“oHgr Eatno, wEh:av t obe^om£v ampire?s” muttered Xander. Anya threw a pencil at him but kept one hand firmly on her ledgers. Spike noticed the gesture. “What's she doin'?”
Giles reached over for the pencil and resorted to writing. “she...wa..n..t...s...oadui...tttt” He scribbled out the last word and tried again. “a...u...d...”
“Oh, I get it!” grinned Spike. “She wants the books audited? In the middle of all this?”
Anya frantically pointed to the calendar on the wall. “OK, so it's the new year: big deal,” retorted Spike. “If we don't find something to do about this soon, there'll be no shop or stock left to audit, from the looks of things.” He scratched his head absently. “And I suppose we'll have to take steps to stop this spreading to all the other good citizens of Sunnydale. Don't we even have any idea where it came from?”
Giles pointed at the laptop. Spike wandered over and examined it, ignoring Anya's whimpers as he got closer. He bent down and peered into the slot where screen was folded over keyboard; then, gently, he opened the machine up. An eerie blue glow lit his face; Anya squealed and curled into a ball under the counter.
“Oh do grow up,” muttered Spike, looking down at her. “Did none of you think to turn it off?” His finger shot out and pressed a button. There was a series of quiet whirrs, and the glow faded. “There,” he exclaimed triumphantly, “nothin' to it.”
“Nonot!ingat,a?l” replied Buffy with an inane smile. Spike's brief glow of superiority in the face of technology faded.
“S!On,oww %at” continued the Slayer, glaring at him. He shrugged.
“I never said it'd fix anything, pet. OK, I might've been hoping it would; but we're no worse off, are we? And it might fade away...” he faltered into silence before unbelieving faces.
“We just have to keep on thinking,” sighed Dawn. Her sister poked her tongue out: it seemed safer than trying to speak. Behind the counter, hand firmly on account books, Anya's eyes narrowed as she thought. When Spike went towards the little kitchenette behind the stockroom, the former demon unobtrusively followed him. She stood hesitantly at the doorway, watching as Spike rummaged through the fridge in the hope of a little leftover blood. When he straightened empty-handed, she coughed discreetly.
“Jesus holy fuck, what're you doin'? I never even heard you there – mind you, that's you, I suppose.” Spike stopped his habitual monologue to regard Anya for a moment. His brows creased in puzzlement. “Somethin' you need?”
Anya nodded and silently closed the door behind her. The vampire stood completely still. “What's goin' on?”
“Inee,dtob eAb:e tospeak,” Anya began forthrightly, if confusingly.
Spike nodded. “I understand that, luv, but you all need to be rid of this.”
“INEeDm?re” insisted Anya, moving towards him with menacing purpose in her eyes. Her hand strayed up to her buttons and began undoing them. Spike backed away.
“Hey, hey – hold it right there! This ain't the time for... well, you know...”
“iTis” retorted Anya wildly. “Y&u c anta?kb^ticantandine£dtotalk and,iCant%hin*of ..a,ny*therwa£!””
“What? You crazy mad bitch, what makes you think screwin' me can give you your bloody chatter back? Buffy's already nearly knocked me for six and it hasn't helped her any!”
By now he was backed against the wall, and Anya was already down to her underwear. Obliquely, Spike reckoned Xander would approve but as usual, what the whelp thought was the least of his worries. What bothered him more, he realised, was what Buffy might think. It was the only reason not to call for help that he could think of... but he was buggered if he was going to be raped in the name of clear English by an ex-vengeance demon!
“Listen here, and listen good: it's not going to happen, you hear me?”
“iTHasto,ha&penspi;keInee?tobePunctuated!”
He took advantage of her bending to remove her knickers to vault past her and slam the door shut behind him as he ran. Unfortunately, his escape took him straight back into the gaze of the Slayer.
“Spike?” asked Dawn as he reappeared, and noticing the slightly wild look in his eyes – like a hunted animal, she thought suddenly. “What's wrong?”
The vampire pointed back towards the storeroom. “That crazy woman was trying to rape me!”
“L!keb,lo#d yhell” answered Xander angrily, getting to his feet with fists ready.
“What bloody reason have I got to lie about it?” snarled Spike, feeling his own demon rising to the fore. “She's got it in her head that if she shags me she'll be able to bloody talk again. Fuck knows where she got that one from – and no, it wasn't from me, before you start!”
Buffy didn't answer immediately. She looked instead to Giles, eyebrows raised. In mute reply, he spread his arms with a noncommittal shrug. Neither of them seemed inclined to even try to speak, whilst their gestures had become considerably more expressive. Something in that bothered Spike; he waved Dawn and Willow closer.
