The presence of the poof was already grating on my nerves as we dragged our sorry arses onto the plane and into the storage area. I had to talk some fyrarls into taking the dosh and even then there is only limited space.
If Buffy was here she would’ve suggested it as a way for me an’ Peaches to get all chummy.
Just thinking about the blonde chit makes my throat clench painfully. The watcher better have an excuse for letting this happen to her.
My demon has never been comfortable with enclosed areas. All of my worst kills have always been with my back against the wall, fighting fang and fist. I can’t help the way my leg bounces up and down insistently now.
Back when traveling with Darla and Dru, the nobles were always the first to die. Liam resented them for a life of bleeding luxury whilst he was ousted from pubs in sodding Ireland and laying in the mud drunk. All of our family besides m’self were born into more common circles. Part of the reason Drusilla had decided to join the nunnery was because it provided a safe environment. It didn’t reall matter that the sisters she was joiing later became the victims her bloody dolls were named after. I still don’t who the hell sodding Miss Edith was.
Somehow I don’t think Dru does either.
Blue is still sitting stony faced in the back area. She had declared as soon as we entered the tin bird that ‘no one must wake Gunn’, particularly not half-breeds like me and the brooding wonder. I didn’t even raise a brow at the demands.
Like any god-king – or self righteous chit with severe PMS issues – she only talked to herself in slow murmurings. I can still hear her now. I can’t say exactly why she decided to come on this merry little parade to Ripper’s. Gods know she can’t go back to a place full of dead soldiers, but I’m bloody well certain she would’ve managed. It makes me wonder whether ‘the shell’ is having more of an effect than Percy suspected. It might be that the former watcher’s death has caused her to go all brooding hen on us but then I highly doubt that.
Instead I think that something is changing them.
And I don’t know whether to curse or cheer on the results.
Even though he can only groan and rasp out a few words, Charlie still has kept on haranguing Angel. Seems that he can feel the same vibe and has noticed those odd flashes of the demon. Not hard to after the tirade about blood just an hour ago.
Only Angelus can’t control his appetite. Always was a whining bastard.
The whole experience makes me feel like I’m on some sort of family road trip. All I need now is for Blue to call out ‘are we there yet?’ and I will fully have entered the twilight zone.
Rupes will be more than surprised.
***
I really hate the apartment. Its purely irrational but I can feel my demon arch in irritation just being in this city. Rome has seen some of my failures when still bloodthirsty and desperate to make a name for m’self. It also has watched the Immortal embarrass me and the poofter whilst our women enjoyed the wanker’s attentions. Despite those obvious factors the main reason for hating the place has to be because of Buffy. The doorway which still wouldn’t be able to fit both me and the brooding wonder is the same as when I first discovered that Buffy had moved on with aforementioned immortal.
I choose to ignore the irony.
The small buzzing noise a mortal couldn’t hear, forces my eyes to look above the frame. The door’s not even open and I can already feel small cameras analysing my every move.
Sodding Andrew and his paranoia.
With her characteristic bluntness, Blue kicks at the door, making the wood shudder in its frame but not snapping it in half. I give her a wink, knowing that this is her way of being polite.
And that’s when I hear her.
“They’re here!”
The pure excitement which tinges the bit’s voice awakens lost feelings of pain and also friendship. She never forgave me for my actions in that bloody bathroom, the same way that I never have stopped blaming m’self. That she greet my arrival with something other than loathing is a miracle.
All too suddenly, the door flies back, a young gorgeous woman so completely different from the nibblet launching herself into my arms to greet me. Waves of chocolate brown hair cover the shoulders of the duster, obscuring my sight from Dawn. I can feel her though. All hips and curves that cause me to instinctively loosen my hold. This isn’t no fourteen year old with a childish crush. Dawn’s a full grown woman. Just the thought scares me. I notice that she’s gained a small amount of weight and try to focus on the small details.
How did I ever stay in LA for so long?
“I’ve missed you”. Her voice comes out muffled, soft sobs being followed by a hug that would make her sister proud. “Why didn’t you come sooner? I’ve wanted to see you for so long…” Dawn lifts her face to look at my own, dark blue eyes remaining the same despite the woman’s body she now wears around with pride. I know that there is more than affection inside her now but I brush away the questioning expression. To me she’ll always be fourteen and worrying over the color of her dress.
