Part Nine: Break
Spike had thought he was being petty before, but apparently, he hadn’t had the proper definition—something he got once they arrived at the Sunnydale High library.
It wasn’t enough that the wanker hadn’t died. Oh no. In mere seconds, he had a concerned group congregated around him, prattling endlessly with a series of inane questions. And granted, as Spike knew from experience, taking an arrow to the chest wasn’t exactly pleasurable, the Scoobies on a whole had seemingly neglected the realization that Angel was a vampire. It wasn’t as though the wound was fatal.
Well, if he wanted to be perfectly honest, the other Scoobies had very little to do with it. He simply hated seeing Buffy fawn over the magnificent ponce. It was innocent, of course. All dollied up and innocent. She had to make sure the great big brute was all right, didn’t she? She owed him that bloody much for leaving him for the enemy.
Still, Spike couldn’t help the growl that wanted freedom every time his girl’s hand made contact with the wanker’s skin. Even if it was to dab disinfectant…and what the bleeding hell did a vampire need with disinfectant, anyway?
He needed to kill something. Pronto.
“I heal pretty fast,” the wanker was saying. “I should be all right.”
God. Hadn’t Spike been telling them that for the past twenty minutes? Figured they would listen to the souled one before giving the actual boyfriend a second glance. Hadn’t he been the one to save the git’s life in the first place?
Buffy caught his eye then, an amused smile playing across her face. Oh, she was just eating this up. Bloody brutal bint. Poking fun at his duress.
He was alarmed when he felt himself almost smile back. That was how she got out of these situations. By looking adorable. No. Not this time. Not if he had to stand here and watch the lot of them pretend that Angel was dying of some third-world disease that would suck the marrow from his bones and turn his vitals inside out.
“You’re just lucky Spike was there,” his girl said the next minute. “Else we could’ve been scraping up dust instead of patching up flesh right about now.”
Though Spike felt a surge of pride at her acknowledgment, he groaned all the same. “God, Slayer, don’t rub it in.”
“Oh, give it a rest. You saved him for a reason, right?”
“Yeah, so you wouldn’t spend valuable shagging time crying over the git.”
Nearly everyone in the room favored him with a dirty look.
Spike released a long groan and wedged a cigarette between his lips. “Oh sod you prats. You know why I did it.” He turned to Angel, straight-faced. “This is so hard to say…I love you, man.”
Angel rolled his eyes. Xander burst out laughing. Even Giles cracked a smile.
“And when were you going to tell me about this?” Buffy demanded, eyes dancing.
He grinned at her. This was more like it.
“No competition, sweetheart. You know I love you more. No offense to Angel…well, all offense to Angel, but he just doesn’t have the kinks and curves that—”
Xander’s laugh quickly became a disgusted cough. “Could you, like, not do that now?”
“I see your now and raise you an ever,” Angel muttered, hand covering his side with some need to throw in last-minute dramatics. “Have you forgotten the wounded, here?”
“What happened to not being much of a bleeder?” Spike replied.
“It’s something I can overlook if it means not having to witness…” He trailed off, gesturing at the two of them. “That.”
Buffy merely grinned and tossed Spike a coy look. And he ate it up.
That’s my girl.
“Yes, quite,” Giles agreed, stepping forward. “We should progress with business. Did anyone get a good look at the shooter?”
The three exchanged a series of looks.
“It came from the roof, is all I know,” Spike said, shrugging and blowing out a pillar of smoke. “Saw it right after I heard it. Didn’t get a good look, though. Was too busy saving my ungrateful ponce of a grandsire.”
“I never said I was ungrateful!”
“Really? Well, if you’re so bloody obliged, you might as well act like it.” He sniffed. “I’ve got feeling’s, too, you know.”
Buffy shook her head, eyes narrowing as her tone became strained. “Spike…”
“Can we muzzle him?” Xander asked.
“He’s just acting up ‘cause I’m bandaging up Angel,” Buffy explained, smirking. “It’s no big.”
Angel snickered. “You’d think we were doing something scandalous. Like, oh say, having sex while you’re involved with someone else.”
A warning growl clawed at the back of Spike’s throat, though he was reacting more at the way the light abruptly vanished from Buffy’s eyes. While he knew she regretted nothing, there was the leftover guilt that she carried to this day. Buffy was a true spirit—whatever lies she’d told were usually to protect herself from scrutiny or to explain a demonic act to people unwilling to see the truth. To live in such a large lie for as long as she had, without relying on her mates, had done its number on her. She was still picking up the pieces whether she wanted to admit it or not.
