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Entry tags:
Taming the Muse Prompt 19, BoaS Part 4, Trading Places, BtVS, PG
Title: Trading Places
Part 4 of the Blood on a Sundial series.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #19 - Insurance
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
At:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Disclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Note: I've still not got a title for this series.
Word Count: 2,234
4. Trading Places
As they walked back to the warehouse, Spike was quietly fuming. Family, clan, the whole bloody mess a soul could make of the simple bonds. Angel was twisted and bent out of shape so far he was hardly a vampire any more. Claiming the Slayer as clan and invoking Wergeld. It was so wrong, there was just no word for how wrong it was.
Angel glumped along beside him, thankfully refraining from small talk, because Spike didn't know how he would keep from screaming, if he once opened his mouth. By the time they reached the warehouse his jaw ached with it.
And then, there it was, the door and the lock bar that slotted into place to keep them safe during the day, innocently propped up next to the jam. Somehow it was so easy to grab it in passing and smash it into the back of Angel's head.
He felt nothing as he stood astride the body. "Nothing like a bit of insurance," he told the empty air, the bar still bouncing in his hands. "The boy, and now you." He looked down at Angel. "Fucking Wergeld, my arse," he snarled. "You have the gall to claim the Slayer as clan, against your own blood!" The second blow brought feeling back - a sense of justice done as the bones in Angel's left shoulder shattered. The third, smashing his right humerus, brought relief. Family, clan, loyalty, belonging, ownership and home. Those things were important. They mattered. Some crazy Gypsies committed an abomination and it all went out the window? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The bar crashed down on Angel's left leg.
Spike had it raised high above his head, ready to bring down on Angel's lower back, when movement caught the corner of his eye. He dropped the bar and was across the room in an instant. "Dru, love," he said, reaching out to steady her as she stumbled. "You shouldn't be up. What are you doing? Come back to bed."
She looked up at his face, eyes misty and vague. "I thought my Angelus was here." Her face crumpled and the pitiful weariness broke his heart. "I was dreaming again, wasn't I Spike? He's not here. He's never here."
Spike put one hand around her waist and brushed her hair back from her face with the other, tenderly stroking his knuckles down her cheek and ending the contact with a gentle nudge of encouragement to her chin. "Yes, Love, you were dreaming," he said softly. "Angelus isn't here." He pulled her close, taking comfort from her frail solidity, even as nightmare images of her turning to dust in his hands grabbed at his imagination. "Let me get you someone to eat. You shouldn't be walking around. You're weak."
His arm around her shoulders, she went with him easily and he ushered her back to the room he had appropriated for her. He helped her to lie down, smoothed the blankets over her and bent to kiss her forehead. "I'll be right back, precious. I'll find you a nice one, eh?" he whispered, as he retreated slowly backwards out of the room.
Grabbing Alfred, he gave swift instructions about the broken mass of bloody bones by the door, while he went to fetch a snack from the store room. Initial thoughts of feeding her the Xander boy were banished, as a new plan began to form in his head, coming to full fruition by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. Oh yes! That was good. Angel claimed the Slayer as clan and cast off his own? Let's see what the Slayer thinks of that.
He took his time choosing between the offerings, eventually picking out a small blond girl, brought in from this night's hunt. She was fresh and clean and if anything could tempt Dru's fickle appetite, he would bet it was something like this. Releasing the shackles, he dragged her from the larder and carried her back up to the ground floor. They would have a picnic in bed, while he worked out the final details for constructing his new toy. He had time and more importantly, he had at least one minion with some modicum of technical skills. It would be twelve or eighteen hours before Angel's absence was noticed.
*****
Spike stood on the walkway halfway up the wall opposite the main door. Like a pirate captain at the wheel of his ship, he surveyed his command. From here he had a clear view of most of the room: the door, soon to be conveniently propped open, and the trapdoors with their attendant chains and fixings, opposite each other against the side walls. Idly he swung the big, floor mounted lever, first to the right, then to the left, watching the trapdoors fall open in turn.
He glanced over to Alfred. "Go talk carelessly at Willy's," he instructed.
