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thismazTitle: Sunset
Part 8 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #23 - Osmosis
At:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Disclaimer: here.
Note: Some dialogue taken from the episode 'Lie to me'.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 3,308
8. Sunset
Even from across the alley, where he stood in the darkness of a deep-set warehouse door, the air was heavy with the sickly odour of the boy, Ford, mixed with a febrile excitement of many different signatures. The smell of sickness was alluring, promising an easy kill and a good meal. Spike pulled the night air deep into his lungs, his hunter's senses assessing and separating the component parts of the complex of scents, recognising both family and property, woven through the more mundane landscape of petrol, old fast food wrappers and... patchouli oil. The scents shifted as the air moved and the door across the alley was pulled open, sucking air with it, then the movement settled, heralding the appearance of his grandsire with an out-flux of warmth, human sweat, alcohol and a stronger trace of patchouli.
Spike watched Angel, Xander and Willow leave the club. Angel strode away quickly, body stiff with contained irritation, hiding from the humans the limp that Spike's experienced eye detected. After two weeks the broken leg should be better mended than that. Soft tissue and muscle would mend overnight, bones in a matter of a week or so. It was nerve damage that required more time and blood to rebuild. Spike knew he had done no real damage to Angel's nerves. Dru distracted him before he could smash the bastard's spine. But Angel was still in pain. It was interesting, like he was starving himself. Spike looked more critically, assessing his grandsire. He carried less bulk than Spike remembered from his pre-soul days, but he was a long way from being the walking skeleton starvation produced. Maybe it was something to do with the animal blood he lived off. Such a thing had probably never been tested before, but it was possible that human blood was superior in more ways than just flavour.
He watched as the others dawdled, letting Angel outstrip them. Their heads were close together and a trickle of nervous feminine laughter reached Spike's ears. Xander put an arm around the girl's shoulders and Spike was surprised by the annoyance that gesture roused in him. At the end of the alley Angel paused, turned and relaxed his stance as he waited for the children to catch up. They disappeared together around the corner into Main Street.
Spike was about to go and investigate the club more closely when the evening breeze brought a stronger waft of sick human to his nose. Stepping back into the shadows, he saw Billy Fordham enter the alley and head straight for the door. Pulling a key out of his pocket he inserted it in the lock in the handle and put his shoulder to the door, as if it weighed too much to shift with ease. Spike detached himself from the shadows and, in spite of his heavy boots, ran soundlessly across the alley, catching the door as it swung closed behind the boy. He held it still, just off the latch, for a few moments listening to the footsteps move away from the other side and, by the change in the echoes, begin to descend a set of metal stairs. Then he pushed it open and slipped inside.
Cautiously he stepped forward, through the inner door and slipped behind it. Leaning against the wall, hidden from any casual glance, he looked down into the well of the room, focusing on each of the inhabitants in turn, scenting for any signs of agitation or sickness. Except for Ford they were all healthy and, for all the nervous excitement in the air, there was no fear. Spike had to admire the kid's ruthlessness, using their stupid religious beliefs against them. Playing along, as one of the flock, when he was actually as big a wolf as any vampire. Spike's focus shifted to the three in the centre of the room, just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation that confirmed his initial impression of the game plan.
The whole crowd were apparently addicted to the more cheesy of Hollywood's vampire stereotypes, but the freak in blue was the worst. "Good? That's, that's it?" the freak asked, voice shrill with frustration as he trailed after Ford. "That's all we know? Well, when are we...?"
Ford pulled his arm free from the pleading grasp. "Soon, all right? Soon."
"Oh, soon, okay. If you say so." He obviously wasn't satisfied, but didn't have the nerve to insist. Instead, he whined. "Y'know, you could gimme a little more information here. I'm trusting you. I'm out on a limb here. Not to mention the lease is almost up on this place. Who's gonna cover that?"
Spike smirked. 'Not going to be your problem anyway, mate,' he thought.
Ford swung back around, his exasperation now obvious. "Marvin...." Marvin flinched and opened his mouth to interrupt. Ford pulled himself up and smiled, ingratiatingly. "Sorry. Diego." He emphasised the name, mocking his pawn, who didn't seem to notice the contempt. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna be fine." He fumbled a small bottle out of his pocket and extracted a pill. Turning to take a glass of water from a girl, who came to join them, he added, "Just make sure you're ready when I say. True believers only."
The girl had all the markings of a conventional teenager in ostentatious revolt, all flowing lace and heavy eyeliner. Another attentive follower to her doom. "I can't wait!" she said. The dreamy longing in her voice was slightly nauseating but the ribbon around her neck made for an attractive invitation. "Do you really think they'll bless us?"
