[Reviews - 103]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2339 times

- Text Size +




Buffy had been in her house for a full half hour, and she knew he was still out there. Even through her grief-induced haze, she could feel his presence just outside her door.

She didn’t know why he only stood there. Surely he knew how to break doors down. The good guys broke doors down, didn’t they? She knew the bad guys did, since she’d seen Riley break down a door more than once...

She was babbling in her head. That was fairly pathetic, but at least she knew it. If I’m gonna be Insane-o Gal, at least I’ll be Insane-o Gal who knows she’s totally cracked.

After an hour had passed, lightning began to crack overhead. It was then that she saw him walk home. When his black-clad figure disappeared into the night, she sank down in her chair, oddly let down. In some strange, perverse way, she’d wanted him to stay. Even though she’d deliberately pushed him away, closed the door on him in fact, she still wanted him to hang around.

She was beyond deranged. She was just completely and totally, utterly whacko. Crazy Buffy, that was her.

No. Not crazy Buffy. Crazy Elizabeth. Because as of tonight, Buffy was gone. Thrown in the trash can. She was Elizabeth once again.

Funny how it felt completely and totally sucky...

She slumped down on the couch and stared into the empty fireplace. Her house—no the house, it wasn’t hers—was kinda cold. She should light a fire.

Her bitter laugh rang in the still air. She should do a lot of things.

But she wasn’t going to. Actually, she should go to sleep, but that wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities. Right now, she was in a major session of freak-outage. And it was going to stay that way, yes sir, it was.

Wait. Sleep. She should sleep because she had an appointment with Captain Rayne tomorrow. She had an appointment with a guy who was apparently even worse than she’d been led to believe Spike was, in a building full of people who were just about as bad as they got, criminal-wise...

Shit.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t just waltz in there and pretend that the whole world hadn’t crashed down the night before, leaving her standing in the twisted ugly rubble—could she?

Buffy frowned. She’d already tried to get the truth out of the files at the Jenkins’ Building, and that had kind of blown up in her face. She didn’t know if she actually believed the file. She didn’t want to, but the more she thought about it, the more sure she became that she was working for the wrong side.

Still, Rayne deserved a chance to make his case, right? Maybe the whole thing was some colossal mistake that could be fixed with some intervention. Yeah, that was it. She could go all intervention-ey when she met with Rayne, and if it didn’t work out and he really was evil, which she was starting to doubt more every second that ticked by, then, well, she had a gun. And she was a pretty good shot, too.

The part of her brain that hadn’t completely lost it when she read the contents of that file warned her that she was being completely irrational, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. She had to hold on to the hope that Captain Rayne could explain thing. Otherwise...

Otherwise, it’s a one-way ticket to Screwednessville for one Miss Buffy Summers, ‘cuz I probably won’t make it out alive.

And while she was being brutally honest...I couldn’t care less.

Still, she got off the couch and managed to make her way up to her room. If she was going to get all confront-ey tomorrow, then she did need to pack some z’s in before then.

Sleep. That was the priority. Then the confrontation with the Captain. After that—if there was an after—

Life without Spike. She climbed into bed and turned off the light. So, why does that feel just as bad as the thought of no after at all?

Sleep claimed her before she could answer the question in her mind.

~*~

Spike did what any sensible man would do in a situation like the one he was facing: he went out and got drunk.

Oh, he tried to sleep first—he wasn’t that big a moron. But soon enough, he found himself sitting in a bar in one of the worst parts of town, pounding down one shot of whiskey after another. Maybe if he drank enough, the pain would go away and he’d stop seeing her pained, accusing eyes swimming in front of him every time he blinked.

“Y’see,” he explained to the apathetic bartender. “Y’see, the thing is, I knew she’d end up feelin’ hurt. Tha’s why I was gonna tell her...but I didn’ get a chance. ‘Cuz tha’ girl, she’s...ah, she’s really somethin’ mate.” He pounded back another whiskey. “An’ now ‘s all over.”

“Spike? Dude, you’re like...drunk.”

Spike turned around slowly. His vision was a bit blurred, but he could make out one of the people he really didn’t want to see right now. “Xander. Wha’ th’ bloody ‘ell’re you doin’ ‘ere?” His words were so badly slurred that even he could barely make them out.

“I told him we had to go. Going to bars at night makes me hot, and Xander wanted to have sex,” Anya spoke up frankly from her position beside her now-boyfriend.