“Is it me, or are they all – well, except for mad bitch Anya – getting better at sign language?”
“I suppose it's only to be expected,” murmured Willow, “after all, none of us are exactly stupid, and we've all had to adapt to so much, so quickly, over the years...” She shrugged. “I guess it's just another thing to deal with until we can fix it.”
“Well even if Anya has got the right idea, I'm not buggering either Xander or Giles just to get them talking again,” Spike warned darkly.
“I don't think it would do any good,” said Dawn. “Not if touching Buffy got Tara... infected...”
“No,” agreed Willow. “If that was going to work, then Buffy ought to have been cured, not spreading it further.” She looked over at Tara, sitting quietly and alone to one side. “Hang on baby, it'll be OK,” she whispered.
“I'm glad to hear you agree with me,” smiled Spike. And he almost meant it. But the thought of giving Buffy such a gift would not quite go away. He added it to the big pile of other, similar thoughts that he knew he would one day have to deal with, and waited for the aching in his groin to subside. Nobody except he and Xander noticed when Anya reappeared, straightening her hastily-recovered clothing and red around the eyes. The two men exchanged a quiet glance of understanding and the subject was somehow magically dropped.
Spike was prowling again: the stillness and silence in the shop was getting to him, as was his inaction and inability to come up with some sort of plan, some kind of gallant, heroic rescue effort. He was chafing. Buffy watched him as he strode around, picking things up, putting them back down, fidgeting, desperate for action. She had given up on trying to talk, or even write, some hours ago; Dawn and Willow had created a sort of barricade of books and objects around themselves as they looked through everything they could find in the hope of finding some sort of clue that had somehow evaded the others. Finally, however, she could take it no longer. She stood up and caught the vampire's wrist as he slunk past her.
“sPi&e st,opi tyoUre'd rivin£ m;einsne”
“Huh? Oh: bothering you, am I? Well I'm sorry about that pet, but there's bugger-all else to do around here right now and if I don't find something that's gonna do some good soon I'll explode!”
Buffy made stabbing motions. Spike creased his brows; then, as she made walking motions as well, his face cleared. “You want to patrol?”
She nodded. Giles suddenly sprang into life and shook his head vigourously. He pointed to his own mouth, and gestured to include everyone else in the shop.
“What difference does that make?” replied Spike caustically. “If we go together I can keep the live ones away from her, and who gives a fuck if the dead ones suddenly can't talk, eh?” He glared at the Watcher, daring him to argue any further.
“Now listen,” Spike continued, turning to the assembled Scoobies. “Red and Dawnie are off-limits for any sort of contact, understand? From all of you. I don't want us coming back and finding this has spread any further, alright?” He opened the Magic Box door and held it as Buffy went through. “We'll be as quick as we can,” he assured them.
The two silently strode through the empty mall. This was not a place Spike tended to frequent during his usual waking hours: too bright, too public. Too... artificial. Built-up. Beside him, Buffy seemed equally lost in her own thoughts; Spike turned his attention to the shadows and dark alleyways around them, but there was nothing lurking. He sighed: a quiet patrol was not what either of them needed right now. There ought to be danger, action, distractions...
Buffy suddenly stopped walking: Spike, caught unawares, took a pace or two before realising. He turned to face her. “What's up?”
“A-ya.”
“What, mad bitch? What about her?”
“wSit rea;ly he$ideao...ris Thi? AN%th)rlie!”
“Hang on a minute while I work that one out.” He sat on a low wall and worked his way painfully through the convoluted sentence. “I swear to you that it was her: it happened exactly as I said,” he answered eventually. “I've got no way to prove it, but Xander saw her come back out after I did and he suddenly backed down, remember?”
“so£Ry i hadtoa:sk”
He shrugged, trying hard to mask the stab of hurt from her words. “Course you did pet. You've had enough reason in the past, I can see that. But this is different. Jesus Christ, it would've been easy enough to suggest it myself and get you in the back – but I think more of you than that. So I'm trying to be good, and I'm trying to help. No idea what I'm actually doing, though...”
Buffy wiped away a tear. “RI&htn,owIdv'egO ne”
Spike stood slowly and regarded her for a long, danger-fraught moment. “Well,” he said quietly after what felt like an eternity, “there's always my place... but Red and I agreed that it's not going to do any good.”
“ThEre’s other;thingsbe side thIs...”
