Chapter Eleven
Spike looked down at the unconscious girl, his mind trying to suss out what to do. Her heartbeat, although faint, was strong, and she wasn’t in any danger of dying as far as he could tell. With a curse, he shrugged off his duster, then as gently as could, maneuvered her arms into the leather. Pulling it closed over her naked form, he gathered her in his arms and stood to start making his way though the night. He would take her back to the house. He had a feeling that Anya would appreciate Buffy’s female presence when she finally woke up.
Moving quickly through the night, he avoided the brightly lit areas, not wanting to draw attention to himself. It took him longer, but he arrived at Buffy’s house undetained. Slipping quietly through the backyard, he was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding. Nothing seemed amiss from his view of the back porch. But, he quickened his steps, trying not to jostle Anya too much, as he opened the kitchen door. The first thing he noticed when he stepped through was the basement door. It was flung wide open, the wood cracked on the inside, as if something had thrown itself against it to get out.
“BUFFY!” he called, moving through to the dining room. The smell of blood hit him, and panic blossomed in his chest. “GILES!” he barked. As soon as he rounded the corner, he stopped dead. “Shit.”
Sid lay on the floor in front of the slightly open front door, a dart imbedded in his side. There was blood on his muzzle, so at least he got a bite out of whoever came in. Beyond him, in the wreck of the living room, and lying face down in the carpet, was the Watcher. Stepping quickly around the still breathing dog, he advanced on the man that could give him answers. Placing Anya on the couch, he moved to roughly shake Giles.
“GILES!” Spike called, seeing the thin line of blood trailing from underneath his hair and down his neck. “RUPERT!” Fear clawed around in his belly, and he shook the prone man with barely restrained violence. Finally, a pained moan erupted from Giles as he slowly regained consciousness.
“Buffy?” he gasped, trying to raise his head.
“She’s not here. Want to tell me what happened?” Spike asked through clenched teeth.
“Spike?” Giles tried to push himself up, only to be hit by a wave of dizziness. Spike reached out and caught him before he could collapse again and helped him into a sitting position. He watched as Giles’ eyes struggled to focus, his hand moving up to adjust his glasses that weren’t there. His hazy eyes moved from the tense face of the vampire to the woman on the couch. His eyes widened comically when he recognized her. “Anya? God, what happened to her?” He rasped, flinching at the pain talking induced.
“I found her in the woods. What happened here?” Giles looked at Spike once more, horror filling his expression as lights started to go on in his brain.
“Oh, dear lord.” Spike was swiftly losing his patience, and he struggled not to grab the Watcher and shake him until the words started falling from his mouth. Giles seemed to notice the vampire’s agitation, because he finally started to speak. “B-Buffy and I were, er, talking, and then she went to answer the, er, door. She asked who it was. I didn’t hear who answered, but she started hurrying to get the door open. Your dog was . . .trying to get out of the basement, I gather, from all the noise he was making. Then, the phone started ringing, and it all got very confusing from there.”
Spike listened as the Watcher continued, shock and rage causing his borrowed blood to boil. When Giles was done, he rose to his feet, walked to the weapons chest, and chose a knife. Pulling it out of the sheath, he tested the blade of the wicked looking instrument, satisfied that it was sharp. Standing, he tucked it into the waist of his jeans at his back.
“Take care of Anya” he told Giles, starting out of the room.
“Spike.” Anya’s soft voice had him stop and go towards the couch.
“Yeah, pet?” he asked quietly, kneeling down to look at her. She whispered to him, and Spike had to strain to hear her. When she was done, her eyes drifted closed again, her energy spent. An evil smile curled his lip, and Giles felt a tremor of fear. Bloodlust sparked in Spike for the first time in forever, but this was special. This was for one person and one person only. Rising again, he walked out of the living room, pausing only to check on the fallen dog. Spike pulled the dart out Sid’s hide and ran a hand over his scarred head.
“Spike, he’s insane.” Giles said from his position at the living room entrance.
“Don’t worry about me. Take care of her,” he said, then in a flurry of motion, he was out the door.
~*~*~
Consciousness came roaring back to Buffy in a wave of pain. Nausea threatened in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it back, trying to get her bearings. Memories surfaced as the haze of the drug receded, and she struggled to remain relaxed. She wasn’t ready to face the nightmare that awaited her when she opened her eyes.
