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Chapter 33
Giles tried to stay calm during the interminable ride to the hospital. The blaring sirens were doing their job and clearing a path through the heavy LA traffic, but every time he caught sight of Buffy's ashen face and the bright red blood that stained her clothes, he felt heartsick. He was helpless, at the mercy of the medics and the fates, and he didn't entirely trust either. For Buffy to be lost in such a dreadful, pointless way, it was just...it was unthinkable. And what on earth had possessed Xander to deal a killing blow to a best friend...
Giles shook himself. It wouldn't be allowed to happen, it was as simple as that. Buffy was strong, she was the Slayer, she'd survived a far larger blade to the gut and fought back the Turok Han not a month ago; she would beat this. But despite his own assurances, Giles wondered if she did still have it in her to fight. They had no idea to what extent Willow's spell had affected the slayer line; what if by spreading the burden they'd also spread the power? And Buffy had fought so hard for so long, had no reserves of strength left, had barely been able to stand when they'd arrived in LA. What if all it took, finally, was a clumsy drunken stabbing?
He couldn't let himself believe it. No. He wouldn't. She would survive and return stronger than ever. She had more to fight for now than ever before. His slayer would not leave her sister alone again, and as for Spike – damn the vampire but Giles had seen the depth of the devotion between him and Buffy. She wouldn't give that up without a fight, he was sure.
By the time they reached the emergency department and the medical personnel whisked Buffy off to the operating theatre, Giles had convinced himself it would be all right. It had to be. Still, that didn’t stop him praying to any deity that cared to listen that he was right as he sat and waited for news.
+ + + +
Lorne slipped into the lab as quietly as he could, not that it would have made any difference if he'd been tap-dancing and banging pans together, as the noise and shouting was deafening. Everybody was trying to be heard over everybody else and at the centre of it all was a growling vamped-out Spike, pacing up and down, his duster snapping out behind him. Lorne tried to get the vampire's attention, but it was hopeless. After several attempts, the demon simply opened his mouth and sang the highest note he could manage, more difficult than usual thanks to the bruised ribs, courtesy of Angel.
It had the desired result. Silence. For a little while at least, until Willow asked him why he was there and not with Angel.
Lorne hadn't got any further than explaining about Angel's bonds being broken before Spike pushed past him and ran along the corridor, scenting the air. Everyone started talking again, and it took another ear-piercing higher-than-high C before Lorne could make himself heard.
“Sweeties, please! Let me finish – Faith's on the clock, and she'll have Angel safely trussed up in no time. Trust me, I've seen it. So we can all calm down and work this through.” The mumblings ceased sufficiently for Lorne to continue. “So, Spike made it back okay – mission accomplished?”
Wes cleared his throat. “Yes. He arrived as Buffy was being taken away, and I can tell you he is barely holding his rage in check. I rather suspect that the Powers have played this all wrong. Assuming that Spike has passed the final trial, I cannot see him willingly giving up an iota of blood to save the Powers' chosen champion. Unless Faith gets to Angel first, I think we can assume that his return to the side of good will no longer be an option. And as for Xander...”
Willow spoke up. “I can't just let Spike...I can't. It's Xander. I have to get to him first. No matter what he's done...” she paled as she realised exactly what that was, “God... how could he... but I can’t abandon him.” Thinking of her own descent into darkness, Willow shook her head, eyes filled with tears. “No, he didn't abandon me, I owe him the same. I'll be back.”
Nobody had the heart to stop her. Despite the shock of his actions, they had all seen how pain, grief, and jealousy had affected Xander, to the extent that he was hardly recognisable. And none of them were ignorant of the similarities between Willow's homicidal interlude and Xander's.
Wesley swallowed hard as he surveyed the remaining ragtag bunch, all seeming to look to him for guidance. He felt the pressure of leadership and silently gave all due credit to Giles and Buffy, and even Angel, for having to do this day after day. But he wasn't without experience in that field himself and he would do whatever was necessary. The thing now was to make sure people were occupied, keep their minds distracted from the distressing reality of what was going on. To Cordelia and Harmony he assigned the task of looking in on Dawn, Andrew scurrying off after them. That left Lorne, Fred and himself studiously avoiding the red stain on the tiles, moving off to one side and sitting down.
“Is it over then?” Fred asked, and it took a while for Wesley to work out what she meant.
“The ritual?” he queried, not knowing the answer even as he posed the question for her.
Fred nodded. “I mean, if Spike won't...is Angel lost to us?”
Wes thought hard before he replied. “I truly don't know, Fred. I have no idea if this was the Powers’ objective or not, and it seems that Cordelia is similarly in the dark. All that we can do is wait, I expect. Unless...Lorne, what did you see?”
