by
Lisa Y. Drexel
[Chapter One] [Chapter
Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter
Four]
[Chapter Five] [Chapter
Six] [Chapter Seven]
Five years had passed since Spike left the Hellmouth and all its trappings.
Five years of endless wanderings filled with blood, death, chaos and hot, mortal blood flowing through his long-dead veins.
Five years of an unrelenting emptiness that only seemed to grow with each night he lived his unlife and only seemed to dim in the dark rooms where he spent the days, hiding from the cruel, hateful sun snug in Morpheus' arms.
He had everything that he had ever wanted...dreamt of while lying in that dirty, unkempt crypt that he had called home when he had been 'fixed.'
His bite had been returned, compliments of that bloody cyber-demon called Adam in exchange for Spike's help in defeating the slayer. And yet, he found it wasn't enough.
Something was missing, and, unfortunately, he knew exactly what it was. Yet he was helpless to do anything about it.
A million times in his mind he went over that last night he had spent on the Hellmouth—always trying to find a glitch, something he had forgotten to do that would've enabled him to stay there—by her side.
Other than getting another bloody chip in his head, his hands were tied.
In some ways, that last night in Sunnydale was a banner moment in the life and times of William the Bloody AKA Spike. He had managed to get what he wanted and still saved the girl in the end. Granted, that wasn't the plan initially, but a part of him didn't really believe that Adam would win. Too many times he had watched the slayer pull a rabbit out of her hat and save the day. Spike himself was bloody invincible, and she still managed to beat him and take the ring.
Why was Adam any different than Lothos, the Three, the Master, The Order of Taraka, the Judge, or Wilkins after he ascended into a demon from the depths of hell? They all fell by her hand. And even though Spike had managed to manipulate things with the rest of the Scooby Gang so her little friends wouldn't come to the rescue when she faced Adam, she still managed to come out on top on her own a few times in the past. Sending Angelus to hell came first and foremost in his mind. When he had left the mansion that dawn years before, he really believed that she was seconds from death. He was wrong then, like he had been so many other times before, and finally, by the time Adam had proposed the alliance, Spike wasn't too sure the demon wouldn't meet his end as well.
But this time, he had been wrong.
She was losing, and all would've been lost had he not stepped into the fight. And instead of feeling joyous about the impending death of his mortal enemy, a harsh pain stabbed his dead heart. It was then, that split second, when he was supposed to get the drop on her and subdue Buffy for Adam, that Spike had realized he could not let her die—at least not without trying to do anything to prevent it.
He chose sides, and, unfortunately for Adam, it was the wrong side. Instead of jumping into the fight to tackle the slayer, he attacked Adam, giving the slayer the precious seconds needed in order to successfully kill the demon. And if that wasn't enough to show Spike how much the slayer had managed to worm herself into his blood, he also found himself saving her from another deranged love of her life—as if their deal against Angelus hadn't been enough. Although injured, Spike was still conscious enough to see Riley—that bloody Commando boy his sire had beaten up the week before—pick up a handgun and aim it at the slayer. Anger and rage filled the vampire as he pushed himself off the stone wall where he had been leaning against, and before the human even realized that Spike's chip was no longer working and the vampire was a threat, he had subdued the mortal—allowing the slayer the time it took to kill Adam.
After Adam had fallen dead, she turned around and her eyes stopped on Spike and Riley. They widened in surprise as she took in the sight in front of her. Spike watched her expressive face as she worked out what had happened while she had been occupied by the demon, and he nearly groaned out loud at the pain and horror he saw reflected in her hazel orbs. Her body sagged as she fell against the wall, suppressed sobs shaking her petite frame as she glared at Riley.
Nearly three minutes passed before she turned her attention to Spike. "Thanks," she whispered as she pushed herself off the wall. Holding her hand out for the gun, Spike handed it to her, handle first as his free arm tightened around the soldier boy's neck, stilling him. After slipping the gun into the waist of her red leather pants, she surveyed the cave, searching for something. Her eyes landed on a pile of chains and then the wall, spying on the metal rings that were soldiered into the rock.
She turned to Spike and gave him a knowing smirk. "A necessity for every demon's home," she said as she picked up the chains and walked over to the pair. "Riley, we're going to chain you to the wall, and after we leave, I'm going to call on that walky-talky of yours for the Initiative. You're their problem now—not mine," she whispered as she ignored her wet eyes. "Spike?"
He nodded as he pushed the human over to the wall, pinning him against the cold, wet stone. "Slayer—the chains."
Biting her bottom lip, she kneeled down on one side of Riley and she began to close the metal cuffs around his wrist as Spike did the same on the boy's other side. After they finished, Buffy leaned back against the heels of her boots and sighed.
"Why, Riley? I mean, I know why Spike did what he did—he's a soulless demon who grabbed onto an opportunity to get that chip disabled. I even understood why, after Angel lost his soul, I became his number one obsession...but you? I thought you loved me. You're human and I thought you knew what was right and wrong..."
"You don't love me," he said, his face twisted in grief. "You still love him—"
Spike couldn't help but roll his eyes as a sharp laugh escaped his lips. "You just figured that out, boy? A little slow on the uptake—"
"Spike," Buffy whispered, interrupting him. She turned back to Riley and sighed. "You're right. I still love Angel," she said, bowing her head in defeat. "But what does that matter? I can't be with him. That trigger that Xander told you about? It's still there." She stood up and began pacing in front of them. "And it probably will be until the end of time or at the very least, way after I'm dead and my body is just food for the worms. But that doesn't explain how you could turn your back on everything—not just me—but everything you believed in by siding with Adam—"
Riley's head bowed. "Adam was right...what he said that first night we met him. We're connected. How? I don't know. I don't even know what I am—but we were a part of each other and when I felt his call, I couldn't turn my back on him."
Growling, Spike shot up onto his feet and glared at the 'human.' "Slayer, your taste in men—"
"Spike—stop it. I can't take another one of your brutally honest diatribes right now. Just go. You've got what you wanted. You're free—you can kill to your heart's desire...maim, destroy...just not here," she finished speaking, her voice wavering.
He backed away from her—his hands held out in front of him and nodded. "Take care of yourself, Buffy."
A small smile curled her lips as she nodded slowly. "I will and thank you—for saving my life."
Spike shrugged as he lit a cigarette. "I owed you, pet."
And he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night.
He left Sunnyhell that very same night, but unfortunately for him, a piece of his heart remained.
After leaving the Hellmouth, he drove back down to Brazil to search for Drusilla. Although by then, he had finally admitted to himself that she had been right all along—he was no longer the Spike that had cared, loved and nurtured her for a hundred and some odd years. No, he didn't have a soul, but he couldn't say with absolute certainty, that he was pure evil any more either. Acathla...his various truces with the slayer...and finally, his last act of 'goodness' when he saved the slayer's life in the cave, all proved to even him—the most stubborn of vampires—that he had changed. But change or no change, that didn't mean he didn't miss his princess' companionship and friendship. She had been his life for so long, that even if the fire had burned out between them, his need for her hadn't.
It was in that frame of mind that he had found her.
She had been genuinely happy to see him and because she had been in-between relationships, they fell into bed as well. But that raging flame of need and desire hadn't been there—for neither of them—and within six months, Spike found himself itching to leave.
"You miss her," Dru had whispered as she sat up in bed, pulling the sheet up with her.
"Miss who, pet?"
She growled softly as her face changed. "The slayer," she spit out. "You love her and you left her because you love her—"
"Dru—no," Spike interrupted as he lit a cigarette. "I do not love the slayer."
She giggled softly as she slipped out of bed. "Whatever you say, my Spike." She walked over to her wardrobe, pulled a clean, red dress off a hanger and slipped it on over her naked body. "Will you keep in touch?"
Spike sighed softly. "Yeah love, same as before. I'll let Charlie know where I'm at. Will you do the same?"
She gave a small smile and nodded. "Of course I will, Spike. If you need anything...?"
He stabbed out his cigarette and shot out of bed. "Same goes for you, Princess."
He left her that same night.
Spike went everywhere in the remaining four years. He traveled all over the world, managing to keep one step ahead of the various demons that were still hot for his blood after his supposed betrayal. Sometimes, he chose to fight, and each time he did, he was the only demon that remained standing. Within four years, his reputation among the demon community had been cleared, and everyone knew that Spike was back.
Too bad that none of it seemed to make a difference to Spike. The emptiness in his heart had only grown since leaving Sunnyhell, and no matter what he did, it never seemed to leave him.
Women, demon and mortal alike, threw themselves on him—drawn to the dangerous air that surrounded him and the promise of pleasure and pain that his presence guaranteed. Only a few, mostly mortal women, ever noticed the yearning in his eyes...the need that ached to be filled, but never was touched.
Although he usually left his lovers alive, those women met a quick and bloody death.
It pained him too much to see the pity in their knowing eyes.
He was in Paris when Peaches found him.
He had just left an underground demon club and was more than a bit tipsy. Parisians, human and demon alike—loved their pleasures and in all of Spike's two hundred some odd years of life, he had never found a tastier bloodwine than he had in Paris. Although he wasn't happy, he had finally reached a point of acceptance in his life. He no longer allowed the emptiness to rule his thoughts and just accepted it as matter of course. Because of this newfound attitude, he even managed to have fun occasionally—much to his own surprise.
He had a nice, underground apartment that he called home. It actually belonged to his sire, but neither Angelus nor his souled counterpart had lived in it in for over eighty years. Spike was the one who actually paid for its upkeep and care and had done so since Angelus had lost his soul the first time.
Just as he was walking up to the entrance, he felt him.
His body tensed as his eyes scanned the area around him. His sire's blood sang to his and warily, Spike allowed himself to be led by its pull.
He found Peaches waiting for him inside, pacing in front of the fireplace as he repeatedly ran his fingers through his already spiky hair.
"What the bloody fucking hell do you want? And who the hell is—"
"Angel, what's with you vampires and toilet paper? I mean—don't you have to even dab cuts and stuff—I mean—"
Spike's head shot up at the sound of Cordelia's voice; at the same time, Angel growled softly at his assistant as she stepped out from the bathroom. What the hell is going on here? He asked himself as his eyes traveled back and forth between the two intruders.
"Cordelia."
"Uh, hi Spike," she said as she slowly inched her way to Angel's side.
