| |
Part
3: Blood & Love
Section
3.1: Invitation
NOTES: This
section takes place during "Entropy." Spike's
story & that of the Scoobies begins to
re-converge a bit in Part 3. As a result, I borrowed some scenes and dialogue
from the show, modifying it somewhat to suit my own purposes.
My
nerves are buzzin' and my heart
is gone
I think I once was different but I might be wrong
There's ghosts in the attic and bones on the wall
But it's all right I don't care at all
I'm yours, and you
You're mine and that's
That's all I know right now
That's all
That's all I know, right now
- That’s All I Know (Right Now)
The Neon Boys/Richard Hell, c. 1972
"Te
invito e hoc carcere… um… egredi!" Jonathan
sprinkles the last of the enchanted
powder as he finishes the incantation.
He steps back. Nothing happens.
The prisoner doesn't move,
doesn't even look up.
"Hey, nothing happened!" Andrew whines. Jonathan shoots him a look.
He wonders briefly if there’s a good spell for sealing someone’s mouth
shut.
"What's up, Short-round? Did it work?" Warren hovers over his shoulder
like some kind of garlic-breathy vulture or something.
"Um… I think so. I mean, I did everything like you're supposed to." Jonathan
takes a couple steps forward, hoping Warren will stay put. Invasions of his personal
space make him twitchy. He knows better than to try to explain this to Warren.
He pretty much knows better than to try to explain anything to Warren anymore.
"One way to find out, right guys?" Warren steps forward and clamps
a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. Dammit! Right back into the personal space. Jeez.
"Get up, Spike." Warren presses his lips together and peers at the
prisoner in anticipation.
The vampire rises from his crouch without hesitation. He stands with his shoulders
hunched and head down, glaring balefully at Warren's shoes.
"Come here," Warren commands.
A couple of tentative steps forward and Spike stops. He's reached the edge of
his confines. He looks down at his feet and scowls. Jonathan understands his
uncertainty. After all, for nearly a month and a half his world has been limited
to five square feet of cement floor. A prison that Jonathan himself had created.
Jonathan swallows and shakes off Warren's hand. He edges toward the stairs. Just
in case.
"Now!" Warren adds impatiently.
Spike clenches his fists and steps past the barrier. He shuffles to Warren and
stops in front of him, eyes still carefully downcast.
Warren pats the tangled curls on the vampire's head. He grins down at him mockingly. "Good
boy!"
Warren doesn't seem to notice the vampire's lip curling into a silent snarl.
Jonathan notices. He takes another step toward the stairs.
"Hey, Jonathan!" Warren whirls around to face him, leaving his back
exposed to the vampire. Jonathan finds himself rooted to the spot. He sees Spike
raise his eyes immediately as the figure in front of him turns away. Sees the
eyes burning holes into Warren's back. "Why don't you come shake hands with
our guest?"
"Um… no, that's okay. Y – You go ahead and do whatever you're
gonna do."
"Don't be rude, Short-round. You'll hurt his feelings."
Jonathan doesn't move. He knows that Warren is trying to make a point. To Spike.
To him. Warren is the one in control here. And he's making sure that everyone
knows their place. Jonathan gulps. He feels a fresh burst of pain from the ulcer.
Until a few weeks ago, Jonathan had actually been ulcer free since high school.
Now it's like a constant gnawing in his gut. Like some kind of trapped animal
is in there, trying to get out. He grimaces. When did it get like this? When
did everything go sour? It seems like just a few days ago he and the guys were
just hanging out at Warren's mom's house playing D & D. Friends. Hanging
out. What – what happened to that?
"C’mon. Ewok. Over here. Now." Warren snaps his fingers and points
to the floor beside him. He turns back to the vampire without waiting for a response.
Spike's gaze drops instantly to the floor again. Jonathan does as he is told,
coming to stand in the spot Warren had indicated.
"Good. Now shake." Warren nods toward the two of them. Jonathan isn't
sure what to expect. It's possible that Warren is gonna sic Spike on him. He
knows he hasn't been a big cheerleader for the cause lately. Warren probably
suspects that he's planning to get out somehow. And he's seen some of the looks
the other two have been giving him lately. He should have gotten out before now.
