He gripped the side of his head, shutting his eyes as if in pain. It was that feeling that crept up into his stomach, the one he had learned to never have over the years – guilt. It rushed through him every time he saw the image of her disheveled state, knowing that he caused it. But a war was raging within. The memories had never come so alive in his mind, to the point that he could feel the faded scars stinging on his chest.
He yelled out in frustration, lifting up the desk and overturning it, sending everything clattering to the ground.
Drusilla’s voice rang through his head. ”You’ll never be good enough, William.”
Spike turned to survey the room – he had long deserted it. Bookshelves along the wall, a comfortable armchair now covered with a sheet. The air smelled musty and a thick layer of dust settled on every surface. He hadn’t come back here since Angelus put doubt into everyone’s mind. What kind of man had an interest in lame books? Certainly not one capable of leading a gang.
No, only William.
Now, standing in the darkness, Spike felt like destroying everything that was William. Striding over to the large bookcase, he began pulling books off the shelves, tearing out as many pages as he could at one time. One, two,…five, until his hands became impatient. Yelling out, he knocked everything off the shelves, making a large pile on the floor. Dust swiveled in the air, but he didn’t care. He pulled on the bookcase, swinging it down loudly onto the pile. Spike huffed, taking in the sight before him, the mess he made, and flinched. Gone was the cool, calm, and collected persona that he used to hold. After all these years, he had lost control.
The image of the stubborn blonde immediately popped into mind. The hate in her glares, to the flickers of uncertainty, to the sobbing fear. It was her fault.
His tortured eyes looked around the room for the one thing he wanted. Advancing over to the bar, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. Spike grabbed the first glass he saw, ripped off the top of the bottle, and poured himself a full glass. With one quick movement, he downed the drink in one gulp, before bringing down the empty glass and peering at it. Failing to calm his turmoil, he let out a frustrated yell as he flung the glass as hard as he could, smashing it against the far wall. He grabbed the bottle and began to drink recklessly.
The bitch would pay.
~
The alcohol pumped through his veins, making his flesh hot and his head pound. Normally, drinking was a good way to forget, but all he could think about was her. ‘The bitch needs to be put in her place,’ he thought coldly as he left the office and worked his way toward the bedroom. In the end, Spike remembered who he was supposed to be, and what they did here. It was the way of the world, the way of their world. He would teach her not to defy him again.
~
She didn’t make an effort to move. Buffy sat on the floor, sheet wrapped around her body, physical appearance still in disarray. She let angry tears glide down her cheek, but she sat in silence. She could taste the dried blood at the corner of her mouth, but she failed to care. She passed the hours in dead silence, not wanting to do anything but sit.
~
Throwing the door open, he had expected her to attack him, provoke him, crash another mirror against his head. But when he opened the door, with every intent to regain his “respect,” Spike froze as he took in her appearance. It was obvious that she hadn’t made any attempt to clean herself up. In that moment, she looked like a lost little girl - she was asleep, sitting on the floor, head resting against the wall.
The anger melted off his expression. The damage he had been planning to do had already been done. Spike stood there for a while, not knowing what to do. Finally, he approached her slowly, and kneeled down to observe her. Blood smearing her chin, face covered with tear tracks – but it was the sad expression on her sleeping face that made something inside him feel…
Sighing and running his hands through his hair, he wondered how the alcohol could wear off so quickly. He reached underneath her arms, and began to lift her up, slowly. Carefully, he placed her on the bed and let go as she stirred. Holding his breath, he waited for her to wake up and for the rage to enter back into her expression, but she didn’t. Spike relaxed, and stared down at her. She looked so…peaceful...something he hadn’t seen on her before. He had never taken the time to look at her like this, even though she spent every night in his bedroom. The way she was breathing lightly, chest moving up and down softly…He turned away when he realized what he was doing.
~
“Wes,” Spike called as he approached him in the main room.
“Yea?” Wesley asked, turning around away from Illyria.
“I need you to look into something.”
“Ok…,” he questioned, waiting for Spike to continue.
Spike brought out a card of some sort, and shoved it in Wesley’s face for him to see. “Look up ‘Summers’ and give me everything on all her family members, from occupation to police reports to where they live. This information only goes to me, got it?”
“Yea, got it,” Wesley answered as he scrunched his brow for a second, grabbing the card and looking at it. It was Buffy’s UC Sunnydale student I.D. card.
Summers, Buffy Anne.
“What’s it for?” Wesley questioned, sensing Spike was plotting something.
“Revenge,” Spike replied evenly, walking away from the two without looking at them again.