She had been so happy when she had heard his voice. Without thought, she had thrown open the door, and rushed into his embrace. She hadn’t noticed the differences about him, the coldness of the smile. The iciness of his eyes. The slight stiffening of his body when she had hugged him. It wasn’t until after she had pulled him inside, that Sid’s barking had registered.
She had left him with Giles to go attempt to calm the dog, hoping he hadn’t destroyed her door. The phone started to ring, but she ignored it, wanting to deal with Sid first. When Cordelia’s voice had come over the answering machine, her voice laced with a touch of worry, her words caused a wave of disbelief to almost cripple her.
*No, it can’t be* she had told herself, the dog forgotten as she turned to go back to the living room. The cracking of the basement door coincided with the sound of Giles’ body crashing through the coffee table. The smile that she encountered turned her insides to ice. Sid pushed passed her, a bundle of canine fury to launch at the man. His blunt, worn teeth tore into the flesh of the arm he had raised to ward off the animal.
Buffy screamed before she realized that the gun he had pulled out sent a dart, not a bullet into the dog’s flesh. Blood poured from the wound in his arm, as Sid slumped to the floor. His large, brown eyes settled on her before they drifted closed.
“No,” Buffy denied, tearing her horrified eyes away from the dog, only to see the gun aimed at her. Snapping herself out of her daze, she rushed him, landing one punch before the affects of the dart knocked her out.
And now, if her drug addled senses were right, she was tied, spread eagle to a bed, naked. Tears leaked from her eyes, an image of Spike pushing through her fear and heartbreak. She hoped to God that he didn’t come looking for her. The man moving around the room would kill him, or worse. The man that she had trusted. The man that had been her friend.
Xander.
~*~*~
Xander stalked around the room, preparing the trap for the vampire. He knew Spike would come. He’d left him an invitation after all. Whistling lightly through his teeth, he attached the wire to the trigger of the crossbow, making sure that it would pull tight when the door was opened. He’d also taken care of the possibility of Spike sneaking in on him. He’d dressed every window and the sliding glass door with garlic. The only way in for the vampire was the front door, and wouldn’t he get a surprise. Studying his handiwork, he gave a satisfied sigh and went to go check on the Slayer.
He frowned when he saw that she was still out. He was sure that he hadn’t overdosed her. The drug was strong, but the amount he had put on the tip of the dart should have only had her out for about thirty minutes. It wouldn’t be fun to kill Spike if she wasn’t awake for the festivities. Deciding that she must be playing possum, he moved to the dresser. The sing of metal reverberated through the room as Xander unsheathed the knife that he had taken from Buffy’s weapons chest. A shrill laugh escaped his throat at the thought of her dying at the end of her own weapon. He ran the pad of his thumb over the razor like steel, a contemplative look on his face when a thin welt of red surged to the surface.
“It’s always about the blood.” Spike had said on that fateful night they battled Glory. And he had been right. Xander’s blood had been weak, before that night. It wasn’t until that night, that he had realized just how much like Spike he was. The thought had truly terrified him, then, and he had clung to the image of Buffy like a child would a blanket. She had been his security, his ray of hope. His weakness. He had fought the dark that had been borne on him that night, not realizing his true power until he had let the child’s view of Buffy go. Killing that last girl had been different than the others. He had been truly angry at the Slayer, and he had wielded this very knife with an acute precision. The satisfaction of the kill had been so fulfilling, once he didn’t have the delusions of her being perfect anymore. He now understood what Spike had been talking about, and he couldn’t believe he had been so blind.
He turned to face the girl on the bed, the heavy sound of his construction boots seeming to echo in Buffy’s ears. Of all the things she had ever faced in her short existence, none had ever caused terror like this to sing in her blood. An involuntary whimper tore from her when she felt him sit on the bed. *Good job, Buff.* she cursed, inwardly. She forced herself not to move when she felt the cold, sharp tip of the knife rest against her nipple.
“Buffy?” He called, dragging the tip lazily around her peaking nipple. He watched in fascination at the tightening of the skin. He felt the responding hardness swell in his pants, and his grin was large as he looked at her. He raked his eyes over the golden limbs that he had spent so many nights fantasizing about. She was the closest thing to perfection that he had ever seen. Even more so than Anya. A frown creased his brow at the thought of the former vengeance demon. *Why was taking Spike so long?* he thought, slowly dragging the knife across the valley between Buffy’s breasts.
Buffy managed to keep her breathing even as the steel moved across her skin, the cool metal a perverse mimicking of a caress.
