Chapter 8
by Bloodshedbaby
Buffy slept like the dead. Or the newly risen from the dead, at any rate. And Spike watched over her, a hint of anxiety coloring his face that he didn't even try to hide.
They had barely set foot in Buffy's bedroom, when he realized that she was practically falling asleep on her feet. Spike bypassed the usual bedtime ritual and tucked her into bed. She had immediately fallen into such a deep slumber that Spike had slipped his fangs into her for a brief second to reassure himself that it was merely a normal REM cycle that she had fallen prey to and not something of a more mystical nature. His concern knew no bounds as he gently probed her mind.
The fleeting nonsensical thoughts being tossed around her brain assured him that all was well, and so he did the only thing he could do. He pulled her into his arms and stood guard; doing his best to keep her demons at bay- as she had requested earlier.
It had been over twelve hours now, and Spike was afraid to give up his diligent watch, certain that if he let his guard down for even a moment, something would happen. So he stayed awake.
They made their way on timid feet up the stairs to check on them, knocking quietly on the closed door that separated their anxious faces from Buffy. Spike had no compunctions in sending the whelp and Red away with a heated snarl, but he allowed Tara and Dawn to stay for a bit, knowing that their need for assurance stemmed from genuine concern and not some glorified urge to pat themselves on the back for their so-called accomplishment.
Tara had brought him blood, a thoughtful act that spoke volumes. Spike’s demon was clamoring and howling for sleep and respite, and the blood went a long way in soothing his fractured mind.
When Angel dared to poise on the outskirts of Buffy's inner sanctum, the demon reacted instinctively to the threat. Low, savage growls sounded from his chest as he gathered Buffy closer to him. She remained pliant in his arms, snuggling deeper against his bare chest as a soft, contented sigh passed between slightly parted lips.
Angel stopped and took a moment to study the vampire before him before slowly making his way into the bedroom. A bedroom well known to both Angel and Angelus.
When Spike's game face refused to retreat and the warning growls became more pronounced, Angel sighed heavily.
"I didn't come up here to challenge your claim, William."
The growling slowly eased, but suspicion and hostility continued to reverberate strongly. "Bloody right you're not, Angelus. She's mine."
Angel pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it, keeping a telling distance from the territorial vampire holding what used to be his beloved. "I am aware of that." His intense brown eyes skimmed Buffy's slight form hidden under the thick comforter. "How is she doing? You two have been up here a while."
Spike shrugged with forced nonchalance. "She's just sleeping. Think the coming back to life part just plumb wore her out." His cautious guard relaxed as he finally accepted that Angel wasn't a threat, and had merely sought them out for reassurance of their wellbeing. There was concern for them both, Spike realized with surprise and not a small measure of happiness; he had greatly missed this familial tie.
"She shouldn't be here," Spike whispered quietly, finally giving voice to the thoughts that continued to torture him. "They shouldn't have done it."
Angel was silent for a moment trying to come to terms with his own emotions. For his own selfish reasons, he wanted Buffy alive. It was easier, it hurt less. But he realized that Spike was the only one among them to rise above his own selfish needs and think of Buffy’s well-being.
And he was right, Angel thought wryly. Buffy didn't deserve what had been done to her. An intense wave of gratitude washed over him, foreign in nature.
Buffy was lucky she had Spike.
Not the other way around; as was the initial focal thought that had gripped Angel the moment he discovered that Spike had claimed her before she died. Part of him still wanted to plunge a stake through his wayward childe's heart for daring to touch what Angelus considered his, but his more soul-ful component found acceptance and more than a small measure of gratitude that Spike was there for Buffy.
Something he had not been.
Unable to share the profoundness of his thoughts with Spike, Angel swiftly changed the subject. "Giles is on his way."
Spike nodded once. "Yeah, heard the whelp and Tara arguing about that a while ago."
Angel regarded Spike with a discerning eye, noting the obvious lines of weariness that cut deeply into the flesh around his eyes and mouth as he valiantly fought the seductive lure of sleep.