~
She woke up to the sound of distant yelling. She groaned and tried to blink her eyes open, realizing the sounds were coming from people walking past the closed door. Remembering the events of the previous night, the anger returned. She wondered if it was real, but she felt the evidence on her body - it ached, but…she felt surprisingly…clean. Touching her hand to her lips, she realized the blood had been cleaned off. Frowning in confusion, she realized her hair was no longer a tangled mess, her face was clean, and she was dressed in a nightgown. Scanning her memories, she realized she hadn’t fallen asleep in the bed, in his bed, last night.
Refusing to think about the state of her cleanliness and how she got to be that way, she threw off the covers and stood up. It was time to take matters into her own hands.
~
The mess hall was loud and noisy, people from both sides of the gang conversing, or rather, bantering and fighting. The long, metal table and dim cement walls gave the room a dreary, but clean, look. As usual, the hired cooks were rushing to prepare the custom ordered meals, not wanting to anger any of them.
Buffy looked around with a steely glint in her eye. It was never safe to come here – it was a place where no one cared what happened to her. It wasn’t the training room, where people watched her, even if it was to see her get her ass kicked. She couldn’t really pinpoint the reason before, but she supposed that this room clearly displayed the chaos and disorder of who these people were.
Now, her fear was gone. To say she was hardening would be an obvious statement, but she was also gaining confidence – not from a renewed view on life, but rather from the fact that she started to care less and less.
Ignoring the gazes of the people around her, she strode right over to Cordelia, who was in the middle of a conversation with Darla.
“I need your help,” Buffy said to her evenly.
Cordelia paused mid-sentence, turning to look at her, annoyed.
“Well, aren’t we bold today?” Darla asked snidely, eyeing her up and down and taking in the slightly different air about her.
“What makes you think I care?” Cordelia asked, crossing her arms. She didn’t fail to notice the slight cut in the corner of Buffy’s lip.
“Teach me how to use a knife.”
Thrown off by her random request, she responded after a moment, “You don’t learn anything until Spike says so. Take it up with Spike.”
“I-,” Buffy began.
Darla interrupted with a dismissal of her hand, “Get lost now.”
Buffy sighed, frustrated, knowing that with Darla there, she would never get anywhere talking to Cordelia. She’d have to catch her alone. Giving Cordelia a final look, she turned and walked away.
Darla tilted her head and watched as Buffy retreated. Looking thoughtful she commented, “Hm, I guess she isn’t just your typical bimbo Barbie after all.”
“You say that as if whore is much better,” Cordelia retorted with a challenging smirk, taking offense to the Barbie comment, and forgetting all about Buffy.
“Excuse me, it was Professional Escort, got it?” Darla threw back.
“Yea, whatever,” Cordelia rolled her eyes, both of them going back to their previous conversation.
~
She approached him as he took out his aggression on the punching bag, as usual.
“What is it?” he asked, never stopping his punches.
“I thought you should know she asked me to teach her how to use knives today,” Cordelia said with a lifted eyebrow, coming to stand on the side of him.
He stopped, slowly turning to look at her. “Did she?”
“I told her to take it up with you.”
“Then why are you here?” he asked, going back to his punching bag.
She smirked. “Because I figured out how she got that cut on her lip, and by the looks of that scratch on your head, I was right.”
Spike stopped again, jaw clenched. “Do it then.”
Knowing that they both knew Buffy’s intent, she didn’t bother to ask him if he was sure. She knew what he was thinking. Hate was really the best motivator.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two months later…
“I’m in the lobby,” Gunn said discreetly into his microphone piece. Sucking in a little, he reached to button up his suit jacket before adjusting his tie. He surveyed the area, looking at all the men and women in business attire busily walking about. Spotting Cordelia disappearing into the elevator, he moved in the opposite direction, towards the security counter, knowing that Spike and Buffy were about to start.
~
“Don’t screw this up, Goldilocks,” he whispered into her ear as one hand grabbed her arm, “or you know what happens.”
She wrenched her arm out of his grip, shooting him a glare. “I’m not going to screw it up.”
“Now.”
“God, you’re such a jerk!” she screamed, loud enough to cause a disruption. Pushing him back by the chest, she turned to stomp away from him, but he grabbed her arm and whipped her around.
“Stop making a scene,” he warned with a tight expression. “There are people here, Joan.”
“I don’t care – the whole world can hear me for all I care,” her angered voice rose in irritation.
They continued to bicker loudly, until the guards at the security desk looked to each other and two of them began making their way over to them.
“Will you just shut up for a minute?” Spike yelled in frustration as he shook her shoulders.