Diego subsided, his brief foray into independence quashed. "Right, whatever," he grumped. "I guess we just continue to trust you." He didn't look happy, but he wasn't going to push.
Ford smiled at both of them, rewarding them for their good behaviour. "Chantarelle." His voice was faintly chiding but indulgent and full of reassurance. "Of course they will. A couple more days and we'll get to do the two things every American teen should have the chance to do: die young, and stay pretty."
Spike snorted, derisively. 'Sure. And you'll all live happily ever after in your gingerbread houses, surrounded by flowers and fairies.' He scanned the room again, assessing the collective mood. 'Those of you who aren't fairies already.'
He left as silently as he'd arrived, allowing the door to close gently behind him. Gazed up at the few stars visible through the orange glow of the street lights, he assessed the time: nearly 2 a.m. Time to find a late supper and head home. Come sunset this would be over, and if it got him the Slayer and his grandsire, that would be great. But even if they didn't fall for Ford's games, it looked like it would still bring him and his a very nice meal for very little effort. It might not be a delivery service, but it was the next best thing.
*****
Sunset came soon enough and Spike gathered his troops for their orders. "When we get there, first priority's the Slayer and Angelus." He turned to Lucius. "You. Guard the door." He pointed at a big, muscle bound male. "You. Stay with him. Don't let either of them near it. Someone'll bring you something to eat later." He surveyed the rest of his little force. "Once we have them under control, then you can do what you like. There's plenty for everyone, so let's remember to share, people." Walking over to Drusilla, he knelt to take her hands. "I'm sorry you're not up to this, love."
Dru lay back against the cushions from which he had shaped a snug nest on the sofa. "I want a treat. Bring me a treat."
Spike smiled "A very special one you'll have, pet. If the Slayer's blood doesn't cure you completely, it certainly won't hurt. And whatever happens, we still have the book. I just know there is a cure in there. It's being a bugger to translate, but we'll do it, love. Lucius will do it." He directed a glare at Lucius, who cowered strategically behind his large partner for the evening.
Spike turned back to Dru, who smiled, her expression as sweet and trusting as any of the countless children she had enticed over the years, but oh, so weary. It would be such a relief to have her well. When she was well, her visions didn't exhaust her, as they did now. When she was well, she just knew things, like she absorbed them from the very air. She said it was like they were all of them floating in a sea of knowing which pushed at their skin, but only she was permeable enough to let the pictures through. He'd laughed to hear her use a word like 'permeable' and called her his 'little osmotic generator', until she threw her tea pot at his head. He wanted that back. He wanted his lively, joking, laughing Sire back. He wanted to dance and play. He wanted her visions to come easily again, instead of leaving her wrung out. He wanted the security of knowing when they were true - because her visions had saved them from destruction more times than he could count. He bent his head and kissed her lips, a quiet kiss of love and devotion, and he resolved that she would be whole again. In the meantime, he had a slayer to catch.
Rising to his feet he pulled out his keys. "Lucius! Felix! Bring the cars around."
*****
With a squeal of burnt rubber Spike brought his car to a halt by the door of the Sunset Club. 'Stupid name,' he thought, with a private sneer. Lucius parked more sedately behind him and they all clambered out into the alley. Signalling Lucius and the hulk to lead the way, just in case the Slayer was there and had the upper hand, Spike waited to make his entrance. The rest of the cannon fodder forming in a semi circle behind him.
The door was unlocked. That could be a good sign, but Spike was taking no chances. With his designated doormen inside and still not dust, he stepped forward carefully. The welding kit, which had been there earlier, was gone. He ran his hand down the back of the door. So was the door knob. So that's how the little rat had kept everyone inside. Turning to Francine he pointed at a pile of rubbish. "Pass me that length of rebar." He bent the steel across his knee, into a U shape and wedged it around the door jam to prevent the latch closing. Then he took the four steps necessary to pass through the inner door, to the top of the stairs.
Angel was down in the pit with the cattle. Ford and the Slayer were up on the walkway to his right, arguing. Spike hissed in annoyance, right next to them was Xander. The Slayer had her fists clenched in the front of Ford's shirt, as he strained back from her face. "Ford, these people don't deserve to die!"
Ford laughed, bitterly. "Well, neither do I! But apparently no one took that into consideration, 'cause I'm still dying." He sneered at her. "I'm sorry, Summers. Did I screw up your righteous anger riff? Does the nest of tumours liquefying my brain kinda spoil the fun?"
