normal. No one cared what she wanted; no one had
asked her if she wanted to be the Key. She just was. And she would kill everyone
that had ever tried to help her. Everyone that loved her. Everyone that she
loved. No matter what Spike said, she was evil. There was no doubt about that.
“There is not
much time,” Gregor continued to press as he looked warily at the door behind
which the others were gathered. “You must decide. The fate of the universe is in
your hands.”
“I don’t care
about the universe!” Dawn screamed, whirling on him. “I only care about …” her
voice broke and her eyes went to the doorway. She could hear Buffy and her
friends in the other room talking, trying to find a way out of this mess. The
mess they were in because of her. Buffy. Spike. Xander. Anya. Tara. Willow.
Giles. They'd all die because of her.
“Then free me
and I will make sure they are safe,” Gregor insisted with an air of authority
and confidence.
Dawn’s eyes
settled on the weapons they had taken from the knight. She bent over slowly and
picked up the sword with trembling hands. She stared at the sharp blade,
as if gorgonized –
frozen. She could see her reflection … she
wasn’t a big blob of green energy – she was just a girl. Right?
“Hurry girl!”
Gregor breathed urgently, his eyes darting from Dawn to the door through which
one of the others could come at any moment.
“Wrong,” Dawn
whispered to herself, barely audible even to her own ears. You’re not a girl.
She closed her eyes and drew in a
deep breath as she tried to clear her mind. What would Buffy do? Buffy
would sacrifice herself to save the world – she’d done it before, she’d do it
again.
Dawn opened
her tear-filled eyes and looked up at the General. “Tell her … tell her I love
her. Will you do that?”
Gregor nodded,
his face solemn as Dawn stepped forward in a daze of fear and regret. She untied the
length of electric cord holding the man to the pole, and let it fall off
the knight, then handed him the sword with her quivering hands.
“Tell them all
… I love them and … I’m sorry,” Dawn added. She closed her eyes, tears streaming
down her blotchy, reddened cheeks, held her breath, and waited for the end to come.
**~**
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Buffy screamed as she stepped into the garage a moment later.
Dawn lay on the floor, her neck severed nearly in two. The girl’s throat was
opened from ear to ear, her spine showing white through the gaping, blood-soaked wound. Blood
spurted wildly and flowed over Dawn’s limp, crumpled body like a river of death, forming a crimson
pool on the dirty cement beneath her. Wet rasps of breath gurgled from the Key’s
severed trachea, the last gasps of life draining from her body.
Gregor stood
over the girl, sword in hand, looking grim but satisfied that he had completed
his mission. The life’s work of generations of his people was complete – the Key
had finally been destroyed.
Buffy flew
across the short distance, throwing herself on the floor at her sister’s side
and trying desperately to stop the bleeding. “No! No! No! Dawnie, no!” Buffy
screamed over and over again. Her hands sought out something to do to stem the
flow of crimson life from her sister, but it was too late – her efforts nothing more
than an exercise in futility, she was rearranging the chairs on the deck of the Titanic.
Hearing her
screams, Buffy’s friends came in behind her. Surprised gasps, horrified oaths,
and fervent curses fell from their mouths as they hurried in and saw what had
happened. Spike was at Buffy’s side in an instant, at first with the thought of
helping her save Dawn, but when he saw the carnage he knew it was too late. There
was no heartbeat from the girl, not even a weak one. He gauged that at least
half of Dawn’s blood lay in the pool of scarlet gore they were kneeling in – and
he was a pretty good judge of such things. He grabbed Buffy’s blood-soaked hands
and tried to pull her away from Dawn, but she fought against him frantically.
“Help me!
Spike! Help me!” she demanded of him, her eyes wild with fear.
Spike shook
his head gently. “Buffy, luv, there’s … She’s … gone. I’m sorry, luv. There’s
nothing …”
“No! No! No!”
Buffy screamed frantically, banging her bloodied fists against his chest. “Do
something!”
Spike grabbed
her fists and pulled her against him, wrapping her in his arms and holding her
there on the blood-soaked floor. He looked at Dawn. He’d seen some things that
would make the Texas Chainsaw Massacre look like a children’s fairy tale – hell,
he'd dealt out such things in his time – but
seeing his Niblett like this ripped and clawed at his heart like nothing he’d
ever felt before. Buffy continued to admonish him to ‘do something’, but the
words had degenerated into little more than pleading, raspy whispers between her
heaving
sobs.
