Chapter Seven
“Welcome to the Central Blood Supply or as we like to call it: the C.B.S.,” Stephan announced with pride in his voice.
Buffy, Spike, Angel, and Mary stood before a large darkened glass that spanned the entire side of a very small, office-sized room. Unlike the hospital, the walls, floors, and ceiling are painted a deep shade of black, and the yellow light is dim which makes the space seem cavernous.
They’d left the hospital, made a longer journey with their vampire-in-black entourage, and ended up at a tall black building with no windows on the outside. The only entrance was a single door, above which hung another glowing white sign with a red droplet, obviously a drop of blood.
Buffy’s memory kicked into gear. What had Spike said in a very different conversation what felt like eons ago? Oh yeah. It was always about the blood.
She fidgeted and nervously glanced at Spike and Angel. None of them had said much on the eerily quiet journey to the new building. Buffy thought it was as if Stephan didn’t want to say anything because Stephanie’s people might be watching, and Buffy didn’t want to reveal too much to Stephan by chatting with Spike and Angel, though she wished more than anything she could read her ex-boyfriends’ minds right about now.
Roxy was pushing a series of numbers into the computer panel beside the glass, and within seconds, the glass went from very dark to completely clear.
The room before them was deep and high and dark, clearly encompassing the entire height and width of the building. What appeared to be silver metallic pods hung in semi-circular rows from the walls like rungs on a ladder, and in each pod lay a prone body clothed in a grey gown, tubes coming out from under fabric and lights blinking in red and green from attached monitors.
Buffy and the rest were standing on what appeared to be a third floor, like a small gallery overlooking an operating room. Because both areas were dark, Buffy felt like she was on the edge of a cliff that she could step over and fall from. In the light below, she viewed two small beds and two or three white-coated vampires who were slowly meandering between machines and equipment like swans on a lake at night. The bodies on the bottom row. . . male and female, old and young, had longer, bright scarlet tubes running from their bodies to a large steel tank in the center of the room.
Buffy stared at the scene before her, and in that space where her mind took in what she was viewing and tried to comprehend – really comprehend – what it meant, she didn’t feel a thing.
“What the bloody hell is this?!” Spike spoke first.
Buffy’s eyes flicked to Roxy’s, and the tall blonde shifted her gaze to Stephan, who almost gleefully spoke, “This, my friends, is how we enhance our blood supply.”
“W-what?” Buffy stammered.
Stephan scoffed. “You didn’t think that we relied solely on sick people’s blood to feed everyone in Vampire Villa, did you? The hospital is just our charity project. . . our way of giving back.”
“Huh,” Spike said, and Buffy can tell he’s trying to keep his tone light. “Doesn’t seem like much of a charity to me.”
Stephan snapped, “For vampires, it is. And you should know that, William the Bloody.”
Spike opened his mouth, but Angel spoke, his voice calm but firm, and Buffy clung to his placidity like it was a life preserver. “Explain how it works.”
Stephan turned his back on them all, a mark of his confidence that none of his audience had any power. He identified the bodies as what they were, “The humans here – they all came to us by some means or another. Some were depressed, some had been through horrific traumas, some suffered humiliation and shame, some lost everyone in their life. No matter what path they journeyed to get here, they all wanted one thing. . .” He gave Buffy a knowing glance like he could see through her and knew that she had been that hopeless, that full of shame and self-loathing at one point in her life. Before she could stop herself, she backed into Angel, who steadied her with a hand to her waist. Stephan smiled. “They all wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.”
“And the Matrix set up? How does it work?” Spike asked, his tone curious now, as if Angel lent him strength, too.
Stephan had the speech prepared. “All the people who willingly sign their lives over to us are drained to the brink of death and placed in a medically induced coma. They’re kept alive via feeding tubes and medically stable via machines. Their physical muscles weaken, but their hearts beat strong. Their blood supply replenishes, and they are drained again but not every day. On a pre-arranged schedule, the rows you see rotate, and they are carefully drained of just enough blood so that their life continues, but they remain at peace, lost in their dreams.”
“You make it sound so relaxing,” Spike said sarcastically. “How do you know they aren’t trapped in their nightmares? And more importantly, there’s no way that this little room has enough blood to feed an entire city full of vampires.”
Stephan ignored Spike’s tone. “That is an excellent point. Our monitoring system measures their brain activity so that we can tell when a person is dreaming and based on the patterns, determine if they are having nightmares. Roxy and her team of vampires who also practice magic have found a way to shift their nightmares to more pleasant dreams.”
“That’s impossible,” Angel said.
“Not impossible,” Roxy assured. “Necessary.”
“And you’re right,” Stephan acknowledged, pressing his open hand and forearm against the glass and leaning against it. “This one facility cannot possibly feed our entire population. This is why we have several such facilities all over the city. Some are run and controlled by me and some by Stephanie. It’s how we have hot and cold running blood; it’s how we have our blood banks where vampires can withdraw and make deposits.”