"Peaches?"
"We need your help...it's Buffy."
Spike felt as if someone had kicked him in his gut at the sound of the slayer's name. Although he had kept tabs on the events of Sunnyhell, it had been over four months since he had called in to Charlie for the latest news. Charlie, a peaceful demon, ran a messenger service out of New York for the demon community, among other things, just as his father and grandfather before him.
"What happened?" Spike asked as he sunk onto the couch. "The last I heard, she was doing fine—"
"See, I told you Angel—"
"Cordy," Angel said with more than a bit of warning in his voice. Spike watched as his sire began to pace in front of him as he obviously tried to reign in his thoughts.
The prom queen scowled at the vampire and turned her attention to Spike. "Since he's being all broody and depressing, I'll give you the scoop."
"Cordelia!"
"Angel, shut up! We don't have time for this!" She yelled back, her eyes flashing dangerously at his sire. Spike would've laughed at the sight if the twist in his gut hadn't pained him so much. "She disappeared a couple of months ago and everyone thought she was dead. Another slayer was even called and we know where Faith is—she's in LA working with us...but, I had a vision last night. The mother of all visions—it lasted over half an hour. It felt like my head was going to fall off after it was done—"
"Cordy—the point," Angel said.
"Right," she said nodding to herself. She sat down next to Spike and clasped her hands in front of her. "The vision...she's not really dead..."
"Then what the hell happened?" Spike asked as he stood up and joined his sire in pacing. "Did she just die like she did before when the other slayer was called?"
Angel moaned softly, shaking his head. "No, I wish it were that. Spike, a vampire grabbed her and—and made her his pet."
Spike froze at his sire's words. A pet? The slayer? "How...what?"
Cordelia growled. "He was a damn watcher who was turned. He knew just the right drugs to give her to subdue her. Once that happened, he turned her, Spike. And he knew exactly what he was doing—"
"Oh bloody fucking hell," Spike whispered as he felt his world turn on its axis. "She's got her blooming soul, doesn't she?"
Angel nodded tersely as his face rippled. "And now he can torment her for an eternity if he so desires."
Spike stood there in shock as his mind went over everything he had just learned. Suddenly he turned to Cordelia. "You said something about not having enough time...what's going to happen, pet?"
Cordelia looked down at her clasped hands and sighed softly. "She's going to try and escape in two days. She's going to be killed in battle if we don't get there in time."
After nearly a minute of silence, Spike walked back to the couch and fell down on top of it. "Why me—what do you need me for?"
Angel slammed his hand against the brick fireplace and growled. "Because you've spent the last five years redeeming yourself in the demon community—"
"What he's trying to say is that because you're evil and all, you can get on the inside whereas Angel can't. The watcher—he knows of Angel and Buffy's relationship. Matter-of-fact, he's one of the reasons that not only Giles but Wesley were fired from the council. His name is Quentin Travers...he's the one that oversaw Buffy's Cruciamentum," Cordelia said, sneering.
"What the hell is a Cruciamentum?"
"Hello—were you brain dead during that whole time you spent living with Giles?" Cordelia asked, ignoring Spike's growl. "It's the reason he was fired from the Council!"
Angel took a deep breath and turned his attention to Spike. "The Cruciamentum is like a coming-of-age test for slayers—"
"In actuality, it's a way for the Council to kill off slayers before they get too old to know their own mind—"
Angel shot Cordelia a deathly stare and shook his head in defeat. "She's right—it is that. There are certain drugs that, if given properly, can temporarily dampen a slayer's strength, coordination and speed to the point that she is for all purposes, a normal human female."
"And then, they stick her in a room with a vampire and if she kills the vamp, she passes the test," Cordelia added, sneering in disgust. "If not, she's dead. And then another slayer is called that they can manipulate and own until her test—"
"And Giles, how does he fit into all this?"
"He failed the Watcher's side of the test," Cordelia said. "If he had been a good little watcher, he would've stepped back and let Buffy die. He interfered with the test and lost his job as a consequence."
"And this Travers? When was he turned?"
Angel rubbed his face and stared out into the window. "Wesley called some of his Watcher contacts and found out that Travers had disappeared almost five years ago...right after he was fired for failing to have Faith killed after she woke up from that coma."
"The way we figure it, he found a vamp that was stupid enough to turn a watcher and now we have a master-vamp in the making who's got balls enough to take a slayer on as his pet!"
"Where is she?"
"New York City," Angel said. "So, will you help us?"
Spike stared out into the night sky and sighed. He was exhausted. Nothing like spending nearly twenty hours hopping planes, avoiding sunlight and listening to his sire growl underneath his breath to wear a poor vamp out.
Not to mention how plagued Spike had been with his own worries. When he had left the slayer all those years ago, he actually harbored a deep-seated hope that someone would have the balls to turn her, but when he found out that it really had happened, he was far from happy.
Maybe it was the circumstances, but he doubted it. Any event that involved bringing a slayer across would most likely be unpleasant, so to find out she was being held as a pet, didn't surprise him as much as it enraged him.
After nearly an hour more of introspection, Spike finally figured out why it pissed him off so much: Travers ignored Angel's claim. Granted, Angel had a soul so that pretty much left him out of any vampire etiquette, but according to law, Angel's claims by default became Spike's because Spike was the eldest living childe of Angelus.
Travers stole something that belonged to Spike—not to mention he had hurt one of the few individuals alive that Spike cared for.
It was at that moment that Spike knew that Travers would pay for his transgressions.
Growling, he lit a cigarette and felt his face morph to its true vintage as he imagined all the wonderfully painful things he had planned for Travers. He could hardly wait.
Although it was only six in the evening and, according to Cordelia, they had over a day until the slayer was slated to die, his impatience was wearing him down. He wanted to find the prick now, kill him and take the slayer as far away from here as possible, and he wanted to do it now.
Unfortunately, he had to wait for the rest of the reinforcements to arrive from California before he could go seek out the slayer.
He heard the glass door slide open and instantly recognized Cordelia's scent as she stepped out into the balcony with him. She closed the door and walked over to stand next to him.
"He's driving me crazy," she said quietly.
Spike found himself chuckling softly. "He's like that when it comes to her."
"I know."
So folorn, Spike thought to himself. "Pet, just because he loves the slayer, doesn't mean he doesn't love you either."
He heard her heart speed up as she gasped softly. "How did you know?"
Spike gave her a knowing grin. "I can smell him on you."
Her eyes widened comically. "You're kidding, right?" He shook his head. "Ooh, that's just eww..."
Spike felt his face change back as he let out a loud laugh. "Oh pet, how long have you two been shagging and you didn't know about that?"
She took a deep breath and calmed her racing heart. "Well, it's not all my fault. It's not like he'll tell me anything, and I can only manufacture so many visits to Giles' to sneak a peek at his books, before it starts to look a little bit suspicious."
"Books? The watcher's got books on that?"
This time, it was Cordelia who laughed fully. "Yeah, Buffy found them hidden in Giles' library when she first started dating Angel. 'Mating Habits of Vampires and Demons' was her and Willow's favorite. It's got good pictures."
Spike snickered softly as he remembered how the slayer had been back then—still a virgin, hopeful...innocent. He could feel himself begin to respond and cursed under his breath. "Pet, I think that goes under the category of too much information."
She gave him a big smile and shrugged unrepentedly. "Sorry."
"When are they supposed to get here?"
"You mean Faith, Willow and Wesley?"
Spike nodded. "Willow should be here any time. She lives in Chicago now. She moved there with Tara right after Buffy 'died.' Wesley and Faith's plane is due to land in a couple of hours."
Spike growled in frustration. "Tell me again why we have to wait for them?"
Cordelia rolled her eyes at the vampire. "Because, you need both Faith and Angel for backup once the fighting begins and for that to happen, you need Willow's witchy powers to cover up Angel and Faith's presence until the fighting starts. You don't need Wesley—he just goes wherever Faith goes," she added with a grin.
Spike turned to face her, tipping his head as he studied her. It had been almost six years since the last time he had seen Cordelia, and then she had been pointing a crossbow in his direction. She had feared him all those years ago and considering he still had his bite, he couldn't help but be curious as to why she didn't now. So he asked her.
"A lot's changed since you last saw me, Spike," she said softly. "Three years ago, I was infected by the blood of a Mohra demon. It's weird, what it does. For vampires, it heals them—makes them human. For humans if they're uninjured, it makes them immortal. I can still die, but it takes a lot more than a broken neck or blood suckage to do it. I also can't be turned—which is a relief, let me tell you. So to answer your question, yes, I still fear you. If I met you in a dark alley and you decided to play torture-the-slayerette, you might actually succeed in doing the near impossible, and I know it would still hurt like hell, but since we're in a truce-like situation..."
He nodded in understanding. "So, you're like Angel's connection to the Powers for an eternity?"
She snorted. "Yeah, can you believe that?" She sighed loudly, squeezing her fingers tightly around the metal railing. "It's okay—I've actually kinda gotten used to it—except for the headaches," she added quickly. "And since I finally gave up on acting, it's given me a purpose. I can take care of myself now—between Faith, Angel and Wesley, I've learned more than enough about martial arts and self-defense.'
"That's why he brought you along?"
Cordelia nodded. "Angel doesn't like worrying about us. He hated taking me anywhere when I was mortal—especially after Doyle had died."
He lit another cigarette as he turned back to the skyline. "How did you find me?"
"The vision. You know how I said it was a whopper of one? Well, I meant it. They usually last maybe, five minutes and that's on a bad day. This one was long. Not only did they show me where Buffy was being held and who had her, but they told me where you would be as well." She stopped and gave him a small smile. "And let me tell you, Angel was not pleased. I hadn't seen him that growly since Angelus had come out to play five years ago. It took both Faith and I to calm him down." She chuckled softly.
"It also told me how you felt about her," she added quietly. "It showed me what happened between you two that night you left."
Spike sighed. His secret was out. "Whatever happened to Riley? My sources never could find anything."
Cordelia shrugged. "No one knows. Court-martialed...or, even worse, made available for testing. One thing Buffy did find out, was that Riley wasn't much more human than you or Adam. They did something to him. He kept his soul, but his primal instincts were stronger than his humanity. That's why he turned on her."
After a couple of minutes of silence, Spike turned around and leaned against the railing. "So, how long has Peaches' soul been anchored?"