It's not easy, keeping the smells of damp and mould out of a crypt. Spike had started out with good intentions, but had given up some time back. The green moss was growing back over the stones, and the silt oozed slowly but inexorably though the cracks between the floor slabs. None of the decay had reached his furniture yet, however, so there was still one barricade between the undead and their inevitable companions, the rot and the mould and the dust.
Not that any of the surroundings made it into the awareness of either of the figures locked together on the bed. Spike lay astride Buffy, her breasts cupped in his hands as he gently nibbled her ears, her neck, her shoulder as she shuddered and moaned beneath him, her movements in time with his own solid, strong thrusts deep into her. He didn't care if she didn't recover her speech; nor did she, not now, not whilst still deep within the moment of oneness with the vampire. He was hard, he was deep, he was good... he didn't feel any need to remind her of how long he had been practising, nor with how many before her. But right then, he felt sure that there would be no others after her, and that was new. So he put all his energy, all his power and attention, into satisfying her need – and his own. He held and held until he could hold back no more; with a violent shudder he sent his half-dead seed into her, pulsing, pushing, holding her arms down and bruising her lips with his. She writhed and twisted beneath him, pulling him in as far as he could go, arching her back to get the utmost, the absolute maximum of him inside her. Then, suddenly, there was no more to give, and no more that could be taken. They sank down together, their bodies relaxing; he stayed above her for a few moments longer before lifting himself up and allowing her to slide across. As he lowered himself beside her, his eyes met hers.
“I'm not expecting words, luv: just don't start regretting this just yet, OK?”
“Spike, there's nothing to regret...”
“Holy shit!” He was out of the bed as if scorched, staring down at her. “Did you just hear that?”
“Hear what?... Oh...”
Spike grabbed his shirt and slid it over his lean, muscular torso. “Never thought I'd be happy about cutting things short, and especially not with you pet... but we have to go. People need to hear this.”
“I suppose...” she looked up at him coyly. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now! Although how we're going to break the news to demon-bitch I don't know: I've already turned her down once tonight.” He looked back at her, absorbing her nakedness, that strange glow her skin always had, and the fact that she quite resolutely had not made any movement towards getting out of the bed. “Actually, that's a strong incentive to come back, ain't it?” He started taking his shirt off again.
“No: I'm kidding. We ought to go.” Suddenly Buffy was up and beside him, back to being brisk and focused. Spike silently cursed and attended to fastening buttons.
“So that's it then? Back to business as usual, huh?” he asked.
“Oh no: not after this. Even if there was only the rescuing of my ability to speak, that would be reason enough to stay close to you. But there's more; you and I both know there's more.”
“Yeah; guess so.” Was he really going to get that lucky? Spike found himself looking for the catch.
“So,” continued Buffy, “we can go back to the Magic Box and we'll work out what's happened on the way. We owe the guys that much. But having come this far, there's no reason to think we needn't go further... in our own time...”
Spike handed Buffy her coat and followed her outside. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face; nor did he even want to.
The atmosphere within the shop had taken on the smell of a siege. Within a rampart of books and boxes, Willow and Dawn were frantically reading, thinking, trying not to talk too much or too loudly, for fear of upsetting the others. For their part, Tara sat on her own beside the piles of grimoires whilst Giles was slumped at the counter. Xander and Anya crouched together a short way off; the girl's eyes seemed fixed on the two talking women, like some beast of prey stalking a kill. Xander seemed unable to distract her: his usual tactics were all denied him, and he wondered if their entire relationship was built on nothing more than words. Surely there had to be more to him than that, than his ability to chatter inanely and make peole laugh?
The door bursting open sounded like a gunshot: every eye suddenly turned to watch as Spike and Buffy came through. Even Giles, who seemed to be feeling this curse more than his companions, managed to raise his head and look inquiringly towards them.
“Spike cured me,” Buffy began. Anya choked back a scream and glared furiously at the pair.
“You don't need me,” Spike answered her poisoned look. “You need him.” He pointed at Xander. “I think you'll enjoy the treatment,” he added with a smirk, and jerked a thumb towards the back room.
Dawn regarded her elder sister soberly. “Did what I think happened... happen?” she asked cautiously.
“Yes, it did,” replied Buffy levelly. “Don't judge me Dawn, and don't judge him, either. It was as much my idea as his, and nothing happened that I didn't want. And hey,” she said, brightening, “I'm cured!”
“So Tara and I should...?” added Willow.
“Yes,” nodded Buffy, “you probably should.”
