Chapter 20: Nightmare
Spike entered the dark room and carefully deposited his frail and precious burden on the bed. If he hadn’t been hearing her fainter but still stubborn heartbeat, he might have believed her dead already. The damn doctors must have given her massive drug amounts to have her sleep like this. Brushing a strand of hair off her cheek, he considered doing it right away, even if he had said he would give Red a day to get ready. Did Buffy even have a day left? She had to. Just a few hours so that he could give her a last sunset. Just a little longer. Stifling a worried sigh, he sat down in a chair next to the bed. Sickness had left her pale, too pale, and weak, too weak. Slayer healing had not helped her this time. If he had believed before that there was something, anything at all above them all, he would have stopped believing now. No being could let this happen to their chosen fighter and still call themselves superior.
For a long while, he watched his Slayer sleep. His Slayer. His Buffy. The mortal who had taken his unbeating heart. The fighter who had seduced at the same time the man and the demon. Maybe it was because she appealed to all parts of him that he was ready to do anything for her. Even what he wouldn’t have dreamed of doing in any other circumstances.
“Just do it already,” an impatient voice snapped.
Despite himself, he turned his gaze to the woman who had talked. She stood by the door, in the shadows, wearing attire from another era. There was no lost love between them, and there had never been. From the very night William had risen from his grave, Darla had always made it clear that for her he was no more than a toy shared by Angelus and Drusilla, and that being so he was very much expendable, in more than one way.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, her impatience up one notch.
“Why would I bother to tell you?” he shot back, just as annoyed by her intrusion as she seemed to be by his delay. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Our Spike is grumpy,” a new voice said playfully, just as its dark haired owner revealed herself by her grandsire’s side. “He didn’t want an audience, but the stars always watch. And we will watch too, and help if he…”
“No!” Spike interrupted her, jumping up from his chair. “You are not helping. I need no help!”
Unconsciously, he had slipped into game face. Dru was right, an audience was the last thing he wanted, and especially this kind of audience.
“Spike…”
Buffy’s voice was faint, just a whisper, but it silenced the two women and brought Spike’s attention back to the Slayer. He had to make a conscious effort to show her his human visage and smile at her.
“Yes pet?”
“Where are we? Why did you bring me here?”
“He brought you here to kill you, Buff. Or to be exact, to make you one of us. Killing Slayers isn’t enough anymore, now he fancies himself a Slayer’s Sire.”
The unbidden words were harsh, mocking, and reminded Spike of Angelus’ rebuttal when he had turned a minion for the first time. They had fought then, and it had ended with the newly risen vampire becoming ashes. This time, Spike couldn’t afford to fight, couldn’t afford to lose, couldn’t afford risking anything bad happening to Buffy – anything worse than what he had planned for her, at least. So he completely ignored his Sire, who, he instinctively knew, was with the two women. Instead, he focused on Buffy and only her. Trying to comfort her with a smile, he opened the curtains and watched as the last golden rays of the sun bathed her. But Angelus’ words had distressed her. She wasn’t paying attention to the last setting sun she would ever get a chance to see, and it made Spike even angrier at his Sire.
“I can’t let you die like this, luv,” he murmured as once again she demanded an explanation. “You deserve so much more.”
There was some insane cackle behind him as he sat on the bed by his Slayer – his, no one else’s. There were also comments from the trio as he tried to soothe her a little, but he ignored them and did what he had come to this place to do.
Soon, she was laying in his arms, still as death, the faintest trace of his blood on her lips, and again Spike was confronted to his Sire’s cruel words.
“You not only turned her, but you had to make your Childe too, uh? What do you think you’re doing? Did you figure you two would go out hunting together, unstoppable because she is the Slayer and no other Chosen One could even touch a hair of her head? You can’t even hurt anyone, my poor boy! Will you just watch her as she kills? Will you take whatever remnants she leaves to you? How long until she gets tired of your impotence?”