"Since Willow re-cursed him that night with Acathla. We just didn't find out until two years ago."
"Then why..."
"Why didn't Buffy and Angel get back together?"
He nodded.
She shrugged. "I don't know. It was her decision though," Cordelia said as she turned around as well and stared into the lit hotel room. "I think she was starting to feel her age or something like that. Willow said that she had a real close call around the same time Angel received his news. By the time he came to her, she had already decided that it would be better for Angel if they remained as they were. She told him that she was living on borrowed time and that it would be better for him if they didn't pick up where they had left off."
Spike's eyebrow arched at that. It didn't sound much like the slayer to him and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her to wear her heart down so much.
"How did he take it?"
"Better than any of us thought he would. I think a part of him knew. She was expecting to die—maybe even welcoming it—even before Travers got a hold of her."
Spike snorted softly as he shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have left in the first place..."
She shrugged. "No you did the right thing—leaving when you did. Maybe what you did wrong was staying away."
The way things had turned out, Spike found himself unable to disagree.
Cordelia may've just been right.
When she had first been captured, her mind kept denying it.
Even as she saw the horde of vampires approaching her, she knew that this was it. After nearly nine of years slaying, she was finally going to die. She fought hard—dusting nearly a dozen vampires before her body finally gave out. As a handful of gleeful vampires subdued her broken and bloody body, he stepped through the crowd and stopped in front of her.
"Hello, my pet," he said softly, caressing her face with his cool fingers. She shuddered uncontrollably as she watched his familiar face change into that of a demon's. How could this happen, she kept asking herself as he closed the distance between them. "I think you and I are going to have a spendid time, don't you?"
She frantically shook her head as he reached around her and grasped her neck. A sharp pain that began at the base of her neck shot through her body, and before she could even grasp what he had done, blackness greeted her.
Buffy wasn't sure how long she had been out, but when she woke up, there he was, watching over her. Her mind was mush and even as she tried pulling at her bindings, she realized that she no longer had her slayer-stregnth.
Fear coiled in her gut as he fell down on the bed beside her. How? Who would turn him? She asked herself as he rolled over on top of her.
Even as he plunged the syringe into her skin as his fangs latched on to her neck—all she could think of was no...it can't be.
It was wrong.
On so many levels that she couldn't even begin to list them.
Watchers were human. They may not be entirely of the good as she had discovered years before, but they were human...they were not vampires or any other type of demon thereof.
Travers just laughed at her as he tore her clothes off and tied her to his bed. His burning eyes raked over her naked skin—violating her just as much as if he was touching her. His cool fingers would occasionally pinch her skin so hard that tears prickled her eyes as she bit down on her lip to prevent her from whimpering.
He just giggled at her discomfort as he walked around the bed, shedding his clothes as he went. Once naked, she felt her stomach curl when she spotted his hard cock bobbing with his every step.
Her throat closed as a wave of panic swept through her. In all the years she had spent slaying, the only time this had ever come close to happening to her before was during her altercations with Angelus...and even then, it was more of an undercurrent type of feeling, than an overt move on his part.
A loud laugh rang through the room as he sat down next to her and ran a cool finger down her cheek. "Did you know that vampires can sense fear?" he asked her as he swung his legs up onto the bed. "Oh, of course you did...everyone knows that, but until you actually are one, you never realize how intoxicating that scent is." He kissed his fingers and flashed her a grin as his face changed to its true form. "And a slayer's fear—something so unusual is an especially pleasing treat. I must thank you, my dear, for such a treasure."
Buffy took a deep breath as she tried calming her racing heart all the while inwardly praying that she had the strength to withstand whatever this creature had in store for her. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to look over at him as she spoke. "What are you going to do now? You've caught me, you've weakened me...so, when are you planning to kill me?"
His lips curled into a sickening smile as he rolled over on top of her. "Never kill you, my dear. Hurt you, yes...fuck you, yes...turn you?" His cool lips nipped at her skin, breaking it as he lapped up the dribbles of her blood. "Exquisite," he whispered as he lifted his head to stare into her eyes. "Did you know that slayers keep their souls if they are turned? Imagine, my dear pet, what it will feel like to spend an eternity subjected to my every whim and desire all the while fighting the most important battle of your lifetime...against your own demon…yourself. Yes, I think we can safely say that turning is in the cards..."
That was the first time he raped her. It happened so many times afterwards, that Buffy truly lost count. Every night melted into the next one in a hazy cloud of pain.
She could remember the first time he called her his pet.
God, she hated that word.
"You're my pet, bitch," he said as he teased her injured skin with the leather whip. "Do you know what a pet is?"
She shook her head as she clenched her teeth closed in a useless effort to hide her discomfort from him. She never knew what would be his trigger—that one thing that would set him off into a fit of violence, and so she had quickly learned to hide almost everything from him. It was during one of those first few days of her captivity, when she had been still human, that he beat her with a rubber hose, delighting in her screams of pain, all because she asked for a glass of water.
He said her humanity sickened him—even when he was a mortal.
And then he would push that needle into her skin, and once again she would feel a part of herself disappear underneath the haze of drugs.
She was no longer a slayer with him—or even a person—she was his pet.
And then he fulfilled his promise to her. It took him three days of playing, but eventually he ran out of medication and turned her before her slayer strength returned. Once she was a vampire, he used other methods to force her compliance...the sire/childe bond headed the top of the list. She had never understood before the strength of that bond, but after those first few days she spent as a vampire, it was ingrained in her soul. It was almost as if she were compelled to follow his instructions. Her demon may've been tamed by her soul, but she could feel it twist inside of her—clawing at its cage with even the mere thought of a rebellion against Travers.
He also used blood as a method of controlling her. He only fed her enough to keep her sane, but never enough for her to realize her full potential, which she had a feeling, would be formidable if ever given a chance to evolve. And if that wasn't enough, the only fresh blood she ever received was from the broken, nearly dead humans that he had already fed from. Of course, there were times when he had to force her demon to come forward—her soul too empowered with the slayer essence to succumb to the hauntingly beautiful call of fresh of blood. Usually starvation was a pretty good method of forced submission, but he used other ways to get what he wanted—none of them pleasant. He knew that every time she ended a life—regardless if the person was dying anyway—the weight of her deeds smothered her spirit just a little bit more. The thought delighted him to no end.
And then there were the hours he left her alone with his minions.
She became the favorite toy of the lair...every vampire, male and female alike, used her and violated her. It wasn't uncommon for her to be raped in all three holes for hours upon hours while someone else was cutting into her skin or burning her with cotton swabs dunked in Holy Water.
For nearly a month, this had been her life.
No hope...no salvation...not even death was available to her.
She had nearly given up when her savior came—wearing a familiar face.
Buffy would not have believed it, if it had not happened to her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Madness was a blessing for her...Drusilla knew that. It allowed her a kind of freedom she would've never had if she had become the type of consort Angelus had desired. When he had broken her mind, he strengthened her heart. Paths that would not have been available to her if she had been a sane childe, were open to her perusal. She was allowed to love...to hate...to realize her visions...she could talk to Miss Edith anytime she desired...the voices that plagued her during her mortal life, now had names and personalities to go with those names.
In some ways, she was freer than her Spike, who was also able to love and cherish—unlike nearly all of their kind. With her Spike, it was a constant struggle to prove his worthiness despite his humanity. He had to be crueler and more vicious than most other vampires, so he could still be free to love. With Drusilla, all she had to do was follow the voices and the stars, and her place in the world was guaranteed.
After nearly a hundred and fifty years, she finally understood where her voices came from. Some of them were the ghosts of her dead family...haunting her...praying for her...others were from the darkness—the blackness that gave strength to her demon. Their whispers told of evil that was going to happen, had happened, could happen...of blood spilt and of wonderfully decadent acts of horror she could commit.
And then there were the stars and Miss Edith.
The stars were her link to the all that is—where right and wrong were the same and events had meaning to all. And Miss Edith—the doll was her link to whom Dru was before her daddy came into her life; the sweet, innocent young woman who just wanted to be a good and proper girl despite the whispers from the stars...
It was Miss Edith that told her of the nasty slayer and one of Dru's wayward childers. She spoke of all the horrid things that her Quentin was doing to the slayer...as a human and later on, as a vampire.
At first Dru ignored Miss Edith and sent her off to bed without her tea.
But Miss Edith wouldn't be quiet...even after Dru taped her mouth shut and poked out her eyes...Miss Edith showed Dru the slayer as she lay beaten and bloodied chained to a bed while a dozen or so vampires took pleasure from her exhausted body...
Dru still ignored Miss Edith—adamant in her own hatred directed at the nasty slayer. It was the slayer that took away her Angel and Spike, and it was because of that that Dru had turned that watcher in the first place. Dru wanted the slayer dead, and if her Spike couldn't do it, then she would find someone who hated the slayer as much as Dru and send them to the Hellmouth.
She found that someone in Travers...a deliciously evil man—even with a soul—he filled Dru with pleasure just being around him. And the stars told her if she turned the watcher, he would be strong—as strong as her daddy and Spike.
So she turned him.
Then Spike had shown up, so she sent the watcher and her favorite childe, Sheila, to New York so he could settle in. She wasn't surprised when Sheila returned to Brazil nearly a year later with tales of how strong and powerful her Quentin was.
And then she promptly forgot about Quentin and his promises of revenge against the slayer. It wasn't too surprising to anyone who knew Drusilla...the only childers she remembered were the ones that remained by her side.
But Miss Edith was relentless...reminding Dru that if she allowed this to continue with the slayer, her Spike and what was left of her Angel would never forgive her because it was Dru's childe that was doing all those deliciously hurtful things to the nasty slayer.
And then Miss Edith reminded her that even Dru had her Spike to tend her wounds and sooth her broken heart after her daddy would hurt the newly turned Drusilla.
The nasty slayer had no one.
After a month of fighting with herself and her voices, Dru finally decided that maybe Miss Edith was right. Dru hadn't wanted the nasty slayer to suffer for an eternity...she had just wanted her dead. What her Quentin was doing to the slayer was as horrible as what her daddy had done to Dru herself.