Gregor still
stood where he had been, his bloodied sword still in hand. The other Scoobies
surrounded the bloody tableau with stunned, shocked, horrified expressions on
their unbelieving faces.
“She did it
for you. She said to tell you that she was sorry and that she loved…”
Gregor’s words
were cut off when Spike moved with a speed he’d never before possessed. Fueled
by red-hot rage, he released Buffy, stood up, and drew his fist back in one
motion. His knuckles slammed it into the General’s face with enough force to
break the man’s neck. Gregor’s head whiplashed back and smashed into the metal
pole that he’d been tied to, breaking his skull. He sank to the floor, blood
spewing from his mouth, nose, and the back of his head, his sword clattering loudly in
the stunned silence as it hit the floor.
In the next
moment Spike screamed, clutching his head as the chip fired. He fell to his
knees next to Buffy as excruciating pain shot out from the Initiative’s
‘behavior modification device’, blinding him in agony. It felt like a thousand
hot pokers were being stabbed into his brain, his spine, and his eyes, shutting
down any coherent thought. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes in
an effort to keep them from exploding from their sockets as he crumpled to his
side on the bloody floor. He keened – a feral, animalistic howl – engulfed in
more pain than even Angelus had managed to teach him how to endure while also
maintaining his dignity.
“My Key!!” a
new voice rang out in the room.
The Scoobies,
still shocked into immobility, looked up to see Glory standing in the doorway.
The hell-god raced forward and began trying to gather up Dawn’s blood in her
hands. Then Glory suddenly went into some sort of convulsion and Ben was there.
The Scoobies watched Glory change to Ben and then Ben back to Glory several
times until finally settling on Ben’s form.
The doctor was
covered in blood, as were Spike and Buffy: Dawn’s blood. Suddenly Xander’s hand
flew to his mouth, he dropped to the floor and retched. When the smell hit
Willow, she did the same. Only Anya was able to remain relatively unaffected by
the mayhem, but even she was shocked into silence – it was, perhaps, a first.
Tara’s forlorn
cry for Willow from the other room seemed to pull the witch from her stupor. She
stumbled back to her feet and fought to keep another wave of bile down as her
eyes swept over the scene again. Spike had recovered enough to sit up and he was
holding Buffy against him, rocking her like a child. The Slayer looked like she
was in shock. Her eyes were open and flooded with silent tears, but blank and
flat, as if dead. Ben was
sitting up with his back against one wall. He’d pushed himself away from the
pool of blood, although he was still covered in it, just like Spike and Buffy. Gregor was dead. Dawn was … dead. Willow couldn’t let her eyes or her mind
linger there long – it was too much. She walked numbly into the other room to
find Tara. Dear, sweet Tara, needed her. Tara’s mind had been stolen by Glory;
Willow couldn’t let her down – didn’t want her to be frightened or alone.
Just as Willow
got to Tara’s side, she felt the magical barrier outside fall. The Knights would
be upon them in moment. Would they kill them now that the Key was … destroyed?
Gregor was dead – they may simply kill them for that alone.
Willow looked
out the slats that covered the windows and was shocked to find … nothing. The
Knights were gone. All that remained outside was Ben’s car. She sighed as a
small bit of relief washed over her for that small favor.
“What do we do
now?” Anya asked from behind Willow.
Willow sighed,
her whole body heaving with the effort, and turned around to face the ex-demon.
“Go home.”
**~**
Spike watched
and waited as he’d done every night for the last six weeks; waited for his
Slayer to emerge. He took one last drag on his cigarette as her bedroom window
opened. He dropped the butt and smashed it beneath his heel as she dropped to
the ground, graceful and silent as a jungle cat. She began walking, as she did
every night, toward the cemetery. He fell in step a few paces behind her,
waiting to see what kind of mood she was in this night.
If she slowed
her steps, that was her silent invitation for him to walk beside her; if she
continued her fast pace, he should hang back, not crowd her. She didn’t talk
anymore – not since that night. Her so-called friends thought she was
practically comatose, since she seemed to do nothing but sleep. The two witches
had moved into Buffy’s house … or actually it was now the one witch and one
simpleton.