“Vigourously,” added Spike, his smirk getting ever-bigger.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Dawn cut in suddenly. “It's great that you've found a cure an' all, but what if we get it again?” She gestured vaguely towards Giles and the sleek black laptop that still sat on the counter. “I know Spike turned it off, but if this curse did come out of a computer, then maybe it's some kinda virus... it could come back...”
Willow nodded slowly in agreement. “We haven't really fixed the problem, have we? It's not like Buffy's actually gone out and killed anything, like you usually do.
“Hey!” retorted Buffy. “I don't kill: I slay. It's in the job description.”
“Good to hear you're back to your old self,” muttered Spike. “But surely if the computer's switched off, whatever this virus thing is, is trapped inside it?”
“There's only one way to test that out, and I can't see anyone volunteering,” replied Willow. “One night of this ought to be enough for anyone.”
“Poor Giles,” said Buffy suddenly, looking towards the source of the problem. “We've all got someone to love us back to health, but who's he got? We can't just leave him like this!” In her concern, she missed the look on her sister's face.
“He's been sitting right there, right beside the thing, all night,” confirmed Willow.
“Right then, I think it's time we took it away from him, don't you?” said Spike firmly. “Since it didn't affect me to begin with, how about if I take it away somewhere and bury the thing, drop it in the river, something like that?”
“Difficult to know what's best, being on the Hellmouth,” replied Buffy. “We need to be certain nobody – or no thing – can open it up and play some more.”
“Oh, that's easy,” said the vampire, “I'll stow it at my place. Bit of superglue around the lid, couple of heavy straps... piece o' piss.” He grinned. “You just leave it to Spike, eh?”
Buffy bit her lip. Could she? What if he... What if she... her mind suddenly opened up all sorts of ways in which this could go horribly wrong, with or without Spike's connivance. How much would it take for him to turn against them all once more? How careful would she have to be around him? Was it really, seriously possible for someone else to take control of something, no matter how little, without her constant supervision? And which, really, did she want more: the comfort of a companion who would shoulder some of her burden, or the comfort of exclusive, total control? Putting aside for a moment what his making the offer said about Spike, what did her own thoughts really say about her?
“Do it,” she said, too quickly to be able to rescind the decision. “Take it away: get rid of it safely. And Spike?”
“Yeah, pet?”
“Thanks...”
He grinned. “No worries, pet.”
Xander and Anya had already disappeared, although the sounds from the stockroom suggested that they hadn't gone very far. With that knowing smile still on his face, Spike swept up the laptop from beside Giles and headed out of the door, racing against the sunrise now, heading for the dark but not-so-cold place he called home. Willow and Buffy met each other's eyes.
“So are you and Spike...”
“Uh-huh; for now at least. You should get Tara and...”
Willow smiled impishly. “Administer the cure?”
“Something like that. Odd that Spike turned Anya down when she'd worked it out for herself – or almost worked it out.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dawn.
“Anya figured that since Spike wasn't affected by the virus, if she and he... well, you know... then his immunity might rub off on her. But he wouldn't. He said he thought more of me than to do that. I reckon that might have been more of a factor. I think there has to be some sort of deeper bond for it to work.”
“Yeah, OK, but out of you and Spike, one was affected and one wasn't. Like Tara and me – hopefully. But Anya and Xander were both caught by it... will love be enough?”
Buffy looked at her friend. “I've honestly got no idea. But what else is there to try? I'm not gonna let Spike be used as a cure-all, even if he was up for it – which he's not. He drew the line at Giles and Xander, and he turned Anya down.” She sighed. “We can only wait and see.”
“And hope,” added Willow. Buffy nodded silently. Willow gave her a brief hug before leading Tara out of the door.
“And then there were three,” murmured Dawn. “I suppose we ought to start clearing the place up...” she looked across at the counter. “Buffy? What do we do about Giles?”
Shouts and cheers of joy from the storeroom interrupted the Slayer's answer. She looked at her mentor: his eyes seemed dulled, filled with the despair of a man who knows he has lost those things he holds most precious. Buffy's, however, filled with fire and determination.
“Giles? Listen to me. You don't have to talk: you just listen, OK? We can fix this: I've had an idea.” She rummaged in her bag. “We're gonna take you home, and find your address book, OK?”
He nodded, despair slowly being replaced by confused inquiry on his features. Buffy smiled.
“That's better. Now. We're gonna find Olivia's number in England, right? You can dial if you want, but you let me start the talking... I'll explain the situation and then we'll leave you and her alone...”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
would you believe the monster tried to infect the story!!