Chapter Eight
Spike woke up to the bright coppery smell of blood.
He abruptly sat up on one elbow, adrenaline coursing through him. Fully awake in alarm, he saw that Angel was fiddling with the blood dispenser in the room, something they’d completely avoided the previous night. His eyes flew to Buffy, whose still form was curled up under the covers in the neighboring bed.
“Hungry?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Angel didn’t look his way. “Sadly, yes. The one blood bag I had left wasn’t enough, and this,” he gestured at the machine, “this just makes me sick.”
Spike ran a hand through his un-styled curls. “You gotta eat. Don’t worry about me judging. We’ve done far worse.”
Angel gave Spike a knowing look. “I suppose we have.”
Spike pushed himself up further, angling his legs and holding his hands around his knees. “Eat. We have a long road ahead, and we can’t have you all sickly and weak.” He paused. “Buffy would say the same thing.”
“Is it better than eating the humans in the closets at Kooch’s?”
Spike shrugged. “It’s all relative.”
Angel’s shoulders slumped a little. “What a crappy thing to be relative about.”
“It is, but you’ll live, and we won’t live if you’re not at full strength. Wasn’t it you that was ordering Buffy to eat last night?”
Angel gave him a look that said this was very different. “I’ll have to wean off the human blood again.”
“One drink isn’t going to tip you over.” Spike swung his legs out of the bed and crossed the room to his pack. All this talk of food was making his stomach growl.
“Says one alcoholic to the next.”
“If you completely fall off the wagon, you have a lot of people to help you back on.” As Spike rummaged around for a Slim Jim and some cheese, he thought back to what Lilah had said about Angel finding out something on their journey that could turn him down a not so great path. He still had no clue what she was talking about.
“Right.” Angel grabbed a mug from the shelf near the blood source and started pouring himself some necessary nutrition.
Snack in hand, Spike slid into the chair at the small table in the room and began opening packages. Angel joined him, the blood steaming; making a face, he took a sip.
“So,” Spike said, “how are you feeling now that we’ve come this far with Buffy?” He wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking, but he found that he missed the ease that had grown between them over the past years. What better way to address the situation and find some even ground again than by having a common enemy and a discussion about the very person who threw them for a loop in the first place?
Angel met Spike’s gaze. “I love her.”
Spike felt his heart sink in his chest; he knew this, of course, but hearing Angel say it was another thing altogether. In the past, he would have reacted with anger and a rousing fistfight, but not wanting to wake Buffy and the fact that he wanted to hear what else Angel had to say stayed his hand. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“And I know you love her, too.” Spike was startled by his honesty, and Angel explained, “I had to take you out to kill things to snap you out of it when you found out she was coming. And you hid from her for three days when you found out she had a boyfriend.”
Spike almost said that he was just trying out his renewed strength and vampire senses, but instead, he said, “True.”
They were silent for several seconds as they each ate their respective meals.
Then, Angel started again, “I would do anything for her. I want her to be happy. . . even happy in love with someone else.” He paused and then, “There’s something about Buffy that will always get to me; her showing up unexpectedly always throws me for a loop. I think I have it handled, but her appearance takes me back to that desire to fight for her, to be her everything. It takes me a day or – several – while I grasp at that dream of the two of us. And then I remember that I can’t be her everything.”
Spike continued to be stunned by Angel’s candor regarding his feelings about Buffy, and this allowed him to be real, too. “That makes two of us.” He was reminded of the speech he gave her in Sunnydale about how he didn’t expect anything from her. . . about how he loved her and believed in her even after seeing all of her, and he realized he still meant every word. He just didn’t know if he could be that vulnerable with her again or if too much time had passed.
“I also know that I care a lot about you,” Angel admitted, meeting Spike’s eyes once again. “And if, for some reason at some point, Buffy wanted to be with you, I wouldn’t stand in the way of her happiness. . . or yours.”
An unwelcome lump grew in Spike’s throat. Damn it. His last bits of enmity toward Angel were gone.
* * *
Something was different about Buffy.
Spike wasn’t sure at first after his discussion with Angel, but after filtering through his thoughts and feelings about that conversation, he decided he wasn’t imagining things. Had she heard everything he and Angel said? Buffy would surely have said something about that when she woke, but she hadn’t.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on what was different, but he sensed something in the way she peeked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.
Catching her once, he opened his mouth to ask her about it, but she abruptly ducked her head to the contents of the open pack on her bed.
He ended up dismissing the change as somehow related to Stephan’s revelations. After all, he felt oddly reserved and pensive as he dressed for their upcoming conference with Stephan.
Once the three were ready, their possessions on their backs, Spike forced himself to finish the meal he’d started earlier with Angel. Buffy didn’t eat anything again until Spike and Angel each bombarded her with a look.
