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Chapter 17

Spike picked up the fallen stool and set it beside Buffy. He rested his fingers against her fevered skin, barely touching her. He finally allowed his emotions sweep over him. Burying his head between his arms and the bed, Spike felt the sobs shake his being. The torment of watching Buffy die was too much. She didn’t deserve it. The torture she must have endured to end up here, he felt his own skin prickle at the thought. The thought of Buffy dying period, it terrified him. After all these years of being apart and fighting through Sunnydale, coming out on top and with her by his side. He couldn’t… wouldn’t let her go, not yet. It was too soon. She was supposed to grow old next to him, allow him to take care of her. Hold her hand. But he couldn’t hold her hand; it was cut up. Long slices through her skin; he remembered the barbaric practice of blood letting. This was worse, in his mind. The marks and tracks from the needles they used still fresh on her body, the evidence of their torture refusing to heal. He felt it, every cut, every bruise on her battered body; he felt it on his and it was killing him.

It would cure things, he thought. Fix matters; fix her. She would be forever his, eternally young, like him. They could go away together, maybe to the Riviera. Lying on the sand enjoying the pale moonlight making love until their lust was satiated but he knew that when it came to Buffy he would always be insatiable. Being with her, loving her, having her love him. Being together. Mates. Hunting scantly clad prey didn’t hold much of an appeal anymore. Seven years ago he would have jumped at the chance, reveled in the destruction they could cause. The carnage that she could wreak with just one word from him. It could happen. It wouldn’t take long. He could start the process here. Drain her of the poisonous blood and give her his pure blood. Strong blood from a Master Vampire. It would make her strong. Make herhis all over again and this time he would be aware of it, enjoy the bite. Spike inhaled unnecessarily, the tear flow staunched for now. Sire. He could be her Sire. He would be her lover, her friend, her teacher, her everything, her reason for existence. He would encompass everything that was her, love her, cherish her, protect her.

Kill her

He knew it for a fact. It would take him killing her. Killing everything that made little girl Buffy into the woman that was willing to stand next to him in front of opposition, in front of her friends. It would kill her essence, leaving behind an empty shell. He could fill that shell. Fill it with him, his essence. Teach her, love her, help her. Be everything to her because she was his.

She could be like him, retaining a part of humanity. Become something more enhanced. She could, with his help. Still care for those around her, the innocents of the world. She could love them; protect them. He retained it, didn’t he? It allowed him to change what he was taught. To hunt and kill indiscriminately without mercy or restraint. Carnage. Pure and simple. Create anarchy in the world. That’s what Angelus taught him. But something changed. The essence that didn’t die that fateful night with Drusilla sparked something inside him years later. Something that was dormant for so long, bidding its time. And, the time did come. Spike might not want to believe it, but it all started that first night at the Bronze. Watching her. Wanting her. Maybe at first it was an obsession. Something to possess, to conquer. But she conquered him in the end. With everything that she was and everything that he was. Overtaking him, molding him into something else, something even better.

He felt the tears again, unable to stop them. Why did it have to be so hard? Why? It should be simple. A couple years ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice. But now things were different. Even his demon was at war with itself. Be selfish and keep her forever, or let her go onto a better place? He knew he wouldn’t end up there with her, a creature that had done the things he did would never end up there. A scourge, that’s what he was, what he is, and heaven would never allow such a creature in its gates. But he also knew he would sit outside of the gates for eternity, spouting off his bloody awful poetry in hopes that she would hear him, love him despite it all.

“Buffy, love,” his voice cracked from the internal pressure. “Can you hear me?” She made no move, just laid there, letting the machines do the work. “Buffy? God, Buffy!” He felt the words tumble out of his mouth, not knowing what he was saying. “I want to save you. Please, give me a sign. A bloody crumb, baby.” He heard her lungs rattle with air. “I know I’m not a good man, not even a man when we think of it, eh?” He smiled a bit, laughing at the little inside joke. “I want to be. Be a better man for you. Be a better creature. Be what you deserve. I know I’m not. Baby, please. Give me something.” His hand moved to hers, lying on top of her overheated one. “Baby, I don’t want to lose you, not after all this time.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over her arm, kissing her. “After all we’ve been though. God, this is so hard.” Inhaling, he looked up to the ceiling. “Why is this so hard? It’s an easy choice. Not even a choice, love. Shouldn’t be, not for me. It isn’t for Dawn. She asked me to…” he trailed off, “… you know…” He exhaled, “turn you,” he whispered. “Baby, it’s not like I don’t want to. You know?” He brushed his fingertips over her hand, feeling the blood pump in her veins. “Baby, I would if I knew you wanted me to.” He looked over her body, scanning the white sheet on top of her. “A bloody sign. Just one, love. Give it to me and the next second I will. No hesitation. I’ll keep you forever. Just give me a sign. Just one, Buffy.” He pleaded as he looked at her beaten, purple face.