He felt bad for Glinda. Her mind had been stolen by the hell-god and had not
returned. He’d always liked the white witch; she'd always been fair to him,
unlike Buffy's other friends.
He knew they
all took turns ‘baby-sitting’ the Slayer: Giles, Xander and his demon-bird, and
Red. None of them asked Spike to help; none of them asked Spike for anything –
he was suddenly persona non grata. When he’d tried to see Buffy right after …
that night, he’d found his invitation had been revoked – he couldn't enter
Buffy's house. Bloody ungrateful tossers.
If they’d
known one whit about the Slayer, they would’ve known that Slayers are naturally creatures
of the night. She slept by day and prowled the streets and cemeteries by night.
They didn’t know; Spike knew. They didn't care; Spike cared. Their lives had to
go on – there was work and school, bills to pay, mundane routines to maintain.
Spike had no other distractions;
Buffy was Spike's life. Gormless plonkers, every last one of ‘em.
This night,
Buffy slowed her steps and Spike caught up to her easily. They walked the empty
streets in silence for a long while. Every night he waited for her to say something;
every night he thought that this night would be the night she’d talk to him.
Every night he’d been disappointed. Tonight was no different. After a few
minutes the silence got to him, so he started talking as he’d done every night
for the last six weeks – every night since Dawn had been buried next to her mum.
Every night since Buffy began prowling the streets of Sunnydale with only a
vampire for company.
“Got some new
flowers for our girl t’day,” he began. “Red roses … reckon she’d like that,
don’t you? Got a deal on a full dozen.”
Spike
bristled. “No, I didn’t bloody steal them,” he defended as if Buffy had said
something.
“Still can’t
believe that wanker Watcher o’ yours buried her in that bloody kid’s casket with
the frilly eyelet lace and pink bows. I hope she comes back and haunts the git
for that. Deserved a grown-up casket … with silk and satin and whatall, she did. She wasn’t
a soddin’ kid anymore – what she done proved that, didn’ it?
“Overheard ‘em talkin’ the other day at the shop,
your mates. Your Watcher’s talking ‘bout going back to
jolly ole England. Gave up on ya, they have. Say they're back t' one Slayer,
that Faith chit, and I reckon she's outta the game. Didn’t bother tellin’ you, did they? And before you start, I
think I’m entitled t’ the burba weed – me being down in the shop basement keeps
the rats out; it’s only fair compensation,” he continued as they walked,
sniffing as if insulted. Buffy
neither replied nor even acted like she could hear him – her face never
registered any expression to any of his musings.
“How long you
reckon Red can keep watching over you and Glinda, and keep up her studies at
University? Without Rupert t’ help foot the bills and babysit you during the
day, I reckon it won’t be long ‘fore they find a nice cozy Slayer retirement
‘ome for you, luv. Where do they send Slayers who’ve crumbled their cookies?”
Spike snorted
derisively. “Don’t reckon any ‘ave ever lived long enough t’ find out. Wonder if
your old friends at the Council o’ Wankers will have a nice padded room waitin’
for you … bars on the windows and doors and whatall.”
Buffy turned
into the entrance of the cemetery with Spike at her side. She walked with a
purpose, a destination in mind, but wasn’t in any particular hurry. Spike
scanned the area with all his senses as they walked, searching for danger. It
was still the Hellmouth, even if the Slayer was on hiatus.
After walking
another minute or so, Spike laid a hand on her arm. “Stay ‘ere a second, luv,”
he murmured to her. Buffy stopped – proof that she could hear him and
understand – but her face remained passive, her eyes blank. The passion, the fire
of her was quite simply gone; extinguished by her pain and guilt.
Spike pulled a
stake from the pocket of his duster and stalked forward ahead of her. The vamp
that was hiding behind one of the larger tombstones had barely gotten to his
feet when Spike’s stake hit home. Before the dust from that vamp had settled,
another jumped out from the other side of the path. Spike spun and caught him
with a round-house kick, sending him stumbling back. Spike continued his spin
and used his momentum to propel himself forward, stake poised to strike. When
the vamp’s back hit the wall of a crypt, Spike plunged the stake in without
further struggle. He turned and scanned the area again, all senses on alert, but
found nothing else.