The Slayer shoved him away and he staggered back a few paces, grabbing the handrail to steady himself. As the immediate threat of violence receded, Xander looked around and spotted Spike. "Err... Buffy," he said, hesitantly.
Impatiently she swung around. "What?" she asked, just as Ford pushed away from the railing and slammed into her back, knocking her off balance and straight into Spike's arms.
Keeping her off balance, Spike twisted and threw her to Francine, Joseph and Sam. "Hold her!" he ordered. They latched on, twisting her arms up her back and immobilising her. Spike turned back in time to take possession of Xander, as he charged blindly into him. "And what do you think you're doing, pet?" he asked. Xander kicked and squirmed, but he wouldn't get free this time. Spike turned to Ford, his face rigid with anger. "What is Xander doing here?"
Ford pulled himself upright. "I couldn't shake him. He insisted on coming if Angel came." He watched as Spike immobilised Xander by the simple expedient of knocking him out. "Anyway what do you care if there's one more than planned? I thought you'd be pleased." Spike snarled and for the first time in their acquaintance, Ford showed fear. He backed up slowly against the handrail, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. Spike's fist caught him under the chin and he fell back with a crash.
"Spike!" Angel's voice cut through the sudden quiet. Spike lowered Xander carefully to the floor and turned to look down at his grandsire. From above he looked faintly ridiculous: feet spread, body taut but hunched and fists clenched at his sides. He looked like he was caught between a fighting stance and a childish temper tantrum.
"'Ello Ducks," Spike called, exaggerating his accent. "Fancy meeting you 'ere. Now ain't this a nice little get together?" He strolled back to the top of the stairs and gazed down.
Most of the sheep were now cowering back against the walls, some instinct telling them that this was not the way it was supposed to be. Except for mushroom girl. She was creeping up the steps towards him, an expression of transcendent expectation on her face. He'd transcend her alright. "It's time, isn't it?" She whispered, as she raised her eyes to his and straightened her back. "I'm ready for the change. Please, I need you to bless me."
Spike kept his eyes on his grandsire. "Not a twitch," he warned, "or your girlfriend's a goner." He paused in thought. "Well...." He let that hang as he redirected his attention to Chantarelle.
Behind him he heard the Slayer struggling. "No! Stop!" she shouted. "Listen to me!"
Chantarelle's eyes shifted to a point beyond Spike's right shoulder and her expression softened. "Why are you fighting this?" she asked. "It's what we want!" Her voice was soft and dreamy and she turned back to him, like she'd been thralled. "We're going to ascend to a new level of consciousness! Become like them. Like the Lonely Ones." And maybe she had, but only by her own delusions. Spike snorted to himself, 'opium of the masses' was true, since 'the masses' were such gullible fools. "This is a beautiful day," she whispered, gazing up into his face.
The Slayer was apparently getting desperate. Spike could hear grunts and the shuffling of feet as she fought her guards. "This is not the mothership, people!" She cried. "This is ugly death come to play!"
Spike grinned as he turned to look at her. "Got that right," he said. He caught Francine's eye. "Clock 'er one for me, there's a love?" He watched with satisfaction as the Slayer slumped under a blow to the temple and turned back, just as Chantarelle reached the top of the steps. Shifting into game face he roared at her and she flinched a bit, but didn't back down. He tore the choker off of her neck and as if the truth of her situation was at last beginning to penetrate, she began to cry in fear, but still she didn't move - frozen now by confusion at the unexpected form her dreams and faith had taken. He grasped the back of her neck and signalled his minions. "Take them all," he said. "Two of you, get him."
The vampires leapt past him, jumping over the rails into the crowd below. Most of them went straight for the food, but he watched with satisfaction as Sam and Francine followed orders and took on Angel.
His grandsire burst into action, kicking Sam across the room, where he crashed into the wall, sliding down to slump in an untidy heap, but Francine was there, slashing at his side, her knife drawing blood. He was slowed by his remaining injury. He managed to ram a fist into her face, sending her staggering, but he was off balance. He danced clumsily back and, to Spike's great glee, landed awkwardly on his left leg and Spike heard the crack as it broke again along the half healed fracture line. Joseph jumped on his back, bringing him down. Spike turned and sank his fangs into the neck he held.
Hang on! Sam, Francine *and*Joseph? With a sudden sense of dread Spike pulled back from his meal and turned around. Sure enough, there was the Slayer. She was awake, but she was just sitting there, Xander next to her. For a moment, he was puzzled by her inactivity, then Xander lifted his hand offering something for Spike to take: a small black box, the size of his hand.
