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Terri Botta
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own `em. I just take them out and play with them. No money, no infringement, yadda yadda yadda. I'm poor so don't sue.
Summary: Spike gets a chance to do a few things over again.
Rating: PG
Authors note: Feedback welcome. text in italics denote thoughts.
Send feedback to tci100@mail.psu.edu. Note: it's a new email address!
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Okay, Slayer," Spike said, taking off his coat and turning to face Buffy as she joined him the training room and closed the door. "What did you need to talk to me about?"
The blow came from nowhere and knocked him straight across the floor. The duster fell from his hand, landing in a crumpled heap.
"Buffy? What the?" he tried, struggling to catch his breath and sit up, but her foot slammed him back down and pinned his chest to the floor.
"What do you know?" she demanded.
"What?" He was shocked, confused and cut to the quick that she had hit him, again, after he had been so good and helpful.
"I know you know about Glory. You’re gonna tell me what, how and when."
His stubborn streak kicked in and he gritted his teeth, growling. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Her face hardened, eyes two glittering flints of glass. "Wrong answer."
She kicked him, snapping his head back and breaking his nose. Blood flowed freely down his face, but the pain went deeper than that, into his soul.
"Let’s try this again. How do you know Glory and what do you know about her?"
He tried to defend himself against the next blow, but the chip fired when he raised his arm against her. He screamed as the pain hit from the chip and her kick.
"Poor Spikey. It’s your own fault. Just tell me what I want to know," she taunted.
He glared at her, nearly blind with pain and set his jaw defiantly. "Sod off, bitch."
She tsked and shook her head. "I see you’re going to make me get nasty with you. Oh well. I tried to be nice. Gonna have to sweep the floor with you," she sing-songed, her eyes glittering. "And if I break your back again, oh well. Bonus."
She kicked him in the stomach and he howled, but refused to give in. Instead he curled in on himself, retreating into his mind the way he had whenever Angelus beat him. Every blow she dealt made his soul shrivel and he came to an awful realization.
‘She’s always been this way. It wasn’t because she came back from the dead. She’s always enjoyed causing demons pain. It’s retribution for destroying her normal life. She’s scared and hurting. Her Mum’s sick, her sister isn’t real, she’s got a Hell God on her heels… She’s at the end of her rope. And she’s taking it out on me. She’s always taken it out on us, just like I go out and kill when I’m feeling poorly.’
His head spun as she grabbed him and threw him across the room. Not from the blows that rained rage and retribution upon him, but from the realization of the futility of it all. No matter what he did, he would never be able to convince her that he had changed, not if he didn’t tell her about the soul, and even then, she would believe that it was the soul that made him good. She had been force-fed the belief that only those with souls could be noble and fight the good fight, and she clung to it even when she had numerous examples that proved the opposite was true. She clung to it with the desperation of a zealot who sees his entire belief system crumbling around him like a house of cards.
‘She clings to it because she needs to believe it, because if demons can love, then it means Angel could have loved her without the soul, but he didn’t. She doesn’t understand that he *did* love her. That was why he hated her so much. And she hates herself for loving him, for falling for a demon, because it made her a bad girl. She’s the Slayer, she’s supposed to be a Warrior of Light, but she’s done dark things and she liked them.’
"Tell me what I want to know! What do you know about Glory? What do you know about my mother? Why are you trying to get in good with her, and with me!?"
‘And she knows it. She knows she’s got darkness inside her, that she’s attracted to it. Attracted to me…’ The thought brought all new epiphanies to him. ‘She’s already attracted to me and she hates it, hates me for it. She wants to see me evil, defeated, because then she’s vindicated. She’s punishing me for how she feels. It’s not about me.’
His wrist broke and several ribs cracked as she smashed him against the vault horse, screaming at him. He raised his eyes to her and part of him died all over again.
‘Nothing, nothing I can do will make any difference. I’ll never be anything but a soulless evil thing to you. Why did I ever hope I could make amends?’
"What do you know about my mother?!" she seethed.
He managed a crooked smile before she bashed his face and sent him crashing to the hard floor again. He didn’t even try to fight.
‘Go ahead, girly. Do your worst. I’ve been tortured by blokes much better than you and they couldn’t break me. I’ve survived a Hell God and my own Grand-sire. Your little tantrum’s nothing compared to them. There’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done, except stake me, and at this point I don’t give a damn if you do.’
He heard her still screaming, felt her land more blows, but he was losing consciousness and everything seemed so far away. He let himself fall into despair. He was there, quiet in his pain, both physical and emotional, when he heard the training room door open and several gasps.
"Oh dear God," Giles’ voice breathed.
Then Buffy’s incoherent blows ceased and hurried footsteps made their way to his side. He recognized Tara and Willow’s scents before they even reached him. Both of his eyes were swollen shut so he had to rely on his sharp hearing to tell him what was going on.