*****
By the time the Slayer arrived, his preparations were complete. The minions didn't stand a chance. Not that that mattered. They were his forlorn hope, a sacrifice intended to make a point and take the edge off her energy, rather than a serious hope of victory. He stood back and watched her fight, realising, belatedly, that the very friends who were her weakness two days ago, were actually giving her more ferocity, now that she was fighting to free them, rather than to protect them. She was tricky too. When she lost her stake he thought for a moment that she was a goner. But she grabbed a chair, smashed it against the floor and used the broken back to stake two at once in a move he couldn't help admiring, even as he despaired of the stupidity of fledgling minions who didn't know better than to run at an attacker in tandem. He was a little encouraged when Alfred managed to take her down from behind. But it was short-lived. One moment she was pinned under Alfred's fangs, the next she was flipping herself on to her feet as he staggered backwards. She landed a right and a left, sending him into a pillar. He bounced off and fell forwards, straight into a roundhouse kick, which sent him flying across the room. The Slayer grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor and as Alfred scrambled up, she closed. There was a brief x-ray like image of his skeleton hanging in the air, before he disappeared in a cloud of bewildered dust. Yes, she was good.
Spike continued to watch as she spotted the last of his suicide crew recovering from being thrown across the room in her first rush. She stalked over and dispatched him with clinical efficiency, coloured only slightly by vindictive satisfaction. Time to bring his toys into the game.
"Stop!" he yelled. The Slayer froze. Spike stepped into her view and leaned his hands on the railing, staring down at her. "Hello, Sweetie." He smiled.
Buffy spared a quick glance for Angel and Xander, tied to the walls, gags in their mouths, and turned back to look up at Spike. Her body loosened and she shifted into an easy, deceptively relaxed stance, preparing to spring. "What? No minions?" he taunted. "Learnt that lesson, did we?" The tightening of her face was reply enough and he laughed. "So now we come to the fun part of the evening," he announced. He glanced right and left, directing her eyes to Angel and then to Xander and saw her take in their situation properly for the first time.
It was a pretty picture, he had to admit. They both had their hands secured behind their backs and were standing rigidly upright under the encouragement of the nooses around their necks, which were in turn fixed to rings in the walls above their heads. Angel was favouring his broken leg and didn't look too fit. The boy just looked furiously pissed off.
Spike placed his left hand casually on the lever. "You see, it goes like this. I push this lever to the left and the trapdoor under Xander opens, and he falls...." He spaced the next words out for emphasis. "Breaking his neck. Like a hangman's. Noose." His smile broadened. "Exactly like, actually." Her face was a picture. "I push it to the right and it's Angel's turn. I reckon I can only do one, before you get up here. But that's okay. I like my Slayers one-to-one. And since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you choose which of your avid admirers will survive you. Go on. Choose. Which way shall I go?"
She glanced back and forth between them, then back up at Spike. He could see the calculation she was making. "And I should probably mention, that although Xander's noose is plain old rope..." He loved this part. "Angel's is razor wire. You choose him and the wire will cut right through his neck. Come on Slayer." His voice turned vicious. "Tell me about family and loyalty and puppy dogs and tears."
She shook her head. "Why are you doing this?" she asked in total bewilderment.
Spike straightened his shoulders and shrugged. "Because I can?"
"No, that's not all this is. This is a test." She spoke like she was trying to figure something out. "What are you testing?"
"None of your fucking business," he snarled, then reconsidered - knowledge could be torture. And gloating was fun. "I want to know which of these two means the most to you. Which will you save at the cost of the other?" Good humour restored, he smiled invitingly. "Will it be Angel, the love of your life? Or..." He waved his arm to the left, a salesman extolling the product on offer. "Will it be Xander, here, the ever loyal sidekick?"
Buffy's eyes skittered around the room, frantically searching for a third option. He watched her measure the distance between them and saw her realise that, once again, she couldn't get to him in time.
"Look, you don't have to do this." Her voice had acquired an edge which matched her expression. He relished the pain.
"Come on, Slayer. It's simple. Just choose. I promise the other will go free."
She glanced around the room again and started to sidle to her left, towards the shadows. It was like she had seen something. But he had the lever and he wasn't going to leave it in response to some lame bluff. She looked up at him and he had a split second to recognise the triumph in her gaze, before she darted out of sight behind a pile of packing crates. He leaned forwards against the handrail and if his heart beat, it would have stopped when she backed into the open again, with Drusilla held hostage against her chest, her makeshift stake held to Dru's heart.