If only she would remember that.
Her grip seems to relinquish slightly at that though she keeps the warm smile. I’m probably the only good news that she’d had since Buffy fell ill.
Like the opening notes of a funeral procession, the watcher’s voice calls out from the living room inside, terse and demanding.
“I’m sure that they would like to come in some time this year Dawn.”
The
I can’t help being elated and flip him the bird. Who’s the favourite vamp now?
Just like I had imagined Giles stands by the kitchen counter, a cup of no doubt tea steaming uselessly. His glasses, for once, are not in his hands, but instead sit firmly on the bridge of his nose. The receding hair line which had steadily increased with every year on the Hellmouth is slowly growing back. It’s obvious that Rome has been good for him.
Though it had not stopped the git from retaining the normal feelings of distrust and loathing towards vampires such as Angel and I.
It was comforting in the fact that Giles was one man who wouldn’t change.
“Spike”. The syllable is pronounced coldly, as though stating a fact rather than my name.
“Rupert.”
Like the bit had done just minutes before Angel’s presence to my left was ignored, Illyria earns a cursory glance and Gunn a firm smile. I’d accuse the watcher of unequal treatment if I thought it would do any good. He’s never met Charlie before in his life but the simple fact that he was human seemed to make all the difference.
I feel like the tin man in that wacky ‘Oz’ movie that Dru was always so fond of. Every time she watched it, she’d prattle on about a beating heart. Silly bint didn’t realise that for a heart to beat it needed to remain inside the body.
I consider regaling the tale to Buffy. If anything will wake her up, it’ll be a gory tale of bloodshed. Always made her want to play ‘kick the spike’ before.
But then things have changed since then.
Dawn has moved into the room during our brief introduction and I realise that she’s curved an arm around my waist. I don’t know whether it was a symbol of solidarity or merely comfort but the watcher keeps looking at her with surprise before nodding to himself.
“I should have expected this” he mumbles.
Peaches decides that this is his one chance to actually say something without being staked. The wanker remembers with clarity the watcher’s impression of Rambo and the subsequent torching of our home. The Gypsy’s memory no doubt still remains.
Like the prat he is, Angel demands that Buffy be shown to him instantly.
And just like the father Giles is, the watcher ignores Peaches and instead continues to glare at me. Only after several questions does he turn and give Angel a dismissive wave.
“You’ll see Buffy when I’m ready to let you, and all your blooding whining will get you nowhere. In fact,” Giles pauses, looking up and down what once was a quarter of the Scourge of Europe, “I don’t even know why you’re here. It’s Spike that I contacted.”
“But I should have been!”
Willow’s voice, hardened and more severe breaks through Angel’s tirade. “No you shouldn’t. Spike is far better suited to help us than you Mr. Shanshu, which by the way I see has not magically fallen on you like an acme hammer. Whether you admit it or not Buffy has feelings for Spike. He has the best chance of reaching her, when compared to you.”
Angel stuttered for a moment, before uttering a weak “but she loves.”
“Past tense Angel. She loved you. The vampire which stands here now is not the same one who she fell in love with. Ever since you went to hell, nothing has been the same. Her feelings have changed, just like yours have. If anyone here is qualified in terms of the ‘deeply mourned, cannot breathe without telling new slayers countless stories’ category it really is Spike. Giles didn’t want to believe me either, if it’s any consolation.”
Angel’s low growl in response, indicated that it was not.
“Since I don’t want to listen to you and Giles exchange barbs or attempt conversation,” Willow added with more than a hint of reprimand, “I’ll get to the point of why you’re here.”
“Buffy as far as I can tell is trapped in what appears to be a magic induced coma. However if it simply was that, then I’d be able to free her. The coven has more than enough expertise at bending the energy waves in the case of the Slayer.”
“But it’s not that simple” interjected Dawn.
Willow nodded, also seeming to note the way the bit held just a tad too tightly to my arm. “Wherever Buffy’s mind is, it’s not in a peaceful dream land. I believe that they’ve locked away her consciousness in an alternate reality. That she is in every sense of the word, except physically stuck in another dimension.”
