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Part
1: Blood
Section
1.5: Time
NOTES: This
section takes place shortly
after As You Were and before Hell's Bells.
as
loud as hell
a ringing bell
behind my smile
it shakes my teeth
and all the while
as vampires feed
i bleed
i bleed
prithee, my dear,
why are we here
nobody knows
we go to sleep
as breathing flows
my mind secedes
i bleed…
-Bleed
Pixies, 1989
He tries talking to the little one, now, when he has a brief window of opportunity.
The little one doesn’t like to look at him. Always hanging about the other
side of the room. Warren is forever bothering him with his gadgets and experiments.
Shooting him with the tranquilizer gun and doing who-knows-what to him while
he’s out of it. The blond prat sometimes hovers around staring at him. Like
he’s some kind of zoo exhibit. Otherwise he stays away as well. Warren has
them under strict orders not to speak to him. Lest the naughty vampire trick
them into setting him free or lure them in to be eaten, no doubt. But Warren
and the other one have gone out for more supplies and if he has a chance at all,
he knows it’s with the little one.
“Hey, you… Jonathan,” he says, or tries to say. His voice seems
mostly gone. Dry and dusty – just like he’ll probably be soon enough.
Jonathan ignores him like a good little boy, turning up the TV volume.
“Hey! Come on. Talk to me. I’m going batty here.” He doesn’t
have to fake the tinge of desperation in his voice.
A glance in his direction. Good.
“Come on. I can’t hurt you. You know I can’t. Just… talk
to me a bit, alright?”
The volume goes back down and he knows that he’s in with a chance.
The nerd turns around to face him. Finally. “What do you want?”
Kill you. Suck you dry. Bash your skull in. Make you beg. …Please – just
to go home. “Just to chat, I swear it.”
“Um… chat about what.”
“Anything. Whatever. Just… come on. I won’t bite. Promise.” He
flashes the best false smile he can manage but seeing the boy recoil a bit he
realizes it’s probably just come off as ghastly.
Eventually he manages to coax him closer to the cage. Asks him about small things.
Shows on the telly. Stories behind some of the sci-fi detritus strewn about.
Gets him all comfortable and calm. Then moves on to bigger things.
“So… you do spells and such, right?”
“Well, yeah. A little bit. I kinda mostly just dabble.”
“Yeah? This spell you got around me…” his eyes trace the invisible
boundaries of his enclosure as if he could actually see them. Might as well be
able to see them. He knows exactly were they are. “Seems kind of… advanced.
Spell like this, you’d think it would take some power.”
“Oh, not really. It’s kind of a simple variation of a standard disinvite
spell,” Jonathan shrugs dismissively but blushes slightly at the flattery.
Spike nearly gasps at the sight of the human’s blood-rouged cheeks. So
fucking close. He blinks slowly and takes a breath to focus himself. Can’t
allow himself to bollocks this up. The kid remains thankfully oblivious.
“So…” has to be careful. Not sound too eager. “If
it works like a disinvite spell, all it would take is an invitation to leave
and… I could get out?”
The nerd shakes his head then. “No. It’s kinda foolproof. That would
have made it too easy to accidentally end the spell. It takes a special incantation.”
Spike looks down pretending to study his fingernails. Can’t risk the boy
getting a glimpse at his face for what’s to come next. His fingernails are
all torn and worn down. The pads of his fingers are scraped away too, for that
matter. From all the time he’d spent digging at the concrete blocks of his
wall, hoping to find some weak spot. Something. Waste of time. Still, plenty
of time to waste, right?
“Wh– what’s the incantation?”
“Oh, it’s really easy –”
The boy stops talking and Spike hesitates for a dreadful moment before chancing
a cautious look up at his face. Bloody hell. The boy’s eyes have
gone all wide and he’s started backing away from the cage. Spike’s
heart sinks.
“You tried to trick me!” The git’s foolish enough to sound betrayed.
Spike doesn’t bother to respond. His throat’s shredded from all the
talking anyway. Just another waste of time.
Buffy looks up at the clock. Ten minutes left. Another slow night. She looks
at the side window again, hoping to catch a glimpse of fluttering black leather.
Hoping not to. Huh. Nobody there. Well… good. It’s for the best. It
solves a big problem, him being gone. No more following her around bugging her.
No more of the cocky swagger and well-placed insults. No more of the mind-bending,
gut-wrenching sex-capades.
Whoah! Forbidden topic alert! Dirty, degrading, nasty, wrong. Bad, bad bad. She
had been bad. But not any more. She’s getting better. Playing the game better
than ever. She has begun to master the fake smile. The perky comments. Played
the game well enough to keep her Doublemeat job after the running off with Riley
and the whole trapped in the house thing. She had chosen to come back
here.
