The Slayer’s eyes widened in surprise at the older woman’s emphatic declaration, taking in her firm stance in the doorway, the determination in her face that said that there was no way she was going to allow Buffy to get Spike alone and at her mercy – not while she was standing and able to attempt to prevent it. Then, those glittering green eyes narrowed in menacing anger.
The Slayer had other ideas.
“Do you really think that you can stop me?” she asked in a soft, low voice that to Joyce Summers, only vaguely resembled the voice of her daughter. Deceptively calm, yet full of a terrible threat, that voice continued, “Because I think it’d be very interesting to see you try.”
“Mommy?” Dawn’s timid, trembling voice from where she stood near the stairs drew Spike’s attention for a moment. The girl was staring with wild, panicked eyes between her mother and her sister, edging nearer, then drawing back, unsure of what was going on or what to do to stop it.
Spike was very sure that there was nothing the child could do. A sense of alarm came over him as he began to realize how very badly this situation could go. There was no trace of the sensitive, caring girl in Buffy’s eyes at the moment; she was not in control at all. He knew that she would be horrified when she returned to herself if she had hurt her mother while under the influence of this – this thing. She would never forgive herself.
And neither would Spike.
“Buffy,” he said softly, his voice trembling with fear that he tried to conceal. “Buffy, please…let’s just wait and…”
His words were cut off in a stifled yelp of pain as Buffy’s free hand – the one that was not already holding his arm in a painful viselike grip – fisted in his hair and yanked his head back, hard.
She leaned in very close to his ear, a cold smile on her lips as she spoke softly, with false patience. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up, Baby?”
Her voice was dripping with menace, and he could feel the fury rolling off her, knew that he was going to pay for his disobedience, later, once they were alone. Because there was no way the Slayer was going to lose this little battle of wills, he realized with a sinking heart. She was simply too powerful. Despite Joyce’s concern and good intentions, there was no way she could hope to keep her daughter from doing whatever she wanted to do.
The best he could hope for was to get himself and Buffy out of here without any harm coming to Joyce or Dawn.
He nodded quickly, as best he could, his breath coming shallow and ragged as she jerked harder on his hair. His scalp felt as if it was on fire.
“Then don’t you think you’d better do it?” she continued in a patronizing near-whisper, her eyes wide and innocent, but brimming with malice.
“*Buffy*!” Joyce gasped in horror. “Stop it, let him go!”
He nodded again, his eyes closed, swallowing hard – his mind racing trying to come up with some way out of this situation. He wanted to tell Joyce to let it go – though he knew her well enough to know that there was no way that she would. And to attempt to talk again, now – well, it would be sheer suicide.
And there was no telling how the unstable Slayer would react if she accidentally killed her vampire “possession” – or who would fall victim to the rage that would certainly consume her when she realized that she had.
At his submissive response to her threatening words, Buffy smiled coldly in satisfaction as she released her grip on his hair, still holding onto his arm in a controlling way as she turned to face her mother completely.
Joyce stared at her, aghast at her actions, but seemingly unafraid for herself, as Buffy moved in closer to her in an attempt to intimidate her mother, eyes narrowed over a small, predatory sort of smile.
“Get out of my way,” she ordered softly.
Joyce was silent for a moment, taking in the utterly changed countenance of her daughter with sorrowful, bewildered eyes, before her jaw set and she shook her head slowly. “Buffy,” she began quietly, a resignation in her eyes that said she was willing to face whatever consequences might come from her next words. “I won’t. I can’t let you do this, Sweetheart. I love you. But I can’t let you do this.”
The cruel sneer that twisted the Slayer’s pretty features at those words was hurtful to the older woman, who could not repress a slight wince, as she reminded herself again and again in her mind, *It’s not really Buffy – it’s not her, it’s whatever’s controlling her – not Buffy…*
“Buffy – Buffy please stop!” Dawn’s shrill, childish voice pleaded from the stairs, edging a step or two closer uncertainly.
Behind Buffy, Spike emphatically held up his free hand, without turning to look at the child – and she stopped her advance in an uncharacteristically obedient move, much to the vampire’s relief. In this frame of mind, he knew that Buffy would not hesitate to hurt her little sister if she got in her way.
