“So – how bad was she this time?”
Joyce’s question came softly from the front passenger seat of Spike’s battered old DeSoto, too softly for her sleepy young daughter in the backseat to hear, especially over the music that Spike had deliberately directed to the back speakers only, in order to prevent Dawn from hearing the conversation that he knew Joyce would insist on having, no matter how badly he wanted to avoid it.
He was silent for a long moment, just staring straight ahead through the windshield as he sped through Sunnydale’s darkened residential streets toward the mansion on the other side of town.
He had decided that it would be faster to take his car to the Summers’ house to pick up Joyce and Dawn and their luggage – not to mention much safer than attempting to escort them and all their baggage on foot through Sunnydale at night.
He took a moment to consider the question, swallowing back a hard knot of painful emotions that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat.
How bad had Buffy been this time?
Her cruel, vicious words and the violent fury that had accompanied them played over again in his head, as the automatic answer – the one he really felt, but could not bring himself to give Joyce – echoed through his mind.
*Worse than ever.*
And yet, despite the escalating nature of Buffy’s violent, out-of-control episodes – progress *had* been made tonight – a very significant progress.
“Better,” he replied quietly, with a nod and a hesitant half-smile.
Joyce did not respond at all, until he glanced at her – to see her flat, skeptical expression that told him how very difficult to believe she was finding his story.
“Really!” he insisted, a bit too defensively. “She was!” He paused, his eyes returning to the road before he added softly, “In the end.”
Joyce studied the expression on the vampire’s face for a moment before asking for clarification. “In the end?” she echoed quietly.
Spike took a deep breath. “In the end – she beat it back. Twice, actually. She managed to stop it before – before it went too far. She’s getting control of it.”
“I don’t want her to ‘get control of it’,” Joyce said, her voice low and dark with anger at whatever this thing was that was hurting her family in so many ways. “I want her to get rid of it.”
“That – might not be so easy, Joyce,” Spike told her in a slow, cautious voice. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know yet – and I’ll explain it all when we get there – but for now – it’s good that Buffy’s learning how to handle the situation.”
Joyce just looked at him for a long moment, easily seeing through his attempt at positive thinking to the genuine fear and uncertainty beneath it.
She reached out a gentle hand toward his bruised cheek, pointing out softly, “But not before she managed to hurt you again.”
He flinched slightly away from her hand, so near to his face, unsettling after all he had been through – immediately cursing himself for his body’s involuntary reaction to the fear and tension of the past few days.
“She’s *learning* to control it, I told you that!” he snapped, a bit irritably. “Doesn’t mean she’s worked out all the bloody kinks yet! It’s – it’s bloody hard to do, Joyce! And I think she’s doing well, all things considered. The fact that she managed to control it at all is amazing, so don’t be blaming her for something that’s not her fault!”
Joyce felt a heavy sense of foreboding in her heart at the tone with which Spike was talking to her – defensive and protective of his mate; that much she had expected before she had ever opened her mouth. But he was almost speaking as if he knew *exactly* what Buffy was going through, and what it was like for her – through experience.
Her eyes widened suddenly, and shot back up to his face in alarm. “Spike – she hasn’t been – I mean – she’s not – a vampire, is she?”
“Yeah,” he huffed softly, his tone bitter and resentful with his unsteady emotions, already on edge due to Joyce’s tender, compassionate words and actions. “Cause that would be the end of the world. Can’t think of anything worse than having your golden girl lowered to the level of someone like…”
“Spike!” Joyce’s sharp voice cut him off before he could finish the beginning of his self-pitying, sarcastic monologue. “You know better than that! I’m on *your* side here, okay?”
“But my side *is* her side!” Spike burst out in frustration. “Nobody seems to understand what this is like! There’s more to it than her controlling me, and violence and fear, and – and – bloody hell! She’s my *mate*, Joyce! That’s *eternal*!”
There was an anguished note to his voice, and Joyce could see unshed tears glittering in his eyes, even as he struggled to blink them back, to focus on the road in front of him.
“It’s like – if someone hurts her – I can feel her pain. I can hear her thoughts – feel her emotions -- *know* her completely on a level that no one else can – and vice versa as well, Joyce. We might as well be the same bloody person, Joyce. You can’t bloody well be on *my* side without being on hers, too!” he declared emphatically.
For a moment, there was complete silence between them, the only sound coming from the speakers behind them.
Dawn had long since fallen asleep.
