Chapter Sixteen
Buffy woke up at the feel of soft lips brushing across her temple. Sighing contentedly, she turned onto her back to look at Spike.
“Hi,” she said, stretching lazily.
“Hey, baby,” Spike answered, brushing a knuckle across her cheek. “Sleep well?”
“Not really.” He nodded, remembering her trembling form huddled against him. She laid her hand on his arm, her sleepaddled brain finally registering he was dressed. “Where ya going?”
“To get some supplies. Want anything?” She thought a minute, then shook her head. “No. Just hurry back.”
“I will. I love you.” he said, leaning down to kiss her once more. “Get some more sleep.” He ordered before standing.
“I’ll try. I love you too.” she replied, snuggling under the covers once more, and allowing her eyes to close. She listened as Spike pulled on his duster, then the soft click of the door closing as he walked out into the early morning. Left alone in the room, memories started to suffuse her. Now that she was out of the mansion, she started to feel ashamed of what she had done to Angel. In her mind, she knew that Angel and Angelus weren’t the same. It didn’t make him any easier to look at, but, she knew, on some level, that it wasn’t fair what she did.
With a sigh, she turned and grabbed the phone, quickly dialing Willow’s number. On the third ring, her friend’s sleepy voice greeted her.
“Hey, Will.”
“Buffy, you’re okay. I mean, you are. . .okay. . .aren’t you?” Willow exclaimed into the phone, causing Buffy to smile.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Oh, that’s good. Because, I was starting to get worried.” The witch sounded more alert now, and Buffy heard the rustle of sheets as her friend shifted to a more comfortable position.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. It was all kinda intense.” She told her, twisting the phone cord through her fingers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” came Willow’s quiet question. Buffy realized that was what she needed. Soon, the words were tumbling out of her mouth, as she told her everything that had happened. She held her non existent breath when she was done, fear at what her friend’s reaction would be.
“Wow.” Was all she said for a minute, her still tired brain trying to process all that had been said. “Wow.”
“You already said that, Will.” Buffy said nervously.
“I. . I know. It’s just. . .you know?” She babbled. Pride sprouted in the back of her mind that the spell had worked. But it had been too late. Kendra was dead, and Angel had already raped Buffy twice.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Did you really just leave him on the floor, unconscious?” Willow asked, the picture her brain conjured up making her shiver.
“Yeah.” Buffy’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m such a bitch.”
“No. No, don’t say that. He hurt you. You were just getting a little payback.” Willow said, rising to her friend’s defense. It didn’t matter that she was defending Buffy against herself.
“But it was Angelus that did those things to me. Not Angel.”
“And you might have been able to make that distinction if you hadn’t had to deal with him until today. All of it was still fresh. He’ll understand that. Didn’t you say he just stood there and took it?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright then. He knew what was going on. He won’t hold it against you.” Willow assured her.
“I’m afraid to see him.” Buffy admitted. “Mainly because of what I did to him. But also because. . .” she trailed off, searching for words.
“Because you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to see him as just Angel.” Buffy nodded, forgetting that Willow couldn’t see her. Tears flowed down her face as she pictured him, first as Angel, then as Angelus. “Buffy, it’s okay. Give yourself time. You don’t have to see him until you’re ready.”
‘I guess so.”
“What does Spike say?”
“He didn’t say anything. Just held me while I cried. I don’t think he knows WHAT to say.” Buffy said, wiping her tears away.
“Well, sometimes that helps, too. Not feeling like you have to talk, and can just ‘be.'”
“Yeah. It does.” A soft smile touched her lips as she thought of how tender he had been with her when they got back to the room. Even being furious with her, he had treated her as if she was fine china.
“Did he do anything else, to make you feel better?” Willow asked. Buffy could almost see her eyebrows wagging and her cheeks flaming as she asked. Laughing, the Slayer allowed her friend to change the subject, and started to describe the shower. Not in too much detail, of course. Giggles erupted from them both as they fell into the easy conversation that had always flowed between them.