Buffy edged even closer to her mother, and Spike winced slightly as in her anger, she unconsciously tightened her grip on his arm, pulling him forward with her.
“I’ll say it one more time,” she said in a dangerously low, quiet voice. “Get out of my way.”
Anger flashed in Joyce’s defiant eyes at the tone her daughter was using with her. Possessed or not, it did not make the utter disrespect, the menace in Buffy’s tone any easier to hear. She stood up a bit straighter in the doorway, planting her feet more firmly, and met her daughter’s gaze head-on.
“Buffy,” she said with a quiet certainty. “*No*.”
The thing wearing Buffy’s face smiled maliciously. “Fine,” she replied in a tight, angry voice, releasing her grip on Spike with a little shove that sent him back a few steps as she closed the slight remaining distance between herself and her mother – and drew back her fist to strike.
In the next moment, time slowed to a crawl for all but the Slayer, as the shock of what was about to happen assaulted their minds.
Joyce’s eyes widened in disbelieving understanding, as she realized that her daughter was about to strike her – but she did not yield. She stood her ground, unwilling despite the very real danger that was suddenly coming to pass, to allow her daughter to make Spike her victim yet again. Her body tensed in anticipation, and she flinched slightly at her daughter’s raised fist – but she did not move.
Dawn moved forward without thought for her own safety, though she was too far away to reach them in time to do anything – not that she could have done much, anyway. She was still quite a bit shorter than Buffy, and no match for her strength.
The only one close enough to do anything was Spike. And in that moment, the threat to his own safety did not matter. All he knew was that he could not let Joyce be hurt for him. In her current state, Buffy was probably not considering the strength she possessed, great enough to stun a super-human being with a single blow…
…or to kill a human.
Spike knew very well that a single, powerful blow from Buffy’s hand could do enough damage to Joyce’s head to kill the courageous woman – and he simply could not let that happen, regardless of the consequences to himself.
Acting on instinct, not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he rushed forward, grabbing Buffy’s arm and spinning her around to face him, simultaneously raising his own fist and smashing it down across her face, not sparing his strength. He did not want to *really* hurt Buffy, even now – but if he knocked her unconscious at this point, it would be a good thing, he thought grimly.
She was the Slayer – she could take it.
Not unconscious, but dazed and stunned by the unexpected blow, Buffy jerked out of his grip, stumbling back a step or two – away from the door, away from her mother. Spike now stood between her and the woman she would have struck moments before.
A slow burning rage began to build up in her at his unexpected act of defiance. It had not occurred to her that Spike might actually hit her. She had trusted in her claim and the threat of physical harm to keep him from attempting anything of that nature. What she had failed to remember was that now, with the chip not working, and no specific order to prevent it, he was free to fight her.
Until she made him otherwise.
A cruel smile came over her lips, as she raised one hand to wipe the blood away from her mouth, slowly advancing toward him.
“Buffy,” he said in a quiet, intense, imploring voice. “Buffy, *think*! This is your *mother*. You don’t want to hurt her, love! You’ll bloody well *know* that in just a few minutes and the very moment you realize what you’ve done you’re gonna…”
“Silence.”
He immediately obeyed, recognizing subconsciously the difference in her tone. This was a claimant’s command, not to be disregarded. As she reached him, slowly stretching a hand toward him, he reflexively jerked back in alarm before she lunged toward him, gripping his arm and yanking him back toward her, her eyes glittering hard and angry.
He wisely did not resist her, preferring not to move by his own choice, rather than by her command – as the Slayer’s deceptively gentle hand rose to caress his cheek in a striking contrast of tenderness, trailing slowly down to slide around the back of his neck in a possessive, dominating gesture.
“Do you have any idea,” she said in a soft, affectionate tone that was a chilling contrast to her words. “what I’m going to do to you?”
At the moment – Spike was pretty sure he did.