He heard her heart flutter, the beats becoming sporadic. Spike shook from restrained frustration. Buffy’s pulse weakened under his finger. The doctor walked into the room and stopped, “Mr… er… Spike.” The shorter man came around Spike to examine Buffy. He looked at a computer screen with all of her vitals, making small noises like ‘hmm’ and ‘huh.’

“Bloody spit it out, Quack.” Spike growled. His tears had since dried up, no one needed to see him break down; he was still the ‘Big Bad.’

“Nothing, sir. Just checking her vitals.” Spike bared his teeth, his demon visage in full mode since Dawn left. “Please calm down.” Spike could smell the fear rolling of the short doctor in waves. A couple more seconds with the growl and Spike knew the doctor would break down. “It’s just,” he stuttered, “she’s not responding like we hoped she would.”

“Really, Sherlock?” Spike stood there in his black as midnight clothes, staring down the doctor. “Those wankers find a cure yet? Took a bloody gallon of hers to test.”

“Please, calm down,” the doctor trembled, moving away when Spike came towards him, Buffy still between them. “We’re doing all that we can.”

“Well, it’s not BLOODY ENOUGH!” His roar echoed in the room and down the hallway. The doctor quickly moved around Buffy, scurrying quickly out the door.

Yeah, it would fix a lot of things.

~*~*~
Sam Finn hung limply attached to chains on the ceiling. Her hair fell lifelessly in front of her, blocking her face. But the only other creature in the room didn’t need to see her face to know that she was dead. The fresh red blood still ran down her body, pooling on the dirt floor. Three deep scratches marred her torso, tearing into her flesh, allowing her guts to seep out. Her arms and legs, both torn up, sliced almost to the bone stayed still. Black eyes watched the red liquid slide down the dead body. Her once racing heart now at rest; sweat evaporating from every pore of her skin. The black eyes blinked once, twice. Now, cool gray eyes stared at the carnage surrounding him. The man slowly backed away from the body hanging from the ceiling.

“Call a clean up crew,” He said on the way out of the door. A man in the corridor skittered away, in search of the tools necessary to clean up the mess.

“Did she talk?” A deep British voice spoke from outside the room, shadows hiding its owner.

“D’shunk’hamb venom. Not much, just enough to start to decompose the red blood cells.”

“Cure?”

“None.”

“How long does she have?”

“Don’t know how much is in her system.”

“Isn’t it deadly?”

“In a large dose, instantaneous. The trooper didn’t know how much would do the job; she’s been building it up in the Slayer’s system. Torturing her body with the pain of being ripped apart from the inside. Said the Slayer should pay.”

“The mystics get an insight?” the voice in the shadows asked.

“Nothing we didn’t already know. The U.S. government pumped her with the psychotropic drugs for years, altering her mind until it was jelly. Virtually no conscious. Perfect weapon, no questions about morality. She wanted what the Slayer has.”

“What’s that?”

“You know, don’t you?” The man in the room started to whip his hands on a rag, dying it red. Looking at the visitor. The man in the shadow made a movement with his head, nodding it in acknowledgement.

“Did the government send her against the Slayer?” The shadowy voice became colder.

“Rogue for over a month. Her troops didn’t even know they were AWOL.”

“What happened to them?”

“The ones that survived you, Ripper, and the vampire are being held in a containment cell on the eighteenth level of outer master dimension.”

“I will want to see them.”

“Don’t you have a Slayer to attend to?” Cold gray eyes peered deeper into the shadow, watching Giles clean his glasses.

“Very well,” Giles stepped out of the shadows, peering into the blood soaked room, “Anything you want me to pass along to Buffy for you, Quentin?”

a/n: what ever is with Quentin?? Please review





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