He should have gone to the Slayer, told her everything. She'd protect him. Maybe.
Or maybe she'd kill him. Or send him to the big house for murder or kidnapping
or… vampire stealing. Who knows? And it might be too late now. Warren is
giving him a really evil looking grin. Jonathan wonders when it was, exactly
that Warren went insane.
"Spike, shake," Warren prompts.
Spike's jaw clenches, but he does thrust out his hand. Jonathan reaches out his
own trembling hand and they shake – once – both pulling their hands
away immediately. Spike's hand is ice cold; all claw and knuckle. The hand of
a corpse.
"See? There we go! We're all friends here. We're all part of the team. Right
Andrew?" Warren turns to Andrew, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"Um, right. Go team." Andrew is squirming, afraid that he'll be called
on next for a little meet & greet. He also sorta looks kinda like he's… jealous.
Like he's upset that Warren's paying so much attention to Jonathan. Huh. That's
weird. Especially since, for once in his life, Jonathan would actually welcome
being ignored right now.
"Okay then!" Warren claps his hands and rubs them together eagerly. "What
do you say we take our pet vamp out for a walk?"
She pulls her jacket tighter as she walks through the cemetery. There’s
a bit of a chill in the air. No vamps out tonight. Fine by her. She doesn’t
feel like killing anything right now. Not even herself. Ha ha. Funny Buffy.
It’s been a pretty slow week, actually. Ever since she went nuts and tried
to kill all her friends, that is. They were all very understanding about the
whole thing of course. Well… for awhile it was all about the group hugs
and the tiptoeing through the eggshells, but it’s been getting better. Not
easy. Not good. But better.
She makes a final pass through the graves, slowing down when she comes to his
crypt. It’s only practical that she check here every night. Word got out
awhile ago through the demon grapevine that this prime piece of real estate was
vacant. She’d already dusted six different vamp squatters and killed more
than a couple demons looking to relocate. Not because it’s his place,
of course. Because it’s just become a really convenient spot to find the
bad guys. See? Practical.
She opens the door and peers in. She never goes inside. Not since Riley had half
carried, half dragged her out of the place following the explosion. He hadn’t
understood why she’d been so freaked out. Hell, she didn’t understand
it. So yeah, Spike ended up being the bad guy. Again. Should she have been surprised?
Why should she even care?
She pulls out her flashlight and switches it on. She has good night vision – part
of the Slayer job description – but without the candles, the crypt
is all dark and voidy inside. She sweeps the beam of light across the interior.
Nope. No squatters this time. The place is completely trashed though. She knows
the lower level was pretty much wiped out by the explosion but the rest of the
place had been mostly intact. Not so much now. Between the demons and the local
high school kids, what hasn’t been stolen has been destroyed. The T.V. is
gone. The fridge knocked over. Empty beer cans and cigarette butts litter the
floor.
He’d been so proud of the place. Well, hey – he’s the one who
left, right? Not her problem. Besides, last time she was in Dawn’s room
gathering up dirty laundry from the floor (and absolutely not doing a
quick sweep for possible illegally obtained contraband) she had found a box under
the bed. A box full of stuff that was obviously not Dawn’s. Some books – horror
novels and – huh – poetry books – stolen from the public
library. CDs of bands with names like the Voidoids and the Buzzcocks… (Buzzcocks? Sheesh!). A
fuzzy photograph of Spike in the Summers’ kitchen, scowling and raising
a blurry arm in an attempt to thwart the photographer. On the back, written with
a fine-tipped Sharpie in Dawn’s hasty scrawl: “To Spike: Gotcha!
Love, Dawn” The picture must have been taken during the summer, when
Buffy was…
She had quietly shoved the box back under the bed. She didn’t ask Dawn about
it. If it made Dawn feel better to think he would come back for the stuff, let
her feel better. Buffy knows better. They don’t come back. Or… if they
do come back, they don’t come back the same.
