“He’s gonna wake up before too long,” Spike said, his voice low and controlled again – all traces of the intense emotion that had momentarily overwhelmed him, now vanished from his voice. “Let’s see what they’ve got in the boot – gotta have something to tie him up with, yeah?”
“Spike…”
The vampire did not respond as he opened the driver’s side door of the car and took the keys from the ignition, then moved around to the back of the vehicle to open the trunk. Sure enough, there were a couple of lengths of good, sturdy rope, as well as a couple of shovels and other suspicious looking tools.
“Just your bloody stereotypical murderer’s gear,” Spike shrugged with grim irony, as he took out the rope and strode across the sand back to the still unconscious Watcher – completely ignoring the anxious Slayer that seemed to follow his every move, just a couple of feet behind him.
Buffy’s tone was pleading, desperate, as she begged him in a voice that trembled with tears, “Spike – please talk to me…tell me what…what…”
”Maybe you’d best go pull the car up, love…your Watcher will know what to do, yeah?” Spike suggested, looking up at her briefly as he expertly bound the hands and feet of the fallen man. “This Council stuff is more along his lines of work, anyway…he’ll know the best way to go from here.”
Buffy was silent for a long moment, staring down at him, her frantic mind trying to process his cool rejection of her plea, the stony resolve in his voice as he made it very clear that for the moment, she was dismissed.
He had absolutely no intention of discussing this right now.
His determined rejection would have aroused her indignation and fury – if she had not heard the unmistakable note of desperation behind it – the unspoken plea in his voice to do as he had asked – and just let it be.
He wasn’t ready yet.
So – Buffy let it be…for the moment.
Tears streaked her face as she turned without a word, and strode off across the sand toward the parked DeSoto, invisible in the darkness of the desert that surrounded it.
Spike felt the ache of her emotions, as if they were his own, through the claim that bound them, and he froze as she walked away, setting his jaw in resolution, not to do the one thing that a part of him longed to do in that moment – to go after her, to comfort her – to take her arm and turn her around and pull her into his embrace, reassuring her that he was still hers, and she was his, and he still loved her with everything in him.
He *did* still love her, completely.
And that was why it hurt so much.
Yes, he wanted to go after her – but if he did, he knew what he would see when he turned her around to face him.
The face of his torturer.
She would wrap her arms around him, clinging to him with all she was worth for the comfort he was offering her – and he would feel the suffocating, restricting vise of the Slayer’s grip…unrelenting, abusive, controlling…
*But Buffy’s not like that…she would never…* he reminded himself, shaking his head slowly as he tried to make sense of the whole situation.
He was just so bloody confused.
It was not Buffy’s fault, not really, the things that had happened to him – though her own foolish trust in listening to her Watcher’s idea *was* what had brought the whole thing about. Still – it was not Buffy that had nearly killed him this very night. It was not his mate that had hurt him – that had tortured and terrorized him, played vicious mind games with him in an effort to dominate him completely, to break him.
*Not her,* he reminded himself firmly, closing his eyes and trying to accept it – then giving up for the moment with a weary sigh, bowing his head and choking back a sob of his own, that went unheard in the stillness that surrounded him. He was alone for a few more moments, with no one but the unconscious Watcher as company.
*Not her – but it bloody well looks like her – sounds like her – feels like her…*
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, sinking back on his knees in the sand as he finished his task of binding their prisoner, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he drew in a few deep breaths that bloody well *felt* necessary at the moment.
He felt like he was drowning.
*Oh, Buffy, Buffy, love,* the soft, anguished sob rang out in his mind, though the words were not intended to actually be heard across the link that joined them. *What are we going to do?*
By the time the DeSoto was pulled up to park, still a good distance from, but within sight of, Travers’ sleek, black sedan – the blonde vampire had managed to compose himself – mostly. His tears had been checked, and his expression was calm and controlled, as Giles, limping, but apparently feeling a bit stronger now, got out of the car with Buffy and Joyce.
Buffy had made it severely clear in no uncertain terms that Dawn was *not* to get out of the car. She had parked quite a ways away, but she wanted to take no chances on Dawn’s seeing Travers’ body.
“Good Lord,” Giles muttered, his eyes going wide, as he stumbled to a stop on the other side of Travers’ car, a few feet from the lifeless body of his former employer.
Spike was silent, regarding the Watcher with solemn eyes. There had been no other way; if he had not shot Travers, the man would have killed Buffy. Still, he knew that when it came to him, Buffy’s Watcher and friends had a very strong disposition to take whatever side happened to be *not* his – and he could not take it for granted that that would not be the case now.