The Slayer spoke. "Did you really think this was our only plan?" she asked, with a smug smile. Xander was trying to give him a cell phone. "My Watcher wants to talk to you. He's at your place, right now. You are going to let these people go."
Numbly Spike reached out and took the phone. "Everybody stop!" he yelled, as he lifted it to his ear. He watched as they obeyed him and stopped feeding. Joseph got up from Angel's back. Sam began to stir in his corner and Francine stood shaking her head to clear it. Spike spoke into the phone. "What do you want?"
The English accent came over clearly. "I think it's more a matter of what you want, don't you? You want proof. Well listen to this."
There was a rustling sound and then Dru's voice, soft and weak, but unmistakably Dru. "My poor prince. I'm sorry, my love. Don't cry."
"Dru!" Spike cried. "It's gonna be alright, baby. Dru, are you okay? Dru?"
Silence, and then the Watcher was back. "Give the phone to Buffy. Once I'm assured that all those people are out, I'll leave here."
"You touch Dru...."
"And you'll what?" His contempt was an almost physical thing. "Give the phone to Buffy."
Spike felt like he was moving through molasses. He handed the phone over. "Let them go!" he shouted, signalling his minions back against the walls. He watched as the sheep huddled together, then broke and ran for the door. He watched as Xander helped the Slayer to her feet. He watched as Angel limped past him up the stairs. Spike grabbed his arm. "You!" he accused. "You led them to my Dru."
Angel shook his head. "We were tracking Ford," he said. "He led us to you." Then he pushed past and followed Xander and Buffy outside. At the door, he paused and reached out to remove the bent rebar from the jam. Looking back at Spike with an expression of regret and half apology, he pulled the bar free and stood. And a shudder ran through him, just as a searing pain split Spike's dead heart. Spike screamed and collapsed forward onto his knees. Lifting his eyes to Angel's face, he saw an expression of pained surprise there. Angel staggered, but kept moving out through the door. He reached for the handle and began to pull it shut. "I'll come back and let you out," he promised as the latch clicked into place, leaving Spike weeping and trapped.
In the corner Ford began to stir. He rolled onto his knees and pulled himself upright, using the hand rail for assistance and gazed around, confused. "What happened?"
Spike swiped his arm across his face. "We're stuck in a fucking basement," he growled.
"And Buffy?"
"She's *not* stuck in the basement."
Ford shrugged. "Hey, well, I delivered. I handed her to you."
Spike felt the muscles in his face move into a parody of a smile, even as the bones beneath shifted. "Yes, I suppose you did," he said. "That and so much more." He paused for a moment, to savour it. "And now, you get your reward."
Next Part
Part 8 of the Blood on a Sundial series. Previous parts, in reverse order, are here or in my memories.
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #23 - Osmosis
At:
tamingthemuseDisclaimer: here.
Note: Some dialogue taken from the episode 'Lie to me'.
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 3,308
8. Sunset
Even from across the alley, where he stood in the darkness of a deep-set warehouse door, the air was heavy with the sickly odour of the boy, Ford, mixed with a febrile excitement of many different signatures. The smell of sickness was alluring, promising an easy kill and a good meal. Spike pulled the night air deep into his lungs, his hunter's senses assessing and separating the component parts of the complex of scents, recognising both family and property, woven through the more mundane landscape of petrol, old fast food wrappers and... patchouli oil. The scents shifted as the air moved and the door across the alley was pulled open, sucking air with it, then the movement settled, heralding the appearance of his grandsire with an out-flux of warmth, human sweat, alcohol and a stronger trace of patchouli.
Spike watched Angel, Xander and Willow leave the club. Angel strode away quickly, body stiff with contained irritation, hiding from the humans the limp that Spike's experienced eye detected. After two weeks the broken leg should be better mended than that. Soft tissue and muscle would mend overnight, bones in a matter of a week or so. It was nerve damage that required more time and blood to rebuild. Spike knew he had done no real damage to Angel's nerves. Dru distracted him before he could smash the bastard's spine. But Angel was still in pain. It was interesting, like he was starving himself. Spike looked more critically, assessing his grandsire. He carried less bulk than Spike remembered from his pre-soul days, but he was a long way from being the walking skeleton starvation produced. Maybe it was something to do with the animal blood he lived off. Such a thing had probably never been tested before, but it was possible that human blood was superior in more ways than just flavour.
He watched as the others dawdled, letting Angel outstrip them. Their heads were close together and a trickle of nervous feminine laughter reached Spike's ears. Xander put an arm around the girl's shoulders and Spike was surprised by the annoyance that gesture roused in him. At the end of the alley Angel paused, turned and relaxed his stance as he waited for the children to catch up. They disappeared together around the corner into Main Street.