She turns off the flashlight and closes the door. As she leaves the cemetery,
she glances down at her watch. The Scooby meeting is in ten minutes. Better get
home. Willow’s been working on the mystery of the creepy little lawn ornament
and hopefully they’ll be able to figure out who’s been spying on her.
Or, more specifically, where the annoying little twits are hiding out. She realizes
she’s actually looking forward to being with her friends tonight. They’ve
got a mission – albeit a minor, kinda irritating mission – to track
down some mostly harmless nerd guys. Still… it’s a mission. And they’ll
tackle it. The gang. Together. Almost like old times.
She stops and looks up at the sky. Yep. The world is a hard place. But she has
people who love her.
He can see the stars. He can't help but stop and stare up at them. Oh, she was
right. Such confusion. He had forgotten how big it all was. The sky. The world.
All of it. There is a chill breeze flowing around him. He opens his mouth and
takes it in. Delicious! He holds it there. He doesn't know how long he has. He'll
keep the breath inside of him as long as he can. To remember.
"We’re not out here to sight-see, Sparky. Get in the van. Now."
Spike quickly drops his eyes back to the ground and obeys.
The van is full of all kinds of electronic gizmos and such. There are video screens
with images on them that look vaguely familiar. It takes him a moment to realize
just what he's seeing. The Magic Box. The Bronze. His cemetery. Doublemeat Palace.
Other places. Places he knows. Some that he doesn't. How long had they been watching?
Why?
The sight of some of his old haunts sends a strange little shiver through him.
Still there. They exist. These places are real. He hadn't dreamt them. An hysterical
laugh threatens to escape from him but he catches it in his throat. Real. Of
course real. Why wouldn't they be? And still existing without benefit of
his presence. As well they should.
"Oh, hey, Warren! Something's up with the Gnome-cam." One of the monitors
shows nothing but snow. Andrew fiddles with a knob.
Warren climbs over beside Andrew, pushing Jonathan out of the way. Jonathan stumbles
into Spike. The force of it knocks Spike back against a metal cabinet. His head
connects with a resounding clang and he flails for balance, continuing his impromptu
descent to the floor. Jonathan lands on top of him with an “Oof.”
"Uh… sorry." Jonathan quickly climbs off of Spike and backs away,
brushing himself off. Spike blinks up at him, a bit dazed. It's bad enough that
he’s being held prisoner and ordered about by the Ubernerd here. But he
has to suffer the further indignity of being toppled by a human so small he wouldn’t
normally even bother to eat him. Too fucking weak. He scrabbles to a crouch,
bracing himself with a hand on the floor for balance. Closes his eyes to curb
the dizziness. Feels so hollow. A stick figure. No substance. He opens his eyes
to peer at his hand pressed to the floor of the van. Half expects it to pass
right through the metal. It doesn’t. Still here, then. Still real.
"Hey! Guys! D'you mind? We're trying to work here! Jonathan… make yourself
useful. Drive." Warren pulls a set of keys from his pocket and tosses them
to Jonathan. Jonathan nods and makes his way resignedly to the front of the van.
Warren turns to Spike. "You. Sit. Over there," he indicates a corner
of the floor by the van doors, "Now."
Spike complies, pulling himself into the corner. He can still see most of the
video screens. He watches. Not really sure what he's hoping to see in them. Someone's
in the magic box. Two people. Women. Their backs are to the camera but he recognizes
Harris’ demon girl – Anya. He feels an odd little surge of emotion
at the sight of her.
Long time ago, in London, a year or so after his death, he'd caught sight of
his sister through the window of his former home. He'd just been passing by.
Just the once. Not even sure how he’d ended up there. Wrong turn, most likely.
Not like the place had held any significance at that point. It was all dead to
him… or… he was dead to it… whichever. But there
he found himself. And there she was. She'd been sitting in the parlour, knitting,
illuminated by warm, flickering light. He had felt the same twinge of emotion
then as he does now. Sort of an… ache. Something missing. Something important. He
had stood in shadow and watched for nearly an hour before hurrying off to hunt.