A small noise came from behind Angel, and Stephan turned his attention to the source of the sound. “Yes, young woman?”
With wide, round eyes, Mary stepped into view. With surprising swiftness and poise, she strode to Stephan’s side and put a tentative hand on his arm.
Stephan smiled at her with a tenderness that made Buffy’s skin crawl. “Looks like we have a volunteer.”
“Mary, no!” Angel called, but Stephan nodded at Roxy, who guided Mary away from the group, disappearing through a door that Buffy hadn’t seen because it blended so perfectly in the shadows even with her enhanced vampire vision.
As if glued to a bad horror film, the trio watched as Roxy appeared with Mary in the floor below. Mary pulled off her clothes and accepted the grey gown without hesitation before sliding onto one of the two empty beds. As soon as the tubes were inserted, Buffy’s feelings came rushing to full consciousness, and she bolted out the door from which they entered.
The vampire guards were startled but acted after only a second or two, and the closest one charged at Buffy. Blinded by emotion, she fumbled, her eyes flashing yellow as she shifted into game face and flung the large sentry away. He crashed into two of his friends, and a third prepared to take hold of the gasping Slayer, but Spike appeared in the doorway.
Clutching her rolling stomach and leaning against the rough wall of the building, Buffy closed her eyes and vaguely heard him growl, “Leave the lady alone. She just needs a moment.”
Then, a gentle arm briefly circled her waist and let go. Spike’s voice whispered, “Let it out, love.”
With his permission, Buffy bent forward and threw up all over the sidewalk, her fangs pulling away as her human face became visible again. There wasn’t much in her stomach, so the initial wave quickly gave way to dry heaving. Squatting beside her now crouched form, Spike massaged small, light circles into her lower back as he held back her hair. When she was done and her body was spent, he helped her up and softly kissed her temple. His gaze found hers, and she used the unwavering blueness to center herself. She thanked him with her heart in her eyes, and he nodded.
Stephan’s sentinels stared at them but didn’t intervene as Buffy and Spike rejoined Angel to offer their support.
* * *
“So, when are you going to tell us about Harmony and a certain poker game?” Buffy casually asked Spike while swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. They were her first words since being in the room Stephan provided for their housing. At first, the trio had sat in shocked silence, and now Buffy was breaking the ice with an attempt at Xander-esque lightness in the face of emotional overload.
Seated on the floor, Spike thankfully followed her lead and raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk. “All we’ve seen, and you want to discuss something that happened eons ago?”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about all that. . . while I’m eating dinner.” Buffy’s food remained untouched on her lap. Truth be told, she wasn’t the least bit hungry, but she felt the need to change the subject from the horrors they’d all witnessed.
Seated next to her on the bed, Angel regarded her. “I think we should save storytelling for later. We really need to discuss what’s going to happen next. What we’re going to do.”
“Fine. I just thought we’d have a nice meal.” The look of disgust on her face didn’t match her tone, and she knew it.
“You’re not eating anything,” Spike pointed out as he bit into his snack of crackers and cheese.
Buffy shrugged. “So?”
“Eat, Buffy,” Angel commanded.
Buffy felt irritated by his attempt to be authoritative. “You’re not the boss of me. Besides nothing seems appetizing now. Not after. . .”
Angel sighed and looked down at his untouched blood bag. “I know.”
Buffy started meaningfully at Spike.
Spike stopped mid-chew. “What? I can eat anytime. No matter what. Like you said, gotta keep up my strength. Eat, sleep. . . it’ll all seem better in the morning.”
Buffy shivered. “I don’t know if it will.”
To the casual observer, Spike might seem callous and cold, but Buffy knew better. She’d seen his initial horrified reaction to what they’d been shown, and she’d also seen him tuck it away behind sarcasm and anger so that his thoughts and feelings were impenetrable.
Spike was doing that a lot lately, and she didn’t like it, but she understood. He was protecting himself and with good reason. She knew she hurt Spike when she left and facing the consequences of that wasn’t easy because it made her face herself. . . what she’d done yet again to him. The fight between them in his apartment felt like the tip of the iceberg of his pain. At the same time, being curled up with him in the hotel room and having all the little moments between them since felt right to her. She wished she had time to further sort through her feelings and continue their talk. Alas, with the mission before them, it didn’t seem like that would be happening anytime soon.
“So, what did we see?” Buffy set aside her meal and dug in her pack for the tiny palm computer that Fred had supplied them to communicate their findings. Although they couldn’t directly contact the team at Wolfram and Hart due to the shift in dimensions, they were expected to record things on the device for perusal later.
“Right. Let’s catalog it.” Spike popped the last of his meal in his mouth and moved next to Buffy on the bed.