After all, it’s all about service. Service with a smile. Service the customer,
the family, the friends, the ex-boyfriend, the sacred duty. Do NOT service the
evil undead thing. And he’s gone now. Probably in South America or something
living it up by now. All gone. No more temptation. Tra la la.
Shit.
Maybe she’d killed him. That night in the alley. It had been nearing dawn,
hadn’t it? But… that couldn’t be what happened. Spike wouldn’t
just lie there. She can’t actually picture him ever being dusted. He just… isn’t
the type. Besides, after the whole demon egg, blowing up the crypt thing, she
had gone back to the alley. No dust pile. If… if there had been one it’s
gone now.
And really, if there’s one thing she’s learned over the years it’s
that Spike ALWAYS comes back, looking for more. Except for… you know… this
time, when he hadn’t. But it can’t be because of that night in the
alley. He must have just decided to run off before Riley and his… unit could
apprehend him for his latest stupid – not to mention EVIL – moneymaking
scheme.
"I can get money," he'd said. Yeah. EVIL money. Evil, evil,
evil. Bad. Wrong. Spike was of the bad and it is good that he’s gone.
Her eyes sneak toward the window. Nothing. She sighs and gets ready to close.
The basement is quiet and dark. Both of the little nerds are asleep. Both of
them with hearts racing. Nightmares. Good for them. The big one is awake. He’s
always awake. Not in the room, though. They don’t even bother keeping watch
anymore. Not like he’s a threat, after all.
Spike stares at the opposite wall. He doesn’t sleep anymore either. He’s
not sure he can. He suspects that if he dares allow himself to sink into the
depths of sleep, he won’t have the strength to climb back out. So he sits.
He kills time because it is the only thing he can kill. He doesn’t move
or talk or breathe or blink. Just stares at the wall and lets the thoughts come.
They flit through his mind, barely touching him. Random things… all so distant.
Perhaps not even real. Perhaps he is asleep and this is all simply a vivid,
horrible dream. Perhaps he’s truly dead and this is hell. Perhaps he’s
gone mad and should tell his brain to shut the hell up about such things.
He listens to the constant rustling of the mice in the walls; the restless stirrings
of his captors. He has gone through the lyrics of every song he can remember
from every album he had from 1968 until he’d had to leave them all behind
in Prague. He thinks of Drusilla’s dolls and names them off one by one – god,
why does he even know that? Stupid ponce. He thinks of Buffy. Infuriating bint.
Her eyes. Her hair. Her body. Pictures the look on her face when she – no. Don’t
think about that. He moves, at last, bringing his hands up to his head as if
to ward off evil spirits.
He doesn’t want to think anymore.
His eyes drop to the corner. The stupid cardboard cut-out of the Borg girl – he'd
remembered – stares at him all day, all fucking night. She’s
laughing at him, he knows it. Not for the first time, he imagines her as flesh,
marching up to him. Leaning down to scowl into his face, furious and disgusted. “You’re
not even real,” she hisses, leaning in a bit too far. Her eyes widen to
saucers as he grasps her by the shoulders, sinks his teeth into her neck. Warm
blood running down his parched throat. He imagines her as flesh and she is always
smaller, longer hair, trembling lips. He imagines her raising her stake to his
chest as he feeds.
Holding his aching head in his hands, he chuckles again and it rises to a gravelly,
slightly mad giggle.
She hears someone giggling. Buffy grips her stake tighter and follows the
sound through a break in the trees. She finds the source of the laughter. A woman,
kneeling before a tombstone.
“Something funny?” she asks, crossing her arms and frowning.
The woman nods and points at the inscription. “She saved the world a lot,” she
reads. “Funny.”
Buffy’s frown deepens. “I don’t get it.”
Buffy looks up at the frowning woman standing over her. “You don’t
like jokes?” she asks.
Buffy shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s a joke.”
Buffy places a bouquet of small white flowers over the grave and stands up to
face… Buffy. “Maybe you just don’t understand.”
“Or maybe you don’t.”
“Yes. That’s possible too. There are many things I don’t understand.”
Buffy blinks. “I don’t understand what’s going on, here.”
The other Buffy grins. “Oh! Neither do I! See? We have so much in common!”
Buffy peers at the figure before her. “Are you–? You’re the bot,
aren’t you?”
Buffy shakes her head. “I’m Buffy.”
“No,” Buffy’s hand tightens on the stake once again. “I’m
Buffy. You’re not real.”
This time the other Buffy frowns. “Of course I’m real. I walk. I talk.
I shop. I sneeze.”
Buffy glares at her. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re always here.”
“Huh?”
“This is where we live.”
“I don’t live here.”