Then, with the dread of going to their potential doom, the trio headed toward the room Stephan had chosen for strategizing. In the quiet, Spike tried to think back to the plans he had made with Angel and Buffy before they slept.
Just as he was about to ask Buffy about the transmission she made to Fred, a tremendous boom shattered the silence. Grey clouds from a smoke bomb began to fill the empty hallway from the direction of the conference room.
Shouldering both straps of his pack, Spike joined his companions as they raced forth to see what was happening. Something jumped inside him, a long-lost reminder of how much he relished a good fight.
A terrified Roxy burst forth from the billows, long shiny blonde hair streaming behind her. Her cheek was smudged with soot, and Spike immediately realized that someone had been dusted.
With panic in her voice, she stopped before them, gesturing emphatically and gasping. “The. . . oh my god. . . they. . .”
“They who?” Buffy demanded, used to the panic that came with such crises.
Jolted by the strength of her emotions, Roxy gulped in unneeded air like a fish out of water. “Stephanie’s. . . ” Nothing else coherent was coming from her mouth, so she pointed back the way she’d come, pressing past them as the urge to run fueled her.
“Bloody hell,” Spike cursed as he saw what Roxy was pointing at.
After pressing wooden stakes into their hands, Roxy raced away as Buffy, Angel, and Spike were distracted by the throng of vampires sweeping forth from the swirling puffs of grey.
The vampires wore ebony from head to toe and were huge like a vampire S.W.A.T. team. . . like the vampires who torched Harmony’s shop. Weapons of a variety of shapes and sizes filled their hands.
Stephanie’s elite were attacking.
“How?” Buffy asked what they were all thinking, but Roxy was fleeing. “Roxy! Wait! Where’s Stephan?”
As jumpy as a jackrabbit, Roxy paused. “Stephan’s. . . dust.” She choked the word out as if it was stuck in her throat. Something flickered over her face. She shoved her hand in her pocket.
A key glinted in the light.
She tossed the metal to Spike, who caught it against one palm. “What’s this?”
“The key to a safe in the conference room. You’ll need the contents.”
Before Spike could ask his next question, Stephanie’s minions were upon them, and the fight began in earnest.
In three years as a human and navigating human frailties, Spike forgot how it felt to attack an enemy with extra strength. He’d relied on his years of experience, instincts, and some fresh skills to fight the good fight Angel and his crew.
But now, he wasn’t a bit surprised that he slipped effortlessly back into the routine of knowing just how far he could push things without getting himself killed. He punched, kicked, and dodged with renewed ease, and he threw his whole body into knocking aside dozens of vamps, laughing as he did so.
At his first chuckle, Spike saw Buffy cast him a glance full of wonderment as if she had never seen him. His skin tingled at her attention, and he offered her a wide grin as she moved her part of the fray closer to him.
“Hey, love. Having fun yet?” he asked as he blocked a blow to the head and twisted the vamp’s arm counter-clockwise.
“Much as you are!” she replied.
Spike acknowledged that her words were true. She was practically glowing with energy as she whirled and spun, weaving barely detectable patterns with her movements. She’d slipped into her vampire mask, and Spike caught flashes of her eyes glowing yellow.
Dust was flying everywhere, blurring even his heightened vision and burning his nostrils with the scent of decay
“We getting any closer to our goal, pet?”
Blonde hair bouncing around her pale face, Buffy shook her head as she dropped between the legs of a startled vamp, turned, and staked him, adding more dirt to the atmosphere. “Not that I can tell.”
“And where’s the grand poof?” The earlier conversation with Angel and the flow of the dance was making him feel cocky. . . confident.
A nearby growl met Spike’s sensitive ears. “I’m right over here, Spike. I told you that I don’t like you to call me that.”
“Right, right. I forgot about our little heart to heart a few years ago.” Spike parried and dodged, and two vamps butted heads with a satisfying crunch, leaving them open for dusting.
“You better not! Didn’t we discuss this? How communication is the most important part of any relationship and that name-calling isn’t part of that?” Angel was half-joking as he jabbed his stake into a female vamp who was trying to bite his arm.
“Oh, yeah, soulboy, I remember.” Spike flipped a vamp over his shoulder with a grunt.
“Look who’s talking,” Angel retorted, pulling a vampire out of Spike’s path.
“You boys need to get a room?” Buffy sang out over the sounds of the fight, her voice changed by the fangs in her mouth. “Cause, well, I’m feeling a little left out over here.”
“Well, now, I think we should remedy that.” Angel’s knuckles rapped on something hard and metal. “Found our door.”
