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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh My GOD! Is this actually an update??
Part Thirteen

Harris.

The first bleeding person they bump into during their attempted escape would have to be Harris. Spike was positive the only reason he knew the git’s name was because he irritated him so much. He had the face and body of an American footballer, puffed up and purple. But that could just be because he’d suddenly come face-to-face with a pissed off vamp intent on taking Buffy somewhere much quieter and less judgemental.

Not that he knew that.

Spike resisted the urge to sucker punch the whelp out of his way, but he could feel Buffy shaking as an extension of his hand and he decided it would be best to just get the hell out of there without taking on more friction.

“You know what? That’s it.”

Or Joyce could go all Hitler on their asses and drag Buffy to an abrupt stop just shy of the front door. Spike felt his arm jerk as it was almost ripped out of the socket, Joyce spinning her daughter around. The glaring mother didn’t even spare him an angry glance.

“You and I are going to have a talk.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the melodrama before stretching his neck, grinning wickedly at the menacing crack of his bones. He was kind of glad at the sudden quiet that descended. He wanted to hear the pin drop when they were all shot down.

“Mom, please—”

The only thing that really bugged him about this step to independence was that Buffy was being hurt. That fact tugged at all his emotional triggers and he recognised, probably for the first time, that her happiness truly meant something to him. He was here at her side as more than a means to protect an interest. He wanted to protect her, and that, strangely, made him feel warm all over.

“You know what? I don't care. I don't care what your friends think of me—or you for that matter—because you put me through the wringer, Buffy.”

Buffy tightened her grip on his hand and Spike felt his demon howling at the injustice this lot kept throwing at her.

“I mean it. And I've had schnapps. Do you have any idea what it's been like?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed and waited.

“Mom, this isn’t the time.”

He observed the twitchy witch looking around anxiously, grasping hold of her werewolf. Her werewolf. Spike wanted to laugh at the hypocrisy that was choking just this one room.

“You can't imagine months of not knowing. Not knowing whether you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere or, I don't know, living it up...”

Well, he could vouch for the not living it up. When he’d stumbled upon the Slayer, she was barely living. Let alone enjoying the steady exhalation of air everyone took for granted.

Buffy trembled against his side, the shock of her mother’s betrayal all the more harsh because it was unexpected. “But you told me! You're the one who said I should go. You said if I leave this house, don't come back. You found out who I really was, and you couldn't deal. Don't you remember?” Buffy’s body was rejecting his every attempt to calm her. She shook on her feet; even the usual arm snaking around her shoulders wasn’t working. So far he’d gone forgotten, but now he was getting plenty riled and was going to show these little caricatures of perfection what they could do with their phony understanding and non-existent gratitude.

“Buffy, you didn't give me time. You just dumped this thing on me and you expected me to get it. Well, guess what? Mom's not perfect, okay? I handled it badly. But that doesn't give you the right to punish me by running away.”

“Punish you? I didn't do this to punish you!” Buffy’s heart was thumping and Spike could sense her fear, could taste it on the tip of his tongue and it sickened him.

“Well, you did. You should've seen what you put her through.” Xander stepped forward, his face twisted in his favourite expression of late as he stood over the proud slayer and actually caused her to wilt.

“Great. Thanks. Anybody else want to weigh in here?” She scanned the room hurriedly, not having any trouble locating a face that seemed incongruous to her humiliating hour. “How about you by the dip?”

His mouth full, and the recipient of the beginnings of one of Spike’s snarls, the startled partygoer refrained. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Xander huffed forward, righteous indignation burning a hole somewhere that was obviously pretty painful. “You know, maybe you don't want to hear it, Buffy, but taking off like you did was incredibly selfish and stupid.”

And finally a vein in his neck popped and Spike let go. “Of all the sanctimonious piles of crap I’ve heard tonight, that one takes the cake. You’d know all about selfish and stupid, wouldn’t you, Harris?” The room descended immediately into a stunned hush and Spike lost focus of all except the suddenly pale boy whose blood he really wanted to taste. The brainless git was attempting to make Buffy feel the brunt of the pain he’d caused her by being the jealous little wanker he was, and Spike wouldn’t stand for it.

“What? Buffy, that’s Spike.”

Spike liked that he backed away—that he actually had enough intelligence to shut his gob and make with the backpedaling. Not that it would help him, of course. The twit had opened his mouth far too wide while slashing strips of skin off his slayer.