“Come on, Buff, I know you’re awake.” He sneered, moving the knife down her abdomen. Her eyes snapped open when she felt it nick at the flesh of her sex, the pinprick of pain bringing tears to her eyes. Not that it really hurt, it was that fact that HE was doing it that caused the salty tracks to appear on her cheeks.
“Xander?” Even now, after everything that she had been forced to face, she couldn’t keep the thread of disbelief from her voice. His smile was almost kind as he looked down at her.
“There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d runoff on me, kinda like you did when Glory got Dawn.” He said, conversationally. Buffy wished that she was back in that place, because then she wouldn’t have to face the fact that her best friend was insane.
“Why. . .” was all she could choke out, the drugs affects causing her throat to be raw, her voice to rasp. At least that’s what she told herself.
“Why?” He asked, his eyebrows shooting up. “Why? Now, that’s the million dollar question isn’t it? Why, has good old Xander, done all this? Is that what you want to know?” She managed to nod her head, her eyes wide with fear at the feel of the knife teasing the curls at the apex of her thighs. “Well, you see, Buffy, it’s like this. For so long, I’ve had you in this special place in my heart. You know, the one you can love from afar, and never have. Your were like Wonder Woman, the perfect vision of righteousness. A super hero. The Chosen One to kill vampires and stop world endage. Even when you were with Angel, it seemed noble, in a way. Vampire Slayer and vampire with a soul. Kinda poetic, almost.” His voice had taken on a dream-like quality, soft and melodic as he spoke, his eyes traveling the expanse of her flesh, making sure not to dip too deep with the tip of the knife into her skin. He wanted to save most of the fun for when the vampire showed up. If the peroxided pest ever got here.
“But, I don’t understand. How does your image of me turn you into a murderer?” she gasped, feeling the sharp point against her thigh. She felt the slow trickle of blood down the inside of her thigh, and she forced herself to focus on the ceiling, concentrating on his words and not the knife. Her limbs felt heavy, and she felt like a pressure was weighted in her chest. *After effects of the drug* she surmised, daring to look at him once again.
“Murderer? Now, that’s a little harsh coming from a woman who spreads her legs for soulless demons, now isn’t it?” Anger flared in the depths of his eyes at her accusation. Buffy was relieved to feel her own anger answering his, anything but this mind-numbing fear that had set in since she heard Cordy tell her that the construction company that Xander had said he was working for had never heard of him.
“Who are you to judge me?” She spat, hazel eyes flashing. She cried out when she felt the tip of the knife slice through her calf.
“You better remember who’s tied up and who isn’t. You always thought I was weak. Just funny old Xander. Good guy to be friends with, but never to be your boyfriend. I didn’t actually GET it until I saw you fucking Spike. I’m a little too living for your tastes, aren’t I? I mean, it really can’t be the killing thing that’s turning you off, considering that I haven’t killed even a tenth of the people Angel and Spike have, and you pant over them, like a slut. Thought the term was Vampire Slayer, not Layer Buff.” He chuckled, digging the knife a little deeper into her calf muscle, relishing the surge of power and the accompanying throb in his erection at the sound of her cry.
“Angel has a soul, and Spike’s changed.” She managed around the fiery pain shooting from her leg. His laugh was robust and hearty, reminding her of all the other times he had laughed like this.
“Spike’s changed.” He sounded incredulous. “Oh, what, I guess his love for you changed him, right? And now he’s all ‘noble’.” He snickered at that, bringing the knife up to watch her blood slide along the blade. “God, you certainly can convince yourself of the most ridiculous things, can’t you? Anything to justify fucking the dead. Who’d a thought, the Chosen one is a necrophiliac.” His laugh bordered on shrill again, the sound turning maniacal as his brown eyes burned into hers.
“Fuck you,” she snapped.
“Oh, NOW you offer. Sorry, not in the mood. Well, I am, but I think I’ll wait until my other guest shows up. Can’t have a party without the guest of honor, can we?”
“What?” her voice was barely a whisper.
“Didn’t I tell you? Spike should be here any minute. Left him an engraved invitation. Of course, he might not have gotten it if she was dead by the time he found her.” He said thoughtfully.
“Anya?” Buffy didn’t know how she knew it was the ex-demon, she was just certain of it.
“Yeah. God, Buff, you’re just on the top of your game tonight, aren’t you? I guess not, or you would have never of let me in.”