Spike was about to go and investigate the club more closely when the evening breeze brought a stronger waft of sick human to his nose. Stepping back into the shadows, he saw Billy Fordham enter the alley and head straight for the door. Pulling a key out of his pocket he inserted it in the lock in the handle and put his shoulder to the door, as if it weighed too much to shift with ease. Spike detached himself from the shadows and, in spite of his heavy boots, ran soundlessly across the alley, catching the door as it swung closed behind the boy. He held it still, just off the latch, for a few moments listening to the footsteps move away from the other side and, by the change in the echoes, begin to descend a set of metal stairs. Then he pushed it open and slipped inside.
Cautiously he stepped forward, through the inner door and slipped behind it. Leaning against the wall, hidden from any casual glance, he looked down into the well of the room, focusing on each of the inhabitants in turn, scenting for any signs of agitation or sickness. Except for Ford they were all healthy and, for all the nervous excitement in the air, there was no fear. Spike had to admire the kid's ruthlessness, using their stupid religious beliefs against them. Playing along, as one of the flock, when he was actually as big a wolf as any vampire. Spike's focus shifted to the three in the centre of the room, just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation that confirmed his initial impression of the game plan.
The whole crowd were apparently addicted to the more cheesy of Hollywood's vampire stereotypes, but the freak in blue was the worst. "Good? That's, that's it?" the freak asked, voice shrill with frustration as he trailed after Ford. "That's all we know? Well, when are we...?"
Ford pulled his arm free from the pleading grasp. "Soon, all right? Soon."
"Oh, soon, okay. If you say so." He obviously wasn't satisfied, but didn't have the nerve to insist. Instead, he whined. "Y'know, you could gimme a little more information here. I'm trusting you. I'm out on a limb here. Not to mention the lease is almost up on this place. Who's gonna cover that?"
Spike smirked. 'Not going to be your problem anyway, mate,' he thought.
Ford swung back around, his exasperation now obvious. "Marvin...." Marvin flinched and opened his mouth to interrupt. Ford pulled himself up and smiled, ingratiatingly. "Sorry. Diego." He emphasised the name, mocking his pawn, who didn't seem to notice the contempt. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna be fine." He fumbled a small bottle out of his pocket and extracted a pill. Turning to take a glass of water from a girl, who came to join them, he added, "Just make sure you're ready when I say. True believers only."
The girl had all the markings of a conventional teenager in ostentatious revolt, all flowing lace and heavy eyeliner. Another attentive follower to her doom. "I can't wait!" she said. The dreamy longing in her voice was slightly nauseating but the ribbon around her neck made for an attractive invitation. "Do you really think they'll bless us?"
Diego subsided, his brief foray into independence quashed. "Right, whatever," he grumped. "I guess we just continue to trust you." He didn't look happy, but he wasn't going to push.
Ford smiled at both of them, rewarding them for their good behaviour. "Chantarelle." His voice was faintly chiding but indulgent and full of reassurance. "Of course they will. A couple more days and we'll get to do the two things every American teen should have the chance to do: die young, and stay pretty."
Spike snorted, derisively. 'Sure. And you'll all live happily ever after in your gingerbread houses, surrounded by flowers and fairies.' He scanned the room again, assessing the collective mood. 'Those of you who aren't fairies already.'
He left as silently as he'd arrived, allowing the door to close gently behind him. Gazed up at the few stars visible through the orange glow of the street lights, he assessed the time: nearly 2 a.m. Time to find a late supper and head home. Come sunset this would be over, and if it got him the Slayer and his grandsire, that would be great. But even if they didn't fall for Ford's games, it looked like it would still bring him and his a very nice meal for very little effort. It might not be a delivery service, but it was the next best thing.
*****
Sunset came soon enough and Spike gathered his troops for their orders. "When we get there, first priority's the Slayer and Angelus." He turned to Lucius. "You. Guard the door." He pointed at a big, muscle bound male. "You. Stay with him. Don't let either of them near it. Someone'll bring you something to eat later." He surveyed the rest of his little force. "Once we have them under control, then you can do what you like. There's plenty for everyone, so let's remember to share, people." Walking over to Drusilla, he knelt to take her hands. "I'm sorry you're not up to this, love."
Dru lay back against the cushions from which he had shaped a snug nest on the sofa. "I want a treat. Bring me a treat."