She looked up, over Dru' shoulder. "You were saying?" she asked. Spike's fear paralysed him and he knew she knew it. "Come on down," she called, mockingly. Her voice hardened. "Come down and release my friends, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray."
He pushed back from the railing. "I'm coming," he agreed. "Just you keep that hand steady, or..." He couldn't think of an ending for that sentence, so he didn't try. Instead, he leapt over the rail to land on the floor ten feet in front of her. She jerked her head to indicate Xander. "Him first," she instructed.
Xander's eyes widened with surprised relief above his gag and Spike walked over to him. He removed the noose first. As soon as it was off Xander pushed away from the wall, attempting to head butt him. The Slayer intervened. "Xander, Stop it! Get Angel," she ordered. Xander stopped and turned, presenting his arms to be untied, and as soon as Spike released him he reached up and pulled the gag free.
Xander walked over to Angel and Spike stood back, bouncing his nervousness and keeping a watchful eye on Dru. Some part of Spike's brain registered the boy's curses as he cut his fingers, fumbling with the razor wire around Angel's neck and dimly he heard the 'humph' as Angel relaxed the tension in his good leg and staggered forward. But he couldn't spare the time to look - his attention was totally focused on Buffy and Dru.
Buffy shot a quick glance to the side. "Help him, Xander. Get him outside," she ordered. "I'll be out in a moment."
Xander snarled. "I hope you're going to kill that bastard."
Buffy turned towards him, dragging Dru around with her, and Spike saw the point of the stake push hard against Dru's bodice. Dru looked even weaker than she did earlier, before he managed to get her to eat. She gazed across at Spike, eyes silently pleading.
Buffy sounded weary. "Xander, I can't." And Spike had to think, to recall the boy's question. "I'm the Slayer. That means I have to do the honourable thing. Even if he wouldn't."
For a split second Spike considered arguing that point, but suddenly his arms were full of Dru and nothing else in the world mattered, except holding on to her. The sound of retreating footsteps was unimportant, his Dru was safe. She lay in his arms, eyes closed, unconscious but solid, and he wasn't sure whether the tears he felt prickling his eyes were the result of relief, or frustration.
Next Part
Part 4 of the Blood on a Sundial series.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #19 - Insurance
Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
At:
tamingthemuseDisclaimer: here.
Rating: Pg
Note: I've still not got a title for this series.
Word Count: 2,234
4. Trading Places
As they walked back to the warehouse, Spike was quietly fuming. Family, clan, the whole bloody mess a soul could make of the simple bonds. Angel was twisted and bent out of shape so far he was hardly a vampire any more. Claiming the Slayer as clan and invoking Wergeld. It was so wrong, there was just no word for how wrong it was.
Angel glumped along beside him, thankfully refraining from small talk, because Spike didn't know how he would keep from screaming, if he once opened his mouth. By the time they reached the warehouse his jaw ached with it.
And then, there it was, the door and the lock bar that slotted into place to keep them safe during the day, innocently propped up next to the jam. Somehow it was so easy to grab it in passing and smash it into the back of Angel's head.
He felt nothing as he stood astride the body. "Nothing like a bit of insurance," he told the empty air, the bar still bouncing in his hands. "The boy, and now you." He looked down at Angel. "Fucking Wergeld, my arse," he snarled. "You have the gall to claim the Slayer as clan, against your own blood!" The second blow brought feeling back - a sense of justice done as the bones in Angel's left shoulder shattered. The third, smashing his right humerus, brought relief. Family, clan, loyalty, belonging, ownership and home. Those things were important. They mattered. Some crazy Gypsies committed an abomination and it all went out the window? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. The bar crashed down on Angel's left leg.
Spike had it raised high above his head, ready to bring down on Angel's lower back, when movement caught the corner of his eye. He dropped the bar and was across the room in an instant. "Dru, love," he said, reaching out to steady her as she stumbled. "You shouldn't be up. What are you doing? Come back to bed."
She looked up at his face, eyes misty and vague. "I thought my Angelus was here." Her face crumpled and the pitiful weariness broke his heart. "I was dreaming again, wasn't I Spike? He's not here. He's never here."