Lorne furrowed his brow. How to explain to non-empathic beings what an empathic reading showed? He just knew that what was meant to be, would be, and he knew that Faith would find Angel. But beyond that, he was as clueless as the rest of them. “Honeycakes, I know you want me to tell you that everything's spinning where it should be, but I can't. My gift's not like that. I see shapes, that's all. And the shape of this feels right. Just can't tell you what shape it is. You catch my drift?”
Wes and Fred darted uncertain looks at each other before nodding. They clearly didn't, but Lorne accepted the lie. Fred sounded desperate as she turned her doe-eyes on him.
“Just tell me we get him back, the real Angel. I have to...I didn't say goodbye.” Fred's bottom lip wobbled as she thought of how she'd relied on her big hero for so long without ever thinking he'd leave her. Angel was immortal; he was supposed to be there forever, long after she'd gone.
Lorne couldn't reply, didn't have the answer to give to her. He tried a reassuring smile, but his lips wouldn't form it and he ended up leaning forward and kissing Fred's forehead instead. “Sweetie, I just don't know. But we'll do our best to fix it, whatever it is, and things will be fine. Trust me?”
+ + + +
Spike ran into the room where Angel had lately been tethered, the sight of the empty manacles enraging him further, his grandsire's scent still strong on the air. Growling, Spike kicked the mug by his feet, shattering it against the wall where the remnants of Angel's last meal dripped down the grey painted surface in rivulets of red. His nostrils flared, his fangs lengthening as his mouth watered. How long had it been since he'd fed? Hours? Days maybe? It was all starting to blur together. He froze as the red on the wall brought back the image of Buffy, lying on the floor, too pale and too still in a spreading pool of blood. Buffy... he couldn’t lose her. He fought back frantic panic – she’d make it, she had to. He forced himself to calm. Shaking off his vamp face, he turned to leave – and walked straight into a smirking Angel.
“Well now, guess I don't have to come looking for you, boy.”
The last word had barely left Angel’s mouth when Spike’s fist smashed into his face, and the fight was on. Brutal and unrelenting, the two of them battled with fists and feet flying, snarling and biting at each other as they crashed about the room. There was nobody there to stop the mayhem this time, and both demons had things to prove. Blood flowed freely, Angel's bulk and Spike's steely determination warring for domination. A whirling spin kick to Angel’s head dazed him, and in the blink of an eye Spike had his fangs in his throat drinking deep of his heart’s blood, when Faith burst into the room.
She was almost tempted to let him go on and drain Angel dry. But she couldn't. For many reasons, she had to break them up. Xander Harris was one of them.
Both vampires fought against the slayer as she forced her way between them and pushed them apart. Bloodlust had them, eyes golden and focused only on each other, fangs long and sharp, all pretence at anything but butchery long gone. Faith crouched between them as the vampires circled to attack again and she readied herself for the bruising shock of being caught between the two, dead set on tearing each other apart. But Spike surprised her when he gritted his teeth, took a deep breath and stepped back. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lit it calmly and shook off his vamp face as he inhaled.
“Took you long enough, love. Now, truss him up and we can get this farce over with and when he's back to being Mr Broody, I'm gonna knock him into next week.”
Faith and Angel watched Spike through wide eyes as he sauntered away to lean against the wall. Faith was stunned that he wasn't lashing out at both her and Angel in his need to see off his hated elder; Angel was just bemused at the fact that his impetuous descendant could shake off his demonic urges so effortlessly. Angel himself was still in full fang face, unable to control his own emotions.
Spike smirked. He did like to play the shock value occasionally, work the room. “What? Bloody champion, aren’t I? Gotta do the right thing. Then I'm gonna rip his head off.”
Angel knocked Faith out of the way and had his hand round Spike's throat, squeezing hard. Spike stood and took it, wrenching Angel's hand away after a minute or two and turning to the dark-haired slayer with a raised eyebrow. “Feel free to jump in any time, slayer. Sooner we get this over and done with the sooner I can find Harris and go see to my girls.”
Faith snarled. “Xander's mine, Spike. But I'll help you with Angel.” Before Angel could finish the smart retort that was bubbling, Faith elbowed him in the temple, taking him by surprise and felling him to the floor. He was out cold, but Faith flipped him over on his front and manacled his hands together behind his back before slinging him over her shoulder and hefting him ready to move back to the lab.
“Nifty toys. Deadwood know you've got a yen for bondage?” Spike teased as his offer to help move Angel was refused.
Faith rolled her eyes, and kept on walking, Spike strolling at her side. He was a puzzle, she thought. One minute he's all out for blood, the next he's determined to be the hero. Definitely not your average vampire. And if truth be told, she honestly thought now that the Powers had backed the wrong horse. Angel was too fragile with his massive ego and easily sullied soul. All it took was an orgasmic happy or some tainted blood and he was hanging with the fresh meat eaters again. At least Spike seemed to be in control of his own desires with or without the soul, and not forgetting the fact that he'd fought for that soul willingly. Nobody had cursed it on him; he'd won it back, accepted the pain and torment that the decades of guilt would give him and moved on through it to redemption. It had taken over a hundred years for Angel to get half way to where Spike was now. He was a one-off. Buffy was a lucky girl.