“He had to,” Joyce reminded the Watcher softly, echoing Spike’s thoughts as she stopped, a few steps away from Giles, her eyes focused on the dead body in front of them with horrified fascination. “Travers was going to kill Buffy.”
Buffy had told them what had happened, briefly, in the car. She wanted them to be prepared for what they would see when they got out.
Really – there was no way that Giles could have been prepared.
His inscrutable ice blue eyes moved slowly between his fallen colleague and the subtlely defiant face of the vampire who had taken his life, several times, before he finally spoke, his voice quiet and firm.
“Thank you.”
Spike could not hide the surprise he felt at those words, his eyes widening slightly, before he dropped his gaze self-consciously, afraid that his traitorous eyes might reveal too much of the powerful emotions swirling around him, surrounding and engulfing him until he no longer knew *what* he was feeling exactly.
But – to hear the acceptance in the Watcher’s tone…it meant a lot to Spike. More than he would have expected it to, in fact.
“Yeah, well – couldn’t let him hurt her. But now we’ve got a problem. What do we do with them?”
“Them?” Giles’ gaze had fallen on Travers again, but he raised it sharply to meet Spike’s eyes again in a question.
The vampire nodded simply toward the other Watcher, bound and still unconscious a few feet away. Giles took in the sight for a few moments, before looking to Buffy. “I’m assuming – the Slayer situation is under control?”
Buffy nodded, her eyes downcast and welling with tears. She could not bring herself to meet Spike’s eyes at the moment, not while discussing anything even remotely related to the ordeal he had been through.
“Yes,” she said softly. “My Slayerness is back under wraps…where it belongs…”
“Very good,” Giles nodded slowly, a little grimace of regret passing across his face. “Now that that little debacle is over – I believe the time has come to call the others back. I believe that Willow might be of some service to us in this situation – perhaps a – a memory wipe of sorts?” he suggested, frowning in thought as he considered how best to handle the problem of the still living Watcher. “It’s a relatively simple spell.”
“Yeah,” Buffy nodded slowly, frowning. She didn’t like the idea of Willow’s doing any more magic, but if it was simple magic, it was better than killing the man. “That might work.”
“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, shaking his head and turning away from them both with a harsh, bitter laugh.
“What?” Buffy’s voice was defensive, anxious, as she turned her eyes on her mate. “What is it?”
He turned back to stare at her in disbelief, shaking his head. “Buffy – how can you even think…?” His voice trailed off, as he looked away again.
“Look,” Joyce broke in softly, stepping forward, placing herself between the Watcher and the Slayer on one side, and the vampire on the other. “I’m no expert on all this – magic and vampires and Slayers and all – but it seems to me that there is no way that Willow needs to be doing any more magic.” She paused for a moment, giving her daughter and Giles a dubious look, as she added, “She doesn’t seem to be very good at it.”
“Yes, but – with the proper guidance…” Giles began to protest.
“Which she obviously hasn’t had yet.” Joyce’s voice took on a severe note as her eyes narrowed on the Watcher. “Maybe, at some point down the road, she might be able to handle it. But in the mean time – when this spell went so terribly wrong – do you really think she ought to be messing around in someone’s head again?”
“As I said, it’s a very simple spell,” Giles insisted. “Just to alter one man’s memories to not include the events of the past few days…”
“And what about the rest of the bloody Council?” Spike demanded, re-entering the conversation, his voice trembling with anger. “You gonna have Red fix their memories, too? Because I’d wager the whole Council is aware of this *little* situation as you so dismissively put it! And don’t you think it’s gonna be a bit suspicious if this one guy turns up, not knowing what happened, and Travers *never* shows up? They’ll just send someone else…unless you wanna get the little witch started on some *really* heavy mojo…”
He paused, shaking his head and clearly trying to regain control, before he added in a quiet voice full of shaken emotion, masked by sarcasm, “Yeah. Go right ahead. Maybe this time she’ll actually get someone killed.” He glanced down at Travers with a dark look, before muttering pointedly, “Oh, right – already there, and can’t see how it was any great loss. Yeah. Right. Have her go right ahead.”
“Spike, don’t…” Buffy began, a note of apology in her voice – but she couldn’t stand the turn the conversation was taking.
“Yes I bloody well will!” Spike snarled, whirling around quickly and stalking swiftly toward her, his eyes flashing golden, mere inches from hers. “I am *through* taking orders from you, Slayer! I’ll speak if I bloody well want – now that you don’t have the power to magically seal my lips...” His voice softened slightly on the end, and the look of pain that flashed across his face was unmistakable, sending a stab of remorse through the Slayer’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching a hand up toward his face in an instinctive gesture of comfort. “Spike, I’m so sorry…”
Before her hand could make contact, the blonde vampire jerked away with a sharp little intake of breath that revealed the sudden jolt of fear that he could not help but feel – and everyone froze, stunned at his reaction.