But getting in a fight to defend her honor would do little good, so he settled with, “Watch it, mate,” instead.
To his great surprise, Xander raised his voice too. “Yeah, man, that’s not cool. Sure, Spike’s an evil bloodsucker, but…really. I’m seeing a pot/kettle scenario, here.”
“Whatever,” Buffy said abruptly, rising to her feet and bolting to Spike’s side. “The point is Angel’s fortunate that Spike was there.” She turned back to Angel, gaze hardening. “One more second, and Faith would’ve added you to the pollen count.”
Giles glanced up with interest before the git could reply. “You sure it was her?”
There was a dry snicker at that. “Well, I’ve narrowed down my list of one suspect.”
Spike smiled. Yes. That was his girl, all right. Sassy. Right to the point.
God, he loved her.
“Ooohhh,” came from behind, and everyone in the room turned to Wesley, who appeared to have not been paying much attention to anything for the past ten minutes, rather flipping through the reports they’d recovered from the crime scene. When he realized he was suddenly the focal point in the room, Wesley lowered his reading material. “Sorry. It’s just fascinating.”
Giles frowned, interested. “What?”
“Well, it seems our Mr. Wirth headed an expedition in Hawaii, digging in old lava beds near a dormant volcano.”
Buffy quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not fascinated yet.”
“Second that,” Spike replied, nuzzling her hair.
“He found something underneath,” Wesley said. “A carcass, buried by an eruption.”
“A carcass?”
“A very large one. Mr. Wirth posits that it might be some heretofore undiscovered dinosaur.”
“A demon?” Angel suggested.
Giles nodded. “Yes, that would be something that the Mayor would want to keep a secret. If it’s the same kind of demon he’s turning into and it’s dead, it means that, well, he’s only impervious to harm until the Ascension. In his demon form, he can be killed.” He balked at the blank stares that Spike and his Slayer gave him in turn. “Oh, sorry. You were not here for Xander and Anya’s rather…disturbing revelation.”
Buffy immediately tensed. “What?”
“Apparently,” Harris jumped in, “my prom date has known about Ascensions all along. Hell, she was at the last one. Doing what, you ask? That’s right. Reaping vengeance. Anyway, she went on this spiel about how all the demons we’ve seen so far are only human hybrids—”
“That’s right,” Angel agreed. “True demons are much larger.”
Xander nodded. “That’s what she said.”
“And the only way this other demon was stopped was with a volcanic eruption?” Buffy asked with a whimper.
Wesley shrugged. “That was how this particular demon was defeated. Times have changed, as you are well aware. But otherwise…yes.”
“Great. So all we need is a million tons of burning lava. We’re saved.”
Angel nodded his agreement, apparently missing the sarcasm, and moved to stand at last. “Well, it’s a start anyway.”
Then, before anyone could react, he had tripped again.
Spike supposed it was instinct that tore Buffy from his arms at that, driving her directly to Angel’s side to help him up. Still, he was a petty bastard and nothing in the sodding world could keep seeing her fawn over the git from hurting.
“Okay,” Buffy said, helping Angel to his feet, “you’ve been a real klutz today. You need—”
Angel grasped her shoulder so rapidly he started her out of whatever she’d been about to say.
“Damn,” he muttered.
That was the last thing he said before he fell once more—unconscious. The room quieted with shock, then Buffy exploded into action, hurrying to Angel’s side.
Spike’s eyes widened. “Oh, bollocks.”
“Did he just pass out?” Xander asked, standing to gage a better look.
“Yes,” Buffy replied, turning him over and placing a hand to his forehead. “Angel, come on. Wake up. Wake up for me.”
“I do not understand.” Wesley frowned. “Vampires do not contract disease. I—”
“I know what it is,” Spike said, forcing himself to look away from the sight of Buffy prodding his Angel, playing the ever-important role of the concerned girlfriend. It was far from the truth, sure, but it still caused an unpleasant rumble to upset his stomach. A bitter taste to fill his mouth. And when she looked at him with such naked panic, the feeling only grew, and he hated himself for it.
It was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous and he knew he was a git for thinking it. But there was something else there. Something other than her concern for someone’s well-being. A certain Buffy quality she reserved only for Angel—a worry that never extended to her friends or family. Or Spike.