“Do you know anything definite?”
The witch’s face already drawn and thin became just that much more somber. “Only that she’s in pain. All her thoughts feel… scared, fearful. It’s like when I talk to her, I’m stuck in some cave and hands just keep touching me. No matter what way I move, they’re there. It feels stifling, containing.”
“Like a coffin” I supplied.
Willow’s quiet affirmation made my stomach roll in protest.
“I’ve attempted to enter wherever it is that she’s caged but mone of us can get close enough to actually remain corporeal. The spell doesn’t work on the living. There’s too much energy to be able to transfer all of a person into the environment. Heavy magic seems to block out anything that isn’t demonic.”
Angel, looking puzzled as always, pointed to Dawn. “What about her?”
“She’s considered human. The sealing of the portal by Buffy, halted any chance of her reverting to a key. Dawn is as human as Gunn. The most that I can transfer is our thoughts and I know that Buffy isn’t receiving them fully or if she is, then she can’t respond. I’ve been forced to leave the spell working consistently, in order to have any idea what is happening to her. It’s our only link.”
“The reason I called you Spike, is one you’re a demon so that should work in your favour and two Buffy has strong connections with you. If anyone has a chance of actually communicating then I think that you’re our best shot.”
”So you want me to do it because I’m a member of the undead club?” I scoff for a minute until I see the very serious expression of Willow. Girl’s on a mission.
“Yup. Just like Buffy you’ve died and come back, so to speak. The only reason I can talk to Buffy at all is because she is a hybrid of both. There’s the dead aspect and then there’s the whole angsty Buffy which is still alive and human. We need someone, or rather something to go in there and be all boy scout like. Your demonic status should put you under their radar and I’ll still be able to communicate with you once the link is established.”
“Link! Red I don’t know about this-“
“It’ll help Buffy.”
I eye her the same way I used to watch Dru when Miss Edith was ‘reportedly’ in a foul mood. “Can you promise that?”
“Well no, but I’m willing to try…”
“Right” I drawl. Let’s hope that makes a bleeding difference. “So what you’re really asking is if I’ll let you work magic on me and send me to wherever the wanker’s locked her away? I’m not all that keen on this idea Red. What’s to say you don’t suffer withdrawals? Or some nasty interferes? Magic always has consequences.” I shoot out the excuses, knowing that they are empty even before they leave my mouth. I’m already resolved to help in any way possible. I just wish they hadn’t waited until the last bleeding second to contact me. Red and the Scoobies deserve to sweat in my opinion.
Red groans as though she expected me to behave like this, hands twitching as a shiver of electricity races through her hands. There’s already enough magic running through the apartment to active a portal, but she seems to handle it easily. Angel smells it also, locking eyes before watching Willow just that bit more closely. Buffy and her are linked. For what purpose I can only assume to keep some small grasp of her location or Buffy’s whereabouts.
Dawn tugs on my arm, trying to lessen the tension which floods through my body as the scent of Buffy enters the room. I can just see a door open to the left, half hidden by the hall and immediately move towards it. The stench is sickly, overriding everything else in the power of it. Vanilla is mixed in but it’s covered by the tang of disease and even worse: fear.
The door moves aside far too easily in my opinion. Should be made of something impenetrable; to guard her. My demon feels like its clawing at my chest, worrying over her health even as my eyes alight upon her.
There are no major bruises. Slayer healing means that a day after she still wouldn’t show signs of torment. But I can sense something. There’s a belief trailing along the edges of my mind that there should be scars along her arms, tiny pin pricks perfect for letting blood or injecting. One hand brushes the skin as though believing it will suddenly appear.
And then I notice her hair.
Thick heavy streaks, the colour of throats freshly cut, are spread evenly over gold. It’s grown slightly longer since the night in that bloody club but this is a new addition.
Part of me wishes for Glinda if only to tell me of the slayer’s aura.
When I find the Immortal I’ll make good use of his gift. There are plenty of ways to torture a man for nigh an eternity.
With Angelus trying to make an escape, the whole thing could be kind of fun.
The Witch enters just second later, one hand, only slightly more pale than my own falling lightly on my shoulder.
I don’t shrug it off, oddly accepting the friendship she offers.
“When do we start?”