He swallowed hard, releasing a soft gasp of dread and anticipation as her hand at his neck suddenly gripped his hair and yanked his head back in a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. The mark on his throat burned with an intensity of longing that was overwhelming, and he arched his head back into her hand, silently pleading – though he knew that when she did what he was aching, yearning for, it would be a punishment rather than a pleasure.
Still, something in her called to him, and he could not help but respond.
In an instant, without a moment to prepare or even think of defending himself, Spike felt her teeth viciously tear into his flesh, and his entire body went rigid as he let out a strangled cry of pain and – and something much deeper, some emotion that defied any definition.
She eased up for a moment before biting down harder, drawing his blood forcefully into her mouth, swallowing the cool fluid down, as her hard, punishing hands clutched him closer to her. Spike felt weakness stealing over him, a mixture of pain, blood loss, and the simple power of her claim – and the world around him became hazy and dim as he sank to his knees on the floor, his claimant sliding down with him, her teeth still clenched in his throat.
Dawn and Joyce both stood where they were, frozen by a combination of the shock of the offense Buffy had come so near to committing, and a mesmerized sense of fascination at the surreal scene that was playing itself out before them. The two super-human beings were playing out a primal connection that seemed -- *was* -- far beyond them, and something in them recognized that they were powerless to intervene.
Weren’t they?
Joyce tore her horrified, fascinated gaze from her daughter and the vampire when she saw movement out of her corner of her eye – Dawn, heading slowly but certainly toward the pair.
“Dawnie,” she gasped weakly, shaking her head, afraid to speak louder for fear of disturbing the violent creature within her daughter – afraid that what was happening was far beyond *anyone’s* control, and possibly could not be stopped at all – but most of all, afraid of what was going to happen in the next moment, as her younger daughter edged closer and closer to her older daughter, her small trembling hand outstretched toward her.
“Dawn,” Joyce said, her voice a bit stronger, urgent, but still soft. “Dawn – don’t…”
It was as if Dawn was pulled, drawn toward Buffy and Spike by some unseen force. She did not acknowledge – possibly did not even hear – her mother’s voice, as she closed the gap between herself and the Slayer, standing over them for a moment, staring down at them blankly.
Then, her hand reached out, hovering a breath away from her sister’s arm, scarcely daring to touch her – yet compelled to.
“Buffy…” she whispered, at the moment of contact...
And suddenly…Buffy’s eyes shot open, her mouth still closed over her claimant’s mark, as she realized all at once where she was – and what she was doing.
She drew back suddenly, scrambling to her feet in a desperate backpedal, wide horrified eyes taking in the damaged flesh on the vampire’s throat. With a soft little moan of protest, Spike reached out for her, trying instinctively to pull her back to him; but he was badly weakened by the encounter, and collapsed forward onto his hands as Buffy drew back, shaking her head in dismay as she remembered what had just happened.
*Everything* that had just happened.
Her eyes moved from the broken, kneeling creature at her feet – to the stricken expression of hurt and betrayal in her mother’s eyes – to the strangely serene look on the guileless face of her little sister.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her eyes welling with tears, shaking her head in denial of the truth as she pulled back from Dawn’s gentle hand. “No – oh, God, no…” Her gaze fell on Joyce again, and she moved quickly toward her on shaking legs, her hands out in supplication.
“Mom – Mom, I’m so sorry…” she pleaded in a trembling voice that was almost a sob. “Mom…”
Joyce moved to take her daughter into her arms, not really blaming her, aware that she had not been in control of her actions and prepared even now to offer her the comfort that she needed.
But not before Buffy saw the flash of fear and anger that passed over her face before she could drive it back.
Buffy backed away again, the tears in her eyes falling to stain her cheeks. “I – I have to go,” she whispered. “Mom, you’re right – I can’t be here – I have to go…”
“Buffy?” Joyce’s voice held concern, and a note of alarm, wondering where it was her daughter intended to go. In this emotional, guilt-stricken state of mind that had suddenly overcome her, Slayer or not, Buffy’s safety would be an issue.
Buffy recognized the motherly worry in her voice – and it only made her hate herself more. She did not deserve the compassion and concern she heard there. She was the villain of this piece, not the victim, she thought with bitter self-disgust. She needed to get out of here, like her mother had said, before she hurt someone.