Had found a girl about her age that night. Tavern girl. He remembers. Nearly
tore her head off with the ferocity of his attack. Tore other things too. He
never went past the house again after that. For no particular reason.
"Huh. Looks like we've lost Gnome-cam One. Andrew, make a note to deploy
Gnome-cam Two first thing tomorrow. Before the Farscape marathon comes on."
"Oh… but that starts at noon and I was kinda hoping to sleep in tomorrow
since, y'know, we're staying up kinda late tonight –"
"Just – make the damn note, okay?"
"Um. Okay," Andrew pulls out a device similar to the one Warren had
used to upload his program into Spike’s skull. Spike goes completely numb
at the sight of it, clenching his fists so tightly he feels a finger snap. In
an instant his entire consciousness is focused on the boy and what he holds in
his hand. Then the boy pulls out some kind of plastic stick and starts pressing
keys on the thing. Feeling Spike’s eyes on him, Andrew eventually looks
up. He must see the terror on the vampire’s face because he pauses, crinkling
his brow in confusion. Then, following Spike’s gaze, he looks down at the
device in his hand. After a moment, his mouth opens to form a small “O” of
recognition and he fumbles to put the PDA back in his pocket. He shoots a quick,
almost apologetic glance back at Spike.
"Um... Deploy Gnome-cam Two. Check." He doesn’t look in Spike’s
direction again, focusing instead on the monitors in front of him.
Only after the cursed thing is out of sight does Spike begin to register his
surroundings once again. Satisfied that there will be no new torment, at least
for now, he looks back to the monitors.
Anya and the dark-haired girl she's talking to rise and walk out of the camera's
range. Anya returns to the frame soon after, the dark-haired girl apparently
having left. She sits at the Scooby table. Hard to tell on the monitor, but she
looks sad. Spike absently wonders why.
The Death Star is on the move. Warren re-checks the receivers for the camera
feeds. Gnome-Cam One being out of the action makes him kinda nervous. He doesn't
like not being able to keep tabs on the Slayer's lair. She's not showing up on
any of the other cams. She's probably home. Still, he'd like to know just where
she is. She's not part of the plan yet. If she shows up, it could seriously screw
things up for him. The vampire's still too weak to fight her if it came down
to it. But he's gonna fix that. And leave a nice little calling card for the
Slayer to find in the morning. He can't wait to see her face.
The van stops with a lurch. Okay. They're here. It's showtime. He turns to Spike.
The door to the Magic Box closes with a jingle. He certainly hadn't missed that
damned bell. He takes a few steps and stops at the edge of the shadows. If he
looks at all like he imagines he must, he's not particularly eager to be seen
in the light.
Anya looks up. Her eyes are red and teary. They widen when she sees him standing
there.
"Oh! Uh… Spike… it's – it's you!" She glances around
the shop, obviously scanning for a weapon. None nearby. "We're closed, you
know. I must have forgotten to lock the door."
"H – hullo, Anya." It's been so long since he has spoken without
being prompted. His words sound flat and awkward. "Uh… how's it going?"
Her eyes narrow suspiciously at him. "Where have you been all this time?
And – have you lost weight?"
Spike gives a weak laugh. "Yeah, I s'pose you could say that. Been on a
bit of a diet."
"Well… am I supposed to compliment you? Because it's very unattractive." She
is still peering at him sharply.
He smiles but doesn't reply. He has missed her. Odd. Guess he'd always rather
appreciated how she could be so… forthright. Annoying but honest, y'know?
She smells good too. Hadn't smelled a woman in a long time. Her smell is sharp
with strong emotion. She's very upset about something. He takes a few steps closer.
Anya gasps slightly when she sees him in the light. She stands up and moves around
the table so that it is between them. Clever girl.
"Spike… what happened to you?" she murmers. Her voice is filled
with a mixture of fear and… pity. Oh. He looks that bad then.
"Had a run in with uh… a particularly nasty demon."