Spike smiled "A very special one you'll have, pet. If the Slayer's blood doesn't cure you completely, it certainly won't hurt. And whatever happens, we still have the book. I just know there is a cure in there. It's being a bugger to translate, but we'll do it, love. Lucius will do it." He directed a glare at Lucius, who cowered strategically behind his large partner for the evening.
Spike turned back to Dru, who smiled, her expression as sweet and trusting as any of the countless children she had enticed over the years, but oh, so weary. It would be such a relief to have her well. When she was well, her visions didn't exhaust her, as they did now. When she was well, she just knew things, like she absorbed them from the very air. She said it was like they were all of them floating in a sea of knowing which pushed at their skin, but only she was permeable enough to let the pictures through. He'd laughed to hear her use a word like 'permeable' and called her his 'little osmotic generator', until she threw her tea pot at his head. He wanted that back. He wanted his lively, joking, laughing Sire back. He wanted to dance and play. He wanted her visions to come easily again, instead of leaving her wrung out. He wanted the security of knowing when they were true - because her visions had saved them from destruction more times than he could count. He bent his head and kissed her lips, a quiet kiss of love and devotion, and he resolved that she would be whole again. In the meantime, he had a slayer to catch.
Rising to his feet he pulled out his keys. "Lucius! Felix! Bring the cars around."
*****
With a squeal of burnt rubber Spike brought his car to a halt by the door of the Sunset Club. 'Stupid name,' he thought, with a private sneer. Lucius parked more sedately behind him and they all clambered out into the alley. Signalling Lucius and the hulk to lead the way, just in case the Slayer was there and had the upper hand, Spike waited to make his entrance. The rest of the cannon fodder forming in a semi circle behind him.
The door was unlocked. That could be a good sign, but Spike was taking no chances. With his designated doormen inside and still not dust, he stepped forward carefully. The welding kit, which had been there earlier, was gone. He ran his hand down the back of the door. So was the door knob. So that's how the little rat had kept everyone inside. Turning to Francine he pointed at a pile of rubbish. "Pass me that length of rebar." He bent the steel across his knee, into a U shape and wedged it around the door jam to prevent the latch closing. Then he took the four steps necessary to pass through the inner door, to the top of the stairs.
Angel was down in the pit with the cattle. Ford and the Slayer were up on the walkway to his right, arguing. Spike hissed in annoyance, right next to them was Xander. The Slayer had her fists clenched in the front of Ford's shirt, as he strained back from her face. "Ford, these people don't deserve to die!"
Ford laughed, bitterly. "Well, neither do I! But apparently no one took that into consideration, 'cause I'm still dying." He sneered at her. "I'm sorry, Summers. Did I screw up your righteous anger riff? Does the nest of tumours liquefying my brain kinda spoil the fun?"
The Slayer shoved him away and he staggered back a few paces, grabbing the handrail to steady himself. As the immediate threat of violence receded, Xander looked around and spotted Spike. "Err... Buffy," he said, hesitantly.
Impatiently she swung around. "What?" she asked, just as Ford pushed away from the railing and slammed into her back, knocking her off balance and straight into Spike's arms.
Keeping her off balance, Spike twisted and threw her to Francine, Joseph and Sam. "Hold her!" he ordered. They latched on, twisting her arms up her back and immobilising her. Spike turned back in time to take possession of Xander, as he charged blindly into him. "And what do you think you're doing, pet?" he asked. Xander kicked and squirmed, but he wouldn't get free this time. Spike turned to Ford, his face rigid with anger. "What is Xander doing here?"
Ford pulled himself upright. "I couldn't shake him. He insisted on coming if Angel came." He watched as Spike immobilised Xander by the simple expedient of knocking him out. "Anyway what do you care if there's one more than planned? I thought you'd be pleased." Spike snarled and for the first time in their acquaintance, Ford showed fear. He backed up slowly against the handrail, his knuckles turning white as he gripped it. Spike's fist caught him under the chin and he fell back with a crash.
"Spike!" Angel's voice cut through the sudden quiet. Spike lowered Xander carefully to the floor and turned to look down at his grandsire. From above he looked faintly ridiculous: feet spread, body taut but hunched and fists clenched at his sides. He looked like he was caught between a fighting stance and a childish temper tantrum.
"'Ello Ducks," Spike called, exaggerating his accent. "Fancy meeting you 'ere. Now ain't this a nice little get together?" He strolled back to the top of the stairs and gazed down.
Most of the sheep were now cowering back against the walls, some instinct telling them that this was not the way it was supposed to be. Except for mushroom girl. She was creeping up the steps towards him, an expression of transcendent expectation on her face. He'd transcend her alright. "It's time, isn't it?" She whispered, as she raised her eyes to his and straightened her back. "I'm ready for the change. Please, I need you to bless me."