He stood up
from his fighting crouch and tucked the stake back into his pocket. “All clear,
luv,” he called to Buffy and she began walking again, as if nothing had happened
– as if she hadn’t even stopped.
Spike fell
into step next to her as they continued their now-familiar trek. “You’ll have t’
teach me that prattle you do when you fight, luv. Not quite the same without the
quips, is it? Reckon it gets the job done, just the same, but …” he sighed and
let his voice trail off. Who was he kidding? Buffy was gone. The Slayer was
gone. All that was left was an empty hull of a girl. He’d heard Red telling
Giles that she’d tried to reach Buffy with some sort of spell and all she’d
found inside was darkness – utter, cold, hard darkness.
~~
“There’s just
nothing of Buffy left in there,” he’d overheard Willow tell Giles in the Magic
Box. “I don’t know
what to do to help her. She barely eats anything, she just sleeps all the time.
She doesn't talk, doesn't cry, doesn't grieve, doesn't scream ... she’s just … gone.
"I don't know
how long I can keep taking care of her and Tara. My parents were all with the
insisting that I go back to my classes, since they were 'paying good money' for
them, and ..." Willow's voice trailed off, shaking her head in dismay. "I love
Buffy, but ... there's just not enough of me to go around."
“Indeed,”
Giles had agreed, removing his glasses and polishing their spotless lenses with
a handkerchief. “It’s clear she’s had a quite severe mental break. I had hoped
her Slayer healing would’ve repaired it and brought her back to us by now, but it seems clear now that will not
happen – at least not without some treatment.”
“What … kind
of treatment?” Willow wondered tentatively.
Giles shrugged
slightly, sliding his glasses back onto his nose and looking up at the red
witch. “Perhaps it would be best to call the Council in to handle the matter.
They would have the best chance of success. They may have even faced this
circumstance in the past. And …” Giles hesitated, shifted his
eyes away from Willow's, and removed his glasses again.
“My
information could be faulty – American public schools and all – but I'm pretty
sure proper British sentences don't end with conjunctions,” Willow prompted after Giles began polishing his glasses yet again
and did not finish his thought.
Giles sighed
and slid his glasses back on. “And they would be able to handle her if she were
to become violent. She’s been docile thus far, but I’m concerned that her shock
could morph into rage at any moment, and we would have no way to effectively
contain her. In that scenario, she could be a danger to herself and to others.”
~~
Spike blinked
the cold, sharp tears back from his eyes as they walked along in silence. He’d let Buffy down – failed to
keep Dawn safe – and now he’d lost them both. The Slayer had just started to trust him
during the battles with Glory, to see him as something other than a monster, see
how much he truly cared, and
now it was gone. He hadn’t told her, but there was no way he’d let Buffy’s
so-called friends or the Council put her in some home or a cell. He’d take care
of her – he’d taken care of Dru for a century, taking care of a silent Slayer
couldn’t be that much harder.
As their
destination came into view, Spike braced himself for the sound that stabbed icy,
jagged
daggers into his heart: Buffy’s sobs. The sobs that her friends had never heard;
the sobs that he heard every night. Her pace never changed as she
walked up to the graves of her only family. The vase of red roses sat atop
Dawn’s tombstone while a new bouquet of wildflowers was on Joyce’s – all care of
Spike. Buffy
dropped to her knees as the sob he’d been bracing himself for broke the Slayer’s
silence. Buffy laid across both graves on her stomach, crying into the new sod
that covered her sister’s resting place. Her body convulsed with the pain and
guilt that
flowed out from her very soul. The sight twisted the daggers in Spike’s heart –
nothing he’d ever felt before could compare to the agony of seeing his Slayer so
anguished, so broken.
He crouched
down next to her and laid a gentle hand on her back, trying to give her some
measure of comfort as he kept watch for nasties that might be lurking, hoping
for their ‘one good day.’ He wanted nothing more than to hold her there, rock
her in his arms and soothe her hurt away. He’d done that the first night and
he’d been caught off-guard by a pack of vamps. That mistake had nearly gotten
them both killed; he couldn’t afford to let his
guard down again.