“Oh, goodie,” Buffy responded, hopping over a vamp who’d fallen after she stepped away from his attempt to ram her midsection. “Hey, have you ever noticed that the other vamps don’t ever talk when we’re killing them?”
“They’re too busy concentrating on our brilliant conversation, pet,” Spike said, pulling a vamp from Angel’s back as he maneuvered through the oncoming vampires. “They’re enthralled by our excellent skill with crafting sentences while chewing gum and fighting.”
“And blowing bubbles?” she asked with a giggle.
“Who blows bubbles with all the dust blowing by?” Spike returned as ash flew about his head.
“Good point.”
“Um, looks like we got trouble,” Angel interrupted as the sounds of the door opening echoed over the fracas.
“Don’t we always?” Buffy was near Spike’s elbow now and kicked backwards to thwart an attack from behind.
“We found a room.” Angel slammed the door shut again.
“That’s a relief.” Buffy kicked one vamp into another. The opposition’s ranks outside the conference room were thin now.
“But there are more vamps in here. . . too many for us to take and get what we need,” Angel explained.
Spike shook his head and started to push past the taller male. “Let’s go. We won’t try to dust them all. . . just enough to get whatever’s in that safe and get out.”
“Wait!” a familiar voice shouted from behind them. Buffy, Spike, and Angel saw Roxy racing toward them through the dancing particles. “You can’t go in yet. Stephan left one last order.”
Spike was sick to death of Stephan’s orders; the git was dead. “What’s that, pet?”
Roxy raised her hands, and her light brown eyes turned to black as foreign words flew out of her mouth. A wind blew, sending her blonde hair floating about her head like a cloud. Her fingertips crackled with an energy Spike had only witnessed with Red.
As Spike was closest to her, he lunged out to grab her. . . to stop the spell, but a searing pain ripped through his skull, sending a roaring echo through his ears. The pain wrapped around his skull and squeezed, and the intensity was stronger than any he’d ever felt even when he was chipped by the Initiative.
He sank to his knees, holding his head in his hands, and an unbidden groan escaped his lips. In the distance, he heard Buffy emit a similar sound as her body hit the ground.
In the next second, the tangible pain lifted without fanfare, and Spike opened his eyes. Roxy was intently watching him.
“What did you do, witch?” he demanded, reaching up to grab her throat.
As Spike was still weak, she evaded him. “I was told to return you to your natural state.”
“Natural state?” He glanced at Buffy. Angel was bent over her, but Spike could still see that her skin was golden brown. Inhaling, Spike realized that he no longer smelled her familiar scent.
Wait a second! Her chest was rising and falling.
Spike put his hand to his chest. His heart thrummed beneath his fingertips.
“What the hell!”
Roxy was halfway down the hall, scampering away from the fight again, but she turned to face them, walking backwards. Despite her distance, her words were haunting:
“The prophecy speaks of a vampire with a soul, a man with a soul, and a Slayer who loves them both. To be most powerful, you have to be what you are. Stephan recognized that after he spoke with you. He said if the worst happened, I was to work the magic to restore you.”
Spike felt weaker already. “How am I. . .?”
But Roxy was gone. . . engulfed by the ashes of dozens of vampires like a ship sailing into a fog.
Buffy’s hand landed on his back. Already, her aura was one of greater buoyancy. She hadn’t been comfortable in the vampire guise.
And that left him the weak link yet again.
“Can you stand?” Buffy’s words sent a shiver through him.
A bit numb, he clamored to his feet. Buffy handed him the stake he’d dropped in his fall. How come she didn’t look any worse for the wear? Ah, right because she hadn’t changed as much as he had. “I’m good.”
Her green eyes melted into his blue ones for longer than he could recall since they were in Sunnydale.
Spike recalled Roxy’s words and searched her eyes for remnants of love, but she averted her gaze before he could latch onto anything he could label. He knew this was something to follow up on. If he survived.
Spike cleared his throat. “We should go. . . fight. . . I mean, get that piece of dimensional whatnot.”
“You okay being human again?” Angel asked, implying that Spike might have a hard time in the fight.
Straightening his shoulders, Spike was determined. “I am.”
* * *
Fighting as a human against an uncountable number of vampires was not what he signed up for.
Spike was exhausted. His arms and legs were sore, and his head was throbbing from whatever that Roxy vamp had done to it. To top it off, he was bleeding from numerous wounds he’d accrued in the conference room. Like sharks to a single drop of blood, the vampires were drawn to the metallic scent of his life force.
And yet, he stubbornly refused to back down once or complain about his predicament.
Buffy noticed, catching his struggle in the corner of her eye. “What do you guys think you’re doing?” she announced. “Picking on a lone human when you could have a chance at the Slayer!” With that, she drew the end of her stake across her palm so that fresh blood coursed to the surface.