Spike walked into the mansion, cursing himself with every step he took. He didn’t know why he was here, or why he should care what happened to the tosser. But, nevertheless, he was here. He slammed the door behind him, giving Angel ample warning that he had company. He strode into the great room, half expecting to find the older vampire still unconscious on the floor. When he didn’t see any sign of him, he turned to head upstairs.
“What do you want?” came the muffled voice from behind him. Spike spun around, disgusted with himself that he let Angel sneak up on him. The vampire in question was leaning on the door frame to what Spike suspected was the kitchen. He scowled, pulling out a cigarette as he crossed the room slowly. Angel just watched him approach, holding an ice pack gingerly against his cheek.
“You look like shit.” Spike told him, taking in his injuries. His face was swollen and puffy, with large purple bruises blossoming on his skin. One eye was completely fused shut, the other only opened a slit. His chest bore the marks of her nails and the combined fists of Spike and the Slayer. He also would have wagered a bet that Angel’s bits would be blooming a pretty, black and blue color as well.
“Met up with a brassed off Slayer. Now, what are you doing here?” he asked again, shifting uncomfortably under his childe’s stare. *But, I guess he isn’t really my childe.* Angel thought to himself.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I was just checking on ya.” Spike snarled, taking a drag off his almost forgotten cigarette. Angel looked at him, confusion marring his bruised face.
“Why?” Spike puffed again, blowing the smoke out in an agitated breath.
“You being my sire and all. . .” he started, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“I’m not your sire. You’re half human.” Angel said. Blue eyes clashed with one brown eye, when Spike’s head snapped up.
“How. . .Dru.” Spike answered his own question. He’d always suspected the vampiress knew. But, she had apparently liked the challenge of getting him to dance with the devil, so to speak.
“Yeah. Dru.” They stood, staring at each other for a long minute, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Finally, Spike crushed the cigarette out under his boot, either not seeing, or ignoring the glare Angel shot at him.
“Look, just give her a couple a days.” He started, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in indication of the absent Buffy. He stopped at the look of anguish that crossed the older vampire’s face. “Right, then. I’ll just go.” he said, turning to leave. He had gotten half way across the room, before Angel’s softly asked question stopped him.
“Am I your sire?” Spike turned puzzled blue eyes back to the broken man. Angel just waited quietly, his one good eye never wavering from the blonde’s face.
“For intents and purposes.” He replied.
“Then, as my childe, know this. Hurt her, and I will kill you.” A scarred eyebrow shot up at his words, and his lips quirked into a small smile. Understanding and respect past between the two, as they regarded each other. Finally, Spike gave a short nod, and a mock salute before turning to leave, the sound of Angel’s soft, humorless chuckle following him.
As soon as Spike stepped out into the sun, a pair of strong arms banded around his chest.
“Bloody hell!” He yelled, throwing his head back to smash into the person behind him. The arms let go, and Spike whirled around to see a small group of men behind him. *You really are slipping in your old age* he told himself for the third time in as many days. Granted, he’d never had so many things splitting his attention before. “Something I can do for you?” he asked, eyeing the group warily. There were about ten of them, all large and bulky. They wore suits, and had the distinctive odor of old money and power. One of the men stepped forward, a gun in his hand. Spike’s eyebrow shot up again, but he made no move as he waited for the light haired man to speak.
“William Carlyle, you are under arrest for your crimes against humanity. You will come with us to return to England to stand trial.” He said in a clipped, British accent. Spike looked at the man, waiting for the punch line.
“I don’t think so. You can tell Travers to bugger off.” He said, shifting onto game face. None of them so much as flinched.
“I’m afraid you don’t have an option,” the man replied, raising the gun. Spike kicked out with his foot, dislodging the gun from the arrogant prick’s grasp. He followed it with a punch to the man’s jaw, not having the time to feel satisfaction over the crunch it made. Three others advanced on him, each taking up a side. Spike shifted, trying to keep his eyes on all of them, including the one who had scooped the gun off the ground.
“What’s going on?” Angel’s voice carried out of the doorway. He had been attracted by the sound of heartbeats and talking, and now he saw Spike standing in the middle of a circle of men.
“Go away, vampire. This has nothing to do with you.” The talker said, daintily holding a handkerchief to his bleeding lip.