"Sleep, Will."
The command was spoken with none of the dominant authority that Spike was accustomed to hearing from his grand-sire, being uttered instead with gentle concern. He stiffened in protest all the same. Old habits died hard, even when his elder was wearing the guise of an acquired conscience.
Despite the feeling of warmth generated by Angle’s show of consideration, Spike feigned an air of bravado as he shrugged off the demanding shroud of fatigue. “Nah, I’m good.”
Knowing instinctively why there was reluctance in succumbing to much needed rest, Angel's voice lowered just a fraction, his face softening as a slight Irish burr entered his voice. "I'll watch over the two of you, lad."
Piercing blue eyes searched broody brown. Satisfied with the sincerity he found there, Spike nodded his gratitude.
Trying not to jar Buffy, he pulled back the thick comforter and settled himself under it, seeking the drowsy warmth it possessed.
With Buffy's body pressed against his and the surprising bodyguard in the chair across the room, Spike had no difficulty in sliding into a deep, much-needed sleep. He had been awake for over 48 hours, and his demon craved respite, knowing it was needed to restore him to full capability.
Buffy deserved nothing less.
Angel watched the two blonds sleeping, a sharp ache tugging at his heartstrings. Angelus was still screaming for blood, but even he understood exactly what was taking place here.
Love.
Trust.
The fact that it was in regard to Spike failed to disturb him any longer. Once more, he found himself thankful that his rebellious grand-childe had been there.
He would protect these two with his very life, if necessary. It was the least he could do; he owed them both so much. More than he had even realized.
********
Spike jerked awake to the sound of the front door slamming open, his precious hold on Buffy tightening in instinctive response. His eyes immediately made their way across the room where he found Angel standing watch, doing exactly as he had promised. Sleep still tried to pull him under, but his other senses went on high alert against possible threat.
Heated, muffled voices made their way up the stairs and through the closed door.
"Well, unless I miss my guess, I'd say the good watcher has just arrived," Spike commented dryly, eyeing the closed door. He wasn't eager for the inevitable confrontation and the chaos that would soon ensue.
Loud shouting replaced the muffled voices as accusations were flung that sent a flow of tautness through Spike's body, his rage building with each callous word.
Seeing the terse set of Spike's jaw and feeling the fury coursing through him, Angel came to a swift decision.
"I'll head them off."
Making his way with supernatural stealth to the door, Angel slipped through it, closing it firmly behind him; effectively shutting Spike and Buffy off from the rest of the household.
*****
Angel couldn't remember a time when he had seen Giles look as out of sorts as he did standing at the bottom of the stairs. An unwanted mental image of a disheveled and bleeding Watcher at the sadistic and torturous hands of a merciless Angelus flashed through his brain before being quickly blocked and tamped down.
'Not my fault,' Angel said to himself yet again, hoping that one day he may actually believe it.
Xander's was the loudest in the din of escalating voices, all focused on being heard. Angel had hoped the boy would have cooled off a bit, but unfortunately it appeared as if the continuing-and unwanted- presence of the soldier cemented Xander's misguided assessment of the situation; both men feeding off the other until the rage practically poured off them both. Erroneous at best, Xander continued to twist things around so his own duplicity was excused. The honor of culpability had been reserved for the vampire up the stairs; the one who insisted on keeping Buffy separated from her real friends.
A bespectacled pair of tortured eyes met Angel's, seeking assurance and truth from the only silent one.
"So, it's really true?" Giles asked.
One curt nod was all that was needed to fully deflate the Watcher as his body sagged against the wall, a framed picture of Buffy symbolically knocked off in the process.
The sharp, piercing sound of broken glass served to break through the heated clamor, all eyes jumping to the bowed Watcher and the shattered frame before finally traveling to take in the grim set of Angel's face.
"Where is she?" Giles asked, his haggard voice a mirror of his tortured emotions.
"Upstairs."
Shoving himself away from the wall that had offered him much-needed support, Giles solemnly climbed the stairs, his fear and anxiety feeding Angelus with relish. Angel couldn't help but inhale deeply as he passed, then cursed the demon inside that made him savor every whiff.