“She knows who I am. But that’s not the issue here. No, the issue is not how selfish and stupid Buffy is; it’s how ungrateful you lot are.” Spike’s eyes roved the room and he zeroed in on Joyce, liking the flushed shade of pink on her face as he stared her down. “You tell a girl whose responsibility it is to save the world to never come back if she walks out that door, and expect her to…what? Come begging for a roof over her head after she’s plugged up the mouth of Hell? She kept your bloody world spinning so you even had a roof. She only had to kill the love of her life to do it, but that’s no small sacrifice, right? He was evil, so what did it matter?”

Fury twisted his lips and burned in his gut as Spike turned back to the one he’d decided would make a perfect little bloodstain in the carpet—if Buffy wouldn’t stake him for it.

“But then, he wasn’t evil, was he. You knew Red was stuffing the soul back into the gigantic wanker, but instead of warning Buffy, you left out that little piece of info, didn’t you? You figured the quicker she dusted Angelus, the better. No more love interest for Buffy.” Spike nodded at that, thinking the git might have had the right idea but not forgiving it because it had put the Slayer out of commission for too long. Had stripped her of the confidence to go on. “Still hasn’t occurred to you that she might’ve had to dust Angel, has it? Have any of you even bothered thinking about why she left? Or did you all really believe the greatest slayer that I’ve ever known would do a runner because she was wanted for murder and because she’d been kicked out of her house by her only relative in town?”

He liked the shade of guilt on faces other than Buffy’s. Liked the way it humbled them and made them quiver. Liked how it stilled their tongues and made their hearts contract.

It was the chatty brunette that stepped forward first, probably suffering the least because she’d done nothing by way of condemning or tricking Buffy into anything.

“You had to kill Angel after he got his soul back?” Her expression softened as Buffy nodded in a daze. “That’s so harsh.” She turned her intent and disapproving gaze on her boyfriend and Spike enjoyed just how much he withered. “You knew that Willow was doing the spell. You have serious issues, Xander Harris.”

The boy showed no signs of compassion for what Buffy might have gone through to save the world, nor was he buckling under a guilty conscience, though obviously being found out by his friends for the manipulating fake he’d been in that moment struck a powerful nerve. “Am I supposed to feel bad because Buffy had to skewer Dead Boy? Come on, it had to happen sometime. There was no point just souling him up. One more happy and we’d be back to looking like his lunch.”

“That’s…so cruel.” Now it was Red’s turn to weigh in, and Spike rather liked the tears that were spoiling her perfect porcelain complexion.

“Not so much, Red. I mean, Harris could easily shove a big shiny sword into his little sweetheart if it meant saving the world. Couldn’t you, Whelp? An’ you lot would be just as understanin’ about how much that might actually hurt him.” Spike’s smile held ice, not happiness, and the room gulped in horrified understanding. Finally there was realization and an example they could relate to, and yet it didn’t draw enough blood for Spike’s vengeful streak. They may understand sacrificing love, but the significance still dropped by virtue of the fact that Angel hadn’t been human. Demon would always mean expendable to this lot, and it was an eye opener Spike hadn’t realised he’d needed.

“I—” The boy was obviously speechless and it just made Spike angrier.

“I’ll give you some advice for free. The Slayer isn’t in any way responsible for your maladjustments. She has the responsibility of life and death on her shoulders every night of her life. She saves the world. It’s what she does. And yet you lot want to put her in braids and a box and pretend you’re all superior to her because you don’t date demons.” Spike couldn’t hold back the reproachful smirk as he swept a glance over Red and her boyfriend.

His glare was heated and had all the impact of a shot gun as he mowed each one of them down. “Buffy is not meant for a box. I won’t let you try and stuff her in one.” Grasping her hand, he didn’t let Buffy wallow in her friend’s and family’s condemnation, instead tugging her to the exit.

“Hey!” shouted Xander, his tongue finding a second wind and his feet doing the flying as he grabbed hold of Buffy’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing? She’s our Buffy. Not your Buffy.”

Spike turned in full vamp face and Buffy stared at him in wonder. His devotion to her seemed boundless, and it was, quite frankly, far more sexy than disturbing. In fact, Buffy wondered if Spike’s actions could ever resemble disturbing for her again. Well, unless she caught him snacking on people, which was so off the track in view of the fact that Xander’s fingers were giving her bruises and Spike was looking like he was about to go for the throat in her honour.

“She’s not a fucking crispy cream, you git!” Spike was almost frothing at the mouth, just waiting for the boy to step up and pretend some more to be the big man, but was happy to go for wolfboy in his stead as he stepped forward to be mediator.