The best he
could do was to stroke her back and murmur words of encouragement and sympathy.
Whether she heard him or even knew he was there, he didn’t know. He couldn’t
stop his own tears from blurring his vision, no matter how hard he tried. Every
night was the same: filled with guilt and pain and helplessness. The only thing
worse were the interminable days, lying alone in his bed trying to sleep and
wishing the sun would move faster across the sky, wishing night would come sooner,
so he could see his Slayer again.
**~**
A few nights
later...
“Buffy, luv –
ya gotta do this, pet. Please … say those three little words,” Spike cajoled
from outside her bedroom window. "Just need t' hear those three little
words from your beautiful lips.
“‘Come in, Spike’ – you can do it, luv.
They’re gonna be ‘ere tomorrow – those Council wankers with their pretty, white
coats with the long sleeves. Gonna take you away from me – away from Dawn and
your mum, they are. It’s our only chance, pet. If ya want any of your stuff, ya
gotta let me in. Three words … Buffy, please,” he begged her.
He’d been
imploring her to say the words for an hour. If she didn’t say it soon, he’d just
have to take her with him and leave all her stuff behind. He would – if it came
to that, he would.
She stood at
the window facing him as if she were getting ready to head out on her nightly
walk and he was stopping her. He thought he saw a flicker of comprehension in her
eyes a couple of times over the last hour, but he couldn’t be sure – it was
there and gone too fast.
“Buffy, you’ll
die – if they lock you up, you’ll die. Please come with me … invite me in – I’ll
pack your stuff. You don’t want t’ leave your pictures o’ Dawn and your mum
behind,” he reasoned.
Buffy furrowed
her brow – the first expression he’d seen on her face except for the times when she was sobbing
on her family’s graves – and looked at the photos that were stuck all around the
mirror on her dresser.
“That’s right,
luv – the pictures, and your clothes and … those frou-frou dollies ya got … Three
words, pet … ‘Come in, Spike,’ he repeated slowly and deliberately.
Buffy turned
back to look at him, the confusion still evident on her features. He could see
her swallow, as if fighting for her voice. He looked at her hopefully, holding
his breath as a purely symbolic measure.
Buffy opened
her mouth. “C…” she started, her voice faltering after only one short sound. She
cleared her throat and tried again. “C-come,” she croaked out.
“In,” Spike
prompted, his eyes wide and hopeful, almost joyous at the sound, the first time he'd
heard her voice in what seemed an eternity.
Buffy cleared
her throat again, rubbing it as if it pained her to speak. “In,” she parroted.
“Spike,” he
prompted again.
“Sp … Sp ...
Sp ... i ... ke,”
Buffy finally got out.
Spike wasn’t
sure if that would work since it wasn’t really a sentence, but three separate
words, and his name was a bit mangled, but he pushed against the unseen barrier with one hand anyway. He let out
a breath of relief when his hand slid past the windowsill and into her room.
"Brilliant!"
he extolled her as he quickly and silently climbed through the open window.
Spike pulled a suitcase from her closet and began loading it up
quickly. First with all the pictures from her mirror, then with the stuffed
animals from her bed, toiletries from the dresser, then with as many clothes as
he could fit. Buffy didn’t offer to help, but just watched blankly as he chose
and tossed things
in willy-nilly. After a moment, she opened the door to her room and went out
into the hallway. Spike tried to stop her, but didn’t want to make more noise
than he already was and risk waking Buffy’s keepers.
In just a few
moments Buffy came back with more pictures. They were, he realized, pictures
that Dawn must’ve had in her room. Buffy offered them to Spike mutely. There was one with him and Dawn that Dawn had
gotten Tara to take of them one day when Buffy had been gone. He looked at it
wistfully; it seemed a lifetime ago – technically it had been: Dawn's lifetime. He carefully packed them
all into the
case with the others.
“Anything else
ya want, luv?” he asked, looking around.
Buffy went to
her dresser and opened one of the drawers. She searched for something, her
movements mechanical and deliberate. After a few moments she apparently found
what she was looking for and slid the drawer closed again. Spike didn’t
see what it was before she stuffed it down into her pocket – too small to be a
stake, a trinket he supposed. Buffy then turned and
headed for the window without another word.