Buffy’s nose picked up his now familiar scent and was disconcerted that it mingled with Angel’s. Was this how Oz felt with his wolf-y senses? She shook her head. Because she had become used to her enhanced senses, she hardly noticed them, except in moments like these. And how surreal was it to be sitting between two ex-boyfriends? Even though they’d been together for a few days now, she was still blown away with the thoughts and feelings that accompanied their presence. Somehow, she honestly thought she’d be used to it by now.
“Buffy? You going to type that in or not?” Spike asked.
“Oh, what?” Angel and Spike were staring at her – brown and blue eyes filled with. . . very different emotions that were too much for her make sense out of. She glanced down at the computer screen at a loss. “Right. What should I put? What did Michelle call it?” Buffy asked, chewing on the end of the stylus.
“Roxy,” Spike corrected.
Buffy frowned and tapped her lips with the tiny stick. “What?”
“Michelle prefers Roxy.”
Angel crossed his arms. “I hardly think that matters, Spike. And Stephan didn’t seem to call it anything but charity to help the poor, sick, hopeless humans. Hey, that sounds familiar, only we did it better.”
“It matters to Roxy.”
Buffy chose to ignore Angel and Spike’s mutterings, her now seemingly endless twinges of jealousy regarding Spike, and the tension between him and Angel now that they had a chance to rest. “Charity and helping humans. That’s a laugh. Don’t think you can count euthanasia and putting people in comas as ‘charity.'”
“Yeah, and the hot and cold running blood wouldn’t work either,” Spike commented, pulling another cracker out of the package.
“That’s what I was thinking!” Buffy agreed, grateful that Spike was joining her casual levity.
Fred and the others were going to be floored by the truth about Stephan’s portion of the city.
“It seems to me that Stephan is going to great lengths to make sure that we approve of him and his little projects,” Buffy observed. “There’s something we’re missing.”
“I agree,” Angel said, nodding. “He has presented us two vastly different stances. One, he doesn’t want vampires – or his city – to be part of our dimension as Stephanie does because it would interfere with the vampire way of unlife they have here. On the other hand, he seems very concerned about what humans think of the city and ‘his’ vampire projects.”
“He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knew we would be horrified, but he also knew that of the two alternatives: city stay here or shift dimensions into the light, he would rather have the city stay put. Like he said, he’d lose power if Stephanie got her way. As far as what his other possible motives are, your guess is as good as mine, but vampires gathering this much power is not a good sign,” Spike concluded, putting his usual dead-on spin on the issues.
“Right.” Buffy sighed. “We just have to figure out a way to figure out what Stephan is really playing at, find the other piece of that dimensional key that he wants us to keep away from Stephanie, destroy the city, and save the humans trapped here. And save or help the kranooks. . . jury’s still out on that one.” She inhaled. “Damn. That’s a lot of stuff to accomplish with just the three of us surrounded by the enemy.”
Buffy and her male companions discussed Stephan’s plan to garner the other dimensional piece, alternative strategies, the prophecies, and the things they’d seen. Somehow during the discussion, she and Angel managed to eat something, and they all took turns showering. Apparently, Stephan believed in vampire hygiene. Freshly washed and curled up on the bed, Buffy’s eyes began to drift shut, but she fought the urge until Angel suggested they all needed to get some sleep.
* * *
“Buffy, wake up!” the voice urgently whispered urgently in her ear. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a small shake.
Her green eyes flew open. “W-wha. . .?” she blearily mumbled. She was filled with an easy sense of safety when she saw the familiar soul peeking out from behind chocolate brown eyes in the dim room. Large fingers brushed the tousled strands of her hair out of her face. Blinking deliberately, she struggled to separate dream from reality.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Angel murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.
“I-I was?” Buffy tried to grasp the rapidly fading tendrils of her dream – a dream that brought her a great sense of peace in the moment but now. . . now, she wasn’t so sure. “About what?” she asked even though she knew. She seemed to be dreaming a lot lately. This time the dream was one Angel knew about because they’d discussed it when she came back from the dead the second time around. It was the dream about them. The dream in which they were together and happy. The dream that she now knew was impossible for many reasons, including that she wasn’t sure she could go back there, to the love they had before. Not when. . .
“You were happy,” he stated with a knowing tone, interrupting her thoughts.
Buffy offered him a smile and gently pushed his chest, so she could have some space. “Then, why’d you wake me, silly?”
“Your volume was the problem.” His eyes sparkled. “Don’t want the wrong people to hear.”
Buffy knew Angel meant the vampires standing guard outside their room, but her first thought was of someone else hearing. Turning her head quickly, Buffy drew in a little breath of relief. Spike was still asleep on the bed across the room. The emotion that rippled through her in that moment was different from what she had felt in her dream for Angel.