"For two months?" She stays behind the table as he continues to move
closer. Her heartbeat is rapid but not panicked.
"Been that long?" Had it really only been two months? Two months. That's
nothing. Not to a vampire. A blink of an eye. Thought he'd been gone for years.
Thought he'd been gone forever. Maybe never even here. He shakes his head to
clear it. So muddled. How long had he been this way? Head full of strange buzzings
and whispers.
"Well, not quite – Spike?" she asks cautiously, recognizing
that something is very wrong, "What are you doing here?"
"You've been crying." He is at the edge of the table, directly across
from her. He leans in. Looks at her. When people cry, the little capillaries
in their faces, especially around their eyes, become engorged with blood. Makes
their faces swell slightly, turn red. Flush with blood. It’s the most beautiful
sight in the world. A crying girl.
He takes an abrupt step back from the table and squeezes his eyes shut. When
he opens them again he tilts his head and looks closely into her reddened eyes.
The fear he recognizes. Seen it thousands of times. More than that. The pity… not
as accustomed to that. Makes him uncomfortable. He tries to ignore it. It's the
despair that gets him though. Resonates in him on a level akin to but deeper
than hunger. And there's something else in there too. Can't place it. Something
different about the girl…
"Anya? What's wrong?"
His question seems to trigger something in her. Sets her off crying again. She
covers her face with her hands and sobs.
He can't move. He's doing it all wrong. What's the matter with him? Just because
she's hurting. Just because he knows her. It makes no difference. It shouldn't
change a bloody thing. He looks over at the clock. Taking too long. Got a schedule
to keep. Now or never –
He lets the demon take over and lunges across the table.
"I think I've got the Magic Box." Willow announces. She types the final
sequence and watches as the image comes up on the screen. "Whoah!" She
jumps up, staring at the screen in shock.
Buffy and Xander rush around the table to get a peek at what she sees.
"Oh my god! Is that –" Buffy leans in closer, not believing her
eyes.
"Spike!" Xander shouts. "Oh god, he's attacking Anya!"
He bolts from the dining room. Buffy hesitates a second longer, transfixed by
the image on the screen. Blinking she pulls herself away and runs after Xander.
They leave Willow standing with her mouth hanging open. She watches the scene
play out.
A red light flashes on the screen in front of Andrew, accompanied by the hacker
alarm.
"Ahh!" Warren jumps up from his seat.
"It's tapped into our feed! Something's Wrong!" Andrew scrambles to
type commands on the keyboard in front of him.
Jonathan looks up from the display panel in front of him. "Someone's tracing
the video feed to the lair!"
"Um – okay, okay… do they have the remote signal? Are they tracking
the remote?" Warren runs his hand through his hair and leans to look at
Jonathan's display.
"I – uh – I don't think so. Not yet."
Warren is frantic. "Shut it down, shut it all down"
Andrew is still entering commands. "I'm trying, I can't find –"
Jonathan reaches in front of Warren to Andrew's keyboard. "Here, dorkface –"
"I'll get it myself!" Andrew tries to swat him away.
"Guys, we have to –" Warren looks up at the Magic Box monitor, "– oh,
holy crap."
With her hands over her face like that, she hadn't seen him coming. He clamps
an arm around her shoulders and twines his fingers in her hair, wrenching her
head to the side to expose her throat. She makes no sound as he lowers his mouth
to her neck.
"Sorry," he mumbles, scraping her neck with dry lips, "I'll make
it quick."
She reaches up and locks her hand around his wrist. He feels bones snapping as
she squeezes, forcing him to release her hair. He groans and tries to pull his
arm away but she breaks loose from his hold and spins him around, pinioning his
arm behind his back and pushing him face first onto the table.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Spike?" she shouts, holding
him down.
"Whoah! What the hell was that?" Warren claps a hand over his mouth
as he studies the monitor.
"Um… what's up with her face?" Jonathan grimaces, "She looks
all… gross."
Andrew's eyes are wide. "She's a demon! Oh my god you guys – she's
a vengeance demon! Oh, we so don't want to piss her off."