“Excuse me, sir, but you’re going to have to take this somewhere else,” one of the guards adjusted his belt.
“Hey, don’t try to tell us what to do, you jackass,” Buffy yelled. “Can’t you see I’m trying to have a fucking conversation here?”
The guards exchanged looks before getting right to business. One of them grabbed her by the arm, and said, “I’m going to have to escort you outside.”
“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Spike warned.
Before they could respond or try to calm the two down, Buffy began screaming like a banshee and thrashing against the guard, alerting everyone in the lobby to their already-obvious drama.
The remaining guard at the desk looked to the debacle in alarm, and seeing his co-workers dealing with two apparent handfuls, he opted to help them and left the desk for a moment. Gunn slipped by the counter, pressing a button he knew was located on the monitor, all the while looking like he hadn’t even moved a finger. It would only buy them a minute or so, but it was all they needed.
~
“Mr. Hensley,” the secretary’s voice called through the speaker, “your 2 o’ clock is here to see you.”
He pushed the button and spoke, “Send them right in.”
If he remembered correctly, his next appointment was with people from the American Cancer Society, seeking a generous donation. Normally, he wouldn’t even see such people, but he had soon learned that sparing a few thousand dollars every couple of months to a well-known non-profit organization was a highly effective way of keeping suspicions away from his company and looking good in the media. After quickly logging off his computer, he stood up and buttoned his suit, straightening his posture just as he heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door.
The door opened, a man and a woman walking in.
“Hello, Mr. Hensley. I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” Wesley walked up to the desk, and reached over to shake his hand in a strong grip.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce,” noticing the grip the man had in his handshake.
“Yes, likewise, and this is my colleague, Ms. Winifred Burkle,” he introduced, turning slightly to his side.
Mr. Hensley took in the appearance of a small, petite, and brunette woman – hair pulled up into a bun, wearing thin glasses, generally looking very mousy, and holding a small briefcase. Smiling, he reached out to shake her hand, “I didn’t know the Cancer Society had such good-looking workers, or I would’ve offered more of my services,” he joked with a glint in his eye.
Wesley laughed and shot Illyria a look that Mr. Hensley didn’t see, warning her to stay in character.
A dark look flashed across her eyes briefly, before she accepted his handshake and giggled with a blush. “Oh, you should see the other girls – they’re much prettier than little old me.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re being modest. But please, have a seat,” he gestured to the two chairs.
Sitting down, she placed her briefcase on the ground and unlatched the clasp.
“So, I’m assuming you’re here for a donation?” Mr. Hensley asked knowingly.
Wesley smiled cordially, and continued, “Yes, you’ve assumed correctly, and I’m sure you don’t want me to bore you with details you already know about.”
He nodded and got out his checkbook, hoping to wrap this up within a few minutes. “How much are you asking for this time? And let’s not beat around the bush,” he said without looking up, knowing these people liked to play the ‘however much you’re willing to give’ game.
After a long moment of silence, he began to look up curiously.
“Everything you have,” Illyria said in an emotionless tone, bringing the gun out of the bag and firing it directly at his neck as his eyes widened. The tranquilizer shot him as he made a short strangled noise before he slumped forward onto the desk.
Wesley got up immediately, going to the computer and beginning to type.
“Hurry up. If I have to wear this disguise any longer than I have to, I’m going to break someone’s neck.”
“Well Frank here thinks you look rather fetching,” Wesley patronized with a smile as she glared at him.
As she put her gun back into the bag, she strode over next to Wesley and opened the desk drawer. Reaching up against the ceiling of the drawer, she pulled off a key that was placed there in a custom-made space.
After typing continuously for a few more seconds, he announced, “Got it. Let’s go.”
~
They walked out with accomplished smiles on their faces, passing the secretary. “My gosh, can you believe how generous he is?” Fred smiled excitedly as she looked at the check in her hands.
The secretary just smiled and shook her head as she looked down, going back to work. Some people were really naïve.
As soon as they were far enough away, Wesley spoke into his mic-piece, “We’re coming up.”
~
In silence, Cordelia stood in the elevator with other people. As the it reached the 31st floor, it stopped and opened. Wesley and Illyria got in, the other occupants scooting aside to make more room.
“Oops, sorry,” Fred apologized nervously as she bumped into Cordelia.
Cordelia gave her a slightly annoyed look and went back to staring ahead at the door, but she secretly pocketed the key Illyria had handed her.
They rode the next few seconds in silence.
Cordelia got out on the 32nd floor with a few other business men and women, leaving her co-members behind. After waiting for the other people to start walking to the right towards where all the offices were, she turned left with a determined stride.