Spike kept his eyes on his grandsire. "Not a twitch," he warned, "or your girlfriend's a goner." He paused in thought. "Well...." He let that hang as he redirected his attention to Chantarelle.
Behind him he heard the Slayer struggling. "No! Stop!" she shouted. "Listen to me!"
Chantarelle's eyes shifted to a point beyond Spike's right shoulder and her expression softened. "Why are you fighting this?" she asked. "It's what we want!" Her voice was soft and dreamy and she turned back to him, like she'd been thralled. "We're going to ascend to a new level of consciousness! Become like them. Like the Lonely Ones." And maybe she had, but only by her own delusions. Spike snorted to himself, 'opium of the masses' was true, since 'the masses' were such gullible fools. "This is a beautiful day," she whispered, gazing up into his face.
The Slayer was apparently getting desperate. Spike could hear grunts and the shuffling of feet as she fought her guards. "This is not the mothership, people!" She cried. "This is ugly death come to play!"
Spike grinned as he turned to look at her. "Got that right," he said. He caught Francine's eye. "Clock 'er one for me, there's a love?" He watched with satisfaction as the Slayer slumped under a blow to the temple and turned back, just as Chantarelle reached the top of the steps. Shifting into game face he roared at her and she flinched a bit, but didn't back down. He tore the choker off of her neck and as if the truth of her situation was at last beginning to penetrate, she began to cry in fear, but still she didn't move - frozen now by confusion at the unexpected form her dreams and faith had taken. He grasped the back of her neck and signalled his minions. "Take them all," he said. "Two of you, get him."
The vampires leapt past him, jumping over the rails into the crowd below. Most of them went straight for the food, but he watched with satisfaction as Sam and Francine followed orders and took on Angel.
His grandsire burst into action, kicking Sam across the room, where he crashed into the wall, sliding down to slump in an untidy heap, but Francine was there, slashing at his side, her knife drawing blood. He was slowed by his remaining injury. He managed to ram a fist into her face, sending her staggering, but he was off balance. He danced clumsily back and, to Spike's great glee, landed awkwardly on his left leg and Spike heard the crack as it broke again along the half healed fracture line. Joseph jumped on his back, bringing him down. Spike turned and sank his fangs into the neck he held.
Hang on! Sam, Francine *and*Joseph? With a sudden sense of dread Spike pulled back from his meal and turned around. Sure enough, there was the Slayer. She was awake, but she was just sitting there, Xander next to her. For a moment, he was puzzled by her inactivity, then Xander lifted his hand offering something for Spike to take: a small black box, the size of his hand.
The Slayer spoke. "Did you really think this was our only plan?" she asked, with a smug smile. Xander was trying to give him a cell phone. "My Watcher wants to talk to you. He's at your place, right now. You are going to let these people go."
Numbly Spike reached out and took the phone. "Everybody stop!" he yelled, as he lifted it to his ear. He watched as they obeyed him and stopped feeding. Joseph got up from Angel's back. Sam began to stir in his corner and Francine stood shaking her head to clear it. Spike spoke into the phone. "What do you want?"
The English accent came over clearly. "I think it's more a matter of what you want, don't you? You want proof. Well listen to this."
There was a rustling sound and then Dru's voice, soft and weak, but unmistakably Dru. "My poor prince. I'm sorry, my love. Don't cry."
"Dru!" Spike cried. "It's gonna be alright, baby. Dru, are you okay? Dru?"
Silence, and then the Watcher was back. "Give the phone to Buffy. Once I'm assured that all those people are out, I'll leave here."
"You touch Dru...."
"And you'll what?" His contempt was an almost physical thing. "Give the phone to Buffy."
Spike felt like he was moving through molasses. He handed the phone over. "Let them go!" he shouted, signalling his minions back against the walls. He watched as the sheep huddled together, then broke and ran for the door. He watched as Xander helped the Slayer to her feet. He watched as Angel limped past him up the stairs. Spike grabbed his arm. "You!" he accused. "You led them to my Dru."
Angel shook his head. "We were tracking Ford," he said. "He led us to you." Then he pushed past and followed Xander and Buffy outside. At the door, he paused and reached out to remove the bent rebar from the jam. Looking back at Spike with an expression of regret and half apology, he pulled the bar free and stood. And a shudder ran through him, just as a searing pain split Spike's dead heart. Spike screamed and collapsed forward onto his knees. Lifting his eyes to Angel's face, he saw an expression of pained surprise there. Angel staggered, but kept moving out through the door. He reached for the handle and began to pull it shut. "I'll come back and let you out," he promised as the latch clicked into place, leaving Spike weeping and trapped.