Angel’s deep eyes captured hers again. How was it possible that she was always able to meet his eyes directly with no trepidation? And how many times had she asked herself this question with the inevitable companion question?
If she was able to be herself with this person before her. . . if she so unabashedly loved him, why wasn’t she with him? Why hadn’t she moved heaven and earth to be with him even if she had to sacrifice sharing his bed? What was holding her back? She wasn’t the type to give up when she wanted something; she and Faith had had that much in common.
She knew the answer all these questions, but she wasn’t able to admit it to herself. Not yet.
So she spoke the only words she knew she could speak without consequences she wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet, “Thank you.”
Angel soft lips found her forehead. “You’re welcome.”
“You weren’t sleeping?” she asked, purposefully changing the subject.
“No. You know me. I rarely sleep, especially when something is imminent.”
“I remember,” Buffy whispered. She also remembered how Spike always seemed to sleep with the trust of a young boy when she was in his arms. She shifted away from Angel, and a flicker of hurt crossed his face for an instant. Catching the nuance that lingered in his eyes, she reassured, “I’m sleepy though. Think you could try to get some sleep with me?” She tilted her head just a bit to indicate that he should go back to his bed.
With great reluctance, Angel removed his arms from her middle, pausing to caress her cheek without shame. “You’re beautiful.”
“I am?” Buffy would have blushed if she could have in her vampire guise. “Even as a member of the undead?”
“Yes, even as a member of the undead,” he echoed, winking at her.
Her reluctance to be with him rushed forth once again. She was no closer to understanding the feeling, so for now, she accepted and relished the warmth of his love.
Buffy remained awake long after Angel had fallen asleep. Somehow, he had transferred his sleeplessness to her, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it, so she tossed and turned. Nothing was coherent in her mind, and she couldn’t bring herself to view Spike, so she lay with her back to him. Angel’s solid back filled her vision, and she was safe.
Then, without reason, she sprang from the bed, and before she knew what she was doing, she was kneeling next to Spike, fingers millimeters from touching his skin. With the frank openness with which she examined Angel, she allowed Spike to fill her senses. Tingles she couldn’t control or name poured over her own epidermis, raising an army of goose bumps.
Part of her wished he would open his eyes, but the other part of her was terrified of what she might find out about herself if he did so. If he was unaware of her, she was safe. (Safety was apparently most important at the moment.) As she studied the innocence of his features, a truth overcame all other thoughts.
Since her arrival from Cleveland, she hadn’t been able to look at him. . . not truly. Her mind worked as she studied the dark concave of his cheek and the way his lashes splayed across his pale skin. She tried to imagine the blue depths of his eyes penetrating her green ones but failed. She couldn’t recall when she’d last stared into his eyes without holding herself back.
Even when they had been together before he obtained a soul, she hadn’t allowed herself to really look at him. She’d been too ashamed of herself. And even after he had a soul, she’d only found herself seeing him a handful of times. . . most of which she had been so wrapped up in her own overwhelming feelings that she couldn’t focus on him clearly. One of those times had been the evening before, when she had slept in the same bed with him. . . when she’d shared her recurring dream about him. She decided that was the closest she’d come to letting him inside.
And she absolutely couldn’t…couldn’t allow that to happen again.
But she wasn’t sure why.
It wasn’t because of Spike’s self-protective walls. At least, she didn’t think so.
Was she too afraid to let anyone in? Pearson would probably chide her on this matter, asking her why she was choosing to close herself off when doing so wasn’t what she truly wanted.
Sharing herself with Angel was easy when she allowed it. What was the difference between Spike and Angel? She used to be able to open herself fully to Spike the vampire. Maybe the better question was why wouldn’t she allow herself to open up to him now? Did his humanity have anything to do with it?
Liquid splashed over her lower lashes, and she blinked and shook her head. She didn’t understand everything yet, but she knew that when she was close to Spike, there was something there. . . something alive. . . something that she knew couldn’t be contained if she opened herself to it completely.
With a low sigh, he stirred then, rolling onto his back so that her fingers brushed over his bare arm. She shivered and resisted the urge to voluntarily touch him.
Reality came crashing back, and she found herself longing for the safety of her bed. With the expert finesse of someone who knew the ins and outs of denial, she packed away her thoughts and feelings, pulling and tugging back the dream she’d just had about Angel and their life together.
The dream was familiar. It was something she’d clung to for a long time. It was simple and not at all confusing – a remnant from times when things were easier, more black and white.
As such, she felt safe with the dream of a life with Angel. . . like it was a security blanket, and she retreated to her bed to wrap herself in sleep once again. The only problem was that she knew deep down that somehow Angel didn’t fit into her heart the way he used to, that she had moved past the point where she could go back.
Maybe tomorrow she would try to figure out the confusing web of today.