The others attempted to follow and Angel turned to them with a harsh warning poised on his lips; however he was beaten to the punch.
"Back off," Dawn warned, her eyes growing cold with promised intent.
"But..." Anya attempted to say before being effectively shut down.
"No one is going upstairs right now, got it?"
Angel gave Dawn an appreciative look before turning to fall in step beside Buffy's Watcher.
When they reached the door, Giles gave pause, his hand hovering over the gilded smoothness of the door handle as he fought to make sense of the chaotic maelstrom of thoughts swirling around his head.
His information thus far had been conflicting, the only thing fully penetrating was that his slayer was ALIVE. Once he had heard that, his typically astute brain had refused to process much else as he caught the first plane back to the United States. He had unfortunately suffered delay after delay which offered him entirely too much time to think, to ponder... and to drink.
On each occasion that he had called the Summers residence, somebody different had answered the phone with a decidedly altered version of events. The only thing that had managed to penetrate his befuddled mind was the name SPIKE-- repeated over and over again. Finding himself unable to make sense of the jumbled explanations, Giles decided to grasp a hold of the only continuity.
Even Tara's quiet words had included the name Spike, his gut clenching in remembrance of the rest of her words.
"There was a spell performed...."
His mind had shut off after that as rage had gripped him in its eager claws. Spike was responsible for this...abomination.
Giles now found himself glad that Angel was available to help deal with the matter of his kin... if he hadn't been dealt with already, which was his reverent hope.
Finding himself suddenly fearful of what he might find behind the closed door, Giles voiced his one encompassing worry.
"Is she still... Buffy?"
Knowing exactly what it was the Watcher was asking, Angel kept his reply short. "Yes, she's still Buffy."
With that, Angel took the initiative and opened the door into the room, swinging it open quietly.
The relief that accompanied Angel's quiet reassurance was staggering, and it took Giles a moment to regroup his thoughts as he stepped into the room.
But then he saw it.
His Slayer. Alive.
In the arms of the vampire responsible for her resurrection.
"Why is he still here, Angel?" Giles bit out in a deceptively mild tone, all exhaustion and alcohol fleeing his system in one foul swoop.
Angel's face became a playground of confusion. "Didn't they tell you?"
Giles face assumed the hardness of his pre-Watcher days as Ripper decided to surface.
"I'm thinking the ole Watcher got but half the story," Spike said quietly from the bed, watching the transformation take place on Rupert's face. He had seen hints of Ripper, but nothing to this extreme. "And take care with your voice, will ya? She's sleeping."
"Kinda hard to sleep when you guys keep making so much noise," Buffy announced without opening her eyes or moving a muscle, continuing the boneless comfort of being draped across Spike's torso.
"Sorry, pet." Spike's voice was apologetic as he gently stroked the back of her head.
The befuddled Watcher returned as he questioned heatedly, "Just what in the bloody hell is going on here? Angel? Why are you allowing Spike to hold Buffy in such an...intimate manner?"
Buffy's eyes slowly opened and she turned her head sleepily in Giles direction, sighing in slight irritation. "Hi Giles. Not so much with the deadness anymore."
Her head dropped back with a resounding thump against Spike's chest, and it was at that moment that Giles saw them.
Bite marks.
Suddenly, things that had been thrown out to him on the phone during his frantic flight half way across the world made perfect sense. Oh yes, he had heard the words "Spike" and "claimed" in the same sentence, but he had not for one moment connected them in the true vampiric sense. He felt ridiculous all of a sudden for not making the connection before, but blamed the stress and alcohol for numbing his brain to the point where it refused to cooperate.
Looking at Angel, Giles asked, "He claimed her, did he?"
Angel nodded once more, his eyes moving to the bed where an irritated Spike reclined.
Cold blue eyes followed suit, and Giles practically bristled with self righteousness. "Well Spike, why does it not surprise me that you wasted no time in taking advantage of this situation?"
tbc
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