He rolled his eyes to the sky. “Wunnerful. Jus’ the two people I really don’ wanna see.”

“And why is that?” Anya demanded. “Do you find us repulsive, or are you just drowning your sorrows over something Buffy said?”

“What? Spike has a thing for Buffy?” Xander peered at him closely. “Ah, I get it. Buffy doesn’t like you, so you’re getting drunk.”

”Got drunk, mate,” Spike corrected. “’Ve been ‘ere at least an hour...’ey iznt there a storm goin’ on out there, or somethin’?”

“The storm’s stopped, mostly, but that’s okay since lightning gets me hot too,” Anya said.

“When the ‘ell’re you gonna get some liquor in this bint so she’ll shuttup?” Spike demanded, frowning at Anya. Even his fuzzy brain could tell that she was being deliberately antanonistig—antagonistic, he corrected himself mentally.

“I’m not going to shut up until you tell me what’s wrong. It’s very unlike you to get drunk, since it makes you look like a pathetic shmuck. And it’s clear that your problem is with Buffy, since you haven’t drunk this much since Drusilla,” Anya prattled, either completely unconscious of or bravely ignoring the death-by-slow-torture glare Spike was giving her.

“Was it Buffy, man?”

“Damn right. She knows ‘bout all th’ shtuff,” Spike slurred. “’ey, bartender! Gimme ‘nother!”

“Wait—stuff? What stuff? The stuff, stuff? The stuff she’s not supposed to know about?”

“No, Anya, th’ shtuff she’s s’posed to know ‘bout. ‘Course ‘s th’ stuff she innit s’posed to know ‘bout.”

Xander and Anya exchanged a worried look that the inebriated Spike barely saw before they each grabbed one of his arms. Spike jumped. “’ey! Leggo!” He exclaimed, but it was too late. They were already propelling him out of the bar at a pace that made his alcohol-soaked head spin.

They shoved him into Xander’s car. Anya got in beside him and, giving him a hard look, said, “If you puke in the backseat I’ll kill you. And Mom will shoot you the next time she visits if you puke in the house. So, do us both a favor and keep your puke to yourself, okay?”

“Got it,” he grumbled.

When they arrived at his house, Anya dragged him out of the car and into the kitchen. It was only when she turned on the water in the sink that he realized what she was going to do.

“Uh-uh,” he exclaimed, lurching back. “There’sh no bleedin’ way you’re gettin me ta—“

“Oh, shove it, Big Bad,” Anya advised. She moved quickly—too quickly, in Spike’s opinion. Why wasn’t she drunk, too? It was nice and cozy and warm and—

“AUGHH!” His holler could be heard throughout the house when Anya shoved his head under the icy water.

He came up spluttering. “Wha’d you do tha’ for?”

“You were drunk, and we’re in serious need of information,” Xander informed him. “Really, Spike, ever heard of talking it out?”

“Was’n in the mood for talkin,” he muttered, shaking his wet head.

“Hey!” Anya cried, throwing a towel on top of his head. “Watch it! I don’t want to have to get water stains off the wooden table!” She rolled her eyes in disgust when Spike shook himself into the towel like a dog. “Men!”

“So are you sober now, or what?” Xander asked.

“Sober.” Spike made a face; though the majority of his drunkenness had dissipated with the freezing cold water, he was still a bit dizzy. “More or less.”

“Good.” Xander turned around and called out into the living room. “You guys can come in now!”

Faith, Kennedy, Willow, Cordelia, and Gunn filed into the room. When he saw them, Spike groaned. Just what he needed, the do-gooder team. Why didn’t they understand that he wanted to be left in peace so he could engage in serious self-flagellation for the next century or so over what he’d done to Buffy? “Why the buggerin’ hell did you call them?”

“We heard you was havin’ some trouble with the ladies,” Gunn started.

“Or one lady, if you want to be exact about it,” Kennedy added.

“So, tell us, what’s the deal with you and B? And make it quick,” Faith added. “I was in the middle of a monster hookup when Xander called.”

“We really didn’t need to know that,” Kennedy informed her.

“Hey, bitch, no one asked your opinion,” Faith said, her face turning confrontational. It was no secret that Kennedy and Faith weren’t exactly the best of friends.

“Nobody has to,” the younger girl shot back.

“That so? Ya wanna work on changing that?” Faith fisted her hand.

“Hey, guys, maybe we could, um, do this later?” Willow suggested, her voice growing smaller as the two others turned and glared at her.

