Chapter 11
Spike saw the van up ahead and he was gaining on them. He’d vamped out when pure unadulterated rage took over. These bastards had taken his slayer, his girl, and yes, he decided that she was his girl, and were doing god knows what to her. The one hope he clung to was that Githyans, by nature, weren’t offensive demons. They certainly could be when it came down to it, but they were happier playing mind games and leaving the violence up to lesser demons. But it didn’t mean Buffy was safe by any means. After the three they encountered at the Illinois border, he wasn’t so sure they weren’t harming her, and she would be too weak to defend herself against their razor sharp teeth or their own blood. But it did no good to dwell on that now, because he was less than a car length away from them and getting closer.
They were heading towards a cave, a favorite hiding place for these foul creatures, and once they’d driven through the mouth, Spike sharply turned his wheel to the side and slammed on the brakes. It would be faster and easier to go in on foot than to have to back an SUV out of a cave when he made his escape with the Slayer, and he knew he’d be successful. He was that bloodthirsty and pissed off to feel overconfident.
Leaving the car running, he twisted his body towards the back seat and reached into the weapons bag, arming up for the brawl. There was no time for him to put on shoes, but his duster wasn’t to be left behind. Strapped in leather, an axe with a three foot hilt, a sword strapped to his back, a few daggers in his pockets and his fangs, he was ready. Quietly creeping into the mouth with his back to the wall, he sniffed the air. They weren’t far. He prayed the darkness gave him plenty of cover to sneak in, but he knew they’d be expecting him so he remained alert, twirling the double-headed axe in front of him and crept further inside. He moved like a predator, silent and deadly and he sneered when he heard her weak moan as they lugged her out of the van.
At least she was alive, he told himself, but they’d done something to her and it only fueled his anger. He saw six of them, the four that came to the hotel and a two others, a driver and a watchman he supposed and another was walking towards them wearing an expensive looking red robe and holding a pair of shackles. Seven total. Shit. Clearing his mind, he walked closer, well hidden by the shadows. Once Buffy was laid on the ground and presumably safe for the time being, Spike whipped out a dagger and hurled it with a marksman’s precision and it landed in the throat of one demon. He gurgled as blood spewed from his neck and in no time he’d fallen to the ground. The rest of the demons turned in his direction, snarling. They advanced on him, which was exactly his plan, trying to drive them away from Buffy towards the cave opening where he had a bit more room to fight.
But Githyans moved fast and soon he was surrounded. No matter, Spike was ready.
He focused on the word, “Kill”, repeating it in his head like a mantra and letting his demon take over. It wouldn’t help him if his human side started thinking about the Slayer’s safety, allowing them to use it against him in the fight. Maybe it would even intimidate them. He smiled around his fangs when the Githyans looked at one another with a slight twinge of fear.
“Come on, you pillocks,” he shouted as one Githyan charged towards him. Spike swung his axe, successfully beheading it with a loud roar. The arc of his swing ended on the neck of the robed Githyan. It didn’t quite dismember him and Spike snarled with an evil grin, looking him dead in the eyes, reared back and swung again. “Three down, you bastards!”
The four remaining Githyans shrieked simultaneously as their green shimmering eyes pointed to the sky, a war cry for their fallen companions. It was so shrill and high pitched that the vampire had to cover his ears. But it wouldn’t distract him long, and he could care less that he’d apparently killed a general. Better, even that he did. Charged with buoyancy and excitement, the vampire started to attack. His leather duster flapped in the air as he jumped and spun, kicking two to the ground and landing between them, hacking one head off with his axe, twirling his sword as he pulled it from his back and sliced off another. As he turned around and wiped his cheek off with the back of his hand, he growled as one Githyan snuck away towards the slayer.
Leaning forward at the waist, he bolted after him, scaled the side of the cave wall in a running jump and used the force behind his feet to hurl him forward onto its back. They rolled, fighting for dominance. It had Spike pinned for a moment, its razor sharp teeth inches from his face. He tucked his knees between them and pushed, flipping the Githyan over on his side. He grabbed its arm and wrapped his legs around it in a hold, and twisted until it broke. He wanted to do more, wanted to make each and every one of them suffer, but he was wasting time. Still, it sated his demon to hear the bastard screaming in pain. Leaping to his feet, he slammed his axe down and kicked the dismembered head away. Buffy looked at him with weary eyes. He removed his duster and covered her naked body with it and he winked at her as he slowly turned to face his final foe.