"Spike… oh God. Willow, he’s covered in blood…" Tara’s voice said, hitching on choked breaths.
"There’s a first aid kit by the wall. I’ll get it," the witch announced and he heard her leave his side.
Somewhere nearby Xander and Giles were talking quietly as Buffy sobbed.
"He… he wouldn’t tell me… and I…" he heard her admit, her voice thick and trembling.
Giles then asked Xander to take her out of the training room. Shortly thereafter, he heard the Watcher join Tara.
"He’s… he’s all broken, Mr. Giles."
"Yes, I can see that, Tara. However, since he is not dust we can assume that he is still with us."
"Barely," he managed to croak through bloodied lips.
Willow returned with the first aid kit. He heard her open it and spill out the contents.
"Willow, I doubt that will be helpful. Spike’s injuries are too extensive," Giles said.
"We could do a healing spell," Tara offered.
"Won’t work, Glinda," he whispered. "No living flesh…"
"A… a pain spell then," Willow amended.
He gave a slight nod. "Might work."
"O… okay. I’ll get the stuff," Willow agreed and he heard her leave.
There was silence for a short time, and he concentrated on quelling the pain and listening to the breathing of the two mortals next to him. Tara was crying softly, he could smell the salt of her tears.
"Don’t cry, Glinda," he told her faintly. "Ol’ Spike’ll be fine. Takes more than a Slayer’s temper-tantrum ta do me in."
He heard her laugh softly. "You… you called me Glinda."
"’S what you are, innit? The good witch."
She didn’t reply as Willow came back in. He heard the jingling of the spell components and a second set of footsteps.
"Oh man, you are so trashed," Xander’s voice said. "G-man, is he gonna be okay?"
"Yes, I do believe so," Giles replied. "Where is Buffy?"
"Sitting at the table. Anya’s with her. She… she looks pretty sick."
"Yes, well, I’ll get to her in a minute. For now, I have other matters to deal with," Giles answered tersely, and Spike was certain he detected a note of disapproval in his voice.
"Do you need my help?"
"Not yet. Willow and Tara are going to cast a pain-blocking spell so we can set his bones and move him. I’ll need your help carrying him."
"We’re almost ready, Giles," Willow announced.
Spike heard Xander come close. "Geeze, man, why didn’t you just tell her what she wanted to know?"
‘Bitch can fuck off,’ he thought to himself, but answered, "Don’t respond well… to pain."
The witches cast their spell. He could feel the fine powder they had prepared sprinkling down on his face. As soon as they finished their incantation the pain eased considerably and he relaxed.
"Is that better?" Willow asked.
"Yeah. Made it tolerable. Thanks, ducks."
"Here, help me arrange his limbs. We need to set the broken bones before they start to heal," Giles said.
Spike felt several pairs of hands on him, realigning and straightening his bones, and he was touched by their gentleness with him. ‘Maybe I do have a chance with them after all.’
"Spike, do you have full feeling throughout your entire body?" the Watcher asked.
"If you’re askin’ if she broke my back, Rupert, the answer’s no."
"Well, thank God for small favors. At least you aren’t looking at an extended recovery time."
"A week at least," he predicted.
"Xander, bring my car around back. We’ll take him out the alley door," Giles decided.
Spike heard Xander give a grunt of agreement and the jingle of keys as Giles passed them over.
"Will he be okay in his crypt?" Willow asked worriedly.
"We’re not taking him there," Giles responded.
"Oh? You’re not?" he said, confused.
"No, as much as I hate to admit it, you would be too vulnerable there. No, I’m afraid I have no choice but to bring you to my place during your… convalescence," the Watcher replied, then gave orders to the two witches. "There’s a set of tent poles and a canvas in the basement. We can make a stretcher out of it to move him more easily. Would you get it for me, please?"
"Right away, Giles," Willow agreed and Spike listened to them leave. He was getting tired, struggling to stay conscious now that the pain had eased, but there was one more thing left to do.
He waited until he knew they were out of earshot before addressing Giles.
"Her scent," he admitted, even though it was a lie- well, not really, he *had* smelled something wrong with Joyce, but before he hadn’t spent enough time with her to pick up on it..
"I beg your pardon?"
"Joyce’s scent. ‘S how I knew. Big bad predator. Could smell the sickness on her."
Giles was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Yes… yes of course." His voice was tired, defeated, as if he felt he should have discerned that for himself and was angry that he didn’t. "Rest now. You need to conserve your energy."
"Mind if I pass out, Rupes?"
"No. No not at all. It would probably be best if you were unconscious while we move you."
"Yeah, coz I’m feelin’ just a bit knackered."
"I can’t imagine why," Giles responded dryly.
"I can’t either," he breathed softly, the darkness coming up to take him. "Hey Rupert?"
"Yes?"
"Don’t forget my coat. Dropped it somewhere when she hit me."
"I’ll be sure to get it."
"Thanks."
It was the last thing he said before he fainted.
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