Like drones, the vamps turned to Buffy, no doubt taking in the heady scent of her blood like hounds on the hunt. Buffy winked at him as the vamps charged her, and Spike inwardly cringed at her overprotection.
Finding himself alone, Spike tugged the key out of his pocket and snuck past Angel and Buffy, maneuvering closer to the safe. The large metallic box had been pulled from the wall as if one of the vamps had attempted to open it to obtain the dimensional instrument for Stephanie. Too heavy to carry, it was propped up against the wall with a lone vampire guarding it. . . a heavily muscled vampire with a menacing-looking ax.
Better just to address the obstacle and get it over with. “Say, that’s an awfully big ax you got there.” Spike strode toward the vampire with an air of self-assurance he definitely didn’t feel without his previous strength.
Ax-vamp growled at him but didn’t move.
“Hey, you gonna swing that at me or just stand there and look pretty?” he taunted, plunging deeper into the tricky situation.
The vampire shifted the ax from one hand to the other and took a step forward. “I won’t let you take Stephanie’s prize.”
“Oh yeah?” Spike dove in before the vampire could accommodate the change.
The vampire cried out in shock and pain as Spike hit him square on the nose, then kneed him the groin and ground his stake into his forearm. Still unused to the abrupt change in his strength mid-battle, Spike miscalculated his foe’s ability to recover and was knocked to the ground with the back end of the ax. Sharp pain lanced across his back.
“Hate axes,” he grumbled as the memory of Joyce’s face flashed through his mind.
Trying to convince himself that lying on the ground was a tactical plan and not a desperate need to rest, Spike remained motionless, waiting for the vamp to hover over him to take a drink.
As predicted, the vampire came for him, and Spike took full advantage.
He rammed his head back as he felt teeth graze his neck.
The vampire yelped and stumbled back, and Spike saw stars. . . and then blackness.
* * *
“Spike!”
Spike’s consciousness came back online as he heard a vampire being dusted close by. The ax clattered to the floor. Adrenaline surging through his system again, he forced himself upright, nodding to Buffy past the wave of dizziness that overcame him.
“You got the key?” Buffy asked, beating back the vampires who’d followed her when she rescued Spike from further physical abuse.
He opened his mouth and found himself gulping in air. Buffy gripped his shoulder to steady him, worry etching her features.
“The key, Spike!” Buffy shrugged a vampire off her back.
Something was in his hand. He looked down at the metal object. . . the key against his palm. “I’ve got it!”
He was swaying, and the world was spinning.
“Can you use it?” Buffy was busy dusting their enemy.
“I-I think so.”
Metal clattered against metal as he tried several times before the key slid home. With effort, he twisted, and the safe sprang open.
A single object was at the base of the box, and Spike grasped the narrow rod with uncertain fingers. He prayed that he wouldn’t pass out as he rose to his feet again.
“Got it,” he called to Buffy, not sure if his voice even carried.
Apparently, it did. “Great! Now open a portal!” Buffy rolled over the back of a vampire, spun, and dusted.
“Right,” Spike mumbled with something akin to sarcasm. “Make it work. How the hell?” He forced his blurring eyes to focus as he scanned the object that lay across his palm. No features marked the surface. . . no obvious buttons or switches.
When all else failed. . . imitate.
Spike held up the device and brought it across the air as he’d seen Michael do when they’d been chased by the kranooks. The machine started vibrating, shaking his whole arm, and a thin knifelike attachment jutted forth. To Spike, it felt like he was slicing through a loaf of bread.
A line glistened green and bright against the dim lighting of the conference room. A small, wavering portal formed and grew, spreading open with buzzing energy and the scent of wintergreen.
“Buffy!” he called.
Caught up with attackers, Buffy didn’t even afford him a glance. “Great! Now, get through it! More of Stephanie’s vamps are coming, and Angel and I can’t handle all of them.”
“Where’s Angel?”
In a last ditch effort, Buffy jabbed her stake rapidly into two nearby vamps and threw the wooden weapon across the room to dust the vamp behind her. Her face was covered with blood, and her ponytail was falling loose. “He’s okay. Go through! It’s starting to close.”
Spike squinted through the delirium that threatened to overcome him and spied Angel across the darkened room, surrounded by Stephanie’s minions. No way Angel would make it to the portal in time.
Summoning air into his reluctant lungs, he shouted, “Angel! Catch!”
Tucking a vampire’s head up under his armpit, Angel’s head shot up from the scuffle. He held up his free hand, and Spike hurled the dimensional device in a miraculously straight line. Angel caught the device with ease. “Thanks! Go! I’ll catch up to you later!”
At Angel’s words, Buffy was tugging at Spike’s shirt. And before he could react, Spike was pulled into the other dimension.