It was then that Dru decided to pay her childe a visit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first Buffy thought she was going mad...much like the woman who was supposedly tending her wounds. Why else would Dru be there, by Buffy's side, softly singing lullabies long forgotten as she gently washed Buffy's body? When she had still been human, Travers had gleefully informed Buffy of who had brought him across. He giggled at the stream of curse words that spilled out of her mouth and the rage that filled her helpless body.
Even later, as she lay in the darkness, she couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of what was her life. Wasn't it just her luck that her mortal life had ended just because of the love of two master vampires when in reality, she had been alone for nearly five years?
When Buffy realized Dru wasn't a dream or a hallucination, she knew it just had to be some sort of sick trick that Dru and Travers were playing on her. A vampire's version of good cop/bad cop.
Travers and the minions would beat her and Dru would lovingly tend to her...breaking down Buffy's remaining defenses...to ensure her submission to her master.
Then Dru offered Buffy her blood.
That changed everything.
Why would the vampire risk the danger of a strong, slayer-vampire if it were just a game to break Buffy? And that's exactly what was happening to Buffy. With each feeding, Buffy's strength grew. Her body mended quicker, her heart was lighter, her mind clearer and her demon reveled in the rich, magical blood of its grandsire. It filled an emptiness that Buffy hadn't even known was there until she tasted it. Nearly a hundred and fifty years of magic, life and death flowed through Dru's veins and Buffy relished every drop that was offered to her.
Although it would take weeks for Buffy to fully trust Dru, she knew the instant Dru offered her wrist to the slayer, that maybe her fate as Traver's pet was ending.
She could only hope.
As Willow buckled her seatbelt and moved her chair to an upright position, she stared out the plane's window and once again found herself thinking about Buffy. After wiping her wet face, she closed her eyes and tried ignoring the horrid pictures flashing through her mind as to where her friend was and how she was doing.
She couldn't believe that Buffy was actually alive—or undead, as it was—after all this time. How did this happen? How come none of them expected this? Although Willow had never said anything out loud, in her mind, she had been sure that Buffy's body would have been eventually found—it was just a matter of time.
She had never even considered her friend being turned. Not Buffy. With Willow or Xander—the possibility had always been there, but with a slayer? None of Giles' Watcher books or journals ever spoke of such a thing and now that she knew it was possible, Willow was sure it had been buried with most of the other subversive material that CoW had deemed to be inappropriate material for nearly all to know. Not for the first time since Cordelia had called her with the news, Willow had wanted to speak with Giles. But after talking with Xander and hearing of the Watcher's fragile emotional state, Willow agreed with Xander and Angel that he shouldn't be told until after they had gotten Buffy out.
And who knew what Buffy's state of mind was going to be like? The former slayer may very well be in just as bad if not worse shape than her watcher was. For Buffy to be placed into a submissive position had to tear at the slayer's heart and soul. In all the years that Willow had known Buffy, the one thing her friend hated more than anything else was to lose control.
It drove Buffy nuts.
She was a doer, a fixer...a planner. She was the person who called the shots and had been since she was 15 years old. This was not the profile of a meek and submissive person.
And who knew what Travers had planned for Buffy? Willow shuddered just thinking of the way Travers most likely enforced Buffy's compliance. One thing those watcher's journals weren't afraid of disclosing in disgustingly vivid painful detail was how sire's enforced their dominance over their childer.
Would Buffy ever recover from such an event?
Willow shivered at the thought and clutched the armrests of her seat as the plane set down on the runway. Closing her eyes, she turned her thoughts to Angel, Cordelia and Spike and sighed softly.
Spike.
She never thought she would see him again. After Buffy had told her about him saving Buffy's life, Willow was sure the vampire would either kill everyone who had been witness to his weakened state, or that he would disappear into the darkness to never surface again in their lifetimes.
It wasn't as if she had ever put him out of her mind—Spike was anything but forgettable. Ironically, there had been times when she, Xander and Anya would find themselves actually telling stories about him and the time he had spent in their lives—remembering it fondly.
Willow actually liked Spike—and had since he had stumbled into Giles' house on that Thanksgiving during her Freshman year in college. As long as he couldn't hurt her, she found herself drawn to him—trying to understand the demon. Looking back at the time now, Willow knew the reason she found herself drawn into debates with the then-neutered vampire: Anya. Back then Willow couldn't understand Xander's interest in the former demon and to satiate her curiosity, she found herself turning to Spike. If she could get a handle on him, maybe some of that understanding would spill over to Anya...
It hadn't actually worked out that way, for Spike had moved out of Xander's into that crypt just as the tendrils of 'friendship' were taking root. And soon after that, Spike began playing at the Big Bad, forcefully ignoring the Scooby Gang and their troubles.
Apparently that hadn't worked too well for the vampire, if his actions later that year were any indication. To think that underneath those thinly cloaked threats and biting comments towards Buffy, he had been fighting his feelings for the slayer.
Amazing, thought Willow. This was something they never wrote about in all those demonology books that Giles' had: that the same creatures that Buffy was destined to kill, were the same ones that were destined to love her...
Groaning softly, Willow sighed softly as she thought about Angel, Buffy and Cordelia. Was Spike the reason that Buffy didn't go back to Angel when her friend found out about Angel's anchored soul? If it was, Willow had to credit her friend for her ability to conceal her feelings. Buffy never had said anything about Spike that wasn't cruel or derogatory. And yet, Willow could remember dozens of times when she would catch a glimpse of sadness that would cross the slayer's face when Buffy thought no one was watching her. Willow had always thought it was Angel-missage, or maybe even Riley-missage. What if she had been wrong all these years? What if it had been Spike-missage that triggered those bouts of melancholy that plagued the slayer? What if it had been the hopelessness of that love that forced Buffy to push Angel away into Cordelia's arms?
Willow had to admit that the former May-Queen was good for Angel. She accepted Angel, soul and demon alike, with such matter-of-factness, that it, more than once threw Willow for a loop. Unlike Buffy, who loved Angel's soul with all her being, Cordelia loved Angel, soul and demon together. And whether or not Angel consciously realized it, it was that acceptance that changed Angel—nothing else.
As the plane's wheels touched the runway, Willow's eyes snapped open as her body shook with the vehicles movement. She turned her head and stared unseeingly out into the darkened night, all the while wondering what other epiphanies she would have before the trip ended.
She just hoped she could handle them...she hated when her world got turned upside down...
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn't until Angel and Cordelia left for the airport that Spike ventured out to go and feed. He quickly found a club and within minutes had fed off a young woman who had gone outside by herself. After leaving her dead body in the alley, he returned to their room so he could make a few phone calls in privacy.
The first person he called was Charlie.
Not only had the demon told him of the slayer's disappearance, the Watcher's descent into alcohol, but he also informed Spike that Dru had stopped by to let Charlie and, by proxy, Spike know that she was now in New York City as well.
Spike hadn't even hung up the phone when the gnawing in his gut began. Growling, he slammed the phone down and began to pace the sitting area of the hotel suite that he and Peaches were occupying.
She was there—in the same lair that Buffy was—Spike just knew it. After a hundred and forty years with his dark princess, Spike had learned that there was no such thing as coincidences when it came to Dru. Did she just happen upon Travers in her travels? Did they bump into one another and she took a fancy to him? From what Spike gathered after talking to the prom queen and Peaches, Travers was a pretty powerful vampire for only being five years old. Did that mean he was powerful enough that Dru was attracted to him?
Or was it more?
Was she the one that urged him to abduct the slayer and take Buffy on as his pet in the first place?
Spike shook his head as he lit a cigarette. He wouldn't put it past Dru—she was a vindictive bitch if she felt threatened and with both of her men gone because of the slayer, there was more than ample cause for that bitchiness.
Growling in frustration, Spike marched over to the coat rack and grabbed his duster. A couple of minutes later, he stepped outside and began to hunt.
He needed a lot more blood than one lonely co-ed to dull his bloodlust that night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Angel, we need to tell him," Cordelia said from the passenger seat of the rental car. "We can't let him go in there unprepared."
"Don't you think I know that, Delia?"
She shuddered at the angry tone of his voice. Damn him, she thought to herself as she fell back into her seat and stared out the window. And damn me for thinking I could deal with his unresolved feelings towards Buffy.
Even though she understood Angel—probably far better than he understood himself—it didn't take away the sting of rejection or jealousy she had felt every time in the past few days when she had seen cold rage burn in his eyes. She knew Angel loved her, but she also knew Angel loved Buffy as well. That he would always love Buffy—just as she would always love Doyle.
Granted, Doyle had died before Cordelia and him could really explore their feelings, but Cordelia knew, deep in her heart, that if the half-demon had lived, he would've been the love of her life.
That's why his death had hurt her so much...why, for nearly a year afterwards, she would have dreams of him...of the life together that they never had a chance to have. Why, even after all this time, she still sometimes felt his presence watching her...protecting her.
But fortunately for Angel, Doyle was dead and other than competing with memories of the long-passed half-demon that radically changed both of their lives, he could feel secure in Cordelia's love for him.
Cordelia couldn't say the same.
She knew, without a doubt, that his first choice as a mate had been Buffy when he discovered that his soul was permanent. Cordelia had already been in love with him by that time—Doyle's ghostly presence in her dreams finally dimming. And when Angel left for Sunnydale with the news, her heart had broken.
For three days, she wandered the office and his apartment, unable to stay in one spot for too long—fearing that she would go mad if she did. If it hadn't been for Faith and Wesley, she might have just done that. Her future...her terminally long future...had looked bleak and loveless. How could she continue to be Angel's link to the Powers and be totally and completely in love in with him all the while watching him in his happy, well-earned relationship with Buffy?
And yet, even as she had asked the question, she knew she would continue to work beside him—her fate had almost dictated it, not to mention that by that time, she couldn't see herself doing anything else.
But, by the third day, she found out that all her worry and angst had been a moot point: Buffy had told Angel no. If Willow hadn't been the one to tell Cordelia herself, she wouldn't have believed it. And when she heard the slayer's reasoning, Cordelia had been even more flabbergasted. In all the years she had known Buffy Summers, she had never seen the other girl make a selfless decision in her personal life. It just wasn't in Buffy's psychological make-up.
Yet the slayer had done just that.
And six months later, Cordelia and Angel had gotten together.
