The blast of the shot behind her sent a jolt of terror through the Slayer’s heart – and she turned halfway around to see what had happened, though she did not release her grip on Travers.
“*Spike*!” she cried out in fear, a sense of dread rising in her, before she could notice whether or not he had been harmed by the deadly wood-tipped bullet.
When she turned, she was stunned and relieved to see that the vampire was not dust; but rather, he was apparently quite well – in fact, fully vamped out and pinning the other Watcher to the ground, snarling with menace into his face, his feral golden eyes glittering in the desert moonlight.
A moment’s panic came over her as she thought of Spike’s chip, and hoped desperately that he would not do anything to get himself hurt. If the Watcher still had a gun, and the chip fired – rendering Spike unable to defend himself -- there would be no way that she could get to them before the human could fire off the killing shot that it would take to end her mate’s existence.
But as the next couple of moments passed, Buffy realized that if the chip was going to go off, it would have by now, after the forceful shove that Spike had employed to knock the Watcher to the ground and the chip had *not* fired.
Was not *going* to fire.
Spike was free.
Some part of Buffy realized that she should be concerned – should be wondering about what her duty was in all this. She knew in her mind that this meant that the blonde vampire was now free to return to his old ways, if he so chose – and she should have felt something about that -- sorrow, regret, determination, in the duty that she might very well be called upon at some point to perform, now that he was back to being her mortal enemy.
But in that moment -- all the Slayer felt was utter and complete relief.
The chip had not fired.
Her mate was alive and well, and the enemy was subdued – and that was all that mattered to Buffy in that moment.
*Huh,* she thought with mild surprise. *Go figure.*
Spike braced himself for the familiar jolt of agony to come coursing through his head, aware that it would be enough to incapacitate him completely, if the groan of pain coming from the man he was holding down was any indication. He could only hope that his actions had given Buffy enough time to gain the upper hand in the conflict against Travers.
It would all be up to her now – once the chip’s punishment had taken him effectively out of the battle.
They really had no way of knowing whether or not it would work, now that Red’s spell had been reversed. A part of him was very sure that the chip *would* still be functioning. There was no logical reason for it to be turned off now, now that the spell’s other result – the Slayer demon’s release – had been ended.
Yep. His brain was about to get fried.
Any second now….
Nothing.
The man on the ground beneath Spike seemed as stunned as Spike was by the lack of reaction from the chip – his eyes slowly widening in fear, as he stared up at the creature above him, who had gone in an instant from a helpless, insignificant thing to be used and thrown away as the Council saw fit – to a very significant, and in fact terrifying, threat – a violent, awe-inspiring force to be reckoned with.
The vampire’s features shifted as a wicked grin spread across his face, and he met the Watcher’s eyes with a satisfied smirk, as the truth of the matter sank in for him as well.
The chip was gone. He did not know how, or when; it didn’t really make sense, all things considered.
It didn’t matter.
He was free.
“Spike!” Buffy’s cry of alarm suddenly registered in his mind, drawing him out of his exultant thoughts.
It had all happened in the briefest of instants – and in the tension of wondering whether or not his chip would fire, her cry had not registered with him at first.
But now – her voice, her fear, filled his mind.
He hesitated for just a moment at the sound of her trembling voice, looking up at her with uncertainty in his eyes. Suddenly – a new sense of apprehension came over him. What would Buffy think – what would she *do* -- now that his chip was no longer functioning, and he was free to revert to his old ways?
Suddenly, the question filled his mind with overwhelming intensity.
What would *he* do, now that he was able to be himself again?
Only a few brief days had passed since he had escaped the Initiative, and found out that his life had been profoundly changed, his very free will stolen from him with a simple little piece of technology. When he had discovered what they had done to him, all he could think about was finding a way to un-do it – to return to what he had once been.
And now that that appeared to be possible – he was not sure if the person he had once been even existed anymore.