“That’s my childe.” Angel growled, daring a step closer to the sun drenched doorway.
“He is the property of the Council of Watchers.” The man informed Angel.
“Hello, still here. Can we cut with the talk, and get to the fight? I have a lovely lady waiting on me, and as you know, I don’t like to disappoint the ladies.” Spike sneered, swinging at the closest body to him. Angel balanced on the balls of his feet, wanting nothing more than to charge out into the day to help. Unfortunately, all he could do was watch as Spike was overwhelmed. He held his own pretty well, but there were too many of them. Then, the man with the gun fired, a small dart imbedding itself through the leather of Spike’s duster, and into his back.
“Angel. . .” was all Spike got out as the blackness over took him. Angel stood helpless, as the men picked up Spike’s prone form and carried him to a waiting car. As soon as the door slammed, and the men disappeared into the other vehicles, Angel spurred himself into motion. He ran upstairs to throw on a shirt and shoes, before grabbing the blanket off the bed. Once that was done, he bolted back down the stairs and through the door, making a bee line for the sewer entrance. Only one thought was on his mind as he dropped through.
Find Buffy.
In a flurry of smoking blanket, Buffy ran up the steps to her door, quickly unlocking the door and letting herself in. Slamming the door behind her, she dropped the smoldering material to the floor and ran up the stairs. After she had gotten off the phone with Willow, she had gotten up to take a shower, quickly realizing that she was out of clean clothes. Leaving a note for Spike to meet her there after he had returned, she took off out of the room for her second game of beat the sun.
Luckily, since her mother had found out about Buffy’s little allergy to the daylight, she had taken to leaving the drapes closed, so her daughter wouldn’t have to worry about dodging the deadly rays in her own home.
Buffy walked into her room and went straight to her closet, searching through the mass of clothes for something to wear. When she was done, she wandered back downstairs to check the machine. She missed her mother and Giles, and was hoping that they had called to say when they would be home. Not seeing the tell tale red blip in the machine, she pouted slightly. Worry niggled at her as she moved into the kitchen to get some breakfast. What if something happened? What if the Council had done something to them?
She chewed on her bottom lip, as she waited for the microwave to heat up her liquid nourishment. She tried to dispel the sudden unease that she felt. The sound of the front door opening made her forget her hunger, and she sped out of the kitchen.
“Mom!” she squealed, throwing herself into the older Summers’ arms. Giles quickly closed the door, just in time to catch the tiny Slayer as she flew at him. “You’re home. I was starting to get worried.” Buffy told them, her smile wide.
“We’re fine, Buffy.” her mother said in a tired voice.
“Well, what happened? Are they going to leave me alone now? What about my paycheck?” She shot out in rapid fire procession. Giles and Joyce exchanged a look, before the Watcher removed his glasses. Buffy’s smile faded as she looked at them, noticing the line of worry and strain marring their faces. “What’s wrong?”
“Buffy,” Giles started, rubbing the lenses of his glasses. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes shifting between the adults. Before he could answer, a loud thump on the door had them all jumping. Giles pulled open the door, a look of pure hatred crossing his face.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” He growled. Buffy moved behind him, careful to avoid the rays. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared into the bruised countenance of Angel’s face.
“Angel.” She whispered, shame stabbing at her anew.
“Buffy, let me in.”
“No way in hell are you coming in this house.” Joyce spat.
“Please, they have Spike.” He said, desperation tinging his words as he felt his skin start to burn.
“Who has Spike?” Giles asked, feeling a little disconcerted. Angel wasn’t acting like Angelus.
“I don’t know. Please, let me in, I’ll explain. Willow did the curse,” he finished, smoke pouring off of him in waves now.
“Come in, Angel.” Buffy said, fear gripping her at his words. The vampire stumbled passed the confused Watcher, dropping the blanket as Giles closed the door. “Now, what happened?” She asked, as soon as he was safely inside. Joyce moved to stand by Giles as they waited for Angel to answer. He told them quickly what he had seen, neither vampire noticing the looks that were exchanged by the humans. When he was finished, Giles stepped forward.
“Buffy, come sit down. We need to talk.”