Buffy looks perplexed. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” Buffy shouts, exasperated. That’s it.
This is getting ridiculous. She raises the stake and drives it through the other’s
chest. Her eyes widen as she feels the familiar sensation of her weapon punching
through bone and tissue.
Buffy looks down at her wound impassively. Blood wells up around the stake. “Well,
that’s not good,” she mutters.
“Oh my god…” Buffy pulls the weapon out, wincing as the withdrawal
makes an unpleasant squicking sound. She is completely unsurprised at the fact
that the stake has become a big honkin’ knife. Faith’s knife. “Oh
my god, I killed you.”
Buffy looks up at her murderer. “Huh. Think that’s bad, look at you.”
Buffy looks down at the matching hole in her own chest. Exposed wires and circuitry.
Hey, wait a minute… “None of this is making any sense!”
“Maybe it’s a joke.”
“It’s not a joke, okay?”
“Maybe you just don’t get it.”
“There’s nothing to get! This is stupid. You’re not even supposed
to be here. I don’t know what the hell is going on!”
“Oh… well… maybe you should wake up, then.”
“Huh?”
Buffy opens her eyes and immediately closes them to the glaring shaft of morning
sunlight streaming through her bedroom window. Ugh. Morning. Sunshine. Bright.
Ow. She hears a clatter from downstairs. Smells the familiar odor of burning
toast that she has come to associate with Dawn. Would it be the end of the world
if she were to sleep in today? It’s Saturday. Not like she has any plans.
This is it then. Whatever it is. He lifts his head as his captors approach en
masse. He would laugh if he had the energy. If circumstances were different.
Mighty vampire hunters. Able to tame the savage beast and all. The leader approaches
with his hands clasped behind his back. He is flanked by the lesser nerds, whose
not-so-steely gazes take aim at him through the sights of their… water guns.
He feels embarrassed for them, really. Wankers. Oh, he knows what's in the guns.
Knows it could do a good deal of damage to his person if they choose to let fly.
Doesn't really care at this point. It's all just so fucking ridiculous.
The Alpha Nerd squats down in front of him. "Today's the big day, Sparky.
You ready?"
Spike meets his gaze, bares his teeth.
"Hey now. Play nice." Warren's tone is full of menace now. He brings
his hand from behind his back and thrusts toward him with the cross he had been
concealing.
Spike flinches back at the heat of it and instantly shifts into game face. Yellow
eyes drop from Warren to the weapon he brandishes. It's moving closer, beyond
the barrier. The Alpha Nerd is feeling his power now. This must be very gratifying
for him. He enters the prison, cross first.
"That’s right. You just sit still like a good little vampire and this'll
all be over in a minute. I wish I could just shoot you again with the tranquilizer
gun, because… actually it's kinda fun. For the upload to work though, I
need you to be awake." He advances on Spike, fumbling in his pocket with
his free hand, not taking his eyes off him.
"Ooh, tell him about the holy water!"
Warren pauses, annoyed. "That's right. Super soakers, fully charged with
holy water–"
"–And we drank a bunch of it too, so, you bite any of us or anything
and we'll… we'll… um, taste really bad."
Spike rolls his eyes as much as he can while still keeping the cross in focus.
This is just too much. The cross is now inches from his face. He can feel the
waves of heat rolling off the thing. He lowers his head a bit, eyes still locked
on the weapon, snarling like the trapped beast he admittedly is. He is pressed
against the wall, far back as he can go. Still, he's writhing a bit, digging
his skull and shoulder blades into the mortar as if it could somehow swallow
him up, provide a retreat from this inane yet effective torture. Skin starts
to blister. He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again they
are locked on Warren's.
Tongue darting nervously between fangs, he licks his ragged lips, assessing the
situation. Can't attack directly or the chip will fire. He'd be even more helpless
then. Not enough room to push off to either side. His tormenter is too close
and hunkered too low for him to be able to slide down, throw him off balance,
knock the cross away. Doubtful he has the strength to leap up, over, kick at
the thing. Even so, what could he do then? Sit in his pen and wait for the consequences?
Angry Over-Nerd, devising some fun new way to pull the wings off the undead fly?
And assuming the wankers over there had the capacity to actually hit the side
of a building, let alone the vampire cowering not two meters in front of them,
there's the lovely shower of scalding holy water to look forward to. Fuck-all
he can do about it.
The git has stopped fumbling and pulls from his pocket a slim metallic-looking
object containing a tiny LCD screen and keypad. There's a bit of a relief as
the cross is pulled away a few inches and Warren begins tapping on the keypad
with a corner of the cross base. He stops tapping. Looks at Spike, expecting
something…
"RAAAAUGH!" Spike lurches up, clutching at his head as the chip fires.