There was no denying that his primal instincts were calling to him in that moment – calling out for the destruction and bloodshed of this man that was part of the threat that had come against him and his own. He could well imagine sinking his fangs into the man’s throat, ripping it from his body, relishing the screams of agony that came from his enemy in the moments before his death.
And he could imagine the look on Buffy’s face when he met her eyes afterwards.
Even before the chip, he had never really been a proper vampire, he had to admit – not like others he had known who seemed to have no trace of human emotion or compassion left. He had been close to Joyce and Dawn, long before the chip – and he never would have wanted them to see him in the act of feeding, or even really to know some of the things that he had done in the past, had been doing, even while he was enjoying nightly visits to their home.
But that did not mean that he had *stopped* feeding – killing – doing what, as a vampire, was his nature to do.
But – the chip had changed all that.
Could he go back to that, now?
Now that the Slayer was his mate – now that he knew that she could feel, know, everything that he did and felt – and vice versa? Could he really expect her to accept what he was, his true nature, when it was her duty and her destiny to destroy his kind?
Could he expect her to allow him to kill?
He searched her eyes silently, his expression shifting slowly from its demon guise to his smooth human features. She was calmer now, meeting his gaze evenly, now that the threat to his safety seemed to have passed.
Buffy regarded the little tableau for a moment, uncertain herself as to what she would do, now that Spike was no longer the helpless creature that had come to Giles’ door a few days back. They were going to have a lot to deal with – a lot to work through – from the abuse and trauma he had suffered at her hands over the past few days, to this most recent development. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would handle it – but she knew one thing.
“He tried to kill me, Spike,” she reminded her mate, her expression calm, even, her eyes cold and deadly as they regarded the man that the vampire was pinning to the ground. “He was going to kill my family, my Watcher, my mate – he was going to destroy my entire world – and then go right on pretending to be some kind of father figure to the next girl chosen to protect the world.”
It was clear by the time she reached the end of her statement that she was talking about Travers as much as the other Watcher. The older man swallowed hard, and tried to pull out of the Slayer’s unyielding grasp.
This did *not* sound good.
But Buffy did not let him go.
She met Spike’s eyes openly, honestly, without the slightest hint of accusation or uncertainty, as she went on, “You do what you have to do with that one, Spike. They just beat you without mercy when you were on your knees and unable to fight them back – I’d say whatever *strength* you can take back from them – well…whatever you do – I won’t ever hold it against you.” She turned to look at Travers instead, a cool smile on her lips as she added, “Mr. Travers and I need to have a little conversation…”
Travers’ eyes grew wide, and he shook his head slightly in aghast disbelief at her words. “M-miss Summers!” he stammered out in an accusing tone. “You mean to say that you would allow that – that *creature* to feed on a human – to take a human life – while looking the other way! That you would take the side of the creatures you are born to destroy, over the side of…”
“The man who just kidnapped my family and tried to kill me?” Buffy finished for him, a certain innocence to her wide-eyed smile. She paused for a moment, as if actually considering the question, before meeting his eyes again and nodding slowly and certainly.
“Yeah,” she answered quietly. “I would.”
“Think of the consequences of your actions, Miss Summers,” Travers insisted, his voice hard and severe, despite the perilous nature of his situation. He still managed to take a tone with his captor that resembled that of a harsh schoolmaster reprimanding an unruly student. “Do you really think that you can get away with this? And what do you hope to accomplish, anyway? Do you really think that the rest of the Council would let our deaths go unanswered for?”
“Well – no,” Buffy conceded with a little shrug. “Which is why I’m *really* hoping I won’t have to kill you…”
“What is it that you expect to accomplish, then?” he asked, frowning.
“Well, in the first place,” the Slayer explained, her voice deceptively calm. “Payback.” Her angry eyes narrowed on Travers as she went on softly, “I saw the bruise on my mother’s face – that wasn’t there a few hours before…”
She said no more then, allowing her fist to express just what she thought of Travers, or his men – she really didn’t care who had struck the blow; Travers was responsible – striking her mother. The older man crumpled to the ground, gasping and choking on a mouthful of his own blood – and the Slayer crouched down beside him with a smile, as he scrambled back against the side of his car, eyeing her with terrified suspicion.