“Well that’s good,” Joyce said softly, her eyes seeking his intently, blazing with a certainty of devotion. “Because I *am* on her side, too.”
Spike had no response to that. He knew she was telling the truth, and that he had let his emotions get the better of him. He was not really conscious of exactly why he was so upset by everything at the moment – any more so than usual – but he knew that if he tried to relent right then he would certainly fall apart.
So he said nothing.
Joyce was silent, too, until the pulled up in front of the mansion. She waited for Spike to park the car before she laid a gentle hand on his leg, just to keep him from jumping out of the car the moment it was stopped, before she had the chance to speak her piece.
But she noticed suddenly that he did not seem overly anxious to get out of the car, staring up at the huge, dark house with wide, haunted eyes.
Before she could say anything at all, the pure gentleness of her simple touch was the undoing of the resolve that was holding the vampire together. He bowed his head, resting it on the steering wheel in front of him between his hands, tightly clenched around the wheel and shaking slightly with the strength of the emotions coursing through him.
Joyce was not really sure what was bringing on the emotional reaction he was experiencing. Maybe it was the shock of realizing what was happening to Buffy – whatever it was -- and the fear of how she and others would take it when he told them.
Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the traumatic emotional roller coaster that the night had surely been for him already – or a result of the confused, inexplicable muddle of emotions he felt for Buffy as his claimant, ranging from fear and resentment and anger, to devotion and love and a deep need to please her.
Or maybe, she thought with a flash of insight and sympathy – maybe he just really, *really* did *not* want to be here.
Buffy was just finishing the preparations she had been making for the night ahead, when she heard the engine shut off in the driveway – at the exact same moment as she felt her mate’s presence. She felt an unexpected rush of excitement, and quickly left the bedroom she had been standing in – the very one where the disastrous claim had taken place to begin with – to greet Spike and her family as they came in.
Except – they *didn’t* come in. Not immediately, anyway.
Buffy frowned, as a minute passed by, several minutes – and still she waited. She was impatient as it was, eager both to hear Spike’s explanation of what was happening to her, and to have them all safe here with her – not to mention taking advantage of the special arrangements she had made for her and her mate, for later.
What could possibly be taking so long?
She was barely aware of it as her mood began to take a darker turn, as she began to feel restless and uneasy. Was he *trying* to stay away? Would he rather be with her mother and *Dawn* than with her at the moment?
Buffy might have just slid gradually into the darkness that was once again trying to take her over, with a bit more subtlety than before, without even noticing as it came upon her until it was too late – if not for the sudden, violent sense of anger and dark jealousy she felt rising up in her at the very thought of her little sister’s name.
She was still in enough control of herself at the moment that the violent surge of hatred she felt inside her toward Dawn was alarming enough to make her fight back, as she realized for the first time, with a sense of horror, something that she should have already noticed, but had missed in the whirlwind of the past few days.
This thing inside her – whatever it was – held a burning hatred and resentment toward her little sister.
Buffy fought to remain in control as vicious, hateful snatches of thoughts that she knew were not her own filtered into her consciousness.
*…thinks he’s hers…*
*…not even real…*
*…wants him, but he’s *mine*!*
Spike’s head shot up suddenly from the steering wheel, staring up toward the house with a look of apprehension on his face.
Joyce was sitting close to him, her arm around him, doing her best to soothe his troubled emotions – but she stopped talking, following his gaze for a moment before looking back at his face with a troubled frown. “What?” she asked softly. “What is it?”
“She – something’s wrong,” he said in a quiet, trembling voice, swallowing back a sick feeling of fear that rose up in his throat. “She – she needs – I – I think I should go…”
“*No*!” Joyce caught his arm, pulling him back as he tried to open the car door and get out.
He turned to face her with a look that was half startled at her attempt to stop him, and half fearful, because he just *knew* that if he did not get to Buffy right away, something terrible was going to happen.
“Spike,” Joyce said urgently, searching his eyes, desperately hoping that she could make him see reason – because she knew she was not strong enough to physically stop him. “If she’s fighting with this thing – if she’s about to become dangerous again – you don’t need to be with her. You should stay away!”
He gave her a sad little smile as he reached for the door again, gently shrugging off her hand. “We tried that already, love – remember?” Didn’t exactly work out so well.” He paused, allowing her to take that in, before adding softly, “Besides – if she *really* wanted me there with her, if she called me and I didn’t come – she could make it every bit as bad as if I’m with her.”
His eyes were shadowed as he remembered the painful torment she had placed on him, not relenting from her brutal punishment even after he *had* obeyed her.