He dropped his axe and brandished his sword, taking slow steps towards him and cracking his neck. The Githyan stiffened as the vampire came closer, but he stood his ground. Spike waggled his eyebrows and smirked at it. That smirk was a lot more deadly when coupled with amber eyes and a set of fangs.
“What were you doin’ with my Slayer, mate?”
“She was thirsty,” it said with a confidence that did not please the vampire. “So we gave her something to drink.”
Spike swung and missed as the Githyan ducked out of the way. He shouldn’t have asked, shouldn’t have opened his mind. He grunted in frustration and tried to clear his head, but he had to know. “Thirsty for what?”
The Githyan smiled. “She won’t have much longer,” he said.
“Neither will you!” Spike roared and ran after the retreating Githyan with break neck speed and once he was close enough, he grabbed it by the few stringy black hairs that grew on its head and pulled. The Githyan yelped and fell on its back, his green eyes shining wide as a very pissed off vampire swung at him with a sword. Panting and resting his hands on his knees, Spike took a moment to collect himself and let his human form return before he dashed back into the cave to fetch the slayer. She was smiling at him, however weakly, but smiling nonetheless.
“Hey,” she said softly.
“Hey yourself. Are you ok?”
She shook her head. “Gave me something…hurts.”
He knelt down in front of her and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I got you now. Just hang tight a second, ok?”
She nodded and watched as he opened the sliding door of the van, searching for clues as to what they’d forced her to ingest. He found a small glass tube with a trace of liquid in it. He turned to her and held it up for her to see. “Was this what they gave you?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice was much weaker. “Spike?”
“Yeah, pet?”
“You look really hot right now.”
He smiled at her and looked down at himself. Black jeans dirty from the tussling, barefoot, a leather strap across his bare chest and a dagger sticking out of the waist band of his jeans. He shrugged his shoulders and almost blushed as Buffy bit her lip. But she was weak, and he had no idea what she’d drank so there was no more time for flirting. Bugger.
He tucked the vial in his pocket and quickly scooped her leather wrapped form up after sheathing his sword to his back again and foregoing the axe. There were two more in the backseat, even though he rather liked that double headed one. He ran as fast as he could to the SUV. There was just a few hours left before sunrise, which might give him enough time to get to Chicago. There was a healer there, one he’d met when he was trying to find a cure for Dru. Perhaps with the evidence of what she’d been poisoned with they’d have better chances of saving her life.
He backed the car up and drove onto the road and grasped Buffy’s hand in his. “Stay with me, ok?”
“Ok,” she whispered, but the poison was already working its way into her system and as much as she struggled to hang on, she couldn’t. Spike’s voice echoed in her mind as her eyes closed and darkness fell.
~*~*~*~
Spike was thankful there weren’t any police officers or speed traps as he drove 90 miles an hour down the freeway. He’d made it to Chicago and Buffy was unconscious. He could still hear her heartbeat, but it was faint and fragile. She wouldn’t have much longer, but her slayer healing was keeping her abreast of death. He held her hand the entire drive, glancing over at her frequently.
He put the car in park once he’d reached his destination and hoped the old bitch inside was still there. Carrying the Slayer in his arms, he pounded on the door with his foot. “Open the bloody door!”
After a lot of scuffling and the porch light turning on, the door swung open. A heavy set woman in her late 50’s answered, wearing a bright floral zip up house coat, Lucille Ball-red hair and just as teased as the celebrity’s was, sleepy eyes and a grimace. “Oh, Jeez, you again? Did you know it’s five thirty in the morning?” she shouted in a thick east coast accent, highlighted by Yiddish curse words as she invited him in, raising her hands in the air in defeat. “My arthritis is killin’ me, the only thing I require is a good night’s sleep but oh, no…I have to help vampires and their shiksas.”