Spike put one hand around her waist and brushed her hair back from her face with the other, tenderly stroking his knuckles down her cheek and ending the contact with a gentle nudge of encouragement to her chin. "Yes, Love, you were dreaming," he said softly. "Angelus isn't here." He pulled her close, taking comfort from her frail solidity, even as nightmare images of her turning to dust in his hands grabbed at his imagination. "Let me get you someone to eat. You shouldn't be walking around. You're weak."
His arm around her shoulders, she went with him easily and he ushered her back to the room he had appropriated for her. He helped her to lie down, smoothed the blankets over her and bent to kiss her forehead. "I'll be right back, precious. I'll find you a nice one, eh?" he whispered, as he retreated slowly backwards out of the room.
Grabbing Alfred, he gave swift instructions about the broken mass of bloody bones by the door, while he went to fetch a snack from the store room. Initial thoughts of feeding her the Xander boy were banished, as a new plan began to form in his head, coming to full fruition by the time he reached the bottom of the stairs. Oh yes! That was good. Angel claimed the Slayer as clan and cast off his own? Let's see what the Slayer thinks of that.
He took his time choosing between the offerings, eventually picking out a small blond girl, brought in from this night's hunt. She was fresh and clean and if anything could tempt Dru's fickle appetite, he would bet it was something like this. Releasing the shackles, he dragged her from the larder and carried her back up to the ground floor. They would have a picnic in bed, while he worked out the final details for constructing his new toy. He had time and more importantly, he had at least one minion with some modicum of technical skills. It would be twelve or eighteen hours before Angel's absence was noticed.
*****
Spike stood on the walkway halfway up the wall opposite the main door. Like a pirate captain at the wheel of his ship, he surveyed his command. From here he had a clear view of most of the room: the door, soon to be conveniently propped open, and the trapdoors with their attendant chains and fixings, opposite each other against the side walls. Idly he swung the big, floor mounted lever, first to the right, then to the left, watching the trapdoors fall open in turn.
He glanced over to Alfred. "Go talk carelessly at Willy's," he instructed.
*****
By the time the Slayer arrived, his preparations were complete. The minions didn't stand a chance. Not that that mattered. They were his forlorn hope, a sacrifice intended to make a point and take the edge off her energy, rather than a serious hope of victory. He stood back and watched her fight, realising, belatedly, that the very friends who were her weakness two days ago, were actually giving her more ferocity, now that she was fighting to free them, rather than to protect them. She was tricky too. When she lost her stake he thought for a moment that she was a goner. But she grabbed a chair, smashed it against the floor and used the broken back to stake two at once in a move he couldn't help admiring, even as he despaired of the stupidity of fledgling minions who didn't know better than to run at an attacker in tandem. He was a little encouraged when Alfred managed to take her down from behind. But it was short-lived. One moment she was pinned under Alfred's fangs, the next she was flipping herself on to her feet as he staggered backwards. She landed a right and a left, sending him into a pillar. He bounced off and fell forwards, straight into a roundhouse kick, which sent him flying across the room. The Slayer grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor and as Alfred scrambled up, she closed. There was a brief x-ray like image of his skeleton hanging in the air, before he disappeared in a cloud of bewildered dust. Yes, she was good.
Spike continued to watch as she spotted the last of his suicide crew recovering from being thrown across the room in her first rush. She stalked over and dispatched him with clinical efficiency, coloured only slightly by vindictive satisfaction. Time to bring his toys into the game.
"Stop!" he yelled. The Slayer froze. Spike stepped into her view and leaned his hands on the railing, staring down at her. "Hello, Sweetie." He smiled.
Buffy spared a quick glance for Angel and Xander, tied to the walls, gags in their mouths, and turned back to look up at Spike. Her body loosened and she shifted into an easy, deceptively relaxed stance, preparing to spring. "What? No minions?" he taunted. "Learnt that lesson, did we?" The tightening of her face was reply enough and he laughed. "So now we come to the fun part of the evening," he announced. He glanced right and left, directing her eyes to Angel and then to Xander and saw her take in their situation properly for the first time.
It was a pretty picture, he had to admit. They both had their hands secured behind their backs and were standing rigidly upright under the encouragement of the nooses around their necks, which were in turn fixed to rings in the walls above their heads. Angel was favouring his broken leg and didn't look too fit. The boy just looked furiously pissed off.