In the corner Ford began to stir. He rolled onto his knees and pulled himself upright, using the hand rail for assistance and gazed around, confused. "What happened?"
Spike swiped his arm across his face. "We're stuck in a fucking basement," he growled.
"And Buffy?"
"She's *not* stuck in the basement."
Ford shrugged. "Hey, well, I delivered. I handed her to you."
Spike felt the muscles in his face move into a parody of a smile, even as the bones beneath shifted. "Yes, I suppose you did," he said. "That and so much more." He paused for a moment, to savour it. "And now, you get your reward."
Next Part
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Date: 2006-12-29 06:18 pm (UTC)'Sure. And you'll all live happily ever after in your gingerbread houses, surrounded by flowers and fairies.' He scanned the room again, assessing the collective mood. 'Those of you who aren't fairies already.' Completely vintage Spike.
You know I love that you make the minions have personalities. I'm feeling quite sorry for poor Lucius having to do the translantion under such pressure.
Very inventive use of the prompt, I thought it was hysterical that Spike used it as a form of endearment. No wonder Dru threw the teapot.
Can't wait to see where you go with this now. Waits for the next prompt and the next part with great anticipation
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Date: 2006-12-30 07:16 am (UTC)Yes, Dru is his big weakness. But he loves her. That's why I thought that when she was well, she would bring out his light-hearted, joking side. And there was the time he called Harmony 'mon petite creme brulee', as if he was accustomed to making up endearments like that. *g*
Where it goes next is, I suspect, totally in the hands of lit-gal's random word generator.
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Date: 2006-12-29 09:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-30 07:19 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed it so much.
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Date: 2006-12-30 03:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-30 07:22 am (UTC)I found this prompt more difficult than any of the others, so far. But then I remembered how in episode 4.07 'The Initiative', when talking to Harmony, he said: Oh, forever and ever, mon petite creme brulee. And a bit later he said: And after that, it's all you and me, my little mentholated pack of smokes. I thought he might play those sorts of games, with more laughter, with Dru.
Because Dru is his reason and focus.
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Date: 2006-12-30 05:09 am (UTC)This was just great! Angel and his promises... God, that boy. And poor Spike. Will he ever get it right? I suppose not, but a bittie part of me can't help feeling sorry for him. We're all slaves to love in some form or fashion.
Although I know it's not the point of the story, I did love:
At the end of the alley Angel paused, turned and relaxed his stance as he waited for the children to catch up.
I think you meant to deliver the line lightly, but it echoed with a bittersweetness to me.
Can't wait for the next part!
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Date: 2006-12-30 07:32 am (UTC)Thank you so much. *shakes head, indulgently* Oh Spike, Spike, my boy.... I don't know what will become of him.....
Thank you for picking out one line. You are right, I did deliver that line lightly, but at the same time, I did have a picture in my head of Angel, like a parent who hides their own pain so as not to burden their children and then gets a moment to relax, before picking up the burden again.
*g* and now I'm getting far to serious for this early in the morning. Thanks for commenting. I can't wait to find out what happens next, either - because right now, I haven't a clue.
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Date: 2007-06-06 04:20 am (UTC)Thanks for the lovely words, C
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Date: 2007-06-06 05:22 am (UTC)Thanks for reading.
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Date: 2008-11-11 03:06 pm (UTC)This was a vivid picture of the Drusilla Spike is trying to get back: When she was well, her visions didn't exhaust her, as they did now. When she was well, she just knew things, like she absorbed them from the very air. She said it was like they were all of them floating in a sea of knowing which pushed at their skin, but only she was permeable enough to let the pictures through. He'd laughed to hear her use a word like 'permeable' and called her his 'little osmotic generator', until she threw her tea pot at his head. He wanted that back. He wanted his lively, joking, laughing Sire back. He wanted to dance and play. He wanted her visions to come easily again, instead of leaving her wrung out. He wanted the security of knowing when they were true - because her visions had saved them from destruction more times than he could count. He bent his head and kissed her lips, a quiet kiss of love and devotion, and he resolved that she would be whole again. It's no wonder he's gnashing his teeth at her weakness. If she'd been well, she would have been along on the hunt rather than a liability back at the factory.
Spike's also twigged to Angel's continued weakness. Perhaps Spike can use that to his advantage.
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Date: 2008-11-12 05:47 am (UTC)Thank you for pointing out that passage. It does sum up quite a lot of how I see them. It was nice to be reminded of that.