“Right then…”
he muttered, hefting the suitcase and following her. “Off we go.”
**~**
Spike tossed
Buffy’s suitcase in the trunk of the DeSoto alongside his own meager belongings
and a cooler,
then opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in without a word or even a
final glance back at her house. Spike ran around the car and got behind the
wheel, stuffing the key into the ignition and coaxing the old behemoth to life.
“Any
preferences, luv?” he asked her, turning to look at his passenger before putting
the car in gear.
Buffy looked
at him dully, but something in the backseat caught her eye and she turned to stare at
the third person in the car.
Spike sighed.
“Before you start, it’s not what you think,” he began. “Need her along, we do.
She’s got … certain talents that could come in right handy…”
Buffy leveled
a lifeless stare on Spike. In her current condition, it was tantamount to a death-glare
of old.
“Get your mind
outta the bloody gutter, Slayer,” he demanded, exasperated. “Not them
talents! She’s bloody brilliant in a fight, even got the quips down. Plus, she
can go in the sun – I can’t. She can fight humans – I can’t. Never know when we
might need some help, luv. And … she’s right cheerful, to boot,” Spike defended.
Buffy looked
at the Bot in the back seat. The BuffyBot’s eyes were closed and she
leaned, as if asleep, against the window at her side. Buffy blew out a derisive
snort so soft that if not for Spike’s enhanced hearing, he might not have heard
it.
“Don’t be that
way, Slayer,” he begged her. “You used t’ like cheerful … used t’ be
cheerful, you did – or so I've been told.”
Spike could
feel her eyes roll, even though Buffy didn’t actually roll them, she simply
continued to stare at him.
“Buffy,” he
continued turning slightly in his seat to face her and taking both of her hands
into his, his tone solemn. “I’m your willin’ slave, luv. I’ll defend ya … take
care of ya ‘til the end of time. But … I can’t protect you from everything.
Those wankers the Council will be sending aren’t demons – if they find us, I can’t
fight ‘em, luv. She’s the only … person I could trust t’ be on our side in this.
If somethin’ happens to me, she’ll be my proxy … she’ll stand by you in my
place.”
Buffy's gaze
flicked to the Bot then back to him. He thought he saw a glint of pain, of hurt, flash
oh-so-briefly in her eyes. Was it
because they couldn’t trust any of her friends, or was it the thought of losing Spike
that caused it? He didn’t know. He waited for her to give him some sign that she
understood, that it would be alright for the Bot to come with them.
She continued
to stare at him for a long minute or three. Spike waited. “It,” she said
finally, her voice
flat.
“Pardon?”
“Not she,
‘it’,” Buffy clarified as she turned to look forward, out the small opening in
the black paint that covered the windshield.
“Right, it
… the Bot’s an it,” Spike repeated, getting her meaning. “So … it’s alright then – to have
it along?”
Buffy nodded
her head ever-so-slightly.
Spike let out
a breath of relief, reluctantly released her hands, and put the car in gear.
“Where to, luv?”
“Hell,” Buffy
replied, never looking at him. Her voice was small and quiet, without any
particular inflection.
Spike pursed
his lips a moment, then nodded. “Sin City it is.”
**~**
Spike rummaged
through the old cassette tapes that littered the floor under his seat, pulling a
few out at once. He held them up in front of his eyes as he drove to see what
treasures he’d found.
“Prefer the
Ramones, the Clash, or the Sex Pistols?” Spike asked her, glancing over at his
mute passenger.
Buffy cut her
eyes at him, then looked back out the front window as they made their way past
the sign telling them they were leaving Sunnydale and encouraging them to ‘come
back soon.’
“Don’t got any
little boy bands, luv. Time ya grew up anyway,” Spike contended as he popped the
Sex Pistols into the player. Nothing happened. Spike ejected it and began
fiddling with the tape. He steered the car with his knees as he turned the
little spindles on the cassette to try and get the tape to move properly.
He popped it
back in, and a guitar screamed for a moment before it went silent again. Buffy
sighed, ejected the tape, rolled her window down, and tossed it out.
“Hey! That’s a
bloody classic you just tossed out. And it was mine, t’ boot!” Spike objected.