“Or, like, never,” Cordy interjected. “I so do not want to see a cat-fight between the two Brass Balls Queens.”

“I agree with Cordelia,” Anya said bluntly. “Now, can we please get down to the real problem before I die of old age?”

“There isn’t any problem,” Spike growled. Bloody hell. He should have known making friends in this Godforsaken bit of nowhere was going to come back and bite him in the ass someday. “’M in pain, and ‘d like to suffer alone, if you don’t mind.”

“We do mind. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’m related to you,” Anya snapped. “And you may be a big dumb idiot, but we’re gonna help you. We’ve got stake in what Buffy does too, you know.”

“And as thrilled as I am that you care, I want to be alone,” Spike snapped back. Damn it, he loved Anya like a sister—which was good, since she was one—but if she didn’t bugger off, he’d snap her spindly little neck!

“Well, bad boy, we ain’t your fairy godmothers, so sorry, you’re outta luck,” Faith said. “And I’m not gonna say this again: what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Spike caved. He gripped the counter tightly and growled under his breath before saying, “Fine. But I swear, you lot are the nosiest, most inconsiderate idiots a fellow’s ever had to put up with, and if I had m’ way I’d—“

He was cut off by the back door slamming loudly. “I’m here!” A young female voice shouted. Dawn came running in, her hair wildly tangled, the Doublemeat Palace uniform looking ridiculously out-of-place in the chic, Anya-decorated house.

She didn’t seem to care. “Sorry I’m late,” she panted. “I was about to go to the door when this guy walked up to me and was all, where’s my smoothie, and I was like, sorry, I’m off duty, but then he went—wait,” she broke off, her eyes surveying the room. “What’s going on?”

“Buffy knows about the fact that we take in helpless orphans and prostitutes and give them jobs while simultaneously fighting the force of evil that is the LAPD,” Anya said bluntly.

“And she also kinda knows that her best friend is a, um, spy, for us,” Willow added.

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Wow. That explains why Spike looks like he’s been hit by a truck. He has a thing for Buffy,” she told the group at large. “And let me guess,” she added, now speaking directly to Spike, “She went totally postal on you?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Spike said, smiling at her. The Bit was such a good kid, always ready to take things in stride.

He proceeded to tell everyone what had happened with Buffy at the building. When he was finished, the room was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop.

“Oh, no,” Willow whispered. “Poor Buffy. I mean, you told me it was bad and all, but...wow.”

“Wicked fucked up,” was Faith’s assessment. “What I can’t get is that you lied to her for so long, Willow.”

“Especially since generally, you’re a really incompetent liar,” Dawn added.

Willow looked about as upset as Spike felt. “I said I was sorry!” she cried. “Only, she didn’t seem to want to listen, and I was stuttering and making with the spazzing out and everything. I didn’t want to lie...” she trailed off helplessly.

“’S okay, Red. Neither did I.” Spike sighed heavily. Maybe he was the most worthless ponce ever born, but he felt sorrier for himself than he did for Red. At least she had friendship to fall back on with Buffy. Take his and Buffy’s professional relationship away, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had nothing. He’d be willing to bet his feelings for her were pretty damn one-sided as far as the attraction went.

“Wait. You said she was totally nuts?” Dawn asked, a strangely apprehensive look on her face.

“Completely carrot-top, yeah,” Spike said. When he saw Dawn’s look go from nervous to almost completely panicked, he said urgently, “Okay, Bit, what aren’t you tellin’ me?”

“Buffy told me she had an appointment with someone today,” Dawn said, her lips barely moving, her face the still that means the owner is holding in panic. “An appointment with someone in LA. She’s going to report back to that Rayne guy, Spike.”

Xander took a deep breath. “Oh, boy. She’ll ask him if what she read in those files is true—“

“And cop-boy’ll ice her, because she’s one of the poor chicks who knows too much now,” Faith finished. “Damn, are we in deep shit now or what?”

“Like, hugely deep,” Cordelia contributed. “Buffy’s totally gonna blab!”

“I think Dawn was a little more worried about the part where Rayne kills her and leaves little Buffy-bits all over LA,” Kennedy snapped at Cordelia.

Cordelia glared at her. “Okay, hello, I’m worried about that, too, but if she blabs, we’re all going to get killed, which is just a teensy bit more important!”