Spike placed his left hand casually on the lever. "You see, it goes like this. I push this lever to the left and the trapdoor under Xander opens, and he falls...." He spaced the next words out for emphasis. "Breaking his neck. Like a hangman's. Noose." His smile broadened. "Exactly like, actually." Her face was a picture. "I push it to the right and it's Angel's turn. I reckon I can only do one, before you get up here. But that's okay. I like my Slayers one-to-one. And since I'm feeling generous, I'll let you choose which of your avid admirers will survive you. Go on. Choose. Which way shall I go?"
She glanced back and forth between them, then back up at Spike. He could see the calculation she was making. "And I should probably mention, that although Xander's noose is plain old rope..." He loved this part. "Angel's is razor wire. You choose him and the wire will cut right through his neck. Come on Slayer." His voice turned vicious. "Tell me about family and loyalty and puppy dogs and tears."
She shook her head. "Why are you doing this?" she asked in total bewilderment.
Spike straightened his shoulders and shrugged. "Because I can?"
"No, that's not all this is. This is a test." She spoke like she was trying to figure something out. "What are you testing?"
"None of your fucking business," he snarled, then reconsidered - knowledge could be torture. And gloating was fun. "I want to know which of these two means the most to you. Which will you save at the cost of the other?" Good humour restored, he smiled invitingly. "Will it be Angel, the love of your life? Or..." He waved his arm to the left, a salesman extolling the product on offer. "Will it be Xander, here, the ever loyal sidekick?"
Buffy's eyes skittered around the room, frantically searching for a third option. He watched her measure the distance between them and saw her realise that, once again, she couldn't get to him in time.
"Look, you don't have to do this." Her voice had acquired an edge which matched her expression. He relished the pain.
"Come on, Slayer. It's simple. Just choose. I promise the other will go free."
She glanced around the room again and started to sidle to her left, towards the shadows. It was like she had seen something. But he had the lever and he wasn't going to leave it in response to some lame bluff. She looked up at him and he had a split second to recognise the triumph in her gaze, before she darted out of sight behind a pile of packing crates. He leaned forwards against the handrail and if his heart beat, it would have stopped when she backed into the open again, with Drusilla held hostage against her chest, her makeshift stake held to Dru's heart.
She looked up, over Dru' shoulder. "You were saying?" she asked. Spike's fear paralysed him and he knew she knew it. "Come on down," she called, mockingly. Her voice hardened. "Come down and release my friends, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray."
He pushed back from the railing. "I'm coming," he agreed. "Just you keep that hand steady, or..." He couldn't think of an ending for that sentence, so he didn't try. Instead, he leapt over the rail to land on the floor ten feet in front of her. She jerked her head to indicate Xander. "Him first," she instructed.
Xander's eyes widened with surprised relief above his gag and Spike walked over to him. He removed the noose first. As soon as it was off Xander pushed away from the wall, attempting to head butt him. The Slayer intervened. "Xander, Stop it! Get Angel," she ordered. Xander stopped and turned, presenting his arms to be untied, and as soon as Spike released him he reached up and pulled the gag free.
Xander walked over to Angel and Spike stood back, bouncing his nervousness and keeping a watchful eye on Dru. Some part of Spike's brain registered the boy's curses as he cut his fingers, fumbling with the razor wire around Angel's neck and dimly he heard the 'humph' as Angel relaxed the tension in his good leg and staggered forward. But he couldn't spare the time to look - his attention was totally focused on Buffy and Dru.
Buffy shot a quick glance to the side. "Help him, Xander. Get him outside," she ordered. "I'll be out in a moment."
Xander snarled. "I hope you're going to kill that bastard."
Buffy turned towards him, dragging Dru around with her, and Spike saw the point of the stake push hard against Dru's bodice. Dru looked even weaker than she did earlier, before he managed to get her to eat. She gazed across at Spike, eyes silently pleading.
Buffy sounded weary. "Xander, I can't." And Spike had to think, to recall the boy's question. "I'm the Slayer. That means I have to do the honourable thing. Even if he wouldn't."
For a split second Spike considered arguing that point, but suddenly his arms were full of Dru and nothing else in the world mattered, except holding on to her. The sound of retreating footsteps was unimportant, his Dru was safe. She lay in his arms, eyes closed, unconscious but solid, and he wasn't sure whether the tears he felt prickling his eyes were the result of relief, or frustration.
Next Part