And it had been a good year and a half so far. After almost five years of working together, depending on one another for emotional support, that last little step into an intimate relationship wasn't that hard for Cordelia and Angel to take. It was easy...joyful, intense...passionate...all the things that Cordelia had known it would be with Angel. He had already been her best friend and confidant...being lovers only enhanced what they already had. Sure, there were times when she would see him holding that Claddagh ring to his heart, but was that any different than the times she would stop off at Doyle's grave and talk for hours to the dead demon?
God, were they that fucked up? she asked herself, chuckling softly.
"What's so funny?" Angel asked, his voice much softer than minutes before.
Cordelia turned to look at him and shrugged. "I was just thinking about how screwed up our love lives are—"
"Cordelia—"
"No," Cordelia said, interrupting him. "Let me finish. I was just thinking about how even though both of us love one another, that we also love someone else. We have these ghosts that sit in our hearts—me with Doyle, you with Buffy—and sometimes I wonder if that's normal, that's all." She turned away from him before he could see the tear running down her face.
"I don't know if it's normal or not. Until nine years ago, I hadn't ever been in love before...and then wham! Twice in less than a decade," he said, pausing for a moment. Cordelia smiled at his sardonic grin and nodded at him to go on. "But I do know one thing, I do love you. My feelings for Buffy are so mixed up with so many other things...anger, betrayal, abandonment, lust, passion, loyalty. With you...it's clear. You infuriate me; you make me laugh. You forced me to live in this world that I had tried my damnedest, after leaving Sunnydale, to stay out of. You give me joy and hope."
He took an unneeded breath and continued before she could say anything. "I know that I've been acting like a complete jerk for the last few days...my only defense is that my demon has been incredibly restless since I've discovered what has happened to Buffy. And my soul is outraged. A pet! It makes my stomach curl. Even if it had happened to Willow, I would have probably been almost as angry. My demon hates the idea that someone had the audacity to ignore my claim and ever since we heard what happened, he had been prodding me to teach this upstart a thing or two about vampire propriety."
"Claim? You mean when Buffy made you drink from her to save your life? That was a claiming bite?"
He nodded yes as his hands gripped the steering wheel even tighter. "She forced the demon to come out...it was the only way I'd do it...so, he came out and claimed her."
"Did she know this?"
He shook his head. "And what would I say to her? 'Good-bye Buffy, I love you and by the way, I've claimed you—in vampire terms that means your mine...but I'm still leaving,'" he finished his sarcastic diatribe as he stared out the window in front of him. "I don't think it would've gone over too well, do you?"
Cordelia groaned softly as she shook her head. "Is that why Spike's so pissed?"
Angel snorted in disgust. "Who knows with Spike? I never thought I would be thankful that he managed to salvage his reputation as the Big Bad, but I am. I'm sure that's what he's going to use as his reasons for getting her out of there. Since I have a soul, my claim was automatically passed over to Spike because of his status of favorite childe of Angelus'. When Travers took Buffy and made her his pet, he made a grave error in judgement. No one yet has survived Spike's wrath when someone has taken something that has belonged to him. I should know—I spent over 200 years in hell because I did just that."
Cordelia frowned as her mind tried working through vampire etiquette and found herself more than a bit confused. "But she was the slayer—vampires tried killing her all the time."
Angel chuckled ruthfully. "Ah, but there's a big difference between killing her and taking her as a pet. And then turning her. A big difference. The only vampire that basically had the right to do that to Buffy was Spike...the rest of the community had to settle for just killing her. It's vampire law. Convoluted as it may be, it's still the law."
"And Drusilla? Did she break the law by setting this in motion?"
Angel shook his head. "No, and considering how your vision showed her helping Buffy, means that she respected Spike's claim." He sighed wearily. "What most likely happened was that she turned Travers so he would kill Buffy. That was fine. She was within her rights as a vampire to do that."
"We have to tell him, Angel. If we don't—he may do something he will regret and hate us for it later. If he thinks he has to choose between the two..."
"I know."
"Why?" Buffy asked her dark-haired savior. Drusilla didn't pause from her ministrations until she finished gently wiping the evidence of Travers' nightly play-session from the ex-slayer's bruised and bloody body.
"Why what, little one?" Drusilla finally asked, lifting her head up to meet Buffy's questioning gaze as she placed the cloth in the porcelain bowl.
Buffy felt her chest constrict as her whole body shuddered at her grandsire's welcomed tenderness. Ignoring the pain, she lifted her injured arm up and cupped Drusilla's cheek. "Why don't you hate me anymore?" she asked, unable to hide the neediness as well as the confusion from her voice.
Dru tipped her head to the side as she stared at a spot above Buffy's head, her eyes unfocused and so far away...
"When my Angel took me away and made me his, he hurt me...marked me like my Quentin is doing to you...but I had my Spike," she paused for a moment as she turned her attention back to Buffy. "He would sneak into my room after my Angel had gone and take care of me...talk to me as he cleaned my body...listened to me." She frowned, her eyebrows creasing in consternation. "You didn't have a Spike to take care of you. And Miss Edith and the stars said that you needed me."
Buffy nodded in agreement as she shut her eyes in pain. Miss Edith was right, as far as she was concerned. Before Dru came, Buffy knew, she had been swimming in a sea of desolation...just waiting to be sucked under the tides and taken away. She had wanted to die...before she killed someone else, before she had to suck Quentin's hard, hateful cock again...before she lost herself so much that Buffy would never find herself again.
Dru saved her. Saved her from Quentin and, even more importantly, from herself. And in Buffy's clearer moments, she couldn't help but see the irony of her life. For years she cursed her weakness and inability to stake Dru and Spike. She had never forgotten that every day that they continued to exist guaranteed that another innocent soul would die at their hands...
And yet those same two soulless vampires had saved her life. Granted, if Dru had died before she had turned Travers, Buffy wouldn't have met her end at the end of the former watcher's fangs, but Buffy wasn't under any illusions that she would've survived much longer regardless.
Her time had been coming. She had felt in her bones, in her heart and in her blood.
For months before Travers had captured her, a weariness had crept its way into her bones...leaving her careless and angry. It had been nearly two years since Angel had come to Sunnydale with the news that his soul was anchored and she had turned him away, believing herself unworthy of his love.
Everything changed that night that Riley had gone against her.
Everything.
To be betrayed by the second man she had given her heart to, to be saved by the same man, Spike, who, in a lot of ways, rescued her and the world from Angelus’ machinations two years before, it had been just too much for her.
After Spike had left, she remembered sitting there, in the cave—just staring at Riley’s tear-stained face—trying to desperately understand where she had gone wrong. How was it when Buffy fell in love, not only did she pay for her lover's treachery, but so did everyone else? And why was it that Spike, of all beings, seemed to be there every time she had to face that betrayal head-on?
She never did get the answers she had been looking for that day. But as the months wore, Buffy found herself slowly pulling away from men until the only male figures consistently in her life were Giles and Xander.
She could almost grin, remember all those times that Willow had tried fixing her up with someone—from jocks to nerds to werewolves to witches...
Buffy made a lot of friends out of those 'dates,' but steadfastly had remained single. Instead, she had tried concentrating on school, her friends and slaying. And for the most part, she was happy. That is, until Angel had shown up at her apartment door with the news that he had just found out that his soul was permanent—and had been since Willow had re-cursed him that fateful night Buffy had sent him to Hell.
Buffy couldn't believe it.
Stunned, she had asked him in and realized, as they were talking, that he had changed—become someone that she hadn't ever known. He was happy—you could see it in everything he did—for the quips he made—the traces of Cordy-esque humor that seemed to permeate all their conversations. The way he looked at the world—with hope and a singular belief that he would, one day, be free from the horror of his demon's deeds.
Free. A concept Buffy hadn't known since she had been fifteen years old.
And all Buffy could think of was death—hers. And soon. She was no fool and hadn't been since that debacle with Riley—she knew she was living on borrowed time. She had already been prophesized to die five years before that, and it was only a matter of time before Fate had realized its error and she would meet her end.
And then there was Angel—offering her the future that she had dreamt about for so long that it had become a permanent part of her personality—and she knew that she couldn't do it. She couldn't take him back into her life, just so he could watch her die and that hope that he held in his eyes, die along with her.
So, she sent him back to LA, where she knew Cordelia was waiting for him—Cordelia, whom Buffy knew was as much in love with Angel as Buffy had always been. Cordelia was the one person that he would never see die...someone that he could spend an eternity with and be happy with—because Buffy knew she was no longer that person and hadn't been for more years than she cared to remember.
As heart wrenching as that weekend had been—for both Angel and her—she never regretted her decision. It was the right thing to do. It had been so long since Buffy had made a right personal decision, that in some ways, it made the pain a lot easier to bear once she heard of Cordelia's and Angel's relationship. It only seemed to reiterate that love and Buffy just did not go together and hadn't since the prom at Hemery High.
After that, there were no worries about her heart leading her astray again. The only other male that even appealed to her that way had been Spike. And no matter how much passion flowed between the two—no matter how much she knew he needed and wanted her—just as she had him—it would have never worked as long as she was the slayer and he was a soulless demon.
A part of her even knew that when she had watched Spike walk out of her life all those years ago, just as Angel and Riley had done. There goes your last chance, Buffy, she had remembered thinking as she wiped a stray tear off her face.
Of course, she had said nothing—knowing that there wasn't really anything left to say—accepting that it could never be, even before it had ever begun—even if it meant her being alone...really alone for the first time in her adult life.
And for the five years following the demise of the Initiative and Adam, Buffy had remained single with only her dreams to fill the emptiness in her life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Where were you?"
Spike shook his duster off and hung it up on the coat rack besides the door. "So, did you pick up the rest of them?"
Angel nodded yes. "So, where were you?"
Spike lit a cigarette, pointedly ignoring his sire and turned to Cordelia, who had been watching the two vampires avidly. "When can we get this show on the road?" He asked her as he walked over to the couch and sat down next to her.
"We have something to tell you—before we jump in there with stakes flying," Cordelia whispered, staring down at her clasped hands.
"What? What happened?"
Cordelia lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "My vision?" Spike nodded, urging her to go on. "Buffy's not the only one that may die tomorrow night. If we don't do something, she will die. And if we go ahead with the rescue plan, someone else...someone like Dru—"
Fury filled him as he shot up out of his seat and launched himself across the room at Angel. "You fucking son-of-a-bitch! You knew? And you didn't say anything?" Spike screamed at his sire as he picked up a surprised Angel and slammed him against the wall. "Any other little secrets you've got for me, Peaches? Am I going to go blind? Are you going to die?"
