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chapter twelve - the big bang theory

A steady thumping echoed in his eardrums as he stood in the doorway of Angel's bedroom. It wasn't sound but the absence of it that vibrated inside his head. The Noise had done some serious damage. Hadn't killed him, though, surprisingly. But, damn it to bloody hell, it had hurt like a son of a bitch.

Oh, God…Buffy.

As she lay in Angel's bed, he almost didn't want to look at her. But sight seemed to be the only one of his senses still willing to work. Even her scent was hard to find. Angel had said that she was still alive. Actually, Spike had watched him say she was alive just before he'd left. 'Course, Spike believed him. Angel wouldn't lie about Buffy.

As the minutes passed, Spike's hearing began to heal. He guessed he'd been deaf since the Noise disappeared. He'd heard it go away but after that, he couldn't hear at all. He couldn't even sense the stillness and quiet of Buffy's injured body as she lay next to him. Hadn't been able to tell anything was wrong with her until Angel – until Angel's face alerted him that something was very wrong.

Could hear a little better now, though – if he concentrated, hard, very hard. The soft and unsteady sound of Buffy's heart drifted to him. It was beating, straining to hang onto life. Using all of his energy to hear, he prayed that what he heard meant what he hoped – that Buffy was going to be okay.

Then she opened her eyes.


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Glaring, wide-eyed and mumbling frantically as if each word she uttered held some universal meaning, Buffy reminded Spike of Drusilla in one of her less pleasant moods. Not good, he thought.

Certainly, he hadn't expected her to awake so alert, so quickly – and most definitely, not so aggressively pissed off. She jumped from the bed, swinging and kicking. His Slayer aimed for (and connected with) most of her favorite points of contact on old Spikey. Nose, jaw, gut – all got tagged in short order. Spike couldn't hear that well. Sense of scent was not at its best. But he could certainly damn well feel. And he was getting his ass kicked.

After wasting precious moments in semi-shock, Spike countered Buffy's blows, his strength returning in anxious waves. Wouldn't bode well for his reputation to have the Slayer beat him to a bloody pulp within twenty-four hours of seeing him for the first time in twenty-four months. With his hearing impaired, his balance was slightly off. Although he was connecting a few good punches here and there. Still he couldn't quite deal with the notion of actually hurting her. She'd been at death's door less than fifteen minutes before.

“B-Buffy,” he managed to hear himself speak her name. “Buffy!” He shouted.

She paused.

“I've got to go, now,” she was looking into his eyes, urgently searching his face for what appeared to be – understanding.

“Where, luv? Where do you need to go?”

“I've got to go, NOW!” she screamed as she leapt into action once again.

A flurry of punches connected, causing Spike successive explosions of pain over various parts of his body. Tirelessly, he continued to adjust, maintaining enough balance and timing to deliver his own share of counter-blows. She was definitely on. Outside of sparing, he hadn't battled Buffy toe-to-toe, and in earnest, since the night they'd fucked for the first time. Bloody hell, this fight was a very close second to that all out war. No doubt, in between punches, near misses and contact, it was not looking too good for William the Bloody. But hey, at least there wasn't any wood in sight.

That's when she broke a nightstand. Splitters flew everywhere, and wouldn't you know it, Spike thought with a sigh, one pointy sliver landed right in her palm.

“Move out of my way, or you're dust,” Buffy warned, without the slightest hesitation in her voice.

“No, Buffy, I don't think so.” Spike's eyes didn't leave Buffy's as he heard Angel's voice behind him. Would be another hundred years Spike guessed before he'd have this thought again, but damn it, he was happy as bloody hell to hear Peaches' voice. It distracted Buffy just enough for him to grab the Slayer's wrist, wooden object falling uselessly to the floor for Angel to kick easily aside. Within seconds, the two vampires had her pinned down on the bed. Each restraining an opposing arm and leg, holding the struggling Slayer in place.


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Fine sheets of white dust lined the black dirt floor at the bottom of hell. She'd expected the darkness, or at least, fire, red flames blazing. But the pure black and white of it all was a little daunting. Still, it didn't make a huge difference to Fred as far as her general feelings of despair, which were swallowing her whole. She was Charm, the fourth of the Seven Wiccas, but she didn't feel charming. It was pretty darn odd – feeling like a witch from hell while knowing you were still you. It was like being dressed up in new clothes. Whether they fit or not wasn't the point. You just had to wear them.

They were standing, facing each other forming a five-pointed star, missing a point. Fred recognized Willow and Lillie. The newest image, Fred did not recognize. Standing across from her was a woman who looked a lot like Lillie, except she was different, very different.

“Who are you?” Fred asked.

“Lilith, queen of the L'Quartatong,” responded the woman. “The bride of Truth and the savior of our tribe.”

“Why are we here?” Fred continued her voice soft and low.

“To unite the stars, the galaxy and the dust,” said Lilith.

“Okay, making no sense, whatsoever, here. Try again – why are we here?” Willow asked, with such a wild black look in her eyes that Fred thought she might have lost all her senses. Lilith appeared to embody badness of inter-dimensional proportions, and Fred couldn't imagine any good coming from making this witch queen from hell mad.

“Who. Are. We?” Willow persisted. Cleary, Willow was not feeling the same fears as Fred about the scene unfolding in front of them.

“In the darkness, we are a hero, journeying through time,” Lilith said as she moved her body meticulously from her spot in the point closer to Willow.

“I don't like riddles,” said Willow, her shoulders braced defiantly. “Plus, I've heard this one before.”

“Perhaps, you have, but I don't care because a repeat performance is as you might say, of the good. So whether you mind, or not, Earth Witch, I will continue.” Lilith was so close to Willow Fred thought they might kiss. “So shut your filthy mouth," Lilith warned.


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Finally, she was asleep. Her breathing and pulse were steady, and her efforts to beat the two vampires into dust abated. Angel released his grip on her, and opened the drawer of the small table next to his bed. Pulling out some rope and throwing a length to Spike, the two vampires worked quickly, tying Buffy's arms and legs to the bedposts.

“Can't take any chances, huh, Peaches,” said Spike, double knotting the ropes strapping Buffy's left arm and leg to his side of the bed.

“When she wakes up, s-she's going to be angry,” said Angel, as Spike gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, she's going to be really pissed. But don't let her leave.”

Angel stood opposite Spike on the other side of the bed. His hands plunged deep into the pockets of his leather jacket, his brooding brow in a familiar frown. Had he ever seen Angel with any other expression? Spike wondered.

Angel pulled his hand out of his pocket and Spike noticed he was holding a small silver ring. “I can't explain right now. But here…keep this,” Angel said extending the ring to Spike. “It will help you later.”

Then Angel strode out of the room.

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