“Saw it back in Prague. Bloody mob got wind of a few vamp nests and started hunting them down with it.” Spike tore his gaze away from her and instead focused on a spot on the floor. “Don’t know if they knew we were vamps, ‘course, but they knew we were dead. Or supposed to be dead. It’s this mixture or what all…a potion that kills dead things. Or undead things, I should say. Researched it a bit when I was lookin’ for a cure for Dru, but gave up once I found out that she’d be dead already had she been infected.”
“What do you know?” Giles asked as a slowly calming Buffy propped Angel against the nearest bookshelf. “Other than…that. I’ve never—”
“It’s not as popular anymore, mate. Bloody hard to come by, too. Some dealer had it in Prague, but that was the first sign of it in over a century, I think. And it works just like that.” He tilted his chin toward Angel, who had sprung a nasty sweat. “Get infected, think nothin’ of it, then the aftershocks settle in. Made specifically for vamps in the fourteenth or fifteenth century when they weren’t as fabled as they are nowadays and there was only one slayer to protect the lot. The stuff ensures that a vamp’ll die if he gets contaminated, no matter where you hit him.”
“Fascinating,” Wesley remarked.
“Indeed,” Giles agreed.
Buffy looked up, her eyes wide and shining with impatience. “Enough. All right. Big history. We got it. Feel free to skip ahead to the part where, ‘and you cure it by’ begins.” She arched her eyebrows and pressed her hand to Angel’s forehead again, gentling her tone almost at once. “Angel, come on. Wakey wakey. Talk to me.”
The sound of her voice must have helped. He stirred a bit and grasped her wrist with weak.
Spike his throat. “That’s just it, sweets. There is only one cure.”
She turned to him again. “And that would be…?”
He gestured to her.
“Me?”
“Slayer blood.” He felt the temperature in the room drop to the sub degrees, but shook his head and continued anyway. Their fault; they’d asked, he’d told. That was the way it was. “It’s all I found in books, and I’ve seen it work. Actually, pet—and here’s a funny story—it was probably how the chit before you were called snuffed it in the first place. Seems as I recall, a slayer showed up in Prague and was killed for that very reason. And no…” He turned to Giles and Wesley, who were immediately at the ready to ask the expected. “Not by yours truly. I had my hands full with Dru at the time. Didn’t find out about the little antidote until after she was all dead and drained. An’ trust me, pet, I looked everywhere else. Not that I would mind killing a slayer, right? But then, I wouldn’t’ve met all of you.” He glared at her scowl, at the growing fury behind her eyes. And yes, he understood why she was looking at him like that, it hurt still. It hurt to see her like this—doting Angel while snapping at him while he was trying to help. He hated the look that had briefly flashed across her face at the mention of slayer’s blood being what counteracted the poison. And he hated the feeling welling inside about all others. The same that suggested for the minute—between the two of them—Angel was the lucky one. “I’m just telling it like it is, sweetheart. Slayer blood’s the only thing that’s gonna get your boy all well and broody again.”
Angel turned at that, weakly reaching out for her. “Buffy…”
However, she wasn’t listening. Spike had her undivided attention, and he had it in spades.
“Is that what this is about?” she said at last, her voice low. “You’re jealous that I’m worried about Angel? God, I can’t believe you!” She gestured at the sick vamp sitting beside her. “He’s dying! You just told me so!”
“I was here, pet. I remember what I told you.”
“And you’re jealous? You arrogant bastard.”
“Sod. All.” Spike leaped into motion, tearing his gaze from her and stalking toward the dumbfound Watchers. “You blokes better call up Red and her little wolfie. And hey, while you’re at it, even the demon bird and Cordelia. Might as well get a bloody crowd.”
“Right,” Giles said, surprising him when he didn’t argue. Surprising Buffy, too, from the looks of it. Talk about sodding role reversal. And we’ve entered the Twilight Zone. “What do you need?”
Spike tossed a dirty look in Buffy’s direction. “Jus’ have Willow set up a little lab. Something that’ll drain anything right and proper. I’ll be back in a flash.”
He turned at that, making a heated line straight for the library doors. His veins were about to combust with an unnamable emotion. A combination of frustration, jealousy, and shame. The part of him that screamed she should understand, no matter what. She should know him and get it. Regardless of the situation, he had thought them beyond this. Not just her—himself as well.
Pissed off like a scorned lover. He was so frustrated with himself he could barely see straight. Spike was accustomed to frustration and anger, but this outstretched anything he had ever experienced. Being in the wrong and knowing it but still feeling right.
“Spike!”
He paused at her voice but didn’t bother to turn.
“Where are you going?”
He willed himself patience, released a deep breath. “To do what I’m good at.”
Then he was gone.