Angel broke Spike's hold and pushed the younger vampire back. "Wait a minute, you knew?" The brunette vampire stepped back, stunned.
"I found out tonight," Spike snapped, growling. "I called my contact and Dru
had left message for me to tell me she was in New York. She got here about a
month ago."
"And you think she arranged this, don't you?" Cordelia asked as she stood up and walked over to the blond vampire.
"Well, what would you think? She blamed the slayer for both me and Peaches leaving her. She's the only one I know crazy enough to turn a watcher and then just let him go, without any control or discipline—"
"Spike, she may've started this, but that's not why she's here. She's helping Buffy. Taking care of her. I saw images of her washing Buffy...singing to her...cleaning her wounds..."
Spike's head swirled with the images, finding himself going back nearly 150 years when he used to sneak into his sire's new pet's room to get a glimpse of the beautiful, but broken Drusilla who laid curled up in the center of the bed, whimpering in pain. Sometimes, in those first few years after she had been brought across, he was almost shocked when he would catch a glimpse of her demon face because she had seemed too innocent to be a vampire. He fell in love with her those first years as he washed her bruised and beaten body once their sire would leave to go hunt without them.
And to hear that she was doing the same thing for the slayer as he had done for her, reminded him all over again why he would always love his dark princess. "Angel?" Spike looked up to his sire's guilt-ridden eyes watching him carefully. "You do realize what she's doing, don't you?"
He nodded once as his eyes closed in pain.
"What? What's she doing?" Cordy ask, standing in between the two vampires.
"She's doing for Buffy what Spike did for her," Angel answered just before he stepped outside onto the balcony.
Once the glass door clicked shut, she turned around just in time to see Spike grab his duster and disappear out of the suite's door.
Just as Spike closed the door, he heard her mumble into the now empty room. "Vampires!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~
An hour later, Cordelia found Spike drinking in the hotel's main bar. As she stared across the dark room, she finally spotted him nestled in a back booth, drink in hand, smoking.
Taking a deep breath, she walked across the room, mentally reminding herself that no, he couldn't kill her...she was immortal. Yes, it would hurt, but she really didn't think he would hurt her. At least not until after they got Buffy out of Travers' lair.
She repeated that to herself a half-dozen times before she stopped in front of his table. Initially, she had planned sitting down with him, but the vampire radiated tension and danger, and no matter how many times she told herself she would survive an encounter with him, she still feared him.
Which in turn, she knew pleased him to no end.
You can do this, Delia. Just take a deep breath and speak...
"Why don't you just bloody sit your ass down instead of staring at me?'
"Sorry," she mumbled, slipping into the seat across from him.
"Want a drink?" He asked, pushing his glass across the table. "Funny how I used to drink to forget," he said, staring at the wet slash mark the glass made. "It doesn't work anymore." Snorting softly, he sat up straight and looked over at her. "So, why didn't you say anything 'bout Dru earlier?"
Feeling his eyes on her, Cordy picked up the glass and downed half of it, welcoming the burning taste of whisky as it slid down her throat. She looked up from the glass and met his eyes—forcing herself not to flinch at his intensity. "Because, Angel doesn't trust you, that's why. And let me tell you, with all three of you involved in this—every guilt and angry button he has, has been pushed.
"Brood-boy's here to stay until we figure this out."
Spike's harsh laugh startled her. "Brood-boy, eh? Did you come up with that one on your own?"
Cordelia couldn't stop the smirk that curled her lips. "Yep. First year I worked for him."
"I like it," Spike said, rubbing his heel into his eye. "Damn woman, what the hell am I supposed to do now? Leave the woman that I have loved for over 140 years but don't have to die for the woman that I could have for the next 140 years, but I'm not sure even cares to see me? Pick a hand," he said, holding them out. "One hand is Dru—the bloody one who started this mess and if I hadn't found out what she was doing to help Buffy—the choice would've been easy: dust her. On the other hand—there's Buffy. Mortal enemy? Yes. Friend? Never. Do I love her? More than I ever thought possible. For the last five years, I've done everything possible to push away those memories and feelings...and nothing worked." He grabbed the whisky glass and quickly downed the last of the alcohol.
"If it makes you feel any better, Angel doesn't want either of them dead. He may push you guys away, but he can't kill you. And it tears him up inside when one of his childer dies."
"Penn?"
Cordelia nodded as she stood up and held out her hand. "Yeah, I was working with him when Penn was hunting in LA...Angel didn't kill him. It was a cop that did it. He had nightmares for weeks afterwards."
The vampire took her hand and let her pull him up. "So, where are you taking me, Cordelia?" he asked, smirking down at her.
"Back to the room," she said, returning his smile. "Wesley, Faith and Willow are back from dinner. It's time to talk strategy."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Is everything ready, my pet?" Drusilla asked the dark-haired vampire after she placed protective wards throughout the room.
Drusilla's childe, formally known as Sheila McCormick, nodded yes. "I would say we have at least half of Travers' boys ready to help us out when the time comes. As long as he doesn't figure out what we're doing," she added as she flopped down on the chair beside the bed.
Drusilla frowned as she picked up her doll, Miss Edith and held it close to her chest. "She's strong now. She'll help us."
"I sure as hell hope so, mistress, because if she doesn't, we're dead. No offense, but you made one wicked childe when you brought him across."
"It sounds as if you like him, my sweets."
Sheila chuckled softly. "I like the way he does things, but I'm really glad you're my sire and not him."
"He reminds me of my Angel," Dru said as she tossed the doll onto the bed. She began unzipping her dress. "He hates that he hasn't broken her yet. It burns him. He hated that he couldn't break her when she was human and that awful slayer as well."
"She's a tough cookie on the outside, but soft inside. Just like she was when she was mortal."
"Slayers keep their souls, pet. They're always soft inside. But they have rage and power...much like my Angel is now after he came back from Hell."
Sheila suddenly stood up and walked over to the other vampire. "Are we going to make it?"
"The stars say that you will, my dear, but the pet or I will not live to see the day after morrow." Dru's eyes cleared as she met Sheila's pensive look. "Will you make a promise to me, my sweets?"
"Sure sire. Anything for you."
Dru's eyes closed as a content smile curled her lips. "Promise me you'll tell my Angel and my Spike that I love them and that I'll always be theirs. Will you do that for me?" Dru asked, holding Sheila's hands tightly in hers.
"I promise, sire," the young vampire whispered as she bent her head down onto their clasped hands. "On my honor."
"Thank you, my childe."
Spike leaned against the wall and silently studied the group of people that were seated around the room. One ex-Watcher, a Slayer, a fully-fledged witch, an immortal and two vampires. Not too bad, thought Spike, knowing that if he were on the other side, he'd be more than a bit reluctant to take on this crew.
At least not without his own bag of surprises.
That was one lesson he had been glad to have taken with him from Sunnydale: Do not mess with Buffy Summers' group. He could be the Big Bad anywhere else in the world...cause all the chaos he had been famous for making—slaughter all the humans he could get his hands on—do it all—as long as he kept it out of the Scooby Gang's reach. Because, despite the Council raving at the unorthodox methods of their latest Slayers and the ex-Watchers that guided them, they were the Dream Team of demon-slaying. Every evil that crossed the Scooby Gang's path, had been destroyed with the exception of Spike and Dru.
Why his dark princess and he had survived, Spike never really could understand.
Happenstance, luck...or maybe it was because Dru and him were connected more deeply to the Slayer, his Sire and the motley crew that helped the vampire and Slayer, than any of their other adversaries. Or it could've been what Spike had always feared, that somehow this group of 'White Hats' managed to slip their righteous claws into his being—keeping him not only in line, so speak, but him forever beholden to their goodness.
And unfortunately, Spike feared it was the latter. Not even two days in the cheerleader's company, and Spike was already feeling protective of her—liking her despite his demon—wanting to protect her—guard her for his Sire. Satan below, he hated it—these feelings—that he always had around this group.
He could remember, as clearly as his first kill, those months he had been under their care after the Initiative gelded him. Despite all his protestations otherwise, Spike had found himself drawn to all them—from the whelp, who always had a ready quip at the tip of his tongue that belied the sadness that was always present in his eyes—to the ex-demon, who loved with a ferocity that only one who had walked in the darkness could—to the lovely and gentle Willow, who had welcomed Spike with her friendship and compassion, despite his nature, and had accepted him for whom he was—to the Watcher, who had used his intelligence and wit to try to forge a bridge between both of their worlds...
And finally, there was the Slayer. The beautiful, powerful, headstrong Buffy Anne Summers—who not only took his unneeded breath away, but at the strangest moments, would reveal bits and pieces of herself that nearly seared his heart—like the ferociousness she had displayed when she fought Angelus during that show down at the mansion, minutes before she was to send her love to hell; or when she had asked him during that parent-teacher night at the high school—in that cute, coy voice of hers—if they really needed weapons for this and how her eyes had sparkled as deep blush covered her features when he seductively rubbed his stomach telling her that they made him 'feel all manly;' or the vulnerable, aching Buffy that had fought him in the daylight all the while tears of shame had been spilling down her cheeks. All of those instances had showed Spike what had been really underneath the scorn and hatred that she had otherwise bestowed upon him.
It was those precious, little pieces that Spike had found himself falling in love with—long before he had ended up on Rupert's doorstep—and his constant confinement with them had not made things any easier to withstand.
That was why he had left in such a flurry once he had discovered he could protect himself from other demons. He hated that he had wanted, no, had needed, the Scooby Gang's friendship and love. He hated that they had the power to turn him into his souled-Sire with just a glance and well-placed laugh.
He hated the power that they had wielded over him...
He hadn't even realized he was growling until he heard Willow's heartbeat pick up. She was sitting in a chair, closest to him, and when he looked over at her, he caught a flicker of fear in those big, green eyes of her.
"Sorry pet, I was just thinking," he said, offering her small smile as he pushed himself off the wall and strode over to the bar to stand next to Peaches. "So, are we all going to stand around here, staring at one another all night, or are we going to do something?" He asked casually as he lit a cigarette, ignoring the rising tension that was coiling in his gut.