Buffy
shrugged, but didn’t say anything as she looked out the open window. She watched
in silence as the town where she’d come of age, where she lost her mother and
sister, where she’d lost her mind, fade from view in the side mirror.
Spike started
to put another tape in the player and, without looking, Buffy reached out and
took it from his hand and tossed it out the window too.
“Oi! What the
bloody hell, Slayer?” he snarled at her.
“No,”
she said simply, still looking out the window.
“Why the
bloody hell not? I like music when I’m driving … makes the time go,” he argued.
“Hurts,” was
her flat, stoic reply, one hand moving to her chest, covering her heart.
Spike frowned
and shoved the last tape back under his seat lest she toss it out too. “Sorry,
luv…” he muttered, turning his attention back to the dark ribbon of road that
spread out into the night in front of them.
**~**
The sun was
just lightening the clouds in the eastern sky when Spike unlocked the door to
their Las Vegas motel room. He held it open, letting Buffy precede him inside.
He followed her, carrying their suitcases. He set them both on the dresser
before going back out to the car to get the cooler that held blood and Cokes.
Once inside with that, he made one last trip to retrieve the Bot and her – its
– charging equipment. When he’d come up with his plan to get Buffy out of
town, he’d liberated the Bot from the basement of the Magic Box. He’d still had
her – its – charging equipment at the crypt – no one had ever asked him
for it.
He laid the
Bot down on the bed nearest the door, then closed and locked the door behind
him. “Right then. Snug as bed bugs, we are,” he commented brightly, clapping his
hands together enthusiastically and looking around.
Buffy took a
step back from the bed she had just been getting ready to sit down on and looked
at it warily.
“Not literal
bed bugs, luv,” Spike assured her. “I know it’s not much, but I’ll go down t’
the strip t’night and win us some more money, then we can upgrade t’ something …
nice ... or at least ... decent.”
Buffy looked
only marginally reassured.
“You want
somethin’ to eat? Could order some breakfast for ya,” Spike offered as he picked
up the room service menu.
Buffy shook
her head.
Spike looked
disappointed and worried, but didn’t push it.
“Want t’ watch
some TV then?” he tried, moving to pick up the remote control.
Buffy shook
her head again, then opened her bag and began rummaging around. After looking
for a while in the unorganized mash of clothes, she settled on a couple of items
and took them, along with her hairbrush, into the bathroom and shut the door.
“Right – a
shower then. Brilliant – you go first, luv. Don’t mind me – I’ll just wait ‘ere
and …” he sighed, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. “Won’t
eat, no music, no TV, no conversation… Angelus couldn’t ‘ave done any better job
o’ sending ya round the bend. At least Dru’d talk to a bloke … not that it was
easy to suss out, but…”
He sighed
again and turned to the Bot. Maybe if he got her charged up he could get some
conversation from her … it. It. It. It, he tried to remind
himself, but it was hard to remember, looking so much like his Slayer and all.
Spike broke
down and turned the TV on while he waited for Buffy to come out of the bathroom.
He looked up when the door opened and she emerged.
His eyes
devoured her as she walked silently to the other double bed and pulled the covers
down. She was dressed in a tight, white, sleeveless, ribbed t-shirt, which did
little to hide anything, and a pair of little-girl undies, white with
little pink flowers and a pink bow on the front a few inches below her exposed
navel. Her bare arms, legs, and the lower half of her midriff weren’t as tan as
he remembered them being from flashes he’d seen before, but still as fit and
toned as ever. Her breasts swayed in the t-shirt as she reached down and pulled
the covers back, her darker nipples more than apparent beneath the thin, white fabric.
The luscious curves of her body, though not quite as round as she had been at
one time, were still just as mouth-watering. She moved with the same easy grace
as she’d had the first time he’d seen her, but he knew the raw power that lurked
beneath the deceptive, feminine curves.
Was she doing
this on purpose? Torturing him like this? Or was she so oblivious to everything
going on around her that she didn’t even know the effect she was having on him?
Spike
swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and forced
his eyes back to the TV; it was like pulling a lion away from a downed gazelle.
What the bloody hell was she playin’ at? Was she tryin’ to dust him right ‘ere,
right now? He shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his bed next to the charging
Bot, his jeans suddenly
much too tight. He heard the springs of the other bed creak, and when he looked
back Buffy was under the covers, the blanket pulled all the way up to her chin.