"Did she just kill Spike?" Jonathan stands on his tiptoes for a closer
look.
"No… it looks like he's kinda wriggling," Andrew says, "Plus
she's yelling at him. She wouldn't be yelling at him if he was dead, stupid."
“Oh, sorry, it’s just so hard to see what’s going on with your
big head in the way.”
“Hey, bite me Numbnuts! I have the con, here! You’re just Ensign Extra
and you know it… so just sit back and deal, Jerkathan!”
As usual, scuffling ensues.
Warren is frozen. Their lair is all but infiltrated. And the plan is obviously
not going well… he's watching as his secret weapon is beaten up by the girl
he'd assigned it to kill. He puts his hands over his ears to drown out the bickering. "Okay
okay okay… you guys, just… shut up for a second. I need to think." Remarkably,
they shut up. He thinks for a second.
"Okay. New plan. Jonathan – kill that signal. Kill it now. Andrew,
you're with me."
As he turns to move into action, another alarm goes off. Spike's time is up.
"I can't believe you were going to kill me! Of all the nerve!"
Spike shifts out of game face.
"Anya," he winces as the crushed wrist bones grind together in her
grasp. "Let me up. I promise I won't kill you."
"Of course you won't! You're as weak as a kitten. And I could kick your
ass even if you weren't. What is your problem, anyway?"
She relents somewhat on her grip and eases off a little. He takes the opportunity
to wrench his arm free and push her off balance enough to flip onto his back.
She has him pinned by the throat, straddling his body before he can crawl entirely
out from under her. She leans down until they're practically nose to nose. Looks
into his eyes curiously. "You look like hell."
"Could say the same to you," he chokes.
"You're not insane are you?"
He's not sure of the correct answer to that. His eyes dart to the clock. No
no no!
"Anya –" he tries again.
The door bursts open with a cheerful jingle just as the chip fires.
Xander is standing in the doorway, axe raised threateningly. He's not moving.
Buffy pokes him in the ribs to urge him out of the way. She pushes past him and
rushes into the room.
What the –?
Anya is looking guiltily up at Xander. Her face is all demony again. She's sitting
on top of a wraithlike Spike, who is screaming in agony. He seems to be having
some kind of seizure or something. Buffy runs toward them.
Anya jumps off of the writhing vampire and backs away, looking down at him with
alarm. Spike's thrashing sends him rolling off the table to the floor. He doesn't
seem to notice the fall, just curls up into a twitching little ball. Buffy kneels
at his side, stake raised and ready. She's afraid to touch him. After a few seconds,
the convulsions stop and he is still. Buffy reaches out a tentative hand and
touches his shoulder.
"Spike?" No response.
She tilts her head down to see his face better. His eyes are half-closed. Only
the whites are visible. A thin trickle of blood is running from his nose. Blood
on his lips. There wasn’t any on Anya. Looks like he must have bitten his
tongue or something during the seizure. He has some nasty bruises and abrasions
around his face. Weird burns. It looks as if his nose has been broken as well.
Somebody did a number on him recently. He looks starved too. He must be eating
though or he wouldn’t be bleeding, right?
He's not breathing. Of course not. She has to remind herself.
She looks up at a bewildered Anya, who is now looking much more human. "What'd
you do to him?" It comes out sounding more like an accusation than she had
intended it to.
Anya retreats back a few more steps. "Nothing! I didn't do anything! He – he
tried to eat me and then we were talking and then he just –"
Xander, regaining the capacity for speech, lowers his axe and points a finger
at Anya.
"You!" he shouts. "You're a vengeance demon!"
Anya shoots him an irritated look, "Oh! Very good Xander! I'm impressed
that you figured it out so quickly!"
Xander's mouth snaps shut and he continues to stare at her, unblinking.
Buffy returns her attention to the prone figure before her. "Spike?" she
tries again, reaching to touch his face. Still no reaction.
She frowns and stands up. Tonight just can’t get much weirder.
As if on cue, about fifteen Fyarl demons burst in through the windows and attack. |
|