Everyone was silent as the two brattiest members of the group stared at one another.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt the glare-fest, but plans really need to be made.” Anya’s sarcastic voice interrupted the girls’ glare-fest. When no one answered, she snapped her fingers in front of Cordy and Kennedy’s eyes. “Hello! Earth to air-heads! God, guys, pay attention before those evil cops you’re so scared of come to kill us all!”

Ordinarily Spike would have intervened right about then, but he was too dazed by a combination of alcohol and constant worry centering around his wayward secretary. So he just stood there, leaning against the wall, as his sister set into motion a debate about what, exactly, the gang should do.

“I vote for doin’ the intervention thing,” Xander said. “Go to her house and get her out. She doesn’t really want to go back to the dark side, right?”

Dawn stared at him with all the haughty arrogance of an amused fifteen-year-old. “You really are one big geek, aren’t you?”

Willow smiled sympathetically at his chagrin. “The dark side thing was a little over the top,” she told him.

“I was just trying to put stuff in, you know, layman’s terms,” Xander defended himself.

“Why don’cha leave that to the experts,” Faith suggested. “I say we ice the guy.”

“Ice? Like, freeze him? We’re going to turn Rayne into a giant ice cube and—what? Hit him with an ice pick?” Anya was thoroughly confused.

“Ice means kill, genius.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “And how are we going to kill Ethan Rayne? He’s, like, LA’s answer to that Al Capone guy.”

“Ever heard of a gun?” Faith asked. “Bam, bam, Rayne’s dead?”

“’S not that simple,” Spike informed her. His voice was low and still slightly slurred, even by British standards, yet everyone stopped and listened.

“Well, then, what should we do? “Cause, the discussion is great and all, but we’re kinda getting low on time,” Willow reminded everyone.

“Well, first we do what the whelp suggested, with less Star Wars references,” Spike said. As he spoke, he stood up straight and began to prowl from one end of the room to the other, taking charge as naturally as breathing. “Then, ‘f she’s at home, we stop her from runnin’ to Rayne. Tie her up ‘f we have to. If she’s not...” He trailed off ominously.

Faith’s eyes glinted. “Yeah?”

“We’ll have a right spot of violence b’fore tomorrow’s up,” Spike finished, his former cocky smirk back firmly in place.

“OK, so not my thing,” Cordy said. At everyone else’s reproachful looks, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “But I’ll help out anyway,” she said in a long-suffering voice.

“Because you’re so very self-sacrificing,” Kennedy muttered.

Everyone else ignored her. “Right then,” Spike said. “Let’s saddle up, all.”

Dawn winced. “Okay, I’d love to help with the Buffy rescuing slash handcuffing, but I really have to get back to work or I’ll get kinda sorta fired.”

“Go ‘head.” Spike waved his hand. “Got enough people here to do a decent rescue.”

Willow smiled at the teen as Dawn headed for the door. “Have fun, Dawnie.”

“Try not to get too much grease in your hair,” Anya advised. “It makes you smell like the weird homeless guys who live by the McDonald’s dumpster. Very unappealing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dawn said in a very dry voice, grinning at Xander’s mortified attempts to quiet his girlfriend. “See you guys.” And then she was gone, melting into the darkness outside with the ease of long practice.

Faith watched her leave. “She’s a good kid,” she said quietly.

“Not a kid anymore,” Spike reminded her.

“I keep forgettin’ she’s all woman-sized now,” Faith admitted. “Time flies when you’re fighting bad guys, doesn’t it?”

Spike just raised a sardonic brow. “Right,” he said skeptically.

“Hate to interrupt the not-so-charming trip down memory lane, but hello, we have a rescue to stage!” Anya waved her arms for emphasis.

“Then let’s go.” Faith grabbed a gun from its black leather holster, spinning it around in her hand. “I really hope I get to use this thing.”

Xander shook his head as he opened the side door and left the house. “Faith, you’re the most—merciful Zeus, who in the world are you?”

Everyone else rushed to the door. Spike narrowed his eyes when he saw the girl crouched on the ground. Bloody hell, I don’t have time for this! he thought, regretting for about the ten billionth time his whole helping-the-innocents gig.

Nevertheless, he helped her up gently. “Got a name, luv?”

“And a reason why you’re crouched on Spike’s doorstep like some kind of giant, slutty lost puppy?” Cordelia added, as always completely clueless to the delicacy of the situation.

Xander shook his head at Cordy as Spike led the girl inside. “You know, this is probably why you never get chosen to help out the homeless people. Doorknobs have more tact that you do.”