Angelus laughed out loud, and Spike shut his eyes tight. No, she wouldn’t kill anyone. She would have her soul, her shiny and pure Slayer soul, and she would be just like before. Almost like before. All they needed now was Red to cast her spell…
Red… As if summoned by Spike’s thoughts, the witch appeared suddenly between Darla and Dru. She looked scared, and her eyes pleaded for Spike to do something. But as he sat up on the bed, Angelus placed himself between him and the women.
“Keep still, my boy,” he ordered with a twisted grin. “An interesting plan you had there, but I have a much better one. Our girl is going to wake soon, and she will be hungry. She can have the redhead first, so the little bitch won’t be playing with souls and spells anymore. Then we’ll drop by Sunnydale to say our goodbyes to the rest of the Scoobies, and we’ll be on our way to a little trip around the world. And if you promise to behave, we might let you come along.”
Spike wanted to launch himself at his Sire, to free Willow before it was too late, to do something, anything, but he was completely paralyzed, and couldn’t have moved an inch to save his own life. As he desperately tried to think of some way to fix things, he felt Buffy stir at his side. She rose to her feet and he could only watch in horror as she wordlessly went to Willow. She turned to him then, her eyes burning with cold fire, and her smile just as icy.
“I’ll bring you back something to eat, OK?”
*****
Spike woke up in a jump from his dream – no, nightmare – and looked for Buffy around the room, although he could feel quite clearly that she wasn’t there. Where was she, anyway? He had drifted back into sleep after she had left, and by the clock on the nightstand it had been a few minutes ago. More than enough time to get down to the kitchen, warm some blood and come back.
Settling back down on the propped up pillows, he reached for his cigarettes on the nightstand and lit one, taking a long, calming drag. It wasn’t unusual for him to dream of turning Buffy, but so far it had always happened in his dreams as it had in reality. What in hell had brought forth this one? As far as he knew, Darla had been ashes again by the time he had turned Buffy, Dru wasn’t even in the country, and Angelus was safely locked under Angel’s soul. A nightmare, really. Buffy awakening without her soul. He shuddered at the thought. From the moment he had decided to turn her, it had been evident. She had to have her soul right away. Even if it meant he wasn’t sure to live through her first night. Even if it meant giving up any hope to be with her. He couldn’t risk that she would kill a human, or more, in her first hours or nights as a vamp, only to be cursed later and feel the weight of guilt for eternity. He had been certain Willow would have ensouled her at the moment she learned Buffy was a vampire, so he had warned her in advance.
Of course, the thought of making a run for it with her had crossed his mind. More than once. He couldn’t kill then, but he could still teach her. What a huntress she would have done… Combined vampire and Slayer abilities… And next to her, as the Angelus of his nightmare had said, an impotent vampire who could barely feed. From any way he looked at it, even today, it had been the best solution, for all of them.
Going through his dream again in his mind, her first vampire words came back to him. They didn’t make much sense – not that the dream made any sense at all – as she wasn’t going anywhere when she had said them. A nagging thought wormed its way in his mind. Her first words in his nightmare had been the last thing his Buffy had said before leaving the room. Why? Why would his sleeping brain associate these particular words with a soulless Buffy?
Frowning, he put out his cigarette in the ashtray and climbed out of bed. Within seconds, he had pulled his jeans on and was walking down the hallway toward the stairs. Just checking that Buffy was alright, he told himself. She’d be gone for a while, after all. No other reason, really. As he walked by Angel’s room, he froze mid-stride. He could feel her, behind that door.
If Angel had laid one finger on her, he was a dead man.
He tried to open the door, but it was locked, which only fueled his ire. With just one kick, the barrier was removed and he stepped in, barely aware that his demon features had emerged. As he had feared, Angel and Buffy were on the bed, but their embrace was of a very different nature than what he had imagined.
As she lifted her mouth from the human’s neck to look up at Spike, there was the barest hint of laughter in Buffy’s gold eyes.
“No need to get upset,” she said with a wide grin. “There’s still some left for you.”