She chuckled, drawing a quizzical look from her companion. “Something tickled your fancy, pet? Angel bumping and grinding you as you walk?”
“Just thinking. Funny how things work out.”
“How so?”
“You. Me. Angel here. Time was I’d have staked you BAM, wouldn't have wasted time wondering whether or not Angel was worth saving. Vampires equalled bad. But look at me now, ready to fight anybody who tries to hurt him, and you...rather not see you dust, either.”
Spike nodded, his lips set in a hard line. “Well, then we may have a problem, slayer. See, that lump of misery you're carryin', gonna set him right back on the road to good. But then he's reached the end of that road. Made a promise, gonna keep my word. He can have my blood, a few drops anyway. Let the mojo do its stuff. Then we fight. Nobody hurts my girls.”
Faith considered his words as they reached the elevator. They really did have a problem.
“Can't let you do that, Spike. He helped me when I was in a really bad place. Gotta do the same for him.”
The rest of the journey was in silence, save for the thwack of Angel's head against the wall when Spike noticed his elder's eyes fluttering. No point him coming round until they were ready for the ritual, and for Spike it couldn’t come too soon. He wanted it over and done with. It was tough being good.
+ + + +
Xander peered dead ahead, seeing nothing but darkness. All he would ever see was darkness. It was only a matter of time before Faith or Angel, or even Giles, found him and put him out of his misery. But he didn't want that. Oh, he wanted it to be over, but on his terms. He could go with a little dignity at least. A belch of smoke and burst of flame drew his attention deeper into the cavern. Travers and his minions had disappeared that way earlier, so there must be a way out. Or a way down. He didn't really care. Throwing himself into a pit of flames seemed as good a way to go as any. At least it’d be quick, and by his own will.
Before he'd consciously decided, his feet led him into the dark stone unknown of the bowels of Wolfram and Hart. The smooth path gave way to rough rocks and stones and Xander twisted an ankle, cursing as he stumbled. He came to rest with his face peering over the edge of a steep drop, the heat blasting his skin from the inferno below.
“Maybe I'll just slash my wrists,” he mumbled. “Broiling'll just tender me up for some demon to chow down on.”
The floor seemed pleasant enough, so Xander dragged himself back from the edge and curled up against the wall, idly searching around for something sharp just in case the back door of Wolfram and Hart didn't actually exist. The combination of the dark, the heat and the somewhat calming sounds of the popping fire, plus the bottle of vodka he'd emptied, soon lulled him to sleep.
He didn't know how long it had been, but the sound of footsteps accompanied by a swish of silk skirts roused him. He blinked, the dim light suddenly dimmer as a slender figure stepped in front of him. His mouth was dry and his face, where it had rested on the ground, was covered with grit that scratched at his skin as he tried to wipe it off. He managed to sit up, woozy and nauseous as the effects of his binge cut in, and rested back against the cool wall of the cavern.
A throaty chuckle drew Xander’s attention back to the figure that had awoken him and he squinted to bring it into focus. The sound of the laughter was familiar, and chilling, and he tried to scramble backwards as the woman crouched down and licked her fangs, twirling her long, dark hair in pale fingers.
“Have you lost your mummy? You’re all dirty.”
Horrified, and unable to move, Xander shuddered as the vampire sucked on her fingers then brought them to his cheek, the dead flesh of her hand raising goosebumps as she stroked away the streaks of dirt, her eyes boring into his.
“Ooh lovely. All twisted inside.” She smiled, triumphant. “I fink you need a new mummy to take care of you, make you a happy boy. You shall have cakes and tea and cuddles.”
Humming to herself, Drusilla cradled him to her bosom, laying soft kisses on his hair as she stroked his neck. Xander was too scared to move – and then realised that he didn’t want to. Whether she was putting him under thrall or whether he’d simply given up, he couldn’t say, but suddenly everything was clear. Here was the end, and it seemed somehow appropriate. He’d come full circle, back to where it all started; Buffy telling him and Willow about vampires, his first dusting... Jesse. He went limp in her arms, and Drusilla crowed with glee as the steel bands of her arms clamped around him.
“A new dolly! What fun we will have, little man. Such games. Come on now, time to say nighty-night to the dark.”
As Xander realised her intent he started to struggle, but it was too late. Pain robbed him of his voice as vicious fangs ripped at his throat, and while Drusilla suckled, he thought of Anya, fancying that he saw her beckoning to him. He sobbed as consciousness dimmed, his vision of Anya turning away and fading, her face streaked with silent tears.
tbc...