Spike stomped into the house and gently set the slayer down on a plastic-covered couch. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial, handing it to the woman. She pursed her lips and put on a pair of glasses, decorated with crystal beads that hung around her neck. She took the vial from his hands. “What’s this? I’m a healer not a mind reader.”
“Githyans. She was poisoned a day or so ago by their blood and hadn’t quite healed up yet. Then, the bastards kidnapped her and made her drink that.”
The woman’s eyes went wide and her fingers pressed into her cheeks. “You’re kiddin’! Githyans? In my neighborhood? Oh, Jeez,” she shook her head and sat down next to Buffy and grasped her hand. “Oh, my…this one’s powerful.”
“She’s the Slayer.”
The woman’s head jerked towards Spike. “Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, I look awful! Marty!!” she screamed as she looked at the ceiling. “Marty, get your fat ass down here and meet the slayer!”
A muffled masculine voice answered from the stairs, “I’m sleepin’ up here, Harriet!”
She clicked her tongue. “He’s such a bastard. Always with the whining and the complaining…but if I know Marty, he’ll be so mad that he didn’t get to meet the Slayer. It’s not my problem if he can’t—”
“Slayer dying, remember?!” Spike roared, irritated with the time they were wasting. “Work your bloody mojo and fix her!”
“All right already,” she said patiently and placed one hand on Buffy’s forehead and the other on her stomach, closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, muttering words under her breath. “She’s got a chance, but I’ll need you to help me.”
“Yes, whatever,” he answered, anxious and fidgety. “Tell me what to do.”
“Go into the kitchen,” she paused when he left the living room and made his way to the kitchen. She raised her voice so he could hear, forgetting he was a vampire and probably didn’t need it. “In the cupboard by the rooster cozy is a cheese cloth bag marked with the number 6. Grab that, two eggs from the fridge, two glasses, and the box of OJ in the fridge door.”
Spike procured all the items and set them on the coffee table. “Now what?”
“Now,” she said cracking the eggs into a glass, “Go to the pantry and get the witch hazel and lavender and there’s a tiny ceramic jug next to the cereal. Grab that, too.”
When Spike returned he snorted as he saw the woman pouring orange juice in the second glass and take a sip. She shrugged her shoulders. “What? I was thirsty and you were already in there.”
Spike paced the room as she began combining the ingredients in a glass and took the remaining liquid from the vial and poured it in. “Whoah, what the bloody hell are you doin’?”
She rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses up with one bright pink acrylic fingernail. “In order to make an antidote, I need the poison. Calm down, hon. Now, would you be so kind as to lift her up so I can give it to her?”
He nodded and lifted her shoulders as the healer tilted the glass against Buffy’s lips. After a few spills down her chin and a bit down her throat, Buffy’s eyes fluttered weakly and she drank the rest of it down. “Good girl,” the healer said. “Drink up.”
“Come on, kitten,” Spike whispered next to her ear. The healer narrowed her eyes as she studied his behavior.
“I don’t believe it.”
“What?”
“After all that yelling and screaming at me to fix that crazy broad of yours last year…and now you’re in love with a Slayer!”
“No,” he laughed nervously, “I’m not in love with her. Just…like ‘er a lot, that’s all.”
“This is just like that Barbara Streisand movie where she and Robert Redford fall in love even though their political views are complete opposites. You know, she was involved in grassroots operations and he was a writer, but Hollywood gets the better of him and—“
“Please, just…please stop.”
“Well, it’s a beautiful story. I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
“How long until the antidote kicks in?”
“Maybe an hour, two tops.”
“We need a place to stay,” he said humbly and sat down for the first time. “Don’t suppose you’d let a vamp sleep here until nightfall, would you?”
She waved her hands in the air and stood up, collecting the items from the coffee table. “Stay as long as you like. It’s not everyday I get to help a Slayer. I’ll just go fetch her some clothes and you two get comfy on the sofas.”
He nodded curtly though his eyes were trained on the sleeping slayer. He quietly lifted her as he lay down on the couch and rolled her over on top of him, tucking her head beneath his chin and petting her hair. She made a quiet noise of approval and he felt her hands move around his sides, holding him gently. She was going to be ok and with a sigh of relief, Spike closed his eyes and fell asleep.