Worse than she already had.
She looked down at Spike who was staring up at her in confusion as the haze slowly faded from his eyes. “B-buffy?” he whispered breathlessly, uncertainty in his voice.
She could hear the need, the desperation in his voice – emotions that she had thoughtlessly awakened in him, and now had to leave unfulfilled. She crouched down before him, accepting the sharp pain she felt as no less than she deserved, when he flinched as if expecting a blow.
“Spike,” she whispered, a gentle hand stroking his cheek and drawing his eyes back to meet hers. “Spike – I need to go. I can’t be with you right now. I – I’m trying not to, but – but all I do is hurt you, and – and I need to go.”
The alarm he felt at her words, her plan to leave him, even with two people he loved as much as he loved Dawn and Joyce, was greater than any fear that she might harm him. He needed her, desperately – longed to be close to her – and for some reason, at this moment, the thought of separation left a deep, empty ache in the pit of his stomach.
“Buffy,” he whispered. “No…you don’t have to…”
“Yes, I do,” she interrupted firmly, tears still streaming from her eyes as she studied his face, hoping to make him understand.
He did understand – but that did not make it any easier. “I…” he whispered in a voice that shook slightly, thick and hoarse with emotion. “I need you, Buffy – I need to be – *with* you…”
Buffy closed her eyes against the hurt, the plea she saw in his wide crystal blue eyes, lowering her head and breathing hard, as she fought the desire she had to give in, to just take him by the hand and lead him out of here – now, while her mother was too stunned to stop her – while she could without hurting anyone…
Anyone but Spike.
“No you don’t,” she argued softly. “You need to stay here, where you’re safe. I’ll – I’ll be back. I’m not sure – when, but – I’m gonna call in the morning. We’ll figure something out. I…” She hesitated, before stating simply the sum of all her useless words, attempts to explain.
“I just can’t hurt you anymore, Spike. I *can’t*.”
He lowered his eyes, but not before she saw the tears welling in them. He nodded slowly, silently, not trusting himself to speak.
Buffy did not know what to say – but she knew that she could not leave him like this. Before he could react, before either of them knew what she was doing, she had reacted on instinct, lowering her mouth to her mark again.
Joyce gasped in dismay and fear – but the expression on Spike’s face, as a low moan escaped his lips, was nothing even resembling fear or pain, as the Slayer slowly, tenderly, lavished the injured spot with kisses, laving the wound with her tongue, her lips, sending a sensation of intense pleasure that was yet soft and soothing all through him, as she did what she could to undo the pain she had caused him.
As she drew back, he whimpered slightly with longing for more, realizing with some surprise that the pain had ceased, the livid redness that had remained on the spot since even before this most recent attack – vanished.
She did not draw completely away, covering his mouth with her own in a tender, intimate kiss which he hungrily returned, before she finally, slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes with tenderness and affection.
“You’re still mine,” she whispered, and the seemingly odd choice of words was exactly what he needed to hear. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you,” she assured him, and he knew that she was telling him the truth.
She rose to her feet, turning her attention to her mother, her eyes downcast as she slowly approached her again. “Mom,” she said, her voice still soft and with a pleading note, but steadier now than it had been. “You’re right. I have to go.”
Joyce frowned with concern, reaching forward to place her hands on Buffy’s arms. “Buffy –are you going to be…?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Buffy assured her with a forced but firm smile. “I’m just going to the dorm. I’ll just – think for a while. Maybe finally come all the way clean with my best friend,” she added with a little grimace at where her dishonesty had led her. She forced a light tone, to solidify the effect that she was going to be okay, as she shrugged and added, “There’ll probably be ice cream involved.”
She cringed inwardly at the flippant words, in the wake of what she had done – but she had to convince her mother that she was going to be all right. She had to get away, *now*, while she still wanted to – before she could do any more damage.
Either her ruse worked, or Joyce just understood the necessity of Buffy’s going through with the determination she had made to get away, because after a long, firm hug, and a few whispered words of forgiveness, love, and reassurance – Joyce let her go.
They all knew that for the moment – it was how it had to be.
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