But that was a completely different situation from this; his own physical safety was not what he was afraid for – not this time.
“She’s not even calling me,” he tried to reassure Joyce. “She’s not going to hurt me…”
“If she’s not even calling you, then why do you need to go?” Why don’t we just wait until you – feel her get back in control?” Joyce suggested, a bit awkwardly – she was having a hard time understanding how all of this claiming business worked – but in a voice that was heavy with fear for her friend.
She just *knew* he was walking directly into a very dangerous situation that could be avoided if he would just *listen*!
“Because I can *help* her get control!” Spike insisted, turning to face Joyce again for a moment, hating to leave her afraid for him, but knowing that he needed to hurry. The violent rage he could feel from Buffy was steadily building while they sat here talking – and it was aimed in a very frightening direction.
“Joyce – I helped her before! I can help her fight it!” he assured her, his voice low and intent. “I just have to get in there to her, *now*!”
Joyce was silent for a moment, debating. “I’m going with you,” she stated finally.
“No!” he argued, exasperation in his voice. “You can’t leave the Bit here alone in the car – not in this part of town. Stay here, I’ll be right back…”
Joyce tried again. “Then I’ll take her with…”
“*No*!”
The single word startled Joyce with his vehemence, coming out as almost a snarl – and she jumped back slightly, her eyes wide with alarm.
“I’m sorry,” Spike said immediately, his tone softening. “Joyce, I’m sorry – I just have to do this. And do *not* -- under *any* circumstances – bring Dawn into that house until I come back out here and tell you it’s safe!”
Inside the mansion, Buffy was locked in a powerful struggle – all taking place within her own mind. She stood at the front door, the handle under her hand, trying with all she was worth to keep control of herself and just wait for them to come inside.
“They’ll be in in just a minute,” she said aloud, as if trying to remind herself. “No – Dawn is my sister – she and Spike are friends. There’s no reason to feel – no reason to think…”
*She’s a lying little whore! She wants to take him from me!*
“*No*!” Buffy whispered desperately. “My God, she’s fourteen years old! She would never – well – she might,” she conceded, remembering the obvious crushing-signs she had seen in her sister’s behavior toward the gorgeous blonde vampire over the past few days – then immediately realized that those words were a mistake, when another wave of rage washed over her.
*Mine! I won’t let her take him!*
“But she’s a *child*! She doesn’t want to take him! She doesn’t even *know* what she wants! And Spike would never…”
*She thinks he’s hers! She weakens me! She’s magic to weaken and bind me! She’s not even real!*
Buffy’s mind was racing, trying to understand the strange words, knowing that they were not her own thoughts, but the thoughts of whatever it was that was trying to control her. She knew that it had to be important – but it simply didn’t make sense.
Of *course* Dawn was real! How could she not be?
“She *is* real! She’s my sister, and you won’t make me hurt her!” Buffy said aloud, her voice low and controlled, but trembling with anger and defiance.
*Kill her!* the hateful voice snarled furiously, and Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of power that nearly knocked her off her feet and to the ground.
“No,” she whispered desperately as she felt a sense of panic at the realization that she was losing this battle. She was not used to fighting it yet, and weary from her previous battles.
And it seemed that after a short period of forced dormancy, this thing had come back stronger than ever.
“No – Dawnie…”
*‘Dawnie’* the voice taunted viciously, much louder now in her mind – and as if from a great distance away, Buffy saw her own hand turning the doorknob and opening the door.
* *Dawnie* is keeping me from my full power! Kill her! As long as she lives I am bound!*
Buffy wanted to argue, wanted to protest – but instead, she found herself moving out the door and onto the porch of the mansion – walking down the sidewalk toward the car, just as her mate stepped out of it and turned to face her.
His eyes widened in shock and alarm when he saw her – and she knew that he could feel the violent rage, the cruel intent pouring off of her – for once not directed at him, unless he got in her way.
Her fury was all directed at the oblivious sleeping girl in the backseat of the DeSoto.
*Please – please, Spike…* she tried to call out to him, unsure of whether or not he could hear her voice over the roaring of the rage that surrounded it. *Please, don’t let me…*
*Bound and imprisoned by her very existence!* the voice ranted on in fury. *And her blood is the key! When she’s dead – I’ll be free!*
All Buffy could do was watch helplessly from the recesses of her own mind, as her body stalked toward the car, and desperately hope for some miracle to stop her – before she killed her own sister.
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