Legs give out and he drops to his knees, shifting back into his human face. He
pants in ragged sobbing breaths.
The chip is– something is–
The vampire’s sudden movement has knocked Warren sprawling, the cross flying
from his hand. He's still holding up the metallic device as he scrambles to his
feet, eyes wide with excitement.
–Ringing– like ears ringing, but everywhere inside him, echoing and
amplified in his bones. Fucking LOUD. Shrill and electric. It's maddening, makes
his skin crawl. Feels like his brain is convulsing and rippling in his skull. Bloodyfuckinghell– The
chip! What's going on? Got to get if fucking out. He claws at his temples,
digging furrows in dry flesh…
Warren's mouth is hanging open in wonder. This is so cool! It's working! Better
not take too much longer to upload though ‘cause the vampire's freaking
out.
He checks the screen. Almost done. This is gonna be great. He'd been thinking
a lot since the… the Trina thing. Reassessed his priorities, evaluated his
failures. Everything had happened so fast that night. He’d shifted into
autopilot as soon as he’d realized what he’d– what had happened.
Then, opportunities had presented themselves… he hadn’t really thought
it through at the time. They’d watched the Slayer clobber the vampire. Saw
him lying there. He knew it would be their best chance at capturing him. Didn’t
look like the Slayer would miss him or anything. He’d been worried that
maybe he was jumping the gun, but – wow! Things sure were working out.
Once they’d bagged Spike, the plan just fell into place.
The thing with… that night… had been that he'd relied too much on the
others. Using magic spells and demon parts. It was stupid. Especially since he'd
had a much more stable technology laid out right in front of his nose the whole
time. He hadn't realized at the time what a gold mine it was it when Spike came
to bully him into analyzing the chip. Hey, it wasn't his fault the guy was dumb
enough to leave the data behind when he left. Not that it mattered since Warren
had already saved all the information to file. And, wow. Once he'd taken the
time to study the data, he discovered all about what the chip did. And what it
could do, with a little help. Oh, yeah, this is gonna be great. He grins and
checks the screen again. Should be just about–
A cold hand closes around his throat.
“You okay?”
Buffy shuffles to the fridge. Must. Have. Juice. “M’okay. Just kinda
groggy. I had the weirdest dream last night.”
Dawn whirls to face her, sucking on the finger she’d managed to burn while
extracting toast from the toaster. “You’re not gonna tell me all about
it are you? ‘Cause… y’know, nobody ever actually likes that.”
Buffy ignores her. Sighing, she shakes the empty orange juice carton. She pulls
it from the refrigerator and makes a big show of dropping it into the wastebasket,
cocking an eyebrow accusingly at her little sister.
Dawn tosses her hair with a complete lack of guilt. “Want some toast? You
can, uh, scrape off the black stuff.”
Buffy shakes her head. “Tempting, but no.” She yawns and leans against
the sink. “You ever have one of those dreams that you can’t quite remember
but you know it was something, like, really bizarre?”
“Huh.” Dawn gets a knife out of the drawer and starts scraping at a
black toast-like object on the counter. Buffy watches, amused. “It’s
probably for the best, Buffy. Knowing your dreams it was all about blood and
guts and monsters and stuff.”
Buffy stares at the sunlight glinting off the knife. Scrape scrape scrape. For
no good reason that she can think of, she crosses to the counter and wraps her
arms around her sister in a quick hug. Dawn tenses and stands motionless, accepting
the embrace with adolescent reluctance. When Buffy lets go, Dawn glances back
at her.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing. I… just felt like it.”
“Jeez.” Dawn returns to her scraping, her face impassive except for
the faint beginnings of a smile. “Must have been some dream.”
Spike wraps a shaking hand around the throat of the monster in front of him,
uses it to pull himself up. Seems the chip’s too preoccupied with killing
him just now to add any salt to the wound for it. And even weak, even like this,
he’s still a fucking vampire, right? His hand is locked on the throat and
it feels good. The thing in front of him is choking, beating its arms at him
frantically. He doesn’t feel them. Doesn’t hear the screaming of the
other two over the screaming in his head. Doesn’t feel the holy water singeing
his flesh. His vision blurs and he weaves for a moment, grasping his victim’s
shoulder with his other hand and leaning on it for balance. He tries to focus
on the terrified eyes in front of him.
“Stop it!” he gasps. He’s shaking violently. Pupils dilated. Smells
ozone. Smells burning. His legs are buckling from beneath him now. There’s
blackness at the edges of his vision and it’s creeping in fast. He squeezes
the neck tighter, but it’s more out of desperation than malice. “Make
it stop! Please–”
As suddenly as it started, it stops. All black now and he drops. |
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