He stood up
abruptly and headed for the bathroom, clicking first the bedside lamp, then the
TV off as he went, leaving the room in relative darkness. Only a small glow of
sun gave any illumination, leaking in from behind the heavy curtains that
covered the window.
Spike
struggled to not slam the bathroom door in utter frustration when he got inside.
He leaned back against it heavily and closed his eyes. The scent of her assailed
him in the steam-filled room, making his cock strain even harder against the
zipper of his jeans.
When he opened
his eyes, he realized she’d left her dirty clothes on the floor. He leaned down
and picked up the thong she’d had on under her jeans and brought the lacy
garment to his nose. When the first inhalation of her sweet scent filled his
nostrils cum exploded in his jeans.
“Bloody hell,”
he growled at himself angrily. “Creamin’ your pants like a soddin’ teenage
virgin on prom night.”
Spike quickly
lifted his t-shirt off over his head, then turned the water on in the shower. It
was hot immediately and he just stepped in, jeans and all, to clean off. He hung
her panties over the shower-curtain rod as he unbuttoned and unzipped his
jeans, letting the hot water pound on his still semi-hard cock. He moaned and
closed his eyes as he imagined Buffy’s mouth, her tongue flowing over him
instead of the water.
He peeled his
wet jeans down from his hips and thighs, then grabbed her panties again and
breathed in the essence of her. Oh how he longed to taste her, to drink from her
chalice, to kiss her, to hold her, to be inside her. The gentle kiss she’d given
him after Glory had beaten and tortured him while trying to find out the
identity of the Key still tingled Spike’s lips when he thought of it. It was so
real … so … true, so … Buffy.
He suddenly
began to cry, to sob uncontrollably as the hot water pounded down on him. Buffy … he longed with all
his heart for Buffy. For her wit, her passion, her determination, her smile, her
eye rolls, her jibes, her punches – anything! He sank down onto the tile floor
of the shower, his jeans still clinging to his lower legs, his erection and
fantasy gone. He pulled his knees up to his chest and sobbed against them, still
clinging to her panties. He hadn’t kept Dawn safe. He’d promised Buffy he would
keep them safe, both of them, and he’d failed miserably. He never saw Dawn’s
sacrifice coming and he, above anyone, should’ve. Wasn’t that his ‘thing’?
Reading other people’s true hearts? He’d spent years honing that skill – looking
below the surface – but when the game was on the line, he’d failed.
Buffy had at
least spoken a few words today – a vast improvement over the silence of the last several weeks –
but she was so far away from where she’d been that he didn’t know if she’d ever
find her way back. Had losing Dawn been the final blow? One so debilitating that
even his strong, confident, snarky Slayer could not overcome it? Would she ever
be his Slayer again? Would she ever be Buffy again? Was she lost forever? Had
her spirit, which had conquered so much adversity, endured so much heartache and
loss, which had seemed to him indestructible, finally succumbed, finally given
up?
He thought the
long days spent alone in his crypt waiting for darkness to fall had been hard,
but now he knew being with her was worse. Even with her so close, he was still
completely, utterly, painfully alone.
**~**
Undun, The Guess Who
She's come undun
She didn't know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
It was too late
She's come undun
She found a mountain that was far too high
And when she found out she couldn't fly
It was too late
It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undun
She wanted truth but all she got was lies
Came the time to realize
And it was too late
She's come undun
She didn't know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
Mama, it was too late
It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undun
Too many mountains, and not enough stairs to climb
Too many churches and not enough truth
Too many people and not enough eyes to see
Too many lives to lead and not enough time
It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undun
Doe-doe-doe-doe-doe doe un doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe
Doe doe-doe-doe-doe un doe-doe-doe doe-doe-doe
Doe doe-doe-doe doe doe-doe-doe doe doe
It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undun
She didn't know what she was headed for
And when I found what she was headed for
It was too late
She's come undun
She found a mountain that was far too high
And when she found out she couldn't fly
Mama, it was too late
It's too late
She's gone too far
She's lost the sun
She's come undun
No no-no-no-no-no no
Doe doe doe-doe
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