“As opposed to you, who never gets chosen because you’re completely incompetent?” Cordelia said sarcastically.

“Can it, both of you,” Spike ordered. He led the girl to his couch and sat her down. Her eyes were wide and rimmed by smoky eyeliner. She looked traumatized, and he could see a bruise spreading over her cheek. Put two and two together and...”Some worthless ponce been beatin’ on you, huh?”

“He...he hit me...” she whispered, her fingers brushing against the bruise. “I heard from a friend that maybe you could...help...”

Spike cursed at the inconvenient timing. This was what he did—got whores and druggies off the streets and into a warm building where they could make some money. But he didn’t have time to find this girl a job right now. “Look, ‘ve got errands to run. You wanna stay here for awhile?”

“Hey! Dumb move!” Anya said. “What if she’s a thief? She’ll make off with all our stuff!”

Spike glared at his sister. “You said you knew who I was?” He asked the girl. She nodded jerkily. “Then you know that ‘ve got more connections than anyone else in this town,” he said, his voice suddenly a bit harder, more menacing. “An’ ‘f you steal from me, they’ll be findin’ your body for quite awhile. You follow?”

The girl nodded, clearly terrified. “I—I’ll be good,” she whispered.

“That’s nice to hear. Got a name?” he asked again.

“Veruca,” she whispered.

“Well, Veruca, you’ve been beat on, but rest an’ ice should fix that. You help yourself to whatever food you can find, an’ me and my mates’ll be back soon’s we can to help get you settled in a new home. Okay?”

Veruca nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” Anya advised. “He’ll get testy.”

She cracked a slight smile at that.

“Can we go now? I’ve got some serious pent-up frustration and i just wanna ungh!” Faith announced, graphically illustrating what the sound meant.

Everyone else in the room made faces. “Yes, please, let’s leave before I get seriously traumatized,” Kennedy said, staring at Faith uneasily.

“I second that,” Xander said, and they began to file out.

Willow hesitated at the door. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?” she asked the girl. “I can, can make you hot chocolate, or something, if you’re not...”

“I’ll be fine,” the girl said in a throaty whisper. Willow still was still unsure—there was something not-quite-right about Veruca that really set the redhead on edge—but eventually, she nodded, smiled, and left.

As soon as she was gone, Veruca’s half-feral gaze turned into a sly smile. Standing up, she shed the blanket to reveal a tight black tube dress. When she put the cell phone up to her face, her purple “bruise” smeared. She hit a couple of buttons and waited for the phone to finished dialing.

A few second later she said, “It’s me. I’m in.”

~*~

They walked as quickly as possible to the house on Revello Drive. Spike led the way, followed closely by the others.

After a few minutes Willow came astride. “Veruca seemed kinda upset,” she ventured.

“You would be too, ‘f you were a whore who’d just been beaten by some john ‘f yours,” Spike replied. Red was a nice little bird, but sometimes she was a little long on empathy and short on common sense.

“Okay, if you say so.” Red’s voice was doubtful, but she didn’t argue. “So, um, what are you going to do it she’s not there?”

“What’re you sayin’? You think she ran off to LA already?”

“I’m saying that just angry Buffy is a bit unstable, common-sense wise. Angry, traumatized, betrayed Buffy...it has potential explosiveness,” Willow said. Her voice rose when she got to the betrayal part; Spike could tell she was feeling it just as much as he was.

“”F she’s not there, we’ll find her,” Spike said with more confidence than he felt.

Willow sighed, and he knew he hadn’t fooled her. “I guess...”

They rounded a corner and came to the house: 1630, Revello Drive. Spike grinned jauntily at Willow as they climbed the steps. “We’re ‘bout to find out who’s right.”

The others saw them go in, Spike with a competitive grin and Willow wearing a worried half-frown. A few minutes passed in breathless silence before they saw Willow come back out. “Guys, you’d better come in,” she said.

Everyone filed up on the steps as one, and as one they caught their breath when they looked inside the house and saw Spike crying in the corner.

And they knew what she was going to say before she said it: “She’s gone.”

~*~

A/N: Thanx to Jess, Bleh, and Gattaca for reviewing, it made me do the happy dance! Those of you who weighed in on the whole chapter length thing said mostly that you liked long chapters, so the chapter length will stay about the same unless I’m feeling really lazy *wink*. Feedback’s always nice, yadda yadda yah. The next chapter should be posted soon!





You must login (register) to review.