Stopping before she came to an intersecting hallway, she waited, because she knew there was a guard standing in front a door at the end of the perpendicular hallway, and a security camera pointed at him and the door. Gunn’s voice finally came through the mic, “You have two minutes tops.”
“Only need one, Charles,” she smiled before bringing out her gun.
The guard saw her coming and straightened. “Miss, you can’t be here.”
She moved the gun into his line of sight, causing him to widen his eyes and fumble to reach his own, but she held hers up and aimed straight for him. “Don’t call me miss,” she said as she fired.
The tranquilizer hit him and he slumped down automatically. “Well, this thing’s a killjoy,” she rolled her eyes, preferring a real gun. “If we weren’t pretending to be classy, then you’d need some serious facial reconstruction,” talking conversationally to his unconscious form as she took the keys out of his pants pocket.
She opened the door quickly and looked at the stairway before her. Cordelia knew it lead to floor 33 – the secret floor, and exactly where everything of value was.
~
“Cordelia, you in?” Wesley asked as he pressed two fingers to his ear. He waited with Illyria, both of them already in their car and driving away.
Immediately, he heard her respond, “Yea, piece of cake. I’m in front of the safe. What’s the code?”
“721 1218 9372 H-E-N-S-L-E-Y,” he repeated slowly.
“What the fuck? There aren’t any letters on here, Wes.”
He frowned for a moment, “Well, try the corresponding number for each letter. That’s what his files said.”
“Great. I have to do actual thinking, and sing the damn alphabet in my head. What a ruthless gang banger I am,” she said sarcastically.
“Just hurry,” he urged. He held his breath, hoping that the code was right – he had only spent a month figuring out how to hack into this man’s files.
“It cleared,” she said, and she heard him let out a breath.
“Alright, it’s in box 385. Just take the blue floppy disk and the CD. Don’t take any of the other stuff,” he reminded.
She was about to reply snarkily, when she took in the sight before her. The safe was a large room, bigger than three bedrooms put together. On the entire right side of the room, there were stacks of money carefully organized into bounded piles. She gaped, feeling her fingers itch at the idea of how much money must be sitting there, and how many outfits and cars she could buy with it. The left wall was completely lined with what looked like safety deposit boxes, and she snapped out of it, remembering she had about 30 seconds left.
Locating box 385 quickly, she took out the key Illyria handed her, and used it. Pulling out the metal box, she saw a simple blue floppy disk and a CD. “I feel like the nerdiest robber ever,” she muttered as she pocketed them and put the box back. Giving the money one last longing look, she turned and fled.
~
“That was so classless of you!” Buffy yelled after the guards, who were walking back inside after they threw them out.
She turned back to Spike, who was giving her an impressed smirk. Her face immediately darkened, act over. Rolling her eyes, she said, “I told you I could do it.”
He grabbed her hand and began walking away quickly, “Let’s go.”
She stopped him, pulling her hand out of his. “I can walk by myself, thank you very much,” she retorted before walking in front of him, up to the dark car parked on the side of the street. She opened the door, got in, and slammed it loudly.
Opening the door to the driver’s seat and getting him, he saw her staring straight ahead, ignoring him as usual. He closed the door, and before making a move to start the car, he felt like there was something he should be saying, or offering. Instead, “You hungry?”
“No. Can we just leave?” she asked with tense irritation. Buffy knew what he was getting at. You would think that her first time outside of that underground hole, she would be ecstatic, and desperate to connect with the outside world. She had thought so too, but he had ruined it for her. Now all it meant being out her was being reminded that every second she spent was a possibility, in his eyes, for her to run away. But she knew she couldn’t do that. Nothing was worth risking the lives of her loved ones – especially Dawn.
Spike knew why she was tense and highly irritated. He had told her they would kill them all - there was nothing else that would ensure she didn’t run – it was the only way.
Sighing, he touched his ear-piece, “Everyone out?”
“Illyria and I are,” Wesley’s voice came through.
Spike waited, until he heard Cordelia’s voice, “Got the stuff - Gunn and I are in the car.”
Considering what this successful job could secure them, he should’ve been reveling. But a look at the indifferent expression of the blonde next to him kept clouding his mind.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The reviews for the last chapter were really wonderful and supportive – thank you! I got to responding to all the other reviews from the summer too :) I added in a few new settings into the gang quarters, sorry it seems like it’s out of nowhere. And because you guys are so awesome, I decided to go ahead and not split the chapter up, even though there’s a natural break in it. Hopefully, the more the merrier.