“Okay. I'm gonna step in now,” Oz said as he positioned himself beside Xander and tried to pry his fingers from Buffy’s arm. “Being Referee Guy.”

There was a little bit of terror mixed in with the angry bravado as Willow dived in. “No, let them go, Oz,” she ordered in the eye of the musician’s incredulous glance. “Talking about it isn't helping. We might as well try some violence.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the cue and the inevitable baddie that chose then to explode into the Slayer’s home, and threw himself into the fight as soon as the first Zombie crossed his path, tossing Buffy’s bag to rest near the front door for exit as soon as the current ridiculous situation declined.

“Help your mum, pet. I’ve got your back.” And he did. He wasn’t letting anything get in his way of taking her away from this unappreciative and blind lot. He might have nothing to offer her but his respect, but he thought tonight that might at least do.

The partygoers were falling—albeit slowly—as they tried to push the intruders out. Or at least the walking dead intruders. There was no organisation about it, but the job was getting done, despite the odd zombie breaking through and striking deadly in attack. But then the success waned and the crowd of murderously-intent-recently-dead pushed on and up, crowding their prey into the second story of the house.

With a bloodcurdling war cry, Spike charged and took down a crowd from Joyce’s bedroom door, allowing the Scoobies sanction while he tossed them back down the stairs. He grinned at every sickening crunch as they jolted against each step and finally landed in a pile at the bottom.

The group had collected someone else behind him, though the frantic way Joyce and Red were dragging her into the room was a waste, but he didn’t think they’d appreciate his fine-tuned abilities to recognise the dead when he saw it.

Spike held his back against the bedroom door, cursing zombie’s that recovered rapidly and got determinedly back to the job of killing, and was jarred over and over again for his troubles. He looked up and caught Buffy’s eye, and went soft at the look of wonder she couldn’t hide. His lapse cost him and he was flung unhero-like across the room, sending some godawful-looking mask to the floor.

“Looks right nice underfoot. Loads better than terrorising the wall,” he murmured, jumping back to his feet and brushing himself off.

“What do we do if they get in?” Joyce asked and Spike felt disgusted at the woman’s ignorance. Had she truly done nothing but drink schnapps while Buffy was away? She’d had the perfect opportunity to learn about her daughter’s world. Mum’s not perfect, be buggered. Mum didn’t want to know.

“I kind of think we die.”

So Harris wasn’t completely stupid, then. Spike refused to be impressed. Refused to be anything but annoyed at the prat. He was easily sidetracked as a flash of red from near his feet seemed to summon the dead woman and she became animated. He wasn’t quick enough to prevent her grabbing the mask and placing it over her face. But he was plenty quick to get out of the way and get the message that staring at the flashy lights that were her new set of eyes wasn’t the best plan.

“Right, Spike. Because plans are truly your friend.” He rolled his eyes at the spectacle of Red being caught in the evil gaze of the head honcho and prepared to strike, but before he could act the hero, Buffy dived for the newest demon and they crashed through the window. Turning to Joyce, he couldn’t help but rub in the damage. “Hope you’ve got a good builder that does mates rates. But please, can I be there when you tell your insurance bloke that zombies destroyed your house?” And then he was diving out after Buffy, happily anticipating the show.

Spike shouted his approval as Buffy backed away and held her hand over her eyes, protecting herself from the obviously mesmerizing thrall of the flashy red orbs.

“Not looking,” she muttered while looking around for a weapon.

“Buffy!”

The entrance of the short wolf boy was only mildly amusing, but it picked up as he stood rooted to the spot in the glare of the head zombie’s power, until his slayer distracted her and ended it once and for all.

“Hey, Pat?” Buffy readied herself for the renewed attack of pretty laser eyes, and stabbed the shovel she’d found in the garden, lodging it firmly in her protagonist’s head. “Made you look,” she declared in satisfaction, and Spike considered only briefly the impulse that had him across the yard and tossing her easily into the air.

“You’re bloody marvelous when you’re all violent.” And he kissed her hard on the mouth as he heard her watcher calling in the background to go for its eyes.

The older man stumbled out onto the porch beside Red’s boyfriend and Spike considered him before handing him a hefty dose of mocking. “You had to read a book to find that out, did you, Watcher? No wonder you needed the Slayer back in town.”

Shooting them all a defiant glare, Spike took hold of Buffy’s hand, squeezed it reassuringly before seeking approval in her eyes, and tugging her away.

The fight was over and now it was time for some distance. And Buffy followed gladly along without a backward glance.





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