“What happened to you?” She asked, angry that desperation poured out with her words.
“I woke up.” He answered, getting up to pace the room. How could he explain everything he had been through, the power that had been gifted to him?
“What?”
“That night, the night we fought Glory?” He started, turning towards her again. Buffy nodded, her mind trying to remember every detail of that night. But all that she could remember was the bone crushing fear that she wouldn’t get to Dawn, followed by the surge of relief and gratitude when she realized that Spike had come through. “Well, when I saw you in that tower, with Spike and Dawn . . . I can’t really explain it. It was like a switch clicked on in my head. You looked so. . magnificent up there. And, I knew. I was just fooling myself with Anya. It would always be you. A couple of weeks later, I killed the first girl. It was accident.” he hurried to explain. “I had gone to the Bronze, looking for you, and met her instead. She looked so much like you, and I let her talk me into walking her home, then went in when she invited me in. She kissed me, and I liked it. So, I just kept kissing her, but, then she slapped me. Wanted to know who Buffy was. It was then that I realized what I had done. And, I got so. . .mad at her for not being you. She was just a cheap imitation. A whore. I don’t even know how the knife wound up in my hand, or even what had happened. But, the next thing I knew, I was standing over her, her blood everywhere. I panicked, at first. Then, it was like this blanket slipped over me, calming me, and I knew what I had to do. I cleaned myself up, wiped any traces that I was there away, and took the knife with me, this knife. The one from your collection. Don’t remember taking it with me that night, but, I must have, huh?” He looked down at the blade, wiping his finger through the blood staining it. Rubbing it between his fingers, he got a euphoric smile on his face. “I was scared to death after I got home. Scared that I had killed her. Scared that I had liked it. Made me no better than Spike, and you can guess how well I took that.” Buffy felt a shiver run through her at his meticulous retelling of his fall into insanity. He sounded so detached, like it didn’t matter what he had done. Even Spike felt some form of remorse over what he had done in his life.
“But, you did it again.” She prompted, the longer she could keep him talking, the longer she had to figure a way out of this. She didn’t want to kill him, but she would, to save her and Spike. Oh, god, he was walking into a trap, and he didn’t know it. *Wait, this is Spike,* she told herself, struggling to keep track of what Xander was saying. *He won’t just barge in guns blazing,* she assured herself. He was first and foremost a creature of the night, stealth was part of their nature.
“Yeah, the second time was a work of art.” Revulsion shuddered through her at the look of bliss that crossed his face. “Thought the stakes and the garlic were a nice touch. Kinda symbolic.” He grinned, pausing to remember the scene. “But, I was still so horrified at the same time I was doing this. The power that I felt, and the sickness. Still, I had you, shining bright in my mind. I thought, if I could make you understand, then you would help me. Save me. But, I was wrong.” He sighed, hanging his head. “You’re no better than the rest of them.”
“How did you get the camera into my house?” she asked quickly, trying to keep him talking. He stopped in the middle of the floor, a look of pride flowing over his face.
“That was easy,” he told her. “Full access pass to your house. Wasn’t nothing but a thing to come over when Dawn was home, telling her that you wanted me to fix something in your room. Such a trusting girl. No danger from the Xand man. And let me tell you, having a techno-wiccan as a best friend is quite a plus. Hanging around her for so many years, I was bound to pick a few things up. Even which herbs can be mixed together and drunk to alter body chemistry just enough that Deadboy jr. couldn’t recognize my scent.” *Well, that explained a lot,* Buffy thought. Anger ripped over her at the thought of him in her house, planting that camera with her baby sister in the house. She thanked God again that Dawn was far away from all this. A loud crash turned their attention to the door, followed by a pained growl. Buffy’s heart crashed against her chest as she recognized the sound.
“Well, sounds like he’s finally here. Guess he found the crossbow I had set up by the door,” he said with a laugh. *No* she prayed, closing her eyes against the image of her Spike, the shock in his eyes when the bolt struck home, and then the burst of dust as he died. Seeing her distress, Xander clucked paternally. “Oh, don’t worry, Buff, I didn’t kill him, just incapacitated him. Want him to watch while I carve up your pretty little body.” He chorused, turning to leave the bedroom.
Buffy opened her eyes again, tugging on her bonds, looking for a way out. Unfortunately, the drugs were still reeking havoc in her system, and she was still weak. Fisting her hands, she vowed that she would get out, and make Xander pay.