*But I shouldn’t be,* Buffy reminded herself, the ache in her chest building until she thought her heart would burst. *God, what I’ve done to him!*
Humiliated by his own reaction to his mate’s touch, Spike closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. “Let’s – let’s just go,” he said in a soft voice of defeat, as he started off toward the car. “You lot do what you want with him – not my problem anymore, is it?”
“Spike…” Buffy whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears as she started off after him.
But Joyce caught her arm gently, holding her back. “Buffy, honey,” she said softly. “Just – just give him some space. This has gotta be really hard for him…”
“But – but he won’t even let me make this right! I want to, so bad, and…”
“And how exactly do you intend to do that?” Joyce demanded, not angry, but a challenge in her voice. “By saying sorry? Buffy – it’s not gonna be that easy.”
Buffy had no words; she knew her mother was right.
The only question was – what *would* it take to fix this?
Joyce allowed the words to sink in, silent for a moment, before turning her attention to the Watcher. “I *really* don’t think Willow’s doing magic is a good thing – especially not to manipulate someone’s thoughts…”
Giles sighed and shook his head in concession. “No,” he agreed. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll need to – dispose of the body, I suppose…somehow…that might be accomplished by magical means…”
At Joyce’s look of alarm, he smiled softly.
“Willow’s not the only one who knows a bit of magic, Joyce…and I’ve had a lot of time to get *mine* under control.”
His smile faded as he turned his eyes to the other Watcher. “And as for him,” he said quietly, but with a note of deadly certainty to his voice that sent a shiver down Joyce’s spine. “There are other – non-magical – ways, of ensuring that something you wish to be a secret, remains so…”
“You’re not going to kill him?” Buffy asked, alarmed, studying her Watcher’s grim expression, which was just shifting into the hint of a cold smile.
“No,” he assured her. “I won’t have to.”
Spike stopped by the driver’s side door, leaning his back against it and reaching for his cigarettes with trembling hands. He somehow managed to get them out, and take one from the package. Lighting it, on the other hand, was another issue altogether.
He jumped a mile, master vampire or no, when the back driver’s window rolled down, and Dawn spoke quietly, matter-of-factly.
“Need some help with that?”
He cursed his own weakness of emotion, too obvious to the teen in the car, before answering her without looking at her.
“Believe I’ve got it, Bit…thanks.”
“Uh-huh. Looks like you’ve got it,” she replied sarcastically. “If your goal is to set yourself on fire with that thing.”
Spike cursed softly under his breath, flinging the uncooperative lighter to the ground and snapping tersely, “Just drop it, Bit, okay? It’s been a rough night!” He put the cigarettes back in his pocket and ran a shaking hand through his disheveled blonde hair, turning his eyes away from her before she could see the tears that were building there.
He had to keep it under control; no sense scaring his Bit, breaking down in front of her.
*Yeah – yelling at her’s so much soddin’ better,* he thought with a wave of bitter self-disgust.
The small, gentle hand on his arm stopped him cold, and he froze, trying to still the tremors running through him, revealing his emotions to her – but he could not make himself pull away.
At that moment, he needed the tenderness too much.
“You know,” Dawn said, her soft, childish voice full of an innocence and affection that brought the tears dangerously close to falling. “It’s okay -- *not* to be okay, Spike. With us. It’s okay. You know that, right?”
The simple sincerity of her words, the innocent love and concern, was the master vampire’s undoing.
The tremors he had been trying to control shook him uncontrollably, as he raised his hands to his bowed head, silent sobs shaking his body as he leaned back against the car.
Dawn’s eyes widened in shock for a moment – before she suddenly recovered, her jaw setting with determination as she glanced back toward her sister, her mother, and the Watcher, still standing by the other car talking about what to do.
She remembered her sister’s instructions not to get out of the car – but there was no possible way she could see anything traumatic from here.
Anything besides her always strong best friend, falling apart before her eyes.
“Buffy can get over it,” she muttered, as she opened the car door and got out, standing in front of the vampire and wrapping her arms around him in an almost fierce hug, simply standing there and embracing him with the open simplicity of the child that she was just beyond being.
And within that embrace – for the few moments he had before the Slayer and her Watcher would return to the car…and he would have to put up his brave front again, or risk revealing more to them than he wanted to just yet…Spike allowed his bitter tears to flow.
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