The two women he loved most in the world were in danger, and one was fated to die...
The Watcher cleared his throat, his eyes drifting from Angel to Spike and finally stopping at Cordelia's. "Do we know where Travers' lair is?"
Spike nodded, inwardly thanking Charlie for that piece of information, even if it did cost the vampire a pretty penny to obtain it. "I do," he said as the Watcher's eyes turned to meet his.
The Watcher pursed his lips as he ran his fingers through his short, dark hair. "Well, it's not much of a plan, but short of busting in there and just fighting, I can't think of another solution." He slipped his eyeglasses off his face and began to polish them.
"And that is, Wes?"
Sighing dramatically, Wesley put his glasses on and faced Spike. "I think the best way to infiltrate Travers' lair is to go through the front door, so-to-speak."
Spike nodded slowly, thinking the same thing. However, he couldn't help but feel a bit confused as well. "Then tell me, mate, why in the hell did we wait for you three?" Spike asked, waving at the Watcher, Slayer and the witch. "I could've done this already."
"Back up," Willow said, interrupting Wesley. "You need us in case Travers doesn't play by the rules, right Wesley?"
The Watcher nodded yes. "Indeed, and I don't think he will. I've known Travers for most of my life. His father and mine were friends," he admitted softly, unable to hide the grimace that crossed his face. "Even as a human, he was a sadistic and angry man. I assume that was why he and my father got a long so splendidly." The Watcher shook his head, as if to push away those thoughts. "I don't think he will play by the rules, or he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to capture and keep Buffy. But, from what I've gathered, you Spike, have a legitimate complaint against Travers; he took something of yours and didn't follow proper procedures in killing a claimed Slayer. Am I correct?"
"Aye mate, that's the gist of it," Spike said as he met the Watcher's interested gaze. "Angel claimed her—the scars on her neck were proof positive of that claim. Any vampire that saw those scar marks knew that she was off-limits as far as subjugating her in any manner other than flat out killing her."
Wesley nodded slowly. "As I thought. Then, why not go and challenge the pillock? Make your claim? Tell him that you will give him a day to decide what action he will chose—to fight you or to give her up." The Watcher leaned back against the wet bar and sighed softly. "That way, we may avoid a violent confrontation all together—"
A loud, angry growl filled the room and Spike turned to see Angel's true-face staring hotly at the Watcher. "He needs to die, Wes," the elder vampire hissed.
Spike inwardly agreed with his Sire, but understood why the Watcher was trying for a non-violent solution: Cordelia's vision. If they fought Travers and his minions, Dru may very well get herself dusted.
"Angel, what about Dru?" Willow interjected as she stood up and walked over to his Sire. "She's there—now—taking care of Buffy." Willow's eyes closed as Spike saw a flash of compassion cross her face. "I know that you have mixed feelings about her, and a part of me agrees with you, but not now, Angel. Not after she's done this for Buffy," she said, placing her hand on his arm. "It wouldn't be right."
"I have to agree with Wes and Willow on this," the Slayer said, turning back from the window to face her friends. "The Slayer part of me wants to dust her, but I didn't live this long without learning that we have to make compromises and all that shit. The vamp doesn't deserve death right now...but that doesn't mean if she crosses my path again under different circumstances, I would just let her go. No, then I'd stake her, but not now."
"Cordelia?" Angel asked, his face shifting back to its more appealing countenance. "What do you think?"
The seer took a deep breath, glanced over at Angel and then turned her attention to Spike. "The PTB's wouldn't have shown me Drusilla's death if they hadn't wanted us to stop it. For whatever reasons, it's not her time. Or They need her—someone needs her alive. We'll kill Travers later. Better yet, once we get Buffy out of there and build her strength up—let her and Spike take care of Travers. How's that sound, Spike?"
He couldn't stop the small smirk that curled his lips as he met the cheerleader's hazel orbs. "Sounds good to me, pet. I don't want Dru dead either...whatever we can do to insure that both of them make it out of there, the better."
"Okay, then that's settled. Dru lives," Angel said, nodding in agreement. He turned to look at Spike, his dark eyes searing into Spike's. "Do you know anyone else in town? Anyone's minions you can borrow?"
"I have to make a few phone calls, but I used to know the head master in these parts. And believe it or not, he owes me a favor," Spike said, remembering the time he killed a rival vampire for the master, Marcus, over twenty years before. "But from what I hear, he's still in town."
"Call him. Now. See if he can send some of his boys to meet with you before you go to the lair. Travers, if he's as devious as we all think he is, may very well try and stop you from leaving tonight. You need back up," Angel said, tossing his cell phone over to the Spike.
Spike could feel himself bristling against his Sire's automatic command of the situation but caught himself before the younger vampire could say something that would just stir up trouble. No matter how much Spike hated any type of domination that Angel wielded over him, the blond understood intellectually why Angel was doing it. Not only were the other people in the room Angel's people, but the Slayer, regardless of vampiric propriety, was his as well. Spike's claim was one of default, and no matter how much the younger vampire may love the former Slayer cum vampire, she was, first and foremost, Angel's.
And secondly, Angel hated that Spike was needed more than him. The poof had spent the better part of ten years battling the forces of darkness, fighting the good fight—working for TPTBs—and to be in the position of needing a soulless vampire to succeed in a task, was surely rubbing Angel in all the wrong places. No matter how guilt-ridden his Sire may be with a soul, Angel, in any form, had an ego rivaling the size of Spike's—if not bigger.
So, Spike took a deep, unneeded breath and caught the phone. Flipping it open, he walked over to the balcony, slid the door open and stepped outside to make his phone calls—all the while acting like the good, little childe that Spike once was.
No matter how much he hated it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How's Giles?" Willow asked, breaking the deafening silence that had descended upon the room once Spike had left.
Faith shook her head, staring down at the floor, watching her toe rub the newly laid carpet in the room. "Not good. Xan says that his drinking has escalated to a point that Xander and Anya are thinking of calling the Council to send a new Watcher to Sunnydale."
Willow visibly flinched, feeling a sharp stab of guilt fill her heart. "Why? What happened?"
Wesley cleared his throat. "They barely averted an opening of the Hellmouth. Giles missed all the signs." He sighed, taking his glasses off, and dropping his hand. "If Anya—Lord, to think that we are depending on an ex-demon and a college drop out to play Watcher for a sixteen year-old-girl is frightening. Terrifying actually."
"Anya called Wes, blurted out some stuff that her, Megan and Xander noticed, and asked him point blank if they weren't signs for some—what was it, Wes?" Cordelia asked.
"The Order of Kamus—an obscure sect of demons. They perform a ceremony, not alike the Sister of Jhe—every hundred years or so—to open the Hellmouth to send the spirits of their fallen comrades back to the demon dimension—"
Willow's eyes widened in surprise. "Just to send spirits back?"
Wesley nodded, chuckling humorlessly. "Unfortunately, even opening the Hellmouth for something as benevolent as that has dire affects on this world. The last time they did this was in 1906—"
Willow wracked her brain, trying to remember why that date was so important, when it finally hit her. "The San Francisco Earthquake? Are you saying that the Hellmouth opening was the cause of that?"
"Yes it was, Willow. There was a smaller Hellmouth located about twenty miles south of San Francisco at the time. That's where they did the last ceremony."
"So, what happened with the Kamus?"
"Wesley looked it up—recognized the signs—just as Anya did and told the three of them what they had to do to stop it—" Faith said, leaning her head against the Watcher's shoulder.
"And we also made sure to pass on a portal spell to Anya so she could give it to the Kamus," Cordy said, grinning unrepentantly. "Actually, they're benevolent demons, except for this one thing. I think they make shoes—they have a community somewhere in the mountains."
Willow giggled softly, despite the near horror of the situation. Thank God for Anya, she thought to herself not for the first time since the ex-demon had wormed her way into their lives. That girl has seen it all—and knows even more—if she can keep her hormones in check.
"And Giles? Did anyone tell him?"
Faith shook her head. "He feels so guilty to begin with. His life was Buffy's. He believes he failed her—"
Willow bit her bottom lip, and turned away from the others. She couldn't help but feel that this was her fault. If she had stayed in Sunnydale, none of this would be an issue. Not that Willow could've stopped Giles from drinking, but maybe she could've at least done a better job at covering for him—helping Megan as she had helped Buffy for all those years.
"Willow," Angel whispered, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Don't do this to yourself. This isn't your job or your calling. You deserve your own life—"
Willow shook her head as she turned around and met Angel's eyes. "No, you're wrong. I may've not been born into it, like most of you, but it's my fight—just like it's Cordy's and Xander's. I was wrong to leave." Her eyes shut against the tears that flooded them. "It just hurt so much...to be there and have her gone. I just couldn't do it and when Tara got that job offer, I pushed her into taking it—thinking that the distance would heal the pain in my heart."
Wiping her face, she found herself staring out the darkened patio doors—barely making out Spike's lithe figure on the other side of the glass. "Even if we get Buffy out, there's no guarantee that she'll ever be able to come back to Sunnydale. I have to go back. I was in Chicago for a month and I knew I couldn't just stay there in my safe home—in my safe city. It was driving me nuts."
"What about Tara?" Cordelia asked.
Willow turned around to look at the seer, who was sitting on the couch, calming filing her perfect nails. "I don't know. She hated living on the Hellmouth. She's so sensitive to all those energies. She doesn't have that Sunnydale-immunity like we all do." Willow shrugged. "She'll probably stay in Chicago. Maybe I'll go back after things settle down."
Cordelia nodded once and then turned her attention back to her nails.
"I don't know, Red. If I chance to get away from it—"
"You'd hate it, Faith. You always loved slaying, unlike Buffy," Cordelia joked.
"Well, I don't need to worry about it right now—whatever my choice is," Willow said, glancing over at Angel. "We first need to make through the next few days," she added quietly as she laid her head down on the arm of the chair and thought of her lover back in Chicago.
Things hadn't been too good for them since Buffy had died, and Willow could only blame herself. It had taken Willow nearly two months to figure out why she felt so lost and odds with herself, and when Willow finally admitted the truth to herself, shame filled her. No matter how much Willow may love Tara, Buffy and the Scooby Gang came first in her heart. Even though she fled Sunnydale and tried helplessly to outrun its memories, they caught up with her—reminding the redhead all over again how she had spent the last ten years of her life—fighting evil and saving the world.