“If you ever *touch* my mother again, Travers – all bets will be off. I *will* kill you. Do I make myself clear?” Buffy demanded, her eyebrows raised in expectant question.
“Yes,” Travers nodded, realizing that it was wisest to go along with what the Slayer wanted, at least outwardly – and wait for his opportunity to turn the tables again.
Buffy stood up straight, glaring down at him in disgust, as he struggled to pull himself back up. “And then there’s the whole ‘holding my little sister prisoner and threatening her life’ thing…”
A vicious kick to the man’s stomach punished that particular offense…
“…and beating up my mate…”
Another kick, another fist to Travers’ face…
“…thinking that me and my entire *life* and *family* were ‘expendable’ – just tools of the Council…if you want a new Slayer, just go out and make one…who cares that you have to kill innocent women and children to do it!”
As Buffy went on railing about the Council’s many varied crimes, she let loose her fury upon the fallen Watcher, her fists and feet taking out the frustration and anger of the past few days on this man who now symbolized all that was left to oppose her. By the time she managed to regain control of the pain and rage coursing through her, the Watcher was barely conscious on the ground.
A sense of alarm, a niggling warning sensation in the back of her mind, stopped her then, before she could take it any farther. Travers deserved more than she had given him, both for the damage he had done, and for what he had almost done.
But she knew that it would cost her too much, to be the one to take his life.
She crouched down beside him once more, catching her breath, regarding him through intent eyes of emerald fury, watching for a moment to be sure that he was still aware enough to hear her.
“The Slayer demon is back where she belongs – and I’m back in control,” she informed him. “You’ll find that the Slayer line is back to normal – well – as normal as it’s ever gonna be again…so your little field trip into the land of kidnapping and child murder was completely pointless.”
She paused for a moment, as the man looked up at her sharply through the haze of pain that seemed to surround him, clearly surprised by her announcement.
“That’s right – we managed to finish the ritual without actually destroying the Slayer…but I guess that’s obvious, or should be. I’m still here,” she shrugged simply, holding his gaze with solemn intensity. “So you can just go back to England and carry on with looking after the only Slayer that you should concern yourself with – the one who’s currently doing time in prison – because if you’ll remember correctly -- *this* Slayer already quit your Council.”
She stood up straight again, satisfied, when Travers nodded weakly. She turned slowly toward where Spike and the other Watcher were, barely paying attention to Travers as he replied quietly.
“Quite all right with me,” he mumbled, his voice slurred with pain and weakness from the beating he had endured. “I believe the Council can do very well without your assistance, Miss Summers…”
“Yeah,” Buffy scoffed, without facing him, her eyes focused on Spike as he rose to his feet, above the still form of the other Watcher. “Because you’ve averted *so* many apocalypses without my help!”
Spike had not looked up at her yet, as he straightened up, catching his breath, though he didn’t need it in the first place. He wiped a smear of blood from the corner of his mouth, before looking up at her a bit self-consciously – and she realized with a pang that it was that simple gesture, the reminder of what he was, that had made him question her reaction to him now.
But she barely had time to think about it, before the expression on his face turned to horror, and he took a step forward, crying out her name.
“*Buffy*!”
Confused, stunned, and in a bit of a daze after the insanity of the evening, Buffy slowly realized that he was looking beyond her – at Travers. A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she quickly turned to see what the man was about to do…
But not before a single shot rang out in the stillness of the desert.
Buffy completed the turn, to face the Watcher, even as her hand flew to her chest, and she lost her breath with fear – and the expectation of severe pain…which never came. Despite her assumptions upon hearing the sound, despite the gun that had just fallen from Travers’ hand, and lay beside his still hand on the cool desert sand…
She had not been shot.