And no matter how much she tried denying the awful truth, she couldn't; the fight was more important than Willow's love life—more important than Tara and ultimately, more important than any of her friend's lives. Although Willow wasn't called into the fight like Buffy and Faith, it had become her destiny just as much as it had the Slayers. And to ignore that destiny, was to ignore whom Willow really was.
It was because of that realization that Willow had finally opened up to Tara—pouring her heart out to her lover as she told the blond witch of her plans to move back to Sunnydale.
Tara was, of course, understanding, but then Willow didn't expect anything less from the other witch. Tara was incredibly intuitive—almost clairvoyant—in her observations—and had already known of Willow's problems.
So, together they talked and planned...cried and laughed...knowing that they were only going to be with one another for a short time.
And then Cordelia called...and Willow was off to New York...with still no firm date as to when she had planned moving back to Sunnydale. Everything had been left up in the air—even with a possibility of Willow of changing her mind and staying in Chicago...
All that changed with the latest news of Giles' drinking.
There was no way Willow could stay away from the Hellmouth as well as one of her dearest friends. The Watcher had been there for Willow when her own parent's could have care less about her safety or her happiness. How many times had Giles played guardian when Willow had found herself hospitalized? How many times had Giles opened his door, made tea for her and silently told her that his home was hers?
How often had Giles given everything of himself...to Buffy, Xander and Willow...until he had nothing left—as it appeared once Buffy had died?
She was wrong for leaving him and the Hellmouth, naively thinking that Anya and Xander would be able to hold the fort down and keep the Watcher from slipping into that abyss...
She owed it to Giles, to Megan and Buffy to go back...
And most of all, she owed it to herself to continue the battle—it was her fight as well.
Spike studied the two dozen minions that Marcus had sent and nodded his head in approval. Although he would've preferred to have been working with his own people, Spike couldn't deny the impressive muscle his old friend had sent. Marcus hadn't liked the idea of a former watcher-cum-vampire setting up shop in the elder master's city. Like most vampires that were knowledgeable of the older ways, Marcus understood the ramifications of not only turning a watcher, but of allowing that vampire to become such an independent player so early in his age.
It was dangerous.
For centuries, rumors floated around the vampire community about Hess, and the reasons that Spike's great-grandsire was so powerful. It had been said that Hess had been a Watcher before he had been turned. Whether it was true or not, Spike had no idea, but it still didn't preclude the reason the rumor had been started in the first place. There was something mystical about the office of a Watcher—especially a person that had been born into the vocation. In some ways, if the Watcher was powerful and strong enough, it could be said his calling was as important as a slayers.
And from what Spike had seen in his long life, he couldn't disagree.
Take Giles for instance...Spike had heard of Ripper in London long before the vampire had found that the slayer's watcher and he were the same person. Not only was Giles an intelligent, strong, take-charge person, but when he let his alternative self out, he was dangerous as well. When Spike had been living with the elder human, there were times he would catch glimmerings of Ripper—especially when Giles had to deal with Spike's admittedly annoying demands—and Spike would find himself in the middle of a bloodlust that equaled what he usually only felt for slayers—Buffy in particular.
Giles' presence called to him during those times just as loudly as Buffy's did—daring the vampire to take the human and make him Spike's own. Obviously Spike had ignored those yearnings, instinctively knowing that killing Giles would not only bring all the Scooby Gang down on him— breaking the slayer's heart in the process—but if Spike were to take on such a feat—making the Watcher his childe, Spike would have his hands full.
And one thing Spike had learned after over a hundred years with Dru, he no longer wanted that kind of burden in his life.
At least until now.
In a few days' time, Spike's world had once again been turned upside down. He knew once he got Buffy out of Travers' lair, that's when the real fun would begin. Not only would he have to deal with an ensouled vampire much like his sire was, but an ensouled slayer-vampire that had been tortured and abused for months and who had the strength and speed of a master vampire a hundred times her age.
It was going to fun time had be all...
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sheila stared at the vampire that was standing in front Travers, and couldn't help feeling impressed—despite herself. She hadn't seen him in over six years—since both he and Dru had met up with her in Brazil. And that Spike—the refugee from Sunnydale Spike—was a far cry from the same vampire that had brought Sheila home as dinner for her sire.
Sunnydale had changed Spike. What should've been a demon's Disneyland for most of their kind, had warped her sire's lover. The Hellmouth took his fearsome demon and tamed it—making Spike seem much more human than vampire.
And that had been before the chip.
Once Spike had his claws clipped, he could only spiral downwards— eventually becoming the very thing he had detested the most—weak.
But that all changed. Somehow in the past few years, Spike had found himself again. The vampire eyeing Travers had none of those weaknesses. Sheila could feel the strength of his demon emanating from his body—announcing to everyone in the room who was truly the master vampire.
And it wasn't Travers.
"You have something of mine, Travers," Spike said as he leaned against a pillar and lit a cigarette.
"I do?" Travers asked, arrogance and amusement lacing his voice. "I don't even know you—"
Spike snorted, tossing his cigarette aside. "Take a deep whiff, childe, and hear what your blood is telling you."
Travers frowned as his eyes shut momentarily, but not before he inclined his head. Sheila saw a couple of minions move before they disappeared into a cloud of dust—leaving only the sound of Spike's sardonic chuckles echoing through out the otherwise silent room.
The blond vampire then pushed himself off the pillar and walked over to the pedestal, where a pair of blood-stained chains hung from the wall. Sheila wasn't surprised to hear the growl that filled the room; the slayer hung from those very same chains twice daily for nearly three months. It was her blood's scent that permeating the room.
That magical, mystical combination of slayer and demon smell that could only be hers.
Spike's eyes flashed as he casually walked over to stand in front of the watcher-cum-vampire. With his head tilted to the side, he reached over to finger the younger vampire's tweed lapel, a hard grin curling his lips. "So, do you know who I am, boy?"
Travers looked up and met Spike's cold gaze with one of his own. "My sire talked of you—how you went soft—"
Spike let out a loud laugh, releasing his hold on the other vampire before twirling around in a circle. "Do I look soft to you, boy? What does your demon tell you? Your blood? Doesn't it yearn for a taste of that precious elixir that runs through my veins? It's the Master calling out to you—even from Hell itself."
Travers looked stunned as his head tipped to the side. "You mean— you—"
"Oh yes, I was one of his favorites. He reveled in my impetuousness," Spike said he ran a sharp nail across is the pale, tight skin on his neck. Sheila's mouth watered at the scent of Spike's blood as it filled the room—swirling and mixing with the slayers...
As it should be... she couldn't help thinking.
Spike caught a drop of blood and brought his finger to his mouth— suckling on the digit. "He thought Angelus embodied all that was evil, and me—Angelus' favorite childe—was evil's partner—chaos. And when Dru joined us—she was the balance. Her madness gave Angelus' evil that extra little push, and it gave me that malevolence that I needed. We three were perfect together..." Spike's eyes traveled the room and met Sheila's—nodding at her before turning back to Travers. "Well no matter, that time has passed. But what hasn't passed is the Blood Law that rules us all. If you had just killed the slayer—no laws would've been broken. But by taking her, turning her, and making her your pet—you fucked up, boy. She'd been claimed—by Angelus. And since his claims are questionable now—they are now mine."
And then suddenly Spike was across the room and had Traver's in the air—holding the other vampire up by those same lapels that Spike had been admiring earlier. "And if anyone knows anything about me, they know never to take something away that belongs to me." He released his hold, watching as Travers stumbled to remain upright. Once Travers was steady, Spike reached out and began straightening the younger vampire's clothes. "I'm very possessive person, and the slayer is mine."
He dropped is hands and stepped back. "So, I'll give you until tomorrow sundown for you to make your decision. Hand over the slayer, or die. It's as simple as that. And don't think about running, boy...the master of this fine city—Marcus—is a bit peeved that you set up shop in his territory without having a sit-down with him. He'll be keeping an eye out on you," Spike added, grinning at the scowl that marked Travers face. "Sheila pet?"
"Yes Spike?"
Sheila watched Spike's eyes momentarily soften as he began to speak. "Tell my Princess and the slayer, that I'll be back tomorrow for them, okay?"
"Yes master," Sheila said as she watched the master vampire twirl around with a wave of his hand, motioning to his minions to follow him as he disappeared out the door.
Sheila wished she could have followed him.
Suddenly being in the same lair with Travers was more than unpleasant—it was downright suicidal.
Whatever happened the next day, Sheila was sure that Travers would be no more—she could feel it in the air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy looked over at the vampiress and couldn't help but giggle at the site of Dru twirling around the room—a huge smile curling her lips.
"My Spike was magnificent, love! He was so strong and proud!" Dru sighed, her face washed in pleasure. "He will free us—I just know he will!"
Buffy nodded, glancing over at Sheila to see if she would confirm it. The other vampire nodded in agreement with Dru. "I haven't seen him like that since I was turned," she told the former slayer.
A cold shiver skipped down Buffy's spine at Sheila's confirmation. That would mean that Spike was back—how could that be a 'good' thing?
Suddenly Drusilla stopped, and glided across the room to the bed where Buffy lay and sat down next to her. "You are afraid."
Inwardly groaning at the fact she couldn't keep anything from the vampiress, Buffy could only nod in confirmation.
"Why?"
The ironies, thought Buffy as she lifted her eyes to meet her savior's deep blue eyes. "Because Dru, the old Spike wanted to kill me...why is it any different now?"
"Silly girl," Drusilla whispered, pushing Buffy's hair off her face. "Because he didn't love you then." The corner of her mouth turned in a half-grin. "You and my Spike have spent so long hiding from the truth." The smile disappeared as Dru looked down at her hands. "For so long, I had his heart—and then he met you. The stars told me that one day there would be another, and I didn't listen. Miss Edith used to taunt me with it..." One lone blood tear rolled down her face. Not even thinking, Buffy wiped it away.
"I'm sorry," the slayer-turned-vampire whispered. And she was sorry. A year ago, none of it would've really mattered to her, but now everything had changed. Dru was no longer the thorn in Buffy's side, but a savior cloaked in blood and death.
Oh, the ironies...the wonderful ironies.
to be continued...
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©2000 Lisa Y. Drexel