Travers had not pulled the trigger.
He could not have; he was the one who was now lying there, lifeless, blood slowly seeping from a small round hole in his chest – just over his heart. Ironically, the life of the corrupt Council leader had been taken with a wooden-tipped bullet from one of his own weapons.
Apparently – staking through the heart worked just as well on humans as on vampires.
At least – when the stake was fired at ninety miles an hour from the barrel of a gun.
Before her stunned mind could process what had happened, she felt strong arms envelop her from behind, pulling her back against the cool, steadying form of her mate – and she vaguely noticed the pistol that he held clenched in his right hand, even as his trembling arms embraced her.
“Buffy…Buffy…” he whispered almost desperately – and the sound of the momentary fear, fear of losing her, that he had felt, even after everything…
Buffy could have sworn that in that moment, she literally felt her strained-to-the-limits, sore and battered, violated heart finally break – and with it, the floodgates of her emotions.
She turned in Spike’s arms, wrapping her own around him, pulling him close to her as her tears flowed down her face.
“Oh, Spike…” she whispered tearfully, her hands clutching at his waist and pulling him in closer to her, as a sense of relief came over her that he was offering her his affection – that he was not pulling away from her…
It was a premature relief.
Suddenly, with a sharp, shuddering intake of breath, Spike pulled urgently back from her, taking her arms and pushing them off of him, pushing her away slightly and standing a few feet from her, breathing hard as he tried to regain control of the sudden surge of emotion that had nearly overcome him.
“S-spike?” Buffy whispered uncertainly, edging nearer to him. She wanted to comfort him – but there had been no mistaking the emotions behind his actions.
She felt a cold ache beginning in her chest with the realization that he had not yet put into words.
He didn’t want her to touch him.
But – could she blame him?
“Buffy, it’s – it’s all right,” he insisted, his voice sounding awkward and uncomfortable – and he refused to meet her eyes.
Why wouldn’t he meet her eyes?
“Look – we need to hurry, love…get these two taken care of and get back to the car. Niblet and Joyce are waiting, yeah?” Spike’s voice sounded nervous and evasive, as he turned away from her without waiting for a response, returning to lean over the other fallen Watcher, checking his vital signs almost automatically.
He was still alive.
“Spike?” Buffy spoke his name in a small, tentative whisper, edging cautiously nearer to him.
“Had to shoot that one – he would have killed you, pet,” Spike went on, without turning to look at her. “This one – he’s still alive…what do you think we should…”
“*Spike*.”
The single, intent word was spoken as she placed her hand on his arm – and her stomach dropped within her as she felt him tense under her touch. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, as he struggled to suppress an involuntary shudder at her touch – all too similar to the invasive, abusive touch of the Slayer who had spent the evening torturing and violating him.
It should be similar – it was the *same* touch, really.
“Buffy – let it be,” he advised her, his voice low and soft with repressed emotion, though he didn’t pull away from her – yet.
“Spike – please…can’t we just…”
“I said let it be, Slayer!” he snapped, jerking away from her then, though he kept his eyes averted, still refusing to look at her.
Buffy’s voice was nearly frantic as she insisted desperately, “But – we have to talk this out! We have to…”
“No, that’s where you’re wrong, Slayer!” Spike cut her off sharply – and the use of her title instead of her name struck her with the force of a blow. “I *don’t* have to do *anything* right now! Yeah – maybe we need to talk it over – get it out – do the whole lovey dovey, kiss and make up thing…but honestly, pet – I just can’t bloody well do that right now.”
He was silent for a moment, his voice softening as he added, “The very thought…just… just makes me…”
He did not finish the statement, but the expression on his face made it clear; Buffy knew exactly what he had been about to say.
*…makes me sick…*
And she realized in that moment, she had only *thought* that she had felt her heart breaking a few moments before – as it shattered to pieces around her when her mate turned his back on her again.
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